#it’s been 20 years of this last of the time lords i kill everyone i meet business

[eightdoctor]

i don’t know if it’s funny or just annoying now how much they have to harp on the fact the doctor is the last of the time lords. i’m afraid you the showrunners have wrung that tragedy dishcloth absolutely dry of angst and now every scene where the doctor is like “I’m The Only One Left I Walk Alone In Eternity And My Wholeeee Planet Is Dead For Ever it’s just like. ok. just go get the toymaker’s gold tooth it’ll be fine. or even just wait it out like gallifrey will probably be back in like a year or 2 👍 don’t worry baby

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [19]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 18 | Fic Masterlist | Part 20

"What do you mean it will take weeks for me to fully recover? I don't have that kind of time, Yunho. This war isn't over yet." Your husband frowned, his gaze fixed on the physician from his position on the bed.

You sighed, stepping closer to the doctor, your concern evident, "Seonghwa, Physician Jung is doing his best. How can you return to battle if you're not physically strong enough? What good will that do, hm? And remember, you've acknowledged Officer Song's strategic prowess. Perhaps it's time to have a little faith in him for now."

Like magic, your words softened the general's hardened expression as he nodded in defeat, "Fine, I suppose you're right," He offered you a smile before turning back to Yunho, "I trust you've at least written back to Mingi to assure him I'm fine, right?"

"It's done, my lord."

"That's good; things should be stable for now. We dealt a significant blow to the Ruhon forces in our last battle. It's unlikely they'll launch any new attacks soon, considering their diminished numbers. If things continue to go well, this war might conclude sooner than expected." Seonghwa remarked, feeling optimistic.

"I certainly hope so, for everyone's sake. I made sure to inform Officer Song that you'll need a few weeks to recover. If they need you urgently, I'm sure he'll write back promptly," The physician assured, relieved to see your husband immediately agree with him, calming down so quickly with your presence, "Yes, I'm sure he will." Yunho knew for certain that without you there, he would have had a much harder time attempting to soothe the older man's frustration.

Sensing the general's longing gaze toward you, the doctor suppressed a knowing grin. Understanding that he was interrupting your much-needed private moment, he decided it was time to leave you both alone. With a final bow, he excused himself, "Well, that's all from me for now. I'll return tomorrow for your bandage change and medication. Good day, General Park and Lady Park."

After the physician left the room, you approached Seonghwa to ensure his comfort, tucking the comforters snugly around him and adjusting the pillow behind his back. His eyes remained fixed on your face, which he had missed dearly, as you fussed over him, "Is the temperature alright? Let me know if it's too hot or cold," You inquired. He nodded, and you continued, "Are you hungry? You must be. I'll ask the kitchen staff to prepare something for you—"

Before you could step away from his bedside, he grasped your wrist, his expression displaying a small pout, "Stop, my love. I just want you to stay with me, please."

You softened, placing your hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze before brushing some of his hair away from his face, "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you. You've been away at war for so long. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need now that you're home before you eventually return to the battlefield."

He smiled, his hold on your wrist tightening slightly, "All I need is you." He murmured, gently pulling you closer into his arms.

Feeling your heart melt at his words, you relaxed into his embrace on the bed as he pulled the comforter over both of you. Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, you sighed contentedly as he kissed your temple. He felt complete with you so close again, "God, I missed you so much," He confessed, "Out of all the wars I've fought, this has to be the most dreadful one. Not because it was tough, but because I couldn't stop thinking about you throughout it all."

"I missed you too, Seonghwa," You confessed, drawing in a deep breath to savour his familiar scent, "I never thought I could yearn to be near someone this badly."

His eyes instinctively fluttered shut as you nestled closer to him, pressing his nose against your hair, wishing for this moment to last forever. After a moment of comfortable silence, he couldn't resist asking, "I've heard a lot has happened while I was gone. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you through it. Tell me everything, my wife."

Taking a deep breath, you started from the beginning, recounting the events that unfolded after the general had departed for war. You described encountering Jinjoo during your visit to the fabric factory with Hongjoong, the surprise visit from the prince to the estate, and his unexpected invitation to the birthday banquet. You explained how he lied about you representing Seonghwa at the event and your gratitude for Wooyoung and San's help in preparing for it.

As you narrated every little detail that occurred at the supposed royal birthday celebration, your husband's heart swelled with pride and admiration. He listened intently, feeling his love for you grow with each word. Your courage in standing up for yourself and defending him in front of Prince Yeosang filled him with immense gratitude. He realised how fortunate he was to have you by his side.

"I'm so proud of you, my darling Lady Park."

With a light scoff, you teasingly pushed him in the chest, "Are you now, my dearest General Park? I still can't believe the first thing you chose to do after coming back was hurt me and push me away."

Guilt immediately clouded his expression as he drew closer to you, emitting a small whine, "I'm sorry, my love. Truly, I am. Speaking those cruel words hurt me more than this damn wound. I promise I didn't mean any of it. You're not troublesome at all, and I do want you with me for the rest of my days. If anything, you're all I need from now until the end of time."

At that, you could no longer bear to continue making him feel bad. Turning serious, you gently caressed the bandaged area on his abdomen before speaking, "I understand, Hwa. I really do. But I swear, if you ever pull something like that again, I won't hesitate to let Hongjoong loose on you."

His heart skipped a beat at the nickname you used for him, one you had never used before, "What did you just call me? Say it again."

Embarrassed, you blinked rapidly and cleared your throat before repeating softly, "I called you Hwa. It's your name, isn't it?"

He nodded with a cheeky grin, covering your hand with his, "Indeed it is. I love how bold you've become, my love. Now, along with that nickname, tell me you love me again."

You blushed at his request, feeling he deserved to hear it as many times as he wanted now that he'd returned to your side safely. Relenting, you bit your lip and murmured, "I love you, Hwa."

"Again." He demanded, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Again, my love." He whispered, leaning in closer with hooded eyes.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Say it for me just one more time."

"I love you so much, Park Seonghwa."

Intoxicated by your presence, he could no longer resist cupping your face and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You kissed him back fervently, eyes fluttering shut as you relished the sensation of his lips on yours. Both your hearts raced as you made up for lost time, pressing close to one another under the sheets. Your cheeks burned up, realising this was the most intimate moment you'd shared with your husband so far.

Gently pushing him away by the chest, you looked up at him, worry evident in your eyes, "That's enough, Hwa. You're still injured—"

But before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another loving kiss. You gasped in surprise, but your resistance crumbled quickly as he deepened the kiss. Maybe just for a little longer, you thought to yourself, giving in to the moment.

As he savoured the feeling of having you so close, Seonghwa's emotions swirled within him like a tempest. He needed this closeness desperately, especially after the fear he'd felt earlier, thinking he might be close to death. The regret for hurting you with his words gnawed endlessly at him, and he despised the idea of being separated from you again. How could he have ever entertained the thought of you being with another man? The mere thought of Prince Yeosang in his place, holding you, touching you, kissing you, filled him with an uncontrollable jealousy that bordered on madness.

These thoughts fueled a surge of aggression within him as he flipped you around on the bed, trapping you beneath him. He loomed over you, his gaze intense as he whispered, "Mine. You're all mine."

As much as the sudden action flustered you and caused your heart to skip a beat, you frowned at his stubbornness, realising he wouldn't know when to stop unless sternly told off, "Are you out of your mind, Park Seonghwa? Such big movements could affect the wound, you idiot." You scolded, disrupting the intimate moment.

