#and yes Hera is also there with them

[lidera-aro]

How I thought Odypen was before I listened to Ithaca saga:

Odysseus: Would you love me if I was a worm?

Penelope: *fond, exasperated sigh and eyeroll* Yes, love.

How I think they are after I listened Ithaca saga:

Odysseus: Would you love me if-

Penelope: Yes

Odysseus:

Peneleope: *looking him in the eyes* Yes.

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[drksanctuary]

Ok last one so I can be a completionist @titan-army-week

PART 7: Family

After what feels like hours he doses off…memories of Celina flooding him. Her smile,the way she cheered when she got a potion to have the exact reaction she wanted. How she would proudly show off her new concoctions to Alabaster. He also had thoughts of Shreya with her watchful eyes, reading auras almost psychic-like in her interpretations of the smallest movements. He remembered Eva’s mastery of mist manipulation…and how much she liked horses. He thought of Brandon’s struggle with runes, how it frustrated him that it didn’t come as easy as spell-casting. Not every part of Magic comes easy to every one.

/That’s easy for you to say/ a voice in the back of his head prods at him.

What? …

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re good at every part Alabaster.” Lou Ellen said, directing a tone at him that is somehow both petty and full of wisdom and maturity.

“Just let me talk to him,” Al said starting toward Brandon’s bunk.

Lou Ellen stood in his way. “No,” she said, “Just give him some space Al.”

“But if I knew what the problem was I could fix it-“

“That’s exactly the problem, Al.”

“We can figure it out together!” Al stepped to the side.

“It’s not what he wants.” Lou moved in front again.

“But I can-“ Al strode forward,

“Make it worse,” Lou said. Finally resorting to physically pushing him away. Her eyes glowed purple.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the most powerful, the strongest child of Hecate…”

“Yeah which is why I am qualified to-“

“Gods could you just let me finish?!”

Alabaster heaved a sigh. An exaggerated one.

“It’s hard to be our best when your around.”

“Our?”

“Yes”

“Why? Lou you’re second strongest…I’d say you’re doing your best just fine.”

“Hardly second, Magic wasn’t as intuitive to me, I had to work SO HARD. Brandon is the same way. But Al, he cares so much about making a good impression.”

“Exactly, I know exactly what impresses mother, so if I help him-”

“Gods you’re so stupid,” she said her palm to her forehead.

***

“Well then explain it to me” Alabaster said, fighting the urge to stop her from packing. “Explain to me why you are deciding to leave us when we need you.”

“You proved just fine you don’t need me,” Lou scoffed, closing her suit case a little harder than she intended. She was just so mad. So frustrated.

“What?? Because of one game? come on Lou, are you that much of a sore loser-“

Lou turned on him eyes flashing purple and green.

This gave Alabaster pause he’d only ever seen her use purple. A strong purple but never green. Never had she been able to use the strongest of the magic glows.

He was tempted to say, “See? You grow stronger everyday!” but the way she glared at him was more than a petchulant loss of a silly training game. She looked like she was going to cry…or rip him apart…or both.

“You think,” she said, advancing on him, “that I’m referring to the game?”

“I-had” Al swallows, “up until you glowed at me like that.”

“You are so smart, Al…I don’t know how your also so fucking stupid.”

“And I still don’t understand why you think it’s ok to abandon us when we need you.” Alabaster said, his own frustration growing. He didn’t like being called stupid.

“Like I said, you don’t need me,” Lou Ellen continued, “You already have a second strongest, and it’s not me!”

Al scoffed. “Lou, do you think that mom wants Marina to fight in a battle with me? While she has raw power and talent she’s hardly ready to-“

“Oh! You see, there it is!” Lou said, smugly.

“What? Theres what?? I gave all of our siblings their assignments based on where they’d be most useful and most safe! Do you want me to put a little eight year old girl in the line of fire? Perhaps you are the stupid one!” Alabaster seethed.

“I never…said who I thought the second strongest one was” Lou said

“You-“

“But you knew.”

“Well- I mean, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it Al, you think she’s stronger than me,” Lou said. And she seemed truly hurt by the sentiment.

“Well she has a lot of potential is what I was trying to s -“

“No.” Lou Ellen cut him off, “it’s what you said.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the ranking, Mom wants us to be a team, not infighting! The strongest protects but we all contribute.”

“And mom only ever really talks to you! She hasn’t spoken to any of us more than once!”

“Is that what this is? You want more validation from Mom?”

