#also forgive that graphic i could not for the life of me find a clean scan of younger-faced marcoh this is what u get

[yanderes-galore]

Hi, me again! I really enjoyed the eggman Utopia fic you wrote for me, and I wanted to ask if you could continue that, where the reader somehow makes contact with sonic and his friends and they plan to rescue the reader, so in order for that to work the reader has to distract eggman from noticing that team sonic is in his base by giving him affection and kissing him as an apology. Making him think that they finally accept that there’s no point in trying to escape him so the reader might as well embrace it. Just as the reader and eggman are in a passionate kiss, team sonic bust in the room and successfully saves the reader. Also can you keep this SFW please? Thank you so much.

This is a continuation, read Utopia here first.

No worries, the fics on here are kept SFW for the most part so you're all good :) This is actually a decent length, lol.

Note: The ending gets REALLY dark, actually the whole story is dark, please be warned that this was meant to be horrific not romantic. Despite this being a Sonic story... it is not for kids like most of my writing.

Dystopia

Yandere! Eggman Scenario

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Deception, Obsession, Isolation, Attempt at escape, Forced relationship, SFW as usual so I tried not to make things graphic for you, Darling has trauma, Violence, Forced kissing, Vague mature themes.

Months felt longer when your life has been primarily metal walls. Robotnik had managed to forgive you for your disagreement on beliefs eventually. By the end of your punishment you felt scared to be forced into isolation again.

Like usual... you're dressed in black clothes with the Eggman Empire logo over your heart. You resent him even more than you did before since your argument. Your time in the cell only made you realize one thing.

You had to bring him down.

Robotnik had trouble trusting. In order to get anything done you had to sacrifice your self-integrity. You'd do anything to just have the world stay clean.

That's what you'd keep reminding yourself. You were doing this for home, you were doing this for Sonic, you were doing this for you. You'd do anything the get out of this chemically smelling base.

You tried not to be suspicious. You became loyal to your captor in exchange for small freedoms. You did whatever he asked... whenever he asked for it.

This change was something the tyrant enjoyed. Any chance of him catching on you quickly squashed. You worshipped him, all with a cute smile and adoring touch.

All until you had freedom to roam the base.

The first thing you did? Search for the communications room to somehow contact Sonic. Having been around Robotnik enough, you had ways to hack the bots roaming the room temporarily.

It's showtime.

Quickly your fingers glide across the inputs on the screen until you could find Tails' lab. You had confidence the young fox would tell Sonic if you were in danger. After all, you were friends too.

Upon hitting call you listen to a soft buzz from the machine. You feel cold sweat drip down your back at the thought of Robotnik finding you out. Hopefully he was busy.

You flinch when static appears on the screen of the communications device before clearing into a video of Tails. The fox looked suspicious until he saw you. You see the surprise on his face before he answers in a panicked voice.

"There's no way... it can't be you!" Tails gasps, eyes looking over your attire. You could see sadness in his eyes at the situation. You smile softly.

"Did you think I was dead or something?" You grimly joke, hurriedly glancing at the oblivious badnik guards.

"No- But you went off the grid! What's going on?"

You bite your lip... recalling the more unsavory details before deciding to spare the young fox.

"I'm a captive at Robotnik's base. There's no need to worry, I'm not loyal to the man in the slightest." You take a moment to breathe, fear making it hard to obtain air. "Care to help a friend out if I give you the coordinates?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course!" Tails answers. "I'll get Sonic to help form a rescue team."

"Bring a lot of firepower. I have a feeling Eggman isn't going to give me up easily. I'll keep him occupied. Don't set off the alarm, okay?" You smile at the idea of escape and the fact you used the nickname Robotnik hates with a passion.

"Alright... what did you mean by that, if I may ask?"

You go silent... shaking your head.

"Don't worry your furry little head, Tails." You tease in a comforting tone. "Just take these directions and go."

You tap away at the machine, sending the fox the coordinates before shutting down the machine. You check to make things exactly the way they were before leaving. The hacking program you set up, after months of observing Robotnik and previous knowledge from Tails, is promptly deactivated before you continue your walk.

Now you just had to play your part.

---

You had no idea how long it would take for them to get there or who Tails was planning on sending. You had a feeling at the very least Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy would be there... but you hoped that would be enough. You had no idea just what Robotnik would do to keep you.

While waiting for salvation, you distracted Robotnik and your own mind. You acted like you usually did, a pet and servant to a tyrant. Meanwhile you only thought of your friendship with your Mobian friends.

While you sit on the large man's lap, you distanced yourself while he held you. You thought of Sonic saving the day once again. You thought of tinkering with Tails. You thought of the relaxation you spent with Knuckles on his island. You even thought of the friendly picnics Amy would always set up for her human friend.

You want to smile and breathe in fresh air. You want to lay down on green grass and laugh. You want to look into the clouds and talk with friends.

You never wanted to be a part of a dystopia.

You never wanted to be with Robotnik, even if he was the only other human in the world.

You were happy with how things were. Your smile cracked when you felt Robotnik hold you closer. Reality came crashing back down on you... and you wondered when you'd be saved.

"I feel we've been making progress." Robotnik states, grinning.

"Based on reports, sir?" You ask softly, turning your attention to him.

"Well, I feel my... our utopia is coming together. Even more so since your loyalty to me. Doesn't it feel better not to fight?"

You hope the crew has decided to come in stealthily and not set off the alarm. You take a deep breathe, turning in his lap and smiling.

"Yes. It feels better without having to struggle, dear."

You press your hands onto his shoulders, shoving your face into his neck and cringing. You didn't want to put up with this any longer.

"Well aren't you affectionate...."

"I want to apologize."

Robotnik pauses, encouraging you to continue.

"I wasn't very considerate when we fought. I want to say..." You lean to whisper into his ear. "I'm sorry."

Robotnik is silent, clearing his throat and readjusting his hold on you.

"Really? What a change...."

You sense him catching on.

"Of course... so why don't you just sit back for me."

"(Y/N)?" He says your name in a tone that shows you caught him off guard. You grin teasingly. Internally, you pray this is enough.

"You've done so much work for the two of us. All I've done is cause you trouble. Let me remedy that...."

You let your mind go blank before forcing your lips onto his. There's no movement... only a long pause that makes you concerned. You go to pull away, unsure, until Robotnik slaps his hand on the back of your hand to stop you.

He wasn't letting this moment go to waste.

You remind yourself to just go along with it until your friends come to help. You ignore how it feels. You ignore how he holds you. You just think of freedom...

... and freedom came.

An alarm sounded way too late, causing Robotnik to begrudgingly stop the kiss. You can't get rid to the taste and try to hide your disgust. Moments later you see the door bust open and you're pushed off Robotnik's lap.

In the doorway stands Knuckles, Tails and Amy behind him. You can't hide your smile anymore but your brows crease.

"Where's...?"

"He wanted to make a big entrance." Amy winks before they step aside.

As if on queue, Sonic bursts in with quills surging with a poweful yellow. Your excitement only grows and you can't help but laugh.

"You."

Robotnik seethes, glaring at both you and your friends as soon as you ran to them.

"You LIAR. You SCHEMING FIEND!"

You narrow your eyes at him, standing behind your friends.

"Takes one to know one, huh?"

"You AREN'T leaving. I'll kill them... then I'll take you back! I'll make you a ROBOT if I have to! I'LL-"

You flinch and Sonic steps in front.

"Enough talk, Eggman. Let them go."

"Willingly? You've lost your MIND, hedgehog!"

With that, a button is pressed. You knew what that means... badniks and a new mecha machine Robotnik had created. Your fear only encouraged the others to take you away.

"You got this, Sonic! We'll escort (Y/N)!"

You trusted Sonic to get things done. All that mattered now was escape. Eagerly you gave the others instructions to where potential exits could be. You've been here so long... yet with your friends by your side...

You can taste freedom on your tongue.

---

As per usual, Robotnik made an overly grande machine to fight the hedgehog. Rage boiled within him at the super hedgehog. Everything was going so well!

Now all due to your plan he was back at square one.

"Why don't you ever just stay STILL!" Robotnik seethes, making attempts to blast away the hedgehog with rockets.

"What did you do to them, Eggman!?" Sonic yells. "You took them here... for what reason!?"

"None of your business, hedgehog!"

"I've never seen you care for anyone like this!"

"Don't taunt me!"

"I bet you don't care that you hurt them, do you?"

The mech takes more damage as Sonic hits into it. Alarms blare in the madman's ears, he grits his teeth. Life only ever got more annoying.

"If they stopped fighting, they'd be happy!" Robotnik growls. "Why do they care so much about you? They could've had it all if they listened!"

Sonic only ever hit the mech more. Robotnik felt the metal walls giving in. Things never went his way.

"I think we both know the answer to that question, Eggman."

Another blow... the mech catches fire.

Robotnik hated to admit it, but the hedgehog was right. They do both knew why you never listened to him. He's a tyrant... he only ever thinks about himself... he's only ever hurt you in an attempt to satiate his own desires...

... and now he's just lost to his greatest enemy, again, all because you managed to outsmart him.

As the mech goes down and he feels things crumble around him... he grins.

He's almost impressed.

---

Victory has never tasted so... bittersweet. It was funny to think. After all... you're home, right? You're safe... the danger is gone.

You have your wish. You can lay on the grass... you can breathe in the clear air... you can look up into the clouds! Why does it not feel the same?

Deep down, you know. You remember the months you went through with Eggman. The memories echo in your mind no matter how much you try to forget about them

It's sad and strange... you're both human yet so different. It upsets you that you can't relate to someone so like you in species. Oh well... you sigh... life is cruel.

All you can do is be thankful that you have your Mobian friends. Said friends are incredibly happy to have you back. When you were back on fresh grass... you were bombarded in hugs.

Caring hugs.

You nearly cried.

Tails expressed worried apologies towards you, you told him it isn't his fault. Sonic and Knuckles reassured you you're safe and showed anger at how you were treated, you said you're okay. Amy wanted to talk about what happened to help... you said you were fine.

Truth is, they didn't need to hear the details. What happened... happened. With time you were sure you'd mend your wounds.

Yet you also accepted you'd never be the same. You were just happy to be home, you were just happy to have your own clothes. You never asked Sonic what happened to Eggman after the battle.

You just hoped you'd never have to see him again... if you did, you'd make sure he could never hurt anyone else ever again.

[kleoyeager78]

10 things I hate about you | 13

Trigger warning: this chapter contains very dark content such as abuse, rape, suicide attempt, drug use/ being addicted to drugs and mentions of being suicidal. None of this is in graphic detail but still I know it can be triggering so read at your own risk!

The week had flown by fairly quickly and it was now Thursday.

It's been stressful in my house ever since I came back from Annie's. My dad yelled at me for not coming home claiming he was worried which couldn't be far from the truth, my step mom had come back from her girls trip with her friends and wouldn't stop bitching at me to do every little thing, Violet had been out with her friends so I had to do all the chores by myself, not like she helped anyways, and Angie still wasn't talking to me and actually seemed to be mad at me.

Over the last couple of days she would send me dirty looks, make messes knowing my step mom would make me clean them and I also heard her talking shit about me on the phone with her friends. I was truly hurt. I tried to talk to her but she would just walk away.

Nevertheless I couldn't just spend all my time worrying about my home life, I had shit to do. I had to take my mom to rehab Friday morning, I had to work with Eren on our project Friday and I also had plans to hang out with Furlan, he texted me about some party he wanted to go to and I said yes. 

I had a lot on my plate so hanging out with Furlan wasn't a bad idea at all.

It was about nine pm and I decided it was time to go to bed so I had energy for tomorrow. I knew I would need it dealing with my mom and Eren.

-

I got up bright and early, got ready then headed to my mom's apartment. My mom and dad lived very close so I decided to walk.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I hadn't seen my mom in a very long time. The last time I saw her was when I gave her keys to her car back when she got out of rehab the last time. And I literally just handed her keys to her and left without saying anything.

The only reason I'm even doing this is because she told me she wanted to get help again.

I knocked on her door and it took her a while to answer. But when she did she was in nothing but a robe.

"Hi, just give me one second," she said, sending me a big smile and heading back to her room.  

I sat on her couch awkwardly and just waited for her to get done.

She got done and came into the living room. "How do I look?" She asked me.

She was just dressed in plain clothing, no make up on anything, "good considering this is rehab"

"Great, let's go!" She said handing me the car keys.

"Alright" I got up and headed to the door.

"Y/n actually do you have a minute?" My mom stopped me.

"No, I don't" I said in a very uninterested tone.

"Please" she grabbed my arm which i pulled away. "It'll be quick I just need a moment with you"

"Okay." I said giving in.

She went back to sit on the couch and I followed her.

"I uh. I just wanted to say I'm uh-" I could tell she was finding it hard to form a sentence and I really didn't have time for this.

"You're what? Can you get it out already?"

"You're right." She took a breath. "I wanted to say I'm sorry about our last encounter." She got too embarrassed to look at me so her eyes were facing the floor.

"Okay" I said getting off the couch getting ready to just walk away but she grabbed me.

"I mean it, I truly am sorry for the things I said."

"I said okay didn't I? What do you want from me? You want me to say I forgive you? Because I don't."

"No I just-"

"Save it, I don't need your excuses in my life."

"Y/n-"

"Let's just go ma"

My mom just stopped trying and got in the car. There was an awkward silence the whole way there.

"Were here" I said.

My mom unbuckled her seatbelt and I thought she was about to get out of the car but instead she reached over and hugged me.

I was shocked and didn't hug her back but tears began to form in my eyes as I heard her sniffling. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"M-" my voice cracked. "Mom"

"I'm sorry y/n I really am. I'm sorry for all the nasty things I said to you. I'm sorry that I wasn't much of a good mom and I'm sorry that I'm still not much of a good one"

I didn't know what to say. I was honestly shocked and kinda just frozen in place. My mom didn't let go of me and to be honest I really wanted her to. I just wanted the morning to be over already, I already had a stressful day and I didn't need to add more to it.

I pulled away from her and she noticed I was uncomfortable so she pulled away too.

"Mom I want to accept your apology but you've done nothing to show me you mean them. There's been countless times where you've failed me and I don't understand how you expect me to move past that."

"I have y/n I have shown you I mean them." My mom looked at me with teary eyes and grabbed my hand.

I snatched my hand away, "Really? What have you done to show me?" I was getting angry and you could hear it in my tone.

"I'm getting better for you baby" she said rubbing my thigh which I also had to move away from her.

"Do you know how many times you've said that to me and look where we are?" I said pointing at the rehab building.

"I know but it takes time"

"Oh I know that but I didn't think you needed a whole seventeen years mom"

She put her head down in shame and I just scoffed. It's just like her to play the victim in my life that she and my father destroyed. "So what else have you done to show me you mean your apologies? I really want to know mom, what have you done?"

"Well I left Nick. I kicked him out and cut all contact." She said with a gleam of hope in her eyes that I would give her some type of praise or reward for doing the bare minimum.

But I just laughed. "Oh wow mom you cut off one of my abusers and then left me with the other one for my whole entire life." I had to stop myself from laughing because I was cracking up inside. "You are such a good mom" I said sarcastically, sending her a smile.

She had her head down with a look of shame. I could tell she was extremely hurt but I didn't have it in me to stop. "Say mom what did you do when I told you what dad did to me?"

She sat there looking at me with sad eyes, "I-" I cut her off before she could start.

"No, actually I'll tell you. You hung up the phone and the next day I went to your apartment and it was littered with drugs and you were passed out. And do you know what else is crazy about that? You not only traumatized me for life that day but that was also the day you came back home from rehab." I sighed. "And you don't even have a good reason for doing this. Do you not know how guilty I felt that day? I was waiting in the emergency room crying because I was the reason you were there in the first place." I could feel my eyes getting watery.

"I was nothing but a little girl. I didn't deserve that mom and you know that."

My mom began to break down worse and I started to feel bad. "I'm so sorry y/n I remember that day too and I feel like absolute shit for doing that to you. You deserve so much better than me." She said, At this point she was violently shaking and crying. It looked like she was about to throw up so I didn't say anything else and just let the conversation calm down.

After a few minutes of silence I decided to ask my final question. "Can I ask you something?" I looked over to her and she looked at me with puffy eyes but shook her head letting me know I could. "Why did you do that? Why did you overdose that day I told you about what happened to me?" I said in a calm voice to let her know I was no longer angry, just curious.

"it um-" she coughed a little to clear her throat. "It just reminded me of bad times and I needed something to take my mind off of it" she said staring out of the window not wanting to look me in the eyes.

"What? Mom, were you-" she cut me off.

"Yes," she sighed. "I don't talk about my past much, but when I was young, I lived with my grandmother and grandfather. My mom cheated on her husband and ended up getting pregnant with me. The only way she could save her relationship was to leave me behind with them. And my dad already had another family before I was even born, and he wasn't going to ruin that for me either." Midway through her explanation, she started breaking down. "I'm sorry, it's just that..."

I cut her off because I noticed it was getting hard for her to speak. "It's okay, Mom. You don't have to explain if you're not comfortable."

"No, it's fine. It's just that I haven't thought about it in a while, so it's a bit difficult to speak on." She took a deep breath and then continued speaking. "My grandpa died when I was twelve, and two years after that, my grandma died. My mom finally decided to come and take me in so I could stay with her, her husband, and their two daughters. Both of them were younger than me and basically treated me like their mother because my mom was almost never around." My mom chuckled, looking out of the car window.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"It's just that after all those years living with my grandparents, I thought I was missing out on having a mother, but in reality, she wasn't even there for the kids she was with," she sighed. "Going back to the story, I ended up having to take care of them because my mom was never around, and their dad was always at work. My mother and her husband were also alcoholics, so when they were home, I would try to keep the kids away from them as much as possible because they would always be drunk."

"During the entire time I stayed there, my mom would physically hurt me. She would throw empty glass bottles at me, plates, and anything else within reach. She would tell me I was the reason she suffered and that she never wanted me. One day, my stepdad walked in on this and rushed to comfort me. It was the first time I felt like I had someone to lean on for support. After that, he started paying more attention to me. He would buy me things, tell me he was there for me if I needed him, and even defend me against my mom. I started to trust him with everything. He was like my best friend in a way."

"But one day, he came home drunk again, and I was yelling at him because he had promised to quit. He smiled and kissed me. I tried to push him away, but it was no use. That day, he made me feel absolutely disgusting. After he was done, he passed out on the couch, and although I didn't want to be near him, I had to zip his pants back up because I didn't want the kids to see anything."

"That night, I told my mom about what had happened, and the only thing that came out of her mouth were insults towards me. She told me I had seduced him and that I had stolen her husband from her. She left for two days, leaving me alone with him. He tried to talk to me like nothing had happened, but I couldn't pretend. I started crying every time. The girls I cared for would come to check on me every day. They would ask if I was alright, but I couldn't tell them anything."

"I remember he came to my room and asked me what he had done wrong, and I finally told him. He said he was sorry and didn't remember, but he'd never do it again. I forgave him, but I wish I hadn't because he lied to me. A week later, he would come home every day and do it again. I forgave him each time because he said he was drunk and didn't remember, or sometimes he would say he thought I was mom, but I knew he was lying because I would hear him arguing with her before he came and did that to me."

"Around that time, I met a guy. I wasn't into him or anything, but he always gave me drugs. He told me they would make me feel better, and they did. So I followed him around like a lost puppy. It got so bad that I couldn't live without them. If I was without them for a second, I felt disgusted with myself, and my thoughts would start going crazy, telling me I deserved everything I went through and didn't deserve to live."

"I was seventeen when I decided I couldn't do it anymore. I tried to end it all, but I wasn't successful. My neighbor ended up coming to check on me because I wasn't answering anyone's phone calls. He found me unresponsive and called for help," she sighed. "Now do you understand why I hung up the phone, y/n? I'm not good at comforting people because I've never had comfort. Even when I lived with my grandparents there was no comfort, only work. The only comfort I've ever had in my life was drugs so that day you told me what happened to you I turned to them. I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm no better than the mom I had myself" she looked at me and frowned. "I'm not a good mother y/n and I'll never be able to do anything good for you. Even if I try to get help I'll fail every time. The only reason I come to this place is to stop me from killing myself. The only advice I can give you is to never be like me in life y/n, anything is better than me." With that she reached in the back, grabbed her bag and was about to leave but I locked the doors.

I reached over and gave her the biggest hug. I felt like utter shit for the things I said to her. She might not have been the best mom, and her actions most definitely can't be excused, but no one deserves what she went through, not even her.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I cried. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't be. This has nothing to do with you and also doesn't excuse how horrible of a mom I am to you," she hugged me back with one hand and took the other and played in my hair. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Mom."

We stayed like that for a few minutes, crying in each other's arms until my mom let me know she had to go, and I had to let go. We said our goodbyes, and she got out of the car.

Instead of pulling off right away, though, I decided to put my head down and think. I thought about what my mom said.

"Never be like me in life, Y/N," her voice repeated in my head. I sighed, lifting my head up and putting the car in reverse.

"Oh, Mom, I already am."

A/n ~ sorry for not updating. I've been so busy and testing is coming up so I don't have a lot of time on my hand but still I love y'all and will try to update more | Also, I finished this chapter a few days ago but I'm just now releasing it sorry but HAPPY BIRTHDAY CONNIE SPRINGER!!!

[undefeatedlegend]

┌──═━ Rule Book ━═──┐

Just a few notes on my RP rules.

01. Flexible. 

✧ First off, I’m willing to rp with anyone from any fandom and even OCs. Concerning plots, we can always work something out and see what happens next. I’m pretty flexible with ideas so I can rp anything. 

✧ I RP canon/au/crossovers…even crack just for the hell of it. Whatever as long as it's fun.

02. Shipping. 

✧ I am willing to be multishipping with anyone, I guess it depends on how the chemistry is between our characters. Who knows if it’ll work out.

3. NSFW.

✧ NSFW, I’m willing to do this as well but please it has to be 18 and over, Mun is over 18. No exceptions.  

✧ NSFW threads will be either under Read More or not, it all depends on my rp partner. And they will be tagged accordingly, #;; nsfw #;; nsfw-ish.

THERE WILL BE TRIGGER WARNING ON EVERY TAGS I MAKE WITH JAEKYUNG WHEN ITS NEEDED. As we know, the manhwa is graphic. I would like to express that despite how I am portraying this character, I will portray him as in the manhwa, he is rude and brutal.

4. Godmoding. 

✧ No Godmoding, which is obvious. So please do not do that.

05. Threads. 

✧ If I do forget a thread, please let me know since I tend to be busy with work and real life. But don't mention it every 10 minutes. It just gets annoying and makes me think of not responding. Not to be a pain but I want to be considerate.

06. Hate. 

✧ I will not and refuse to tolerate hate that is sent to me. So don’t bother because I’ll block you on sight. Do not send any kind of hate to anyone. I know a lot of people may not like this character so please be respectful and do not send me hate messages. I will just ignore and click delete, so please don't bother.

07. Asks. 

✧ My inbox is open 24/7. Anons are welcome, same for any random asks from any of my followers. I enjoy talking OOC as well so please feel free to ask me anything! And don't be afraid to approach me!

08. Followers. 

✧ New follow starters are not written (it's because I suck at coming up with starters ;3;) but feel free to tag me if you have one! But if I do feel inspired to send you one, I will tag you, and it's up to you if you want to reply or not. If you don't, no hard feelings!

09. Disclaimer. 

✧ Disclaimer: I do not own any of the series that my muses are in, they belong to their respectful owners. I will add more information as I continue to work on this blog.

10. Muse =/= Mun. 

✧I do not condone what my muse does, or say. I have a muse who could do terrible things and in many people's eyes, is a complete jerk. I do agree with most of the things he has done, but I believe in my heart as the manhwa progresses, I think Jaekyung will come around and be a better person. The manwha is not completed yet so who knows what will happen in the future.

However, I don’t condone his behavior or his words when he hurts others. Just because I write it doesn’t mean I condone such a thing.

11. Icons. ✧ Icon template by @jessource Icons are made, cleaned, and edited by me so please…don’t steal. Fanart, gifs are not mine, and if I have the source for them, I will make sure to post it. But if I can’t find them, I will let you all know and I would appreciate it if you help me in finding them. If the creator doesn’t want me to use them, then I will immediately apologize and take them down.

12. Jaekyung face claim: Park Seo Joon (ex. THE DIVINE FURY in 2019)

Mun.

✧Hello, My name is Bernice, but you can call me B. I have been rping for almost 15+ years under different platforms, 7 of which are on Tumblr. Mun is 35+ and has a busy life. I tend to disappear randomly due to it. So please forgive me as I do that.