He blinked, momentarily speechless at the abrupt change in tone, protesting, "I'm fine, my wife—"

Before he could continue, the dressmaker barged in with raised brows, "Oh, we're all fine now, aren't we? I guess you're well enough to take a beating then."

The general panicked, hastily laying back in his spot, "Hongjoong, please, it's rude to enter without knocking." He chided.

You snickered when his friend rolled his eyes, "Well, it's also rude to disrespect your wife, but here we are."

"Oh my god, stop reminding me—"

"I'll stop when you learn to grow the hell up."

"Says you?!"

With a deep sigh, you stood up from your husband's bed, "You two fight to your heart's content; I'm going to prepare something to eat for this one." You said, gesturing to Seonghwa, ignoring his silent pleas not to leave him alone with his friend.

Hongjoong grinned at you, "Don't you worry, I'll take good care of him in the meantime."

Oh, I know you will.

"Have we heard from Physician Jung yet?" Mingi inquired as he was being suited up in preparation for the impending attack by the approaching Ruhon men.

"No, sir. It appears we're facing this battle on our own. But with your exceptional strategies, we should manage well even without General Park." One of the soldiers replied, striving to maintain optimism despite the military commander's absence.

"Let us hope so." The strategist muttered, unable to bring himself to reveal that his strategies had been devised with the assumption of having the best warrior in all of Joseon leading the army. Officer Song hadn't seen battlefield action since his promotion, and his combat skills were far from polished. Just why did this have to happen in the general's absence? Mingi feared the responsibility; if they failed in this battle, it would fall on him. The prospect of leading these men to their deaths was enough to make him feel nauseous.

He still couldn't grasp how Ruhon had made such a swift comeback. It seemed implausible given the significant losses they had suffered in the last battle. After all, the enemy nation wasn't known for its strategic prowess; they were often predictable in their actions. Unless... they were intentionally misleading Joseon into underestimating them? If so, the strategist might have played right into their hands as part of their plan.

Oh god, what do I do?

As General Officer Song meticulously went through his preparations for the impending battle, a sense of unease settled over him like a heavy cloak. Even with his efforts to focus solely on the task at hand, his thoughts kept drifting back to Seonghwa. The absence of their commander, his superior, and one of his closest friends weighed heavily on his mind.

With each passing moment, his worry for the general intensified. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that enveloped him, wondering if his friend was safe and well. Had the older man managed to make it home? Had Yunho received his letter, informing him of General Park's condition?

These questions nagged endlessly at him, gnawing at his insides as he grappled with the uncertainty of the situation. Despite his attempts to maintain a facade of confidence for the sake of his fellow soldiers, Mingi couldn't shake the underlying fear that something terrible might have happened to Seonghwa. All he could do now was hope and pray for his friend's safety, even as the spectre of war loomed ever closer.

A sudden wave of fear washed over him, unlike anything he had experienced in a long time. The general's absence felt more profound and impactful than ever before. It was as if the very foundation of his confidence had been shaken, revealing the stark reality that his sense of assurance had always been rooted in the presence and trust of his commanding officer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the strategist found himself questioning his own abilities and worthiness. Without General Park by his side, his confidence wavered, leaving him feeling unsteady and uncertain. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such panic in war.

With a heavy heart, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. Doing his best to ignore the doubts that plagued him, he knew he had a duty to fulfil. With trembling hands, he reviewed his strategies once more, desperately seeking reassurance in the plans he had meticulously crafted.

As he waited for the cue to head out and face the enemy, Officer Song resolved to push aside his fears and doubts. He may not have Seonghwa's guidance and leadership at this moment, but he knew he had to stand firm and lead the troops to the best of his abilities. With determination set in his heart, Mingi braced himself, ready to face whatever may come in the battle that awaited him.

Just as he was hoping to receive any updates about the general or word from Physician Jung, a soldier burst into the main tent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The strategist's heart skipped a beat, looking forward to some semblance of reassurance amid his mounting anxiety. However, instead of providing the updates he had been desperately seeking, the soldier stammered out his words.

"S-sir, I'm afraid it's time we head out and be on standby," The soldier managed to say between breaths, "The Ruhon army should be arriving anytime soon."

Mingi's hands clenched involuntarily, his mind racing with a mix of apprehension and determination. Despite the lack of information about Seonghwa's condition, he knew that duty called and he had to lead his troops into battle. With a firm nod, he suppressed the trembling in his hands and resolved to face the conflict head-on.

"Let's go out and make General Park proud." He declared, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. With resolve burning in his eyes, he led his men out of the tent.

Moments later, Officer Song found himself mounted on a horse, the weight of his armour pressing against his shoulders as he surveyed the Joseon army lined up behind him. They stood at attention, ready for his orders, their anticipation palpable in the air.

As he gazed out at the empty land ahead, where the enemy forces would soon emerge, Mingi could hear nothing but the thundering of his own heart in his ears. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight that offered some measure of comfort in the face of uncertainty.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the uncertainties that threatened to overwhelm him. He may not be Park Seonghwa, but he had undergone rigorous training and was a capable fighter in his own right. Reminding himself of his own combat skills, he squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.

"We stand ready." He declared, his voice carrying across the ranks of soldiers behind him. Despite the nerves gnawing at his insides, he projected an air of confidence, determined to lead his troops with strength and determination.

I hope you're proud of me, hyung-nim.

His breath hitched in his throat as he finally spotted a tiny speck on the horizon, growing larger and more distinct with each passing moment. His heart raced as he realised that these were the enemy soldiers they had been waiting for. With a loud voice, he yelled the order for all soldiers to get into position.

Tensions were high as everyone readied themselves, their nerves stretched taut with fear at the absence of their strongest warrior to lead them. But as the figures drew closer, Officer Song's brow furrowed in confusion.

Something was not right.

Instead of a formidable army, only a few Ruhon soldiers were riding toward them, their arms raised in what appeared to be a gesture of surrender. Mingi's eyes widened in disbelief as he heard their cries.

"Soldiers of Joseon! Please don't attack! We have come to surrender!"

A sense of astonishment rippled through the ranks of the Joseon army as they processed the unexpected turn of events. One of the Ruhon men even went so far as to pull out a white flag, waving it frantically to signal their willingness to concede defeat.

The strategist's grip tightened on his sword as he studied the Ruhon soldiers before him, their faces worn with exhaustion and defeat. Despite their assurances, he couldn't afford to let his guard down yet, not after the treacherous tactics they had previously employed against Seonghwa.

"Hold it right there! How can we believe you're telling the truth?" He demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

The Ruhon soldiers let out heavy sighs, their arms still raised in a gesture of surrender, "Please, we're telling the truth. Most of our troops have been depleted from the last battle," One of them explained, his voice tinged with desperation, "Our ruler has sent word just this morning to put this war to an immediate stop. A messenger is on the way to your royal palace to convey the message to your King as we speak. We come in peace to relay this message, and that is all. All remaining Ruhon troops will be retreating from our camp after this."

Mingi remained silent for a moment, weighing their words carefully. Finally, he lowered his sword, signalling for his own troops to stand down, "Very well," He said, his voice tinged with caution, "But know that we will be watching closely. Any sign of treachery from you, and we will not hesitate to defend ourselves."

The Ruhon soldiers visibly relaxed at his words, nodding quickly, "You have my word." One of them assured before they turned around and began riding away. The tension dissolved as they disappeared from sight, leaving Officer Song and his men standing in disbelief. Relief washed over them, dispelling the earlier fears. The strategist's expression mirrored the collective sentiment of his troops—a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Well, I guess we should head back to camp and await confirmation then," Mingi said, his voice filled with a hint of exhaustion. His soldiers nodded eagerly, grateful that the tense situation had been resolved peacefully. They began to disperse, their spirits lifted by the unexpected turn of events.

