#bonus step 6 she does The Face

[hsslilly-blog]

claire should be allowed to engage in psychological warfare against hunt. and my god if she isn't the greatest psyop of them all

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately. 

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time. 

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner." 

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided. 

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots. 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her. 

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back. 

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain. 

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random. 

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?" 

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist. 

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away. 

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned. 

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV. 

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?" 

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside. 

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty. 

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off. 

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor. 

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off. 

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong." 

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change. 

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?" 

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?" 

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret. 

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?" 

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek. 

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this." 

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking. 

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were. 

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so." 

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?" 

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911." 

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!" 

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are." 

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?" 

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way. 

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?" 

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here. 

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary." 

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand. 

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed. 

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where. 

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time. 

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop. 

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man. 

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it. 

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending." 

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!" 

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer. 

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar. 

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing. 

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to. 

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner." 

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous [Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas] (Helluva Boss) Bonus - Friendless Horse-Fuckers And Their Sissy Lifestyles

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

If there's one thing all members of I.M.P. can agree on, it's their distaste for visits to the Greed ring.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Warnings: this chapter does not interfere with the plot of the series. mentions of sex all around as usual, Chaz deserves a warning of his own cause hes annoyin, Crimson does too cause he's awful. This is basically just the exes and ohhs episode just for funsies. There's a hint somwhere out here of something important that will happen in a future chapter, i doubt yall can figure it out!!

Word count: 5,630

Business was low today. 

So much so that you, Moxxie and Loona had been hanging out in the meeting room, just on your phones, for almost an hour now, while Millie had gone out to get everybody lunch, and Blitzø was in his office doing who-the-fuck-knows-what. 

Moxxie turned off his phone, staring at Loona for a few seconds before speaking. “You know, I checked the scale today. It says I lost two pounds this week,” he boasted.

Loona looked up from the screen, only long enough to roll her eyes at him, uninterested. Now that had to be a new type of bored, as usually she wouldn’t miss any opportunity to irritate him by pestering about his weight, which you knew she and Blitzø only really did because they new it wasn’t a real issue- it just made him mad, and they found it hilarious to see him so exasperated. 

And it worked every time- this time she didn’t even having to say anything. “I. Am not. Fat!” 

The door was kicked open with full force, grabbing everyone’s attention, and Millie entered the room, fuming with anger. 

She walked back and forth around the room, each heavy step making it tremble, as she mumbled incoherent insults under her breath. She obviously needed to let out some steam, so you pulled up one of the human cardboard cutouts you used as targets for training for her, and, sure enough, she attacked it instantly, tearing it to shreds with her bare teeth and claws as she let out borderline animalistic shrieks.

Moxxie shot you a scared look, to which you shrugged, in a silent message of ‘she’s your wife, you talk to her’. He cleared his throat. “Millie, honey? Everything okay?”

She full-on hissed at him, but he wasn’t really bothered by it. She took a breath, giving herself a second to calm down and talk to him. “Yeah. I just… bumped into an ex.”

You and Loona immediately whipped your heads around to  see Moxxie’s reaction. He tried to seem cool.  “Oh! Ohh…”

Millie kept on complaining, her accent thicker than ever, like it always got when she got truly mad. “He just kept going on about how he has money now, and… a bright future! And a bigger cock!”

“Wait, what?” Moxxie questioned, clearly taken aback by the last statement. (Which was a pretty fair thing to be taken aback by.)

“Every time I see his stupid face I can’t help it, I just need to…” She let out a yell, angrily punching the closest thing to her. This time’s victim was the file cabinet beside her, which she took down with one punch, sending the contents of it flying out onto the floor.

Blitzø walked into the room, phone in hand. “What the fuck is all this noise? I got a client!”

“Sorry, sir, I’ll get this all cleaned-” Moxxie kneeled on the floor to collect the mess. “What is this?” He wordlessly held out a really disturbing picture of two imps… in horse costumes… kissing each other. In a rather… gross way. 

Blitzø was a freak, that you already knew all too well, but that doesn’t mean any of you wanted to see any of whatever this was. You made eye contact with Moxxie and pretended to gag, making him let out a laugh.

Blitzø walked up to him, grabbing the photo and taking a look at it. “Uhhh, it’s research. For science.” He let go of it, making his way back out of the room. “Put it back correctly, okay? I alphabetized ‘em.” 

Sometimes you’d find out about weird shit like this and wonder how it was possible you let this man fuck you every single month. Then the full moon would come around again and he’d shut you right up.

You kneeled on the floor next to Moxxie. “I’ll help you out.” Millie was still out of her mind and Loona didn’t really give a shit, so you and Moxxie began putting everything back in place by yourselves.

You barely had any time to do so, though, because in a minute Blitzø was running back into the room and straight towards the big window. “What the fuck is that?” He asked no one in particular, making you, Moxxie and Millie follow him to the window to see what he was talking about. There was a funny-looking helicopter outside, flying dangerously close to the wall-

There was no wall anymore. 

Really, this was getting ridiculous. How many more times would you have to pay to get this stupid wall rebuilt? 

Blitzø seemed to be thinking of the same thing. “Satan’s ass crack, enough with the walls! We have a door!” The wind sent most of Blitzø’s weird pictures flying outside, which you were kind of thankful for. He, in turn, hated it. “My research!”

“It’s not the end of the world, I’m sure you can get more freaky horse porn later.”

“Hey that’s not what that is!” He tried defending himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

The helicopter flew closer to the newly created enormous hole on the wall, extending out a ramp so you could make your way inside of it. “I.M.P.? Right this way, please,” the pilot called. 

You instinctively grabbed your dagger, and saw Millie and Moxxie pull their own weapons out as well. 

“Uh, sir… what���s going on?” Moxxie asked Blitzø, who simply dismissed the imp’s preoccupation with a wave of his hand. 

“Nah, don’t worry, it’s just some fancy schmuck from Greed wanting to do business with us,” the boss replied, climbing onto the ramp. Well, if he’s sure it’s okay. The three of you followed him, putting your weapons away.

Moxxie still seemed extremely unsure of the situation. “Uh, sir? I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine. Now get your asses moving.”

All four of you climbed into the tiny space inside the helicopter. You sat next to Millie, who tried putting on the seatbelt, but realized it was broken. “Uuuuh, is this thing safe?” Taking a better look at it, there wasn’t anything in there that didn’t look much too used or somehow broken. 

“Don’t worry! We are professionals!” The pilot guaranteed. You shared a look with her- that hadn’t eased your worries at all. Anyhow, they took off, on your way to the Greed ring. Now that’s a ring you didn’t enjoy visiting all that much.

Moxxie voiced similar thoughts, but sounded much more than just irritated over it. “Ugh, I hate this place.”

“Oh, yeah! This is your old stomping ground, isn’t it?” Blitzø remembered.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Moxxie looked out of the window, pointing somewhere down. “I grew up just over there. Swore I’d never come back, and- uhhhh… uhhh, what- what- where are we going?” Oh shit, you were flying precisely towards the place Moxxie had just pointed out. His expression went dark, almost… scared. “Blitz, who did you say this meeting was with?”

“I’m not sure. Just some rich somebody or other who wanted to discuss biz at his place.”

The helicopter finally landed, making Moxxie more exasperated than you’ve ever seen him. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” He was literally trembling in fear. This was where he’d grown up, and he was clearly expecting something terrible. But then who could have been the one to call Blitzø up here?

An imp who look freakishly similar to Moxxie, save a few things here and there and the obvious difference in age, walked out of the front door. “There he is! There’s my boy. Get over here and give ya daddy a hug!”

“Daddy?” you, Millie and Blitzø all asked in unison, shocked. 

Oh. OH. This was bad, wasn’t it? Because it seemed really, really bad. 

None of you really knew anything about Moxxie’s family, as he never really did want to discuss any aspect of his past. You all respected that, letting him tell you only whatever he felt comfortable to. But you did know he did not like speaking about his father in any circumstance whatsoever, and never, ever visited. It wasn’t that difficult to fill in the gaps and realize the man probably sucked. And if he had to do all of this only to trick Moxxie into meeting with him it was certainly because he knew there was no way in hell Moxxie would have agreed if he was simply asked to.

Looking at Moxxie himself was confirmation enough, too. Eyes wide and mouth agape, hands curled into fists in either side of his body, and the slight tremble that still coursed through him, you’d say he looked equal parts pissed and terrified. That surely couldn’t be good. 

“I only let Moxxie call me that. Unless ya pay me!” The man laughed an exaggerated laugh.

“Guys, uhm,” Moxxie cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “This is my father, Crimson. Sir, this is my boss, Blitz, my friend, y/n, and my-”

“Millie! I’m his wife!” Millie offered the man a handshake, eagerly introducing herself. 

He took her hand, kissing the back of it instead of shaking it. “And what a beautiful wife you are. Mox, where you been hiding this pretty little thang?”

Millie visibly cringed a bit, embarrassed that Moxxie’s father apparently didn’t even know he was married. “Oh, I’m sure he would have introduced us… eventually.”

“Oh, I’m sure, sweetheart,” he agreed before turning to you. “And you’re a… friend, then?” He checked you out, amused, but didn’t bother taking your hand. 

“Yup.”

“Must be a really trusting relationship the two of you have that you can be friends with this one, Mox.”

Millie looked stunned that he’d even say that, and Moxxie fumed at the out-of-line comment. You couldn’t form any words to reply.

He moved on to shake Blitzø’s hand. “And you gotta be Blitz, with the silent ‘o’. Right?” Blitzø looked weirded out, but let the man place an arm around his shoulders. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you and your work.”

“Really? What kind of shit has Moxxie been spreading about me? I’ll fucking kill you, Moxxie, don’t you fucking test me-”

“No, no! From all over! Looks like you’re building a bit of a name for yourself here, kid.”

“Really? Huh, well I guess it’s about time folks recognized my talent.” This seemed suspicious all-around, but Blitzø was letting himself get wooed by all the compliments. Crimson laughed exaggeratedly at his comment, which only solidified your thoughts of him trying desperately to get on his good side. No one’s that funny.

“I like your attitude. Well, I hope you’re all hungry. We put together a fabulous dinner for ya!” Blitzø followed him inside, and you took a last look at Millie and Moxxie behind you before heading in as well, leaving them to talk among themselves. Crimson didn’t seem to think like you, though, yelling out for them and interrupting whatever moment they could have to talk. “Hey, you two. Move it! Before it gets cold.” They followed suit.

Crimson led the four of you to a small, dark room with a bar, two couches and a couple chairs. It all looked very fancy. Moxxie had never let it slip that he’d come from this much money.

Moxxie and Millie sat down next to each other on one of the couches, and you and Blitzø sat side by side on the other one.

Crimson poured a glass of whiskey for Blitzø, and Blitzø only. Classic. “So, Blitz, were you always a hitman?”

“No, not always. You know, I was in the circus for a long time.”

Crimson sat back on his own chair, right across from you. “Show business! Good money in that.” The room fell into an awkward silence as Blitzø downed his drink and he lit up a cigar.

Moxxie spoke up. “What are we doing here… sir?”

It was weird to watch Moxxie refer to someone other than Blitzø as that. You didn’t even think he should call Blitzø that, honestly, but that was for him to decide. But to call his own father something so impersonal? The man had to be strict motherfucker.

“Moooxxiee, I raised you better than that. Ya know there’s no business before dinner! Besides, we’re still waiting on one more.”

One more?

As if perfectly on cue, the door was kicked open, and in made his way a shark demon with a stupid haircut, his energy not matching the one in the room at all. “Woo-hoo-hoo! What is up, party people?”

“CHAZ?” Both Millie and Moxxie asked, wide-eyed, at the same time. “Wait. What?”

Moxxie pointed between Millie and the Chaz guy. “You know him?”

Millie facepalmed, letting out a groan. “You remember that ex I was talking about?” Oh, so that was the guy with the bigger cock or whatever it was? 

He walked up to stand behind the couple, squishing them together in an uncomfortable embrace. “Looks like I have two big sex reunions today! How lucky am I?”

Oh fuck. “Did you date him too?” Millie asked Moxxie, both still trapped in the shark’s embrace.

He was the one to answer, too, letting out a laugh, full of himself. “Yeah. No big deal, but I usually bone half the people in any room I’m in.”

You couldn’t even imagine what could have possessed both Moxxie and Millie to date this asshole. What a big fucking upgrade to date this asshole and then to marry each other. That did not seem to be where Blitzø’s mind had wandered with all this. “Are you fucking kidding me? There’s someone who’s fucked both of you?” 

“Blitz. Not the vibe, at all,” you elbowed his side and he rolled his eyes. 

“What? It’s true!”

Moxxie pulled himself free of Chaz’z hold. “It was a long time ago,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

The demon wouldn’t let it go, though. “But I remember it like it was yesterday. You, a fledgling mafioso, and me, the dashing and extremely sexy muscle. It was like it was written in the stars!”

Wait. Moxxie had been in… the mafia? You took a better look around the room, taking in the two huge demons with angry expressions guarding the door, the exuberant display of wealth through the decorations, the guns all over the place, the- well, everything. In hindsight, how had you not put it together that Crimson was a mobster the moment you stepped into the estate?  It put a lot of stuff into perspective, actually. You couldn’t really imagine Moxxie ever choosing to be in the mob, but his father being a big shot in it? That changed things. It made it a non-choice, an obligation to fulfill.

Blitzø seemed to be processing the information as well, but he was never really known for getting hints, so you knew he wasn’t trying to be inconvenient when he let out a purposefully obnoxious laugh. “HA! Moxxie in the mafia, that’s fucking rich.” His mocking grin slowly turned into a look of realization as he took in the place just like you had. “Oh, shit.”

Millie’s eyebrows raised in concern “you’ve never told me this before!”

Moxxie looked a lot like if he’d merge himself into the couch seat if he could. It was clearly a touchy subject he’d purposefully kept everyone unaware of. It did surprise you that he’d kept it from Millie too, though. “I- I don’t really like to talk about this part of my life, but…” oh boy. It was flashback time. 

Moxxie was a dramatic at heart, and the moment before he’d start telling a story was always recognizable, as he adopted a very specific way of speaking. “I first saw Chaz at my induction into the family. Our eyes met from across the room, and there was just something about him. Something… that was… magnetic!” He great great at setting the scene too: you could almost see things unfold as he went on about how he and Chaz came to be.  

He dwelled on the memories for a moment. “It’s been 84 years…” Was he quoting titanic right now? 

You realized that, but you couldn’t wrap your head around Blitzø noticing it too. There’s no way he’s sat through three hours of Titanic, is there?  “Ain’t that from that boat movie?”

“Did any of that stuff actually happen?”  Millie questioned.

“Ohhh, yeah. But he skipped over the jizz covered parts,” Chaz replied. Satan, was this guy inconvenient. 

“Anyway… things changed when we went on a heist together.” Moxxie went on about how it was supposed to be a simple robbery until things went wrong. He got stuck as they tried to escape, and Chaz ran off with the money, leaving him to be caught. It ended up with him getting thrown in jail, and that part of the story you did know, for he and Blitzø had told you all about it before, as it’s how they met. He’d never told anyone what had gotten him there in the first place until now. 

“Once I got out, I never looked back.” He seemed proud of that last statement. Millie, on the other hand, was focusing on another part of the story, and it was making her growl.

Chaz seemed uneasy, and it was within reason to feel uneasy: she clearly had intentions to rip him to shreds. “Well…” he pulled on the collar of his shirt, nervous. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She yelled out, not a moment of hesitation before attempting to jump on him, who hid behind Crimson’s chair like a coward. 