“No! I just…I have seen how you get Al. So focused. So sure you are right about things, but you don’t understand that not all of us have that… and the rest of us aren’t Marina, ok? We aren’t all your little prodigies!”

“Marina has probably heard from mother the least, and you want to compare clout there?”

“I don’t care about moms attention Al! We all care about one thing!”

Al was confused. Winning the Titan war? Their mother getting a throne? “Equality for all demigods, not just Olympians,” Al said, so sure he is correct.

“No Al.” Lou said, her things all packed. She grabbed it all, ready to leave she started for the exit but pauses at Al’s shoulder who retracts his attempt to stop her when he sees her purple and green glowing eyes bore into his own.

“Your loyalty is to the cause. Ours? ….We all care so so much…” Lou said, in a sharp whisper. “About what YOU think of us.”

Alabaster inhaled sharply, he expected her to shove him, but honestly this hurt more. Lou Ellen walks past him.

“S-since when do you care what I think of you?”

“I always have,” Lou said, “But don’t worry…I’ll get over it.” She turned and headed out.

Al wanted to be petchulant. To say “Fine go” but all he could do was default to what he always did for his siblings.

“Lou!…” Al called after her, “If you’re going to go, at least don’t go to Camp!…it’s not safe there….“

The visions of Camp half blood burning returned to him.

“Lou??” He called again, but she was already gone. He was…

***

Alone. Al is alone.

Luke is dead. Silena is dead. Ethan…there’s no way he could’ve survived that fall…Ethan is…dead.

Alabaster looks left and right of the battle theater they’re in. It’s over. They’ve lost. This…wasn’t supposed to happen.

He can’t find his siblings anywhere on the battlefield. When he’d ordered the retreat some monsters turned on them. He told them to hide while he fended them off. He stands now, alone…monster ash swirling at his feet. On instinct he heads to Marina’s safe reinforcement site.

He turns the corner to find Ares’ gigantic form casually strolling along. He seems to be surveying the damage of the battle with the cheer of someone meandering through the park on a warm summer day. Al sees the god start to pick his teeth with a small gold sword.

Marina’s sword.

When Ares moves to the side…Alabaster sees it. Or rather he doesn’t see it. The small building…the reinforcement site…was gone. Clobbered down to the foundation stones by what looks to be a giant flaming sword that now lies in the scabbard on that assholes hip. There looks to be bodies…and blood.

Alabaster is in attack mode before he can fully register it. He activates one of the traps Brandon had set on the perimeter knocking the Olympian bastard to the ground and covering him in a green net.

He draws his sword and charges the runes until they’re practically dripping with magic. He runs over and stabs it into the gods neck.

“Argh!!” Ares growls

The wound was not deep enough . Shit.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ares says

“Why?” Is all Al can manage

“Why what?” Ares says flexing his neck muscle to push Al’s sword out.

Al smacks it in and activates all the damage runes he has. It goes deeper into the flesh with a sick squelch as ichor splurts out.

“Ow! fuck!” Ares curses, his skin starting to glow faintly.

“WHY DID YOU KILL THEM??! THE BATTLE WAS OVER! WHY???!!??”

Ares chuckles. Apparently Alabasters suffering was amusing to him.

“My job punk…snuffing out the resistance!” He says and his skin starts to glow brighter with yellow light.

Al averts his eyes the yellow light gets mixed with green. He had been certain that he used the last of his magic. Where is -

He is picked up and mist traveled away before he can understand it and he arrives somewhere and appears to be…

***

Alone.

The adrenaline is still thrumming through him when he registers where he is. The black tumbled throne. He looks around for the sibling that brought him here. He hopes for Marina. But all he sees no one. He whirls around, doing a full 360. But when he turns again, suddenly he sees:

“Mom?”

“Shhh” Hecate reaches out to brush his hair with her hand.

“Mom! they kiled them!! They’re dead…Brandon, Eva, Shreya,…m-Mari-” he chokes.

“Alabaster,” she says softly but firmly,“I know, it’s a great terrible loss but you have to be quiet.”

“Why?!” Alabaster screeches.

“Because we are deciding your fate, boy.”

Zeus, Hera, Ares and Hermes stood before them.

“Please.” Hecate says, “Spare him.”

Ares scoffs.

“Please.” Hecate reiterates…pleads.

“We have made our decision,” Hera says very diplomatically. “He may live, but he is never to set foot on the camps or he may corrupt the remaining siblings…as he did the others.”