Now, everything fell into place, and the pieces of the puzzle aligned once again. His earlier suspicions about Ruhon's swift recruitment of soldiers now made perfect sense. It was clear that they no longer possessed enough manpower to continue fighting this war.

Returning to the main tent, Mingi was relieved to find a messenger waiting for him, "Officer Song, there you are! You have a letter from Physician Jung Yunho," The messenger announced eagerly. He hurried over to receive the paper, unfolding it with urgency. His eyes scanned the neatly written words at lightning speed, absorbing the contents. Once finished, he released the breath he had been holding, sinking into the seat behind him, "Oh, thank heavens the general is alright." He breathed out, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

The messenger's face immediately brightened at his words, and he quickly left to share the good news with the others. Mingi couldn't help but smile; everything was finally falling into place.

Peace, at last.

But his moment of relief was short-lived as a commotion erupted outside. The strategist frowned and left the tent to see what was happening. He found his soldiers blocking the entry of a woman, which puzzled him. Women weren't allowed in this area.

"Forgive us, ma'am. Women are not permitted here," One of the soldiers explained. Mingi pushed through to hear her response, "Yes, I know that, but you don't understand. I'm here on His Majesty's orders. We received word that General Park has been poisoned, and I've been sent specifically to treat him."

As he caught sight of her petite figure, his eyes widened in recognition. Not because of her uniform, which indicated she was a female royal physician, renowned for their medical expertise, but because she was the one he had been searching for all this time.

I finally found you, my one.

« Preview of Part 20 »

"The audacity of those Ruhon bastards, attempting to poison my strongest warrior. That's nothing short of treachery, isn't it, my Queen?" The King grumbled, his concern for Seonghwa evident in his furrowed brow. He had even dispatched their most skilled female royal physician to the war zone, trusting her to heal him.

Anxiety filled his being as his wife sighed beside him, offering a comforting hand on his back. She had yet to muster any courage to mention the trouble caused by their fourth son during the general's absence, not wanting to add to her husband's worries, "I wish I had an answer for that, Your Majesty." She murmured sympathetically.

Before the royal couple could further drown in their pool of misery, the royal secretary rushed in with a few letters. He hastily performed the formal bow, only to have the King wave it away.

"Forget the formalities, Secretary Choi! Tell us what updates you have this instant!" His Majesty's voice was urgent.

San nodded, swiftly unfolding the papers and reading each one aloud. With each letter, a weight seemed to lift from the room.

"The first letter is from General Park," He began, "He reports he's safely home and receiving treatment from his own doctor."

Relief washed over the King's face.

"And the second?" Her Majesty pressed, her tone hopeful.

San's voice steadied as he continued, "The second is from the ruler of Ruhon. He acknowledges defeat and officially surrenders. He is also requesting an audience to discuss a peace treaty. It would seem the war is over, Your Majesties."

"Oh, thank goodness it's over."

After a moment of everyone digesting the news, His Majesty furrowed his brows in slight confusion, "Wait, General Park is home already, you say?" His voice carried a note of incredulity, "How odd. That would mean he began travelling back before there was even news of the enemy's surrender. Why would he return home all of a sudden? Did something else happen?"

The Queen's heart sank at that. For weeks, she had harboured the hope of shielding Yeosang from his father's potential wrath, but now it seemed fate had other plans.

I'm sorry, my son.

Woohoo, only the final part is left, and we're done with the main story! Psst, try going over to the Spinoff Masterlist to see if you can spot anything new HEHE🙈

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[bubblegump-1-nk]

Can’t Catch Me Now

Matthew Riddle x Fem!Reader

summary: Mattheo’s father sent him on a mission: make you fall in love with him, then lure you into a death trap. He should’ve known you wouldn’t let him forget you that easily…

Disclaimer: mentions of death, toxic relationships, cursing, slight mentions of torture

Song: Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo

- First time writing for Mattheo! Wanted to do another fic abt my baby Theo but this idea came to me and couldn’t bring myself to write something so toxic about him 😭. Also there’s a lot of time skips in this so I hope it’s easy to follow!

“I love you.” You said sweetly.

“Me too, see you tonight.” Mattheo responded.

You kissed him on the cheek and entered the Transfiguration classroom as Mattheo left to go to Divinations. Tonight… if only you knew what was in store for you. Time past forward quickly, and now Mattheo was knocking on your dorm door, and you walked out, ready for your date.

“You look beautiful” He said

“Thank you. You don’t look to drab yourself.” You said, causing him to chuckle before taking your hand and leading you out of the castle.

You two had been walking for ages, getting farther and farther away from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Not a soul in sight.

“Ok seriously, where are we going Matty? We’ve been walking for years.” You say, dragging out the last word.

“Soon. We’ll be there soon.” He said, tensing up as he did.

You were now at a location, heavily secluded from everyone and everything. You joked that no one would hear you scream out here. Only you had meant it in a different way than what was actually held in store for you. That’s when they appeared, the Death Eaters. You looked at Mattheo in shock, but he was already tearing his hand away from yours and stepping back, taking his wand out.

“Mattheo?” You whispered, tears in your eyes. A look of horror on your face. No wand in hand.

You screamed when the Crucio hit your chest, soon followed by a spell that left you unconscious on the floor.

***

You had been sitting in the chair for hours. You hands and legs tied back. About 5 Death Eaters were in the room, Mattheo making up the 6. He never hit you with a spell, but he never blocked one either. Just stood there, watching, his face wiped clear of any emotions. As you were focused on him, you made eye contact with him for the first time since being in the room. The spells had stopped for about 20 seconds now. Was it finally over? Were you free to go? That’s when it hit you. The green light. You fell unconscious, never to be seen again.

“Mattheo wake up! We’re here.” Said Theo (😍), having been shaking Mattheo vigorously for about 3 minutes.

“What?” He asked, still shaken from the dream he just had. He’s been having it for weeks now. Ever since the incident. Your death has followed him even into his unconscious mind. He can’t escape you.

“We’ve arrived at Hogwarts you idiot.” Said Draco, exasperated at Mattheo’s constant zoning out.

All the boys knew about the mission, they all knew what happened in the late days of May. They were all at the meeting after your death, Voldemort congratulated all of them - which is something you don’t simply forget. Y/n’s father was a powerful wizard, who declined all of the Dark Lord’s advancements of recruitment. So, Voldemort decided he might just need a little push, that being the death of his beloved daughter Y/n. It didn’t work, of course, and instead your father and mother ended up fleeing to some desolate place.

“Git.” Mattheo said, before slapping Draco across the head and collecting his belongings to get off the train.

Draco lifted his arm as to hit Mattheo back but Blaise grabbed his arm and gave him a look that made Draco forget about hitting him. They all knew Mattheo never actually loved you, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was still responsible for killing someone. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s turning out just like his father.

———

They soon entered Hogwarts and took their seats at the Slytherin table.

“What’s taking the first years so long?” Theo asked, wondering why the sorting ceremony hadn’t started yet.

“Beats me but I’m fucking starving.” Said Blaise.

Mattheo was about to speak but was cut off by Dumbledore, who now stood in front of the podium.