I also have two other blogs, @swimmingforthegold & @changeandmovingon

✧ Well that’s all, thank you for reading and thank you for following me. Hope to rp with you all soon. :3

[atopvisenyashill]

asoiaf songs

i used to make playlists and fanmixes allllll the time (rip 8tracks, you were a real one) and I had a lil mini asoiaf to listen to when i was reading, i'm gonna subject everyone to the songs now.

time to pretend - bran stark

I'll miss the comfort of my mother And the weight of the world I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home Yeah, I'll miss the boredom And the freedom and the time spent alone But there is really nothing, nothing we can do Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew

there was a gifset with this song that i saw years ago and i dug through my entire asoiaf tag on my other blog and couldn't find it i'm devastated!!!

the parting glass (the version from twd with emily kinney and lauren cohan) - starklings

but since it falls unto my lot that i should rise and you should not i’ll gently rise and i’ll softly call goodnight and joy be with you all

swear to god, right after the red wedding aired, someone made a sad ass starklings graphic with those line and it ruined my whole year and once again i can't find it.

bang bang (my baby shot me down) - theon/robb

Now he's gone, I don't know why And 'til this day, sometimes I cry He didn't even say goodbye He didn't take the time to lie Bang bang, he shot me down Bang bang, I hit the ground Bang bang, that awful sound Bang bang, my baby shot me down

until we bleed - jon/ygritte

You wasted your times On my heart you've burned And if bridges gotta fall Then you'll fall, too Doors slam, lights black You're gone, come back Stay gone, stay clean I need you to need me So we're bound to linger on We drink the fatal drop Then love until we bleed Then fall apart in parts

(this one came from my seventeen year old brain and they're a genius for it honestly)

blood in the water - cersei lannister

Now I am the violence I am the sickness Won't accept your silence Beg me for forgiveness We'll never get free Lamb to the slaughter What you gon' do when there's blood in the water? The price of your greed, your son and your daughter What you gon' do when there's blood in the water?

(also just my brain, although really, you could apply this song to a lot of characters, i just think it fits cersei's story the best)

king - rhaenyra/daenerys

The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most But you need your rotten heart Your dazzling pain like diamond rings You need to go to war to find material to sing I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king I need my golden crown of sorrow My bloody sword to swing My empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king

would that i - braime

With each love I cut loose I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Laying waste to my lovin' long ago And it's not tonight Where I'm set alight And I blink in sight Your blinding light Oh, it's not tonight You hold me tight And the fire bright Oh, let it blaze alright, honey Oh, but you're good to me Oh, you're good to me Oh, but you're good to me, baby

(this one was my brain too, although recent obviously)

no sound but the wind - robb stark

We can never go home We no longer have one I'll help you carry the load I'll carry you in my arms We walk through the ash And the charred remains of our country Keep an eye on my back I'll keep an eye on the road Help me to carry the fire To keep it alight together Help me to carry the fire This road won't go on forever

immigrants we get the job done - varys

Man, I was brave, sailing on graves Don't think I didn't notice those tombstones disguised as waves I'm no dummy, here is something funny, you can be an immigrant without risking your lives Or crossing these borders with thrifty supplies All you got to do is see the world with new eyes

endless night - bran stark

You promised you'd be there Whenever I needed you Whenever I call your name You're not anywhere I'm trying to hold on Just waiting to hear your voice One word, just a word will do To end this nightmare I know that the night must end And that the sun will rise And that the sun will rise

THIS IS MY ULTIMATE BRAN SONG.

[yinseal]

                               travelling with doctor marcoh

this  is  part  explanation  /  part  meta  on  sakura’s  work  with  doctor  marcoh,  since  i’ve  danced  around  this  subject  in  previous  headcanons,  and  consider  it  a  driving  force  in  sakura’s  fma  canon.  some  personal  interpretation  on  marcoh  towards  sakura,  but  overall  just  sakura’s  experiences  with  marcoh  /  what  happened  re:  her  ptsd.

sakura’s  relationship  with  marcoh  is  both  immensely  complicated  and  deeply  formulative.  to  begin  with,  sakura  has  no  idea  of  marcoh’s  war crimes  or  involvement  in  the  genocide  of  ishval  until  well  after  the  events  of  the  promised  day;  she  initially  seeks  marcoh  out  shortly  after  he  abandons  the  military,  around  1909.  because  sakura  does  not  know  of  marcoh’s  involvement  of  the  philosopher’s  stone,  her  searching  for  him  is  purely  on  a  medical  level         she  knows  that  marcoh  is  a  highly  respected  doctor,  and  she  trusts  him  because  he  did  leave  the  military.

in  brief,  sakura  grew  up  in  central  largely  during  the  ishvalan  genocide,  and  it  quietly  /  powerfully  built  a  strong  anti-military  sentiment  within  her.  considering  at  this  point  she  doesn’t  know  alchemy,  her  desire  to  heal  people  is  a  sincere  one,  with  no  political  or  career  ambition  behind  it.  she  would  admire  marcoh  for  his  talent,  and  she’d  secretly  approve  of  his  leaving  the  military     (  considering  the  fact  that  all  she  knows  is  that  he  is  a  state  alchemist  with  a  speciality  in  medicine.  )

once  sakura  has  tracked  marcoh  down  and  convinced  him  to  train  her,  she  puts  her  nose  to  the  grindstone         and  then  some.  already  an  accredited  doctor,  sakura  largely  learns  more  specialized  medical  treatments,  more  direct  surgical  skills,  and,  most  importantly,  alchemy.  i  think  marcoh,  who  is  suffering  deeply  from  the  trauma  of  ishval  and  his  part  in  it,  finds  some  measure  of  relief  in  having  sakura  as  his  pupil.  there’s  no  demand  for  power,  no  searching  or  cruel  questions.  sakura  wants  to  heal,  and  picks  up  alchemy  to  heal.  marcoh  finds  an  exceptionally  talented  doctor  as  his  pupil,  and  sharpens  her  skills  with  his  own  knowledge;  it’s  at  this  time  that  sakura  also  begins  teaching  herself  a  simple  form  of  alkahestry.

it’s  also  revealed  in  the  manga  that  marcoh  lost  his  own  daughter  at  some  point  prior  to  the  events  of  brotherhood,  and  i  suspect  that  a  certain  amount  of  familial  bonding  occurs  between  marcoh  and  sakura.  certainly,  sakura  comes  to  regard  marcoh  as  a  quasi-father  figure;  she  highly  values  his  input  and  lessons,  and  she  takes  to  heart  his  sincere  desire  to  help  anyone  and  everyone  who  needs  him.  although  sakura  questions  him  once  or  twice  about  his  past,  or  about  his  research,  marcoh  keeps  her  firmly  in  the  dark  on  anything  beyond  faint  framework:  he  so  furiously  deters  her  from  thinking  about  the  philosopher’s  stone,  that  she  is  one  of  the  few  alchemists  who  has  never  tried  to  pursue  the  subject,  even  after  her  travels  with  marcoh  have  ceased.

sakura  experiences  a  number  of  traumatic  incidents  on  these  journeys,  however,  which  have  a  profound  impact  on  her.  marcoh,  in  an  effort  to avoid  recapture,  takes  sakura  as  far  north  as  briggs,  and  as  far  south  as  aerugo         their  travels  frequently  take  them  deep  into  warzones,  areas  of  active  unrest,  and  villages  suffering  from  debilitating  sickness.  often,  very  little  assistance  can  be  offered,  and  more  than  once,  the  military  has  shut  down  what  small  operations  can  be  maintained.  sakura  frequently  clashes  with  the  red  tape  over  these  incidents,  but  is  usually  forced  to  leave  with  marcoh.  

sakura  is  a  forced  witness  to  a  number  of  atrocities  by  both  the  military,  and  outside  forces.  listing  them  would  be  too  great  and  gruesome,  but  about  three  months  into  her  journey  with  marcoh,  sakura  begins  to  have  trouble  sleeping.  her  work  ethic  increases  dramatically,  and  marcoh  expresses  concern  about  her  health.  

four  months  into  their  journey,  sakura  is  attacked  by  a  soldier  who  strangles  her,  near  to  death,  before  a  fair  number  of  witnesses.  marcoh  is  able  to  save  her  life,  but  the  incident  has  a  profound,  distressing  impact  on  her.  she  is  twitchy,  hypervigilant,  develops  insomnia  and  nightmares,  and  routinely  /  obsessively  smooths  her  fingers  over  her  throat,  as  if  feeling  for  bruises.  her  ptsd  blossoms  fully  towards  the  latter  weeks  of  her  travels  with  marcoh         when  marcoh  suggests  ending  their  journey,  sakura  fully  believes  it  is  because  she  is  “unnerved.”    (  in  reality,  marcoh  fears  capture  from  the  homunculi,  and  wishes  to  ensure  sakura  is  safely  removed  from  any  harm.  )

based  on  the  canon  i’ve  established  on  this  blog,  i  believe  that  sakura  loses  contact  with  marcoh  shortly  after  she  moves  to  dublith.  although  she  attempts  to  find  him,  she  is  almost  immediately  caught  up  in  her  work,  and  later,  with  the  cast  of  the  devil’s  nest.  sakura  does  not  hear  of  marcoh  until  well  after  the  promised  day.  i  suspect  that  either  greed  or  edward  would  be  the  ones  to  tell  her,  but  it.  does  not  go  over  well.

personally,  i  think  sakura  discovering  what  marcoh  has  done  /  his  involvement  in  the  philosopher’s  would  be  a  severe  emotional  devastation  for  her.  it  is  both  an  utmost  betrayal  of  what  she  believes  in,  and  a  further  act  of  treachery  from  the  military  that  sakura  has  come  to  despise.  sakura’s  rage  and  hurt  towards  marcoh  would  be  a  significantly  powerful  factor         i  headcanon  that  her  more  overt  symptoms  of  ocd  and  ptsd  would  resurface  for  several  weeks  after  her  discovery,  and  she  harbours  an  active,  almost  aggressive  grudge  against  even  the  barest  mention  of  him.

this  could  be  a  meta  on  its  own,  but  breaking  it  down  simply:  sakura  is,  at  her  core,  in  every  action,  a  woman  of  unparalleled  love  and  care.  she  cannot  turn  her  back  on  people  who  need  her.  she  cannot  give  up  on  trying  if  she  thinks  she  can  make  something  better.  she  would  view  marcoh’s  past  as  action  that  goes  against  everything  she  has  ever  believed  in,  and  more  than  what  it  does  to  her  personally:  she  would  never  be  able  to  see marcoh  as  anything  but  a  man  with  blood  on  his  hands.  he  killed  thousands  of  ishvalans  to  make  his  stones,  and  the  corpses  pile  behind  him.

sakura  does  end  up  naming  her  son,  timothy,  after  marcoh:  it’s  a  decision  she  does  not  make  lightly.  there  isn’t  any  denying  or  forgiving  what  marcoh  has  done,  but  i  suspect  that  greed’s  role  in  sakura’s  life  plays  a  big  part  in  her  moving  from  rage.  greed,  who  believes  he  was  otherwise  unforgivable  /  unredeemable,  exists  because  of  the  love  of  others;  he  would  have  likely  shared  stories  of  how  marcoh  worked  so  hard  to  fix  his  mistakes.  sakura  chooses  to  name  her  son  after  an  idea  marcoh  once  represented         a  belief  he  nurtured  in  her,  and  a  hope  that  this  tim  will  be  better  than  the  one  who  came  before  him.

while  their  relationship  never  goes  back  to  what  it  once  was,  sakura  does  write  to  marcoh  once  or  twice  a  year  after  the  birth  of  her  son,  and  likely  travels  to  visit  him  before  he  dies.  their  journey  together  helped  to  shape  sakura  into  the  doctor  and  alchemist  she  becomes,  and  helps  solidify  her  desire  to  create  a  better  world,  for  a  brighter  namesake.

[riewritten]

32 EPILOGUE I: NON-LINEAR

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you, no y/n | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Trigger warning: canon-typical violence, graphic description, explicit sexual content, suicidal thoughts, mental health issues, trauma, implied/referenced sexual harassment, implied/referenced abuse, attempted murder, overdosing

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

credits to tenkensmile!

The wet soil glued on your shoes is starting to feel disgusting already yet you still can’t stand up and go, perhaps it's the tip-taps of the impending rain and your hurling thoughts that makes you glued to where you are — in the cemetery, leaning back on your mother’s tombstone.

You won’t forgive her, that’s what you’re clear with. You’re not a saint and forgiveness isn’t the only thing that gives comfort to those who are hurt. Sometimes it’s just the mere acknowledgment that unlike what they’ve done, you have the liberty to choose what to happen, what to think of it, and what would it take to move forward.

And that’s why you pressed Erwin to tell every affront gesture he had done before you came back. After you finally regained your consciousness, that’s the only thing you’ve been talking about. You didn’t go to him for other matters, let alone for some lighthearted talks, and he also knows better than to ruin it for you.

“You’re not shooting a music video here. Look how disgusting your feet are already.” Tiny raindrops aren’t falling on your head anymore. When you looked up, Levi’s standing in front of you with an umbrella. “I just came back. I’m quite impressed at you staying in the very same position for three hours.”

You didn’t respond at first, only a gloomy look at the man. It’s only when you remembered something that you opened your mouth again. “You know, we’re not on good terms there but whenever we coincidentally bump at the cemetery, we end up cleaning tombstones for hours.”

He squinted his eyes, “Then we’re on good terms. I sure as hell won't be doing that with someone I'm repulsed to.”

You shot him a smile, “You think so?”

“Why? Sad that you can’t see that world anymore?”

You quickly faltered and looked down in lament, “I can’t believe a time will come when I’d admit that.”

“Yeah, that's surprising. A moment ago we’re rushing towards your house because you called Isabel while wailing.” He then reached a hand on you. “Come on now. Let’s go home.”

Home.

Indeed, you only need that reminder and you’re good to go with your days again. Maybe when you’re finally on good terms with Erwin, you could ask how he’s doing so far in Paradis.

“So,” Levi prompted as he finally started the engine. “How are you and Erwin so far?”

“He finished telling me everything yesterday. As usual, I immediately went home afterward.” You looked out the window. “You should allow him to drop by the house whenever he likes, you know? You don’t need to forbid him from doing so until we’re goods again.”

“He told you that?”

“No. Isabel did.” You sighed when another thought came. “It’s getting hard for me, though. I miss the cat lurking around his house.”

“Oh, that cat. It’s gone in his house.”

“He disposed of it?” You exclaimed loudly. “I won’t forgive him.”

“It’s one of his depressed days when you’re still stuck on life support. He forgot to close the balcony door and so the runt jumped. He tried to find it around the area though. Cut him off some slack.”

“If he hasn't found it yet then he’s not trying hard enough.”

“He found it from an uncanny kid and tried to get the animal back but the boy was persistent and told him to die. The lad got a snarky mouth despite the quiet attitude. I like him.”

Your annoyance was replaced with a loud laugh. "Oh no. I hope my cat is in a better place."

"When I accompanied Erwin to meet him again, the boy demanded Erwin to coax his caretakers so he could keep it and to provide 'child support’ because of his negligence."

"Smart. I like him already."

That's when he pondered in reluctance. This matter has been delayed for quite a while already and he's just waiting for Erwin to finish his accounts. Still, he's quite worried about how you'd be able to take this. "That boy could be your brother. He appeared in the nearest foster home right after your mother died."

Your stomach quickly churned then. It’s just like a moment ago that woman was forcing you to die so he’d exist and now— “Can you drop me at Erwin’s home?”

“Yeah, I know you’d say that. I rerouted minutes ago if you still hadn’t noticed.”

Despite the forming heap of questions, the primary one ringing inside your mind might be quite away from the matter at hand. Still, you rushed towards his place as soon as you went out of the car. It doesn’t take long for Erwin to open the door as well. It’s needless to say that he got wide-eyed too.

“You’re panting. What's up?”

“About my mother—” You let your breath steady first or else you’ll cry messily in the doorway. You closed the door and leaned your back into it. “This might be the last question I’ll ask about her. Was she able to regret what she did and forgive me?"

He was silent for a while, “I don’t think that’s important anymore.”

“Answer my question.”

“Regret and forgiveness are two different things.”

“Then which is it? Which one did she end up feeling?” You rushed, surely hoping it’s the latter but the way Erwin looks right now only formed a lump in your throat.

“Is this inquiry really important?”

“Answer it.”

He contemplated again but the urgency in your features made him sigh in defeat. “She regretted it because I made sure she would but she's dead set on not forgiving you.”

Indeed, the feeling would be mutual but if your brother finally existed in this world because of her, you feel like you don’t have the right to channel whatever indignation you have over that woman. You huffed a shaky exhale as your horrified eyes dampened with tears. “She’d never—” You huffed a sob and your knees gave up.

Erwin quickly crouched down to check on you. “I told you, that’s not important anymore.”

“It is.” You muttered lowly and had your eyes glued on the droplets of tears falling on the floor. “She ended up using that so my brother would exist. If I just went by her wish and died—” You rested a palm on your temple, the ringing pain of worlds existing in your head resurfaced for a while out of frustration. It didn’t take long until you started hitting your head while repeating that remark.

Back when you asked Erwin to tell you everything he did, you forbade him to give you any sort of comfort. If you end up crying with his accounts then he gets to watch it without being able to do anything — not even a squeeze on your hand nor a hug. You also reiterated that he mustn’t stop talking until you say so. The thing that’d get him down from his tendency to be downright cruel is the humanity of his loved ones. A reminder that he doesn’t need to be merciless in this world because he had people to call his own. You know he won’t be guilty of what he’s done so the only thing that’d bring him back is your raw emotions from what he did; because you lived and you came back here to forgive him.

However, this is a different matter at hand. You really are successful in establishing the veracity of his actions and thanks to that, he’s more than tormented at seeing you cry. But unlike usual, he won't be able to acquiesce to your wants now. The last thing he wants you to feel again is how unwarranted your existence was. You haven’t told him everything yet but when you said it’s by his will that you’re here again, he’s completely set on maintaining it that way even at the expense of everyone’s existence.

He held onto your wrist to stop you from hitting yourself. “It’s not. Cruel beings who think their grievances deserve to be aired more than their deeds are nothing but imprudent fools. Even more so to those who would regret their actions only when forced.” After all, he’s not any different; he thought to himself. He hesitated to say more but your voice resonated; the thing you have to compensate for is your honesty. “I’d still kill her nonetheless and the way you're thinking like that will just make me more unremorseful of what I’ve done.”

He’s right and so you stopped. However, the glare you intended to shoot for his last remark subsided upon looking at his face. He’s not the person who’d only have pity on his features if you’re the one splattered brokenly on the ground. Someone will be paying for it, whether it’s him or another person.

Realizing all of it, you wiped your tears emptily. “Stop making that face. She’s dead.”

“And you’re certainly not the one who’s supposed to.” He said, his face not changing at all. He’s not just making a point to counter yours — he's making a fact known; anyone who’d dare change it won’t get past him, not even the Parallel itself.

You didn’t speak afterward, just a dead look on the floor. You swear you’re getting better at this recently but a snap like this and you’re about to break again. You thought you were past thinking that the one at fault is you and you never had such sentiments in a while. You even thought you’d never have it again.

And now you just showed such a face to him after attempts of establishing that he didn’t have to do what he did.

However, as if he could hear your mind, he finally softened. “Of course, it doesn’t change the fact that my actions were unnecessary. I’m way beyond thinking that it is.”

And with the commotion, the silent agreement of no comfort touching is now broken. He wiped up the rain droplets splattered over your clothes and head all the while you remained glued on the ground. Not long after he engulfed you in his embrace. He’s been uttering apologies recently so now he decided to stay silent instead. Whether you walk away without a word just as you usually do or you hug him back is all yours to decide. When you chose the latter, it’s as if a thorn finally plucked out of his skin.

“Some beings deserve to have their sentiments heard, though. On a case-to-case basis.” You muffled in his sweater.

“Only if they don’t think it deserves to be attended more than their crimes.” He replied. “And doesn’t change the fact that they’re all fools.”

“Are you a fool?”

“I am."

You huffed a laugh then. When you withdrew from the hug, he took his time to look at you up close. He landed a peck on your forehead after a while, “Thought you’re not letting me this near again.”

“I can't. You made me go back here for this.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know? When you said I had to go back to save you, it's not heard by the air alone. I’m not the only one to decide whether or not I’ll go back that day and apparently, your resolve was firmer than mine at that moment.”

“You have to tell me more about that. She told me you're supposed to disappear after going there to change things.”

You shook your head no. “I was able to do that because the founder granted me so. His pity is unrelated to my existence. I’m in this world only because of your will.”

“I almost went for the knife when she said that. Good to know I didn’t shed blood for a wrong theory.” Before you could glare at him for that again, he added. “And all this time I'm in fear that your existence is in constant threat because of it.”

Despite his relief, a reminder about your existence struck you. Even before it’d consume your thoughts, however, you strayed the topic away. “If that boy isn’t my brother, I’ll pulverize you and Levi.”

“I almost hoped he wasn’t because he’s being rude to me. I can’t believe someone will tell me to die in this lifetime. I was trained to please people regardless of age.”

“Oh, I completely own him as my own if that’s the case.” You stood up and ignored his glare. “Bring me to him, then.”

Somehow, you tried to hide your jitters by lowering your expectations. You neither know what to say if you get to see him again nor how to manage your emotions if the time comes. And so soon as you saw him, your knees faltered. You pretended it was intentional by kneeling down as if coaxing him to go to you. You bit the insides of your mouth so you wouldn’t cry and scare him away.

But then the little boy cried upon seeing you. Your mouth hung agape.

“Does he not like me that much already?”

He patted your shoulders in consolement. "I’ve been there, but don’t take it personally. He’s got quite an attitude in this lifetime.”

But no, both of you are wrong because he came running to you instead as if he finally found someone he knew in a space full of strangers. His cries sounded in sheer relief as if he’s been in a fret all this time until you dropped by.

You gasped when he threw himself in a hug and continued his wailing. “What took you so long? I thought you wouldn't come to me anymore!”

“Huh?” You're too shocked to even cry. "Do you remember—" But cut yourself off when his wailing got louder. You hushed him at first until he calmed down again and when he withdrew from the hug with a sniff, you asked. "What do you mean by that?"

It took him a while to reply and his face slowly transitioned into confusion. "Yeah, why did I say that?" He looked at you as if it was someone who spoke on his behalf instead. "Are you my mom?"

Despite it being trivial, the gleam of curiosity on his face finally made you cry. That gleaming curiosity— he's indeed your brother.

You laughed in between your cries. "I'm quite young to bear a child and I don't plan to have one." You heard a stifled chuckle from behind and you almost turned your back to glare. "I can be your older sister, though. How about that?"

"As long as you'll take me to lots of adventures, I'll think about making you one."

"You can get whatever you want in this world." Now you finally understand how Erwin takes this remark seriously. "What sort of adventures would you like to have, then?"

"I don't remember everything about me and I feel like I was left here for no reason. I see lots of kids walking around with adults and they usually look as if on the way for some adventures." His voice tipped lower, "I'm just quite curious about it."

It punched your gut with guilt then. With his form, he looks at least eight years old. Aside from the fact that this is exactly how old he was when his childhood got ruined in Paradis, he must've been so scared all this time — having to appear out of nowhere and going to strangers because he got no one to help him. Maybe if you woke up way earlier, you'd be able to get him quickly. Or perhaps he didn't have to go through this had you died. Maybe he'd have a normal childhood—

As if your silence had words in Erwin's mind, he held on to your shoulders to halt it and patted the kid's head. "This lady right here can be quite boring, though, so you can rely on me when it comes to adventures."

All the grim thoughts dissipated with that because indeed, it was Erwin who was able to satiate his curiosity by doing unimaginable things. A circumstance similar to that but without the threat of death is more than you could ever wish for.

Your months have been peaceful since then. You were busy handling the process of fostering your brother and you were earnest in doing so. Finishing it means he'd be under your care for good after all. However, that doesn't erase the fact that things aren't supposed to be so smooth in reality and you have to come to terms with that.

Heaps of memories come unexpectedly to deprive you of good days.

After a hectic day of daily errands and dropping by Erwin's house to sleep, what daunted you was his figure in the kitchen as he prepared food — how harmless, peaceful even, but not for your mind. You tremblingly walked towards it as you coaxed yourself that it's different this time, that someone cooking in the kitchen doesn't mean doomsday.

You have to get used to it too. You can't have your brother bothered by the dining room because of this.