“Crazy bitch!”

Millie pulled out a knife in pire, blind rage. Okay, maybe now was time to do something about this before things got messy. As much as you didn’t really care if the asshole lived or died: he should die for what he did to your friend and also… he was an all around annoying dude. But it probably wouldn’t be any good to have her kill a mob boss’ special guest. 

Thinking along the same line as you, Moxxie and Blitzø pulled her back to stop her, and you carefully grabbed the knife from her hand. She breathed heavily, but stopped fighting. The anger wasn’t going anywhere, though. “You should die, bitch.” Again, fair.

A maid calmly walked into the room, completely unfazed by the chaos happening in it, to announce the food had been served. 

At the dinner table, Millie’s eyes shot daggers at the shark imp, who ate happily by her side, Moxxie’s expression got more depressing by the second, and Blitzø was visibly antsy. You were unsure what to do as you waited for someone to break the silence. 

Unfortunately, the person to do so was Blitzø. You love him (well, maybe not love him, but you get the gist), but man, was he not blessed with the gift of good timing. “So. This is aggressively uncomfortable.”

You twirled a piece of meat around on your plate with a fork, looking at him. “No shit.”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“I suppose ya wanna know why ya here,” Crimson finally said.

“Yeah, so what gives? I mean, you know we kill people on earth, right? We don’t normally do contracts for locals.”

“Not anymore,” you chimed in.

“Yeah. So if you wanna do business with us, you gotta-“

“I don’t wanna do business with I.M.P.” Crimson stated. “I wanna do business with Moxxie.”

Moxxie all but jumped on his seat, startled. “Me?”

“Yeah. I summoned I.M.P. to be sure you’d show.” Oh, so he was well aware Moxxie wouldn’t have shown up otherwise. He said it with no shame either. “Because, well, we’re bringing Chaz into the family.”

“What? Since when can just anyone join the family?”

“Come on, Mox. You had responsibilities here that I had to pick up once you left. Now Chaz is going to lighten the load.”

“Wait. I thought you always hated his guts.”

“Well, I don’t know if I exactly hated him…”

“You called him a ‘friendless horse-fucker’ and said we lived a ‘sissy lifestyle’,” Moxxie reasoned, an eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah, well, I was wrong,” his father shrugged. “You’ve been gone a long time, Mox. A man can change.” From what you’d gathered about him in this short time you could hardly believe that was the case here, and, from the looks of it, Moxxie didn’t, either. He had the nerve to keep going. “And so has Chaz.”

“Yeah, I’ve grown! Matured! And recently came into millions!” He displayed a smile. 

Oh, how convenient that Moxxie’s father had changed his mind about him just when he became rich. Chaz leaned back on his chair. “But, you know, mostly the mature thing.”

“Oooh okay. So the horseless friend-fucker over here gets a little moola and suddenly it’s worth wasting our time over?” Blitzø questioned, annoyed.

“Well, I’m the whole package! If you know what I mean,” he winked. What did he mean? He didn’t seem to have any redeeming qualities, let alone ones that could ever make him ‘the whole package’. He rolled his eyes, explaining himself: “I got a big dick.”

Millie looked over at Crimson. “What does any of this have to do with Moxxie?”

He finished his food in no rush. “There’s gonna be a ceremony tomorrow. Moxxie here is going to officially release his holdings in the organization. Then you can get back to ignoring ya family to ya heart’s content.”

Millie stood up to face him. “Maybe he wouldn’t ignore his family if they didn’t force him to rub elbows with a no good shark-toothed fuckface!” In an instant, she had her knife to Chaz’s throat again. 

When did she even retrieve it from you? 

“Hey, look, everybody! Relax. I know tensions have been high tonight. Say, why don’t ya stay here and get some rest? We’ll have the ceremony tomorrow, and then you will be free to leave. I have your rooms all prepared!” Free to leave? Was he offering for you to stay or demanding it? 

There’s no way you’d be staying here with- 

“Yes, sir,” Moxxie agreed without questioning, standing up from his seat, defeated. 

“Mox?” Millie asked, a silent question of ‘are you sure?’ lingering along with his name.

Moxxie said nothing in return, only turning around to make his way out of the dining room. It was his father. His house. His choice. So you all stood up to follow him to your rooms.

You’d barely made your way out the door before his father called for him. 

“Just give me a minute, Millie. I’ll be there,” he reassured her before re-entering the dining room, leaving all of you to be accompanied by one of the mansion’s employees to the bedrooms. 

Millie was visibly worried, and it was nothing but understandable. Moxxie was clearly uneasy and extremely uncomfortable with all of this, and there were moments during the night when he’d looked genuinely scared. You intertwined your arm with hers as you walked the long hallway, a silent gesture that told her you shared her worry and were there for her. She half-smiled at tou in return, acknowledging it.

Suddenly, all of you had to stop on your tracks, as it was impossible to ignore the fact that the ceiling and all the decorations decorations in the hallway were now all covered in… dildos. You tried conjuring anything else that those could be, but that’s what they were, which was fucking weird. What the fuck was the purpose of that?

Blitzø found it the funniest thing ever. “HA! There’s dicks in the walls! Now that’s fucking hilarious!” You laughed with him, rolling your eyes before pushing him to keep walking. 

After being showed your designated rooms, you mention waiting for Moxxie with Millie in their room so she wouldn’t spiral being on her own, but the imp guiding you insists you stay in your separate rooms, which, again, is fucking weird. He’s so adamant about it, though,  that Millie just tells you to let it go.

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yeah. Mox will be here in a second.”

“‘Kay. I’m right here if you need me. Right?”

“Right.” She nods before disappearing into her room.

You make a face at the imp waiting for you to get inside your room. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He points to the end of the hallway, and you make your way inside. 

By the time you get out, he’s not around anymore. You calmly walk towards your bedroom, taking your time checking out the decorations on the walls (the dildos are gone by now) as you go. Before you get to your door, Millie slams hers open, threatening Chaz out of her room, pulling him off the floor by the collar of his shirt and pointing her knife to his throat for what’s… what? the third time that night, alone?

“Damnit! This usually works!” He complains.

She lets go of him and drops him back to the floor before slamming the door closed on his face. He stands back up, eyes scanning the hallway, when he makes eye contact with you, immediately raising his eyebrows in a stupid suggestive way. “Hey there, hotstuff.”

“Nope,” you say, booking to your room. You slam the door closed, not even giving him any chance to try anything funny. 

“I could show you a good time, ya know?” He yells from the other side of the door.

“No thank you! Go bother someone else.” 

“Your loss, bitch!” 

Well, you forgot there actually was still someone he could go bother. You groaned, shoving a pillow over your head when you started hearing the noises. And the noises were loud. You didn’t want to think about it.

After a while, you finally began drifting off to sleep. When sleep came, though, it lasted barely a few minutes before someone started banging on your door. You get up, angry that your sleep was ruined, and walk up to it, ready to tell Chaz off again. When you open it, though, you’re met with a disheveled Blitzø, wearing nothing but his underwear and chaz’s jacket, instead.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, annoyed.

“I got this,” he held up a shark-shaped keychain with a couple of keys attached to it. 

“And what is this?” 

“Chaz’s car keys.” 

You’re definitely awake now. “Why the fuck do you have that?” 

“Come ooon,” he grabs you by the hand and drags you around the mansion all the way out to the parking lot. 

“What are we even supposed to be doing here?” You whisper as Blitzø clicks a few times, and the two of you followed the car’s noise, finally finding it. 

“Look, nobody who’s that bad in bed can score two hotties that easily. He gotta be hiding something,” he explained as he pried the passenger door open and looked inside.

“Really, that’s your conclusion? Maybe he’s just a prick. A prick who’s bad in bed, that’s not unheard of, is it?”

“You don’t understand.”

“That bad?”

“That bad.”

“Okay.” You don’t know why, but you find yourself pleased to hear Chaz wasn’t a good time. One might call it jealousy, but that would be dumb. It’s just nice to know you fuck him better, that’s all. Whatever.

“Ha-ha! Found it.” He held out a piece of paper in triumph. 

“What’s it say?”

He handed the paper over to you, and, clear as day, it read the words: ‘eviction notice’.

“So he isn’t actually rich?”

Blitzø made his way around the car, opening up the trunk and trying to find something there, which he did- yet another piece of paper. You walked up to stand beside him, reading the words at the same time as he did. 

Chaz’s Mastur Plan

Rent suit 

Convince Crim im rich

Marry Moxxie to get into family

???

Profit $$$

Holy shit. He’s here to marry Moxxie?

You have no time to say anything about it, though, as you feel something poke your neck and, in a second, you’re out.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you fell unconscious, but you know it’s been something around ten minutes since you and Blitzø have regained your conscience (mostly, at least, seen as you still felt pretty groggy and Blitzø wasn’t really speaking too coherently), only to find yourselves to be trapped inside the trunk of Chaz’s car. That fucker. 

The two of you barely fit together inside the tiny space, so it was a little hard to try to blindly kick your way out. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until Millie came to your rescue, opening the trunk up to let you out. 

“Oh, Millie, you found us!”

“Who’s your friend?” You asked her, finding it funny that the two guys behind her had appeared out of thin air with how quiet they’d been. 

“Friend?” Millie asked in return, confused. You then clocked that they were, in fact, not friends. 

“Ohh.”

Millie turned around, giving the two imps no time to even think of doing anything before slashing one’s throat with her knife and decapitating the other with the trunk door. She looked fucking cool doing it. “What is going on?” She helped the two of you out, and it took you a couple seconds to be able to catch your balance and stand up straight.

Blitzø immediately started going off about everything you’d found out. “That seductive dickhole is trying to marry Moxxie, and he’s not even rich!” He stumbles over, falling face-first to the ground. 

“Is that true or is he tripping?” Millie asked you. 

“It’s true.”

“Moxxie!” She called out, running back towards the house as you helped Blitzø get up. Suddenly, all the paths that led out of the parking lot and into the mansion were automatically closed, trapping the three of you there. You couldn’t even imagine what Moxxie was going through right now. “Everything’s locked out! How’re we gonna get in?”

“The keys!”

“What?”

“The keys!” You nudged Blitzø’s arm.

“Oh! Fuck! Right!” He fished Chaz’s car keys from his pocket, dragging you and Millie to the car and getting the engine running as soon as he stepped inside. “Buckle up, girls, we’re doing a Shrek.” That always has been his favorite part of the movie.

He stepped on the gas with all he could, driving the car into the wall, obviously smashing it in the process, but successfully getting through it. If you felt dizzy then, you were both so much worse now. He tried stepping out of the car, holding a finger up to finish his dramatic entrance. “I object!” He fell to the ground again. 

Thank Satan Millie could handle herself. 

It was so cool to watch her kick almost every single one of those guy’s asses that you even didn’t bother doing much more than the necessary (which you were pretty thankful you could do, given the way everything seemed to be spinning), only handing her random stuff she could kill them off with and occasionally stabbing someone. 

After every single one of them had been taken care of, Millie wordlessly picked a horrifying-looking tied up Moxxie up from the altar and carried him along. You know she left Crimson and Chaz live only because of Mox.

Still, Chaz had the nerve to speak up and complain. “Hey! What about my weddi-” Millie shoved one of the dildo things down his throat, effectively shutting him up. Fitting. 

“This ass is mine!” She yelled at him.

“By the way, y’all should probably know, Chaz isn’t even rich, okay?” Blitzø yelled out.

Crimson’s eyes widened. “What?”

You grinned. “Yup! You should try checking out his car!” 

“Ha! He just played you like a fuckin’ rube!” He flipped Crimson off, and you did the same. You smiled when you realized Millie was flipping him off as well as she walked away, not even bothering to face him as she did.

“Later, losers!” Blitzø announced, and you all hopped into the helicopter again, which Millie somehow, for some reason, could operate, finally on your way back home from this wreck. 

You and Blitzø helped Moxxie out of the restraints and pulled the tape over his mouth, which still left him in the bizarre wedding dress, but at least he was safe.

Getting there, you could see Loona was somehow in the exact same position she’d been when you’dall left the day before, sitting with her legs propped on the table and her phone in hand. 

Moxxie beamed at his wife. “Millie? Thank you for saving me. You’re amazing.”

“Next time just tell me if your daddy’s a psychopath. I can handle it.”

“Well, and I’m glad everything ended up okay! Good to know we both have daddy issues, Mox.” Blitzø slipped in the middle of the couple, and you were sure whatever came out of his mouth next would be inconvenient at best. “Also! I got to plow your ex boyfriend!” See? “Isn’t that great? Now all three of us have fucked the same guy! Does it feel weird that I fucked your ex, Mox?” He nudged him with his elbow, purposefully annoying him. 

“Extremely.”

“I’m glad I’m not a part of that club,” you commented. 

“Hey now, don’t pretend we don’t fuck the same guy too. Present tense.”

“Oh, come on, that’s totally different. You’re telling me you wouldn’t feel weird if I had fucked one of your exes?”

He takes a moment to ponder it. “Yeah, actually. That would be weird,” he decides. “But ya haven’t, so… I don’t feel ashamed at all,” he shrugged, sporting an annoying little smirk. 

You rolled your eyes at him.

A/N: Chaz was fun to write cause he's so utterly stupid lol. But yeah this is just for fun, we'll have a few of these bonus ones throughout the series! Hope y'all like it <3

[lassieposting]

Fic Concept:

Tali'Zorah is, if she does say so herself, something of an expert in galactic romance. Her omnitool hosts a 6 terabyte collection of romance and romcom vids from across the spectrum of known species, and after that much media exposure, she's fairly sure she's familiar with all the ins and outs of each culture's dating milestones.

She knows, for example, that family members have certain duties in a clan member's new relationship, in human cultures. As one of Shepard's closest friends, she also knows that the poor thing has no family to fulfil those duties for her.

Determined to see Shepard and Garrus's relationship turn into Shepard and Garrus's marriage, she starts handing out responsibilities to appropriate members of the Normandy crew. Shenanigans ensue.

(AKA the one in which Tali is convinced common romcom tropes are actually essential milestones in any human romantic relationship, and takes steps to make sure Shep and Garrus get to experience them.)

Ideas that made me horf:

- Wrex, as Shepard's oldest and closest (deeply violent) male associate, is enlisted to give Garrus the if you break her heart, I'll end you speech usually performed by the father, on a visit to Tuchanka. Maybe he absolutely knows Tali has misread this, and lowkey gives the speech over shots of ryncol, wheezing about how Shep would kill Garrus just fine herself. Maybe he has no idea this isn't an actual important human ritual, and performs his part with ceremonial gusto. Anyway, he does it, and somehow manages to be vaguely heartwarming about it anyway or gives Garrus some sign of approval.

- Mordin, as the oldest male friend on the Normandy, is tasked with interrogating Garrus at "Family Dinner". He does so, but very few of the questions he asks are actually relevant to the typical Meet The Parents dinner, and Shepard actually learns a few new things about Garrus herself.

- Joker volunteers to be "mom" and bring out the baby pictures to show Garrus. He doesn't have any pictures of Shepard as an actual baby, but he does have some funny or embarrassing ones from their time serving together under Captain Anderson he's been itching to share, and that's almost the same thing. She's more baby there than she is now, anyway.

- Tali strongly encourages Garrus to spend time "bonding" with Grunt. It's very important to make sure your future wife's child knows he is included in your new family unit, Garrus! An eventful trip to the zoo/museum/etc ensues.