“Welcome all back to Hogwarts. Now, I’m aware that you must all be very hungry, but this is a statement I must make, and we’ve decided it’s better made without the first years present.” He paused for a moment, adjusted his glasses, and continued. “As I’m sure you all sadly know, one of your classmates has died this pass summer.” A complete hush fell over the Great Hall, everybody knew about what happened to you. What happened to your family. Except, no one knew who or what caused it. Your death and your parents ‘disappearance’ was all a mystery to everyone except for the 4 Slytherin boys sitting at the middle of the table in far right.

“Y/n L/n was a strong witch, who was kind to all who…..”

Mattheo began to zone out, not wanting to be reminded of you more than he already was. It all started about 2 weeks after your murder. The first time was when he awoke in the middle of the night, you had infiltrated his dreams again. He went outside for a smoke, when he heard it.

“Mmaatheeooo”

He turned his head swiftly to the left, where the sound came from.

“Mmaatheeooo”

It came again, but this time from behind him. Your voice. It was your voice.

This reoccurred about once a week. Sometimes in the dead of the night, sometimes while eating lunch or reading the Daily Prophet.

———-

Mattheo tried his best to forget about you, to have a good year, but it was hard with you stalking his every move. It had worsened now. He heard you calling his name almost every day, your face appeared in the flames of the fire in the common room for a split second last night. He’s already found three of the letters you wrote him in the past on his desk, letters he was sure he had burned. And the worst part was, he couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t say anything. He would just appear weak and crazy.

It was now early November, and the days were getting colder. Mattheo found himself walking alone outside, going to retrieve the jumper he left by Hagrid’s hut. As he was nearing the hut he heard a strange sound. Almost like heavy footsteps. He turned around, and looked around swiftly but not a soul was outside. He shook it off and continued walking, except this time the footsteps were louder, and closer. He turned around again but not a person was in sight. He began to walk faster, the footsteps did too. He stopped abruptly, looking around one last time, when he saw them. Footprints, leading all the way up to right by his side. His heart beat faster, and the wind began whistling as it passed through the trees. The world was silent.

“Mattheo” Came a voice right beside him.

Mattheo jumped back, a quiet shriek leaving his throat.

“Mattheo” It came again.

“Get the fuck away from me! Stay the fuck away from me!” He called out. It was silent for a few seconds, Mattheo thinking his warning had worked.

“Catch me.” The voice said. Your voice said.

Mattheo was confused, what did you mean ‘catch me?’ Was that even what you said? Your voice was a breathy whisper, so the words were hard to make out.

“What is wrong with you?” He called out again.

“Can’t. Catch me. Now.” You said, your voice circling around Mattheo.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mattheo practically screamed this time.

All was quiet, before the footsteps slowly started walking away. It appeared as though you were walking backwards, by the looks of the prints.

Mattheo stood there, shocked, watching as you walked away from him.

Then the footsteps were gone, just as quickly as they had come and the landscape returned to a quiet and peaceful one. The sky was getting darker, and by the looks of it, Mattheo had missed dinner. He slowly began dragging his feet in the direction of the astronomy tower. Once he reached the top, he let out a sigh and pulled out his cigarettes and a lighter.

He’s beginning to think he might just be going crazy.

“Figured you’d be up here.” Says a voice from behind him.

“Yep.” He says, as Theo comes to stand next to him.

“Pass me one.” Theo says, holding his hand out for a cigarette. Mattheo hands him one and Theo lights it.

The smoke in silence, appreciating the view along with the cold air. The smoke from the cigarettes blending with the smoke from their breath.

“She’s everywhere you know.” Mattheo blurts out.

Theo’s silent for a moment, staring out at the sky.

“I know.” He says, finally.

“You do?” Mattheo asks, turning to face Theo. A confused expression painting his face.

“Yeah. I hear her laughter.” Theo explains.

“Her laughter? That’s it?” Mattheo asks, temper rising. How come he has to endure all this pain and Theo gets laughter?

“Yeah, she sort of just laughs lightly every now and again. It used to scare me shitless but now I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Yeah we’ll count yourself fucking lucky. She calls out my name. She fucking followed me today, her footprints were everywhere. Her voice was saying some shit about how I can’t catch her anymore. This shits so fucked up.” He says, growing angrier by each word.

Theo let’s out a laugh.

“You think this is fucking funny, do you?”

“Well, I mean, she’s right. You can’t catch her anymore.”

“Does it look like a give a fuck? Why doesn’t she whisper to you this shit, huh?” Mattheo asks, annoyed.

“Maybe because she never loved me. Maybe because she loved you.”

“Yeah, well, you were just as responsible in her death as I was.”

“Right… but it was you she trusted.” Theo says.

“Alright mate are you on her side or mine?”

“Yours obviously. She’s coming for me too.”

“You know, I miss her, now and then.” Mattheo says, reluctantly after a bout of silence

“Yeah well that’s no good is it? She’s still dead whether you miss her or not.”

“I fucking know that! Don’t you think I fucking know that?!” Mattheo yells, throwing his cigarette at Theo

“Calm down mate. It’s not doing you any good getting worked up about it.”

——-

It’s December now. All the leaves have left their trees and the the weather’s gotten harsh and bitter. Mattheo can’t escape you no matter what he does. You’re here, you’re there, you’re fucking everywhere. He hears your voice when the wind blows, hears your laughter in the rustle of the trees. The other boys all know of Mattheo’s pain. They’ve experience it too, but like Theo, they only experience it now and again. It seems they’re not your priority on your haunting list.

Mattheo’s laying in his bed, trying to find sleep. You haven’t let him sleep properly since about 3 weeks ago. As he turns to the side, he sees the curtains around his four poster shifting, getting moved to the side. He intakes a sharp breath. The curtains fully open now, and he’s met with a cold wind.

“Won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” He whisper-shouts.

He’s met with no answer. The room is now completely silent, and before long 10 minutes have past. Was that really all you came to do? Move his curtain? Whatever it was, he’s thankful for your departure because now he’s really feeling the exhaustion kick in. His eyes begin to shut and his body relaxes as it melts into his mattress. Just as he feels like he’s about to get the sleep he’s so desperately been needing…

“See you tomorrow” You whisper, right into his ear, mocking the words he had said to you the night of your murder.

———-

Sorry if the ending sucks, this idea came to me late one night so I began to write but I didn’t really think it out before I started 😭 I didn’t want to have this in my to-do list for forever so I’m really sorry if this feels rushed! I hope you guys enjoy it anyway

[daddy-cake]

Krueger x Mexican!Reader Headcanons

Y'all already know the drill, this is all sfw and Gender Neutral!Reader

No use of any Y/N variations

A/N: I'm Mexican and in love with him... I just had to. This place needed more Mexican!Readers anyways🙄

MEXICO RAHHHH🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼

Reader is also implied to not be part of the military. Sorry not sorry <33.

Warnings: All of these just silly goofy

MASTERLIST

First time meeting your family is going to be Krueger's last.

The family wasn't so happy to hear that you fell in love with a white man.. They could have let it slide if he was American because most Mexicans are a suck up to Americans... but Austrian? Grandma was literally crying at the news and praying for the family, she was claiming that the family was truly doomed. The only thing that will get the family to calm down is you reminding them that he isn't from Spain or Argentina. Heavy on Argentina.

Family is going to be calling him "El Barbie" in a derogatory sense. You tried to tell him that it was a compliment and means that's he's tough in Spanish.

Your dad definitely tried to bond with him by taking him to rooster fight. However, the two came home and your father was beyond mad. He starts claiming that Sebastian is bad luck because his rooster, who has a streak of wining 20 tournaments, lost. Got rubbed by the egg afterwards.