When Erwin turned to you, he quickly grasped what just happened in your head. It's as if he knows you better than yourself. He calmly dropped the utensils, brought them back to where they came from, which is out of your sight, washed his hands then walked towards you. You stopped in your tracks, utterly terrified. Suddenly, Erwin doesn't look like Erwin anymore. The place isn't his anymore. It was a cue for your limb to take a step back.

"Don't go near me." You lowly blurted out.

Then it snapped back and the place shifted again. But this time, Erwin's completely wide-eyed as well. And he really did stop walking. That's when both of you realized that this might be quite a challenging night again.

"I'm sorry." You blurted out even before he could say anything.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I—" You hid your trembling hands behind your back and quickly thought of a lie. "I just, fuck, had a rough day and I—"

"Okay, it's okay. You can tell me about it." He hummed, "But you know no one's gonna hurt you now, right?"

Your mind went on a rampage. It's as if every nerve of your brain is trying to come up with ideas on how to reverse your action. "I don't know why I said that. I'm not angry at you. I mean, yeah, we had a disagreement about what my mom did b-but we already talked about it so this is not what you think it is—" Erwin called your name and so your thoughts halted. "Yes?"

"Can I go to you now?" He gently asked.

Shit.

He's been so, so good to you. When you decided to sleep in his place for the first time in a while, he's very quick to realize your subtle flinch upon looking at the dining table. After all, Kuchel eliminated the dining room since you started living in their place. When you asked, she just said she was getting sick of the home's current style. It was that moment in Erwin's place when you finally realized why.

Since then, you'd settle to have your meal outdoors and he's okay with that. When you told him you actually want to try doing it inside the house again, he made sure the dinner would be ready even before you arrived at his place. Then he would nicely usher you to the living room — ask you if you prefer to have company or eat alone.

After weeks of preferring to be alone, you started to ask for his company. It means that you're the only one to eat though hence you're worried. Nonetheless, he made sure you'll see it as a milestone. You'd sit down on the floor carpet, rest your food on the coffee table, and he would lie down on the couch behind you, caress the crown of your head from time to time as you eat, say gentle reassurances that no one's gonna attack you while you munch your food especially if he's here. You would laugh at him and resolutely clarify that you would never feel in danger if he's near.

He's been so gentle to you, so considerate, but you uttered such a hurtful word instead. You've been through a lot already, in that world and this one, so why would something as trivial as this rattle you?

"You shouldn't even ask for that," You're a tiptoe away from crying but you don't think you could forgive yourself if you cried about this again. "You don't deserve this when you've been nothing but kind."

It means yes, then. He walked towards you and engulfed your figure in his embrace again. "But you've been so good for me, my prettiest soldier. Such a strong lady for us." He soothed. "Your heart's beating really fast. See? That's how your body responds and it's beyond your control but you're handling it so well."

You closed your eyes in frustration, "I know. No one's gonna hurt me at the damn dining table especially if it's you and I don't know why my body's responding like this and I can't deal with this anymore."

"That's why we talked about the reason why. So we could deal with it. Processing miserable things from that world and this one is different. Something that happened directly in this world would affect you way more than what happened there." He replied. "Your terror at a dining table would transcend your repulsion towards giants and it's okay. It's normal."

"But I'm not in danger and you've been so considerate of me and yet—" Your muscles were tightening, your breathing was ragged. You were trying so hard to stop. That's why his hold on you didn't falter. He didn't speak but rather let you air out everything as he calmed you down with his warmth.

After the silence and his hands rubbing circular motions on your back, he finally reached you again. Your brain cooperated with you again. "I don't want to be like this anymore."

"If this happened to Isabel instead and you saw her hating the place, would you blame her for it?"

"I would never."

"You would understand, right?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"So why do you think your behavior is out of place?"

"Because we're different. That world has unimaginable horrors so it's expected for me to be more resilient about this."

"Every negative thing you've been through isn't supposed to make you stronger. They're negative for a reason and they shouldn't be treated as if they exist only to grant you a stronger emotional threshold."

You were completely grounded then. When your breathing subsided and he felt your heart slowing down, you could feel Erwin smiling from behind. 

"Don't you dare apologize for being in the kitchen before I came." You sternly remarked.

"I won't." He chuckled. He had learned it now after all. You don't want him to apologize for your responses that he didn't cause. Your relationship with the dining room is something beyond his control and you want nothing but for the both of you to establish that. The same goes with his bad days when he prefers to be alone with his mind, or when he suddenly gets crippled by his guilt after a nightmare and would like to do nothing but stay occupied without talking to anyone.

"Are you almost done preparing?"

"No, I just got home." He replied. "We should just call for delivery."

"No. We just did that the other day and you don't like eating outdoors all the time." You tapped his back and kissed him on the cheeks. "I'll take a bath then roll myself on the bed after. Call on me when it's done."

"Wear my clothes."

You scoffed, "Are you that delighted at me clad in nothing but your clothes? The things I've brought here are barely touched until now."

"Yeah, down bad." He immediately answered. When you huffed and just walked away, he grabbed you for a kiss instead. It went on for a while until you couldn't breathe. He withdrew when you continuously patted his shoulders for a tap out. "I could kneel down at you wearing my clothes and you'd have to deal with it." Then finally let you walk to the bathroom.

When both of you were done, he insisted on cleaning everything and didn't let you lift a finger. You usually get vexed with that but he told you to just walk around the house wearing his clothes for a whole week in exchange.

"About to sleep?" Erwin scooted on the bed after washing up. You were lying flatly with the futon wrapped all over your body except the head. If someone was to look from afar, it's as if you're lying down in a king-sized coffin. The only difference is that your eyes are actually open.

"Tried." You reported in lament.

"It's okay. There was an attempt." He hovered above you and kissed your forehead, nuzzled his lips down until he reached your neck and it stayed like that for a while. His breath tingling on your skin and the heave of his chest breathing in and out eased the tension so easily. It's some sort of a nighttime routine by now whenever you drop by his place to sleep since it got more challenging than usual. The sleeping pills could help but you don't want to be dependent on them and so you thought Erwin would be an effective alternative. Not only is it true but he also assured you that it's completely okay to be dependent on him. He knows by now that his warmth helps you a lot in sleeping as it's one of the very few places where your body feels utterly safe. He'd spoon you, tuck you nicely, bury you in his neck — and you'd savor the heat, his sweet scent that keeps you in solace, his soft nuzzles, everything about him.

After a while, he finally let his head up again to examine your face. He clicked a smile upon realization. "It seems like this is getting more fast-acting than usual. This must be an everyday activity already."

You blinked slowly, eyes already fluttering a bit. "My main residence is kilometers away from here."

"And I could easily transfer your stuff from Levi's to this place." This time he's lying beside you.

"Isabel still tends to go to my room from time to time. Her episodes have subsided but are still there." You replied as you buried yourself in his neck to savor his after-bath scent. God, he smells so good and it's making you mushy. Maybe this is really what makes you sleep all this time. "And Kuchel gets quite paranoid when I'm gone for quite a while."

"I could give them hourly updates that you're here, then."

You let out a weak chuckle. "It's not too long 'til I get my brother again. I'll live here with him by then."

"Not patient enough. This life's too short for this."

Then the reminder about your existence flashed before you again. "I have to tell you something." You said and he hummed, encouraging you. You sat up before resuming. "You know, the founder had told me your will instigated chaos again and caused glitches in the conditions. He sounded quite annoyed with it, though." You chuckled at the memory. You paused for a while and clutched the pillow you were holding. "However, this might be— no, it's not actually might. This will be the last time I'll exist everywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, a world is materialized with every choice made by every living being. Meaning, there are countless of you existing in different places. But in my case," You bit your lip. "—in those heaps of choices, I cease to exist. I saw it too. I already vanished everywhere. This is the only world left where I exist. And if I die here, I'm good as gone. My existence would get sucked into a hole and when that hole gets full," You flashed him your clenched fist then opened it up quite slowly. "It would erupt every particle it sucked into dust and that's what I'll be — a dust."

It seems like the realization took time for him to register so you waited, albeit with a rapid heartbeat. You can't just break like this in front of him. What's important right now is how you'd coax him that it's okay.

However, he won't let you out of it. "Are you scared?" He gently got up as well so you'd be on the same level.

"No. I accepted it. I already have my best life here. I could wish for nothing more." You averted your gaze somewhere.

He cupped your face and gently turned it until your foreheads bumped. "You're scared."

"I'm not."

"You're about to cry." He whispered. Indeed, that obvious remark almost made the tears run down the precipice. "That huge tree with a crevasse as its base as you've illustrated to us back in that world, I'm pretty sure something like that exists in this world as well."

"I don't know. The founder said he's also unaware of all the glitches this world had after I existed. Given that my mother was able to trigger the parallel by herself, I think that tree is still somewhere. She also mentioned going to the woods before. Maybe she tried finding it as well."

"Then you will not cease to exist."

"I told you, it's okay." You looked at him wistfully but his face was completely resolute as if there's nothing this world could do when he's the one who wants it. You held onto his hand on your cheeks and closed your eyes. "Besides, even if the tree is still here, it can't guarantee the power of the parallel again. We have nothing left to do, but that's fine! I'm still happy—"

He went for a kiss then, perhaps his way of telling you that you don't mean what you just said that's why he's cutting you off into silence instead. You're too exhausted as well hence you just let yourself falter. Along with the kiss were your silent sobs; you're scared, really, really scared. Back in Paradis, you didn't care about your existence because you believed that the life you had was so awful and you wouldn't mind it if you were as good as gone. But here? Oh god, here— even if some of it was really painful, you loved every single part of it. This world is so beautiful. The man who granted you existence again is so beautiful. The way he never fails to give you love is so beautiful that you want to live a lot of times and have it again. The thought of him giving this love to another being in another life pained you more than anything else. You didn't even dare explore worlds that led him to that choice.

He noticed you were crying so he didn't withdraw it just yet. He didn't let your sobs nor fear take over. After a while and when he's sure all the tears were wiped out by his fingers, he gently pulled himself away. "There's no way it'd be impossible. You don't need to worry about it."

You want to believe it as well no matter how futile it is. After a small chuckle, you asked, "Why is it possible, then?"

"Because I said so." He firmly answered. You laughed again and Erwin gave you a slight frown. "I'm serious."

"I don't think it works that way." 

"I made you exist again, hadn't I?" He asked with a smile. "So tell me, how is it impossible? When I'm the one who said so?"

"It's a coincidence–"

"It's not. That man said my will instigated another chaos and it'll stay that way. I exist to wreak havoc."

With that, the fear you've been hiding was splattered completely on your face. "I'm moments away from disappearing when I had the power at my disposal hence I got no time to be anxious, but now that I'm aware and I still have presumably decades until death," You tried to tone down the tremble as it daunted you. Erwin might be the most dangerous man in here so if he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, you would really be— "I don't want to be gone." 

Erwin was silent for a while. It wasn't the loss of words for him but rather the heaviness of what you just said and how you said it. For all the times that he saw you vulnerable and scared, this is perhaps the most despairing sight so far.

"And you won't be. I could unremorsefully eliminate all threats in your existence." He responded with resolve, just as he always does. "That includes the circumstances you're mentioning."

You stared at him for a while and he sure waited for your affirmation. No thoughts ran inside you aside from your vanishment and how you're coaxing yourself that it'll be fine. So what if he found another one after that? If it would give him comfort and contentment, just who are you to be greedy about it? 

Okay, that's it.

You just have to convince yourself to believe it.

"If it won't work then we don't have to beat ourselves up for it. If I die here, it's not like I'll be gone completely. I'll be remembered as long as everyone who knows me lives. If you're all gone in this world, it won't be painful as well. I don't have to see and get insecure about it. I think we could get by with that."

"Then good for you, couldn't be me though. If I have to ruin all the preexisting conditions to have you exist again then everything in this world will be damned." He interjected. "You went to me while acknowledging how greedy I am and so we'll deal with it. You should know how far I would go by now. If I'm the one who caused the glitches then the glitches are staying for good."

Yeah, he pretty much won't let anyone win this one. Not with that tone of voice. You brushed off the reluctance away and let yourself ponder with a smile. His desire for your company is enough. You're having so much love right now and so you'd relish the present with gratitude.

"Ruining conditions must not include killing anyone, okay?" You squint your eyes while he glanced sideways and didn't answer. "No blood will splatter here, Erwin. You hear me?"

"Then everyone should know better than to get you away from me. See," He started unbuttoning your top as if to prove a point. This is one of the nights when he'd prefer to have you quite bare so the heat would come from his embrace and the futon instead. "As long as you're here and I can freely do this, no blood will splatter."

"Then what would happen if you couldn't do this?" You deadpanned as you helped him remove it. 

"What do you think?"

"I can't believe we still have to talk about your tendency to do evil things."

"Yeah, have this utterly terrible man for the rest of your life and have him stuck with you even beyond this world." He chuckled and finally removed the garment. "Are you scared of me now?"

You wrapped your arm around his neck. This time, you're the one to initiate the kiss. "I hold so much power over you. You wouldn't be able to do anything that'd intentionally make me angry."

"Oh, is that so?" He feigned a surprise.

You looked at him with curled eyebrows. "Am I actually wrong?"

"No. It's just quite scary that you're aware of that." He ushered you down and raised the blanket to cover the both of you. The dim lamp stayed open. "Someone as powerful as you must not be fully aware of their abilities."

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[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey steph!! This might be a specific ask but could u like recommend me some fic thats like slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, and some bottomlock. And please please please let it be long so that it hits the sweet spot of satisfying your fic needs but also not stupidly long. Also I love your blog

Hi Lovely!!

AHHHH I’m glad you enjoy!! I try my best, LOL. 

AHH I’ve SO MANY slow burn fics, it’s ridiculous, and I do have separate lists for bottomlock, so I can direct you to those.... BUT I DON’T HAVE A LIST FOR MY U.S.T. FICS YES. So can I do that??? Please??? ANY EXCUSE TO START A NEW LIST :| Hee hee. Forgive me??? 

AND as per usual, all my fics are in word-count order, so you can start at the bottom and work your way up, hee hee. CHEERS!

As usual, add your own, friends!!

First, here’s the lists you asked for:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

Falling In Love / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. || [MOBILE POST] (April 2019)

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 5 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. / Falling in Love Pt. 3 (Nov. 2019) 

Slow Burn / Dev Rel. Pt. 4 (Apr 2020)

Bottomlock (April 2019)

Bottomlock Pt 2

And now, check out my UST/URT list :)

UNRESOLVED SEXUAL / ROMANTIC TENSION

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense, Implied/Referenced Drug Use) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. Part 1 of Rifts

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

There's Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Angst, Mutual Pining, UST / URT, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

You Can't Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he's living with Sherlock again, it's all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn't helping...

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things by cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover ||  Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock's and John's feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3/TAB, Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV, Sherlock’s Pyjamas, Rimming, Wanking) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., 1 Ch. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock's past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone's sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John's divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that...

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

John Watson doesn't have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John's date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn't resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn't about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there's only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock's part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there's only John.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Masturbation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

[whump-town]

If The Lord Don’t Forgive Me

Bi!Hotch returns

I brought Charlie around for round two because sometimes you just need sweet, wholesome gay love. And it’s sweet baby (okay sweet like sour gummy worms but it is sweet and, hey, I cut the whump out just to keep it that way so you’re welcome)

There is cussing, the slight implication to sex (but not graphic and far more like “men sometimes have sex”), homophobia (I know, I know why can’t I let them live in peace?? but I have to get something out of this too and I LOVE angst), child abuse (ugh... :( sorry Hotch but if you’re showing that pretty face in a fic, I’m gonna bring up the fact that your dad hit you...), and probably something else but I doubt it’s that bad

Anyways-- cut to the gay shit but let me hit it off with some “Work Song” by Hozier because... I’m the author and I can do what I want 

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

Despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning, Aaron Hotchner feels today has aged him immensely.

The morning started with Emily knocking over an entire bookshelf. The decision to move her into his apartment was stupid and on a whim but he’s never truly felt the consequences of that until today. Which is good considering she’s been living there for nearly three years (straight from “dead” in London to living in his house)  but that is not where the focus should be placed. No, it should be placed on the fact that the crash caused him to jump. A normal, knee jerk reaction but not good when in the middle of shaving.

So, he’d come running out of the bathroom-- face stinging because he’s just jerked a razor across it-- to find the living room in shambles. Emily standing on the other side of the room looking to the point of tears but only managing the barest morsel of containment and Jack, school clothes covered in milk from his cereal, lower lip trembling, and little fist clenched for some semblance of control over the tears pouring down his face.

Standing there, the three of them each taking each other in, had felt surreal. Bit by bit, they all came together. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed the tear that fell off her face. She went to get him a band-aid and he went to Jack. That setback was only a step in the wrong direction.

Truthfully, that old bookshelf needed replacement about twenty-years ago when he built it. Its bitter fall was only a matter of time and he has yet to mourn it. The mess of the shelf was easy to clean up. He’d need to take the larger pieces to a dump or ask Morgan if he knows what to do with it. The books just got stacked on the floor and the wood splinters swept up and Jack advised to stay away from there until he or Emily could really go at it a little better and make sure there was nothing left.

The hard things came afterward.

Fighting with Jack to wear other clothes. He’d picked his current milk-soaked clothes out and Jack is reliant on a schedule. Changing clothes is a deviation and no matter how patient Hotch had tried to be, he was finding it hard to keep his cool. So he’d caved rather than lose his temper over something as simple as a second grader’s clothes. So, Jack went to school today in green overalls and blue rain boots that are a little too big. He’d looked silly but he’s seven so it’s technically still cute for him to do.

As for the nice cut he’d dug into his jaw, Emily had come to inform him that the only band-aids in the house are scooby doo. So, he has wood splinters in his living room, blood all over his shirt, Jack in poorly matching clothes, and a fucking scooby doo Band-Aid on his face.

Coffee is the only thing he knows can fix this.

“Uhm--” Leave it for today to also be the day he is confronted head-on with the very repressed sexual attraction he feels for men. “Can I--” his palms are embarrassingly damp. “Can I just get a-- a large black coffee?” The muscle in his forearm flexes and he can’t really force his fingers to grasp his wallet.

The man in question raises his eyebrow but takes the order. “Alrighty,” he answers. “Do you want creamer? Sugar?”

Hotch can feel his throat tightening in and his face heating up. Thank God he’s never been the type to flush visibly or else he’d be in some trouble. He forces his eyes on to the nametag pinned to the apron over the other man’s chest. Charlie, it reads. Hotch glances back up. “Yes-- Yes, please.” If he were a blusher, he’d be beet red.

Charlie smirks at the stammered manners. It’s cute. “You got a name, suit?”

“Ho--Hotch.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that but he’s not going to comment. It’s unprofessional and Hotch is more than likely a nickname. He lets it go. “Hotch” comes in enough that Charlie gets used to the strange nickname but to the staff of his shop he refers to the cute stuttering agent as “suit” and it’s easy to understand why.

“A-- A date?”

Charlie is gay but he’s not sure what “suit”/”Hotch” is. He’s thinking at least a little curious because getting the poor man into a stuttering puddle of anxiety and stammering is as simple as deviating from their typical “cream and sugar” discourse.

Charlie smirks, he thinks the stammering is cute. “Suit” is such a composed guy that it is cute. “Well, yeah. Unless the terminology has changed, yeah, suit, a date.”

Hotch’s throat feels impossibly tight. He’s aware of Charlie, very aware of him and his jaw and how hard the pads of his hands are and-- “I’m--” I’m not gay “Ugh, wh-when?”

Oh. Well, he wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. “Hmm, good question. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Charlie sucks his lip into his mouth, thinking. He snaps his fingers with a sudden idea. He bites the Sharpie’s lid off (the one he uses to write names on the cups) and hurriedly scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Text me and we can work that out.”

That was… months ago.

Things have been steady. Good.

Pulling in a deep breath, Aaron Hotchner plunges his head under the luke-warm water of his bathtub. Goosebumps have broken out across his skin but the cold kills the ache in his overworked muscles. Besides, he’s entirely too distracted by two things: (1) he’s too fucking big to fit comfortably in this bathtub. Knees bent, his thighs are out of the water making this bath entirely useless. (2) The very unnervingly attractive coffee shop barista who’s shop he goes to, all the time. Who just so happens to be on his way over right now, for dinner.

“Wow.”

Startled by the sound, Hotch jerks and gets a mouthful of water and suds. Coughing and pulling at his burning nose, Hotch scowls at the intruder. None other than Emily Prentiss standing at the side of the tub, one hand on her hip, and the other extending a towel to him. “Emily!”

She raises an eyebrow of indifference as if he’s the one acting oddly. “You can hold your breath for an impressive amount of time,” she says. She moves the towel in front of him, trying to get him to take it from her. He won’t move his hands from where he’s placed them over his groin.

“Emily, get out!”

“Why are you making this a big deal?” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Hotch I have seen you naked!.” She puts the towel near the edge, where he can reach it without it falling into the water or to the floor. She makes a show of planting her hand over her eyes and turning her back. “Such a baby,” she mumbles. “What is the big deal?”

He ignores her.

She hears the water moving with him as he stands, large splashes as he disturbs the surface. “You’re welcome by the way,” she mumbles. She’d thrown the towel in the dryer so it would be warm for when he got out. Contrary to his dramatics, she does love him. He’s her friend and in the same ways that he takes care of her, she makes sure someone takes care of him. “Besides,” she says, turning around despite his disapproving huff of a sigh. “I came to tell you Charlie is here.”

Hotch freezes. Ah… that’s why she’d come in. That deer in the headlights look that she doesn’t see nearly enough of. It’s silly, if not endearing, that Hotch gets so nervous for these dates. Charlie is pretty clearly head over heels for him and it’s a little surprising. Charlie all bright and cheery, a hard extravert. Perfect, always early to their dates, Charlie.

“He’s early,” Hotch stammers.

Emily nods. The date is at seven-thirty and it’s not quite six. “He knows,” she informs him, settling her hips back against the sink. She’s not watching him throw on his boxers but she’s just… standing there, talking as he drops the towel and makes quick work of drying himself off and pulling his legs into pants. “He also knows you’re in the bath so don’t go breaking your neck. I don’t want to tell your seven-foot-tall, beefcake of a boyfriend that you’ve managed to kill yourself in here.”

Hotch huffs, rolling his eyes. It would be just his luck that he breaks his neck in here while buck ass naked, with Charlie in the living room no doubt. Though, that is a bit of a ridiculous thought to care about.  Here Emily is standing, casually watching him pull jeans over his boxers, having already seen him in his full glory. Charlie, even, has seen all of what he has to offer. He’s spent the majority of his life in the company of Jessica. She’s seen him in hospital gowns, bare assed which is strangely humiliating (and there’s the bonus of the repressed memories of Jessica catching him and Haley multiple times).

They’ve all seen him naked but that’s still not something he wants to deal with.

“You really do look strange in jeans,” Emily informs him as he’s shrugging on his shirt. Charlie had warned him against his more traditional polo. Evidently, he’d look like a “stiff” if he chose to wear a polo to the park. He shoots her a glare but it’s true. No matter how many times she sees him in regular clothes… she just can’t get used to it.

Charlie isn’t mean to him when he wears jeans though.

“There you are,” Charlie greets when Hotch steps out of the bathroom. The strange, beautiful thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t really care that Hotch’s life is crazy. He’d been unsettled by the grisly things that seem to occur so brutally to Hotch but he was quick, startlingly so, to remind Hotch that none of what Charlie had just been told sounded like it was Hotch’s fault. Despite Hotch’s swayed narration.

He’d thought it might be a bit strange to have Emily living in his apartment but Charlie also knew about the details leading up to that decision. The loss of Haley putting a strain on Jack’s independence and pattern of life. Being a single parent and a federal agent pulling Hotch every which way. Haley’s father, Roy, falling ill and commanding more of Jessica’s attention. Then, the fateful fall out with Ian Doyle, Emily moving to London, and the internal bleeding that had almost killed Hotch.

The last of which had been the end all be all. Emily came home and she found herself drawn back here by the less than stellar track record of her family. The abrupt decision landed her here, with Hotch, and it’s been beneficial for everyone involved.

Charlie feels a little safer knowing that when he has to go back to his own apartment, Hotch has his own apartment full of Jack and Emily waiting up for him. Even though he’s only been with Hotch a short while, he’s becoming more and more aware of the trouble that seems to follow his partner.