- Bonus wedding chapter where Wrex is bullied into formal wear to walk Shep down the aisle; Jack paints Cipritine face markings on Grunt thinking they're Vakarian family markings and then sets him loose on Garrus's extended family, who are all very confused as to how this young krogan is apparently from Cipritine; Zaeed gives a hilariously inappropriate speech as Best Man and accidentally outs Garrus as Archangel in front of Aria T'Loak; Kasumi attempts to hook up with Jacob in a time-honoured tradition of inadvisable bridesmaid/groomsman couplings, and Mordin makes use of his STG training to break into the honeymoon suite to leave a tasteful gift basket of sex aids on the bed, because Tali has banned him from giving them in front of the guests.

Just. Interfering Interspecies Crew Way Off Base But Have Loving Intentions. And in the end Shepard is deeply exasperated, but also very touched by the effort put in by the people that love them, and honestly lowkey glad that they got to experience those cliche moments after all.

Bonus points: crewmembers who really do see Shepard/Garrus as family also trying to share their traditions with her/him. Like, if a krogan warrior convinces a fertile female to join his clan, that's a big deal and maybe the clan throws a huge feast and party to celebrate, so Wrex does that for them. Or maybe asari pass hereditary jewelry from mother to daughter to be worn at the first bonding ceremony to a beloved life partner, so Samara lends Shep hers to wear for the wedding. Shit like that.

[satellite-sims]

Heya, it's time to present the final version of my beloved Antje. I worked on her since late 2019. It was the very beginning of my new era lol. I started writing Deep End where she have the support role and she should have look exactly the same as her real prototype. That's the goal. I had to admit - her face wasn't that easy to recreate. (Like Adrien's too). But i did my best to get even more resemblance by making a low-effort skinblend and it came out super gorgeous! I'm gonna show you results in the details. Pictures are slightly edited and taken with reshade.

Let's get started.

1. Portrait Zone

The first thing that triggered me in her face is her dark and "muddy" cheekbones. It was the skintone and the blush itself fault. Skintone have multiple colors on the face (some zones are yellow and some are pale & bluish) and it was disturbing to constantly remove this effect on portraits. Now this problem solved! Her face now have smooth colors with warm pink/peach undertones (which i usually remove to get the "porcelain" skin) and smooth cheekbone line. The other important part that may be not really visible is that her neck got shorter to fit the resemblance.

2. Face Proportions

When it gets to the skintone changing - sims may lose some details that makes them resembling. It does happened to Antje but it wasn't that terrible, because i blended some parts of her previous skin (Ephemera's Fresh) and the newest one (Simpicient's Tranquility) I blended eyelids, nose and lips to save the definition. I've added a cheekbone definition to make colors smoothly looking (makeup part not really worked with her) and it gave me an ability to make cheekbones a little lower which looks more accurate. Some little touches i've made: slightly reshaped the lips (they've got "sharper") and widener the jaw. I think i will do some changes in future, because chin and eyes are slightly off to me. Yeah, i'm the perfectionist, but anyway, i love how she comes out in general.

3. Clavicle & Cleavage Details

When i seeked some photos of Antje for references, i noticed that her clavicle and cleavage are not that subtle as my Antje. It's more soft and flat. Anyway, previous version looked unrealistic to me when i took the pics of her body in lingerie. Something was off to me. That's also the reason why i decided to experiment with skinblending. But in fact, i didn't changed the body. I just took original from Simpicient and i really liked how it looks on her. Textures are more realistic and details are smooth like Antje should have.

4. Belly & Spine

Honestly, i don't like how previous belly looked like. It's kind of dystrophic for a middle aged woman. It should be just flat in my view. And again a yellow tone looks a bit odd. Yeah, she still have ribs at the second pic but they're not that obvious now. And a neat button as bonus, lol. Spine is my favorite thing about Antje. She have unusual body shape for a woman - reversed triangle. It's always called "less feminine" and etc. but i found it very sexy. I really love how her spine looks like especially with wide shoulders.

5. Legs

It's the most boring part for me, lol, but they look fine in both variations. That's all. Second ones are just better textured as the whole skintone does. Knees are slightly controversial to me. Maybe, i will rework them later.

6. Misc Parts

These are the smallest improvements, but i decided to show like everything (except nude parts, sorry, but we're on tumblr).

That's all i wanted to show you. It's a little, but honest work :D I love the way Antje transformated just by changing a skintone. She became "older" and that's what i wanted to get. I wasn't sure that i have any luck with skinblending, because all my previous efforts were too bad. This one is a small but important step for developing my favorite character.

Thanks for reading ❤

[vertin-is-the-frog-guys]

i'm very eepy.. but must study so i dont fail math, so here's the main cast of re19 sleep routines and related things to distract me for a second :D

vertin: this is one of the few times she unties her hair. she doesn't really have a nighttime routine, but she makes sure to take a shower before going to bed. if she's super busy, it's not uncommon to see her just fall asleep on a couch or rug or something. if she does make it back to her room on a busy night, the only thing coming off of her is her coat, so yes, she does sometimes sleep with the hat on. on a non busy night, imagine smoltins outfit for what she sleeps in/looks like at night

sonetto: ..wait she sleeps?? is the general consensus of suitcase residents. she has a very strict nighttime routine that she follows, even when she's super tired or busy. the reason people believe she doesn't sleep is her schedule. she always leaves the public areas at 9 pm sharp, but when people look in her room, they can't find her. in truth, she's just working in a more quit area of the suitcase. she always gets up at 6, no matter how long she slept for. she wears the same thing as vertin to sleep, as its foundation protocol

regulus: she's a early sleeper, late riser. always has bed head for an hour after getting up. like vertin, she takes a shower before bed. unlike the prodigy's of the foundation however, she has no schedule at nighttime, so she constantly has under eye bags. i have no clue what she sleeps in, probably just a old shirt

sotheby: another early sleeper. she has a strict bedtime routine, with many steps. she definitely has the most excessive routine. she goes to bed around 8, and gets up at 7:59 on the dot. the others sometimes time it, and she's so accurate to it it's scary. she definitely sleeps in a lavish sleeping gown, think of her i2 as it in a way.

lilya: another one people aren't sure sleeps. she does stuff around the super late hours a lot, even seeming like she has more energy then. like vertin, she can fall asleep anywhere. zeno training has also regulated her to be able to wake up very fast, even with a hangover.

druvis: druvis is a odd case. in my head, she has a room in the suitcase, but doesn't use it except for storage, instead sleeping in the (somewhat man made) forest outside. so people notice she leaves and assumes that she goes to sleep, but no one can confirm or deny. in the very cold months, or when in rains in the suitcase, she uses her room. when people can see her in her room, she has a sleeping gown, a lot like her i2 (think of the shape of the top)

matilda: basically tries to copy sonettos schedule. many people (kanjira) see this and tease her about it. matilda also goes to bed in the foundation fit, but wears sweatpants or something under it, as she gets cold often

bonus: some shorter ones of other characters

37: i've seen some discourse on what she'd wear. i wholeheartedly think she just wears her normal clothes.

isolde: has a routine similar to sotheby. the two sometimes have night time tea drinking sessions, as it's both in their routines

kakania: she keeps the brooch from isolde in her eyesight when she's laying in bed.

lucy: she watches people. this is actually canon in her voice lines lolol

tooth fairy (and madam z): they sleep with each other when madam z is around. not even sexually they just enjoy each other's presence in a very intimate way. one time vertin walked in on it and has that like, tanjiro disguised face. she already knew she wanted to embarrass them

medpoc: sleeps in the tub. that's it that's all i got for you

[kawarikisaki]

Okay! So with the new case finished up I'm ready to talk into the void about it.

Starting with the fact that this case has made me reevaluate how strong Hakuba is.

Cause I have always thought of him as being somewhat strong, but lo and behold he can just lift a whole Kaito and keep him on his shoulder for several minutes (it was six pages, and most of it was dramatic deduction time, which is usually not particularly fast dialogue) without any signs of being encumbered by the weight. He does adjust position a few times (his hand moves between panels so either he's adjusting or he's rubbing Kaito’s ass, I'm eating well as a Hakukai shipper but I'll take the innocent explanation) but there’s no sweat, no wince, no commentary about Kaito being heavy. Like, yeah, a fireman's carry is an effective way to carry a person. However, the average person is still going to struggle to lift someone that's a similar size to themselves.

Also, while im sure his assertion that he was going to walk him to the police station was just him being cheeky and bantering... he didn't seem to have any intention to put him down any time soon. I'd like to think that he was waiting for Kaito to call him out on it then make his escape, but if Kaito hadn't he'd have probably kept it up till the deduction was done then walked over to Nakamori-keibu and said something like, "this is Kid by the way, can you handle him from here?"

Anyway... Hakuba strong actually? I have decided to think so.

Can I just say I love all the little faces they make at each other? All the bois, not just Kaito and Hakuba. Granted, the character interactions and shifting dynamics have always been my favorite part of dcmk.

But like....

Hakuba bending down to talk to Conan. Kaito looking to proud of himself when he pulls out the 'hey did you consider it could actually be suicide?' While Conan’s in the background like 'oh shit oh shit oh fuck'. Conan and Kaito both thinking they had Ran Convinced, but she was sus.

Speaking of sus, I think Hakuba figured Conan out.

Sure, that last page had him back off from it and be like, "You got in contact with Shinichi and had him help." And that explaination works but... its an explanation that just makes less sense the more you think about it.

Even if I give the benefit of doubt it doesn't make sense to do it the way Hakuba explained, because if Conan contacted Shinichi to help then why would Conan be acting as the middle man? It'd introduce unnecessary delay to have Shinichi hear what's happening via phone, then Shinichi tell Conan his response, and Conan bowtie it to Kid, and Kid say the lines. (Realistically speaking the way they actually did it should also have this problem, but adding a step like this when in theory its completely unnecessary to have Conan as the middle man beyond just contacting Shinichi is just going to imcrease the delay.)

That said I can actually kind of see how that could be a conclusion he reached from this interaction:

Hakuba, at this point, knows that Shinichi is Kid and that Conan is helping him by supplying lines, but he hasn't figured out the details. So when he notices that Conan reacts before 'Shinichi' that's him reaching that conclusion that he brings up later about Conan being so invested that he was mimicing Shinichi’s expression and attitude.

I don't think he fully believed that, though.

Looking at the information that we know he had:

1. 'Shinichi' is Kid (and also Kaito Kuroba using his real face)

2. Conan is supplying Kid with lines.

3. The lines Kid is saying are from the real Shinichi.

4. Conan gets worked up if you say something that Shinichi would be worked up about

5. Conan has gadgets. (Hakuba is at least aware of the bowtie having speaker/microphone function, bit arguments could be made that he’s aware of the voice changer and also the sleep needles from the events at sunset mansion)

6. (Bonus) In a previous case Hattori had been upset with Hakuba being the representative 'detective of the east' but was completely fine with Conan taking that role.

I think he figured out that Conan was Shinichi, but that he wasn't certain until he brought up 'the real Shinichi' during the deduction and saw Conan begin to panic. I think he had mentioned it purely to get a rise out of Conan and see how he would react, and upon getting his answer he played along and gave Conan an out to jump on because if he exposed him here he wouldn't get the answers as to how this had happened.

And I feel like this read of is is reinforced by his final lines expressing that he understands why Shinichi/Conan would help Kid for the sake of solving the mystery because it's a detective’s nature. Hakuba gets it because he’s doing the same by helping Conan get away with his deception in hopes that doing so will help him get answers to the mystery.

Thats how I've decided to view things anyway, though it is possible that im partially blinded by my hope that he continues to be relevant.

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Sixth Year Bonus Scene 12

This is completely unedited. So likely a lot of typos and the like. But I'll polish it up when I put it on AO3.

Why does Sixth Year have so many bonus scenes? Why?

This is Harry's POV of the infamous tower scene. The one where everyone was convinced I'd already done Draco's POV

Please...thoughts? This is 8,600 words.

Bonus Scene 1

Bonus Scene 2

Bonus Scene 3

Bonus Scene 4

Bonus Scene 5

Bonus Scene 6

Bonus Scene 7

Bonus Scene 8

Bonus Scene 9

Bonus Scene 10

Bonus Scene 11

**

(Read more for mobile)

If he weren’t so frantic to reach the Astronomy Tower first, Harry would have been rather vindictively pleased that his worries about Hopkins being two-faced had come true. After months of Ron and Hermione brushing his concerns off and telling him he was reading too much into things, it was nice to realize that no, he really had been right.

Only he would rather not have been right here; being wrong would have been better. Because Malfoy had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and Dumbledore was walking directly into a trap.

It wasn’t going to be fine. It wasn’t going to be fine at all.

He cursed the amount of stairs that the Astronomy Tower had, lungs burning as he gasped for air. But he finally made it to the top, stumbling through the door and into the freezing cold of the night. Dumbledore was there, facing Hopkins, who was looking out towards the landscape, his back to Harry and Dumbledore.

Harry yanked the Invisibility Cloak off, gasping for air. “Professor Dumbledore!” He had to stop, pulling in more breaths. “Don’t – he and Malfoy let Death Eaters into the castle! They’re coming here!”

They both turned to face him. Hopkins didn’t even look surprised, more exasperated, as he skimmed over Harry and then at the doorway, likely looking for Malfoy.

“You shouldn’t be here, Harry,” Dumbledore said, worried.

“I - what?” Harry blinked, disbelieving. Did Dumbledore not understand? This was a trap! “Did you not hear me?”

“I know they’re here,” Dumbledore said. “Wayne did not lure me here under false pretenses, as I’m sure you’re imagining right now.”

“But—”

“Get under your cloak, Harry,” Dumbledore urged. “Quickly now. And hide the others while you’re at it.”

“Others?” Harry barely had time to wonder who Dumbledore was referring to as “others” when shuffling sounds came from behind him. He whirled, surprised to see Neville, Ginny, and Luna there. Ginny and Luna both looked worried, but Neville seemed a little guilty.

“Sorry,” Neville said. “Harry snuck past first, and then Ginny went after him. I had to go, too.”

They didn’t even seem surprised. “You knew?” he accused.

“Of course we did,” Ginny answered bluntly. “We’re his friends.”

How did they not stop Hopkins then? Why did they just let it happen?

There was a small head shake from Luna as she looked past Harry. She seemed very worried.

“Get under the cloak,” Hopkins said. “And don’t interfere.”

Were they just supposed to let it happen? Harry had come here to get Dumbledore out of this, but now they were just going to let Malfoy waltz up here with his Death Eaters?

Ginny snatched his cloak out of his hands, huffing. She unfurled it with a snap, moving closer to Neville and Luna and giving Harry a look that very clearly meant get over here, idiot. Harry hastily stepped in closer, feeling the familiar silky feel of the cloak settle over his shoulders as they all pressed against the wall right by the door.

It was cramped. Harry had only ever hidden three people at one time under this cloak. With four it was a very tight squeeze and he and Neville both had to bend over to make sure that no ankles would show.

“You led us all the way out here instead of to Dumbledore’s office?” An unfamiliar man’s voice drifted out from the shadows beyond the door. “Why? Hoping you can push one of us off the tower?”

“I might have to bring you here, but the last thing you’ll do is mess around in Hogwarts,” Malfoy said tightly, voice flat. “He’s going to be here.”

“Do you have a copy of his schedule?” a sneering female voice asked. “Or did he tell you he was going to be on the tower at midnight?”