“Fu-“ Alabaster tries to curse but Hecate’s hand covers his mouth.

“Thank you, my Lords and Lady.”

Al is mist traveled again.

“Fuck them!” Alabaster says.

“Alabaster,” Hecate says.

“I’m going to to destroy them.” He says shaking.

“Alabaster.” she admonishes.

“I’m going to burn Olympus to the ground!” Alabaster tells the green glowing in his eyes erupting into small green flames. The strongest level. He seethes. Smoke coming out of his mouth.

“My son-” Hecate says, this time with concern. “I’m sorry…I could only do so much…but you need to keep living… please.” she hands him something flat, a piece of paper maybe. “Don’t forget them and you’ll never be…”

****

Alone… after all of it…the Titan army, survival with no camp, Lamia…and here he was. Alone again. His bullet proof vest ripped to shreds. Claymore …is dead. It’s happened again.

He has a small notebook with the spell in it. The one that will keep Lamia away from him. On the last page of the notebook is a picture he’d taped there when he incurred his last loss. He thought he’d learned his lesson.

The picture showed him and his siblings…he’s even managed to wrangle Ethan into it. He had a knack for that didn’t he…getting people to go places they normally wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry” he says for what must be the thousandth time. But this time it stings anew. “I’m so sorry,” he sobs, “I don’t know what to do…what am I supposed to do???” he hugs his legs.

They don’t answer…of course they don’t. They just appear as vague shadowy mist figures around him. Trying to comfort him. But he is inconsolable. He’s gotten yet another person killed by involving them in his problems…how is he supposed to go on.

“Don’t let it happen again?” a voice says

Alabasters head shoots up. His mist forms never spoke to him unless he wanted them to.

“Claymore??” He says incredulously.

“Hey, kid.”

Al wipes the tears from his eyes.

“How are you here?”

“You’re mom wanted me to stick around….watch after you. I figure I’d be a better guardian then your fake father in that card.

Alabaster nods, “Yeah, probably.”

“So…you ready to help an old man find out some truths?”

“Yeah,” Alabaster says.

He looks down at his family photo, just underneath it, a new mist card appeared. One with a sketch of Dr. Howard Claymore.

Maybe, Al thinks, Maybe he’s not alone and this…is the start of his new Family.

The end????

(Probably not find out more in Lifting the Mist curse Comic or Son of Magic volume 2) hahahaha

[florbelles]

finished hera & started lady macbeth and we have got to start blaming women for shit again for real

[hephaestuscrew]

Appreciation post for the Hephaestus crew using the word 'boat' to refer to spaceships

Ep9 The Empty Man Cometh

EIFFEL: Unfortunately the good folks at Goddard Futuristics spared every expense when they put together this boat. [referring to the Hephaestus]

Ep23 No Pressure 

EIFFEL: The power and the support systems on this boat do kinda have a rocky relationship… [referring to Lovelace's shuttle]

Ep27 Knock, Knock

MINKOWSKI: I don't trust anyone on this boat right now. [referring to the Hephaestus]

Ep29 Pan-Pan

LOVELACE: Believe me, kids, right now I'm up for killing everything and everyone on this boat. But I promise the grid is down. [referring to the Hephaestus]

Ep30 Mayday

EIFFEL: Eiffel's Action Plan #1: turn this boat around, get back to the Hephaestus. [referring to Lovelace's shuttle]

Ep42 Time to Kill

EIFFEL: And we're sure our little lifeboat can survive the three hour tour? [referring to the experimental module]

Ep61 Brave New World

MINKOWSKI: Miss Young, you're going to go up to the bridge, you're going to get me flight capabilities, and then you and Kepler are going to get the hell off my boat. [referring to the Sol]

[hazardsoflove]

the fact that we get to watch percy and annabeth’s relationship develop while knowing how they end up at the end of the series has me shaking like a dog. the boy who drools in his sleep is going to become one of, if not the most powerful demigods and he’s going decline godhood for the girl that pushed him in the lake to prove her theory and they don’t even know it yet

[sukibenders]

Me, when I see modern retellings of Greek myths that are actually worse than the original---- from woobifying some gods and making them innocent meow meows to demonizing and villainizing others (eg. Demeter and, yes, even Hera), ignoring how they are morally grey and can't just be lumped in with a modern viewpoint at all times, making the goddess and other female figures "girlboss" but also riddled with undertones of misogyny/internalized misogyny and victim blaming (you see this a lot with retellings for Medusa, especially regarding Andromeda because if they aren't making her a girlboss than they hate on her for being a damsel, which isn't even bad, or even make her the "other woman" ��), or make characters like Perseus the bad guy, even though he was literally sent/went on a dangerous, life threatening quest to save his mother (and himself lowkey) from an abuser and then went to save Andromeda, who he loved even though these retellings try to say otherwise, from death:

[bimyself06]

Since today's my bday and I don't want to cry, I'm going to post a happy au.

