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letsquestjess · 4 months ago

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A Brother in Need

Summary: Echo struggles after returning from Skako Minor, but his brothers are there for him.

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: While there are no graphic descriptions, the Citadel and Skako Minor are briefly mentioned.

A/N: This one was written for @swprequels-big-bang! Can't wait for you all to see the art to go with it. It is phenomenal and I love it!

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In the hushed atmosphere of the medical room, Echo couldn’t shake the unease, as if the stillness masked an imminent awakening of the dormant machines. After previous checkups had caused him more stress than was beneficial, the medics minimised the use of technological equipment, and in the rare circumstances it was required, he was not alone for a single second.

His grip on the edge of the medical cot tightened. Occasionally, the scomp link attached to his other arm would disrupt his sense of balance. The staff promised him that his body would adapt, but the discomfort made it seem like an everlasting struggle. Each day, he pushed himself to the limit, desperate to reclaim his former strength and abilities, only to be met with failure at every turn.

“Almost done,” clone medic Zel said, working swiftly.

A wedge of blue light emitted from the hovering AZ unit and Echo kept his head drooped as it conducted the scans. With practise, he found if he averted his gaze and directed his attention away from the mechanical hum, he could cope long enough to complete his medical checks.

“The difficult bit is over,” the medic assured him, collecting the reports from the droid and dismissing it from the room. “All I need is a blood sample, and then you’re good to go.”

Zel acted with deft precision as he covered the back of the proffered hand with the cylinder and applied pressure to the syringe. As soon as he connected the specimen to the console, the monitor on the far wall lit up, flashing and stabilising into a solid green.

Examining each result individually, he reviewed the list and returned to his patient with a comforting smile. “Your vital signs appear to be within the normal range, but I’m going to keep you on minimal training for another week and then reassess. Don’t want to cause more strain.”

Echo acknowledged the medic’s terms with a meagre nod.

“How has the past week been for you?” Zel inquired, as he tidied up the medical apparatus and disposed of empty packets in the correct bins.

“Fine,” Echo replied, silently hoping that his prompt response wouldn’t betray the lie. Although he was far from fine, he intended to proceed with his routine so long as he met the requirements.

“Have you been training regularly?”

“I have.”

“And how have you coped with that?”

Echo grew silent, his throat bobbing with a grim gulp and his mouth becoming dry. Zel posed that question to him every checkup, and each time he faltered or contemplated lying, the medic waited, never pressuring him for a response. His duty as a brother held priority when not in emergency situations, and Echo conceded the truth was the only way to get the help he needed. “Not so fine,” he confessed.

“Recovery isn’t a quick process,” Zel said. “It’s like learning everything all over again.”

“I’m trying, I really am, but… I just…”

Zel drew up a chair and took a seat beside the medical cot, noting Echo’s tight hold on the bedframe and the restless flicker of his eyes. “No rush. Take a breath.”

Inhaling against the pounding of his heart, Echo loosened his grasp and nestled his hand in his lap. He had no reason to be embarrassed in front of his brother, but the notion he could not carry out his duty filled him with a shame so intense it clenched at his soul. “I… trip a lot, stumble over nothing. I’m getting strange pains at the worst times during training. Although my new squad is supportive and assures me I’m not failing them, I know I am. Most of the time, I struggle to keep pace, and they have to take on extra to get us through the simulations.” His gaze dropped to the scomp link, mourning everything that was taken from him.

“I won’t insist that you stop training unless it becomes too much to handle,” Zel said. “If that happens, I expect you to return here. It might help if you make a note of when the pains happen. Could be something with the prosthetics that need a bit of tweaking, but you’re doing well. And just so you know, you are not disappointing anyone. You joined Clone Force 99, right?” At Echo’s hum in response, he grinned. “I’ve heard they have unconventional methods, but if they are backing you up, maybe you should reciprocate that trust. Is there a particular squad mate who will listen?”

“They all would,” Echo replied without hesitation. “I might get a few sarcastic comments, but I think that’s their way of showing they care.”

Rising from his seat, Zel returned the chair to the console and signed the datapad to approve of the results. “When an enemy is marching towards you, it’s not always possible to hold the line alone,” he said. “The principle applies to any form of recovery. You’ve got to do a lot of the work on your own, but not all of it. Let your squad assist you. You’ll get there. Just takes time.”

* * *

Sleep shunned him. He was unable to find rest, never mind a shred of sleep in the swarm of thoughts. Regardless of how much he swatted them aside or composed his breathing, they always crept back in, peering to check if he was aware before hurtling at him at full speed.

If he could settle at night and handle the noise during the day, he wouldn’t have been bothered, but his mental haze had no sense of time or compassion. He would often recall the blaster smoke scent or find himself involuntarily retracing his steps towards the ill-fated spacecraft, prepared to defend his Jedi comrades and brothers. His footfalls reverberated, compelling him to the ramp, until...

Resigning himself to another sleepless night, he lowered his legs from the bunk. He wobbled from the impact, still getting used to his prosthetics and afforded himself a moment to regain his balance. Even sitting had become an act he had to think about before he did.

He scrubbed his face with his palms and lifted his head. A dull glow washed across the central table. Had he been so engrossed in his own thoughts to not notice Tech at the workbench? To grant himself some credit, the intelligent clone was usually rather quiet at night when he tinkered with his latest projects, mindful of the squad in their slumber.

“Apologies if I disturbed you,” Tech murmured, the glass of his goggles capturing the sheen of the welding tool pinched in his grasp. Metal melted beneath the precise tip, cooled by a second, shorter instrument. “My brothers can sleep through almost anything.”

“I’m not usually a light sleeper,” Echo replied quietly. “I mean, I wasn’t before…” He pointed at the connectors implanted into his skull and drank in the tepid skim of conditioned air. A delicate breeze tickled his nose and chilled the skin surrounding the embedded machinery that kept him alive. He held onto every sensation, hoping it would anchor him in the present and maintain his concentration on his mission.

His wrists dangled from his parted legs, his head bowed and his body exhausted beyond its capacity. Zel’s advice leaked into the dense mist in his mind. Trust them, he told himself. They are your squad. Your brothers. They support you as much as you support them.

“I go to bed but rarely sleep,” he said. “Hardly get the sensation of needing rest like I used to. Sometimes, I drift for a few hours, but it doesn’t last long.” Determined not to fester in the stuffy bunk, he shoved himself up from the thin mattress and made his way over to the table, collapsing into the seat across from the preoccupied clone.

“That will be your cybernetics,” Tech said.

“I gathered that.” Echo placed his scomp link onto the counter to alleviate a little of the pressure in his shoulder. Upon his return, he barely allowed himself any time to recuperate before immersing himself in retraining. A soldier at heart and a proud defender of the Republic, he used every stumble and fall as a reminder to stay focused.

However, amidst the grumbles and the effort it took to push himself up again, within the measured breaths to soothe his irritation, he was reminded of the fact that he was no longer the man he once was. His body had been altered, parts of him removed and replaced with metal, cold and biting.

Tech moved the tools aside and wiped away the leftover mineral powder from the curved device he had been constructing. With studious care, he began to file at the sharper edges. “If you would find it useful to discuss the challenges you’re facing, my work doesn’t require much concentration at this point.”

At that tiny allowance, words poured from Echo in a way they never had before. The floodgates of his thoughts burst open, unrestrained, tugging at the burden on his chest and lifting each cumbersome strain. The relief of being home, the grief at the news about Fives, and the fear of not living up to his past achievements whispered through the night like sacred secrets. In the end, he felt a sense of liberation as he plucked them out of his head and set them down before him to process.

“I am sure that you have already been told this, but it will take patience for you to adjust,” Tech spoke once Echo had spilled out his soul. “Not just to a new body, but a new squad and new surroundings. We work… differently to most.”

“Different isn’t a bad thing,” Echo said.

Tech’s lips curved in agreement and he stepped away from the bench, presenting his latest project to his teammate for inspection. “Can I ensure this fits before I complete the final alterations? You will not feel any discomfort.”

“Sure. But what is it?”

“It is a piece of headgear that should help with the issues you have been having,” Tech responded, fastening it around the back of Echo’s head and removing it a few seconds later once he was content with the sizing. “I am certain that the implants are contributing to your difficulties, but this will isolate those problems and facilitate a stronger connection between your body and the cybernetic aspects.”

Echo observed him as he perched on the table, fine tuning the device. Tech had been working on this project for weeks, devoting the majority of his free time to finishing it. And it was for him. All those hours, those late nights, the quiet moments alone had been all for his benefit. “You’ve made this for me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tech said, as if it were the most clear-cut thing in the entire galaxy. “You are our brother. Why would we not help you?”

At a loss for words, Echo sat in stunned silence.

“I believe the slips you have been experiencing during simulation training are due to a disconnect between your neural relay and your prosthetics,” Tech continued, “but this headpiece is designed to assist you with that.”

“I… Thank you,” Echo said. “It, uh… it means a lot. I’ll leave you to it.” Getting up from the bench, he turned back to his goggled brother and smiled. “Don’t stay up too much longer. If Hunter finds out, he won’t be pleased.”

“He will not mind,” Tech assured him. “Not since I am helping a brother in need.”

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb fic #the bad batch fic #swprequels big bang

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reverseenchancia · 2 months ago

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Title: "A King's Promise"

Summary: Before Cedric became royal sorcerer, and before Roland was king, they were just two boys, bound by friendship. When young Cedric falls ill, Roland keeps him company, unaware of how this small act would shape their future.

In the heart of Enchancia, nestled away from the grand castle, a modest home stood under the care of Goodwyn, the royal sorcerer, and his wife Winifred. It was a cozy cottage filled with magical trinkets, potion bottles, and ancient scrolls. Young Cedric, no more than eight years old, lay in his bed under a thick quilt, his face pale and his usually bright eyes dull from the fever that had overtaken him.

The room was dim, lit only by a few candles scattered around the bedside table. Despite Winifred’s best healing potions, Cedric’s illness persisted. He wasn’t in danger, but the fever had sapped his energy, leaving him weak and irritable.

“Mother, I’m fine,” Cedric croaked, his voice hoarse as he tried to push himself up. But Winifred gently nudged him back down, her warm eyes filled with concern.

“You need rest, Cedric,” she said softly, adjusting the blanket over him. “The fever has to run its course.”

Cedric frowned, crossing his arms in frustration. “But I’m so bored.”

Winifred chuckled lightly. “I know it’s hard being stuck in bed, but you’ll feel better soon.” She glanced out the window, where the afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow on the cottage. “Now rest, sweetheart. I’ll check on you later.”

Cedric sighed dramatically as his mother left the room, closing the door behind her. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but his mind raced with thoughts of magic, potions, and the spellbooks that he couldn’t get to while stuck in bed. He groaned in frustration, shifting restlessly under the covers.

Moments later, there was a knock at the window. Cedric blinked, turning his head slowly toward the sound. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Cedric! Cedric, are you awake?”

Cedric’s frown disappeared, replaced by a surprised smile. He recognized that voice immediately.

“Roland?” he rasped, sitting up just enough to peer toward the window.

Sure enough, a young Roland, his face smudged with dirt and his hair messy from running, stood outside the window, his nose practically pressed against the glass. His bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and his grin was as wide as ever.

“Can I come in?” Roland whispered loudly.

Cedric hesitated, glancing toward the door where his mother had just left. “I’m sick, Roland,” he called out. “You shouldn’t—”

“Oh, come on!” Roland interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m not scared of getting sick.” He tugged at the window latch, pushing it open and climbing inside with all the grace of an overeager boy. “Besides, I brought something to cheer you up.”