“Your hair is still wet!” Charlie kisses Hotch, fingers slipping easily through the soaked hair at the back of his head. “I won’t take you out in the cold until you’ve dried it. The last thing I need is you getting sick on me.”

Jack nods seriously hearing this. He’s seated beside Charlie on the couch, the two having been discussing superhero comics. It was turning into an argument when Hotch had come out (who would win between Batman and Ironman-- Charlie says Ironman and Jack Batman). “You can’t get sick,” Jack informs him firmly. “You promised you’d make pancakes for breakfast Saturday.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “All I’m good for to you people is my cooking skills.”

Charlie sucks in a breath, making a I don’t know about that, sort of face. “Just your pancakes, Aaron.” Charlie pats Hotch’s thigh the opposite of tender just downright taunting. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

The chorus of grunted seconding of that statement behind him feels like a betrayal but he really is bad at cooking. And math. And remembering general the most basic things. So, true but hey! “I’m going to go dry my hair,” Hotch announces, shaking his head. Sure, laugh it up now. They all need him. It’s funny now… brats.

“Get some gloves! There’s a wind chill!”

Emily huffs a laugh and Hotch turns around to catch it. He smirks at the sight of his living room, melancholy swelling in his throat. His family genuinely looks like his lesbian best friend, his ex-wife’s older sister, his son, and his 6’5 ex-college football player turned coffee shop owner boyfriend. It’s a little crazy and yet… comforting because at eighteen when he’d packed up his meager belongings to go to college, he didn’t think he was capable of having any of this.

As Charlie pulls him out the door-- hair dry-- Jack’s actively talking to them both. Something pointless but childish and so, by reason, very important. Emily’s reaching into his jacket and stuffing a pair of gloves into his pocket, throwing a scarf at his head. Jessica’s calling after them too and as soon as the door shuts Hotch pulls in a deep breath.

“They’re smothering,” Charlie informs him as they step off the porch. He offers his hand out to Hotch, scowling down at the icy steps.

Hotch hums in agreeance taking Charlie’s hand out of necessity for touch not help. “You’ll get used to it.” The implication of his statement comes to hit him centerfold but Charlie seems unaffected and Hotch is reminded that not even ten minutes Charlie had said that he loved him. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Aaron? Did you hear me?”

Hotch blinks stupidly, looking up, and shaking his head. “No,” he mumbles regretfully.

Charlie shrugs it off. “I asked if you were hungry, yet.” Though a year is not altogether that much time, especially when compared to their ages, Charlie would like to think he has an understanding of Aaron. He does know that for certain, actually. He squeezes Aaron’s hand within his own and smiles over at him. He’s got layers, Aaron, and you have to pay a price to understand each and every one.

Somehow, that enchants Charlie. He loves it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give up to have another layer.

“No need to pretend to be,” Charlie explains as they separate to get into his car. “You either or you aren’t. I just wondered if you wanted dinner now or after the walk.” Charlie wants his opinion. He desperately wants to understand what is going on in Aaron’s head. The thoughts he has when he gets silent like this, his restless fingers digging and rubbing.

Hotch hums, reflexively drawing his arms to his chest after he buckles himself into the car. He fidgets anxiously as he tries to figure out the correct answer. What it is that Charlie wants to hear. Charlie likes to eat early, that’s something he’s noticed. However, if Charlie’s asking him then maybe he doesn’t want to eat early. Would Charlie be hungrier after a walk? If they eat now it’ll be cold outside by the time they can get to the park. Then Charlie’s going to be mad at him because it’ll be his fault for having chosen to eat early and go to the park late. Maybe then Charlie will finally realize how stupid this whole relationship is, that he can do better, someone who isn’t like him, and--

“Hey.” Charlie doesn’t reach out and touch him. That’s a lesson he’s learned over the last few months. Hotch doesn’t mind physical touch but he’s easily unnerved by it when he doesn’t know it’s coming. Considering how lost in thought he just was, there is no way he would have seen it coming. “We can just go after, okay?”

Hotch immediately calms, “okay.” His shoulders fall from where he’d slowly, stiffly brought them up. He nods his head, looking down to his lap, while Charlie drives. He has to calm down.

He looks over, catching Charlie’s smooth movement. His arm is on the center console, palm up in a common gesture waiting for Aaron to take his hand. He blinks for a moment, mind slowly turning over exactly what this is. Glancing at Charlie, Hotch slowly lifts his hand up and shyly slots his fingers between his. Smiling when Charlie doesn’t even react much more than a pleased grin.

Oh, he thinks calmly. He likes holding Charlie’s hand. He likes Charlie. The way that he just fills the silence without ever expecting Hotch to return the vigor. Simply requiring Hotch remain engaged with the occasional hum of understanding or scowl of confusion. And Hotch loves that so much more-- that he never has to find the words to explain that he doesn’t understand. Charlie just knows.

“You can’t.”

Charlie frowns, turning to glance at Hotch. “What do you mean?” That’s where the compensation occurs-- Charlie is awful at remembering things. He forgets his dry cleaning, appointments that he set up, holidays, birthdays, weekend plans-- everything. Hotch seems to forget nothing.

Hotch looks out the window of the passenger side, feeling the cold seeping in from the door, but docile and contently closes his eyes to narrow his attention to Charlie’s thumb rubbing lazy patterns on the back of his hand. “On the twenty-third you have interviews for waiters. Your morning, at the very least, is packed.”

Charlies frowns, well shit. “You know,” he says, giving Hotch’s hand a little squeeze. “If you just came to work with me, I wouldn’t have to have those interviews. It would fix so many of both of our problems.”

Hotch turns his head, smirking at Charlie. Not true. It would fix some of their issues-- how much time Hotch’s job steals from them, Charlie’s need for more staff. However, Charlie just wants him working there because Charlie thinks Hotch would look hot in the apron (actually, he knows Hotch is hot in the apron).

They arrive at the park and the two get out. Charlie immediately regrets coming out in this weather.

The grass crunches under Hotch’s feet but he enjoys the way the snow muffles so much of the noise around them. Leaving nothing but the few courageous birds watching them from their perches. It’s a safety Hotch finds entirely enrapturing. Enough to not mind the cold at all and how Charlie’s been fussing with his own clothes since they set off.

Hotch is just walking along. His hands are cold but not enough to ache and with Charlie’s covering the majority of his right hand, he can slip the left into his pocket. It’s not until Charlie squeezes his hand to get his attention that they stop, that Hotch pulls his attention to his partner and away from the scenery.

Charlie pulls him by the lapels of his dark jacket, turning him so that they’re standing facing one another. The toes of their shoes bumping together. “Come here,” Charlie instructs, words a cloud of condensation around them. He wastes no time in pulling the hat off of his own head to pull it down over Hotch’s. Smiling when it smushes his overgrown bangs against his forehead. “I don’t want you getting an ear infection out here. Gotta keep you healthy.”

Hotch shyly grins, looking down at the ground, “I’ll be okay.” He still turns his cheek into Charlie’s palm, letting him wrap that hand around the back of his neck, turning his chin up to kiss him. His lips are cold and the tip of his nose feels frozen. “It’s not that cold.”

Charlie shrugs and Hotch doesn’t pull the hat off.

“You outta be disgusted by yourselves.”

Hotch flinches, recoiling from Charlie and bowing his head rather than to look up and see who it is shouting at them. But Charlie is not new to this little game and he straightens his back and raises a questioning brow. “Oh? Should we?” He glares down at the woman on the track, it’s clear she’d been running before she decided to come nosing her way into their business. “I’d appreciate it if you left us alone, ma’am. We aren’t hurting anyone.”

She scoffs.

Charlie stands still, unwavering. They’re big men. Hotch may be a force to be reckoned with but Charlie is not, by any means, small. They’re the same height and the woman in question is a petite blonde. They’re intimidating. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head disgusted but stalks off. Whispering under her breath about hell and how their time will come.

“What a hag,” Charlie grumbles, rolling his eyes and reaching down between them to take Hotch’s hand. He steps to move on but he feels the resistance in Aaron. His hand now loosely holding on to Charlie, fingers lightly hooked together. “Aaron--”

Hotch forces himself to take a steadying breath-- drop his shoulders, unclench his jaw, inhale slowly. His eyes peel up off of the ground and he knows he hasn’t moved fast enough. Creases of worry have broken up Charlie’s handsome face, tension that doesn’t belong there. “I--”

Charlie shakes his head, discouraging Hotch’s lame excuse. “What she said…” Charlie can’t tell Hotch that what she said shouldn’t affect him. That he should brush it off and not worry about what a small minded bitch has to say about them but that’s not fair. None of this ever really is. Not when it comes to Aaron. “She doesn’t matter, Aaron. You. You matter to me, okay?”

Hotch furrows his brows, letting out an aggravated puff of air as he fails to work through the shame burning his chest.

Charlie looks around them, tapping his fingers as he contemplates what he should do. “Do you--” How, in all of Virginia did he manage to get the one DILF, Unit Chief with the inability to make a decision or admit what he needs? He means it fondly, of course, but sometimes he’d like to lovingly shake some sense into this man.

Taking a calming moment, Charlie knows that his ability to play out this next scene is vital to his afternoon. If Aaron detects even a fraction of impatience, anger, or frustration he’ll shut down and then Charlie is going to have to spend days if not weeks working Aaron back to where he is now.

“It’s cold out here,” he states calmly. Aaron glances at him, sniffling and rubbing at his wind burned nose. “I’m hungry, I-- I forgot my lunch at home this morning.” Even though Aaron bought him a bright, hunter’s orange lunch box that sits painfully on his kitchen counter so that he has to see it. “What do you say we turn back for the car and surprise Jack with an early return? Order pizza? Watch some Scooby Doo?”

Aaron sniffles again, glancing at Charlie and then to the path they’re clearly meant to be headed on. “But…” he clears his throat. He can’t stand being like this. The anxious partner. The fucked up partner. He was with Haley. Now he is with Charlie. And, well, everyone knows how Haley played out. “You-- You wanted to walk.”

Charlie shakes his head, smiling and playfully poking Hotch’s chest. “No, I want to spend time with you.” Though he’s terrified Aaron will recoil from it, he makes the careful decision to touch him. Smiling when Aaron just looks back at him, searching for something but Charlie isn’t mad so Aaron won’t find what he’s looking for. He strokes Aaron cheek, “I’m cold. You’re cold. We can walk if you want but…”

Hotch looks back down the trail and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to walk.

Charlie feels pretty proud of himself. He’s pretty good at this.

And Jack is thrilled to have them back.

Hotch feigns hurt when Jack runs straight past him to Charlie. “Am I chopped liver?” But his light, fluttering chest betrays him and he can’t help a soft smirk as Jack holds Charlie’s hand. Charlie nodding, listening to Jack as he kicks his shoes off.

Emily appears at the mouth of the hall, frowning at the sight before her. She’s in different clothes from when they left. One of her dating apps having finally come through and delivered her plans for this lovely evening. She was just about to call Hotch to tell him she was going to have to call Jessica to watch Jack. “What are you doing back?”

Before Hotch can overthink the question Charlie smirks and motions over his shoulder, “it’s like ten degrees out there. Way too cold for a walk, don’t know what I was thinking.”

Good enough excuse for Emily, she doesn’t care. She has other things on her mind. “I have a date.” Both Aaron and Charlie look surprised. Which is annoying but she won’t engage them in conversation because she’s better than that. “So, I will be out of your hair this afternoon.”

Well, kind of. She steals some of their pizza before she leaves. Even sits down for an episode of Scooby Doo before her date texts and says she’s ready.

“Well, boys,” she leans down and kisses the top of Jack’s head. Wishing him a  good night and a whisper to make sure he’s extra good for his father when Hotch puts him down tonight. “I’m off. I will see you in the morning.” She offers Charlie a cordial head nod and Hotch gets his hair messed with as she passes.

“Be careful,” Hotch calls as she shuts the door.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to fall asleep and Hotch can feel himself slipping with Charlie leaning against him, his hand on the inside of Hotch’s thigh. Warm and comfortable, he doesn’t want to get up. But he manages to get Jack to bed with minimal fighting-- they agree to keep his nightlight, the hall light, and the bathroom light on. Emily even sends a text to confirm that she hasn’t been murdered by her date, he rolls his eyes but appreciates the sentiment.

It’s a good night, all things considered.

For a while, at least.

He’s in bed. Boxers shifted low on his hips as lays atop his beaten, threadbare comforter. The thick, heavy heat of an August night settling thickly over his bones. A blanket of sweat shining on his chest, just barely visible from the light of the hallway peaking into his cracked door. Downstairs, his parents roar on. He can make out every word spoken but if he hums just enough and presses his fingers into the thin mattress until it hurts he can numb out the world.

Nothing.

He thinks about Scott from his biology class. His booming laughter, already having hit his growth spurt and though only sixteen standing over them all in a man’s body. Thick with muscles that Aaron had felt when Scott had pulled him in for a tight, jovial bear hug. Perhaps he’d imagined it but for a split second Aaron had seen a flash of something-- warmth that he, himself, still can not name.

Closing his eyes, he brings back the heat of his stomach. A smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about how it felt pressed to Scott’s chest. Swallowed by the other’s boy’s body. The ache between his hips increases. It’s bad and it’s ugly but it’s Scott that he thinks about. It’s Scott that he wants.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Aaron scrambles upright, both hands planted on the bed as he scurries away from its edge and anywhere near where his father might be able to grab one of his frantically moving limbs. Still, a rough hand is thrown out and Aaron yelps in surprise as his body is yanked to the edge. He can’t hear the words being thrown at him, just looks at his drunken father screaming. Sees his mouth move but knows nothing of their meaning.

He’s wrenched up and out of bed, scrambling to keep up with the direction in which he’s pulled down the hall. To the large, cast iron clawfoot tub in the bathroom. He’s thrown chest first into it’s cold edge, his fingers wrapping tightly around the biting cold of the rim. He knows his fate long before his father’s broad hand grabs onto his hair and hauls him up just enough to push him down into the cold, soapy water.

His ringing ears hearing the slurs being thrown at him. Faggot. He screams as his father punches his exposed chest, causing him to gasp, the bubbles of air hitting his face. He’d used that word before. Thrown it at another boy the way rocks had been thrown at him for doing the same thing-- being too small, wearing weird clothes. He wonders exactly how it is that he can change because he tries. Good Lord, he tries so hard.

“Aaron.”

His vision blacks out for a moment and he’s lifted from the water. Everything feels strangely familiar. He can’t feel the cold water. Can’t feel the water dripping down his face.

“Aaron!”

He can’t expel the water in his throat. The hand on the back of his head tightens as water and his dinner come up, hot and wet against his chest as he’s moved mid-choke. His head goes under and he screams, grabbing frantically at his father’s hand on his head.

“Aaron--”

Screaming Aaron fights weakly against the hands touching him. It takes a moment for the uncoordinated sweeps of his arms to connect with nothing. For him to get a proper amount of space to breathe. The ringing numb of his ears slowly dies and he feels the world creeping back in around him. He blinks into the darkness, chest heaving  First, the dull clicking of fan in the corner of the room. It sweeps left to right, pauses, and comes back right to left. Then the hobbling, swinging of the fan above him. Cold air.

He’s not there in that tiny, suffocating town. In that too-big house with too many places to be seen and not nearly enough to hide.

“You fucking scared me,” pants someone behind him.

A large hand plants itself between his shoulder blades, the bed dipping as weight is moved across it’s top. His body flinches but he’s only minutely aware of the physical movement and, slowly, the rest of him leans into the warmth of the palm. Tears swell as he turns over his shoulder, eyes closed, and going blindly where he knows arms will enclose him. Protect him. “Charlie,” he finally recognizes. His face finds the other man’s shoulder and he feels, rather than hears, the sob that leaves his grimacing lips.

Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Hotch gives himself over, leaning completely into him. Gently, Hotch feels Charlie moving parts of him to adjust them back onto the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie lays back, pulling Hotch’s knee so his hips cant against Charlie’s. The inner side of Hotch’s thighs lies laying across his. There’s no need to open his eyes, to fight. He knows he’s safe.

His tears have slowed but there’s no denying something big has happened. Lately, Hotch has noticed Charlie pushing for him to open up more but Charlie and Hotch’s childhoods are nothing alike. It’s hard to tell him about the dozen times his father put him in the hospital, each time with a better story than the last, and always Hotch’s fault. Had the whole town believing Hotch to be some miscreant kid.

And he was bad but not the sense that was ever true. He’d smoked and drank but that was small-town stuff. Everyone gets into that sort of thing one way or another. He’d had sex but no one he and his partners knew about that, his male partners, anyhow. The first time he’d slept with Haley he’d been proud to have fallen for a woman.

There was an old run-down barn that he’d take boys out to. There was one wall, facing the woods, that was strong enough to support weight and you could lean up against it. He’d been caught only once and the old farmer had beaten him with the wooden end of a rake. The other boy had managed to run off. Hotch’s pants had pooled against around his ankles and the other boy hadn’t taken his completely off his hips. That was a mistake Hotch only made that one time. Not that it would have mattered.

After that day, everyone knew what he was.

Which is what bred his nightmare. Though, that night had gone nothing like his dream. He’d come home with welts and broken ribs from the beating that old farmer gave him. As soon as he opened the door, he knew what was waiting for him. It was from the first floor that his father had dragged him, by his hair, to the second floor. Where Sean’s dirty bathwater sat cooling all afternoon.

But Hotch won’t tell Charlie about that day. It’s not worth it. So he changes the subject. “We need to clean the sheets,” Hotch finally sniffles. His voice is rough from the night’s activities and he remembers what they’d done before he’d fallen asleep and knows that surely did not help. Under his left hip, there is dampness to the old cotton sheet, like something wet has been drying. Sheets probably should be replaced but these are the back-up sheets and the goods ones are in the dryer.

Charlie hums, a vibration that Hotch can feel all the way down to his toes. “That would be your mess,” Charlie informs him matter-of-factly. Pressing his lips to Hotch’s forehead. “I did try to clean you up if you recall.” Charlie’s fingers have wrapped protectively around Hotch’s body, thumb lazily rubbing back and forth over his bare hip. “You told me to fuck off so…”

He remembers. He was still sensitive, shaking with exertion, and hadn’t taken kindly to Charlie dragging a slightly too cold wash rag over his ass. First of all, it was way too wet and secondly, it was cold. What was he to do other than protest?

Charlie’s chest shifts underneath his head as he bends to look at the clock. Yawning deeply Charlie pulls the blankets back over them both, rubbing at Hotch’s hip. “Let’s get some sleep,” he mumbles around another yawn that manages to overtake his breath. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up,” Charlie mumbles. “I want you to wake me up, capeesh?”

Hotch closes his eyes and turns a little more into the warmth of Charlie’s body. Trying to think of nothing. To slow the rapid progressions of his thoughts. There is no way that this was a good idea. A relationship. A life. He brought Haley into his world and looked at what happened. He’s a swirling storm of trouble, sucking in the best parts of the world and ruining them. He’s a liar.

“I love you, Aaron,” Charlie whispers, straining his neck to kiss the top of Hotch’s head. His hand holds Aaron still against him. “I don’t want you to be lying here suffering afraid to talk to me.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. That’s not good. It can’t be. He’s not worth that. Charlie is great. He’s gentle and he’s kind and he’s loving and Hotch can’t even decide when they should eat. If a walk in the park is better than a movie.

“You have not tricked me.” He wonders how Charlie sees so clearly into his mind. It’s not mind reading, Charlie can feel his pounding heart and tense muscles. He’s always so tense. “I love you completely, entirely, enchantingly by choice.” Charlie sighs softly. Content. He wishes desperately to bring Aaron the same peace that Aaron brings him. It's a content, pleased sigh that leaves his mouth and that confuses Aaron so much. No louder than a whisper, seemingly more to himself than to Aaron Charlie whispers. “There are worse life sentences than to be tricked into falling in love with you.”

[aubreyprc]

In My Veins Final 2

part one part two part three part four part five(happy) 

Find the first half of this here

Again... very sorry. also i know i said tomorrow but... oh well lol😀✋

once again, tagging those who have read from the start, yall really🥰😎 hell yeah besties @hotchnisscardigan @florenceremingtonthethird @olivinesea @eprcntiss @jetaime-jespere @petit97

another big shoutout of course to @suckerforhotchniss. this was all her idea and actually if you’re going to come for anyone come for her okay?:)

TW! for/ mentions of depression, drugs, death and suicide. please read with caution if these things could trigger you, but they are only mentions. nothing graphic.

-

They bury her on a warm day in the fall. Jack stands in front of his father, the man’s hands over his shoulder as she’s lowered down. There are tears down his face but Hotch remains standing straight, holding back his emotions, watching with a broken heart as she lowered to the ground for the second, but final time.

JJ grips Will’s hand tightly as she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, Garcia then loops her hand in hers and the woman faces her and nods, before turning back.

Penelope has tears streaming down her face as she watches, she looks over to the Hotchner’s and just wishes there was something she could do for them, but the only thing they want is her back and that is something she just can not do, no matter how much she wishes she could. She wants to hug Hotch and tell him it’s okay, that she forgives him but she can’t. All she can think about is the fact that her friend died and he didnt let her say goodbye. Again.

Spencer is standing a few feet away from her, staring at the casket being lowered into the ground as he holds his breath. He can feel Morgan inches from him and all he wants is to reach out and grab his hand but he doesn't know if he can. Ever since Emily died they’ve been… different. Spencer knows that Morgan blames him and he accepts that. It’s his fault anyway.

As the casket lowers into the ground, Hotch feels the grief for two, because along side Emily in that casket is their baby, their baby that will never be. The baby they will never hold, or name or watch grow up. He will never tell anyone about them. They don’t deserve the right, simply due to the fact that she never knew. Emily will never, ever know that they had created a life together before hers was taken, alongside theirs.

As the casket reaches the bottom with a small thud, as he and jack place some mud into the grave, along with some flowers, as he watches his team do the same, he can’t help but feel like his future is buried right there with her, and he doesn't see a way through it.

-

One month after Emily dies, he goes back to work. Jack’s started sleeping through the night again and there are no more nightmares.

Every Sunday night it’s no longer one candle the young boy lights, it’s two. Haley and Emily.

He and Aaron will sit on the floor in the living room, place the candles on the table and Jack tells them both about his week, about school, he’ll tell them he still misses them everyday and that he is still so sad but that he’s going to be strong for them. He tells them he loves them and he looks to his Dad, who will then do the same.

He’ll share a funny, but PG story about something one of the team did at work for Emily and then a funny story about Jack or Jessica for Haley. He’ll tell them he misses and loves them and Jack will blow the candles out and smile at the smoke.

Jack will go to bed then and like every other night previously, Aaron will sit on the couch, grab Emily’s jumper he keeps under it, bring it too his face and he will cry for her. For their baby. For them.

Everything in the apartment reminded him of her. Her smell still lingered in their bed, her shampoo and body wash remained exactly where she had left them, her clothes remained in his draws, unmoved. The coat she'd left still hung up next to his, her shoes still on the stand.

He knows JJ and Penelope had cleaned out her apartment weeks ago because they’d handed Dave the clothes he had scattered around there and with a sad look in his eyes, he gave them back to him.

Those clothes remained in the laundry room of his apartment. He won’t wash them. He won’t wear them again.

The mug she had drank out of the morning they had left for North Carolina still stood unwashed and untouched in his sink. Her lipstick still on the rim of the mug and he remembers the way she had smiled at him from under it as he spoke to her that morning. The way she chuckled lightly when he winked at her before trying to get Jack ready for school.

He remembers that he’d kissed her quickly before he left like he would do it for the rest of his life. He remembers it all. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He doesn’t want too.

Two months after Emily dies Hotch is no better. His smiles, however rare they were in the first place, are now non existent. The team brings up depression and they talk about how he should see someone about his grief but he pushes them away with a single “I'm fine” and ends the conversation.

Jack struggles to bring his father out of his grief, he spends most of his time with Jessica, but every now and then Aaron will take his son to the park, or to the beach and they will smile, they will laugh and everything would feel like it was before.

Sometimes Jack can hear his father crying, so he jumps from his bed and walks into his bedroom, jumping onto the bed and laying next to him. Hotch will take a breath and hold back the remainder of his tears and Jack will lean over to wipe them.

“You did this for me when I was having my nightmares,” He whispers to him when he wipes a tear from his face and Aaron chuckles.

“Thank you, buddy.” He whispers back and the boy smiles.

Aaron’s grief consumes him. It’s overwhelming the way he loves her and it’s overbearing the way he misses her. Grief is all he feels. Grief, heartbreak, loss, emptiness and anger.