Sebastian isn't too pleased with the environment. Parents are having an argument, kids are running around screaming or crying, music is playing at full volume, one of the dogs are barking, the tías are gossiping, La Rosa de Guadalupe is playing, Grandma rubbing him with the egg and praying, Grandpa is working on the roof, and some cousin is vacuuming.

When dinner came around... lord help this man. He wasn't prepared for the spice that only he could taste. Had tears trying to escape then he had to excuse himself from the table and go outside to regain his composure. The whole family was muttering "No aguanta nada" the whole time.

To say he was relieved to hear that you two were going home is an understatement. He preferred more of a quiet environment than one that is loud and makes it very apparent that he's not welcomed there.

When you two arrived at your own place he was ready to just pass out. He was warned that the place was going to be busy, but he thought he could handle it and it wasn't that bad since he was a soldier... he should've listened to you.

The next day was spent inside and not even letting an ounce of the outside in. Krueger dearly needed it to just regain his sanity from the pervious day.

Everything was going fine until when he wanted to prepare something for lunch. He was looking all over the kitchen for the pots and pans until he finally gave up and asked you where you kept them.

"Why are they in the oven?"

"You don't put them in the oven?"

Krueger at one point received a gift that was rooster from you and was so confused why you would gift him this. At first, he thought it was some sort of joke gift from you until he realized it was a genuine gift after a few seconds of silence. Doesn't even know what to do with it, so he ended up giving it to your dad. Dad was not happy.

The one time the both of you went out to dinner, he was not expecting other guests to keep telling you two to have a good meal as it wasn't a thing in all of the countries he has lived in.

Was told by you not to speak at all when you two were out on the streets or else y'all would get jump. Krueger doesn't listen to the rules though.

When you left your Banda music on while doing some chores, he was about to turn it off but he got really into the music.

Got a chihuahua simply because you begged for one and he found it somewhat funny that despite their small sizes they are very protective. Also it was between that or the stray xoloitzcuintli down the street that's been there for around 10 years.

100% brags about thechihuahua, saying he has a vicious dog that could kill anyone. Everyone thought he got a Rottweiler for a long time.

La Quebradita. Trust once you teach Krueger the basics, y'all gonna be making your cousins and their partners jealous. Considering he's part of a PMC and once in the military, he obviously is gonna have some strength. That strength comes in handy when you two want go all out in a Quebradita competition.

Considering Krueger was once part of the military, he obviously would be sort of tidy considering that they engraved that trait into his head when he first joined. So yes, he would help you clean around the house. HOWEVER, laundry duty is always on him. Simply the way that you'll probably fold clothes would just trigger something in him like a sleeper agent.

You'll always have to be the first to initiate any sort of "I love you"s. He doesn't know why, but he just can't bring himself to say it to you.

When Sebastian is away on missions, he often times receive texts from you that revolves around staying safe. He can't help it, but to have a small smile plaster on his face.

There will be some point in the relationship that he would just go off the grid and/or no contact for a few days. It's not that he hates you. It's just that considering the life he has lead, he definitely needs some points to take a step back to recollect in a way. Also to stay away from authorities, but let's not take about that.

Would never go into any sort of detail about his background besides being part of the military. He'd never once talk about his parents or why he's no longer part of said military. To you he's kinda of an enigma. You know so little about him, but he knows so much about you. You that it was unfair in a sense. However, no matter how much you try to get answers, he'd never budge. So after awhile, you start chalking things up to him having a strained relationship with his parents (which in a lot of Mexican households would probably mean that his parents were absolutely vile if you go no contact with them) and possibly leaving the military on his own terms.

Krueger would go great lengths for a mangonada. Me too bro, me too.

[evermorethecrow]

asking really nicely so you can properly explain? please? pretty please? with a cherry on top? 🛐

SIGHHHHHHHH

fine because you were nice

Every evermore au summarised PROPERLY

1) Yuuko au-

Chuuya gets a kid at 14 and has to deal with it

2) Cryptid au-

Chuuya nakahara died in 1935, came back and is now murderous and evil (and a giant ram sometimes)

3) High school au-

Chuuya nakahara is a 15 year old who wants to be completely erased from memory when he dies, simultaneously he wants to fight with everything to keep living (it doesnt work)

4) Vampire au-

Chuuya was born (wrong) into an aristocratic heavily established vampire family with a lot of not so great traditions. after escaping from them the third time he looses it a little bit and decides to now dedicate his life to murdering them all off, as well as anyone who gets in the way. hes aproached by mori ougai the head of a powerful vampire slaying organisation and joins to help his plans. i also gave him a gun

5) God au-

born as the god of luck and fortune chuuya is stolen by humans and placed in a shrine to bring insane luck to the earth. then shit hits the fan. Now hes stuck as the god of curses (and bad luck) and cant walk around without hell breaking loose

6) Plant shop au-

Chuuya nakahara ends up at a police station at 14 and meets murase (as well as some other cops). Chuuya is going to be given a death sentence but after some less than legal talk with his supervisors murase can remove it completely. the only condition is rehabilitating chuuya back into society, which proves a harder task than thought considering a few extra issues that went down in his past.

7) College(idol) au-

At 15 chuuya nakahara is the lead of a world famous pop idol group. Shifty treatment from his manager makes chuuya decide to quit, however on while preforming his last show something technical goes wrong, the stage explodes, the other members got away safe but chuuya was hospitalised. the world assumes him dead and since he contract is over he decides to keep it that way, content with living his life like a normal person now. until hes in collage and it turns out his new roomate was the biggest fan of him and his old group. chaos ensues

8) Sky casino chuuya au-

After hardly a year in the sheep chuuya is found by fyodor and placed inside the sky casino for safe keeping. now at 16 hes very good at his job and very bad at being tollerant of annoying house guests from the port mafia

9) DOA au-

15 goes wrong, chuuya gets hit a lot harder by the sheep and he ends up at fyodors doorstep (through less than natural circumstances). hes been working for the doa since. Dazai and him re-meet at 22 after hes captured by the port mafia. it goes intrestingly.

10) Scene kid au- a fun au where everyone in the show wears some kind of alt fashion (also theres like the worlds impending and quickeningly near end looming over everyone but that doesnt matter)

11) God+Vampire slayer au-

Chuuya is the (born human) reincarnatation of the god/lord of the wild in an era where vampire-like zombies run wild. he meets a boy who turned into a vampire but somehow remained concious and is now working with him and a shifty doctor to blast gore everywhere try and find a cure

12) Ability swap au

Chuuya has no longer human instead of Tainted but keeps his singularity, dazai has flawless but keeps being anything but. They have eachother. (that could be enough)

13) No Yuuko au-

Yuuko (that kid who chuuya got) never actually MEETS chuuya and instead through a long path of events ends up in the custody of a 20 year old dazai. what could possibly go wrong

14) college au 2 eletric boogaloo-

Chuuya nakahara grows up strict catholic and ends up a single parent in some lousey apartment trying to ballence class and like not killing his child. also his roomate is an annoying bastard who wont shut up

15) Nun Au-

Chuuya's raised in a cult and then joins the mafia.

16) Pokemon au Red-

All the bsd charecters live in the world of pokemon. chuuyas a gym leader and secretly a team rocket executive following his bosses order to prevent some kid finding mew

17) Pokemon au Blue-

Pokemon exist in the bsd verse! Canon except they all have pokemon to fight with and chuuya may or may not be spiritually connected to a lucario

18) Demon ability au-

Instead of tainted sorrow chuuya has an ability reminiscent of kouyou and kyoukas. (hes still got that singularity unfortunatly but this time its in a huge fucking demon?) his role in the pm changes acordingly

19) Mermaid au- chuuya's a mermaid happily enjoying life on land. Dazai is a mermaid hellbent on dragging chuuya back to the ocean

20) Circus au-

when chuuya joins the port mafia hes placed under lippmanns command instead of kouyou's. unfortunatly its not that easy and the port mafia's fronting as a circus. now chuuyas got to learn how to use rope.