Cedric coughed lightly as Roland landed on the floor with a soft thud, his bag slung over one shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were stuck in bed,” Roland said, his voice quieter now that he was inside. “So I thought I’d keep you company. You’re probably bored out of your mind.”

Cedric’s annoyance melted away at his friend’s words. Roland always had a way of making him feel better, even when things were grim. “I… I am bored,” he admitted, sinking back into his pillow. “I’ve just been lying here all day.”

Roland beamed, setting his bag down beside Cedric’s bed. “Well, lucky for you, I brought this!” He pulled out a small wooden box, intricately carved and polished to a shine. He placed it on Cedric’s lap with a proud grin.

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Open it and see,” Roland urged, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

With some effort, Cedric sat up and opened the box. Inside was a small deck of cards, but they weren’t ordinary cards. Each one was decorated with moving illustrations—magical creatures, knights in armor, and castles. The figures on the cards waved, fought, and even flew around the small space, contained within the card’s borders.

Cedric’s eyes widened in amazement. “Magic cards?”

Roland nodded enthusiastically. “They belonged to my grandfather. He gave them to me last year, but I thought you’d like them more.”

Cedric’s heart warmed at the gesture. “You’re letting me borrow them?”

Roland shook his head. “Nope. They’re yours now.”

Cedric stared at him in disbelief. “But… these are your grandfather’s.”

Roland shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You love magic more than anyone I know. And you’re stuck in bed, so you need something cool to do.” He grinned, grabbing one of the cards and holding it up. “Besides, I can always visit and play with you.”

Cedric couldn’t help but smile. He shuffled through the cards, admiring the enchanted drawings. “Thanks, Roland. This… this is amazing.”

Roland waved off the thanks, his cheeks reddening slightly. “It’s no big deal.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the warm afternoon air filtering through the open window. Cedric glanced at Roland, noticing the small smudge of dirt on his nose.

“Were you outside playing?” Cedric asked, amused.

“Yeah,” Roland admitted with a sheepish grin. “I was with the knights. Well, I mean, I was watching them practice. But I was pretending I was training with them. One day, I’m going to be a knight, just like my father.”

Cedric chuckled softly, though it made him cough again. Roland frowned at the sound, his playful demeanor shifting to concern.

“You really are sick, huh?” Roland said quietly, watching Cedric wince from the cough.

Cedric nodded. “It’s just a fever. Mother says I’ll be fine, but I have to stay in bed until it goes away.”

Roland’s brow furrowed, as if deep in thought. Then, his face brightened. “I know what’ll make you feel better!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Roland grinned, leaning in as if he were about to share a great secret. “I’ll stay here with you until you’re better. That way, you won’t be bored. I’ll keep you company.”

Cedric blinked in surprise. “But you’ll get sick, too.”

“So what?” Roland shrugged. “If I get sick, then we’ll both be sick. And then we can stay in bed and play magic cards together.”

Cedric opened his mouth to protest, but Roland’s earnest expression stopped him. There was no arguing with Roland when he had his mind set on something.

“You don’t have to do that,” Cedric said quietly, though part of him was touched by the offer. Roland smiled, sitting back down on the bed beside him. “I want to. Besides, you’d do the same for me, right?”

Cedric hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I guess I would.”

“See? Then it’s settled.” Roland leaned back, propping himself up with his elbows. “You and me, Cedric. We’ll get through this together.”

Cedric smiled, the warmth of Roland’s friendship easing the discomfort of his illness. Despite the fever, despite the weakness in his limbs, Cedric suddenly felt lighter—like maybe being stuck in bed wasn’t so bad after all, as long as Roland was there. As the day wore on, the two boys passed the time playing with the magic cards and telling stories of knights, dragons, and grand adventures. The fever still burned in Cedric’s veins, but Roland’s laughter and endless chatter made it easier to bear. At one point, Cedric closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Roland gently pull the blanket up to his chin, tucking him in just like Cedric’s mother had done earlier.

“Don’t worry,” Roland whispered, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And with that promise, Cedric fell into a peaceful sleep, knowing that, no matter what, Roland would always be by his side.

#sofia the first #sofia the fandom #cedric the sorcerer #king roland ii #kingdom of enchancia

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feelingsinmylonlyheart · 4 months ago

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06.02.2024 written before we broke up

If she were a season, she would have been the spring. But nowadays she is nothing more than the cold whisper of the winter wind running down her skin/spine.

She drinks gin instead of trying to begin. And again, she is nothing more than her pain beating in her chest. There is nothing left, not a spark of hope for a few guests in her still barely beating chest. She tried her best, but even that doesn’t last. It just feels like the never-ending plague. She promised she would endure, but maybe only until the Moon tries to impress. Her expectations weren’t fulfilled, so she will try to set them free. She can’t say the all-ending words out loud, but her eyes will scream, “Sorry, it’s not your fault. I will love you in another universe.” I would have moved this whole world for you. I hope you know that and will never forget it! You’re going to be fine.

In love - your world.

Answer from him:

07.02.2024

If there was a season, he would be autumn. Sometimes sunny, but due to the strong winds sometimes bitter cold. There can be golden sunshine one day, but gray skies and ray another. But when he is with winter, the golden sun becomes oh so much prettier.

He is drinking beer instead of doing something with his peer. And again the lights are dim, his energy that used to be filled to the brim is now empty feels like it’s killing him and everything is grim. But when the sun comes out like in a day of spring, and she is coming - his ting, the tension he had that felt like of a drawn bowstring, is released as quick as a sling and the world feels as pretty as in a spring painting. With her he feels just like a king and for her he would do anything. She says she wants to visit a different world but without her it will feel like his intestines are being twirled and he won’t have strength to quit being in his bed curled and he might even end up back with her after being hurled - out a window.

Please don’t go the the different universe, without you everything will be worse. I know life right now feels like a curse and like you just want to burst, but trust me, I will be your nurse and make your pain disperse. I just don’t ever want to see you driven in a hearse.

In love - your Autumn.

Answer:

And then he came and turned my scars into stars. Like a fucking superstar. Right now I don’t want to visit the moon and hopefully not soon. And I am not lying I am often crying, but then I am lying in your arms and I keep trying. So let me lie forever in your arms, Safe harbored from life's tempestuous storms. Then you begin to sing and I swing back to Spring (with you as my king). And as long as I can breathe I will fight to get blithe for you

#depressing shit #tw depressing stuff #tw depressing thoughts #sorry for being depressing #depressiv #depressing quotes #kinda depressing #depressing life #this is depressing #i love him #love #love poem

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piecesofeden11 · 1 year ago

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WIP-Wednesday

Here's a snippet from Chapter 6 of "Like Puppets on a Broken String" Things must get really, really bad before they can get super good, right? I promise, there's light at the end of the nightmare tunnel but I still have some things planned for these boys! <3

As always, these are, in parts, unedited so any mistakes/inconsistencies/plot holes you find, please ignore them! Let me know what you think <3

The council chamber was vacant, the Jedi not assigned to help Mace Windu confront Darth Sidious, were on their way to prepare the Temple for a potential attack. Yoda, as had been decided with some urgency, was on his way to Kashyyyk. The mission had been a matter of public discussion and his departure was expected. In an effort not to create too much suspicion, he was now on his way as planned.

Anakin had stayed behind, unsure of what to do with himself. He itched to follow Windu, help confront Palpatine. He wanted to go to Padmé, warn her about the potential chaos about to ensue. He also wanted to beg her to leave Coruscant as soon as possible, be safe on Naboo, under strict medical observation in case anything went wrong with the child. He thought of contacting Ahsoka, enlisting her help perhaps. Most of all, he needed Obi-Wan. Even just a spark in the Force, anything.

He's fine. He'll be fine. There is no fire on Utapau, no lava.

But doubt continued to gnaw at him, his mind conjuring scenario after scenario of how his visions would come true while he sat idle and useless.

I can help you save them. You need but bend the knee and all the power you need will be yours, my boy.

Palpatine's - Sidious' - voice lanced through his brain and he shivered.

"He's a Sith! He's lying to me!"

Speaking into the empty room, Anakin began to pace again, nerves strung too tight to keep still.

But what if he isn't. Then you'll risk both Padmé's and Obi-Wan's life.

The thought was agonizing, but the alternative was unthinkable. He would not - could not - align himself with the Sith. Obi-Wan would never forgive him.

Fear and pain and anger danced in his mind, nearly driving him up the wall, until the burst from his lips in a hoarse scream, an explosion of the Force that made the transparisteel windows shake. Yet it was still not enough, the energy, the tension was still there, right under the surface of his skin, taunting him, burning him, until it was almost too much to bear.

And then, so sudden he almost staggered from the lack of if, it was all gone and a single, clear thought struck his mind.

I am the Chosen One! All that power that he promises, I already have! How did I not see this before?

The shackles of doubt and fear that had been wrapped around him ever since the visions began, suddenly slipped away, replaced by grim determination. Opening himself up to the Force, he widened his senses, reaches far beyond the limits of the Temple.

Sidious' presences in the Senate offices was like a beacon, so clear and bright, now that Anakin was finally aware of him. How could the Jedi have been so blind to it before? How could he have been so oblivious? He pushed these thoughts aside for the moment, to be contemplated another day.

Focusing his mind on that single burning flame of darkness, Anakin infused the Force with as much of his own anger as could and shot it like a warning towards the Sith.

I am coming for you and you will not be ready!

Then, he wheeled around, robes flaring dramatically behind him and took off running. He had a meeting to attend after all.

#my writing #star wars #fanfiction #obikin #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #like puppets on a broken string #wip wednesday

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faeryarchives · 3 years ago

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guide 101: what to do during red days with the heartslabyul boys? (fem!s/o)

(so my period cramps just killed me earlier and i thought of a mini headcanon to comfort myself ueueue i hope u guys enjoy)

every month, girls would face their worst enemy and that is menstruation. what would the boys do while the ramshackle prefect went through her red days?

: ̗̀➛ riddle rosehearts

oh dear great sevens take the wheel, help riddle with this situation.

he knew about menstruation but because he didn't have any close female friends or relatives

the dorm leader was very confused when you started screaming bloody murder from your room

"henchman don't die! i haven't got my tuna!"

"i am going to turn you into tuna!"

"love? are you okay?" the moment he entered the dorm, he could see you lying on the couch - dressed in uniform but you look very messy from turning around so much. "riddle..." a sob escaped your lips when your eyes landed on your boyfriend holding a plastic bag of sweets as per recommended by cater and trey and another plastic containing pads that he bought from mr. sam. "i am dying from abdominal pain... don't you have class?"

"i got the headmaster's permission anyway. come on, let's get you to bed."

you were very surprised when he didn't hesitate to carry you in his arms using magic and put you back to bed

despite not being accustomed to taking care of period cramps, riddle is doing a good job in giving you hot compress, painkillers and even singing to you that even your period cramps got shy by the sound of his voice that it fade away

never let him do your porridge without supervision 😅 but if he already joined the culinary crucible event then riddle promise you that he will make the best porridge ever

"love what are you doing?"

"n-nothing! go back to your roo-"

"is that porridge? aww you didn't have too though!"

"i insist, are you feeling better now?"

"i already feel much better with you by my side."

at the end of the day, the heartslabyul gang + grim would find the two of you sleeping peacefully in your room in each other's arms.

: ̗̀➛ trey clover

to have trey by your side during your menstruation is a blessing 🙏

i think he would be the type of boyfriend to prepare a box full of the things that will make the pain lessen during your red days - your favorite stuff toy, snacks, his hoodie and pain killers

"trey? what are you doing here?"

"i noticed on your calendar the other day that your period is right around the corner so i decided to drop these by so it might help you."