The first person Harry saw was Malfoy, his blond hair the lightest part of him in the night. He was flanked by two Death Eaters, apparently the two who Harry had just heard speaking. They were clad in threadbare robes. On closer inspection, they seemed to be two of the ones who had recently escaped Azkaban.

Harry knew there were others. He had seen more names appear on the map before he had bolted out of the Gryffindor dorms. He hadn’t managed to count them but knew it was more than two, and he had recognized Fenrir Greyback’s name among them.

“Is this a joke?” the unknown male snarled, pointing his wand at Hopkins. “Did you bring us here to face him?”

“Idiot.” This voice was deeper, more guttural and animalistic. “Dumbledore’s right there.”

There were six Death Eaters behind Malfoy, each of them stepping out of the doorway and into the open air. They all wore similar threadbare robes, except for Snape. What was Snape doing here?

Next to Harry, Ginny’s breathing was very loud, and he heard her swallow.

Aside from Snape and Greyback, Harry didn’t recognize any of the others present. One, a wizard with blond hair, towered over the others. There was another with a brutal face and light-colored hair. The third one was the most nondescript, fading into the background.

“Fenrir Greyback.” Dumbledore’s voice was quiet and calm. “I had not expected to see you here.”

Greyback’s teeth were sharp and yellow when he bared them. The moonlight cast harsh shadows on his face, highlighting the jagged scars. “How could I resist?”

“Alecto and Amycus Carrow…” Dumbledore’s eyes drifted to the two who were directly next to Malfoy. “Working together as always I see.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do it, Draco,” Alecto said, grinning. “I thought you’d choke and then we could have our fun.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” Malfoy snapped. “Now, you know why you’re here.”

“What are you planning, Draco?” Snape asked.

Malfoy barely deigned to glance at Snape. “Can’t you guess? Or do I need to spell everything out to you?”

“Don’t draw your wand there,” Amycus told Dumbledore. “My hand’s itching to Disarm you or push you right off, but we’ve been told this is Draco’s job.”

Malfoy looked startled, his wand twitching. “You were told what?”

“Did you think we’d do your dirty work for you? That maybe we’d die instead?” Amycus smirked. “Oh no. The Dark Lord thought you might pull something like this. Why do you think he sent so many of us?”

As the reality of the situation set in, Malfoy looked increasingly panicked. He didn’t seem to know what to do, his plan falling down around him.

“It’s your job to kill him.” Alecto’s voice was more of a sing-song than speech. “And weren’t you clever indeed? Bringing him out here, revealing yourself… If anyone knows anything about Albus Dumbledore, it’s the soft spot he has for his students.”

“You don’t need to do this, Draco.” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle.

The panic didn’t disappear, but Malfoy was back to pointing his wand at Dumbledore. “Yes, I do! You think you can keep him safe? You think you can keep any of us safe? You’re not even aware of the Death Eaters under your nose!”

Was that Malfoy’s angle? That he was doing this to keep them all safe? Was he stupid?

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Do you think this will keep you safe?”

“It’s not about me,” Malfoy said. “If it had just been me I’d have thrown it back in his face because I never wanted this.” There was a slight crack in his voice.

Harry didn’t realize he’d gasped until Ginny stepped on his foot. That was–

“But because he brought Wayne into this, I couldn’t say no. So, yes, I have to do this.” Malfoy’s voice did break here. “I have to.”

Hopkins? This was about Hopkins?

Harry couldn’t even look for where Hopkins was to see his own reaction to this. He tightened his grip on his wand, fully prepared to do whatever he needed to in case spells started firing.

“You’re not a killer, Draco,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Don’t let him turn you into one.”

“Your friend doesn’t seem to care, does he?” Alecto sneered. “He’s letting you do this, isn’t he?”

“He didn’t want me to either,” Malfoy snapped angrily. “He told me—” He broke off, biting his lip hard. His wand hand was shaking.

“I told you there were options.” Hopkins’s voice was a surprise. But he wasn’t where Harry had last seen him, instead standing next to Malfoy.

“How’d he get there?” the brute-faced Death Eater hissed, voicing Harry’s own confusion. “Wasn’t he just over there?”

Hopkins ignored the Death Eaters, his attention solely on Malfoy. He didn’t have a wand in hand; he didn’t even seem nervous. He was just very intent on Malfoy. “But you have to make this choice. I can’t do it for you. Neither can Dumbledore.”

“I said I would,” Malfoy insisted, but he looked sick. He didn’t even look like he could cast a simple first-year charm, let alone the more advanced magic that killing someone would require. He inhaled, shoulders shifting. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

Hopkins didn’t blink. “Then can you do it?”

Was Hopkins advocating for Malfoy killing Dumbledore or not? What was he here for?

“What are you doing, boy?” Snape demanded, his voice much louder than Hopkins’s quiet question.

Hopkins did look away from Malfoy now, albeit only briefly as he glanced at Snape and shook his head. When he spoke next, he sounded a little irritated. “Asking Draco a question and giving him a choice. You’re not in this.” And then he actually raised a finger, much like a professor hushing a student, then turned back to Malfoy. “Draco?” His voice had gentled again.

“I can,” Malfoy ground out, though his hand hadn’t stopped shaking. “I can.”

Hopkins didn’t look away from him. No one else did either, all of the Death Eaters and even Dumbledore watching Malfoy. For some odd reason, Snape waved his wand up at his throat, face pinching at whatever he was attempting to do.

The other three under the cloak with Harry either didn’t seem to be breathing or were breathing very loudly. Ginny was practically vibrating where she was pressed up against Harry.

Malfoy didn’t do anything beyond holding his wand on Dumbledore. He seemed almost paralyzed with indecision, shaking and trembling. His eyes were too wide and his skin far paler than usual.

“We’re waiting,” Greyback growled impatiently. “You know the consequences, boy.”

Malfoy’s eyes squeezed shut, and Hopkins glanced at Greyback, face impassively stony. For some reason Greyback took a step back, like he was actually scared of Hopkins.

“Damn it,” Malfoy whispered, “I can’t. I can’t.”

Something seemed to relax in Hopkins’s shoulders. “You can’t?”

Malfoy shook his head, several tears trickling down his cheeks. “I - fuck.”

“You don’t have to,” Hopkins murmured. Somehow his voice was the loudest thing there, gentle and quiet. He shifted closer to Malfoy, so close he could touch. “Draco, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Malfoy stared at him, wide-eyed, tears wetting his cheeks. “I’m doing this for you.”

Why, Harry thought wildly. Why was Malfoy doing this for Hopkins?

“Do you trust me, Draco?” Hopkins asked, still in that gentle tone.

Malfoy blinked. “Of course I–”

“Do you trust me, Draco?” Hopkins repeated. There was an edge now, something almost desperate. “Do you trust that I can protect you?”

Greyback snarled, going to step forward. “You think you can–” His voice died from one syllable to the next. A clawed hand flew up to his throat, Greyback’s eyes widening as he mouthed silent words.

No one else spoke. Harry felt almost like he couldn’t speak or move, something holding him in place. He didn’t know what to think of what was happening here. Why Malfoy was doing all this for Hopkins; why Hopkins had even done this for Malfoy; why this was even happening.

It seemed like Malfoy hadn’t ever wanted to be a Death Eater, and that was something else throwing Harry for a loop because for as long as he knew Malfoy had been synonymous with being a Death Eater. Even with what had happened last year with the DA; that had been an anomaly. Malfoy’s behavior this year had been more predictable and normal.

Now it seemed like it had all been a ruse?

Malfoy didn’t look away from Hopkins. He seemed to be searching for something. And, eventually, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for. “I do,” he whispered. “And I don’t… I don’t want to kill anyone.” He looked at Dumbledore. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

Hopkins’s “Good” was so quiet Harry could have missed it if it weren’t so quiet. He reached out to push Malfoy’s wrist down, taking his wand out of the equation. And then he was grinning, bright and warm and completely out of place. “Thank you, Draco.”

Why was he grinning like that when they were surrounded by bloodthirsty Death Eaters? Malfoy’s decision to not become a murderer tonight wasn’t cause for that much celebration.

Greyback’s growl was bloodcurdling, Harry’s hairs rising on end at the sound. The werewolf didn’t move, baring his teeth and continuing that low, terrifying growl.

Malfoy shoved Hopkins behind him, stepping protectively in front of him. “Don’t you dare!”

“You dare defy our Lord?” Amycus brandished his wand. “You’re dead meat.”

“I don’t think so.” Dumbledore’s pleasant tone was entirely at odds with the spell that left his wand, missing Amycus but hitting the brute-faced Death Eater and knocking him prone.

Ginny reacted faster than Harry could, whipping off the cloak and firing a jinx at Alecto that tripped her up, but Harry wasn’t far behind her, firing off his own jinx at Amycus. Neville and Luna were a little slower, their own spells joining Ginny’s.

Malfoy sounded startled. “Where did–”

Harry ducked a curse that flew over his shoulder, almost elbowing Ginny in her shoulder before he managed to sidestep.

“Wayne!” Malfoy’s cry was distraught, terrified, cutting through the chaos of the spells flying through the air.

Harry turned, then stopped on seeing Greyback with his teeth in Hopkins’s arm. Malfoy was on the stones behind them, looking up at them with an expression of utter terror and disbelief. It wasn’t an expression Harry had ever seen on him before.

Hopkins didn’t even flinch at the teeth in his arm. He seemed faintly disgusted but not in pain.

There was a pained whimper, and Greyback staggered backwards, hands covering his mouth. There were multiple teeth embedded in Hopkins’s sleeve where Greyback had bitten him, and they were shaken off a second later with a dismissive hand. There was no blood despite how Greyback had bitten down.

Hopkins narrowed his eyes at Greyback, straightening. “I suppose despite your appearance, you’re still more man than beast, Fenrir Greyback.”

Greyback spat out a mouthful of blood on the stone, looking up at Hopkins with watery eyes. “What—”

“Sometimes I have to look,” Hopkins continued in a conversational tone, “but with you? I don’t even have to try. Your name’s splashed across history: the man who took the werewolf curse and decided to spread it to everyone he could. The man who isn’t even a man anymore.”

Malfoy had managed to get to his feet, reaching out to touch Hopkins’s back. “Wayne. What are you–”

“What did he threaten you with, Draco?”

Malfoy stuttered, eyes widening. The ashen cast to his face, which had never disappeared, worsened. “He – you—” he stammered, terror in his voice.

Hopkins didn’t look away from Greyback, something too bright in his eyes. And Harry abruptly remembered that Hopkins had said he was a Legilimens. “You threatened to turn him? No…you threatened to turn him and watch him kill me?” He tilted his head. “Creative enough, I suppose. I have to give you credit for that.”

There was something so casual about how Hopkins spoke, even as shivers ran down Harry’s spine at the tone. There was nothing casual at all about how Hopkins approached Greyback, who seemed frozen in place. And then, curling his fingers in, Hopkins pressed his index and middle fingers to Greyback’s forehead. “You enjoy the taste of human flesh that much? Try your own.”

Harry blinked in confusion. That hadn’t - oh what the bloody hell.

Greyback had bitten into his own hand, tearing off a gigantic piece of skin and muscle and swallowing it. And then he took another bite.

Harry gagged, then swallowed, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Greyback!” Alecto snapped, horrified. “Snap out of it!”

Greyback did not snap out of it. There was a distinct snapping sound as Greyback bit through bone and swallowed, blood and gore and skin smeared around the skin of his mouth.

“Greyback!” Alecto cried. “Finite Incantatum!”

The spell splashed off Greyback and did nothing. Greyback ripped off what remained of his arm with his free hand, blood spraying like a water fountain.

A bloody water fountain, Harry thought hysterically. What the bloody hell was going on?

“You bastard!” Alecto whirled on Hopkins. “What did you do? Take it off! Now!” 

A purple-colored spell left her wand, unerringly aimed at Hopkins. He didn’t move, seeming more bored than anything else as he watched the beam of light approach before he raised an eyebrow and the spell suddenly reversed. Alecto quickly sidestepped it, eyes wide as she stared at him.

A squelching sound had Harry looking back at Greyback, only to see Greyback digging through his own stomach. “He isn’t–” He couldn’t voice it, nausea roiling his stomach.

He was. Greyback pulled out what looked like a roundish mass and bit into it like it was an apple. It made a very unpleasant squishing sound as this happened.

“Oh my God,” Ginny moaned. She was looking very green, her hand over her mouth. To her side, Neville seemed just as green and Luna wasn’t even looking, eyes squeezed shut. “Michael–”

Michael?

Hopkins’s eyes glowed briefly, a blinding white, before the light faded back to the normal brown. He didn’t seem even remotely surprised at what was happening before him.

The rest of what was likely Greyback’s stomach was stuffed into his mouth, and then he was digging into his own chest, those deadly claws piercing through skin and muscle and bone, ripping apart his own rib cage with loud cracks.

Another curse was cast, this one by the nondescript Death Eater, but it was also reversed and hit the caster in the stomach, drawing out a pained wheeze and a curse from the brute-faced Death Eater. No one had raised a wand to block it; Hopkins hadn’t even turned around.

“Stop this.” Dumbledore sounded horrified and disgusted.

Hopkins said nothing, not looking away from Greyback as the werewolf finally pulled out a beating heart. Implausibly, it still pulsed with life in his grasp. Until Greyback stuffed all of it into his mouth. The last of it had just disappeared behind bloody gums and teeth when Greyback finally stilled, one hand still at his mouth.

“I did,” Hopkins said as Greyback slowly slumped to the bloody stones, lifeless. “The lack of teeth made it a little more difficult than expected.”

Harry didn’t know who started speaking, but he did hear the “Avada—” before it abruptly cut off with a hand wave from Hopkins.

“Enough. I’m not here for you.” For some reason, Hopkins looked at Amycus, who paled dramatically. Well, if Harry were him, he would also be reconsidering all his life choices.

Malfoy certainly looked like he was reevaluating everything he’d known of Hopkins. It was crystal clear he hadn’t known about Hopkins’s little tendency towards Dark magic.

“I’m sorry.” Hopkins actually sounded like he meant it. He walked through the blood on the ground, disregarding the pieces of bone and half-eaten muscle and skin on the stone. “This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Malfoy’s voice was choked. “That you – you’re a Dark Lord?”

“Never that,” Hopkins denied despite all evidence to the contrary. He even looked down at Greyback’s body. “No. I told you the truth. I want him dead. And I intend on seeing that through. But first…would you give me your arm?”

Malfoy took a step back and even turned to the side to hide his left arm.

Hopkins actually looked pained. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “I never will. Do you remember what I told you before?”

Malfoy didn’t respond, breathing shaky.

When it became clear Malfoy wouldn’t answer, Hopkins continued, “I won’t judge you.”

For some reason, this had Ginny, Luna, and Neville drawing in sharp breaths.

Malfoy didn’t respond, though something flickered over his face. He didn’t otherwise move, staring at Hopkins. 

Harry felt just as paralyzed as Malfoy. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t. No one else moved either, all of them watching the two. Even the Death Eaters seemed motionless.

But then, slowly, Malfoy did extend his left arm towards Hopkins. It was shaking.

Hopkins reached out, pulling back the sleeve and baring the Dark Mark. It was a dark black against Malfoy’s white skin. “This might sting a little.”

Compared to what? Eating his own heart?

Except instead of anything else that he could have done, Hopkins ran his hand down over Malfoy’s arm and when he lifted it the skin was smooth and utterly bare of any marks. Hopkins’s hand was curled, something sparking in his grasp like he was holding something.