21) Elise au-

On his deathbed mori manages to transfer his ability to chuuya. hes now living through elise. it goes as well as you'd expect now the mafias being run by an 11 year old

22) Chuuya stays with the sheep au-

self explanitory, dazai's plan fails and chuuya never ends up leaving the sheep. then 15 rolls around and verlaine disposes of them. chuuya travels around with verlaine until hes eventually rescued by the flags

23) Ada au-

chuuya moves to the ada after stormbringer. he works with yosano in the infirmary.

24) Demon/Coffee shop au-

Ex-fighting ring demon chuuya runs a coffee shop and tries to be evil (hes bad at it)

25) Chuuya is inside my laptop au-

Dazai finds a beat up laptop on the floor one day and being the cheap person he is decides to take it. the only issue is theres someone (something?) living inside it (its chuuya)

26) Dragon au-

Chuuya nakahara is one of the last dragons of his kind. dazai wants a pet dog but gets something more exotic instead

27) Nyan bungou stray nekos au- nyan neko sugar girls but bsd derailed and i dont know how to explain this now

29) Botw au-

chuuya's a gerudo who isnt that good at fitting in, dazai's a zora next in line for the throne whos bad at everything. together they make a wildfire look like a beach holiday

Honarable mentions

Danganrompa au (Only existed so i could execute chuuya)

Vocaloid/Utauloid au (canon except they have vocasynth voices)

Evermore's chuuyai farm and factory

[acourtofthought]

The number of times I see people defend Cass and Az siding with Rhys with "he's their friend and High Lord" vs the number of times Lucien gets shit for "not standing up to Tamlin" (even though he did do that) is wild.

I think people forget to take a step back and look at all the information presented to us when reading these books.

Of course the author is telling Feyre's story and it's easy to get caught up on what she feels and wanting to side with her but from a logical perspective, if you really want to immerse yourself in this entire world with all these characters (and not just have blind loyalty to Feyre considering Sarah chose to continue writing characters outside of Feyre), you have to consider why they did what they did and whether there is some understanding to be found.

When you look at Feyre and Lucien's relationship, she murdered his friend. MURDERED.

How many of us are going to be fond of someone who killed someone we cared for? It had to be done for the curse of course but he had to see her in his home knowing that she hated his kind and that's why she met Amarantha's requirement.

The fact that he was willing to even become her friend after that is a testament to Lucien's ability to forgive because he could have easily acknowledged the sacrifice Andras made to save them while still choosing to never give the female who murdered someone in cold blood a second thought.

He grew to care for Feyre despite that, risked his life for Feyre, but again she was a 19 year old human he'd known for a few months compared to the person who helped save his life, compared to the person who he spent centuries with, compared to the person he called a friend. Why should he have MORE loyalty to Feyre? What had Feyre ever done for him to earn that loyalty?

Regardless of what Tamlin did after UTM, Lucien had years upon years upon years of building a life in the Spring Court, feeling safe in the Spring Court, being Tamlin's friend in the Spring Court.

If you had a friend you'd known for 20 years then suddenly they spiraled due to trauma and began behaving badly, wouldn't you have faith that they could pull free from it? To find their way again? Would you just cut them off because they were behaving in a way you didn't agree with?

It's funny how people argue how awful Feyre and Elain were for not standing by Nesta's side during her depression (though Nesta forced them away) but hate Lucien for standing by Tamlin and trying to help him through his.

Was Tamlin abusive to women for the last 2 or 3 centuries? It seems the answer is no therefore his behavior in ACOMAF seemed a product of his downward spiral after UTM and having fallen in love. That means Lucien was a good person for trying to bring him back, to help him remember who he had been before. That means Lucien hoped the friend he'd always known could break free from whatever had recently happened to him.

Compare that to Rhys who let others believe he was evil for centuries. In all the time Tamlin saved Lucien, that Tamlin gave Lucien a job and they became friends, Rhys allowed everyone to believe he was a monster.

"Lucien wanted to take Feyre back to her abuser!"

No, Lucien wanted to take Feyre away from who he thought the real abuser was, the guy who was once ready to shatter his mind and who he thought worked with Amarantha (the one who cursed them all and brutally scarred him) for 50 years and was promised by his friend of centuries that he was better, that he knew he was in the wrong and wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Tamlin lost control of his temper and Feyre was injured as a result but Lucien had seen Rhys choose to hurt people so I do understand why he thought Tamlin was capable of change, why he believed he could do better and get help.

On a personal note, my father was abusive to my mother. At 5 years old I witnessed him throw her to the ground and break her collarbone.

Domestic violence is a tricky thing. Should I have written my father off never to talk to him again? Was he not deserving of a second chance even though I hated what he did? My parents did end up divorcing shortly after and he remarried and I absolutely adore my stepmother. I know for a fact that he did change and they are still happily married to this day so I see why in some instances you hope for the best, why you'd like to believe someone can overcome their struggles and it's not for someone else to judge how someone should deal with an abuser because even that is complicated.

But that's real life which is a whole lot trickier than a fantasy world where somehow it's ok for Feyre to murder a fae with hate in her heart yet a friend hoping his friend can overcome his depression and anger issues is made out to be a villain.

Lucien had actual reason to believe Tamlin was capable of change considering the Tamlin of ACOMAF was different Tamlin than the one he had known, the one who saved him.

He was a victim of Tamlin's too so him having hope that "that was the last time" is a normal response to victims of domestic violence. Of course he believed Tamlin could change. Why wouldn't he since he'd known Tamlin as a good guy longer than Tamlin as a bad guy? Of course he'd have hope that his entire life as he'd known it wasn't falling apart so spectacularly.

People forget the events of ACOTAR / ACOMAF didn't just happen to Feyre, Lucien's life was falling apart too. Not to mention for Lucien it wasn't just about Feyre, it was about the people of an entire court. He literally said to her, "don't make me risk the stability of this court." He was worried about the people of Spring finding their way back after the horrors they'd witnessed over 50 years and Feyre was worried about the events of the last three months. That's not to say her trauma was not enormous but was it worse than what others went through? Was her depression more important than the depression of everyone in that land?

EVERYBODY in Spring was struggling, not just Feyre and I think that's what people forget.

Nobody should have had to push their depression aside, the needs of an entire court aside, to prioritize Feyre. And I like Feyre, I knew the Spring Court was not right for her and Tamlin was never going to be the right person for her once ACOMAF began. It's clear they should have never been talking marriage when they were both a mess themselves.

But I don't fault Lucien for not being able to pull Feyre from her depression when he had about a million and one other things on his plate. When he too was dealing with the horrors from UTM (remember how he was almost killed twice there?), when he was stressing over the safety of the court and the mental health of all it's people.

Thinking Lucien was there just to serve Feyre is actually really silly when you think about it because Lucien had some major stuff he was dealing with. Did Feyre set aside her trauma to help Lucien deal with his? Did she even bother thinking about his trauma or did she simply turn a blind eye (especially when she kept walking after knowing Tamlin used his power against Lucien).

Feyre wasn't any better a friend to Lucien after UTM than some claim he was to her but I don't fault her for that because I realize that at certain times you can put your own needs over that of another but Lucien should be extended the same courtesy when he was thinking about everyone's needs. Wanting his HL to heal so that the court didn't suffer doesn't make him an asshole, it actually makes him worthy of becoming a HL himself.