"actually, it's today. thank you trey, i love you so much."

"wait, i'll tell cater i can't make it to class today."

"what? wait no-"

yes, he did not attend classes to take care of you 🥺 knowing how it is hard to deal with the pain - trey is very patient with your mood swings and cries

cooks you your favorite soup and wrap you inside his hoodie

"do you feel any chills or throwing up? feverish?"

"you are acting like my mom ahehe i am fine thanks to your wonderful care."

if you are having a hard time to sleep the pain away - the third year would lay down next to you and gently caress your head while telling you stories about his shenanigans with riddle and cater until you fell asleep

by the time you wake up and your abdominal pain is gone - the vice dorm leader is already up with the best meal and painkillers ready

"oh you are awake, i hope you got a wonderful sleep."

: ̗̀➛ cater diamond

having two older sisters - cater knows how to deal with these kind of situations but he is more laid back than trey and riddle

"its that time of the month? that's sucks. but i know, let's watch some of your favorite movies and chill!"

would buy you any food you want for the day but not doesn't allow you to drink carbonated or caffeinated drinks because it makes your period pain worse

recreates the funniest scene in the film with you that always makes you laugh

"hahahahaha he looks so stupid at that part!"

"ikr! it reminds me when ace tripped and then landed on deuce during the unbirthday party."

"hahahah! never let them hear that from you or you will not hear the end of it."

cater would shower you with lots of kisses and hugs 🥰

its normal for him to shower you affection but whenever you are sick or in your period it becomes tripled

"cater stop! ahihi that tickles."

"that's the point bub! come here let me tickle your period pain away!"

"stop, grim help me!"

"no you would just scream in my precious ears!"

very much used to your mood swings because it is more on the calm side than dealing with his sisters having their period at the same time + the mood swings 😭

all in all, the third year wouldn't leave your side until you feel much better - wouldn't want to leave alone his beloved suffering right

: ̗̀➛ deuce spade

oh god. imagine deuce panic when you sent him a text that you are currently dying

never in his life he ran so fast to the ramshackle dorm with his wand in hand and he is actually still in his pajamas 😭

"(name)! (name) are you okay?!" when he got no reply, the first year immediately barged in and ran into your room only to see you curled up in a ball crying.

without any hesitation, he ran and put grim in the living room before pulling you in a tight hug. "thank goodness you are okay..."

"deuce, it hurts so much..." sobbing in his shoulder, deuce hush you down and rubbing your shoulder to calm you down.

the first year didn't know what to do so be patient with him he is trying his best 😭 he might spill a little bit of soup from here and there but his cooking is delicious!

"i never knew you could cook so well deuce!"

"t-thanks, i always help my mom and grandmother in the kitchen sometimes so i picked some of their cooking habits."

"mmm, i hope i could meet them one day, i want to tell them how much you take care of me."

his face turn very red at that moment making you tease him more.

just imagining the thought of his mother and grandmother meeting the love of his life makes his heart go doki doki ❤️

the next time you get your menstruation - he promise that he will be prepared more than ever just don't send him a text that says that you are dying 😭

: ̗̀➛ ace trappola

ok i honestly think that ace would still act the same but the difference is that he is afraid of your outburst 😨

he already made you angry in the past during your period and let us just say it wasn't a very good experience

"did you call me over, babe?"

"aceeeee i am going to die~!"

"... you are on your period now, aren't you."

"yes." at that moment, you can see the terror in his eyes before he cleared his throat and look away. "okay okay i'll just grab some stuff in my dorm very quick."

did ace just return to the dorm with a full backpack? yes he just did its like he is going to war 😭

for the day, ace would talk to you with care

he will tease you a little bit but overall you can really feel the love that even if you jokingly snap at him - ace would just roll his eyes and pop a chocolate in your mouth

"you look like shit."

"why thank you, i got that from my girlfriend."

"you have another girlfriend?"

"are you silly? you are my one and only. now eat this chocolate while i go back to check on the soup."

he is your personal teddy bear, his warmth is un-match especially when you are the type to get chills during your period

even if ace seems like the type who will get on your nerves during your red days but trust me he knows what he is doing and lowkey show how he really care for you

"babe?"

"yeah?"

"i love you even you are a little bitch"

"i love you more, go to sleep you little brat."

tell me if you guys want to have this version from different dorms ahihi 🤗 i hope you guys enjoy

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obiwanobi · 4 years ago

Note

Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then... And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips."

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

#appleslakesandeuchre #(I changed the end of your prompt a bit I hope it’s fine with you)#asks #obikin #clem's aus #fic i will never write #always a sith anakin au #ahsoka the next morning is HORRIFIED to find a sith on the couch #like 'I knew you had a huge soft spot for him but really master? REALLY?'#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'#fic i did write

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bunnirs · 3 years ago

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yo ho yo ho a (forced) pirates life for me | eventual floyd leech x reader | part 1/? | twisted wonderland

The thought of being left alone for summer vacation sucked.

Crowley had yet to find you a way back home and now everyone, including Grim, were on their way to leave you for essentially two months? Sure, you’ve gotten a couple of invitations, but have turned many down for fear of strings attached (this mainly being directed at Azul).

On the brightside, you can finally get around to redecorating the Ramshackle dorm like you always wanted. The best you can with the limited budget that you have. OK, so maybe just some furniture rearranging. Maybe you can ask Sam about a part-time job at his store for the summer, if not indefinitely. It would be nice to not be wholly reliant on a certain Head Mage for some pocket change.

Speaking of.

You were currently sitting in said man’s office, awkwardly twiddling your thumbs as you waited for him to enter the room, preferably through the door and not some weird manner like the ceiling or just in thin–

“Were you waiting long, y/n?” You swallowed a scream as Crowley appeared directly to your left. “I was just discussing what to do with you for the summer with the other faculty.”

You coughed a bit. “Huh?”

“You see, typically no students are allowed to remain on campus during the summer due to liabilities that could occur with food or housing, so we maintain a strict policy where only select personnel can stay.”

“Uh-huh,” You muttered in semi-disbelief.

Crowley smiled, not catching on to your very obvious sarcasm, “Since I have been unable to find a way to send you back to your homeland, I figured that I should at least compensate you for the summer. So, we were thinking about sending you on a vacation to a private beach!”

This just screams scam. “Yeah…?”

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I really am not lying to you. Have I ever led you down the wrong path?”

Is the sky blue?

Crowley seemed to find amusement in your expression. “I’m sure you will have more entertainment on a beach than in the Ramshackle Dorm with the ghosts.”

Well, he’s not wrong. “And the catch is?”

“You think I would trick you?”

You gave him a look.

“I promise, this is 100% a real vacation on a beach, paid for personally by myself. You would be accompanied by an old friend of mine for the time you are there. You find him quite charming, really.”

Sighing, you decided to cut your losses. Maybe after break you can talk to Sam about your future employment, but for now a relaxation in the waves sounds quite nice. “Fine, just let me get my things together.”

“I already did! They’re right here,” Crowley haphazardly tossed a suitcase to the floor in front of you. You didn’t even own a suitcase. Where did he-

“And your vacation starts… now!” You looked up from the dingy thing in shock.

“Excuse me? Can I at least say goodbye to Grim?” You began to stand up as you felt the world shift around you.

Crowley’s laughter filled your ears as the sound of the ocean joined it and grew louder and louder. “I’m afraid not, y/n.”

You bent down and grabbed the suitcase at your feet as fast as you could, feeling water surrounding your ankles already.

So much for a boring summer break.

#twisted wonderland #twst floyd #floyd x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst x mc #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #eventually #twst oc #Captain Hook #you’ll understand when it happens #reader is afraid of the ocean and everything in it

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yesimwriting · 4 years ago

Text

The Promise of Rain, blurb 2

The Promise of Rain (part 2?? technically)

A/n I was not originally planning a second part for this but some people wanted it and this idea came to me and it works better with the context of ‘The Promise of Rain’ but it can technically be read as a stand alone :))

Anyways this might turn into a small series of kinda connected blurbs that are all kind of canon with each other but aren’t necessarily connected except for the reader’s background (the reader is a very sunshine-y person and knows Kaz bc she’s a runaway princess that he was hired to bring back home but she managed to convince him to let her work for him instead)

The night air had left me with a chill that made me want nothing more than to have my covers draped over me as I read. I’m normally more sociable after a job, especially after such a simple and safe ending, but a lot of tonight had left me wanting to be alone.

Well, not truly alone. The company of my books is always welcomed, but tonight I can’t seem to find much comfort within the pages. After almost every paragraph, I find myself distracted by gusts of wind and thoughts of the heavy, silver clouds that seem to make up tonight. A part of me longs for the rain. I know it’s ridiculous to expect rain each time I desire some sense of comfort, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Especially when the sky so clearly implies it.

“This must be the fifth time I’ve come here and you’ve been reading.” Kaz’s sudden appearance is almost enough to shake away my lingering somberness.

I roll my eyes slightly, turning my attention back to the page in front of me. “That observation is just a testament to how often you come in here.”

His glare is half hearted, a look I’d find endearing if I was less annoyed. “Where else am I going to find a reminder that good people exist in Ketterdam?”

I think he may have a sixth sense that warns him when I’m treading the line between being annoyed and displeased. Everytime I find myself mad at him in a way that makes me want to avoid him instead of yell at him, Kaz makes some ridiculously heart-melting comment. He steps further into the room. I don’t miss the way he eyes my stretched out legs. Ever since the conversation we had after he woke up after an injury, we’ve fallen into the unmentioned habit of silently inviting the other to stay by moving to make room for them.

It had started the day after the conversation in which Kaz had admitted that he wanted me to stay with him. He had been sitting on the small couch while discussing the details of a job. Shortly after I walked in he made a point of shifting so that he was clearly on one side of the couch. I didn’t think much about sitting down, but Inej and Jesper exchanged a look.

Now, though, I keep my legs stretched out on the bed. He eyes my position on the bed, something grim crossing his features.

“It might rain tonight.”

He knows me so damn well. I hate it. “I hope so.”

I turn my head, analyzing the way the world seems to be on the cusp of something. I stare at the silver clouds until I feel something hard tap my leg. The tap is firm but not painful. I’m quick to look at Kaz as he lowers his cane. The mention of rain had been a distraction.

“You distracted me on purpose.”

“The first rule of the Barrel is to always be prepared.” There’s a slight uptilt to his lips, something I’ve learned to interpret as a sign of teasing.

How is he so easy to be around one second and so cold the next? I resist a smile. “I’ll take notes.”

Kaz ignores my passive aggressive tone. His focus seems to be on my legs that have still not moved to offer him a place next to me. “You wear your emotions too openly.” Great, he’s going to make us talk about it. “What reason could you possibly have to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” It’s a partial truth.

His expression harshens. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not thrilled with you, but I don’t think that’s the same as being mad.”

Kaz lets out a partial sigh. “No, they’re not the same.” Such an early concession feels like a trap. “With you, the first option is worse.” I don’t have anything to say to that. “Is this because of what I said to Jesper?”

My posture straightens on instinct. “He wants your validation more than he’d ever admit and I understand that expressing praise isn’t exactly something you do, but would it kill you to not actively insult him?”

“I didn’t say anything that was wrong. He thinks he’s a gambler but he’s just someone born for losses.” The look I give him must mean something to him, because Kaz is quick to tact on, “That doesn’t make him less valuable of an asset or less relatively dependable.”

I eye him cautiously, the slightest bit of vulnerability playing at his features. “Don’t look at me like that--and don’t tell me that. Jesper’s the one who could use the occasional reminder from you that you hold him to any regard with positive connotations.” His lips press together like he’s thinking about scolding me for scolding him. “It’s only because I know you care more about Jesper than you’d ever let on.”