Hopkins was smiling slightly, soft and gentle and warm. He didn’t look away from Malfoy. “You never wanted it?” He huffed. “I wanted to take it off the moment I saw it, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You were there?” Malfoy blurted out, eyes wide. “I - I heard you!”

“I was,” Hopkins admitted. “I was going to kill Voldemort then but…” He let Malfoy’s hand go, stepping back and opening his own hand to reveal the sparking thing he had been holding in his hand.

None of this made any sense. Hopkins wanted to kill Voldemort? Well, he could get in line with everyone else, but why did he seem so confident about it?

Harry hesitated, then looked down at Greyback’s corpse. Fine, he could understand why Hopkins would be so confident with that.

Hopkins made an odd gesture like plucking a string, one finger brushing through the writhing shape of something he had in his hand. A beat later, five cracks resonated through the air, and there were five thuds as more bodies hit the floor. One had a familiar silver arm.

One of the figures promptly disappeared a moment later, leaving behind only four. And one…

One was Voldemort. Only he looked different, scarred and bleeding from countless oozing scars that were inscribed into his skin. On closer look, it was countless Dark Marks.

A large snake was curled up on the stones next to him, hissing swears and curses at having been unceremoniously teleported.

Voldemort stared up at Hopkins, something on his face that Harry had never seen before. There was anger, but there was also… Voldemort was afraid.

“Michael.” Voldemort slowly stood, drawing himself to his full height, black robes billowing around him. “Or should I say Wayne Hopkins? Yes,” he hissed, “I found out who you really are. You are not half as clever as you think you are.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Hopkins said, eyes moving up from Nagini towards Voldemort. “I’ll be honest. I’ve never taken care of the same person twice.”

“And you won’t,” Voldemort stated, red eyes narrowed in on Hopkins. “You could join me, you know. With your abilities, you and I…we could be great. And your friends would be safe.”

There was a low laugh from Hopkins. It sounded vaguely incredulous. “You are full of yourself, aren’t you? What do you think you can offer me, child?”

Child? Child?

“You haven’t even broken your first century,” Hopkins continued speaking, like he wasn’t talking down to a Dark Lord.

“Bold words from a boy not even out of Hogwarts.”

“I think you more than anyone should be able to understand that one’s physical vessel doesn’t mean anything.” Hopkins gave a slow smile, the sight of it sending shivers down Harry’s spine. “Tell me…have you even cast a spell since you came back?”

Voldemort’s hand flexed around the grip of his wand. “You know not of what you speak!”

“Don’t I?” Hopkins’s tone was idle, much like he was delivering a lecture. “It’s an interesting piece of magic. Do they even know what you did? That the brand you put on their skin feeds on their magic? One doesn’t make much of a difference, but with the amount you have on your skin? I’d be surprised if you even have enough for a simple Lumos.”

“My Lord?” Pettigrew’s voice wavered. “What does he speak of?”

“Nothing, Pettigrew,” Voldemort snapped, red eyes fixed on Hopkins. “You are not as all-powerful as you would pretend to be. And you cannot kill me; no one can.”

“Your Horcruxes,” Dumbledore said quietly, “how many did you make, Tom? Seven?”

That was the issue. Without the Horcruxes being gone, it didn’t matter what Hopkins could do. It seemed like he had been the one responsible for killing Voldemort last time, but it clearly hadn’t stuck because of the Horcruxes.

Hopkins raised his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise seem surprised. “Is that what they’re called? Horcrux?”

It was something about how he said it… “You don’t seem surprised,” Harry slowly said. It was almost as if Hopkins had run into them himself.

“Not seven,” Hopkins continued, drawing the words out, “but eight. Eight soul echoes – eight of these Horcruxes. You made another. You—” He snapped his mouth shut, an emotion crossing his face that looked very much like fury, though it was far colder than anything Harry had ever seen. “Do you realize what you did to yourself? Echo after echo after echo, until what you possess isn’t even your soul anymore but the smallest echo of what you once held. And then you have the audacity to do it again?”

“I have transcended human limits!” Voldemort declared. “I have gone where no one dared to tread, and even you cannot stop me!”

“You transcended nothing,” Hopkins said flatly. “Even demons wouldn’t dare to do what you’ve done, Tom, and demons dare a great deal.”

Demons? None of this was making any sense.

“You defiled my Father’s gift,” Hopkins continued, “and for that…” He looked away from Voldemort, attention shifting to Nagini; he knelt down on the stones with one knee. “Come here.” His tone was gentle, entirely different from how he had been speaking to Voldemort. There were some sharp gasps from the others, though this didn’t seem any more unusual than anything else Hopkins had done so far; it was perhaps the most normal action of the night. “You’re carrying something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Nagini!” Voldemort made a gesture but then seemed to be frozen.

Nagini, that giant snake that had attacked and nearly killed Mr. Weasley, slithered up to Hopkins and picked up her head until she was nose-to-nose with him, her tongue flicking out. She said nothing and neither did Hopkins, but he did touch her head. His lips moved, though Harry heard nothing, and then the hand at her head sunk in.

Harry flinched back, something in him aching at the sight. Nagini was writhing but Hopkins somehow had her held fast. Her entire body flickered with light that splintered over her scales like lightning. Her hissing sounded like screaming even though it wasn’t anything like a human’s screams.

Malfoy was frozen behind Hopkins, watching everything with wide eyes. He seemed just as confused as Harry about the entire affair. Glancing at Hopkins’s other three friends showed they weren’t confused but they were wary.

As suddenly as the light had started, it disappeared, and Hopkins’s hand reemerged with something dark crackling between his fingers. Nagini collapsed to the floor, the only sign of life the heaving breaths she was pulling in and the occasional flickering of her tongue.

Hopkins looked up at Voldemort, holding the thing in his hand. “One,” he said calmly, and then his hand flared with white light. The crackling dark energy disappeared with something like a faint scream of rage and agony that sounded all too familiar. Hopkins brushed his hand off on his robes, then slowly stood. “Seven more, you said?” he said to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was silent, his expression blank. He seemed at an utter loss.

“You cannot find them,” Voldemort said desperately. “You cannot!”

“I’ll grant you that it took me a while,” Hopkins said dryly. “But can’t?” He splayed his hand open, palm facing up, and an old book suddenly appeared. He threw it up into the air, stating, “Two.” The book disappeared a moment later into thin air. Hopkins flicked his fingers like throwing a coin into a fountain, and a small band flew through the air, glistening faintly before it disappeared like the book had. “Three.” He held out a clenched hand, only to release it and for a golden locket with a sparkling green S on it to slip out, twirling on a chain. “Four.” He pulled the locket back up into his hand, and when he next opened his hand a small golden cup with a badger on it was sitting in the palm of his hand. “Five.” The cup disappeared into his hand once more and when he turned his hand around a silver crown swung around a finger once before also vanishing. “Six.” And then, inexplicably, he pointed to Harry. “Seven.”

What? Why was he pointing at Harry–

“And eight.” Hopkins pointed at Voldemort, lips curling. “Eight soul echoes – eight Horcruxes as you like to name them. You’ve nothing left, Tom.”

“You lie,” Voldemort hissed, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “I did nothing to Potter!”

Beyond attempting to kill Harry multiple times… Was Hopkins insinuating Harry had been a Horcrux? Why else would he be pointing to Harry after just having pulled out a variety of different objects that he was claiming had belonged to Voldemort?

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, but he couldn’t pick up anything on his face. Dumbledore didn’t look at him; the Headmaster was looking at Voldemort and Hopkins.

“Really?” Hopkins sounded a little surprised. “I suppose it happened when your first attempt at killing him went so terribly awry.”

“Let me go,” Voldemort said, taking a step back as Hopkins went to move closer. “Let me go, and I will share my knowledge with you!”

“Lucifer himself couldn’t tempt me,” Hopkins said quietly. “What makes you think you could, boy?”

There was something so wrong about seeing Wayne Hopkins mock and call Voldemort a boy and somehow sincerely mean it. Somehow Hopkins even made it work, injecting the appropriate amount of scorn and derision.

“You fear death so much?” Hopkins continued, each word clearly enunciated. He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing through the space. “Then meet him.”

Hopkins’s friends seemed as confused as everyone else was. They exchanged glances, then looked back at Hopkins. Malfoy hadn’t moved from his position beyond taking a few steps away from Nagini.

There was otherwise no sound beyond the sound of the wind and the rustling of fabric.

Something should happen, right? There was supposed to be something–

A tall, skeletal-like being walked into being next to Hopkins, tapping a cane against the stones. His skin was white, paper thin, drawn tight over high cheekbones; his black hair was neatly combed back and his suit finely pressed. He looked like someone about to go to a funeral.

The man…the being - because he did not seem human no matter how much he looked like one - drew in a long breath, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Hopkins. “Hello, Michael.”

It was that name again. The one Ginny had used and then Voldemort and now this one. Was Hopkins not Hopkins? Was he someone else?

Hopkins - Michael dropped his hand. He actually looked a little surprised, even though he had been the one to dramatically snap his fingers to begin with. “You’re here.”

“You did call, didn’t you?” The being said in a very mild tone that had shivers running down Harry’s spine. It was the type of tone that bode ill. “A call for judgment no less… You haven’t wielded your sword thus in years, Michael. Of course I was a little curious.” His smile was amused.

Harry opened his mouth, unsure of what exactly he was going to say, to ask, but Ginny elbowed him, hissing  “Don’t. Say. A word.”

On taking in the sight once more, Harry closed his mouth. He could probably ask questions later if they all made it out of this.

“Who are you?” Voldemort demanded, clearly under no such compunctions to remain silent. “What are you?”

“Two entirely different questions, I think,” the being said, fixing dark eyes on Voldemort. Harry was suddenly very glad that he wasn’t the one currently being scrutinized like a bug under a magnifying glass. “But for you, Tom Marvolo Riddle? Michael kindly did you the liberty of making the appointment you’ve missed several times.”

The being glanced at Michael. “I don’t typically make house calls, but for you… Yes, I see the judgment is apt. Lack of practice hasn’t dulled your senses, Michael.”

“I’ve had some practice recently,” Michael said with a faint, chilly smile. “My first try didn’t go quite so well.” He gestured towards Voldemort, his hand gesture encompassing all of him.

“Well, you can’t always get it right immediately.” That cane tapped against the ground once, the sound echoing. “Come, Tom. Your time is up.”

Voldemort shook his head, eyes wild. “It isn’t—” And suddenly the being was next to Voldemort, touching his shoulder and then the being was gone and Voldemort hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Pettigrew let out a cry of dismay. “My Lord!” He ran to Voldemort’s side, fluttering around anxiously until he finally touched him, shaking him lightly.

If Harry were in his position, he probably also wouldn’t have wanted to touch Voldemort so casually like that.

“Well?” Alecto demanded. “What happened?”

Pettigrew looked up, face drawn. “He’s dead. The Dark Lord is dead!” He sounded horrified.

He was dead? Just like that? A hand on the shoulder and then…nothing? How did that even work?

“Dead as he was before?” the enormous blond Death Eater asked. “Narcissa thought he was dead as well if you recall.”

“He has no more Horcruxes,” Dumbledore said with finality. “If what…Wayne here showed was true, then Voldemort has nothing tying him to this world.”

“He’s dead.” Hopkins - Michael’s voice was flat, forbidding any argument. He tilted his head, eyes scanning all the present Death Eaters. “For good this time. Now…the rest of you…”

There was a small shuffle, Luna stepping forward. “Michael…”

Michael did stop, eyes flicking from the Death Eaters to Luna, Ginny, and Neville. He even looked briefly at Harry. He did not look back at Malfoy, but Malfoy hadn’t looked away from Michael, eyes fixed on his back.

Finally, Michael let out a small breath that sounded like a sigh, something like regret flickering over his face. “I’ll let them take care of you.” He gestured towards Dumbledore and Snape. “Your master is dead, so I’d put your wands down.”

“You think he’s dead?” Amycus shouted. “You think the Dark Lord – the greatest wizard of our time – is dead? He died once before! And we refused to bow! We refused to forsake him! Do you think you scare us?”

Why were some Death Eaters without any sense of self-preservation? They had just seen unimaginable magic right in front of them, their master dead, and now they were going to continue to provoke the being responsible?

Harry glanced at Pettigrew, who was still kneeling over Voldemort. He tightened his fingers around his wand, breathing in and out slowly.

“I thought you would be more intelligent than this, yes,” Michael said off to the side. His tone was ice cold, anger licking at the edges of his words. “Especially you, Amycus.”

“He will come back!” Amycus proclaimed. “And you will not be the one to stop us!”

The silence seemed very pointed. Harry didn’t look away from Pettigrew.

“Crucio!” Alecto cried. 

Oh, fine. There were a few Disarming spells from his friends, but Harry went straight for the ropes, wrapping them around Pettigrew before the rat could even think of running away. He was not going to let this chance slip away from him another time.

He lunged forwards, ducking under the rapid spell fire that had started up again, and then spun towards the enormous blond Death Eater to shoot a hex his way. He almost tripped over another Death Eater who had ended up on the floor, then almost slipped on a puddle of blood and gore.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Wayne!”

Harry did slip this time, the ground shaking beneath his feet, and he fell over before he could catch his balance. There were loud crashing sounds, and there was something too bright that hurt his eyes. He ducked his head to hide behind his arms, something else telling him to hide.

Something screeched, rang, echoed, the ground shaking again. The stones vibrated underneath him, and it even felt like his bones were shaking. There was a brief moment of silence, and then a shorter cacophony of sound before it cut off again.

When the silence lasted a little longer this time, Harry chanced looking up, relieved when his eyes didn’t hurt. But he did see Michael on the edge of the Tower, broken stones scattered around him. His expression was stony but somehow Harry still had the impression that he was absolutely furious.

“Your colleagues in the Ministry tried that spell once before; they suffered for it.” His hand swept to the side like he was brushing aside a curtain. Those Death Eaters who were still standing suddenly found themselves knocked to the walls with heavy thuds. And then suddenly Michael was no longer standing there but instead in front of Amycus, one hand at his throat and bodily lifting the man a foot in the air. “What did I say before?” His tone was idle, like he was having a conversation about the weather. “That you were already dead?”

“You don’t have to kill him!” Malfoy cried. He swallowed, face whiter than usual. “Wa - Michael.” 

Michael didn’t let a purpling, choking Amycus go. “He tried to kill you.”

“But you don’t have to kill him,” Malfoy said tentatively. Slowly, hesitantly, he started moving forward.

“Draco,” Snape hissed in warning.

Malfoy waved him off, continuing to approach Michael until he was standing right next to him. “You said that to me. I…I don’t really know who you are, but I know you said that.”

There was a surprised shriek from Alecto as her wand suddenly shattered in her hand.

Michael didn’t move aside from turning his head to look at Malfoy. He said nothing and neither did Malfoy. The two of them just stared at each other. Malfoy looked absolutely terrified still but was holding his ground.

Eventually, Michael’s mouth twisted, something pained flickering over his face. His grip on Amycus’s throat loosened, the Death Eater falling to the ground in a gasping heap. There was gagging, Amycus desperately trying to catch his breath.

“I find,” Michael said, looking between each of the Death Eaters, “that humans can sometimes be all too forgiving.” He met his friends’ eyes. “I’m afraid I have only so much to give. And you?” He lifted a hand, fingers curling in.  At the same time, Amycus rose from the ground like a grisly marionette. “Judgment doesn’t always require death.”