The IC? They might have been worried about their High Lord but they and the people of Velaris lived in relative comfort for 50 years. They did not experience the same horrors that everyone else was dealing with. So when Feyre came to them it was much easier for their focus to be on Feyre, on making her a priority, on her healing and she could then focus on Rhys's healing too.

Sarah is very different from many other authors, where the main character is not guiltless, where other characters are just as developed and just as independent, where they're not written just to be a plot tool to serve the FMC. She does a wonderful job of making side characters extremely layered with their own demons and desires and so I think it's important to treat them with the same individuality that we would a main character.

Being mad at a side character for acting independent of the main character is literally saying "I don't want anyone in this series to want anything other than what is best for the FMC" and that makes for a one dimensional story.

And forgetting that the males also had PTSD, that they don't necessarily deserve to be written off by everyone because of their bad choices but to have someone try to help is an important lesson to remember too. PTSD is not something to overlook just because it's a male suffering from it and I'd hope a friend wouldn't turn their back on a friend because of it, I'd hope they'd try to get their friend the help they need if they're in a position to do so.

Should Feyre have helped Tamlin? Hell no. But Lucien helping Tamlin? If that's what he wants because he probably understands what PTSD looks like, he saw what was happening to Spring and it's people because of Tamlin's state and caring is not something he should be faulted for, not when it affected an entire court. As I said above, Lucien was thinking about more than just Feyre or just Tamlin which means there was no way to meet just one person's needs.

[avrelia]

Braving the Elements season 3

The new season of the podcast Braving the Elements concerning the book 3 of the Avatar the Last Airbender started, predictably with the appearance of Mike and Bryan. They talked a little about how busy they are with “something” and a bit more about book 3 “Fire”. There was a lot of mutual admiration and general excitement, but we got some information as well.

- It’s been 20 years, and they don’t remember every detail of their thought process

- they remember some stuff, and are always happy to talk about their inspirations. Like Bryan talking about his trip to Iceland, his admiration for its natural beauty made by volcanic activity, and how Iceland photos became Fire Nation landscapes.

- or Mike telling about his trip to Bhutan and his awe at the Tiger’s Nest temple that became an inspiration for the Western Air Temple.

- they talked about how Ozai’s face reveal – that he is just a regular guy who looks like older Zuko whole we don’t see until Zuko meets him face to face – was initially thought to mean one thing, then it started to mean a slightly different thing, and it is fine.

- Dante was super excited to meet Mark Hamill when recording voices for Zuko and Ozai. (who wouldn’t)

- they talked about inspiration for the lion turtle they found in Korea, and that it really was meant to me there in the story from the beginning, and they tried to hide it while giving away glimpses.

- 99.9% of Air Nomads were airbenders. Because that’s how they invented that world, that’s why.

- Aang was never going to kill Ozai. Never ever. He is a monk and has monk ethics no matter what everyone was telling him.

- animating the scene where Aang and Ozai’s souls are fighting for the dominance during the energybending moment was rather challenging.

- In Bryan’s mind, Iroh is ten years older than Ozai. It is not a confirmed canon, more like idea. Iroh looks much older because of the life he lived, while Ozai has an amazing skincare routine.

- they don’t know any other Fire lords’ names. But you know, those names appear and will appear in various materials – novels, RPG, etc.

- Mike and Bryan love canon relationships – surprise!

- Dante admitted that while he ships Zutara, he started vibing with Zuko/Mai’s relationship as well as he was actually watching the show. Which is fine, and only serves to show his general attitude to shipping: it is a fun activity that keeps the interest going and in the long term helps him to earn money.

- Yes, Dante, there are good people in the Fire Nation, as you’ve been saying all the previous episodes. This time everyone agreed, since we are finally arriving to the Fire Nation.

- I probably forgot something, but you may listen to it – or, for the first time – also watch it on the Avatar the last Airbender official Youtube channel. At first I thought why? And then after I listened to the podcast I couldn’t remember what said Bryan and what said Mike. Not to imply that they are the same – they are very much not- but I have a trouble distinguishing voices I don’t know well. So I watched a bit – and really liked it. Whoever edited the video did a great job of adding some visual jokes and visual illustrations to whatever Janet, Dante, Mike and Bryan were saying. So we can see how Bryan’s photos of Iceland became the Fire Nation, and how Tiger’s Nest looks like.

And it is so easy to remember who was saying what! Mike is the one who looks like Aang, Bryan is the one who looks like Zuko, Dante is the one who sounds like Zuko. And occasionally talks as if he is Zuko.

[possumsandprose]

I'm back from Elriel month with this piece to contribute to #cassianappreciationweek2023, hope you like it!

TW: Cassian is a massive simp for Nesta in this, so if that bothers you move along

Word count: about 1.7 K

The sun was shining brightly in the sky as Cassian hung his sword back on the wall. Training at the House of Wind had been going rather well, with a record number of priestesses showing up for training, and Az had found some time off from whatever tasks Rhys had assigned him to assist with teaching. Az was as broody as ever, his usual quiet demeanor never failing and the air of sadness and mystery that clung to him like an inescapable mist that had been with him since the day they first met way back in the Illyrian training camps still thick in the air. But he had Nesta now, and that made everything okay. Cassian still couldn't believe that he had found his mate. When they were boys, his brothers would always laugh and joke around with him about someday finding a mate, none of them ever believing it would actually happen. But somehow, for some reason, the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever gods dwelt above had smiled down upon him and blessed him with his beautiful Nesta.

As his thoughts swirled around her, as though summoned, Nesta appeared behind him. She was dressed in her black leathers, hair tied in a braided bun atop her head, looking stunning and regal even though she was covered in sweat and blood. He didn't turn to look at her, knowing she was taking her time to admire his shirtless form, which he certainly wasn't going to complain about. He made himself appear busy fixing weapons on the walls, flexing his wings and muscles perhaps just a little more than necessary.

At last, when he couldn't find anything else to pretend to do, he turned around, smirking as he noted her eyes fixed intently upon him.

"See anything you like, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Your tattoos...what do they mean? I know they came after you had completed the Blood Rite, but you never actually told me what they mean," Nesta replied.

Well. Of all the things he was expecting her to ask, that was not one of them. He enjoyed talking about them, though, as anyone else likes to boast about themselves, so he gestured for her to take a seat as he sat down next to her on one of the benches. Everyone else had gone by this point, so it was just him and her.

"All of them mean different things. This one-" he pointed to a symbol that resembled fire, "is for courage. This is given to all those who win the Tournament of Champions."

"Tournament of Champions?"

This was clearly news to Nesta, though that shouldn't have surprised him given her lack of time around Illyria.

"It's a huge tournament hosted once every 20 years, and it falls just before the Blood Rite on the year it happens. Participation isn't mandatory, but nearly everyone does both for bragging rights and the fact they get to beat up other people with no consequences."

If Cassian was honest with himself, he applied largely for the latter, wanting the ability to attack, bruise, and scar all those who had mocked him or bullied him with the assurance that there was nothing they could do to stop him.

"It was held over a 3 day period, everyone breaking off into pairs of two to spar, the victor advancing to the next round. Az and Rhys both elected not to compete, Az due to his hatred of all our customs and Rhys because he was away with the High Lord doing some important thing or another. Anyway, I won the tournament, and the winner gets the tattoo to prove it."