“Jesper’s esteem can handle the blow.” The curtness of his voice is a blow in its own sense. “And he didn’t exactly deserve to be in my good graces after what he did tonight.”

My sigh is not weighted enough to match Kaz’s newfound fountain of emotion. “We were successful--”

“He left you.” I didn’t know Kaz’s voice was capable of such harshness. “I paired him with you, and he left you--and you almost didn’t make it.” I let the weight of his words take up all the available space in the room, keeping the silence that follows them until some of the heaviness has dissipated. “He could have cost me one of my best people.”

Oh. His harshness, his unwarranted coldness, had been a manifestation of his concern. For me. Guilt knots my stomach. Potential words that may offer Kaz some sort of support raise and die back down in my throat. Kaz turns towards the door.

“Kaz.” He pauses. There’s a long moment in which I think he won’t turn around, but finally, he does. I tuck my legs beneath me, forcing myself to sit up a little straighter. “I told Jesper to leave because I knew the job would have failed if he had been trapped in that room with me.” I drop my gaze towards the window. “I was right, the job was successful, and I got out in time so it was worth it.”

“You risked your safety?” The harsh facet of his being is making its return in full force.

“For the job,” I’m careful to keep my words factual, “It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Kaz’s jaw locks. “When I said that keeping you near me would ruin you this is what I meant.”

Is it really this big of a deal? I made it out. “Kaz.”

“This wasn’t my best idea.” His words are leached of anything. “You’re going back home. Tomorrow I’ll arrange the voyage myse--”

“Kaz Brekker you may get to live your life doing anything you want but you don’t get to control mine.” My chin raises an inch, an instinctual act of subtle rebellion. “I am not going back there, even if I’m technically indebted to you because you didn’t return me to my father but that does not mean I’ll--”

“I’m not trying to control you.” His words are sharp, boarding on a yell. “A job like that one wasn’t worth you.”

From Kaz, I know those words are heavy. There’s a lot of things I could say to that. I could tell him that I wanted to do something for him. I could say that I appreciate him telling me that. I could even say that in his own way, Kaz giving Jesper a hard time because he left me, is kind of cute in a misguided way. The thing is I think all of these responses will make things worse.

“Kaz,” I keep my voice as steady as possible, “I’m fine, you’re fine, it all worked out.” Scratching the back of my arm, I exhale gently. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.”

I watch him carefully, there’s a slight slump to his shoulders as he exhales. Is the fight leaving him so easily? He walks further into the room. “You better.” He sits down in the space I provided for him slowly. “If you’re not you’ll have worse things to worry about than anything that can happen to you on a job.” He moves his cane forward easily, tapping my knee in a swift motion.

I roll my eyes at the mock threat. “They do say that there’s nothing to fear in the Barrel like the Dirtyhands.”

“Remember that.” Any edge in his voice is forced. I fight against a smile that seems to always want to break across my face whenever I think I see something resembling lightness in Kaz.

“I don’t think I could forget anything about you.”

He turns his head slightly. “You should.”

“Too bad.”

Kaz leans his back against the wall, untensing slightly. “I think you just like disagreeing with me.”

There’s no point in lying about it. “Only because when you argue with me you give me this really particular look.”

“A look?”

Adding insult to injury, I smile. “Sometimes you look like you’re too focused on being angry, like you’re compensating for something.”

Kaz lets out a bitter sigh. “Maybe if you were less of a puppy I wouldn’t have to--”

The laugh that escapes is most definitely a mistake. “Did you just call me a puppy?” I don’t give him a chance to reply, laughter taking over again. “I mean this in the least argumentative way possible--but you’re so weird sometimes.”

He rolls his eyes, tensing. “I’m leaving.”

I stifle the rest of my laughter. “No. I was--I was kidding!” I keep my eyes on Kaz, expecting some type of annoyed glare, but his expression is a lot more weighted than that. Odd. “Kaz?”

“You need to be more careful.” I understand Kaz’s pause as something he does before saying something outside of his nature. “I’m not asking you this as a Crow or a Dreg.”

On instinct, my posture straightens. “I promised and I meant it.”

“Sometimes I wish I could believe in Saints,” his voice has taken off a distant quality, almost fragile, “That way I could believe something existed to help what matters.”

Oh. “You never fail, even if I didn’t believe in Saints I’d believe in you.”

“You’re wasting your faith.” The sound of lightning cracking is almost enough to make me jump. The rain finally came.

I know I’ll never convince him that that’s not true. “I don’t think so, but that’s why it’s called faith.”

“I have faith in some things.” His expression is far off.

“Like what?”

Kaz’s eyes find the window. “People that find meaning in the rain.”

Something in my chest swells. “You’re like the rain.”

We sit there in silence, watching raindrops glide down the window. “What were you reading?”

The question has me dropping my gaze to the forgotten book on my lap. “I stole this book from the palace before I left. It was my mom’s favorite, she’s read it so much the spine’s completely cracked and the cover is practically falling off.”

“Hm…” He mumbles. “Read some, the books read in a palace must be worthwhile.”

A part of me wants to tell him that elitism has no place in literature, but his request leaves me frozen. I nod once, turning to the first page of the book. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife--”

“Your upbringing makes sense--”

“You can’t judge it off the first sentence,” he’s insufferable, “It’s setting up irony, and if you’re going to complain--”

He lets out a conceding sigh. “I’m listening, I’m not interrupting.”

I keep my eyes on him for a second longer than I should. “Okay.” Dropping my gaze back to the book, I adjust my grip on the worn paperback, “Good.”

And then I keep reading.

@theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 3 years ago

Text

Warning: slight sexual themes.

Summary: A team of heroes, including Hero and Sidekick, escaping from Villain’s lair.

Something small to keep you guys entertained while I work on requests ;] One of them is already freaking 1300 words and I’m not even done with it yet so uuuuh yeeaaa. Y’all are in for a treat with my next post lemme say that much. 👀