Jason does go with Apollo to the boat/yacht but he made it out alive(I'm pretty sure most of the fandom is in agreement that his death is a result of Leo and the seven attempting to cheat the prophecy/fate). Except now he's left wondering what he should do since as he's realized no child of the Big Three can truly leave the mythological world no matter what they try, in comes in Percy "My mom is the best" Jackson. He suggest that Jason moves in with the Jacksons or at least get adopted by Sally so that he has a semi-normal place to go to during the school holidays. Jason is bit hesitant but accepts, Percy gains another younger sibling, Thalia has the peace of mind that her brother is in good hands, Jason is experiencing the joys of having an actual normal and great parental figures in Sally and Paul, and Nico and Hazel are a little confused as to how they also got adopted but their father and Poseidon were all hounded by Hera into joining her on paying child support to Jackson-Blofis couple(many gods, including Zeus, pointed out that Jason wasn't her kid but ended up loosing that argument and it's now a staple to pay child support. It's a great way to keep track of kids and where they currently are.)

[orionis13]

If i draw star wars stuff u guys cant say anything okay im fragile

[unwillingtoreachout]

me thinking about a pjo au but all of the characters' godly parents are the ones you would least expect

[sea-of-memoriesy]

[If you don't like the content, please just scroll away and don't send any hates towards my yumeship ╥﹏╥]

"You're home."

"You waited."

"Welcome home, Mr. Saviour."

"Glad to be back, Little God."

Both of them are warriors, but one of them is fighting for their live at summer while the other is fighting for their life as long as school semester is up (because they enroll in military school for mages), so they always appreciate every moments they're together (❁´◡`❁)

CR: @a10hwu2196 on Twitter

[gingermintpepper]

U mention in 1 of ur tags that Poseidon has vitiligo? Could u tell us more about that pls?

Okay so, I saw this ask and went "oh man this is a wonderful opportunity to ramble about some of my design decisions for the Olympians" then I also, simultaneously went "This is also a perfect opportunity to doodle Poseidon" so I spent like, way too much time doing a dinky little doodle to show both what Poseidon's vitiligo looks like + what I generally envision his design to be like when he's on Olympus!

Of course, in true Ginger fashion, it's very messy but I think it gets the point across well enough! The big reason Poseidon has vitiligo (or why I've interpreted his skin as being speckled) is because well, as a horse/hippocampus (which is his actual preferred form) he has a piebald/pinto coat and the only way really to translate that onto a human-presenting form is some form of pigmentation disorder like vitiligo or leukoderma.

Poseidon, like almost every other Olympian (save for Apollo who has the most human-like appearance of them all) has multiple animal/mythical creature elements incorporated into his design/interpretation, many of these I've chosen to allude to what their 'truest' forms are like, for example Zeus' big bull horns because he was born a horned god or Aphrodite's feathered hair and talons because she is directly descended from Ouranos. Because gods are always changing and evolving as the world changes and evolves, these features of theirs can change to better match their current 'truest' self, but most deities, especially the older ones, tend to settle after a period of time and don't experience much drastic change. For my purposes, Poseidon was born with horse like features which he inherited from his mother including his striking piebald coat and his horse's ears, but he later acquired sea serpent traits such as his tail, sharp teeth and water-like hair after acquiring the domain of the Ocean and being forced to adapt very rapidly to his new environment.

Due to geneology and generational inheritance being such a major theme in my work, I chose to let that stand for the descendents of the gods as well! Humans naturally aren't born with coats and such, but many of Poseidon's children do end up having some form of leucism from minor things like Ancaeus' double coloured hair or Bellerophon's 'peeled' hands and feet (they were a lighter colour than the rest of his body) to much more intense expressions of the trait like Theseus' albinism or Triton's very unique speckling. It's rare for his human children to get an extreme expression of this trait due to humans just kind of having less melanin to work with compared to nymphs, spirits or animals, but it does happen from time to time.