Harry didn’t even have time to wonder what Michael meant when Michael laid a hand over Amycus’s Dark Mark and his right sunk into Amycus’s chest.

There was no blood. There was no - there was no blood. It was just - it didn’t even seem like Michael had punctured a hole into Amycus’s chest; it was more like his arm had merged with Amycus like the world’s worst roadside circus show.

Amycus wasn’t screaming, but it seemed like that was more because he was in too much pain to vocalize than because it was painless. His bulging eyes and the protruding veins on his neck said it all.

It was a few seconds before Michael pulled his hand out, something odd crackling in it that was eviscerated. Simultaneously, some of the other Death Eaters shrieked while a few just collapsed to their knees, clutching at their chests while light flashed over their skin like lightning. Snape dropped his wand, digging his fingers into his chest but not saying a word.

Amycus collapsed to the stone floor in an ungainly heap, gasping and clutching at his own chest. It was still whole, with no sign that Michael had a hand in there. Harry would have said it was impossible if not for what he had just seen.

”Thank you.” Malfoy’s voice was barely discernible among the pained whimpers of the Death Eaters.

Michael turned towards him, a faint smile briefly crossing his face. It seemed pained. “The only thing I didn’t tell you was my name. You do know me, Draco.”

Malfoy didn’t look away from Michael. “But a name hides a past and you…you’re not human, are you?”

There was a low mutter from one of the few Death Eaters still standing, followed by a cry of dismay. “It’s - it’s not working! Expelliarmus!”

Harry jerked to counter, only to pause on noticing that there was no response from the man’s wand.

“Bombarda! Crucio! Work, damn it!” This was another one, his own wand similarly unresponsive.

Something was wrong. Harry glanced at Snape, seeing him stare at his own wand in blatant horror.

Something was wrong and Harry didn’t quite know what.

Michael seemed utterly unconcerned about it. Of course. He was the one responsible for it, wasn’t he? ”I’m leaving the Death Eaters to you, Albus.”

Dumbledore didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “Thank you. They will be appropriately taken care of.” His eyes fell on one who had been vainly trying to cast Lumos.

Michael nodded, turning around and walking towards his friends. 

Some of the awful pressure that had settled on Harry’s shoulders lifted and he found he could breathe more easily. He dropped his eyes to where Pettigrew lay bound in ropes on the stone floor. He seemed on the verge of passing out, no blood in his face.

This was the one good thing to come from this night, Harry thought. This and Voldemort’s death. He wouldn’t ever have to go back to the Dursleys.

”They wouldn’t tell us who they were.” Amycus’s voice was hoarse.

A slow chill traveled down Harry’s spine. He lifted his head, eyes immediately landing on Michael where he had frozen.

”We said we’d let them go if they told us who you were, but they both said no.” Amycus didn’t seem to realize what exactly he was courting. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.

Harry saw a flicker of white light in Michael’s eyes. Something too bright and almost painful to look at it before it was gone. There was no discernible emotion on his face. Behind Michael, Malfoy blanched.

”I wanted to play,” Amycus continued, a disgusting leer on his face. “Your mother especially… She wasn’t bad looking for a filthy Muggle-lover. I hear things about those women - would have been nice to know if they were true.”

”Please stop talking,” Luna begged, voicing Harry’s thoughts. She was also staring at Michael, eyes wide and something like terror beginning to form.  It was the first time Harry had seen that emotion on her face tonight. “Please.”

Amycus didn’t look away from Michael’s terrifyingly impassive visage. “Your father died too quick—” His voice cut off in a strangled gurgle, his eyes bulging. He scrabbled at his throat, making an awful gasping noise.

”You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” Michael’s voice was blank and all the more horrifying for how there were faint flickers of silvery, too-bright light in his eyes. Something about his body seemed almost shimmery, his skin almost glowing. “I would have let you go. I would have let you live.”

”You - you won’t.” Amycus sounded like he was choking, grasping at his throat. “Not with the Malfoy boy telling you no.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, at how he was so white so as to look ill. Even still, he looked dark next to the shimmering aura around Michael. 

He didn’t know how Malfoy could move, but Malfoy did, touching Michael’s arm. He didn’t seem at all affected by the terrible pressure weighing down on Harry’s shoulders - on the desire to make himself as small as possible.

”I won’t stop you,” Malfoy said, eyes on Amycus.

Harry didn’t blink but suddenly Michael was no longer where he had been before. No, he was before Amycus, one hand diving into Amycus’s chest and then emerging with a white something that almost seemed to be screaming. It looked vaguely humanoid shape but fizzled at the edges, like it had trouble keeping its shape.

The ethereal glow of Michael’s body had strengthened, along with the silvery sheen to his eyes, though the worst of the glow was centered on what he was holding. At his feet, Amycus looked to be dead.

”Did you never think about why your master told you to send someone in your place?” Michael asked, seeming to be speaking to the thing he was holding. His voice was emotionless yet Harry had the impression he was utterly furious. “Why he told you to do it quickly and without giving them time to call someone? Without giving you time to alert me?”

There was something that hurt Harry’s ears, and he could see the others flinching back. Snape shook his head, though Neville was full on covering his ears with a pained wince.

”I’d throw you into Hell,” Michael continued, almost nonsensically except at this point nothing seemed impossible for him, “but there’s no Hell here for me to reach. So while that option isn’t available…I did pick some tricks up from my brother.” His other hand sunk into what looked like the middle of the thing he was holding, and Harry’s ears rung with something that was almost on the edge of his hearing. “You might know him as Lucifer.”

Lucifer? Harry was inundated with images of red-skinned devils with horns, beaky noses, mustaches, fangs, and slitted eyes. Lucifer the devil?

At this point it was all just going to happen.

There was a shriek that pierced through Harry’s head, and the ground shook beneath his feet. He wobbled, one hand covering an ear while the other kept a firm grip of his wand.

Harry couldn’t hear anything else over the sounds of that agonized shrieking, but he saw Luna lunge forward to clutch Michael into a hug from behind,  seeming uncaring of how brightly he was glowing and what he was doing to whatever he was holding.

There was only the slightest hint of emotion now on Michael’s face, something Harry couldn’t entirely interpret but seemed hard.

Then another moment passed, and the emotionless mask broke to something else, Michael’s eyes closing and his mouth twisting. The shrieking abated slightly.

Luna still held onto Michael, though Harry had trouble seeing her with the light around them.

Suddenly the terrible pressure was gone and whatever Michael was holding just floated there, suspended in midair. It looked almost fractured, fading in and out like a bad TV connection, and it coalesced into something more like a ball than the humanoid shape from earlier.

Michael had curled in on himself, one hand pressed to his mouth and his eyes still tightly shut. “Let - let go.” His voice was strangled, nothing like the blank tone from earlier, “or I’m going to hurt you.”

If Luna said anything, Harry couldn’t hear it, but he did see Malfoy reaching out to touch Michael’s shoulder and actually stepping closer.

It was a moment before Michael gave a breathless laugh, one that sounded more genuine that the last one he’d given to Voldemort. “I’m not sure those lucky potions were designed with angels in mind.”

Angels?

A look back at Michael’s friends showed no surprise on their faces. Naturally.

The terrible glow around Michael had faded with the pressure, and it was now only the glow from the crackling, fractured thing before him. Harry could see that Luna was no longer holding onto him as tightly.

“It worked tonight, didn’t it?” Luna said, presumably in response to Michael’s comment on lucky potions.

Michael said nothing else in response, looking down at the glowing ball. His expression was complicated. For an instant that blank look was back again before it shifted to weariness. He pulled away from Luna, picking up the glowing ball and then just shoving it into Amycus’s chest. (That had been Amycus?!)

Crackling light burst through Amycus’s chest at the same time as he dragged in a heaving breath and let it out in a pained moan that had Harry’s chest aching in sympathy for an instant before he reminded himself of what Amycus had been responsible for.

(Guiltily, Harry didn’t know if he would have done any different if he’d been in Michael’s position.)

“I’m leaving,” Michael said, looking at some point off in the distance over the grounds, “before someone else decides they’d like to test their luck.”

“You’re leaving?” Malfoy sounded panicked. He looked almost like he wanted to reach out and take hold of Michael’s arm.

Michael’s answering smile looked ridiculously normal for someone who had just single-handedly taken care of Voldemort and his Death Eaters and also tortured Amycus. “Just for now. And you..if you want something…just call my name. I’m going to go somewhere that’s not Pluto.”

Pluto? Harry took a moment of thinking of the animated dog before Michael disappeared and Harry thought of the other Pluto that had actually disappeared for a little earlier this year. ….At this point why was he even surprised that Michael was talking about Pluto the planet? Was it hyperbole? Could he actually Apparate to Pluto? If he was an angel as he claimed, that would be possible, right?

…Did angels even Apparate?

Harry pressed his fingers to his eyes, feeling tension press in at his forehead. This night hadn’t gone at all as he expected, in both good and bad ways.

“Are you okay?” Ginny asked Luna. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” Luna said it with absolute faith and in complete contradiction of everything they’d seen earlier tonight.

Harry did not look at Greyback’s corpse.

“Did the potion tell you that?” Neville asked.

“No.” Luna turned then, looking at Malfoy, who was staring at the space where Michael had been only moments ago. “How are you?”

Malfoy startled, head jerking up. He seemed only half aware of things, a little dazed. He looked between Ginny, Neville, and Luna, glanced at Harry, looked at Dumbledore and Snape, and then looked between all the Death Eaters that were in various states of incapacitation on the ground. “...Yes,” he said eventually, nonsensically.

Luna frowned, though Dumbledore clearing his throat stalled her from saying anything else. “A change in locations is in order, I believe. As is contacting the Ministry so they can take everyone off our hands.” He frowned down at Nagini, who hadn’t said a word or even moved since Michael had destroyed the Horcrux in her. She seemed to be unconscious.

Snape seemed supremely uncomfortable, clenching and unclenching his hands before finally crossing his arms over his chest.

Well, everyone was uncomfortable. A change in locations would be good. Along with answers. Answers would also be nice.

Ron and Hermione weren’t going to believe him.

[saelterlude]

lc musical clip list pt.4! i'm calling this one, the birthday special!!

(pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7 here)

Why is this the birthday special, well because of this:

51. 28/02/2024, Happy BDay Guo Hongxu! I don't usually upload promovid but uhh he's so cool in this one so, here. Sidenote, Shu Rongbo is very hyper and cute this performance. And Qian Anqi's cute english plss i love her.

52. 03/03/2024 night, Happy BDay Zuo Yiping! Watch also, Cao Muzhi penguin walk across the table, Wu Yihan please watch your steps and don't poke other people's cake!!

(funny coincidence, I happen to watch a Santa Lucia/Mio Fratello clip of Cao Muzhi-Wu Yihan just a couple days before this)

53. 10/03/2024 night, Happy Bday Shu Rongbo and Wu Yihan!! Hehe the way Qian Anqi knocks their heads together and insisted to sing them happy birthday is so cute. Wu Yihan said 'Happy Birthday' before their customary Guiding Light hug. And pls someone translate (or at least transcribed) the closing speech for me, there's a lot of laughing involved, I'm curious. Also, have this bonus stage door clip.

Some funfacts. Since last year they play in the same 4 musicals including Link Click and out of those 4 plays they shared 2 roles. Shu Rongbo played a total of 9 roles while Wu Yihan played 7. (Yes, I am at that level of hyperfixation)

54. 11/03/2024, HBD Teng Chunpeng! LMAO It's you, so of course your promo video would be great! His face during the sofa choreo though. And why are both him and Du Guangyi stomping and jumping on the table so hard. You menaces, please you're gonna break it. The couch trio is also looking cute behind them.

Moving on from the birthdays starting with this special one,

55. 11/03/2024 Valentine's day special, <- Official ver. Forgive my language TENG CHUNPENG DU GUANGYI YOU FCKING TEASE! YOU GEM OF A HUMAN BEING! Have this fancam with the superior angle.

(This makes Du Guangyi the first and only actor who have played all 3 roles in that scene. Congrats!)

56. Special Encore rehearsals/BTS! Special mentions to Teng Chunpeng's fashion sense, Wu Yihan's cute act, Ding Xingchen's falling wig, Zhang Jiahao's IDGAF mood, and Wang Minhui's violent tendencies.

57. 26/02/2024, when I say Cai Qi and Wang Minhui have the best dynamic, this is what I meant.

58. 29/02/2024, watch Ji Xiaokun and Guo Hongxu's "Oi!" "Oi."

59. 01/03/2024, Look at them stumbling through singing "Guiding Light" and it's a Wu Yihan-Shu Rongbo duo which means hug! Also Wu Yihan, why are you a menace at holding hands, this time with Zou Ziyue.

60. 03/03/2024 day, why is there a piglet??? Why are you seasoning the piglet??? Why are you stepping on the piglet?? Why is the piglet bowing?? piglet??

61. 04/03/2024, Bai Zhuoming being extra sassy and playful on the couch makes me so happy. Of course Cai Lu also becomes playful in response. Typical Guiding Light mistake also causes Wang Minhui to crack.

62. 07/03/2024, Guo Hongxu putting up the wrong foot and stumbling on the sofa choreo.

63. 07/03/2024, same performance as above, Ji Xiaokun being annoying <3. When other pairs hug, they wrestle.

64. 10/03/2024 day, Mooom! Cai Qi and Wang Minhui are fighting instead of doing rock-paper-scissors again.

65. 09/03/2024 day, uuuhh Wu Yihan sitting on the counter like that with those lights and shadows during Guiding Light is creepy.

66. 09/03/20204 night, love me some Du Guangyi shenanigans, the way he just gives up on the handshake and walk off the table plss and him teasing Deng Xianling during the closing speech. Speaking of, she brings out the bat and forces their arms to form the heart. Then there's Bai Zhuoming being cute and the little shimmy dance he does.

67. 09/03/2024 night, bonus to the one above. Du Guangyi last minute adlib was unexpected but very enjoyable. Also, I love the contrast between his and Bai Zhuoming's tutting.

That's all for now!

Bonus clip with Bai Zhuoming! The song "Number 7" from "Fan Letter" musical is really good, I'm obssesed. But special performance where they're joined by their alternate cast? And his alternate cast is, Shu Rongbo? Even better!! They're kinda in their own world too. Here's a close up. Their voices go so well together!

(I swear they're playing something on that paper, and that makes it 3 musicals I know where they share the same role. Is it time I made a venn diagram?)

so at which point do i admit this brainrot is slowly but surely turning from linkclick focused to actor focused?

[shun-zam]

Okay so I talked about this at length before but bakugan is really ambitious with the story it is telling in the length of time that it has.

In 52 episodes we meet our 6 main character, 5 main bakugan. But that’s not all. You have the masquerade and his bakugan, the rival crew and their bakugan (five more human and bakugan pairs to meet and learn the dynamics of) Christopher, Joe and Wavern. It’s a very bloated cast. And with a cast that size it’s amazing that so many characters got to shine and have arcs/character growth in the time that they had. They were very efficient and I’m still amazed.

However if I may fly close to the sun. As we are in the land scape of reboots let us look at a retelling instead. Because the main problem with Bakugan season 1 is it’s two short.

“But 52 episode isn’t short” you’re right. But think of what we could do if we had more time.

Like I said I’ve talked about this before but allow me to go again.

Take episodes 1-25 and expand them to be a full 52 episode season 1.

1-13 is fine this introduces our cast and their dynamics.