Part 2

~~~~

“SIDEKICK! NO!” - the sound of Hero’s voice echoed through the halls of Villain’s lair. They tried to turn back to go and save their sidekick, but their teammates did not let them. They held them back and pulled them along, knowing it was already too late. Their only option now was to run.

“I’ll be fine! Just go!” - Sidekick yelled back as they struggled to escape from the henchmen’s grasp. The sound made Hero’s guts twist in guilt as they kept running.

They had to complete this mission no matter what, for it was the only way they would be able to bring an end to Villain’s reign. They had gotten an order to break into the villain’s lair and steal some valuable intel.

The hero could only mutter pointless apologies as Sidekick disappeared from their view. “It’s fine!” - Hero thought to themself. “Sidekick- Sidekick is a capable adult! They- They can take care of themself! R-Right?”

Hero knew their sidekick’s future looked grim but still told themself that they would come back. They would come back and save their sidekick. That… was a promise.

As Sidekick’s teammates ran away, the henchmen dragged Sidekick away, presumably, to wherever Villain was. The sidekick let themself be taken deeper into the criminal’s lair and awaited their encounter with Villain with batted breath.

After a few minutes of walking, they had at last reached Villain. The doors swung open before them, and Sidekick got pushed inside. The doors closed behind them, and the sidekick couldn’t help the confusion that riddled their face.

“Where… is Villain?” - they wondered, now standing in the middle of the oddly quiet room. Something wasn’t right. Sidekick turned in place, looking all around, but to no avail. Villain was nowhere in sight.

The sidekick closed their eyes, and with an annoyed grimace, said - “Oh, just come out already!” They waited a moment, but the silence was their only reply. Sidekick sighed and reopened their eyes, only to be caught off guard by a pair of strong arms wrapping around them and pulling them into a rough, needy kiss.

Once their shock had passed, the sidekick immediately began to kiss back, melting in Villain’s arms, moaning as the other caressed their body. “Fucking took your sweet time today, huh?” - Sidekick asked.

“Oh, don’t be like that. You know I love annoying you~.” - Villain replied.

“But did you really have to chase the team around for 3 hours?” - Sidekick questioned, still a bit annoyed.

“Mmm, perhaps I did overdo it a little bit. But at least it made your capture more believable.” - Villain explained. “And besides, with the heroes busy with their new ‘intel’ we have all the time in the world now~.” - the villain said, suggestively running their hands down Sidekick’s body once more, getting a lovely shiver out of them.

Oh, Sidekick had been waiting for this. It had been three months since they last saw Villain, and boy, oh boy, was Sidekick excited to at last be reunited with their lover. “You’re so amazing, you know that?” - Villain started. “Fooling those heroes so beautifully for so many months now, telling them such pretty little lies~.” - they whispered in the sidekick’s ear, earning themself yet another shiver from their love.

Sidekick couldn’t help but blush at the praise. The heroes never bothered to tell them what a good job they did, so naturally, their partner had decided they would do it instead. And Sidekick loved every second of it.

“You’re right. I am pretty good at lying, but… perhaps I could show you what else my mouth is good at~?” - Sidekick teased, adoring the way their words made Villain shudder.

“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t mind~.” - Villain said before pulling their partner in for another kiss and guiding them towards the bed.

#villain x sidekick #sidekick x villain #writing #writeblr #villain #sidekick #hero #prompt #writing prompt #my story #story

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felswritingfire · 4 years ago

Text

April Brain Rot #6

Prompts:

90. Violin

27. "Your heart is pounding."

Sebek Zigvolt x Reader

Summery: A ball between Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College has one half fae in particular wound up- especially when he catches wind that someone is asking you for a dance.

TW: None

Word Count: 1,282

A note from Fel: This bastard (spoiler alert) gets not one but TWO fics to himself- what a little shit am I right? (I fucking love him, and so does my girlfriend and no, I will not shut the fuck up about her I love her- honey, if you're reading this I LOVE YOU- and she said that this was her favorite one so far so like *fist bump*). I hope you enjoy!

Sebek had been stealing glances at you all night. He would scold himself every time he caught himself doing it: drinking in the way the light hit your shoulders and the smile on your face as someone in your group made a particularly funny remark. He wanted this awfully… warm feeling in his chest to stop. Though, he’s been feeling that way every time you were in the room with him for a while now.

Maybe he was getting sick.

Or you poisoned him! He closes his eyes, nodding sagely to himself. That’s the only explanation. You were lying when you told him it was fine after he accidentally ate that bonbon you had made with Trey and now you were exacting your revenge-

“What’re you thinking about, Sebek?” Came Lilia’s remark as he floated behind the young man’s head.

Sebek almost let out the most pitiful screech, but bit his tongue to keep it inside (for surely he could not sully his Lord Malleus’ name with such a pathetic response! His Lord was actually here for once!). “N-” he cleared his throat, righting his posture before continuing- “Nothing, Lilia-senpai! Simply watching for any threats that could be awaiting the Young Master!”

Lilia giggles. “Oh, Sebek,” he pats his head. “I don’t think there’ll be anyone- or thing- gutsy enough to hurt our Malleus. So you should go enjoy yourself! Eat some food! Chat with friends!” The fae leans close to Sebek’s face, a sudden feeling of being overwhelmed pulses behind Sebek’s eyes as he watches Lilia’s pupils narrow into fine slits. “Or dance with a special little human before the nights up, hm?”

Sebek could feel the blush climb up his neck and ring in his ears. “I do not have a special human!” The sheer volume of his cry enough to have people around them wincing.

“Fine, fine,” Lilia said with a wave. The mischievous smile that quirked onto his face as he looks past Sebek has him dreading turning around. “So, that means you don’t mind some random boy from Royal Sword Academy whisking them away?”

“What?” Sebek could feel the blood boil under his skin as some- some- lowly male tried to ask you for a dance: holding his hand out to you with a slight bow and a gentle smile. Ace was letting out a series of high pitched ‘ooo’s!’ while Deuce was subtly trying to puff himself up behind you, crossing his arms to seem more intimidating. Grim was declaring how weird humans were while Jack and Epel were silently glowering at him, waiting for you to decide.

Hm, seems he overestimated how well that bunch could protect you. Before he knew it he was pushing through people to get to you and that boy, Lilia’s giggles following after him.

“Will you allow me this dance, beautiful stranger?”

You felt your cheeks flush a pink as the red head extended a hand to you, the very definition of princely. “I- you see, I’m waiting for someone to ask me so-”

“One dance wouldn’t hurt would it?”

“N-no-” you glanced at where Sebek had been standing only to see him gone, your heart clenching in an uncomfortably tight hold- “I suppose not.” You begin to put your hand in his when someone else catches yours, pulling you behind a broad back.

“You have no right-” You feel a shiver run down your spine at the growl, Ace and Deuce’s hands coming to pull you away from the two boys. Grim floats in front of you uneasily as Jack comes to shield you and Epel comes to hold your hand- “to touch them.”

“Pray tell, why not? This is a ball between Royal Sword and Night Raven to allow us to mingle together, is it not?”

“Maybe- but I will not allow someone so lowly to taint them.”

The red headed boy tilted his head, his gaze condescending as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And you think you’re worthy? Truly?”

Sebek straightened his back, his shoulders squaring, making him look impossibly big. “Yes.”

They glared at each other, despite the boy being up to Sebeks’ chin, he still kept his glare even with his. He opened his mouth to retort with a head of black and pink hair slipped in front of their view. “Hello!” Lilia said, his tone sing-songy as he flipped himself to float right side up. “You boys seem to be having fun!”

“I- Lilia- senpai, I don’t think we’re-”

Lilia hushed him with a finger before leaning over and nodding to you and the boys. “Why don’t you take our little (Y/N) for a dance, hm? I’m sure they’ve been waiting an awfully long time for you to do it.”

Sebek blinked, nodding and turning to you. Offering his arm as he asks: “would you allow me this dance?”

You note the blush that rests on his cheeks, a soft laugh leaving you as you put your hand on his arm. “Of course.” As he’s walking you to the center of the dance floor you look back at the boy and yell out: “I’ll dance with you later!”

Sebek bristles at that and you yelp as he almost lifts you off the ground as he sweeps you into his arms: one hand rests on the small of your back while the other holds one of your hands in a gentle grip. “I don’t want you near that boy, human.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You know, I did promise him that I would dance with him later, right?”

“Yes, and I demand you revoke your promise.”

“Why?”

Sebek swayed the two of you back and forth, an annoyed sigh pushing past his lips. “He is a suspicious figure- I don’t trust him with the safety of the Young Masters friend.”

“That all?”

He huffs, pressing you closer to him. The sound of a soft tune being played on violins and a piano surrounds the two of you. It sounds like a song for lovers.

You rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the two of you swayed to your own rhythm. “Your heart is pounding.” You murmur.

“Well- that- I-” Sebek fumbled with his words, trying not to jostle you in his embarrassed and nervous twitches. “Don’t make fun of me, human.”

You laugh before saying: “I was waiting for you to ask me to dance.”

Sebek could feel his ears burn with a blush. “Why?”

You look up at him through your lashes before you huff and lean against his chest again. “You’re such a silly fae, you know that?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, human?” His voice builds in volume, his eyebrows twitching into an annoyed ‘v’.

“It means your dense, my handsome knight. So very, very dense.”

“I am not dense.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve been picking up on my attraction towards you and haven’t done anything? Sebek Zigvolt, I would have never guessed you were someone to string people along. How cruel.”

You almost burst out laughing at the mortified look on his face. “I- I-” his pale cheeks flush a deep red as he fights to make a coherent sentence. “You like me?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “More than you know.”

He nods once, twice- trying to fight the smile threatening to split across his face but his eyes gleam like shooting stars. “V-very good, human. You’ve chosen the perfect partner. Yes, I will do well to protect you and the Young Master from now on.”

You let out a laugh, the song ending, yet the two of you continued to sway. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Thank you for reading!

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ivarisms · 3 years ago

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Forbidden Romance

Summary: Ivar the Boneless finds a Princess during one of his raids on Mercia, a sign from the Gods he decides. She is a Christian and he is a Viking, a forbidden romance on both sides of the sea. But Ivar does not care what others think, and he won’t start now.

Story Rating: Mature — 18+

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER TWO --- TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

The great wooden Viking long ship creaked and swayed violently against the battering swell of deep blue waves, and the bitterly cold water accompanied with white froth lapped up the sides of the hull, a terrifying sight for Freya who had never experienced the wrath of the North Sea. The young Mercian princess huddled herself into the stern of the ship, pulling her knees up into her chest and holding them there with trembling arms as the weather took a turn for the worse. She was freezing, colder than she believed she had ever been before, and she had experienced many terrible winters back home. She remembered them well, vast blankets of white snow as deep as her knees and whistling winds that could freeze her stiff if she stayed out in them too long. But there had always been firewood to keep her warm, out here in the middle of the sea there was nothing but the clothes on her back.

A great crack of thunder tore through the sky above, startling her from her memories. The sound made everyone on board flinch in surprise and Freya for a moment thought the heavens had split open. Commands were shouted between the Vikings in a language she couldn’t speak or understand, but she watched their faces and seen for herself the fear in their features. This was not good.

We are going to die out here, Lord please save our souls.

She thought, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest along with the horrific sea sickness that swirled inside her belly by closing her eyes and pretending everything was fine.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Opening her eyes at the sound of the familiar voice, she found Ivar looking back at her from where he sat opposite her. She could have sworn he hadn’t been there before, or was her mind playing tricks on her? It didn’t matter. She was terrified, and no amount of reassurance from the very man who had stolen her from her land would make her feel at ease.

“I’m not.” She lied through chattering teeth, not convincing even herself of her own attempt to seem fine but she carried on with the act anyway, glowering back at him to let him know she could handle herself. “How long until we get there?” The question left her lips as more of a plea, but she hoped she didn’t sound desperate.

The corner of Ivar’s lips curved into the subtlest of smirks and his deep piercing blue eyes narrowed just enough to make her doubt herself, he was good at that, too good. It was if he was silently mocking her, scheming some devious plan in that wicked mind of his.

He knows I am afraid, and he likes it.

“Three days if we are quick.” He told her, never once looking phased by the chaos of the sea around him. There was a small pause before he continued, furrowing his brow. “Is this your first time on a ship?”

“Yes.” She breathed, lowering her eyes to her gloved hands to avoid his gaze. “I hate it, I hate the s-sea.” She stuttered, feeling colder by the second.

“You’ll grow used to it.” He sighed breezily and rolled his broad shoulders into a shrug. “You may even start to like it, in fact I’m sure of it.”

“I doubt it.” She murmured, shifting her weight until she turned herself away from him. Laying herself down onto the hard deck, Freya curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep until they arrived to where they were going.

Ivar remained seated, not moving to join her but instead keeping a watchful eye on her instead.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Some time later, Freya started awake. Her entire body trembled from the freezing rain that pummelled down onto the ship from the grey clouds above. Groaning, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and winced at the dull ache in her neck from the position she had been sleeping in. How long was I out for? She thought. With teeth clinched, she tried to stop her jaw from rattling but she was freezing. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes anymore, and her chest was so tense that she could no longer breathe in without hurting. Her ribs were tender, as if she had been punched a few times.

“I’m dying…” She whispered, tears pricking her soft eyes. She believed she wouldn’t survive this perilous journey to Norway and maybe that was a good thing. Just then as she gave into the deep depression that washed over her, Freya heard a dragging noise sound coming from her side.

Ivar.

Her stomach lurched in surprise when she saw the Viking crawl up the deck and into the space next to her, his strong arms carrying the bulk of his weight on calloused hands that were bound with black leather wraps. She supposed crawling was how he got to one place to another when he didn’t have the support of his cane. It was unsettling to witness, almost snake-like.