[teawiththegods]

I’ve been seeing a lot of posts around social media talking about people hearing the call of Hekate, The Morrigan, and Lilith.

I’m not here to dissuade any of that, just want to remind my fellow pagans and witches that there are a plethora of other deities you can work with in regards to what we’re all currently going through and anticipated to go through.

As a Hellenic Polytheist here are some of my suggestions:

Aphrodite (especially her war side, yes Aphrodite has a war side)

Ares (THE feminist of the pantheon, I will die on that hill)

Artemis (protector of women and children, killer of dickheads, a witch, and a primal goddess. Don’t sleep on her!)

Athena (THE strategist. She’s going to lead you to the path of victory)

Dionysus (THE revolutionist. Dionysus is the destroyer of empires and harbinger of change. Especially in regard to women. Their maenads are lethal to men who try to oppress and suppress them)

Eris (MY GIRL! I mean this bitch started the Trojan War with an Apple. Do I need to say more??)

Demeter (Also a witch and single handedly brought two of the 3 kings to their knees and almost destroyed the entire world because she went against the patriarchy. This is the goddess you want to fight alongside of in this battle! Stop sleeping on her!)

Hera (Arguably the most terrifying deity in the entire pantheon. Even Zeus is terrified of her. She lead the Greeks to victory in the Trojan War using her rage, spite, and power. And she can do the same for us!)

There are of course other deities especially in other pantheons. And you can absolutely and should lean on the deities you already have relationships with. This is just a suggestion in case you would like to connect with a new deity for the collective work we are preparing to do.

As always, if you have any questions about the deities I listed don’t hesitate to ask! 💖

Happy hexing and dismantling oppressive systems, my darlings! 😘

[wonderjanga]

Spontaneous Pregnancy

Marvel came into the Watchtower holding a baby in his hands. As a result, they have questions.

Flash: “…Marvel, why do you have a whole ass baby in your hands?”

Marvel: “Ah… This is Baby Marvel.” *holds the baby out for him*

Baby Marvel: *gurgles and reaches its little baby hands out to all of them*

Supes: *reaches out and lets Baby Marvel grab one of his fingers* “Where’d you get him from?”

Marvel: “He’s my baby.”

Batman: “Your baby?” *wasn’t aware Marvel had the personal life to even have a kid*

Wondy: “Who’s the mother?”

Marvel: “Me.”

*silence*

JL: “Huh?

Marvel: “Me. He came out of me.”

*more silence*

Batman: “I wasn’t aware of species granted males, the ability to give birth.”

Marvel: “They don’t?”

Wondy: “Then how were you pregnant?”

Marvel: “Oh, you know. I just cast a pregnancy spell!”

JL: “…What?”

Marvel: “Yeah! A pregnancy spell! All I have to do is say a little incantation and boom you’re pregnant regardless of your gender.”

Flash: “What???” *takes several steps back*

Batman: “Is that why the baby’s blonde? The spell randomize his features?”

Marvel: “Yep! Don’t get me wrong. I could’ve made him look like me by doing a little something extra with the spell but I just decided to go random.”

Supes: “Okay… so what brought this on?” *lets Baby Marvel shake his finger*

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Wondy: “Brother, you just had a spontaneous pregnancy. Why?”

Flash: “Was it baby fever?”

Marvel: “I guess. I just wanted a baby so I made one. I actually considered going the Amazonian route and making Baby Marvel out of clay, but I would’ve needed to be blessed by Athena and I’d rather not go to trouble- actually now that I say that she might get mad at me so I might have to have another baby.”

GL: “Another one?!”

Wondy: “I’m sure you can work something out with her.”

Marvel: “Maybe but Zeus also wants grandchildren so I might as well give him some?”

Wondy: “How do you know what my father wants?”

Marvel: “He talks to me in my head.”

They completely forgot about the baby in Marvel’s arms and instead decided to ask about the potential mental illness Marvel had if he was hearing voices in his head.

Later…

Flash: *eating some fries with Marvel in the cafeteria* “Hey, was making a clay person and doing the spell the only way you could’ve become pregnant Marvel?”

Marvel: “Well, no. I could’ve done what my technical great grandfather, Uranus, did, which was get one of my nuts cut off and thrown into the ocean so it could marinate for a couple years into a child.”

Flash: “Huh…?”

Marvel: “Or I could’ve done like Zeus and ate the mother of my child and had a kid sprout out of my forehead. I don’t think I would’ve gone that route though cause it would’ve killed the mom and I don’t really want there to be a Mom in the first place.”