He wants to get over this for the sake of his son and he tries but he just can’t. It’s overtaken him and he can not get out of the pit the loss of her has put him in. He feels like he can’t even breathe without her. Everything feels harder than it should and he just can’t do it. He’s trying for Jack but it’s starting to eat him alive, the guilt, the loss, the memories, everything.

It’s a Thursday night as he stares at the bottom of an empty bottle with tears running down his face, a picture of him and Emily in his hands that he becomes haunted by the thought that his own son might not even be enough to get him through this.

Three months after Emily Prentiss died a man named Peter Lewis enters his life and from the moment the killer sets eyes on Agent Hotchner he knows that’s the one whose mind he can break easily. That’s the one who he can snap in half. With a grim smile he watches, and plans his attack.

Three weeks and two days later Aaron Hotchner is walking from the parking lot towards his car when there is a sharp needle in his neck and a voice behind him. He’s falling to the floor slowly as his mind clouds over and all he can think about is that the whole thing is sort of...peaceful.

Peter Lewis places the mask over Hotch’s mouth and let’s the drugs do their job, leaning over him and whispering..

“When you wake up.. Your precious son will be dead, you watched me kill him before I brought you here.” He smiles to himself, “You will see the person you love the most and when they hand you the gun.. you’ll know what you have to do.”

What he thinks will happen is he will see Jack’s mother, he thinks she will tell him to kill his team when they walk through the doors and that he’ll do it, before his brain snaps like everyone else’s and he’ll become Mr Scratch, leaving Peter Lewis to roam free.

What he doesn’t expect is for Aaron Hotchner to be depressed and in love with a dead woman named Emily Prentiss. What he doesn’t expect is for the man to be suicidal, the grief of losing the woman he loves and their baby almost too much for him to handle.

What he doesn’t is expect that his son was the last thing keeping him holding on.

He doesn’t expect a lot of things that he should have.

Aaron wakes with a gasp and looks around the room. He sits up and feels for his gun to find himself without it.

Looking around again he notices that he’s in a house he does not recognise and doesn’t know how he got to. He feels a slight twinge in his neck and it jolts something inside of his mind. He sees flashes of a man breaking into his house, he can hear his son screaming for him and he… he remembers fighting a man who was going after his little boy. He closes his eyes as he tries to force himself to remember more when there’s a loud sound from another room. He stands up and walks towards it, only to freeze when he’s met with the man he sees in his flashes.

“Where is my son?” Aaron asks the man, who laughs in response.

“You don’t remember?” He asks, “Think.” He tells him, and Hotch looks around his unfamiliar surroundings again.

“What have you done with him?” Aaron asks, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“You really don’t remember?” Peter Lewis questions and he steps towards him. Hotch watches every move the man takes but he won’t step back. Not until he finds his son. “He’s dead Agent Hotchner.” He smiles and Aaron didn’t think he could ever, ever, feel anymore pain but he was wrong. Those words slash through him like a knife. He steps backwards and takes a breath, shaking his head and looking around the room.

“You were there, remember?” Peter Lewis pushes, Hotch looks around. “A bullet.. right between his eyes. You watched…” As he hears the words Hotch’s mind starts to piece it together and… he can see his son lay on the floor, his eyes open, staring blankly at him and he remembers trying to get to him before being pulled under by whatever was put into his neck.

“You.. you killed my son?” Hotch asks, tears running down his face.

Peter Lewis just smiles before walking off slowly and Hotch wants to go after him but he can’t. His mind is foggy and it’s putting pieces together, sending him dizzy. He hits the floor with a thud as his mind clouds over once again.  

The team realise he’s missing an hour and a half after he left that night after a call from Jessica to Rossi, asking if Hotch had left yet because Jack can’t sleep unless Aaron puts him to bed.

The CCTV footage from the parking garage tells them all they need to know and they’re working immediately.

“This is bad, Rossi.” Morgan tells them as they stare at the board, “The man’s mind is already…” He pauses, “Whatever happens to him, whatever Peter Lewis does to him.. I don’t see him coming back from it. He still hasn’t come back from losing Emily.”

-

Aaron comes to again a few moments later and with a foggy mind, dizzy and confused he sits up and stands. In his mind all he can see is Peter Lewis in his apartment, Peter Lewis holding a gun up to his screaming little boy and firing. He can see Jack staring blankly at him before he sees nothing.

His phone rings then and he frowns in confusion about how he still has it.

“Answer it,” He hears Peter Lewis say from somewhere.

“Hello?” He says down the phone, looking around the room he’s in.

“Aaron?” The voice says and Aaron stops, “It’s Dave.”

“Dave?” He questions, “What-“

“Tell us where you are.” Dave commands and Aaron looks around once again, searching for windows, maybe a front door but there is nothing.

“I don’t know…” He mumbles, “He...he killed Jack.” His voice cracks and he wants to scream.

“What?” Dave questions, “Who did?”

“Peter Lewis. He’s here.. somewhere. I don’t know. But I saw it… I saw him…”

“Aaron.. listen to me.” Dave tells him sternly, “Listen.”

“Okay…” He whispers, sinking down onto the floor.

“Mr Scratch did not kill your son. Jack is not dead.”

“What?” He says, confused and shaking his head. “But-”

“But you saw it, I know. That’s what he does. He drugs people into seeing whatever he wants them to. You know this, Aaron. Fight it.”

Hotch doesn’t say anything, just remains silent while his mind shatters to pieces. Imagines of him and Emily flash before him, her laughing, smiling then her under a car. Then it’s him and Jack and they’re smiling and laughing but then… but then Peter Lewis kills his son. He see’s it happen and it looks so real.

“Aaron!” Dave shouts again, “Fight it. Fight it.”

Aaron goes to speak when theres a noise from somewhere infront of him and when he opens his eyes.. he see’s her.

“Emily?” He questions, almost as if he doesn’t believe his own eyes. She smiles and bends down in front of him. His breath catches in his throat as she looks at him.

“Hi.” She says softly, “Don’t listen to them. They’re lying.” She tells him. He just stares at her and reaches out to touch her, and when his fingers touch her skin he quickly pulls them back.

“How.. what?”

“Aaron!” Rossi shouts down the phone again and Hotch puts it back to his ear.

“Yeah..” He says but it’s obvious in the way he says it that the hallucination of Emily has his complete attention, not that they blame him, some of them even wish it was them seeing her.

“Listen to me, okay? Listen.”

“I am..” He says, still looking at Emily as she sits in front of him, a smile on her lips and he reaches out to touch her once again before freezing just before his fingers reach her cheek.

“That is not Emily.” Are the words that freeze him, “Jack isn’t dead and that is not Emily and you need to find a way out of there.” Rossi shouts.

“Why?” He whispers, “It’s her. She’s here. I can see her…”

“It’s not her, Aaron. Emily is dead, Aaron. She isn’t there. You know that.”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know that. He was already so broken before Peter Lewis drugged him that his mind had now shattered completely and to him what he was seeing was true. It was true and she was here. His son was dead and she was here. He had nothing left to fight for.

“Emily..” Aaron whispers again, before putting the phone down.

“Aaron you need to get out of there,” Rossi tells his sternly, “Even though the thought of a life without Emily is heart breaking and I know how much pain you’re in, there is a six year old waiting for you at home who’s going through the same thing. He needs you, Aaron.” He says, “Jack isnt dead and that is not Emily.”

There is silence for a few moments before Hotch ends the call, as as the beep of the loss of singal echos around the room, Rossi stands.

“Track that call!”

-

She smiles as he ends the call and puts the phone of the floor, his eyes transfixed on her.

“I’ve missed you.” She tells him, reaching for his hand and when she takes it and he feels it on his own, tears fall from his eyes because she’s here. she’s back.

“I missed you too.” He whispers, smiling at her. He looks at her and tilts his head into her hand when she cups his cheek and he can’t help but notice just how cold she is. He intertwines her fingers with his as they rest of his cheek and he sighs.

“Jack’s dead?” He whispers, and Emily nods softly.

“Yeah…” She replies, “I’m sorry, honey”

“He killed him..” He says and Emily nods her head again. She pulls her hand from her cheek slowly, but keeps their fingers locked together as she starts to stand. He follows her actions and when they’re stood, he stares at her.

“Do you trust me?” She asks with a smile while she locks their hands together, he nods.

“Always.” He tells her and she smiles.

“Follow me.” She says and leads him into a different room. They stand in front of a closed door and before she opens it she looks back at him.

“What’s this?” He asks her and she smiles, opening it and he looks inside. “Is that-”

“That’s our daughter.” She tells him, unlocking her fingers from his and walking towards the little girl sat on the floor. Emily crouches down next to her and they both stare at him.

“How?” He whispers, he walks in and bends down in front of them both. “They said you didn’t know..”

“I didn’t..” She says, “But I know now.”

“She looks just like you.” He tells her with a smile and she nods.

“Come on,” She says and grabs his hand again, pulling him away from the little girl who waves goodbye to him, he’s still looking behind him as they leave the room.

“Emily.. what is going on?”

“What do you mean?” She questions, standing in front of him in what looks to be a living room. It’s not one he recognises.

“How are you here?” He whispers, “You’re.. you’re dead.”

Emily stands in front of him and rests both her cold hands on his face and nods.

“Yeah.” She whispers, “But I really missed you.”

“I miss you too, god.. you have no idea.” He tells her but she’s pulling away and he wants to follow her but he can’t move.

“It’s so cold, Aaron.” She tells him, there’s tears in her eyes, “It’s so cold, and it’s so dark.” She whispers, “I’m cold…” She says again, looking at him.

“Emily-” He starts to say but he can’t finish it because he remembers her saying this the first time. How when she coded in the ambulance all she felt was darkness and cold and it’s been haunting him for months thinking what if she’s cold where she is? What if it’s dark? And to have her say the words to him breaks his already shattered heart.

“Aaron,” She whispers and he looks at her, there’s blood down her face and coming from her mouth and he’s seeing flashes of her once again pinned under a car. “I need you.” She tells him, “You’re the only place I feel safe. I don’t feel safe here. Its so cold. It’s so dark. It’s so lonely.”

He loves her so much that this is torture for him to hear this. To hear that this whole time she has been in the dark, cold and alone. He reaches out for her but he can’t reach her.

“Let me help you. Please.”

She walks towards him and presses something heavy in his hard and he looks down to find a gun. His eyes snap up to hers and she’s smiling, nodding her head.

“I love you.” She tells him, “Please. Help me.”

“But-” He wants to say what about Jack but then he remembers that his little boy was dead. His son was gone, taken by the man who’d brought him here and he had nothing left now.

He loved her so much and she’s cold, she’s scared and she’s alone. There is a gun in his hand and in one click it’s all over he can join Emily where she is and she won’t have to be cold and alone anymore. He can join Jack.. and Haley and they can all be together.

“It’s okay,” She nods as she lifts the gun for him, it’s balanced against his temples and her hands are on his cheeks and she’s so cold, he can feel it on his skin and it makes him shiver. He’s starting at her but he’s not afraid, he smiles at her and she’s smiling right back. “We’re waiting for you.” She says and then there’s people behind her. Not just people but, Jack, his little boy, he’s in his mother’s arms, who’s nodding her head in his direction and then there’s the little girl with dark hair that looked much like him and Emily he could not believe it.

He stares at Emily once more and she smiles at him.

“I love you.” She whispers to him, he sighs, nodding his head and the gun goes off.

His hallucinations fade away just as he does.

He dies instantly.

-

The team rush into the building to find Peter Lewis waiting from them on a chair in the middle of the abandoned building, laughing.  

“He was more broken than I thought.” He laughs, “I can’t even be angry that I’ve been caught. Watching him so..shattered, was better than I could have imagined.”

“Where is he?” Rossi shouts as Morgan picks the guy of the chair and handcuffs him.

Peter Lewis laughs and looks at him, “If you thought everybody you loved was dead, and the one person you loved more than anything was telling you how cold they were.. where would you go?”

Everyone freezes, before taking off in a run. Peter Lewis is handed to local PD as they search the house.

JJ runs into an empty room and spots his legs, he’s lay on the floor and for a moment she lets out a sigh of relief until she realises he isn’t moving. She walks slowly towards him, her heart hammering against her chest and she can’t breathe because surely, surely this isn’t happening. It can’t be.

“Hotch?” She calls, taking slow steps, “Hotch..” She says again when she reaches him and at first glance it just looks like he’s lay there, but then she spots the gun in his hand and the bullet hole is his head and he’s staring so blankly at her she feels like she might throw up. All she can do is scream.

It’s JJ’s scream that gives them all his location and as the blonde woman falls backwards into Morgan’s arms, they all see the sight she had.

Aaron Hotchner lay dead, a bullet hole in his temple, a gun in his hand in the middle of the floor of an abandoned building.

Rossi walks over and bends down, closing the man’s eye while he ignores the cries of JJ as Morgan holds her tightly.

“It’s okay,” He whispers to the dead man, “You rest now.”

-

They all arrive back at the BAU and the first person they break news to is Garcia.

Morgan is the one to tell her and when the words leave his mouth all Garcia can do is scream before almost dropping to the floor, collapsing in Morgan’s arms as he holds her up and brings her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

“He can’t be dead!” She cries, “He can’t be…he can’t die thinking I hated him.” She's sobbing into his chest and Morgan holds back his own tears as he holds her close.

“He didn’t think that.” He whispers, rubbing a hand down her back.

“He did!” She cries, “He died thinking that I couldn’t forgive but I did.”

“He knows, Penelope.” Morgan reassures her, “He knows.”

Jessica and Jack walk into the BAU with no idea what to expect.

Dave guides Jessica into his office while JJ sits with Jack. They have no idea how to break the news to the six year old who is now an orphan. Every parental figure he has gone.

“He’s dead, isn’t he.” Jessica says, looking at Dave. The man nods slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“His name was Peter Lewis. He.. he drugged Aaron and-”

“I don’t need to know the specifics.” She tells him, shaking her head and looking at Jack as he talks to JJ.

“What do I tell him?” She whispers, “How are they all dead?”

“Life is cruel.” He says to her, “I find peace in that he’s with Emily.”

“Where’s Jack’s peace?” She questions, looking at the older man, “He lost three parents in two years. How does a little boy get through that?”

“With time.” Rossi says softly, “With help.”

Jessica and Dave look back to the boy who sits and waits for them, not knowing that his dad had joined his mother and Emily. Not knowing he was alone.

-

In the end it’s Dave who breaks the news to him because Jessica just can’t do it. She tries, but as the boy’s eyes stare into hers she just can’t.

Dave takes over and crouch’s down in front of the boy, smiling sadly at him.

“Hey Jack.” He whispers and Jack just looks at him and he already knows what is coming. He’s been through this twice now.

“Is Daddy gone?” He asks, “Did he join Emmy?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Dave says after a few moments, “I’m sorry.”

Jack looks down, tears burning in his eyes. He leans forward and wraps his arms around Dave.

“He promised me.. Uncle Dave. He promised me he wouldn’t go away like everyone else. Why did he lie?” Jack cries into his neck and Dave just holds the boy tighter.

“He tried very hard to stay for you, Jack. Really really hard.” He lies to the boy because he doesn’t need the truth. He wouldn’t understand it. He’s better without it. There’s movement behind Dave and Jack looks up to find JJ standing there. He slowly pulls away from him and heads towards the woman. Looking at her with wide eyes and she smiles, bending down to be eye level with him.

“He lied, Miss Jennifer..” He whispers to her and she shakes her head, wiping his tears with her thumb.

“Come here,” She whispers and scoops the boy into her, holding him tightly as she stands. The boy cries into her neck because what she forgot was that she was wearing Emily’s perfume and all the boy could smell while he rested in her arms was Emily.

“You smell like her.” Jack whispers as he rests his head on her shoulder. “I miss them.”

“Me too, baby.” She says, kissing his head.

-

Jessica takes the boy home an hour later and as they lay in her bed, him resting softly next to her, he asks her a question that breaks her in half.

“Is it just me and you now Aunt Jess?” He asks her. She turns to face him and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah baby,” She tells him, “Just me and you.”

“You’re not going to leave?”

“No.” She shakes her head, “I’m right here.”

The two candles turn into three and as he tells his parents about his day, Jessica watches with a sad smile and just hopes that the young boy makes it through this.

They bury Hotch next to Emily four months and two days after her funeral. Jack stands in front of Jessica, watching as another casket is lowered to the ground. Spencer and Morgan stand two feet away, hands grasped together and they hold back their tears, Penelope’s hand wrapped in Morgan’s other, tears falling freely from her face. JJ and Will stand two feet away from them, Will holds her close as they watch. JJ can’t take her eyes away from Jack, the little boy who lost so much so quickly.

As the boy places a rose on each grave, the team cry silently.

“Let’s go give the other rose to mommy.” They hear Jessica whisper to him after a few moments and the boy nods, taking her hand and letting her guide him through the small walk of the cemetery to where his Mother was buried in the Brookes plot.

-

The team come by and visit Jack for a few months after Aaron and Emily’s deaths. They go to as many of  his soccer games that they can, they try to take him on days out and make him feel as though he’s still a part of their family. He has play dates with Henry and for a few months they’re doing what they know Aaron and Emily would have done for them and try and help Jack through the process.

Yet, one by one the team just stopped coming over to see him. It’s too hard. He has Haley’s eyes and Hotch’s face but he also has Emily’s mannerisms and it’s too hard for them to see it. He reminds them of all they’ve lost and soon no one comes to see him anymore and he’s never understood why everyone always leaves him.

Why didn’t anybody ever stay?

So when Jack snaps at sixteen because everybody he loves is dead and everybody else left him alone to deal with the repercussions,  it’s the team he goes after.

He manages to get all of them apart from one before they catch him.

Rossi is first because.. that was Uncle Dave. That was Uncle Dave and why didn’t he stay? Why did he leave?

He shoots him in the chest because it’s his first one and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it yet. Dave looks at him and takes a hollow breath,

“It’s okay, kid. I get it. I’m sorry I left you. I forgive you..” and he won’t stop talking. Jack shoots him in the head and just like that there’s silence. He bends down and looks at the older man. “It didn’t have to be this way Dave, but you didn’t stay. Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t anybody just stay?”

Spencer is next because he was like a brother to Emily and a man his own father treated more of like a son than he did him and it has always upset him that after just two months without them he put them and him in the past and moved on. When he’s done Spencer, a gun shot to the chest, he moves onto Morgan because he was supposed to be the protector of the group and he had promised him he would be there but then once again had chosen Spencer. Just like he had done with his father, like he had Emily.

As they're both dying, gripping each other’s hand as they take their final breaths he scoffs because “Why should you get to die together when they didn’t?” They bring Emily and Aaron. They being him and his family.

It’s JJ next because he can’t believe that after everything Emily did for her she just left him when he was just a child with no parents. She even has a child herself and Henry was his friend and so why did no one help him?

He doesn’t make it to Penelope before he’s caught. When he’s asked by detectives and Agents why he did what he did he looks them straight in the eye before answering.

“Because they made promises they couldn’t keep, and they left me. My parents died for them and they couldn’t keep their promises.”

Garcia buries all of her friends in the fall and when a leaf falls over the middle of where Emily and Aaron have lay for the last ten years, she thinks maybe Jack sparing her what their way of saying they forgive her for not being there for him and takes it as a sign to be there for him now.

Penelope visits Jack in prison every week for five years. She bumps into Jessica every now and then and they talk about their lost friends. About Jack.

Jack spends the rest of his life in prison. Forever missing his parents and forever holding a grudge against those who left him on their own accord. He doesn’t forgive those he killed and he doesn’t think he ever will.

He has a picture of him and his mother on the wall, as well as a picture of him, his father and Emily.

“I miss you,” He whispers to their pictures one night three years later, “I’ll see you soon.”

fin

[aliceaddellheidde]

His Celtic girl

A/N: This one is for @youbloodymadgenius 1K celebration. It´s first time I´m doing something like that. I lost my grandfather and bunny while writing so I´m sorry if it sucks.

Prompts in bold.

WORDS: 4869

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, smut & violence (graphic), blood, swearing, death

PAIRING: Ivar x OC (Moko)

DISCLAIMERS: I tried to be historically accurate as much as possible. I don’t hate Christians. English isn´t my first language.

Moodboard by me; pics from internet.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Moko from Mokosh – Slavic goddess of fertility & water.

Ivar awakes from his long sleep. His head is hurting like Thor hit him with his hammer. He remembers fighting. Saxon's soldier with dagger. Hvitserk in tears. Grey sky. And then dark.

When he opens his eyes he sees wooden ceiling and small window on his left. „You are finally up.” says voice from his right with foreign accent and when he turns his head that way he sees young woman sitting on a chair by fire, mixing something in kettle. He tries to sit but agonizing pain stops him. „If I was you I wouldn't move. I bet your body still hurts.” It does but he will not tell it to that girl. With clenched teeth he pushes himself up, leaning against wall. „Who … ?” he tries to say - his throat dry, voice raspy. „Who are you?” he asks after few moments. „Moko.” She smiles a little, handing him cup. He watches it suspiciously before he takes it and drinks small gulps. „You have weird name.” he snorts. „Says nameless man whose I found on battle field almost dead. With no one around. Forgotten.” „I'm the king of the world! You stupid bitch knows      nothing!” he screams, throwing cup her way, his calmness turning into anger in mere seconds. „Don’t look like king to me.” she shrugs and turns to kettle again. He´s fuming, looking for something to throw at her. All he finds is fur over his legs. Fuck. Did she see them? „Why am I here anyway? You said I was dead. How I could be when I'm here, hm?” he asks with scorn. She said nothing. „Answer me! Where am I? Where is my brother!” He punches wooden bed under him. „I don’t know. My dog found you and I took you to my home. Now I think it was a mistake.” She was standing with hands on her hips. „I don’t need your help! I can take care of myself!” „Go then! I don’t give damn if you do!” she screams, stepping closer to him. He sees red. „At least I will not have to take care of crippled idiot!” He throws himself onto her but she just swiftly moves away from him, hand on sword. He almost screams from pain as his body hit the floor. Yet he stops    himself, spitting blood her way. Then he finally looks at her properly.

She is short, long dark hair falling to her waist, dressed in light yellow dress with golden armoured corset, belt around hips with few small pouches and sword scabbard. Her widen eyes watching him like falcon. He moves again and she unsheathes her weapon. ,,You are not gonna kill me.” he smirks. ,,No, but I can still hurt you.” They are watching each other for few more minutes before she puts sword away, takes cloth from table and cautiously sits next to him on the floor. He flinches when her hand moves to his face to wipe blood away. „Look, I took you here to take care of you. Once you are healed, you can leave. But until then it's better for you to stay with me.” She smiles when he lowers his head to avoid her gaze. ,,Ivar.” he whispers. ,,I'm sorry?” „My name is Ivar.” ,,You have weird name.” He only chuckled. ,,How about you take bath and I finish food? Then we can talk.” He looks at his useless legs and back at her. ,,Oh, I will give you some privacy.” She turns away with flushed face but he stops her. ,,Wait. I ... I need your help.” He already hates idea of her touching him or seeing him naked but he has no other choice. ,,So now you need my help?” she teases. ,,Shut up.”

She goes for water while he is looking around her home. There is big fire pit in the middle of room, on right side of room is wooden table with different knives, daggers, food, plates, bowls and cups. Next to it is longer lower table with wooden benches and flowers on it. On left side is his bed and then hutch with different herbs, flowers, books and bottles. Ivar never saw material like that.