“…I…” She attempted to speak up, tried to muster enough strength to tell him she was ‘fine’ and to tell him to get away from her but her mouth seized shut involuntarily with the chills. She didn’t want his company, she would much rather freeze to death alone than have him anywhere near her. He was the sole cause of her misery.

“Sssh, don’t talk.” Ivar hushed away her futile attempts to protest and pulled himself up to sit by her side. She leaned away from him, not wanting him to witness her vulnerability and mock her for being weak, but as much as she expected him to bite at her with some sarcastic comment, he didn’t. Instead he began untying the tassels that held his black fur cloak in place around his broad shoulders. “I promise you that things won’t always be this way, we will be home soon.”

His voice was smooth as he tugged the cloak from his back and wrapped it tightly around her shivering frame. Freya didn’t know how to process the gentle way he handled her, she truly wanted to run from his foreign touch, but she had nowhere to run to. Feeling herself sink into his chest in defeat, sadness swelled in her chest as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close to him to keep her warm.

“You took everything from me…” She whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks and onto his black armoured chest. “I have nothing, I have nobody.”

Ivar’s eyes softened at the sound of her pitiful voice, and he let his nose dip into her hair as he stroked her back. He was fully aware of the fact that she hated him, it was to be expected but in time she would see things from his perspective.

“I took from you what needed to be taken.” He told her lowly, allowing his lips to linger against the top of her head. “Your life back in Mercia would have amounted to nothing if I had not have saved you, princess. Your pig of a father was willing to let you be raped and die in exchange for his own life. He gave this ‘evil Viking’ his permission to do with you whatever I wanted, so if it had not been me to raid your town and some other raider had got there first --- you may not have been so lucky. Remember this when you try and convince yourself I am some monster dragging you into the dark!”

“He never would have done that to me.” Freya lifted her head then and glared at the Viking who held her gaze. “You’re lying.”

Pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, Ivar raised his brow and leaned in towards her, his nose brushing against hers. “You think so?”

Freya tensed as Ivar challenged her with that look, the kind that buried itself deep in her soul. “He told me you were tucked away inside the chapel with your bishop when I nailed him to his cross.” He continued. “He told me you were beautiful with eyes as green as emeralds and hair as gold as the sun, and he wasn’t wrong. You truly are beautiful.”

“Stop.” She whispered, pulling her teary eyed gaze from his face. “Please, just stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

Her voice broke then and she slumped into herself, defeated by heartbreak. “The truth hurts sometimes, but it needs to be heard. There must be part of you that believes the Gods have plans for us.” He told her bluntly.

Freya didn’t know if she believed in anything anymore. She was at a loss. Ivar the Boneless was the grim reaper, wherever he went death followed along with a murder of crows. And yet as much as she thought him to be a monster, she leaned into his solid chest and listened to his heart thump steadily against her ear. A monster doesn’t have a heartbeat. She thought to herself. A monster would never be as warm as he feels to me now. Breathing in the fur cloak that had his scent all over it – a mixture of the sea, soil, musk and firewood, Freya decided he didn’t smell all that much of a monster either. Closing her eyes, the Mercian princess felt herself drift.

“I think your Gods brought you to the wrong Freya.” She broke her silence. “I am a Christian, you are a Viking --- we are not the same.”

“They are never wrong.” He told her. “It is true, you are a Christian and I am a Viking. I don’t understand it myself but I have faith things will become clearer in time.”

Freya was asleep before he finished his sentence, exhaustion taking over. Leaning his head of dark braids back against the wooden stern, Ivar sighed as he let the princess sleep against him. His fleet of ships continued their perilous path towards Kattegat.

tag list: @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @strayrockette @tgrrose @istorkyou @ivarhoegh @adrille88 @jadelynlace

#;forbidden romance #;fics #;ivar #ivar the boneless #female oc #vikings #let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters

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smaidjor · 3 years ago

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and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #empires smp #my writing

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

no deal.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and thus begins the 100 arc! i am so excited to share this with all of you. these are going to include more canon episode moments than my other episode-attached fics because everything builds on itself and the details are key. i promise we’ll still get a lot of added scenes and little changes!

words: 8.4k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: a case comes back to haunt Aaron in more ways than you can imagine. you’re there to be his shadow, to catch him when he falls.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Hotch?” You poke your head around the door, and you find him at his desk, in a surprising ensemble of khakis and an earthy quarter zip.

Almost whimsical, for him.

He looks up, his eyes softening for a moment before his brows pull in confusion. “You’re still here?”

You gesture to his desk lamp, the only light on in the entire office. “You are, so I figured…” You shrug. “I dunno. Is everything okay?” He looks exhausted, but it’s bone-deep - nothing sleep can fix.

He shakes his head and sighs.

That’s his tell.

But he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t believe him.

“Are you sure?” You cross the room and lean on his side of the desk, quickly scanning over the documents you find there. He doesn’t mind your nosiness. He's mostly accustomed to it by now.

Most of it is pretty normal - after-action reports, performance evaluations (it looks like you’re doing well), and task force meeting agendas - but there’s one file that sticks out.

Your brow furrows. “The Boston Reaper?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m just reviewing it for an academy lecture about dormant or otherwise inactive serial killers.”

“Ah, I see.” You know he’s still lying. “Anything I can help with?”

A little half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, thank you.” He looks up at you and you offer him a small smile. There are many things at work behind his brown eyes.

He never keeps things from you without reason, so the lying doesn’t bother you so much as the unease radiating off him in waves.

For now, you decide to let it go and pat his shoulder as you stand. “Alright. Walk me out?” It’s a pointed question - you know he won’t leave if left to his own devices.

He’s about to throw you a denial, but the look on your face leaves no room for it. “Yeah. I’ll just be a minute.” He starts packing up, sorting the files into neat little stacks that will be there waiting for him when he gets back tomorrow. The Reaper case, you notice, goes into his briefcase, decisively snapped shut and taken into his hand before you can process much else.

The walk down to the garage is a quiet one. You take the stairs, happy for the excuse to stretch your legs.

You snag the sleeve of his (very soft) quarter zip before he turns toward his car. “Aaron?”

His eyes snap to yours at the use of his first name.

“Just…” you aren’t sure where you’re going with this, but he’s probably used to that by now, too. “Just, erm...Drive safe, please? Get some sleep when you get home?”

He takes a little breath and nods, his gaze softening. He’s quiet as you release his arm, quiet on the walk to his car, quiet (you imagine) as he drives out of the garage.

You watch him until the echo of his tail lights fall out of your sight.

+++

The next morning, JJ trots up the stairs to Hotch’s office and exchanges a few words with him before he flies out of his office and down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the official request? We haven’t been invited.” JJ does her best to keep up with him, trotting down the stairs behind him with a file in her hand.

“We will be.”

You look at her with questions in your eyes and she shrugs. Derek, too, looks at her with confusion. Hotch continues toward the doors.

Is he already headed toward the plane?

She throws her hands up. “Well, it looks like we’re going to Boston.”

+++

When all your things are packed and ready, you settle in beside Aaron in your usual place, on the arm of the couch across from the table.

He walks you all through his work from a decade ago as you all review the files in your hands. "The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate."

Emily’s the first to speak up. “So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?”

“Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics. Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering.”

“He even got it in writing,” Reid adds. He’s looking closely at the letter, likely starting the structure of what would become a linguistic profile.

JJ looks up, a little confused. ”He won. Why start killing again?”

“Because the only person who knew he'd won, the person he made the deal with, just died.” Morgan says, closing the file and tossing it on the table in front of him.

That’s an easy train of thought to jump on. “Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power.” With a little smile, you remind her, “That's why they contact the media.”

Emily’s next. “So how did he stop for 10 years?

“In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.” Reid pulls the book in question from his bag, placing it on the table. “Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception.”

“Like BTK,” you offer.

You can see Aaron's eyebrows rise for just a moment in your peripheral vision. Good one.

You purposefully bump his shoulder on your way to steal one of Morgan’s snacks. Thanks.

JJ takes the book, thumbing through. “What has he been doing all this time?

“Well,” you say, “I would imagine he was planning what he would do if he started killing again.” You look at Aaron, who nods with his mouth in a thin, grim line.

Morgan opens the file again, running his finger down the metrics as he speaks. “So, from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims - men, women, all ages, all types, no specific victimology or MO.” He looks up at Hotch. “How did you build a profile from that?”

“We didn't. Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.” Aaron takes a breath before his next thought. “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Reid says. “The Reaper and The Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media,” JJ notes, “when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're going to be all over the Boston Police.”

Aaron agrees with a brisk nod. “The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him.”

You sit up straighter. “Meaning, if we keep pushing at his ego, he might take another risk?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.” He assigns himself, you, JJ, and Reid to the crime scene.

You’re happy for the chance to keep an eye on him. There’s still something off about this whole thing, and the fingers on his left hand worrying his pen is only the most obvious clue. You reach out for his sleeve across the aisle when the team breaks, tugging a little, just like you did last night.

He looks over at you, almost startled. “Yeah?”

You don’t say anything. Tell me what you need.

“I’m fine. Just want to get on the ground and get to work.”

Bullshit. Your squint says it all.

He sighs and you release his arm. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.

He always does.

+++

You and JJ stand off Aaron's shoulder as he introduces the three of you to the local police authorities. Hotch is already on edge.

An odd exchange between Hotch and one of the veteran cops leaves you with the entire department at your disposal. How he manages to do that every time is beyond you.

Reid, the case file in his hand, walks you all through the preliminary findings. “Nina Hale, ninteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three. Nina's throat was slashed, she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found.”

“A revolver, maybe?” You ask, in-step with Aaron, whose gears are turning as he examines the inside and outside of the car.

“He preferred revolvers, .44 magnum.” If he weren’t so focused, you were sure he’d be impressed by your observation. “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

You point at one of the photos of the female victim. “Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort.”

Aaron’s on the other side of the car now, leaning close to the driver’s side window, looking at a photo of the male victim. “Do we have his wallet?” At your questioning glance, he adds, “The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him.”

“That’s quite the signature,” you muse, straightening.

One of the crime scene techs hands him the wallet in question. After a quick examination: “No corrective lens requirement.”

Your brow furrows and you look over at him. “The glasses aren't his?”

“He only took glasses from one victim--the ninth.” He looks increasingly agitated as he speaks and the crease in your brow deepens to match his. “We should have found them on the tenth, and we didn't. They were never found.”

How does he know which victim was the ninth? How does he remember?

“What was so special about the ninth victim?”

Aaron levels you with a look that sends cold wriggling up your spine. “He survived.”

Oh.

+++

JJ and Dave take the second car back, intending to make a few stops on their way back to the precinct. You sit shotgun, staring out the window, while Aaron drives. His fingers tap arrythmically on the steering wheel.

He’s restless. Fidgety. It’s weird.

“What are you thinking about over there?” You ask.

He shakes his head, just a little. “It’s not a copycat.”

Your brow furrows. “We knew that, though.”

“Right.”

Oh.

It must be surreal to have a case come back to life like this. “Wasn’t this one of your first cases? You joined the BAU in ‘98, right?”

When I was a sophomore in high school…

Oh, shut up.

You snap back to the audible conversation as he nods. “It was my first case as lead profiler, so I’d been on the team a couple of months. Gideon thought, well...I don’t know what he thought. He gave me point on this one for some reason or another.”

“Look at you, hotshot.” You reach out and shove lightly against his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a huff. “Only on the team a few months and you get assigned your very own case.”

He rolls his eyes. “I did it with you.”

It’s true - he did. Spencer may have saved the day in the end, but you polished, delivered, and implemented the profile throughout the investigation. As scared as you were for the professional leap (and the personal one, given the nature of your teams’ closeness), it paid off.

“That doesn’t count.”

He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Why not?”

You shrug. “We’re kind of…” You clam up, for some reason, a little embarrassed.

Don’t be stupid.

“...I don’t know? Friends?”

You get a real smile from him this time and you match it. “Well, ‘kind-of-I-don’t-know friends’ seems like a stretch, don’t you think?” He looks over at you and holds your gaze a little longer than he should, considering he’s driving a little more than eighty miles per hour.

You’re an idiot, your eyes say, an amused chuff leaving your nose.

His eyebrows bounce before he looks out at the road again. And?

+++

“George Foyet, 28, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive The Reaper.” Aaron passes you files as he speaks, clearly not needing any notes or other aids to regurgitate the details of the case, verbatim.

Dave snorts. “Not for lack of trying.”

Hotch walks you all through the Foyet attack, outlining the oddities and patterns that collectively create The Reaper’s signature. His good mood from the car has either entirely evaporated or been smothered by his focus on the case, leaving him with his normal operational stoicism. “The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims.”

“So, how did Foyet survive?” You ask.