Episodes 14 - 18 is where the expansion happens. This is the segment where Billy, Chan-Lee, Klause, Julio, and Komba are working for Masquarde. Expand this. Have them be evil longer. And take down time (yes I know they didn’t have this because the goal isn’t sell toys but let me house on substance)

We end 18 like normal. Preyus is gone. Marucho is big sad. Let the Brawlers split up. But instead of Julie instantly going after Billy and freeing him, milk it.

Things to accomplish in no order.

Runo and Marucho centered episode (no Dan to the rescue) Runo trying to comfort Marucho when they are attacked by let’s say Chan-Lee and they have to work together to win. Bonus points if Alice is with them helping them strategize. Marucho is brawling for the first time in a long time without Preyus, he will need the help and support. Let them be friends supporting each other.

That brings up another part, as soon as Alice is present she is tagging along for Brawls. I mean from the airport episode onward. They say she is the team’s strategist, show me. Have her helping them with strategy and as the show goes onward the Brawlers need her help less and less. This shows the growth of the Brawlers as Characters while also make Alice an integral member of the team.

Dan and Shun’s fight. Make it last longer. Dan and Julie go off and face Komba.

Shun and Alice go off and get attacked by Julio. (We never see these match ups in the show and it would be fun to put their styles against each other)

Dan and Shun reunite and apologize (both were jerks) just in time for Billy and Klause to show up. Julie tries to get Billy to Brawl her/talk to her but Klause has no interest in collecting Gorem (yet) and Billy is still under the negative influence. Maybe Billy says something about his and Julie’s friendship being meaningless. Julie is obviously upset and Dan and Shun step in. The duel allows the two of them to parallel their own childhood friendship with Julie and Billy’s and that even though they went through a rough patch/circumstances changed (Shun’s mom died) their friendship still means a lot to them. Just line Billy’s friendship means a lot to Julie. It’s not enough to get through to Billy but it helps Julie feel less alone.

We met Julie’s sister. This does not have to be a Brawl. This can be as simple at her calling to check in on Julie and the Audience seeing how inferior Julie feels compared to her sister. (This can also be shown by her parent checking in and comparing the two girls, or by Billy being up Julie’s “perfect sister” as a way to taunt her) either way I want her brought up and stationed as this impossible standard that Julie feels she can never reach.

I also want Marucho’s parents to check in and for Marucho to struggle between pleasing them and being a Brawler. This is especially hard as he does not currently have Preyus.

Let this happen in the same episode. Let Julie and Marucho bond over having impossible standards thrusted upon them. Let them brawl together (I don’t think we ever see them tag battle)

Runo is still upset with Dan or something and her and Julie get into an argument. The two later get into a tag team brawl. Use this as a chance to show how Runo’s stubbornness can get them into trouble but also as a way to show the girls bonding as they work together. (Let them talk about something besides Dan)

Just more character interactions. More emphasis on their friendships. Dan and Shun’s childhood. Marucho getting support. Bring up the focus of Julie and Marucho’s trials earlier so that they hit harder later. INCLUDE ALICE MORE. Let Runo shine in more than just her relationship with Dan.

Also show their ranks going up (make it a big deal like the bounties in one piece)

(Again I know why the show moves so fast (toys) but let character relationships and dynamics matter)

Episode 19-22 is when the brawlers beat the rival crew for the last time. These match ups remain the same. And just think how much harder the Preyus reveal will hit if their is more time to see how his absence effects not only Marucho but the whole team (Runo’s fears about losing Tigrerra). Julie still saves Billy with the power of friendship. Shun still (unwillingly) gains a student in Komba. Dan, Runo and Marucho still fight in the triple battle.

End the season in one of two ways.

1) the Joe episodes.

Durning everything about they should still be suspicious of Joe.

The reveal of Hoe as a good guy and the reveal of Wavern powers should be a big moment.

End the season wondering who the Spy is and make it super dramatic that it is one of the Brawlers. One of the characters we just spent 52 episodes with.

2) end it on cannon episode 27

The second to last episode shows all the rivals being beaten by Masquerade

The last episode is Dan throwing himself into the doom dimension.

Let me know if you want the second half of this nonsense. I’ve talked about it a bit already, but I currently am on the last part of my Battle Brawlers rewatch and will be able to add more detail later

[the-eeveekins]

The 10th Day of G-Witch: If I Could Take One Step Toward You

First off, shout out to this mobile suit shown getting beaten in the first 5 seconds of the episode by Guel in the flashback. It is, AFAIK, the ONLY suit in the show to not even have an entry in the "Other MS" section of the G-Witch website. I don't even think it has an official name listed anywhere in any G-Witch materials.

I love the conflict between Miorine & Shaddiq in this episode and how it leads to it's conclusion. Shaddiq likes Miorine but is scared of losing her, and knowing how much she despises the Holder system and being forced to marry someone from the group, he thinks he can stay above it all and stay on her good side if he stays out of it (except to swoop in at the last minute to save her from Guel, and be her hero). But he completely misunderstands Miorine, who doesn't see him as a romantic partner, but does see him as a friend; a friend she wishes would help her OUT of the situation, not work it to his advantage.

Even here, she correctly realizes that Shaddiq is manipulating the system in a way that he thinks will benefit them both, but in a way that still undermines her autonomy and decisions. And in sheer defiance of his actions that continue to show is complete lack of trust in her, she challenges him to a duel even with the deck stacked against her.

In this scene where we see Miorine planning for the duel using tomatoes, she even calls out Shaddiq's behavior to his face, and it's telling that Shaddiq doesn't think he's treating her like an object, just because he's not like the other men in the group.

Suletta's unwavering trust in Miorine vs. Shaddiq's lack of trust in anyone but himself. Again, even with Suletta, Shaddiq thinks he knows what's best for Miorine and can convince her to side with him.

And Suletta completely rejects him with full belief in Miorine, something Shaddiq lacks.

The duel against Grassley House might be my favorite battle in the whole series. It's incredibly exciting, wonderfully choreographed and has one of the most dramatic moments in the show with Aerial reaching Permet Score 6. Suletta finally gets to show off her stuff, this time fully on her own, and perfectly manages a 6v1 situation long enough to draw Shaddiq into Miorine's trap. We even get to see the rarely used beam blade function of the Aerial's rifle used with clinical proficiency.

I love the way they showed Prospera staring at the Beguir-Pentes of Grassley. There's no way she doesn't remember the Beguir-Beu from Folkvangr. And while the tear here is probably for Eri growing one step closer to freedom, I also think there's a bit of catharsis in seeing her daughters overcome the Antidote system and the successor of the suit that killed her husband.

I know a lot of people read romantic intent in these lines, and certainly from Shaddiq, there is. But I don't take Miorine's "Too little, too late" to mean it's too late to be with her romantically (because she was never interested in him that way), but it was too late to try and help her through the Holder system and be the friend she desperately needed. She now has Suletta, someone who she loves and trusts, who came to aid without any ulterior motives or expectations, and who explicitly trusts her. Two things Shaddiq wasn't willing to do when she needed it the most from him.

And as we see later in the series, he still doesn't fully respect her even after this.

BONUS: Suletta doing the equivalent of emote dancing on Shaddiq's body will never not be hilarious to me. ALSO, she remembered that Miorine had this broadcast everywhere and is trying her best to advertise for the company, she's such a good girl.

[yoyomomiko]

Bebe Steven’s with a tall fem reader (headcanons)

Let’s just say reader is the same age and grade as the characters but she has a massive growth spurt at age 6!

Taller than you...

Pairings: Bebe x F!reader

Summary: The request >⁠.⁠<

Warnings: None!! ^⁠_⁠^

(A/N): So I just noticed this laying around in my drafts😀 I'M SO SORRY I JUST NOTICED IT AND I CONTINUED IT😭 This was made in like May or something it's been months I'm soooo sorry I feel so bad now😭 -> m.list

- First off, before your growth spurt, you were the SHORTEST, and pretty much everybody used to pick on you. But Bebe came to the rescue and shut them off >:)

- Summer started, and you finally turned six.

- You did NOT expect to just grow like that, you were growing all summer, and you reached a tall height, way above average for a six year old...

- You weren't complaining, that meant nobody would pick on you anymore!! You felt cooler like that.

- Once you went back to school, EVERYONE who used to pick on you just stood there in shock. You were now taller than them? No more "short stuff"? No more "I could accidentally step on you"?

- You stood at a tall height, wich intimidated some. Actually, some kids even apologized for what they've done before, afraid that they'd get their ass run over.

- Bebe was SHOCKED.

- "Since when?" "How did you do it?" "How does that even work?"

- She bombarded you with questions. I guess that's just kinda what happens when nobody sees you for the whole summer break, and then you come back to school on the first day, looking like a street pole to the rest of the kids.

- To any adult, they'd just brush it off, but to the rest?? NO WAY.

- Cartman still picked on you though, now teasing with "How's the weather up there?" and all that annoying stuff.

- Bebe still came to your rescue >:)

- She loved loved LOVED the way you were taller, the hugs just hit different.

- Hugging you was the best part of the whole day to her.

- She loved it when she'd struggle to get something that was placed a little too high for her, and then you came and helped her reach it.

- Bebe kinda likes it way more that way, although she could care less about your height or appearance. She loved you, and to her, that's what matters.

- But still, the height was a nice bonus!!

- Would sometimes PRETEND she can't reach stuff on the top shelf, when all she had to do was get on her tip toes. She just wanted you to help her (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

- But then Wendy would sigh, reach the top shelf for her and give her the item, to wich Bebe quickly put back up on the top shelf, narrowing her eyes at her.

- "WENDY, go away!" She would shoo the poor girl away as she'd just chuckle at Bebe's desperation to get your attention again.

- Wendy shipped you two the most, she thought you two were adorable.

★★★

Bebe was 'trying her best' to reach the glue from the top shelf. The classroom was pretty much empty except for Wendy, you, her and Stan. She was 'struggling', pretending that the glue was just out of reach. She kept turning her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of you to see if you were coming to help her. Fortunately for her, you walked up to her and offered your help. She tried to hide her smirk, and just nodded at you.

You easily reached and gave her the glue, to wich she smiled and batted her eyelashes at you. "Thanks, [nickname]." She gave you a quick peck on the cheek, as a gesture of gratitude and appreciation for helping her. You blushed, only nodding in response. "What would I do without you?" She batted her eyelashes up at you again, tilting her head up, overdramatizing the whole situation. It was straight out of a 2000's rom-com. You didn't complain, you thought she was cute when she joked like that.

Wendy chuckled at Bebe, glancing back and forth from the two of you. Stan just had his face burried into his arms, wich were resting on his desk. He groaned into them, trying to avoid looking at the two of you. He's acting like he and Wendy aren't worse...

★yoyomiko ★miko

[lucid-fate-if]

what's their night routine? eg do they just come back home and fall asleep on the couch being out, or do they have a 100 step skincare routine before bed?

(btw loving the IF! It's has really good emotional understanding and I loved every second of it 😌)

Glad you enjoyed it!!! I've been honestly somewhat desensitized to older chapters since I'm so used to seeing it but I loveee hearing about first impressions/opinions without the full picture of the game so muchhh WOOOOO（☝ ՞ਊ ՞ )☝

Now to answer, here’s how I imagine their night routines would go. Btw this is heresay and is all my opinion in case the Lucid Fate characters want to sue me for revealing private information...‎LETS GO! ʕ◍·̀Ⱉ·́◍ʔ

1. Dante:

Comes home, kicks off his shoes, and plops onto the couch to “rest his eyes for five minutes.” Wakes up at 3 a.m. with a blanket someone (probably not him) draped over him. Skincare routine? Nah, he’ll splash water on his face in the morning.

2. Juno:

Has a calming bedtime ritual: lights a candle, does a simple skincare routine, and reads a book for 20 minutes… until he falls asleep in the middle of a chapter with the book still in his hand.

3. Fai:

Says he’ll just close his eyes for a bit after dinner but ends up dozing off in the most random spots—sometimes at the kitchen table, sometimes on the floor. His "night routine" is really just someone waking him up and guiding him to bed.

4. Miokai/Miioni:

The type to have a 10-step skincare routine that involves obscure ingredients and a jade roller. Ends the night journaling about their day and meditating for exactly 15 minutes before lying perfectly still in bed like they’re posing for a painting.

5. Kaisen:

Wanders around the house until midnight muttering about unfinished projects or overthinking his day. Eventually remembers to go to bed, throws himself on the mattress fully dressed, and somehow sleeps soundly in total chaos.

6. Vie:

Probably lounges dramatically in the bath for hours (bonus points if it’s candlelit). When she gets out, she throws on whatever's nearby and flops onto bed without brushing her hair. Claims she’s naturally flawless so skincare routines are for amateurs.

7. Saeko:

Her routine is a well-oiled machine: shower, check her weapons (or something else equally intense), double-check the locks, and then settle into bed with military precision. Her pillow is fluffed just right, and she’s asleep in under five minutes.

8. Zephyr:

Walks into his quarters with a gruff sigh, still scowling like he’s mid-battle. He genuinely doesn’t have a sense of time—sometimes it’s midnight, other times dawn, but it all feels the same to him. Despite being bone-tired, he sticks to a rigid routine: checking his weapons, meticulously arranging his uniform for the next day, and pacing like he’s addressing an invisible battalion. Even if no one’s watching, he performs every task with soldier-like precision. Finally collapses into bed in his perfectly ordered wing, boots neatly aligned by the door, and still muttering about how everyone else wastes too much time.

9. Akiyo:

Starts off with a productive plan—brushing hair, tidying their space, maybe even starting a skincare routine—but gets sidetracked cleaning or reorganizing random things. Ends up going to bed much later than planned, muttering about being too busy for proper sleep.

Everyone’s got their quirks, but I bet Kaisen and Dante would end up in a mutual "night routine roast battle," arguing over who has the more carefree lifestyle LOL

[sunnikos]

Day 2: Dancing

Hello! I am participating in Bsd Rarepair Week 2024. It’s kinda open-ended, mostly because I want to be sure I can complete my other WIP’s.

Anyway, this is day 2, enjoy!

@bsd-rarepair-week-2024

Pairing: Oda x Kouyou

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 809

| Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 |

It is certainly not unusual to see the lovely Kouyou at a gala. It is, however, rare to see Oda Sakunosuke at such an event. Glamourous refreshments decorate a table, but they sit uneaten. The Demon Prodigy can’t ruin this display, what with his mission having drawn him out of the city. A shabby suit paired some stubble, that’s Oda for you. He didn’t bother to shave, or even wash out the curry stain on his dress shirt.

Unkempt is almost a brand for him. Dazai would call it cozy, Kouyou might describe it as eccentric if she’s in a good mood.

The gala is in full swing. Or it would be, if only the dance floor wasn’t devoid of life. As it is now, the party is incomplete.

Mori, as he does, makes an order for the attendees of the event to populate the dance floor. It’s made to sound like an invitation, but Mori is Mori. He will make the entire room uncomfortable with a tight grip on his glass before he invites his people to do something. No, this is an order. A low rank like him would do well to listen. The floor is scuff-free and shiny. He could eat his meal off this floor and avoid the sick feeling he gets every time he tests Dazai’s latest experiment with cooking.

He is still taking in the finer details of the floor when an elegant and traditional kimono graces his vision.

“Executive Ozaki.” he greets with a bow.

“Sakunosuke,” she returns, “would you be so kind as to join me for a dance?”

Right, as an executive, she is just as required to follow Mori’s order as he is. If not moreso, as a highup representative of the mafia.