„It´s glastos. Or how they call it here in Anglia – glass.” says Moko when she comes back with two buckets of water. „We are still in Wessex?” „Sussex. But I always wanted to travel around the world. Meet new people and try new things.” „So are you Christian then?” „Oh Gods, no!” she laughs. „You are not Viking either. Then what are you?” He watches her as she is moving around house. She takes few herbs and puts them into tub and then fills it with boiling water. „I'm from old Celtic tribe called Anartes. We lived in Europe. But one day my family decided that we should move and so we did. I lived here with my parents and brother. But they are all dead. And now it´s my purpose to keep our legacy alive. And what about you Ivar?” „I'm Viking.” „Rus´ Viking?” „No. I´m from Norway. How do you know about the Rus?” „My people had deals with them. We   exchanged animals, food and other stuff.” „Have you ever been in Kiev or Novgorod?” „No. But my father was there once.” „They are Christians now.” „Poor people. How do you know them?” „I had to r… . I travelled there with my friend. But then my brother came for me to fight king Alfred. We had some unfinished business.” „You were talking about you brothers in your dreams. Asking one of them for forgiveness. His name is Hvitserk. Am I right?” Ivar is quiet. „I don’t know what happened to him. Maybe they imprisoned him or he died.” „My brother is not dead!” he screams and she jumps a bit. „You don’t know that.” „I have to save him. Like he saved me.” „You are so stubborn! When I found you I thought you were dead but you were breathing still. I took care of you for three bloody days and you are still wounded. Yet you want to go to Winchester and be hero for your brother?” she wasn't screaming but she was angry. „That´s exactly what I want to do.” he half-smiled. „And how? You don’t have an army. You will never break through their defence.” His upper lip twitches in indignation because she is right. „I can´t leave him there. What would you do if it was your brother?” „Saved him.” „See?” „But not if I was hurt and with no warriors.” „Then we will find some.” „Ivar, these people are Christians and they love Alfred because he won over The great heathen army. They will never defraud him.” „We will see about it.” „In few days I´m  going to Chichester. I can ask if someone knows what happened to survived Vikings.” „I'll go with you.” She sighted and checked water temperature. „I have few conditions if you want to go with me.” Ivar rolls his eyes. „What do you want from me?” „You will sit on your arse and will not try to investigate on your own or try to kill anybody. Deal?” „Deal.” „Great. Now come and have a bath.”

„Earlier you said I´m crippled idiot. How did you know?” Ivar asks while he takes his tunic off. „Well, I had to take your braces off of your legs and I saw them.” He frowns at her. „Help me with trousers. But keep your eyes on my face.” he growls. „Is there a problem I saw them?” she asks as her small hands untie strand from around his hips. „They are hideous.” „I don’t really care about it.” Her brown-green eyes bore into his blue ones. „What do you care about then?” „If I and my animals will be healthy and if we will have enough food, water and home. And overall if I will have long, happy life.” „That´s so deep.” Ivar rolls his eyes. „Stop mocking me. I like simple life.” She helps him into tub, avoiding looking at him, gives him cloth and walk back to kettle. „Have you ever been with a man?” he asks suddenly. „Why?” „You are shy. Can´t even look at me when I´m naked. So I assumes you are still virgin.” he has wicked smile on his face. „That´s not something you need to know.” „Hm, maybe.” he smirks. „I also want to know what is all that.” He points on herbal hutch. „That´s my work. I´m making potions, herbal remedies and different things from it for other people.” „Clever girl.” „Yes, I´m.” She straightens her back and he laughs at her. „What did you put in bath?” „Lavender. You can make oil from it and eat it.” Ivar thoughtfully takes herb from water and bits a small bite. And second later she smacks his head. „Not from that dirty water! That´s    disgusting.” „I don’t like the taste anyway.” he frowns. „You didn’t try my lavender cake.” „I need proper food. Meat. Not some stupid cakes.” „It´s almost ready. Better wash your hair and come  eat.” When he goes out of the tub she hands him clean towel and clothes, averting looking at him again. „Virgin.” he murmurs for himself.

Over lunch – deer with plum sauce – they get to know each other. He tells her about his life, family and wars, hiding some details he´s ashamed of, and is pleasantly surprised how excited she is. „My parents taught me and my brother how to fight. My mother was warrior alongside my father.” „I usually had few my the most trustworthy warriors for my protection. I can´t really move on legs but in hand-to-hand combat I´m perfect.” „Maybe we can learn from one another.” „Maybe.”

After food Ivar meets all her animals and she shows him her gardens. Few metres from them is river with small boat. „It´s yours?” „Yes.” „It looks funny. I was on massive ones. My friend Floki built them. This one here is just joke.” „Ivar I swear that if you make any more stupid comments about my things I´ll leave you outside!” „Oh come on darling. You wouldn't do that. Not after your hard work.” He twirls slowly around his stick and bows. „You even put lavender oil into my hair.” He tosses his braids over shoulder. She laughs so much that she misses how he´s looking at her with goofy smile.

*few days later*

Ivar feels movement next to him and sits with dagger in hand. „It´s just me, you idiot.” says Moko, ruffling his hair on way down. „It´s still dark! Can´t we sleep a bit longer?” he shouts after her. „No. Today we´re going to Chichester so you better come for breakfast.”

In those couple of days he lived with Moko he learnt a lot about her, her people and culture. She was teaching him how to speak in her language, she showed him all her herbs and flowers and her knowledge in fighting, manufacture and farming. He wasn´t really fond of all of those things but he liked how excited she was when she was speaking about them or doing them. And if he tries those things too, oh gods, she even hugs him. It felt good.

Ivar is seating in covered carriage, petting her dog and listening to her singing. They travels for hours now with only one break and Ivar needs to sleep but he can´t. He somehow wants to protect her even when he doesn’t know why and how. „We will settle down here. Tomorrow morning we are in Chichester.” Her voice interrupts him from his thoughts. He looks out from carriage into darkening countryside. „Don´t just stare. Bring the chicken and make fire. If your puny regal ass can do that.” she smirks and starts to build a tent. Ivar is used to it by now, nonetheless he is surprised with how much ease she´s talking to him. He did what he could but that damn fire not and not to burst to life. „I thought you Vikings are fearful people and you can´t even make fire. Want some help?” He blames his shaking hands on cold not her presence. She makes fire in mere moments and then put kettle on it. „We will have chicken stew with vegetable and mushrooms. Is it ok?” He nods and watches with dilated pupils when she knocks off the poor bird. „It´s the last time I can have chicken or rabbit before Ostara.” „Then what?” „Bath in spring water, sacrifice hare and chicken but leave eggs for altar. We will have flower crowns and we will sow few seeds.” „Oh no, no. Leave me out of this. I will not have flowers in my hair.” „It will be fun.” „I doubt it.” „Shush and cut this please.”

Ivar sees stone towers and soldiers guarding big gate into Chichester. They are watching them suspiciously until Moko asks them for direction to market. „Don´t forget your name.” she warns him when she´s helping him out of carriage. „Leofric. I know.” he rolls his eyes. „Try to be more nice. Smile.” He turns to her and smile. Then smirks when she blushes. „I will find us room to sleep and you can put things on table. And leave your hood on.” „Gods woman! I´m not a child.” She giggles and walks away.

„We have room for three nights … Leofric, let him go!” Moko rushes to him and tries to separate him from another young man. „He tried to steal!” says Ivar. „I just wanted to see it better.” protests the other man, still with Ivar´s hand around neck. Moko smacks it and he growls at her but let go. „Thank you milady.” The other man tries to kiss her hand but she turns it palm up. „Return that bottle you stole. You may hurt yourself with it.” She waits few seconds and when nothing happens she jumps at poor man, turns his arm behind his back and yanks bottle from his hand. Ivar watches her with awe on his face. „Get off, idiot.” she spat at pathetic man and they both laugh when he runs away.

„That´s not funny Moko.” says Saxon soldier, walking to them. „Osgar, welcome.” „I see you keep up with tradition.” he snickers. „Every year someone tries something. They knows I can protect myself and my stuff but still.” „And you brought some friend.” He looks at Ivar sitting on stool. „That´s Leofric. I´m taking care of him.” „What happened?” „Bear in forest.” Ivar snorts. „I can say God is with him when he found the best healer in whole Anglia.” „Stop it Osgar!” Moko blushes again. „Rather tell me what happened after battle. Last time you didn’t have time.” „There is not much to say. We captured survivors and turned them into Christians. They live in their settlements. Our king trusts them.” „And you don’t?” He smirks. „I kind of envy those whose ran away. You knows my parents were Vikings, right? I live for day I will leave this land and will live like them.” he says quieter and looks around if someone hears him. „Adventurous Osgar. Any news about their kings?” „As far as I know Harald and Ivar are dead. But one son of Ragnar lives with Alfred in Winchester. I don’t know his real name. But his given one is Athelstan.” „Thank you. And what about your family?” „Good. My little girl is fighting with everyone and my wife isn´t very happy about it. My son still has mark on his face. He´s on guard now and I should replace him. See you later.” Day goes well, some of Moko´s customers comes and after sunset they goes to tavern for good night sleep.

„There is only one bed!” Ivar exclaims when they enter the bedroom. „Afraid of sleeping with me?” „What? No!” He puts their belongings on table, trying to calm down his too loud beating heart. „I'm going to have a bath. You will be ok here?” He nods. She disappeared behind the curtain  and he´s listening to her movements and noises she makes when she dives into warm water.

Moko feels water in the tub move. When she opens her eyes she sees Ivar sitting next to it. „What are you doing?” she squeaks. Ivar chuckles. „What does it look like? I have to wash as well. Or you want me dirty in bed?” She sinks more into water, only her head visible. He puts his hands into water again and his fingers brush her calf. She freezes and he smirks. „Your skin is so soft.” And she's blushing again. But both can play this game. „Will you wash my hair, please?” she asks innocently and his hand pauses in the middle of his face, eyes wide, shining. „Are you sure? I never done this.” Moko moves to him. „Please.” She turns her back to him and he clumsily takes her hair in one hand while the other is putting soap on it. Then he moves to her scalp. „That fells nice.” When he's done he smooths it on her back, his fingers lightly touching her skin. „Thank you. Give me a minute and you can go in as well.” She quickly rinses her head. „Close your eyes.” „Why?” „I have to go out and you can´t see me.” „I saw many naked women.” She glares at him over shoulder. „Fine.” But of course he cheated. He watches as she stands up and puts on linen tunic. After that she helps him in tub, she washes his hair and gives him his clothes.

„I said to the owner of this tavern that you are my husband.” says Moko nonchalantly when they are tuck in bed under warm duvet. „What!?” He sits up and frowns. „So we can have same room” ,,You are little minx.” he laughs and move closer to her. ,,What are you doing?” ,,Keeping us warm.” She turns her back to him, hiding her face into pillow. ,,Good night little minx.” he smiles into dark.

They wake up tangled at each other limbs. Moko tries to get up but Ivar´s arms around her are too strong. He nuzzles her hair and murmurs something. ,,Ivar, we have to go and sell otherwise we will have no money.” He groans when he opens his eyes. ,,I'll come later and brings you breakfast.” ,,You better be quick.” She kisses his cheek, throws her clothes on and she's gone. Ivar is still frozen on the bed processing what just happened.

,,I have bread, meat and wine.” ,,Oh, you are saviour! I'm starving.” He gives her plate with a cup on it. ,,Where is your food?” ,,I ate. Have only one hand free.” He waves with his right one and she grins at him. ,,Is it ok if you work until I finish?” ,,Sure.” He sells few pots and potions already when Osgar comes to them. ,,Hello you two.” ,,Good morning. Do you need something?” Moko asks. ,,Just to say you the news.” ,,What news?” ,,King Alfred will come here in five days to deal with Vikings in prison.” Moko sees Ivar stiffs. ,,Thank you. What do you think he will do to them?” ,,Probably gives them an option between conversion or death.” „And do you know if Viking´s prince will come too? I would like to see him.” He shrugs and goes back doing his work. „We need a plan how to get my brother and leave this stupid country.” „You don’t wanna kill       Alfred?” „Of course I want! But as you said, I need an army. I avenged death of my father on his grandfather and now I´ll avenge my own death on him.” „And rule Wessex?” „Maybe?” „Good luck then.” „You will not stay with me?” „I want to explore the world.” „If you will help me with Alfred I´ll give more treasure than you will ever need for fulfil your dream.” She looks at him sceptically. „Really?” „Word of the prince.” „I will think about it.”

„That one next to king on left is my brother Hvitserk.” Ivar whispers into her ear when Alfred comes to Chichester. „You remember our plan?” „Yes.”

They have to wait until next day but when Hvitserk comes to Moko´s stall she's nervous. He's handsome as Ivar but with lighter hair. They talk about different herbs for his problems and then she takes small dagger from her sleeve. „Prince Hvitserk, your brother Ivar wants you to have this.” „My brother is dead. I saw him fall in battle.” „I can assure you he's alive.” „How can I trust you?” „Because she's telling you the truth my brother.” says Ivar from shadow behind her. Hvitserk flinches a bit and can´t believe his eyes. „You are a witch! This is some stupid trick. My brother is dead!” „You see he's not.” Hvitserk slowly walks to Ivar and then he suddenly hugs him with teary eyes. „You fucking idiot! How comes gods saved you?” „They sent Moko. She took care of me.” Hvitserk looks at her and she smiles at him. „Nice to meet you.”

*month later in Winchester*

Ivar is excited all morning as helps Moko with selling. He sees men Hvitserk told him they are their allies when they walks around courtyard. They planned everything carefully. It took some time to collect enough men for attack to Winchester royal villa.

Once the night falls they moves. Quietly under veil of darkness their backups shoots guards on walls and at the gate and they are inside dim corridor. Hvitserk comes out from his hiding spot in kitchen with few warriors and silently they go forward to king´s chambers. His legs hurt and he's cursing on himself because Moko told him to rest during day but he didn’t listen. He sees her in the front of the group with plaited hair, sword ready for fight, serious look on painted face. Beautiful, clever and dangerous. That's what she is. Hvitserk is next to her eating something he stole from   kitchen.

Villa is suspiciously soundless and Ivar is suspicious. He feels it in his bones. It´s several minutes after they killed guards and until now they didn’t meet any more nor there was horn signal. For sure someone found bodies. But they have to do it. Even if it´s trap.

They reach their destination and Osgar goes first. The room is dark, only light from candles elucidate it. Ivar gives signal to his men and they encircle bed. Another signal and they are penetrating it with their swords. At same moment all other three doors of the room open and Alfred runs in with his soldiers, attacking mercilessly. Ivar watches as his warriors die one by one,        outnumbered. „Fight! Fight!” he screams, killing Saxons on his way to Alfred. Then everything freezes as he watches Moko moving between soldiers like air, sword and axe wet from their blood. One of Alfred´s bodyguards cuts her cheek and she stabs him in the neck, decapitating another one with other hand. Now she's face to face with king. What nobody awaits is Elsewith with sword assaulting Moko. English woman cuts her deep into hip when axe, thrown by Ivar, cuts through her back right after. His raging scream encourages his men. He assaults Alfred with blazing fury, maniac urge in the eyes. He effectively disarms young king, cuts his neck, fresh blood splashes him. Ivar throws himself onto Alfred stabbing him with all his power, shouting in old Norse, breathing heavy air with smell of sweat, dead bodies and taste of iron. Surviving Saxons watch in disbelieve and fear before they meet same fate from his fellow Vikings.

Things happens so quickly after that. One moment he is in king´s chamber, then he´s fighting his way from villa and in carriage fleeing into safety. He can feel adrenaline flows through his veins. Hvitserk sits opposite him, covered in blood too. They smile at each other. Moko´s next to him, patching her wound. „We did it.” he says victoriously and suddenly kisses her. She doesn’t protest and he's happy.

Following three months they are travelling and stealing all over Anglia. After that they build boats for way home. Night before their departure Ivar and Hvitserk are sitting by fire, enjoying peaceful quiet. „Will you go back to Norway or you´ll stay with Moko?” asks Hvitserk. „I don’t know what are you talking about brother. Of course I´m going with you!” „Are you sure Ivar? I see how you are looking at her.” Ivar glares at his laughing brother. „She doesn’t want to stay with me. She wants to travel.” „Then I´m gonna tell her i´ll accompanish her.” He turns to leave when a cup hits his head. „Don´t you dare!” Ivar screams. „Why not? She's free woman. Maybe I´ll ask her to marry me.” Hvitserk walks slowly backward with smirk, watching Ivar crawling on the ground as fast as he can to Moko´s tent.  

She walks out of it at same time as they show up. „Hello boys. Can I help you?” „Ivar wants to speak with you.” Hvitserk blurts out and Ivar hits him in the ankle. „Sure. I just need to get some food.” „I will get it. You two have fun.” „Come in then.” Moko smiles at Ivar.

„What you wanna talk about?” she asks, sitting next to him on bed. „Are you really sure you want to leave Anglia? And travel by yourself?” he asks straight away. „We spoke about it. I have small crew, you know.” „I know. It´s just … I don’t trust them that much. I would like to have you next to me more.” „As your friend, bodyguard or …?” „My right hand.” He looks at her. „And as my queen too, maybe?” She´s quietly staring at him and in next moment her lips are on his, her soft body collides with his hard one as they fall on bed.

His hands are on her hips, pushing her more and more against his prick. She takes off his tunic, her fingers grazing his tattoos. „You like them?” She nods and kisses him again. „Have you ever done this?” „No.” „Let me make you feel good then.” He is nervous like never before but also determined to do it right, to show her he really cares about her. His fingers are trembling when he unties her dress and takes it off. She tries to hide from his curious eyes but he catches her hands, kissing them and putting them next to her. „You are beautiful.” He kisses her whole shivering body until he reaches her warm core. When he looks back at her she's watching him already with flushed cheeks. They hold their gaze when his tongue touches her and she lifts a bit from bed. He's not  stopping her, only diving his head deeper. She's making those small noises he knew were good sign. „Ivar.” she moans his name. „I want more.” He hovers over her, kissing her. „If it hurts too much, you have to stop me, ok? I might not be able to control myself.” „Ok.” „Do you trust me?” „Yes.” He pushes slowly in her tight hole and kisses her tears away. „I'm sorry my Queen.” Her nails scratches his back, leaving bloody marks when he bottoms up. He waits few moments, then moves slowly, searching for any clues of her discomfort. None appears. She even smiles at him slightly. „Feels good?” „Yeah, it´s nice.” „Should I move faster, or is this fine?” „I have no idea!” she laughs. „You are the one with experiences.” „Yeah, right.” He nuzzle into her neck, his hips hitting hers as he quickens and she surprisingly pushes against him.

They are lost in their own pleasurable world, they didn’t even notice Hvitserk when he comes with food. He smirks proudly and walks away.

***

„I never thought I will love someone again but it happened.” Ivar smiles in Moko´s hair as they lies under warm furs, her head on his chest. „You love me?” „Yes. You have bewitched me, body and soul. My Celtic girl.” „I love you too Ivar.”

*next day*

A storm comes from nowhere and Moko´s watching as ship with Vikings is burning from     lightning strike. „Can´t we help them somehow?” „I'm sorry my love. They are probably all dead by now.” But much to his own surprise he can see some men jumping into the sea. „If I´ll die saving those idiots, I´m going to annoy you in Valhalla forever.” „And I will enjoy every second of it, my king. Now go and be a hero.” He kisses her briefly and then shuts orders. At the end they saves ten men but loose control over own boat.

***

„Land! Land!” Ivar hears shouting and stands up to see if it´s really true. „Not really how I imagined my travels but it´s still new land to explore.” Moko says next to him, hugging him. „Our new start my Queen.”

She turns in his embrace as they are looking towards their new adventures.

[scariusaquarius]

for the week 6

Geralt of Rivia x Female! Reader

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A/n: Thank you for the comments, loves! I keep having to make the chapters long to avoid having to rearrange my outline but ARGH i suck sksksk. Please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes. I do not beta my works and do not have a beta reader for my works.

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX (Here) | CHAPTER SEVEN (Soon)

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Genre: Romance, Horror, Friendship, Family, Erotica Rated: Explicit Warning: Eventual Erotica, Swearing, Slight Slowburn (like if you squint), Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Gore, Blood and Gore, Graphic Depictions of Blood, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Graphic Depictions of Menstruation, Period Sex, Erotic Dreams

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Author: scariusaquarius

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Like a pillow made of the sky, your body was soft beneath him. A strange glow surrounded the woods he was in, whisking and crackling like the spit of a healthy fire.

It was appropriate for how he felt.

Geralt felt hot, smothered by your warmth as your kisses made him become more enveloped in blanket of lust and raw need. Geralt could not pull himself away from you, and in this moment, in this dream, he did not want to. It was as if he knew this was where he needed to be; where his soul, if he truly had one, longed to be.

His hand ran along your arm, ghosting his fingers along your skin. Gooseflesh erupted where he touched, and you whimpered into his ear as he thrust his cock into you like a wild animal, chasing that erotic euphoria he had craved for you to give him for so long.

“Geralt-!”

However, despite how beautiful his name sounded on your lips when you were drunk on pleasure and erotic satisfaction, it made Geralt realize that this was a dream. As he became lucid, he gained control of his body, and Geralt stopped thrusting. You whined in frustration, asking him.

“Why did you stop?”

“I’m dreaming.”

He said it more to himself than to you, and you placed your hand against his cheek, whispering against his lips.

“Do you wish to wake from me? Do you wish to part from me so soon?”

Geralt was torn. While it was not wrong to dream of someone like this…it was strange to him that it was with you. Why would he dream of this? Why would he dream of fucking you in the middle of the woods by a lovely campfire when he didn’t know you that well?

“You are thinking too hard, Geralt. You want this just as much as I do, don’t you? I need you.”

Geralt groaned lightly as he felt your hips roll up into his own, and Geralt gave in. It would not hurt to have you like this even if it meant that he could not have you in real life. Geralt took your lips for his own, growling lightly, and he allowed himself to fall deeper into the dream.

Waking up slowly, Geralt groaned and rolled over in his bed, wiping his face and taking a deep breath as he lied on his stomach. His shirtless torso was freezing, the blanket having slipped off during the night, and his loins were on fire. Curse you for invading his dreams like that.

Geralt sighed, sitting up and grabbing a cloth from in the cold basin of water, wringing it before wiping his face with it. The cold rag helped him to wake up more, and when he looked out the window, the sun was just beginning to rise.

He could hear you getting ready for the day, your steps soft as you walked around your room, presumably getting dressed. Would you look the same as you did in his dream? Geralt hummed lightly, trying to clear the thoughts from his head. He shouldn’t think of this kind of stuff when he had an important job to do.

Geralt slipped on his armor and clothing for the day, tightening his boots and strapping his swords to his back once he was finished. When Geralt walked out of his room, you had walked out of yours as well, yawning deeply and glancing at him.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

The two of you walked side-by-side down the hallway and down the stairs, and you asked him as you began to get breakfast going.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to wait until nightfall to confront Julianna. Vampires are nocturnal, and they usually prefer to move during the night. Certain vampires are immune to the sun, but it’s usually a preference.”

You nodded, understandably quiet from the events of last night, and Geralt did not dare to say more. There was a silence between you two that spoke more than verbal words could ever say. You understood what needed to be done, and Geralt knew that you were still struggling with the loss of Johanna.

There was a solemn silence in the inn, the people too lost in their mourning minds to strike conversation. Most simply ate their food, drank their drinks, and left for the docks to get to work. When the inn was relatively empty, you found it an opportune time to discuss the job with Geralt.

“So, what did you find at Julianna’s home?”

Geralt replied, taking a bite of his breakfast.

“The house seems like it isn’t really used. There was dust everywhere, so I don’t think it’s where she usually hides out. I did find some interesting stuff in her dressers though.”

Geralt pulled out the pictures and portraits he had found, and you were in awe.

“She really never aged at all…I wonder how she was able to stay out in public for so long.”

“Vampires can go through a hibernation period if they choose to do so. Julianna probably went into hibernation for a couple hundred years so she wouldn’t raise suspicion when coming back into the public.”

He took a large swig of his drink before continuing, and you sat down in front of him, sliding a bit of food from the pot for yourself and digging in.

“I also found old charms used for glamour’s. Bruxae and Alps don’t have a completely human form, but they are intelligent. Julianna most likely had glamour’s made so she could assume a completely human and blend in.”

You hummed, shaking your head as you took another bite of your food.

“That’s terrifying to think about…to think a monster could be so sentient that it knows in order to survive and kill silently, it would need to…be like us.”

You made a face, and Geralt said, giving you a look.

“It’s not as uncommon as you might think. There are a lot of intelligent monsters…and most of them just want to be left alone.”

You looked at Geralt and asked him.

“Have you met many?”

“Not too many, but just enough. Trolls would be a good example to use. Their common speak and grammar is worse than horse shit, but they’re intelligent enough to know how to speak.”

You nodded before making a face as a cramp began to run through your nethers, and Geralt placed his fork down on his empty plate.

“Celandine tea helps with pain, especially with honeysuckle essence.”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

God, it was so embarrassing to you for someone to notice your pain. What if he asked you why? You really hoped he wouldn’t. Oh god, what if he could smell the blood? Your face went hot, and you stood up, grabbing his plate with yours and turning to place them on a rack to take them to the backrooms for washing.

If Geralt noticed your haste to escape the direction the conversation was going, he did not comment on it.

Placing the dishes in the wash basin, you took a deep breath and pressed your hand against your abdomen. You could tell that you were going to need a new rag, the rag beginning to smell strange, and you really hoped that Geralt hadn’t been able to smell it.