Flash: “Zeus ate the mother of his child at some point-”

Marvel: “So yeah, I went all in with Hera’s route of just getting myself pregnant. Which was the best route, and that isn’t too surprising since she is the is Goddess of childbirth.”

Batman: *appears from nowhere* “Are you saying that you could do all of those things if you wanted?”

Marvel: “Yes.”

Flash: “You’re saying, that if one of your testes got cut off you could have a child appear from those testes?”

Marvel: “Probably!”

Batman: “I see… I see…”

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[astrocafecoffee]

Hera persona chart (103) observation

✨✨For entertainment purposes only,enjoy ✨✨

💫 MASTERLIST

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✨What is Hera Persona chart?

-Hera Persona chart is all about your married life, how it gonna be etc. It can also tell us about some of the traits of our fs. So let's go! 💗💗

ᕗ A Virgo/6th house stellium is all we need in marriage. Your partner will engage with you in your daily activities, take care of you, and know exactly what you need - from your breakfast preferences to your favorite shows. They'll be attentive to every detail and make an effort to understand you inside out.

ᕗ Pisces/12th house stellium in this chart means your bond with your partner is deeply spiritual. You're intensely connected, and you might even have dreams about them before meeting! When you finally meet, you'll feel an undeniable pull, like a sense of familiarity or recognition. You'll know, or at least sense, that this person is special - your divine partner.

ᕗ Part of fortune in 1st house means your fs is a Beauty symbol. They can be a model or at least people admire their beauty so much. If it's in fame degree or in leo then they are famous/ well known for their charming look.

ᕗ Part of fortune/northnode in 8th house can be a indicator of your fs being rich.

ᕗ Boda in Taurus is an indicator of very luxurious wedding. You will spend a lot of money in your wedding.

ᕗ moon in gemini/ 3°, 15°,27° indicates You'll share your deepest feelings and thoughts with each other, and your partner will honor that trust, keeping your confidences safe.

ᕗ Fama conjunct sun/Jupiter is the biggest Indicator of your fs being famous/ well known.

ᕗ 1st house lord in 11th house - your social circle will expand after you marrying them. Or in general they are very friendly.

ᕗ 3rd house lord in 12th house - This can be indicator of marrying a foreigner, you guys speaks different language. Even if they are from your country, there could be some sort of language barrier.

ᕗ 3rd house lord in gemini/ in Gemini degree can also mean meeting them through social media/ dating apps.

ᕗ Europa (52) asteroid in 10th house - they could be famous/ well known or have high status. Same goes for varuna asteroid.

ᕗ 9th house lord in 12th house - foreigner spouse.

ᕗappollo asteroid in leo is a great indicator of your fs is an artist or in general very creative.

ᕗ 9th house lord in 11th house - your fs may have many friends from different parts of the world/ have international connections.

ᕗ Chiron in 4th house - there will be some sort of family trauma or it can also mean one or both of your family will take their time to say "Yes" to your Marriage.

ᕗMC conjunct Aphrodite - they will be very sexualised by other people also it can also mean they will be very popular among their peers/in public or public will be obsessed, sextualising every move of your spouse.

ᕗVenus in scorpio/ 8°, 20° - there is a mysterious aura about them . Piercing eyes, dark theme will be prominent in their aesthetics.

ᕗ Boda in 8th house - private wedding.

ᕗ juno in Capricorn - older spouse, mature spouse, have some sort of reputation.

ᕗ Briede/ Groom in 9th house / in Sagittarius or in Sagittarius degree - foreign spouse.

ᕗ varuna asteroid gemini or in Gemini degree - their communication skill will bring them massive fame. If in its 10th house , then they can be a famous musician, /public speaker.

ᕗ11th house ruler in 12th house - long distance relationship, you guys will mostly communicate through internet/ social media.

ᕗ Union asteroid conjunct moon - you will feel a instant emotional connection right away after meeting them...you will recognise their soul.

ᕗ Chiron in 7th house - it's a lesson for your spouse to learn how to cut toxic people from their life / how to deal with past baggages.

ᕗ Moira/Hera asteroid in 9th house can also be a indicator of foreign spouse.

ᕗ7th house lord in 12th house - past life partner. You will marry them again in this lifetime.

Long time no see guys! I hope all of you are doing well 😊..... See you next time!

Thanks for reading 💓

- Piko 💫