Oda nods his head and holds out a hand for her. A few seconds in, and the executive can’t seem to keep her thoughts from bursting out.

“I don’t understand how you can put up with that brat.” Kouyou sneers as she’s led backwards.

Oda chuckles, her hand in his, “He’s still a child; what more do you expect?”

One-step-step, two-step-step, three-step-step.

“I was brought into the Port Mafia as a child too, you know,” a twirl, so gentle she almost forgets her thoughts, “and I was still leagues more respectful.”

Another chuckle, “Well, unfortunately for you, Mori finds Dazai’s behavior..” he mulls it over, “refreshing.”

“Not forever; he’s bound to get tired of that urchin’s insolence eventually.”

“Perhaps,” he guides her into a tender dip, “but I don’t think that will be that last we hear of our ‘Demon Prodigy’.”

“Please do not place such a curse on us,” she begins as they pull apart. The song ends and they bow at one another pleasantly, “I shiver at the thought.” she finishes.

Oda pulls a shy smile to his face, “It’s just a feeling I have; I’ll see you around, Executive Ozaki.”

The woman looks miffed before puffing and accepting his departure with a nod.

Transferring Oda under Executive Ozaki wouldn’t make sense. And yet, Oda finds himself doing her favors. He’s aquainted with her girls. He’s brought many men in for questioning. This is the reality of a Port Mafia grunt who does not kill. Menial tasks and odd favors. He says favors because he’s not exactly compensated for the extra running around. There’s no bonus for someone like him. He’s made his peace with it.

Dazai loves to complain about his good friend’s lack of free time. Oda didn’t have much in the first place, but now he’s all booked out. He’s got useless missions keeping him occupied for the next month. Yikes. After all that sidework, Oda eventually finds himself ordered to tea with the very cause of his rapid loss of respite.

It should be tense. It would be, if Oda really cared. He respects Kouyou a great deal, but this is as informal as it gets. She means to take his time, and maybe pick his brain. A graceful sip interrupts their silence, and is accentuated with the clacking of porcelan.

She looks at him, a coy mirth in her eyes, “How have you been adjusting to the extra workload?”

“It was a bit rough at first, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excellent.”

“So,” he glances around before settling his attention back on Kouyou, ”why am I really here?”

Kouyou rolls her eyes, “Can’t you ever play along?”

“I don’t care to, so?”

“You intrigue me. Tell me, why do you refuse to kill?”

“That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

“Everything is personal when you’re doing business in blood.”

“Fair enough.”

“So?” another sip.

“I can’t be the man I want to be if I kill.”

“You’ve killed in the past.”

“I know.”

“Hmph. Tell me something I don’t know, Sakunosuke.”

Oda smiles, but it’s a small thing, “Sure.”

[knightly-bastard]

Nexo Knight Swap Au Concepts Part 3

I finally got around to designing Robin and ava (+ Swap Fletcher and Izzy) So here they are!

Swap! Robin is still the hyperactive determined kid that we all know and love, however, he partakes in coding instead of machinery since his father switched professions. He is in charge of all the nexo downloads, particularly being the one to name the spells since nexo magic is pretty new to Swap! Monstrox himself so there wasn’t names for them in the first place. The thing on his forearm allows his to connect to his tech work at any point, kinda a replacement for canon Ava’s tablet. The thing on his eye is just to merely look cool, while it can show him some code, it’s more for aesthetic purposes.  Swap! Ava is a menace to society. She is the main engineer within the Nexo Knights, still with the particular mindset that tech is better than magic. While being in robins place she does tend to make brash decisions, mainly since she felt the need to step up during the events like the Deception book and the whole spy shtick. She multitasks using her robotic arms, allowing her to work more efficiently on upgrades for weapons and armor. she can also shoot lasers out of them when she needs too. She also was the one to make Swap! Jestro’s new armor that helped him fit in with the rest of the knights. They didn’t swap colors cause their clothing are different enough to make a proper swap design. And for a bonus, Swap Fletcher and Izzy!

Swap! Fletcher actually knows Clay is his brother, so he is dubbed "Fletcher Morrington" instead of Fletcher Bowman. When he was little and Clay was leaving to go to the academy, Clay promised after he graduates that he would come to visit, and one day he'll personally get Fletcher into the knight's program...of course, that never happened. Due to the knowledge of him actually being Clay's brother, he was feared and bullied among the other kids at the orphanage since they kept associating him with his brother. This eventually lead to him having a slight resentment to Clay, for becoming evil and for breaking his promise. The relationship between the two is rocky for sure, but it would begin to heal during the course of season 5-6. He wears that hood to mainly hide his face in fear of others associating him with Clay even more. He still has magic btw, that plotline still exists.  Swap Izzy's psudo name is "Izzy Spearmond" (Izzy being her actual name now) after and incident that lead Izzy to be separated at birth. She lived her life thinking she was another orphan, but unbeknownst to her she is technically “the lost princess” of the kingdom...however the King and Queen kinda...forgot. They more so swept the whole incident under the rug to prevent any tarnish on the family name/ presumes Izzy was just dead. Sure they grieved, but they got over it rather quickly. Anyway, she had a drive to be a knight, still looking up to Macy as inspiration to be one. Swap Izzy’s story i’m still on the fence about, so maybe it will change in the future. (So will Swap Fletch’s and Izzy’s designs, I’m not that proud of them)

[toshiro-taichou]

A relaxing evening

Toshiro sat up straight in his seat and stretched his stiff arms, popping his bones. His hand moved his hair out of his face as his bright turquoise eyes glanced over the clock in his home office. 

6:00

“Is that the time already?” Toshiro thought. “You do tend to lose track of time when you’re working, master.” Hyorinmaru rumbles in his mind. Toshiro hummed and nodded, getting out of his seat, his knees cracking from being in his chair for hours. He adjusted his t-shirt and headed out of his home office.

Although he was the captain of the tenth division, Toshiro was stationed in the world of the living. Ever since Ichigo Kurosaki moved to the Seireitei to start his full Shinigami life, dangerous hollows began appearing when Karin and Yuzu grew older. Kyoraku decided for Toshiro to be stationed in the world of the living until further notice.

However, that was a planned situation to have Toshiro in the world of the living as Kyoraku found out about Toshiro’s crush on the black-haired Kurosaki. Toshiro was allowed to live in the world of the living, being with the woman he loves, as long as he keeps the human world safe. That was the deal and Toshiro continues to do so all the time. Toshiro does the paperwork side of things and goes to the Seireitei every month to report and check on the Division, Rangiku looks after the Division. 

When Rangiku found out Toshiro’s “secret” plan, she agreed to be more serious and responsible when looking after the tenth division. In her eyes, she truly believed Toshiro deserved to have happiness after suffering so much. Plus she has ALWAYS teased Toshiro about having a crush on Karin ever since she found Toshiro spying on Karin back during the Arrancar situation many years ago.

Toshiro walked into the homely living space and smiled warmly. His eyes lit up at the beautiful sight in front of him.

His step-son/bonus son, Ryunosuke Kurosaki, was sitting in the corner of the corner sofa, reading a manga magazine. Ryunosuke is a seventeen year old high school student. Ryunosuke is an introvert at heart, the complete opposite of a Kurosaki. He has black spiky hair, which looks messy around his face and covers one of his eyes. Ryunosuke has a rare eye condition, he has heterochromia eyes. He has one blue eye and one red eye. The red eye is constantly covered. He gets his eye colour from his father but Ryunosuke prefers to never hear a word about his biological father. The teenager has pale skin and is 5’11, or 181cm, in height. He has a slightly muscular build but not that much. He wears a dark red loose jumper and blue ripped jeans with a silver chain. The silver chain often holds his Quincy cross. His right hand is covered by a black fingerless glove and his left hand is wrapped by blue tape. He usually has black boots on but due to being inside, he is wearing white socks. He also usually wears a black face mask outside of his safe zone but as he is at home, his safe zone, he doesn’t need to wear it. Over his ears were some headphones which connected to his phone, he was listening to music as he read his manga magazine.

Toshiro’s eyes then wandered to the dining table where his first biological child, Kimoto Hitsugaya, sat and doing his homework. Kimoto is a twelve year old junior high school student. Kimoto is an extrovert type of child, he is what a Kurosaki is but with the Hitsugaya name. He has white spiky hair, which was currently messy and being pulled on, due to stress. His turquoise eyes narrowed at his homework sheet. Kimoto has sun-kissed skin due to him being outside a lot as he is an active child. Due to being a child, he has a slim and small structure and is 4’11 1/16, or 150cm, in height. He is currently wearing a dark blue hoodie with a black t-shirt underneath, black shorts and white socks. Usually he would have blue trainers on his feet but he was inside, he was hanging his blue slippers on his feet. Kimoto is often compared to his father due to his looks, but Kimoto wasn’t like Toshiro. While Toshiro is a genius, Kimoto is dyslexic and due to his dyslexia, Kimoto is struggling with his homework.

Toshiro’s eyes left Kimoto for a moment and went to the two girls sitting by the coffee table in front of the TV, drawing at the table.

These two girls are twins.

The first twin is Kurayami Hitsugaya. Kurayami is the oldest twin. She has black long hair which is a little wavy and bright turquoise eyes. Her skin is a more neutral white as Kurayami has days where she likes being outside and days where she likes being inside. Kurayami is a ball of sunshine, she is cheerful and very outgoing, she is also protective of her younger twin. She is more like Karin than she is Toshiro, not that Toshiro minded. Kurayami was wearing a dark purple short sleeved t-shirt with a light purple bunny on the front, the t-shirt had a small hood. On her bottom half she is wearing a light green skirt and dark green socks. If she was outside, she would be wearing a pair of dark purple trainers, but she was inside and wearing a pair of light purple slippers. 

The second twin is Yukihime Hitsugaya. Yukihime is the youngest twin. She has long white hair which is mostly straight and braided. She has bright turquoise eyes and her skin is a sun-kissed tone as she loves playing outside. However, unlike her twin she is not outgoing, Yukihime is the shy type and is often quiet, but when she’s with her family, she is very cheerful. Yukihime was wearing the same outfit as Kurayami but in different colours. She has a light green short sleeved t-shirt with a dark green bunny on the front, with a small hood. On her bottom half, she has a dark purple skirt and light purple socks. Like Kurayami, if she was outside, she would be wearing a pair of trainers but in light green, but she was inside and wearing a pair of dark green slippers.

The twins are both eight years old and they are both 4’2 ⅛, or 127.3 cm, in height. 

The youngest child of the family is Takashi Hitsugaya, who was currently watching cartoons on the TV while curled up to Ryunosuke while drinking a bottle of milk. Takashi has short spiky hair which has two different colours. The front part of his hair is black while the back part of his hair is white. He also has turquoise eyes. He has pale skin as he doesn't like going outside often. He is very quiet and grumpy to anyone who isn’t his favourite, he often changes favourites each day. Takashi is wearing a black jumper with black and white striped sleeves and on the front of the jumper is a panda face. On the hood of the jumper are two panda ears. He usually has black shorts on his legs but currently he was just in a diaper with a pair of white socks. Takashi is two years old and is 2’6, or 77cm, in height. 

Toshiro felt his heart melt at the sight of his children. He glanced at the kitchen where his wife, Karin, is. She was cooking dinner. Usually Toshiro would be cooking dinner but on weekends, Karin cooks dinner. 

Compared to how she used to look, Karin had changed so much over the years. She has grown into a beautiful woman. Her hair was long and tied up and her grey eyes have gotten brighter over the years since becoming a mother at sixteen. Karin has also developed a slight tan from being out in the sun all the time. She had grown up to be an Elementary P.E School teacher and soccer coach for 8-12 year olds. Her body has gotten more curvy and thick in some places due to giving birth to five children but Toshiro has never cared for it, he loves Karin for who she is, not what she looks like.

Toshiro looked back over at Kimoto, who was still struggling on his homework, and walked over to him. He sat across from Kimoto and read his son’s homework upside down. “Need help, Kimo?” Toshiro gently asked Kimoto, knowing how embarrassed Kimoto gets about his dyslexia.

“No.” Kimoto mumbled, clearly needing the help but refused to give in. Toshiro smiled lightly and just stayed seated, knowing Kimoto would soon give in. It was like it every week since Kimoto started Junior High School. As Toshiro waited, he took his Soul Pager out and contacted some people in the Seireitei. 

Karin hummed along to the music on the radio which was quietly playing in the kitchen section so she could cook. It was weekends like this that made Karin glad she chose the right man to be with. Compared to her ex-boyfriend, marrying Toshiro felt like a miracle due to how patient he is, even when she was raising Ryunosuke as a single parent when Ryunosuke was first born. Her adult life felt like a dream, a loving husband, five wonderful children, an amazing twin sister, caring nephews, a sweet niece, an idiot father and over the top friends. The only thing that made her know it wasn’t a dream was the fact her brother never contacted her, her sister or her father. However, Karin never focused on the past, she focused on the present.

“Dinner!” She called out, bringing the plates over to the table. 

“We’ll help!” Kurayami and Yukihime shot up from their positions on the floor, racing over to Karin to help her. 

“Finally.” Kimoto sighed in relief, happy to have a break from his confusing homework, which earnt an amused chuckle from Toshiro. 

“I’ll help you after dinner, Kimoto.” Toshiro smiled, taking Kimoto’s homework to set it on the side.

Ryunosuke took his headphones off and put his manga magazine down. He looked down at Takashi with a slight smile. “Ready to eat, Kashi?” 

Takashi lazily looked up at Ryunosuke, still sucking on his bottle, and nodded. Ryunosuke lifted Takashi up and brought him to the high chair and set him down.

Once the dinner was set down on the table, everyone was seated at the dining table, having a happy discussion. The twins were seated on Kimoto’s right, Toshiro was seated in front of Kimoto, Karin was next to Toshiro, Ryunosuke was seated beside Karin and on his left was Takashi on his high chair. Ryunosuke was keeping an eye on Takashi, making sure his food didn’t fall off the high chair or all over him. Toshiro was riling Kimoto up a little by teasing him, which caused Kimoto to scowl and shoot his words back at Toshiro. Karin was listening to the twins' stories of the drawings they were making. 

“Yeah! The knight is saving the prince from a mean monkey!” Kurayami stated, happily. Yukihime nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the knight is very powerful and has magic coming out of her eyes.”

“My. My. This knight sounds like a powerful lady.” Karin smiled. Yukihime nodded. “Yeah, this knight is a Fairy Queen.” Kurayami grinned widely. “And the Prince is a framed Criminal that the knight is looking to defend the Prince’s honour!”

“Kimoto, you don’t need to be embarrassed because of your Dyslexia.” Toshiro said. Kimoto scowled and blushed in embarrassment. “Shut up! You’re a genius, dad, how can I not be embarrassed?!” Toshiro sighed softly. 

“Kimoto, you have to understand that me being smart is not just because I’m a genius, but I am at least 100 years old. I have been through things and I was a captain of an investigation-focus division.” Toshiro said softly before smiling. “Plus, despite the fact you’re dyslexic, you are smart in your own way. Just think of your dyslexia as a powerful hollow, if you manage to overcome it by facing it head on, it won’t be as bothersome as before. Also, you should never be embarrassed for something out of your control, you are your own person. You’re not my clone.” 

Kimoto blushed even more from embarrassment and looked down at his food. “You sure my dyslexia is okay and not embarrassing for you?” Toshiro smiled warmly and patted his head. “You’re still my annoying kid no matter what difficulties you have.” “Oh shut up, old man!” Kimoto growled, making Toshiro laugh.