How embarrassing would that be? Taking a deep breath as a heat flash ran through you, you groaned and laid your forehead against your arms, leaning on the counter. Deciding to get a celandine and honeysuckle tea going, you began to boil the water before walking out and informing Geralt.

“I’m going upstairs real quick, but if you could, would you be willing to finish that tea you mentioned?”

Geralt nodded and stood up, replying.

“Sure thing.”

Rushing upstairs, you decided to get into something much more comfortable. As you undressed, you were hit with the stench of old blood and groaned deeply. You really, really hoped that Geralt didn’t smell it.

“Of all things I could have been born as, it had to be a human woman.”

Cleaning yourself up and using a perfume to mask any remnant of the smell, you had changed into a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, leaving the front unlaced so you had more air coming into material. Stuffing the cuffs of your trousers into your boots, you laced them up before walking back downstairs.

Geralt was already back from the private kitchen area of the inn, steeping the tea, and when he looked over, he seemed to pause before going back to work. You didn’t question it, instead sitting down in front of him. Geralt handed you the finished tea, and you took a large sip. Humming deeply, you said to him.

“You really know your stuff.”

“Witchers are taught herbs and their properties throughout their time at their respective school. Believe it or not, most of our time at our schools is spent studying.”

You were intrigued, giving him an interested look before looking away and into your tea. There was a comfortable silence that settled over the two of you, and Geralt took the time to observe you while you drank your tea. You looked relaxed, heartbeat no longer racing, and he wondered what it was that was ailing you.

There really wasn’t any way to tell without doing a thorough evaluation (or just asking), but Geralt was certain you wouldn’t appreciate him prying into your business. Looking away, Geralt began to get lost in thought.

You really shouldn’t be plaguing his mind so much, but ever since the dream from the morning, Geralt couldn’t keep you off his mind. It was almost laughable how easily you had gotten into his mind all because of a sexual dream.

He had never been like this with Yennefer, even when they had been tied because of the wish he had made. Geralt felt like a teenager again; fantasizing and dreaming about forbidden romances and sexual relationships between himself and beautiful women.

Looking over at you, Geralt allowed his eyes to rake over your form shamelessly as you drank and enjoyed your tea. Your shirt was loose, and the lacing was undone, allowing your chest to show a bit.

Your skin seemed soft and smooth on your chest, and Geralt remembered how he had kissed your skin in his dream…how nice it felt to do so. Your eyes were closed in euphoria as whatever it was that you were ailing from left you alone, and Geralt almost felt proud that he could make you feel alright.

These thoughts and feelings confused Geralt immensely. He knew that they meant there was an interest in you, but there was no reason why a simple dream would ignite such a fire as he felt. Was it possible that you were a thrall to Julianna? Somehow influenced by her?

It would make sense. If Julianna fed from you often without you even knowing, it was possible that there was something within you that made you so sexually appealing to him. Geralt admittedly didn’t know too much about vampire thralls. Thralls were almost as rare as higher vampires were, and Geralt had never come across one before.

He wondered if Vesemir would know more about vampire thralls, or if there was some sort of bestiary entry about them. He’d have to do more research on it after the job. Admittedly, if you truly were an unwilling thrall, it would make luring Julianna to the inn so much easier. You were a constant and assured food source for Julianna.

But if so, that didn’t explain the sudden deaths in the village.

There was so much more to this than Geralt was getting, and it was incredibly frustrating to him that he couldn’t immediately connect the dots. He needed to evaluate Julianna’s hideout as soon as he could so he could understand.

“You once mentioned a basement…can you show me where that is?”

Your first instinct was to tell Geralt that nobody was allowed in the basement, not even you, but given the situation, you turned to Geralt and nodded.

“I can, but I don’t have a key to get in there. Julianna doesn’t allow anybody in the basement…do you think that might be where she hides?”

“It’s a possibility, but I’ll have to take a look in order to be sure.”

You nodded before placing your empty tea cup on the counter, wiping your hands off. Gesturing with your head, you led Geralt through the hallway towards the staircase. Beside the staircase was a hallway that led to the stairs to the basement.

Opening the door, you walked down the steps to stop in front of the door at the end of the stairs, a large ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign hanging from a rusty nail. You turned to Geralt, and he said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever been down here before.”

“No, never. Julianna made it very clear to Johanna and I that we were never to come down to the basement at all. We never really questioned her, but I won’t lie that I’ve been curious as to what she has down here.”

Geralt hummed before you slid past him, your scent overwhelming Geralt’s nose, and he had to take a moment to reorient himself. It was almost irritating what an effect you had on him.

Geralt looked back at you for a moment, and you tilted your head in question before Geralt promptly kicked the door right from its hinges. You gasped and smacked his shoulder, hissing.

“Fuck’s sake, are you mad?”

You placed your hands on your hips before saying.

“You’re paying for a new door, do you understand?”

Geralt simply grinned lightly before looking into the basement. At first glance, it was a regular basement with shelves and bags of non-perishable foods. However, scattered along the shelves were priceless valuables; gold and gems everywhere. You gasped and whispered to him as the two of you walked inside.

“Geralt, look at all the gold! Oh, look at this!”

You held up a pure gold circlet, glowing rubies in the center, and Geralt said as he grabbed the valuable.

“She must have been collecting these for a long time. This looks Elvish.”

“Do you…do you think these are from her victims?”

Geralt wasn’t sure if you truly wanted to know that, so he simply glanced at you before placing the circlet back onto the shelf. In the back of the basement, there was a tunnel covered with an expensive tapestry of the Great Sun, and he said to himself.

“I knew it. There’s gotta be an outhouse or a shed somewhere near that she dug this to so getting in and out wouldn’t be so much of an issue.”

You made a face before asking him.

“We’re not going to go in there, are we?”

“I am, you’re not.”

You made a face at Geralt, and he crossed his arms at you.

“It’s too dangerous for you. We don’t know what could be waiting for us at the end of the tunnel. You would be better off staying here. Besides, someone has to run the inn.”

You growled a bit before huffing. Geralt was right, but you didn’t want to say it out loud. You really weren’t that good with a sword…and you’d never faced anybody nor anything in battle, so all you would be to Geralt is dead weight.

Geralt started to smirk a little when he realized you were trying to find a way to tell him he was right, and he offered to you.

“You can just leave and not say anything to save yourself more dignity. I know I’m right.”

“You know, I was just starting to like you, but now that you wanted to be an asshole, you can go on ahead and go fuck yourself.”

Geralt could see the smile on your face as you turned and left, and Geralt watched you leave, tilting his head as he watched you walk away. Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself as he ducked into the tunnel.

“What a firecracker.”

[CHAPTER SEVEN SOON]

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[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 3

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate.

A/N: Ciao dolcezze! Hope your doing well! I’ve been super busy with my master’s degree but the chapter’s here! Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There’s a lot of Finan here, finally! Have the nicest week! Bacetti, Cate!

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Mention of blood, angst, fluff

Words: 4455 Chapter Two.

Chapter Three: Injures and betrayal

“I will not let you fight this battle, Aoife.” Uthred repeated. Aoife had tried all day long to convince him to let her fight, and even now that they were preparing the horses to leave Aylesbury, she was not desisting. She had pleaded him to the point where she knew she was appearing pathetic, but she wanted to begin her new life as a warrior and that battle was an opportunity for her to prove her strength. She was scared of course, every time she closed her eyes she could see the young Dane she had killed; she wasn’t very sure she liked to kill, but she had spent too much time doing nothing but standing next to Aethelflaed, feeling an intruder in such important manners. And more than that, killing Haesten – or being part of the battle that would eventually kill him – was the only way for her to revenge her Abbess’ death. She was aware that her mind and attitude was quickly changing; she had always had a temper, but she was one for peace and forgiveness; of course, a fight in the nunnery was nothing compared to the siege she had found herself fighting back, but she was still scared of how quickly that dark part of her was emerging and she had to learn how to control it. Not now, though, now she needed that darkness to keep giving her the courage to plead the Dane warrior to bring her into battle. “Lord Uthred, let me fight!” Exasperated, Uthred held her shoulders tight, shaking her just enough to catch her attention and shut her up. “You will listen to me now, woman. You had sworn your sword to Aethelflaed and she’s still in danger. You will prove your value by protecting her. It is and order, have I been clear?” The warriors had left that same evening, bidding their goodbyes to the two women as if they were going for a hunt and not to face death. Finan had smoothly kissed the back of Aoife’s hand before mounting on his horse, and she had felt her cheeks turning red and warm at the contact. He was so confident, Aoife could easily guess that he was experienced with women; he knew the tricks to make a lady fall at his feet. Not that he needed tricks, he was a warrior, a handsome one to say the least; and while his scars promised troubles, his smile could soothe the most turbulent soul. Father Beocca was right, he could well be a prince of the dark and she would follow him to hell without complaints. Standing next to Aethelflaed and Edward, she watched the warriors leave the security of the fortress and disappear in the distance. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see them again, if they would fight together again or if they would just greet her the few times they would meet, until forgetting her name. She was sure she could never forget that weird group of warriors, especially the mysterious prince of the night. That same night, Aoife effectively took on the role of guard of Aethelflaed. At supper time, she was even able to make Steapa smile with her overprotective attitude. The Lady herself cracked a smile and asked her to relax, they were safe there and she should enjoy the food as much as she could; who knew how long it would take before they would taste meat like that again. Aethelflaed then asked for her to wait outside her rooms while she ate and confronted her husband. She was playing with her dagger, sat on a chair, ear pricked and muscles ready to step in if required. In that moment she felt like a true guard. She wondered if Uthred would be proud of her keeping her promise as well as she could. Anyway, she was confident – and again she was being arrogant – she could win over “Lord” Aethelred smoothly, she had subdue braver pigs. She could hear talking, even some commotion, but nothing to be afraid of, and before the moon reached the peak of the sky, the Lord of Mercia had already left the rooms, without acknowledging the presence of the warrior lady against the wall. When they woke up the morning after, they discovered that Alfred had reluctantly accepted to support Uthred in the battle. Aoife was relieved, Alfred’s numbers would increase the chances of success of Uthred’s plan. A plan that she thought was quite stupid: too much was being left to fate and probability, but what did she know? She was just a nun after all. When the day came, Aoife woke up with bad feelings clenching her stomach. She was fearing for the life of Uthred and his men. Aethelflaed had then asked her to get ready to help the injured. She cut pieces of clothes and drawn water from the well all day long, but it had not put her mind to rest. She was spending too much time by herself, thinking of how many men could have already fallen under Danes’ strokes. She had spent most of her monastic life helping the physician of the monastery, growing healing plants, cauterizing wounds and staying next to the dying patients until their last breath, it was not the idea of blood and death to make her hands shake, it was the fear of finding out that her new friends were injured and being unable to save them In the afternoon, she was praying in the chapel when a messenger came. He was bringing a letter from Uthred. The battle had been won, and they were invited to ride to Aethelflaed’s estate, where they would be joined by him and his men. “I’m surprised he knew how to write!” Aoife commented and they laughed, until the laughs became tears, of relief and happiness. In less than an hour, they gathered the horses, belongings and guards and before dawn they left Aylesbury. Aoife couldn’t stop smiling. Saltwic, Mercia Saltwic was a welcoming place. Aoife’s room was right next to Aethelflaed’s, of course. Inside, there was a big, comfortable bed, with a clean chamber pot next to it. There was also a fireplace, with a small wooden tub and a kettle filled with fresh water. She put the kettle on the fire and let the water warm up while she undressed. After the stay in Aylesbury and the ride to Saltwic, her clothes needed to be washed; she, too, was covered in dust and sweat and she sat in the tub for a long time, rubbing her body with a clean cloth until her skin turned red; she took her time to wash her hair and brush it with the small wooden comb she had taken from her room in the nunnery. It made her sad to think of what she had left there: her books, her chessboard, her mother’s doll. However, she smiled thinking about the Abbess, which would have lectured her on the volatility of earthly goods, “All we need – she would have said – is God’s love and mercy.” On the opposite, Sister Aeskel, the physician, would have laughed and hugged her, reassuring her: she would not have the time to read, nor to play chess, living as a warrior, and she was too old to still own a doll. Her belonging would have forever been a remainder of that young girl that had grown up with them and then had left the nest. Only thinking about her, Aoife was happy again. She hoped Aeskel was all right. There was a light knock on the door and Aethelflaed came in without waiting for an answer; she looked happy, almost excited, not at all bothered by Aoife’s nakedness. She, on the opposite, was quickly becoming red from embarrassment. “I have something for you.” the Lady chirped and only then Aoife noticed she was holding something in her arms. “Lady.” she protested “You have to stop buying me gifts, you’ve done enough for a lifetime.” “Oh hush. I noticed that you looked very uncomfortable in my dress and I wanted you to wear something more… appropriate to your role.” she sat on the bed and, with a proud smile, showed her friend what she had brought. They were clothes, as Aoife had already guessed from her words, but not the common clothes of a lady. There were two tunics, one red and one blue, a linen shirt, two pairs of brown trousers and brown shoes. “I asked my seamstresses to have them ready for our arrival” Aethelflaed said “are you happy?” Aoife was at loss of words “Happy? Lady, this is too much!” “It is not.” her friend assured “Also, the blacksmith is working on your warrior clothes, but it is going to take some time. And here” she threw are a small leather bag “your first payment.” Inside the bag there were five pieces of silver, Aoife shook her head vigorously “Lady, this is too much!” and she tried to give the money back. Aethelflaed held her hands, closing Aoife’s fingers around the bag “You have been a great guard and a great friend, Aoife. You deserve all of this and more for risking your life for me. Stop being stubborn and accept my way to say thank you.” For the first time since they had met, Aoife hugged Aethelflaed. There was a stream within walking distance from Aethelflaed’s estate. After two days of doing nothing, Aoife decided that she needed some type of normalcy in her life and, when the sun reached its peak, she walked to the stream, a basket of dirty clothes under her arm. It was a cold winter day, of course, and her hands, dipped in the water, soon turned blue. Nonetheless, she found quite calming to rub the linen on the stones, smoothed by the repetitive movement of the stream. The sun was almost setting when she heard the soft drumming of hooves on snow. And there they were, the men of Cookham, covered in dirt and blood and riding slowly towards Saltwic. There were also prisoners, Danes, who were coughing and stumbling in the white cold ground. Aoife collected the wet clothes in the hamper and run back to the estate. Her heart was beating fast, and she tried to suppress the desire to see the Irishman again. She had thought that being away from him would ease her passion, but she was wrong, and she run faster to reach him, to be sure he was fine. Aethelflaed was already in the hall when Aoife arrived, and invited her to leave the wet clothes to the servants and prepare herself to assist the injured. On her time in Wincelcumb, she had the pleasure to assist Aoife during her working hours in the infirmary. Most of the injured had been nuns who had hurt themselves working, but, once or twice, peasants had come asking for help with more serious injuries. Aethelflaed had watched Aoife cauterize wounds and heal ulcers without flinching. “God guides my hand.” she used to answer to her amazed face. It had been her strength and composure to play a fundamental role in her decision to bring Aoife with her. Aethelflaed watched her sweetly; that and the instant fondness she felt for her. Uthred was the first to enter the hall, followed closely by Sithric and Finan and then by the rest of his men.  Aoife could see that a couple of warriors were missing, but the presents didn’t look injured. They were tired, cold and hungry, however, and Aethelflaed invited them all to sit. Aoife had waited to see the warrior for days and yet, now that he was right in front of her, she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had she done that, she would have found him already watching her fondly, yet tiredly. He had found himself thinking about her, once or twice during the mission. She had been a pleasant surprise from the beginning, and he would be a fool not to be attracted by pretty women. And she was, without doubt, extremely pretty. Seeing her, all busy in her role of healer, with her dark hair back in a braid – single braid for a unmarried woman, her cheeks and nose all red for the cold, he had forgot about more urgent manners. Manners that Uthred spare no time to address. “Osferth is at the alehouse. He’s injured.” Uthred said and before he could even sit down, Aoife had grabbed her cloak and was already running outside. She had grown fond of the monk, and without more information, she could not help but imagine the worst. Was her too late? She hoped not, she had yet to know him well and she did not want to lose a friend, or a potential friend. “Aoife wait!” someone shouted from behind her and she slowed down to let Finan reach her. She didn’t ask him why he followed her, he needed food and to sit near the fire for a while, but she could see how worried he looked. Knowing that he would not rest until Osferth was safe, she let him come her to the alehouse. He showed her the way up the stairs, to the last room down the corridor, one of the few with a door. Aoife tried not to show interest in the unholy events that were taking place in the other rooms but Finan caught her peeking in one of them and couldn’t repress a smile. Such an innocent creature she was. Osferth was laying on the bed, looking more tired than in pain, but probably he was just trying to be strong; the left part of his tunic was covered in blood, most of it dark enough to be dry, some of it a bright red. She needed to stop the bleeding. “Hi Osferth.” she greeted, taking off her cloak and kneeling at his side. She smiled sweetly, as Sister Aeskel had taught her, to appear calm and confident “Do you mind if I take a look at your wound?”. The boy nodded weakly, smiling lightly and she pulled out a knife from under her tunic to cut apart the fabric of his robe; slowly, being it stuck to his skin. The wound was wide but not deep, thank goodness. The bleeding was easy to stop, but she had to carefully clean it to prevent the infection. With a good bandage and some poultice he would be as good as new in no time. She had the kindness to tell him to, patting his cheek as if he was still a young boy. Finan was amused by the interaction, never had he seen Osferth at such ease with someone he had barely met. There was something about that girl that made everyone feel safe in taking their guard down with her. It was a powerful weapon. Only then, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a dress anymore but the clothes of a warrior: tunic, trousers and the belt with weapons around her waist. There was something about masculine clothes around her feminine curves that aroused him greatly and he was more than happy to leave the room when she asked him to fetch some fresh water to clean the wound. “I do not deserve your assistance, lady.” the monk mumbled when they were left alone, his voice was barely audible “I cannot even use a sword.” She was checking for others injures, but there were just bruises and light cuts, and pondered for a moment whether to answer him or pretend not to have heard him. She opted for the first “But you fought, didn’t you? And with great disadvantage.” She raised her eyes to his face, he was already watching her “I’m sure you’ve been great help and I am even more sure that Lord Uthred would tell the same. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so worried about you.” Before he could argue, Finan came back with a pot of water and a cloth. “To clean.” he explained, waving the peace of fabric, and Osferth could swear he was blushing. Aoife shot the warrior one of her already infamous smile “What a brilliant helper.” she murmured and took both things from Finan’s hands “Thank you.” Both men had heard that, and while Osferth tried to dissimulate a laugh with a cough, Finan couldn’t really care about his friend making fun of him – he would surely have told it to the others later – because he had recognized that tone of voice, many women had addressed him with such tone. She was playing at courtship. From that moment on, he became a source of distraction, following her around and staring at her openly. If she wanted to play that game, she had to know who she was competing against. Soon, she was too shy to keep working knowing that Finan was watching every move she made, touching her ever so slightly when she was close enough; all with that charming smile of him. And when she risked to make Osferth bleed again – she pushed too hard on his stomach, making him scream in pain and the wound stretched dangerously – Finan was sent downstairs again to ask for broth and ale while Aoife finished her work. She smeared some poultice, the one that helped fasten the healing and prevent infection, on the cut before covering it with a clean piece of fabric. When Finan came back, Aoife and him had to force Osferth, with threats and pleas, to eat and drink something before falling asleep. He was acting like a child, really, but he was not to blame; he had lost much blood and experienced very traumatic events; he was scared and unable to sleep. Finan and Aoife sat next to him, one on each side, and talked with him, about everything and nothing, until his breath became regular and he fell asleep. And then, they were left alone. Finan, who until that moment had acted confident and smug, suddenly found himself at loss of word and shied away from her eyes, so deep yet open, so clear yet unreadable. “You should rest too, Finan.” Aoife said, standing up to clean the room. She turned around when he didn’t answer and he shot her a tired smile under his unkept beard. “Don’t worry, lady. It’s not my first battle.” He said “And it’s not easy for a warrior to rest after such events.” Only then Aoife noticed the trickle of fresh blood running down his forehead and on his cheek. “You’re hurt!” she cried out, running to him and taking his face in her hands. Finan was shaken to the core by that touch and unwound against the palm of her hand. He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in a long time, but that didn’t justify the fastening of his heart, nor the complete inability to control his body. “Let me clean you up.” she whispered sweetly, and he simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the chair. While cleaning the cut she could see her hands shaking, it was not the blood, nor the wound, it was touching him. With one hand she was keeping his hair back, away from his forehead, and it was softer that she expected from someone who spent most time outside and riding his horse. The thumb of her other hand brushed against his skin every time she patted on the cut, his skin rough for the wind and the battle. What surprised her the most was that, under the smell of the battle – of sweat and blood and iron, there was such a sweet scent of wood and salt water, and she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and smell him, and taste his skin with the tip of her tongue. The nun in her was outraged by those unholy, impure thoughts; the woman in her was laughing, finally free by the chain of the Abbey. She was young and he was desirable, she was more then justified in those thoughts. Finan enjoyed every touch of her soft skin and somewhere in his mind he knew she was taking her time too. He was suppressing himself from reasoning; she was young, innocent and inexperienced; while he was older, malicious and he was taking advantage of her juvenile feelings because, after such a long time alone, he needed the affection. He did not really want to think about the fact that no other woman had made his heart pump as strong and his skin crawl as she was doing right there, only by cleaning a cut. He would have worried about it later. Too soon, however, Osferth burst their bubble, groaning and turning in his sleep. Aoife stumble backwards, suddenly aware of her actions. She turned away from the Irishman, cutting, perhaps forever, the thread of complicity and intimacy that they had just created. She bended over Osferth, covering her face with her hair, to shield him from seeing how affected she was by what had just happened. When he tried to say something, she stopped him, raising a hand, and with the lower, tiniest voice she had ever used, she said “Go back to the hall, Finan. I shall stay a little longer with Osferth.” There was no answer but a slam and when she turned around, he was gone. They day after was spent in celebration. Finan was not sure how Osferth and Aethelflaed had managed to convince Aoife to participate, but he was very grateful. Firstly, because she looked particularly pretty in that specific day; a clean green vest was embracing her body in such a lovely way that Finan had to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers more than once. Secondly, it looked like she was enjoying drinking ale, the redness spreading on her full cheeks. She was laughing loudly with Aethelflaed and even if he cannot hear what they were talking about, he was grateful to be standing right in front of her. He had smoothly withdrawn himself from the conversation with Sithric and other warriors and leant against the back of the chair, staring at her. And everybody had noticed that, including her. He didn’t care, though, he liked how she was squirming under his gaze. He knew that she too was thinking about the day before, about how their bodies had searched each other. He had felt something unusual, a need of a deeper and more intimate connection, and while part of him was scared, the other was intrigued, almost happy to be back on having feelings of the sort. He had imagined, once or twice, how his life would be with a wife and children, but the ghosts of his past were still hunting him, and they would probably be hunting him forever. They were the reason he had left abruptly the day before; those and knowing that she was ashamed of being that close to him. Of course, she was not to blame, she could have – and she deserved – a better man, a younger, smarter, easier man than him. And it made his heart ache. As always, he was rushing his feelings; he had only known her for a few days and there was also the possibility that all that desire was just a consequence of his need to give into his urges. As the right hand of Uthred of Bebbanburg, he spent long periods of time without touching a woman, especially now, with the outlaw situation and everything. Aoife was young and beautiful and such a complicated combination of strength and innocence; it was not unusual that he was aroused by her. As did most of the men in the room; he could say. He could not blame them for looking at her hungrily, but he could surely hate them. He was proud, however, that it was not their gazes to get her on edge, only his. Their eyes met, and he raised his cup in her direction, making her smile a little and blush profusely. Pretty girl. Before dawn, Aoife had helped Osferth to his room. Dinner was being serve in the hall and Uthred had ordered for the prisoners to be fed too; Aoife did not like the idea of eating under the same roof as them and she was feeling more tired than hungry; therefore, she retreated in her room and was fast asleep. Had she known, she would have never left Finan’s side. She woke up at first light, as every other day. She decided to go pray before visiting Osferth and when she left church, people were already working. After her time alone with God, she was feeling peaceful and she walked to the alehouse singing under her breath. Her spirit changed when she entered Osferth’s room. He was not alone, Finan was sitting on the bed next to the monk, head in his hands. Osferth too looked shaken. “What’s wrong?” she asked concerned, running to her patient “Are you feeling sick?” The young monk shook his head, but it was the Irishman to answer. “Sithric is gone.” Aoife shot Osferth a confused look “He betrayed us, lady.” the monk explained “He fought with Uthred yesterday and this morning he was gone. And with him, the prisoners.” His voice was plain, but she could see in his eyes that he was suffering. Finan wasn’t even trying to hide how much the betrayal had affected him; he was clearly upset, and Aoife could understand why. Among all Uthred’s men, Sithric was Finan closest friend and his betrayal was making him doubt that relation. Aoife too was shaken; she did not know the man well, but she was sure about his loyalty to Uthred and his companions. She had seen him laugh his heart out, joking and playing with the others as if they were family. It was weird. And by the face of the two men in front of her, it was worse that if he was dead. Aoife could not find the right words to comfort them and she hoped that her presence would be enough, or at least well accepted. With a small smile to Osferth, she sat down next to Finan, as close as possible, and she delicately reached to hold his hand in hers. His skin was warm and rough, as she remembered, and he stiffened under her touch, not used to affection. Then he slowly relaxed, his thumb grazing over her knuckles. The three spent hours in silence on that uncomfortable bed in that bad smelling room, Osferth laying on one side, Finan and Aoife sitting on the other, hand in hand. Chapter Four.