It’s weird he’s not summarizing it for you all, but then again, this case is odd in its obvious, meticulous execution. It’s probably best to let it speak for itself.

Hotch wordlessly starts the recording.

“911. What's your emergency?”

“I just murdered two more.” The voice is distorted, ominous.

“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”

“Victims eight and nine, by a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”

Reid fills you in. “That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene. EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet barely breathing.”

“So,” you ask, looking over the case. “The Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies?”

Aaron nods. “Until this one, the ninth. If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him.”

You look up from the file. “Can I guess that the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one?”

Aaron’s brows raise for a moment. Exactly.

“There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene.” Aaron looks grim as he presents the glasses again.

Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, likely for access to Penelope. “Foyet could be in danger.”

“Uh, Hotch,” JJ pops her head into the room, looking more than a little confused. “There's a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.” At Aaron's questioning look, she adds, “Roy Colson. He says he knows you.”

You watch him leave and exchange words with the reporter, your lower lip planted firmly between your teeth. JJ hangs at your side while Derek comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Is Hotch okay?” He asks. Spencer, Dave, Emily, and JJ also look to you for an answer.

You shake your head the barest amount and when you speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.” You clear your throat and try again. “I don’t know.”

+++

Dave peers into the car. “Another couple. Much older this time. One shot and one stabbed.”

“No reason to stop out here.” You’re just off Aaron's shoulder, following the line of his flashlight.

Dave sounds resigned, tired. “His license and registration are out of his wallet.”

You squint. “Looks like he used a cop ruse."

“Good spot, isolated, few drivers.”

Hotch sighs, coming in close to something with his flashlight. “He left Nina Hale's watch."

"Okay," Dave says. "So what'd he take?"

“His wedding ring.” You note the tan line on the man’s fourth finger - a dead giveaway.

Pardon the pun...

A local officer is quick to give you the victim information, approaching Aaron with a file. “Arthur and Diane Lanessa. Weymouth. Married 32 years. They were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week.” He looks over at the press, rapidly arriving at the perimeter. “I gotta go make notification.”

You refocus on the crime scene, anticipating Aaron's wandering eyes and shining the light where he needs it most.

“Looks like he went through her purse,” he says.

You hover over his shoulder again. “Any idea what he was looking for?”

Hotch shakes his head, moving on.

A photo falls out of the drop-down mirror during Hotch’s cursory check. It depicts the victims and who you assume are members of their family. In blood, FATE? is scrawled across the front of the photo. Aaron straightens, leaving the car and crossing to Dave. You, of course, follow.

When you both reach Dave, you finally have an opportunity to take a look at the photo. “The question mark is new.”

“It's for us.” Aaron doesn’t need further examination for his assessment. “He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had ten years to save them and that these latest ones are on us.”

“You got all that from one question mark. That's impressive.” Dave’s compliment is only a little undercut by his sarcasm. You can’t help but agree with the implication.

Aaron sighs, copping to it. “I may know him better than I've let on.”

“What does that mean?” You step closer to him, your brow furrowed.

He levels you with a somewhat guilty look. “It means that there is a profile on The Reaper.”

Dave frowns. “I thought we were called off before we had one.”

“We were. I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case…”

“It stuck with you,” you finish for him. Your brows drop lower over your eyes, finally understanding the stakes at play.

“I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone.”

The exhaustion in his voice, gravelly and low, worries you more than you’d like to let on. “So you never shared it with anyone.”

“I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't. I don't know, maybe if -” he sighs. “If I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction.” The doubt in Aaron's voice breaks your heart a little.

“Now you think you're right.” Dave, of course, has the brief words to coax the thought out of Aaron. You’re thankful he’s here. Between the two of you, you’ll get more out of your unit chief in twenty minutes than anyone else would get in three days.

“The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be.”

“Okay,” you say, “then we need to hear it.”

+++

It’s decided that Aaron will deliver the profile solo, with only a little input from Dave. It’s odd to see him up there all by himself while the rest of you stand off to the side. You’re students just as much as the local police, this time.

You tune into Aaron, whose eyes are bouncing all over the room, from person to person, holding and keeping their attention. His eyes meet yours and you hope the respect and pride overflowing in your chest is visible on your face.

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone.”

One of the local cops has a decent question (for once). “Why is he so democratic?”

“Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know.”

Dave chimes in. “The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims--it's all for us.”

“Why?”

“Power,” Aaron answers simply. “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

It reminds you of the first time you saw him - alone, in front of a room of people focused only on him. It was one of your first lectures at the academy, your favorite, and the one that inspired you to ask for a placement with the BAU when Jenny told you to take a running leap.

How far you’ve come.

Without permission, your mind wanders to a few things that haven’t changed in the last year and a half. Aaron is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen - capable, worthy of deep admiration and respect. His voice is the same - demanding respect and carrying the weight of the world in it.

Anything that won’t condemn you to a life of unrealistic expectations of men?

No. Maybe you’re a better shot?

Great. That’s useful.

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader,” Aaron continues, “The Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others.

“I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him.” You’re glad Dave is there to help, his seasoned expertise coming in handy once again. “The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim, he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times.”

Yet another “Why?” from one of the local officers.

Curious group, it seems.

Aaron answers. “He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

Dave, again, has something else for you all. “The younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile.”

“Hebephile?” Naturally, that particular proclivity is not a familiar one to the layman.

Reid lends an assist. “A hebephile is someone who's attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children. Teenagers.”

“Look for men with access and authority -” Aaron assumes command again, “- high school teachers, counselors, coaches--and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years.” He checks in with you, and you nod. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

+++

You look up as Aaron walks into the room, Derek ready with bad news. “Garcia can’t find George Foyet.” You stand and resume your post as his shadow, beside Emily.

Morgan holds the phone toward Hotch. “I’ve got nothing, sir,” comes Garcia’s voice from the speaker.

“What do you mean?

“I mean, he’s gone. He’s completely off the grid. He’s gone.”

“How is that possible?” You tap Aaron's shoulder with the back of your hand as his tone grows sharper with Penelope.

Be nice.

He shakes you off and you clench your jaw, looking over at Derek as Aaron tries to wiggle more information out of Penelope. It doesn’t work. “Garcia, we don’t have much time.”

“I know, sir.”

You huff. “I mean, how would you even drop off the grid like that? There has to be someone he talked to.”

Aaron wordlessly dials a number, shooting you a somewhat grateful, if not a little rueful, look. “Roy, Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor.”

+++

“That’s him.”

Aaron shuts the back door of the car behind you and out of habit, you take quick stock of him while he does the same for you.

You spot the man you’re looking for skittering across the street and toward the apartment. “George Foyet?” He’s visibly skeptical, and Aaron pulls his credentials. “It’s okay. We're FBI.” He introduces you and Rossi while you flash your credentials for good measure. “I'm Agent Hotchner. We met once before. Do you remember?”

"Yeah, I remember.” He’s agitated, his eyes jumping to every moving person on the near-empty street. “Would you mind if we get off the street, please?

You follow Dave and Aaron into the cramped apartment, noting the clutter and general feeling of paranoia permeating the space. Everything looks rushed - half-lived in and half-finished.

When you reach the kitchen, Foyet collapses into a coughing fit and Dave immediately supplies him with a glass of water.

“Thank you.” He takes another decent gulp. “How'd you guys find me?”

“Roy Colson,” Aaron says. He’s focused on Foyet, but you can tell he’s keyed into the peripherals, just in case.

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, though in what you’re not sure. “Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work.”

“What do you do?” You ask.

“I'm a freelance computer specialist with the city.”

Dave steps forward. “We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible.”

Aaron pulls the evidence bag containing the glasses out of his breast pocket. “This yours?”

“I knew it wasn't a copycat.”

You pull a chair for Foyet as he coughs again, feeling only a little odd about taking care of this man in his own house.

“Thank you.” He takes another sip of water. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, remembering. “I was gonna propose to her that night...At the restaurant, but I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost. He had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me. Yeah...Perfect timi-”

You interrupt him, attempting to stem his agitation. “Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again.” Nevertheless, he continues, increasingly distraught.

“I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her sixty-seven times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times? ...I never found the ring.”

For some reason, your mind drifts to the man beside you, the horrifying thought of seeing him stabbed, the life leaving his body. You shake it off with a little shudder.

Why, brain? Why? That’s a fucking awful thought.

And yet the image sticks with you, forcing you to manually lock it away. Aaron looks at you, almost like he can read your mind.

That’s nightmare fodder.

The smallest flex of his brow asks, Are you okay?

Fine. You offer him a tight twitch of your lips. It’s not a smile, but you’d be thankful for at least a mockery of one right now.

With a little bit of a squint, Aaron turns back to Foyet. “He should have left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held on to them all this time.”

“What, you think he's got some special interest in me?” He almost laughs. “I've been living with that possibility for the past eleven years.”

“Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?” Dave asks.

“I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in the car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone through great lengths to make sure that none of the things you've just mentioned ever happened.”

What a terrifying, sad existence.

Dave offers George his notebook and a pen. “We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you.”

“We can take you someplace safe until this is over.” Aaron’s brow is knit in concern - it’s a look you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to inspire a little flicker of warmth in your chest.

Quit, would you?

“No. Boston is my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me.”

Aaron insists, pushing. “Then we'll protect you here.”

“You can't protect me. Nobody can.” He frantically writes in the notebook for a moment before handing it back to Dave. “Please be careful with this. Please.”

Dave assures him, “It's safe with us.”

“He's just a man, nothing more.” You hope it’s the right thing to say. You feel Aaron take a breath, and you almost feel bad. It’s a line he’s said before, one you borrow when necessary.

Don’t mean to steal his thunder.

Instead of looking at you, he looks at Aaron. “Then why can't you catch him?”

“We will.”

+++

You’re both sitting in Aaron's hotel room, the photos from each of the crime scenes spread out all around you. It’s far later than you’d like, but the time spent is worth it if it gets you one step closer to this sick, scary bastard.

“What was it like? The original case?”

Aaron sighs, pulling a hand down his face. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Like this.” He shakes his head. “Every day was another dead end, and then another pair of bodies every few weeks. Then…they just stopped.” He holds up the note. “Now I know why.”

You tip your head to the side, studying him. “What would you do?”

“What, you mean about the deal?”

“Yeah. What if -”

The phone rings, cutting you off, and you rise to answer. You’re stopped by a hand on your wrist as Aaron passes you and picks it up. “Hotchner.”

You plant yourself back on the bed, legs folded underneath you. It’s probably one of the team, given the hour and -

“Who is this?” His voice is low, almost angry.

You scramble to the edge of the bed, giving Aaron space while remaining completely keyed into him.

“...You think I’d take that?...I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were smarter than this...Then you’ve misjudged me...I don’t make deals.”

Oh my god. It’s The Reaper.

No. It can't be.

You pull out your cell and fire off a text as quickly as you can to Penelope.

3:42am trace call to ah’s room stat

She doesn’t disappoint.

3:42am on it.

“I’m the guy who hunts guys like you..." Aaron laughs, dark and humorless. "You all think that...I’ll see you soon.” He slams the phone down and starts to pace, his hand over his mouth.

“What’s going on?” You stand, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Hotch. Who was that?”

He stares down the phone like it’s a living thing, but doesn’t breathe a word. After a moment, he jumps back into action, sitting heavily on the bed and going over everything with a renewed, almost frantic, focus.

You watch him for a moment before you pull out your phone. A text message from six hours ago blinks up at you.

Haley Brooks-Hotchner

9:13pm when you get a chance, can you have aaron give me a call? no rush. just school paperwork for j. he’s not picking up his phone. thanks xx

You answer her, praying she didn’t leave her ringer on. The hour alone will reveal the extent of the team’s attention on this case and you can only hope she understands.

3:48am can do. this one’s bad. might be a minute.

Aaron looks up at you, a question in his eyes.

You shake your head with a little smile. It’s nothing.

+++

“Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun--or more likely guns--and finished them off with his knife.” Dave looks around while Aaron stands stock still near the driver, slumped over the wheel.

The scene inside the bus is macabre - bodies and blood everywhere. The numbers on the window send shivers up your spine.

“There;s Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring.” You peer over Aaron's shoulder. “What'd he take?”

He scoffs. “Does it matter?”

He straightens quickly, shoving past you and getting off the bus. You get out of his way, letting him go with a frown. Dave meets your eyes and tips his head. You follow him out as he goes after Aaron, giving them just a little bit of distance

Dave catches up to him. “Hey. What's goin' on with you?”

Aaron stops in the alley a little ways away from the bus. “He called me tonight and offered me the deal.”

So that’s what happened.

You thought as much, but the thought alone was too much to consider. It’s never been less satisfying to be right.