[red-radish14]

How To Get Away With Murder

Authors Note:

No real-life acts were committed to persuading me to write this story, it is all fictional and written off the top of my head, no mental or physical attributes were caused to have premeditated planning on this, this felt like a very interesting story to write, there is graphic detail in this story if sensitive please do not read.

If you or someone you know is/are thinking about committing an act of violence upon you or others please call 911 and get help immediately!! They will be able to find the right resources and betterments for you!!

Thanks and reviews are always appreciated!! :)

Word Count: 2.2k

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Average Life for an average girl:

December 31st, 1979

7:01pm

Hi, I'm Blaire, Blaire Helms, thinking that no one is going to read any of this I have made a resolution to start journaling my life. Even if no one ever saw this, it would be nice to look back and read what I had in mind for the years to come. Let me start out with who I am. I'm a 17-year-old girl from Topeka Kansas, I live with my mother and twin brothers in an apartment downtown. My brothers, Jack and Elliot, are star players on the high school football team. And well, my mother, she is a waiter at the cafe on the main street. We don't have much here at home, and having to scrounge for money to buy a $15 journal had been a struggle for the past few weeks. Me on the other hand, I'm 5'6" with long brown hair and big green eyes. School before winter break was tough, I get bullied a lot, and making friends is a bit of a challenge for me. My brothers don't make it any easier for me either, they sometimes even send random classmates to come to bully me in the smoking pit. Yeah yeah, I know, before you get all Nabby about me smoking I know that it's bad for you, but, I'm 17 how bad could it get. Being a junior in high school isn't all that rough though. I'm an average C student with average teen life. To end on a good note, I finally had enough money saved for the dance on the 13th. Well, it is a welcome back dance for all the kids who passed 1st semester. I just hope no trouble endured like last year, having my head dumped into the punch bowl was not pleasant. Expect more from me in the future. Until then.

-Blaire Helm

7:56pm

--

Smoking Pit Disaster:

January 7th, 1980

5:23pm

Today was hell, when I woke up my brother Elliot had clogged the toilet and flooded the whole bathroom, and just left it there, I was always the last one to leave the house and there was no time to clean it up. I had to get ready at school, about 15 minutes later and once I had left the restroom it was straight to the smoking pit to skip 1st period. There were always a few girls down there and they weren't very talkative, they always just sat and smoked for the whole hour, no breaks in between. As I was smoking you literally won't believe who came down to bother me, Mason Palmer. Mason was the hottest guy in school, he was also the biggest jerk of the school. He was famously popular among anyone in the city and always had a few remarks in his sleeve. after a few minutes of smoking and getting paper balls profusely thrown at me, Mason had jumped down into the pit and proceeded to taunt me. After the taunting, he had kicked my side causing me to drop my cigarette onto my leg. He then left laughing at his buddies. About 30 minutes after the beating I had left to go to 2nd period. Walking through the hallway trying to cover the burn hole in my jeans, I ran into Mason. He had grabbed my backpack and threw it at one of his buddies that had taken off with the bag. He then pushed me down and walked away, leaving me with no supplies, and I had returned to the smoking pit for the remainder of the day. Hopefully, this week would get better before the dance on the 13th. If it doesn't, I'll just have to stay home. But, until next time.

6:17pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Sam's Club Shopping Spree:

January 11th, 1980

9:12pm

Today I had to go shopping for bulk food supplies at Sam's Club. It was the cheapest place where we could go to buy a lot of items for less money. It was only the 2nd time I had to go shopping there and I was bored out of my mind. As I was shopping today I picked up the usual items we needed. Macaroni, ramen, chips and lots more. In the back of my mind somewhere I needed to get some cleaning supplies, I don't know why but I bought some anyway. a 4 pack of bleach bottles, 16-pack sponges, 2 3-gallon mop buckets, 8 pack of paper towels, and some sterile gloves. I felt like I needed to clean the whole house. After I was done shopping I decided to stop by Walgreens to pick up some pain killers for my back, it's been so horrible lately, they'll knock me out in a second if I'm not careful. Once I got home, I left the cleaning supplies in my car until I needed them and brought the other groceries inside. Being usual teenage boys my brothers decided to help none and pretend to be each other for a day, I guess it's a normal thing identical twins decide to do. Oh, and about Mason, he hasn't shown up to school for the past 2 days because he's been too busy suit shopping for the dance. This isn't prom, I guess he's wanting to fuck some chick in the back while everyone else is sipping on watered-down punch. Well, I'll let you guys know how the dance goes, all I'm wearing is a hand-me-down loose tee with some black jeans. Wish me luck.

10:02pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Till Death Do Us Part:

January 13th, 1980

5:43 am

Guys, I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere right now. Why is this happening, this can't be happening? It started with the stupid fucking dance. I walked into the gym, grabbed my punch, and boom Mason was right there, he had poured his punch all over me and pushed me causing me to slip and fall hitting my head. I had gotten up asking him what he wanted from me. Suddenly he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the side of the bleachers. He had pinned me against the wall and told me I had to do whatever he wanted me to do. I had agreed and asked him if I could run out to my car to get dried, he agreed and after some time I was back into the gym. Mason had gotten a new cup of punch and came over to dance. I had played around and danced along with him. Mason left to go pee after some dancing and asked me to hold his cup. While Mason was gone, I had grabbed some of those painkillers from the car and slipped some into his drink. Mason had returned and started drinking his punch, fast, like he was dying of dehydration. He started falling asleep so, I asked him if he wanted to go to the storage closet to have some fun. He had followed me in there, pinned me down, and I stabbed him. I had must've stabbed him 100 times, blood was everywhere. I panicked, I had shut off the lights and locked the door. It must've been hours but no one looked for us, once the last person left the school I knew what I needed to do with Mason. I had dragged his body out to my car and laid him in the backseat on top of my wet clothes, all of his blood had drained out onto the floor of the gym. I had grabbed the cleaning supplies I bought from Costco earlier and cleaned. it must've taken me an hour. I had grabbed all the trash and stuffed it into the back of my car. The closet was as clean as it was before the murder. And now I'm out here in the middle of fucking Kansas, 125 miles from where I live. Now, what do I fucking do?

7:24 am

- Blaire Helm

--

Pitched Out:

January 14th, 1980

3:36 pm

I had decided I needed to do something with this body or it was going to rot in my car minute by minute. I had stopped at a gas station to pick up 30 lbs of raw meat and some new clothes without being questioned and afterward, I had gone a bit off-roading miles away from the road and found a place to park and deal with it. My mother loved to Garden and so happens the day before she had left most of her gardening stuff in the car, so I got to digging. I had created dirt stairs and dug 12ft down. I had stripped Mason down to his skin and set his clothes aside. I had placed him into the hole. I covered him up with about 6 ft of dirt, and placed the raw rotting meat above, covering it with the remaining dirt, patted it out, and made it look natural. I had found some school papers from my car and tumbleweeds laying around to create a fire.  I stripped down to my skin and proceeded to throw everything I had used to kill Mason into the fire, letting it burn. After the fire was done burning I picked up the ashes and brought them with me back to a small pond a few miles down the road. I had thrown the ashes into the pond, watching them disintegrate, and jumped in the pond myself to wash up all the blood. While I was in the pond I had realized what I've done. While drying off I burst into tears and begged God for forgiveness. Afterward, I had set myself on home, sitting here now at a gas station, only 25 miles away from my house.

4:17 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

The Party:

January 17th, 1980

8:57 pm

A watch party had started for Mason and I had joined along with them in search for him. I knew what I did, and I knew nobody was going to ever find him. I know that because it's a fact. The rotting meat will attract the dogs, the police dig it up and realize it's just some animal remains, and continue searching. There are no fingerprints or clothes to find because they are burnt. The ashes are dissolved into nothingness. And it's in the middle of Kansas in a desert, anyone could've done it. The school gym is cleaned like brand new, it's all planned. After the search party, I had stopped by Mason's house to see how his parents were doing. His mother and father could not stop crying. Soon I was "crying" and told them I needed to leave to get home to do some homework. I had gotten home and lost my mind, I was upset that I did such a thing. I had started laughing when realizing that I had gotten away, a murder undetected, a master plan successfully accomplished. But for how long.

9:10 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Dumped Down:

April 18th, 1980

1:02 pm

It's been 3 months since I've killed Mason, the parties are over, and everyone is moving on like he was still out there missing. I knew what had happened, I've visited where I had buried him a few times since that night, It upsets me. A lot is going through my head lately. One of these days or years they are going to find him and I will be fucked, I can't live knowing I had killed a man. So sitting here in my bedroom I've come up with a plan, We are going to paint the walls, to have a fresh new start. I will load up the paintbrush and get to painting. The room is going to have small specks of red, it suits me best. But I've got to admit that I lived my life up to its fullest. Lighting up a cigarette and placed the paintbrush in the palm of my hand. I'm gonna set it down and I'll let you know how the room turns out tomorrow. I had left a note on the counter for my mother and my brothers, it's basically telling them to not come in until the paint dries, well I'll write later, Goodbye.

3:46 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Roses:

Blaire Helm

Sex: F

DOB: 08/23/1963 (17)

Hgt: 5'6"

Eyes: Green

Cause of death: Suicide

DOD: 04/18/1980

We had responded to a report of a teenage suicide yesterday night, a distraught mother had dialed 911 crying about her daughter being dead. When police arrived at the scene it was in fact Blaire Helms in her small apartment bedroom. She was lying on her left side with a gunshot wound to her right side of her face, the shotgun laying behind her back and the walls dusted in blood. No one knows why Blaire had committed suicide, people usually called her sweet and caring. No suicide note was found and police are still investigating the scene of the crime.

Drug reports:

Cotinine: 45mg

Alcohol: 1.4oz

Adderall: 75mg

Tylenol: 1200mg

Subject transferred to autopsy room for opening, nothing found within the patient, the mother will soon arrive to finish the paperwork.

- M.D Green

--

Another Author's Note:

I really hope you guys enjoyed this story, I spent only a few hours on it so it's not professionally done, again pls call 911 if you or someone you think might consider suicide or committing a crime. Thanks again, take care

- L.L

[kaelinaloveslomaris]

Whumptober 19: Asphyxiation

The forth and last part of the series that started with “Dragged Away.”

Vader rage murders everyone responsible for holding Luke captive in “Isolation” and gains an unexpected tagalong.

There’s some fairly graphic Murder in this one, FYI.

—

“It is too bad that there was a prison break. Everyone escaped, and there were no Imperial survivors.”

The commander’s face paled at Vader’s threat, and though Vader was not actively paying them any attention, he felt the current of fear pass through the rest of the Imperials in the room. He spared a thought to lock all the doors leading out of the detention wing of the facility.

“My - my Lord, please,” the commander begged.

Vader paused, not because of the coward’s pleading, though he enjoyed the momentary hope on his face in response, but rather because a thought occurred to him.

“Did he beg?” Vader asked.

“What?”

“Luke. Did he beg?”

“I’m… I’m sure he did. They all do.”

“Did you listen to him?”

The fear oozing from the commander spiked into a roiling storm as he grasped where Vader was going with this. Vader smiled grimly, relishing his panic.

“No, please! Lord Vader, would you have us release every Rebel that asks for it?” He was backing up, trying to put space between them, but Vader stalked forward after him until the commander hit the wall.

“Of course not. But if there is an important Rebel who is to be captured alive only, I expect them to be kept alive until I arrive to claim them. You are lucky he does not appear to have sustained any permanent damage.”

“Lucky?” he whispered, a spark of hope in his eyes. Vader crushed it.

“I would make your death ten times more painful had he died.” Vader reached out and wrapped his hand around the commander’s neck. It wasn’t often he physically strangled someone, but this man… he wanted to feel his throat collapse beneath his fingers.

His hands grasped at Vader’s, nails pressing into the leather of his gloves and scraping against the unyielding metal underneath. His eyes widened as he slowly suffocated, his body spasming as Vader starved it of oxygen. The Dark Side consumed his fear greedily, and Vader reveled in the rush of power it gave him.

Just as the life was almost drained out of him, Vader clenched his fist tighter, crushing his trachea and snapping his neck. The crunch of bone was satisfying.

Vader released him, watching as the body slumped to the floor. It wasn’t enough, and the Dark Side’s appetite was nowhere near sated.

He let the darkness in, let it bolster his rage as he drank in the fear permeating the room. Every one of the Imperials in the room had had a hand in mistreating his son. Every one of them was a legitimate target for his bloodlust. Vengeance was in his power to deliver, and he would repay Luke’s suffering.

He turned slowly to face the room. Everyone was watching him cautiously, hopeful that he had taken his displeasure out on their senior officer and would leave the rest of them alone, despite his earlier threat.

They would learn not to underestimate his rage.

~*~

When Vader finally extinguished his bloody blade, he and Luke were the only beings in the room still breathing.

The Dark Side was still singing in his veins. It had been a long time since he had indulged it so thoroughly, and he had forgotten how difficult it was to come down.

Vader looked at Luke, draped across the chair he had set him in, and didn’t dare to touch him. The darkness in his mind was whispering that his son was a weakness, a threat to his position as the Sith apprentice, and he would be better off without him. Vader would never forgive himself if, in a moment of carelessness, he hurt Luke.

Like you hurt his mother?

Vader growled at the unwelcome memory. The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Palpatine, but the whisper had not come through their bond. He shook it away.

Needing a distraction to calm himself before he could trust himself in close proximity to Luke, he focused on the control console.

He downloaded a copy of the security footage from Luke’s cell, then traced his son’s footsteps back to the point where he and his team had been captured. He saved copies of everything involving his son, then scrubbed the data from the last few days. A quick error code, and all the cameras in the detention facility suffered catastrophic failure. It would still be obvious to anyone who examined the scene that it had not, in fact, been a prison break, but Vader was not too concerned about covering his tracks. There was only one person he needed to answer to, and he could only hope the Emperor would find the whole thing amusing, as he often did when Vader let himself fall into a murderous rage. As long as no one the Emperor had his eye on was caught up in the fallout. Vader doubted anyone here would have that dubious honor.

His eyes drifted to Luke again. He looked so peaceful, oblivious to the carnage around him that had been caused on his behalf. Unable to help himself any longer, he crossed the room to Luke. He reached for him without consciously deciding to, but stopped with his fingers just shy of his hair. He clenched his hand into a fist and pulled it back. There was still a slight current of rage coursing through him, beyond the normal level of background radiation of anger that he lived with.

He spun around and stalked back to the computer. There was one more part of his threat he had yet to carry out. He leaned over the console and keyed in the code to unlock all the cell doors.

Vader felt the confusion of the Rebel prisoners, and a few of them poked their heads out of the cell doors. Their eyes flew wide as they took in the state of the control room.

“You are all free to go. I have what I came for,” Vader said. It didn’t matter to him whether they ran or stayed here to rot. But he had told the commander that all the Rebels escaped, so he might as well give them the chance.

He went back to making sure the computers were wiped clean of any evidence that Luke was his son and tried his best to ignore the Rebels. None of them would be foolish enough to attack him, and even if they did, the Force would warn him.

“Luke!”

Vader turned at the shout of his son’s name to see Antilles rushing towards Luke. Vader stepped between them, cutting him off. He hadn’t gotten this close just to have another irritating Rebel spirit his son away.

“Let him go!” Antilles snarled. Vader was startled by the utter lack of expressed fear. There was a little bit tainting the Force around the pilot, but it was not for himself and it was eclipsed by his concern for Luke.

“I think not.” He turned his back on Antilles to scoop Luke up in his arms again. His child was still soundly asleep, and would be for hours yet, Vader guessed. It hadn’t taken much to put him under, but the Force compulsion he had laid on him was strong. Vader wanted him fully settled into his quarters before he woke.

Some of Antilles’s fear broke through onto his face when Vader turned around again and he caught sight of Luke limp in his arms.

“What did you do to him?” Antilles reached for Luke, and Vader took a step back, pulling Luke away from him. Antilles frowned.

“I did nothing. And what was done to him shall be rectified.”

Antilles’s eyes wandered around the body-strewn room, his brows furrowing in confusion. His gaze snapped back to Luke cradled in Vader’s arms.

“You did this because of Luke? Because of what they did to him? Why?”

“He is not to be harmed.”

Antilles snorted. “Like you’re not just going to take him back to your ship and torture him yourself for destroying your precious Death Star.”

Vader bristled. “I will not lay a finger on him. And his ability to take that shot should be commended, not condemned. No harm will befall him in my custody.”

“You can say whatever you like, but it’s not like I’ll believe you. You haven’t spent the last few years hunting him down just to keep him locked up on your Star Destroyer like a pet,” Antilles spat.

Vader focused on his son’s negligible weight in his arms to keep from lashing out. He knew that if he harmed his son’s friend, Luke would find out somehow. That was the last thing he needed.

“Believe me or not, it makes no difference. He is mine, and he will be well treated.”

“I want proof.”

“What?” Did the Rebel have no fear? Or was his loyalty to Luke just so strong that it overrode any sense of self-preservation? That kind of loyalty could be useful. An idea started to form in the back of his mind.

“I won’t believe you unless I see it with my own eyes that you mean my commander no harm.”

“Are you offering to come with him?” Vader let a dangerous edge creep into his tone. It might also not be a bad idea to have a familiar face around when Luke woke up, though he felt the stirrings of a long-dead jealousy at the thought.

Yes, he would take Antilles with him too.

Antilles blanched and took a step back. Then his gaze flickered to Luke again. He groaned.

“I am so going to regret this,” he muttered. “Lead the way.”

[caasiturner]

Definition

Hello friends.

Some time has passed since I last wrote. Much has gotten in the way of this pseudo-blog/ artistic pursuit. Breakups, jobs, other creative pursuits, school, Krav Maga. I promised myself over and over I was going to write again.

I was going to write on how coffee inspired the Revolutionary War and coffee shops deserve to be places of political discussion once again. I was going to write on how manhood died along with the countless lives lost in World War II. I was going to write tales of love, pain, and other drugs.

All vast and deep subjects clearly.

It seemed, however, every time I sat down to type, my creative juices dried up like a raisin in the sun. Much of this is due to great personal growth in a short time.

Last I wrote I was angsty, anxious, and desperate to find my purpose in life. I knew my voids and sought to fill them with validation, creativity, and general busyness. These days I’m a bit more relaxed and more comfortable in who I am...perhaps even a tad too confident. Till today.

My private readings, life circumstances, and conversations have prompted several questions I felt need answering. How do people around me view me? Am i delusional in the words I use to define myself? Lastly, what words do I want at the end of my life be used to describe me?

Naturally, I texted several people the following question and waited for a response.

“What words would you use to describe me?”

Now I didn’t cherry pick my audience mind you. I chose close friends, people that barely know me, people with ideologies opposite of mine, mentors, old flames. I wanted an honest opinion. I desired to be fully self-aware with no false notion of who I am. 

Here is what I received back.

-Loyal

-Dedicated

-Creative

-Capable

-Adventurous

-Funny

-Aggressive

-Bold

-Love deeply

-Noticeable

-Charismatic

-Caring

-Determined

-Strong

-Safe

-Reserved

-Compassionate

-Insecure

-Stubborn/strong-willed

-Driven

-Earnest

-Impulsive at times

-Hard-working

-Genuine

-Positive

-Unshakeable

-Passionate

-Personable

-Joyful

-Clean

-Forgiving

-Independent

-Ambitious

-Daring

-Honest

-Inspiring

-Attractive

Now I don’t share these words to pat myself on the back. These responses just answered the question of how I am viewed. It also opened my eyes to any potential areas I may lack in or am delusional in my ability in. For instance, I thought I was secure in who I am. Apparently, my actions still counter this belief. That is ok! At least now I am aware of it and can keep moving forward to improve in it.

The question still remains, however, what word do I wish at the end of my life be used to describe me? I want this word to be a reflection of my faith, my accomplishments, and my life’s goals. I want it to define how I treated people, made them feel, and touched their lives. I want it to embody the true spirit of manliness. Not in a macho fashion, but rather like this poem by Kipling.

“ If you can keep your head when all about you       Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,     But make allowance for their doubting too;   If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,     Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,     And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;       If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster     And treat those two impostors just the same;   If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken     Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,     And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings     And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings     And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew     To serve your turn long after they are gone,   And so hold on when there is nothing in you     Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,       Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,     If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute     With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,       And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!”

This is one of my most favorite poems. In many ways it is the philosophy I try to adhere my life to. I could spend hours writing and breaking down this poem, but instead, for today, lets continue on finding the word I wish to define Isaac Stitt.

After much thought and reading I settled on this simple yet regal word.

NOBLE.

I wish to be defined as a noble man.

What is nobility? Is it a lifestyle of luxury, helicopter pads, and yachts laden with bikini clad models? Is it a monarch upon a golden throne, surrounded by servants who run to his every beckoning, and a castle filled with exotic fantasy? Maybe it’s James Bond, sipping martinis, rescuing the world, and snatching every lovely woman in his path. Perhaps it is Alcibiades, a politician with loose morals, charisma, and an extravagant lifestyle.

I think not.

Merriam-Webster define the word “Nobel” as, “possessing outstanding qualities possessing very high or excellent qualities or properties, characterized by, or arising from superiority of mind or character or of ideals or morals.”

I believe that is but half of it. Why yes, I want to be known for my good qualities, and high morals and standards, but.....there’s something lacking. It’s missing movement. To be described as “caring” is one thing. It is the practice of the word that makes it so. We can call a car “sleek” all we wish, but it’s not till we see it speeding down the highway do we actually see it as it truly is. “Sleek”.

I believe an illustration would help us best define nobility. So who embodied the word “Noble” in action?

Leonidas. No not the guy with ripped abs and a Scottish accent kicking people down wells. Not even that guys in a weird graphic novel. I’m talking the historical badass who led 300 of the mightiest warriors into certain death, as he knew their sacrifice would give the Greeks time to prepare and fight against the Persian Empire. He was loved by all his men, sweated and fought next to them, not behind them. He rejoiced with them and wept with them. He paid the ultimate price to save his city and the rest of his country, which didn’t even like him.

That’s nobility.

Nobility is Andy Reid. Continuing to grind despite the lack of success. To keep going even when failure is rampant. To stay gracious and hungry despite failing every time a championship is near. To prepare and be so involved with your players they would run through a wall for you. Or maybe at least  have multiple comebacks on some of sports biggest stages.

That’s nobility.

Nobility is Winston Churchill. Leading a nation that was at it’s breaking point. Standing firm in the face of defeat. Caring about every single life lost. Pushing forward in the face of a parliament that didn’t even like him and wished to veto any idea he came up with. Staying firm to the course, never giving up, being a man of the people.

That’s nobility.

Lastly, to be noble is to be Christ-like. To emulate his life of surrender, sacrifice, and love for all man. To give up one’s own dreams and desires for the good of others, to pay whatever price necessary for the freedom of those around you, to love those that despise your name. To love everyone from the most innocent child to the most vile adult, to accept each person as they are, and to point them to a better way.

That’s nobility.

It is not just being honorable. It is not just being a person with high morals. It is not even being a “good person”.

Nobility is character in action. It is a drive of the most finest qualities towards a goal of self-sacrifice for those near and far. Nobility is the apex where the quality of a man is tested and refined. It is the product of years of self-denial, a driving towards improvement, and a surrender of one’s base desires and fleshly lusts.

To be noble is not to be the ruler of all. Nobility is to be the servant of all.

And that is what I will forever strive to be defined as.

Much Love,

Caasi.