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him, and then he does this.” Aaron gestures to the crime scene, NO DEAL staring you all in the face, along with all those numbers.

The idea of The Reaper torturing Aaron like this is horrifying. Plenty of unsubs have made your skin crawl in the past, but this is a new kind of awful. You’ve never seen him like this.

“So, you think this is your fault?”

“It is,” he insists. You’re shocked to see tears in his eyes when he looks back up at Dave. There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, but something keeps you back.

Dave pulls his gun and releases the safety, turning the grip toward Aaron.

What the fuck?

“Well, here, use mine. You convinced me.”

Aaron waves him off with one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.

Of all the things you would have thought of at this moment, pulling a gun on SSA Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t have made the list. You watch, ready to jump between them at a moment’s notice. They’ve never gone after each other before, but you’ve seen more worrisome behavior from Aaron in the last forty-eight hours than in the preceding eighteen months.

Even at the height of the divorce proceedings, he was steadier than this.

“No, no, you hung up on him.” Dave pushes the gun at him, trying to wrangle it into Aaron's hand. “You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us.” He gestures to you and Aaron's eyes flicker to yours. You have no idea what you look like right now. “We'll get this guy without you.”

Dave is a genius.

He blinks, tears wetting his cheeks. It’s certainly one of the more alarming things you’ve ever seen. He’s audibly frustrated, his hand flexing at his side as he talks. “Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it.”

That’s not fair.

When has Aaron ever been fair, or even kind, to himself?

Well, shit.

That’s why you’re here. Do your job.

You step forward, keeping your voice down. Approaching him like a cornered animal seemed the best tactic at the moment. “Shaunessy made the deal. The killing stopped, as promised. He closed the case and sent you away, Hotch.” Your eyes beg for his as you continue. “You moved on. You worked on other cases, active cases. You saved lives in that time. It wasn’t wasted.”

Aaron huffs, clearly frustrated. “But I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile.” There’s something desperate in his voice and you know he’s trying to get you to understand something he can’t articulate.

Dave takes over again. “Hey. I was retired. Should I blame myself for every victim who got killed while I was on my book tour? Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead.”

Damn. Good point.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You keep your face soft, neutral.

Safe.

“But that voice in your head,” Dave says, “it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron. It's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me. I know.”

Aaron checks in with you for a moment and you nod. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.

He wipes at his eyes before leveling Dave with something that looks almost like his classic glare, gesturing to the offered gun at his chest. “You can put that away.”

With a cheeky smile, Dave says, “You sure?”

“It's a little dramatic, don't you think?” You ask, stepping up and clapping Dave on the shoulder.

“My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” Dave’s deeply chuffed pleased that he was able to bring Aaron back to his senses. He holsters his weapon, throwing the safety back on.

“Which one?” Aaron asks. You’re relieved to hear a little bit of humor in his voice.

“All of 'em.”

The three of you share a little smile before you walk back to the crime scene.

Aaron’s thanks is so quiet you’re almost certain you made it up.

You’re only sure it happened at all when Dave replies, “Anytime.”

+++

“He knows where Foyet lives. We’ll split up and cover each address. Go.”

You rise and somehow end up with Derek. Though not your intention, it’s probably for the best. For good measure, you take Jameson, a seasoned SWAT agent. The three of you had the biggest of Foyet’s properties on lock.

Derek speeds to the house, flooring it with sirens blaring.

“I’ll take front,” Derek says, nearly shouting over the siren.

You’re locked and loaded, ready to go in your vest as soon as the car stops. “I’ll take the back.” You twist in your seat to look in the back. “Jameson, you good on my six?”

“I’ve gotcha.”

You’re clearing the house, kicking in the back door. There’s a thump behind you and you turn. Before you can do anything, something makes contact with the back of your head, sending you straight to the ground. You hit something else on your way down, and you’re done.

Fuck.

You’re knocked out cold, but come to only a few minutes later. You stumble to your feet as lights and sirens round the corner. Bringing a hand to your head, you feel the blood on your forehead. There’s probably a decent cut near your hairline and when you look down, you find an alarming amount of blood on your vest.

Head wounds bleed. You’re fine.

Oh.

Oh no.

Derek.

You brace yourself on the wall as you rise, checking your service weapon. It’s not in your holster, but you find it nearby on the floor.

Why didn’t he take it?

Kicking it under the table, you draw your secondary weapon. The thought of leaning down to reach for the gun on the floor is too much and your only aim is to get to Derek, then Jameson.

Blinking blood out of your eyes, you do your best to clear the rest of the house before finding the mess in the living room and front yard. Without much of a thought, you haul yourself over the broken window sill, getting a nice slice in your arm for your trouble, and land hard at Derek's side. With a groan, you roll over onto your knees, crawling toward your prone teammate.

You look up as headlights hit you, shading your eyes with one of your hands. The other rests on Derek's chest. To your relief, you can feel his breath under his vest. He’s alive. He’s okay.

With the intensity of the lights shining on you, you can’t see Hotch as he lifts you to your feet by your upper arms. He shields you from the light with his body, his brows drawn and concerned. You’re dizzy in the extreme, your right eye almost unable to open with all the blood caked down the side of your face.

He takes you under his arm and brings you to one of the ambulances posted on the street. The paramedic takes your vitals, but Aaron keeps a hold on your other hand. You’re not sure he realizes he’s still got you, but you’re not about to let go.

“What happened?” He asks, quiet and tense.

You shake your head even though it only increases your dizziness. Blinking a couple of times, you answer, “I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. I had the side of the house, Jameson had the back, Morgan the front. We were clearing room by room and he just…” your eyes float to the front of the house, where Emily has Derek with a paramedic. “He appeared and I didn’t have time before he hit me with...Something. I was out before I could blink. I think I hit the table on the way down.”

Hotch sighs and to your dismay, you see the coroner approaching the back of the house with a gurney. Jameson’s dead.

Why aren’t you?

“He didn’t take my service weapon. It’s under the table in the kitchen now, but it was next to me when I came to. I don’t -” you swallow, still dazed. “I don’t know why he left us alive.”

You can see Aaron's teeth grinding as he collects himself. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.”

“What, like you?” You know your functioning isn’t at one hundred percent - you’d never make a jab at him like that, even weak as it was, at a moment like this if you were clear-headed.

He sighs as your eyes flutter shut, leaning on the inside of the ambulance. You hear the paramedic tell him you’re concussed and need to be kept awake for the next ten hours. Hotch gets the details on your other injuries before squeezing your hand once and leaving you.

After another few minutes, EMS releases you with a packet of concussion information (which you immediately crumple and shove into a passing crime scene tech’s jacket pocket). Far too quickly, you make your way across the yard and into the house, avoiding Jameson's body and the coroner’s staff.

You find Derek and Emily sitting together on the back of the couch as he, too, is patched up.

“You okay, kid?” He asks.

You nod. “Just concussed, a couple of lacerations. I’m fine. Are you okay?” There’s a compulsion to fuss over him, but you resist.

He nods, bringing a pristine .44 caliber bullet into your eye line. “He left this.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Sadistic bastard.”

Emily raises her eyebrows and cants her head, agreeing with your brief assessment.

You look outside to where Hotch stands in the middle of the yard, with his arms crossed, looking over the damage to both the house and his team.

Eventually, he returns to the house with Spencer in tow. You follow them, moving slow.

Reid points to evidence as he talks. “Jameson was clearly killed outside. This is someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood."

"But no body,” you note.

What the hell happened here?

Reid nods. "Just the drag marks. The human body holds 5 quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive."

It begs the question, so you ask. "Foyet?”

“It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job,” Dave says, appearing out of nowhere and leaning on the door jamb to the kitchen.

With a firm conviction, Aaron says, “We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice.”

+++

JJ’s brow crumples as she looks over the files again. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"

Aaron, of course, answers her. "He was his only surviving victim, the only one he couldn't defeat."

“But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing.” You thumb through the case again, certain the answers are there for you to find.

JJ’s persistent. “What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand? Wh-what do we know about her?”

“Nineteen. A freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses.”

“Michigan. Where The Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

“That can't be a coincidence.”

“He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose. But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started.”

“How long had she been in the class?” You ask

There’s an incredulous laugh in Emily’s voice. “Four weeks.”

“So it was either love at first sight or what?”

Derek picks up JJ’s thought. “Foyet was lying?”

“He's a 28-year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes.” Hotch immediately starts dialing a number, and you’re sure you know which one. As you suspected, he gets Penelope on the phone.

“What are Foyet's aliases?” Quickly, you hand him Dave’s notebook, the rest of your body coiled for action. He bows his body over the phone, rattling off instructions. “I want you to look up in Boston city records Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education.”

“Well played, sir.” You hear her keyboard in the background. “They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science.” She pauses. “Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education.”

“They're not?” Aaron’s head tilts, listening.

“No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”

Something clicks. You watch the gears turn and turn and turn, Aaron’s eyes flickering over the photos, the file, back and forth as he puts pieces together.

“Hotch?” Your hand hovers over his shoulder, but he pays you no mind.

“Roy Colson went to see Foyet.” He begins to stand, his voice rising as he gets farther from the phone. “Garcia, I need you to trace Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is The Reaper.”

Garcia gives you the address and the rest of you chase Aaron out to the car. The headache pushing behind your eyes is the least of your worries. “What? What do you mean George Foyet is the Reaper?” It’s almost comical, the efforts you take to keep pace with him down the stairs and to the car.

Aaron communicates all the details he put together in the conference room, taking you step-by-step through his process. “He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself.”

You’ve already caught up, the pieces clicking in before he can repeat them. “He knew EMS would get there in time to save him.”

“And between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect.” There’s frustration in his tone, but you know it goes deeper than that. It’s his pride.

“Hotch, you couldn’t have -”

Derek cuts you off. “Why would he do it?”

“It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him.”

Talk about inserting yourself...

Derek is right there with him. “He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still, we didn't see it.”

Aaron nods, his jaw tighter than you’ve ever seen it.

Don’t blame yourself.

Hotch rolls up to the house, no lights or sirens, and you surround the house, on his six. You quietly breach the back door, clearing the kitchen and the hallway.

“It's over.” Aaron’s tone leaves no room for argument as he levels his gun at Foyet’s head.

There’s a strange smile on Foyet’s face as he speaks. “I'll kill him.”

“You need him to write your story.”

“I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe.”

You step to the side, trying to get a better shot, but Aaron stops you with the smallest turn of his head as Foyet redirects his attention to you.

“I said I'll kill him.”

Aaron pulls his focus again. “You kill him, I kill you.”

“You think I'm afraid to die?”

“You're not afraid.” Aaron sneers. He’s aiming to hurt and it’s a good idea. “You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's gonna come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy.”

“I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy.”

“Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead.”

You’ve got him there, Aaron.

“If you know me so well, how come some many had to die to bring you here?”

You can almost feel the lance of shame and guilt that shoots through Aaron. He almost flinches. Between you and Emily, if looks could kill, Foyet would be long dead.

You fucking asshole.

It takes everything in you not to leap on him and pummel him into the floorboards. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer.” To your ears, it sounds like Aaron's convincing himself as much as telling Foyet.

“That's right.” He turns, smirking. "Hello, Derek.”

He drops his gun and Derek pounces on him, restraining him. "Where's my badge?” He jerks Foyet’s head back by the hair. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

He doesn’t answer Derek's question, but shifts his icy gaze to you. “How’s your head?” He gives you an imitation of a pout, and anger sears through your chest. “You took quite a spill last night, Agent. Probably had your unit chief very worried.”

You squint at him, but don’t respond. Aaron steps a little to the side and you’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s made himself a barrier between you and Foyet.

The bastard notices, though, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

The look he gives Hotch makes you shudder.

+++

Only an hour or so after you land back at Quantico, JJ jogs from her office to Hotch’s. Your heart sinks.

That’s never good.

“Foyet escaped.”

You grab the remote and stand from your desk, turning the volume up on the TV.

She chases Hotch down the stairs as he joins the rest of you, surrounding Derek's desk. “Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital.”

“Get me the U.S. Marshals office.” He turns, but she stops him.

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it.”

Aaron doesn’t stop moving until he’s at your side. Your search for his eyes and he meets your gaze after a moment.

What do we do?

His jaw clenches. I don’t know. Then, a huff. Fuck.

You shake your head a little. It makes you feel a little dizzy. Fuck, indeed.

“How’s your head?” He asks.

Of all the things to worry about…

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Just then, Emily returns, a file in her hand. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

You take it from her, looking it over before looking at Hotch. “He had the schematics. And not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And 10 years to plan,” Dave adds.

"They're gonna find him, right?" Penelope’s voice is small, and you can’t blame her for it. Derek’s at her side, staring at the news footage with a grim look on his face.

Aaron’s eyes are trained on the television when he answers. “No, they're not.”

Derek turns to you before looking at every member of the team individually. “He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right.”

+++

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