He glanced at Nesta, wondering if perhaps she had zoned out, or had fixed that hawk-eyed stare upon him expressing her displeasure at what she would call behaviour of "Illyrian pigs". However, she appeared greatly intrigued by his stories.

"How fascinating. And this one?"

The one she pointed to resembled one of his favourite constellations, the bow and arrow.

"That one I won after killing a beast that roamed across the mountains. No one is quite sure what it is or where it came from, just that every year it appears, striking camps and slaying villagers. Whoever could finally kill it would win eternal glory. When I was 33, it emerged near our camp. I had been awake all night, I think I was fighting with some idiot over the proper way to hold a spear. Anyway, I heard screaming coming from outside the camp, and ran out with all the others, and there it was. Some call it the Daemonium, but most do not speak its name in fear of summoning it. It stole 6 of the guards away and disappeared off to its cave, and we all knew the hunt was on.

"Most waited at the entrance to its lair, at their demise. It sits at the very edge of a high mountain containing a very gradual slope covered in sharp rocks. Every year we are warned never to wait there, lest it creep up and throw us into them so we may never fly or walk again, but every year there are that large group of idiots who either think they're greater than centuries of others or had one too many drinks or got a dare from someone who despised them, and like clockwork another group was slain. But I did not go there. The monster had to drink, I figured, and so I traced its path from the sky to the river. And there I saw my opportunity."

He took this moment to glance briefly at Nesta, who to his delight and pride was staring, completely transfixed by his tale. He hadn't really had anyone to boast about it to, since he'd already told the story to his family a thousand times and all the Illyrians already knew, but something about telling his mate about his greatest accomplishments made all of the suffering to get them worth it.

"This one-" he pointed to a tattoo that he told everyone was a great mighty beast from myths, deciding that for the first time in his life he would be truthful about it, "this one is a unicorn." Nesta raised an eyebrow at him.

"Rhys, Az and I all got really drunk one night and whoever lost a game of cards had to get the winner's choice marked on them. Azriel, that cheating bastard, I swear used his shadows to change the cards around and see what we all had, but he smashed us by a mile. He made me get a unicorn, likely knowing that I would have to explain what it was to everyone who saw me without a shirt on. Luckily, I can say it was designed after some great beast and nobody questions it."

"These," he waved a calloused hand at the majority of the ink lines that swirled across the planes of his chest, "as you already know, are the markings that those who champion the Blood Rite at our level receive. After it's over, the festivities are immense. All of Windhaven is filled with food and music and games and pretty females and pretty much anything a male could want. Those who made it to Oristian or higher receive a place of honour. Devlon and the other pricks weren't happy that we made it but they didn't really have a choice but to let us in. Rhys' father was thrilled, of course, and his mother treated all of us like her own children. Even Az's mother had been allowed some time out of work to come and see him. I think that was the happiest I've ever seen him, when he was covered in dirt, blood, sweat, and gods only know what else, barely cling on to life, and his mother that he hadn't seen in year came and hugged him." Cassian would deny it if anyone asked, but a small tear appeared in his eye thinking about it. Az hardly every smiled, but he was beaming ear to ear then.

"There's a few other ones on here, one's a bargain with Mor over something stupid from 2 centuries ago, a few are various lucky symbols, none of them particularly important."

"What about this one?" Nesta ran her finger along a design that went from the palm of his hand, circled his wrist, and ended atop his shoulder.

That one was Cassian's favourite, and he had deliberately saved it for last, hoping she would ask about it.

"It's a bond between myself, Rhys, and Az. We made it right before the Blood Rite began. Very few people help others during it, as it's a very cutthroat competition, but we made a pact so that we would always be able to find each other. It worked, too, even though they threw us all in different parts of the forest by the third day we were all together again. And after the Rite, we made an official bargain: we swore never to turn our backs on each other, and that no matter what happened or who came or left our lives, we would always be together, our bond stronger than that of any biological brothers."

Nesta smiled at him, and the bond sang between them. He loved making her smile.

"Thank you for sharing these with me. They tell such a beautiful story. The long and complex tale of my mate."

He smiled, and said, "Are you calling me old?"

"Yes. I am. I'm also saying that you need to go fix that shelf I asked you to, or that long and complex tale will be coming to an end very, very shortly," Nesta snapped, perhaps fearing she had been a little too soft.

"I do love it when you threaten me, Nesta darling," Cassian responded calmly, and they both walked off together.

Taglist: @cassianappreciationweek

[atopvisenyashill]

i discovered your lovely page through larra rogare tag as you had written a response for imagined AU that she didnt leave and the impact that would had been on naerys

can i ask how do you image she spent her time after she left kingslanding? Do you think she felt better or worser or numb? Do you think aegon 4 or aemon or naerys wrote letters or tried to see her? Or maybe larra wished to come back but viserys didnt allow it as in a way larra had betrayed him by abandoning him in a extremely difficult time

and whats your headcanons for viserys and larra relationship🙄 which is I know and I agree its pervert and sick but at the same time I am curious, viserys was a kid but also kid who was extremely smart. i wonder if larra pitied him felt bad for him when he was hostage and then kind of became his friend while married? or did larra started to resent viserys for how his father found viserys and made larra marry him? do you think viserys II ever know what true love was? Did he thought he was in love with larra but then she left and he grow up and he closed himself emotionally?

i dont know What are you thoughts ?what do you feel how things went?

i'm sorry this took forever, end of the year was wild for me.

so i’m fully aware this is all getting jossed once f&b part 2 comes out (if it ever comes out) but I have thought a lot about the family dynamics of the dance kids after the dance, and how it affects them growing up and their relationships with their children. any sort of violent overthrow is going to affect the way its people develop, and the dance ending in the deaths of nearly every dragon when the dragons are more than just animal familiars to the people of westeros and what's left of the valyrians is going to be an extreme affect. the dragons are nearer to gods at this point, and yet they were all killed! i think this, and aegon iii being known as "aegon the dragonbane" especially in relation to the first aegon being "aegon the dragon" and the second being famous for having a bond so close to sunfyre that sunfyre died for aegon and not just at aegon's order (way different dynamic from vhagar, meraxes, caraxes, moondancer, and vermax), that all of viserys and aegon iii's kids are completely destroyed on a spiritual level. they're also raised by a bunch of young ass parents (i know like 19-20 isn't uncommon an age to have kids, but this generation is kind of extreme in that literally every single one including the boys is married and has at least one baby before 18) who are all struggling and failing to control their ptsd from the trauma of the dance. all of that to say, i think Viserys and Larra's kids and Aegon and Daenaera's kids (and Baela/Alyn and maybe even Rhaena/Garmund) were all doomed for unhappy lives from the start.

For sure, I think for Larra there was a lot of numbness. Unlike, say, Saera, who abandoned Westeros for a life that is certainly depressing imo (the only freedom a Targaryen woman is ever allowed is through the bartering of her own sex; either on the hopes of a kind husband or as a literal sex worker. it's soooooo damn depressing) but was at least living a life more in her control, the way Bellegere Otherys lived. Larra, however, abandons King's Landing because she is driven out due to the hostilities. She must leave all three of her children behind, and she must return to Lys in utter disgrace after the nonsense pulled by the men in House Rogare. She failed not only to protect the men in her family with her proximity to power but she also failed in keeping the smallfolk, the lords, and even her husband and children on her side to raise her house higher. And the price for a woman after a failure like that is usually obscurity, depression, and isolation. Look at the last days of Alicent Hightower, Maegor's wives, or what everyone hopes they did to Cersei at the end of Dance. I hope she wrote to Naerys but I wonder if she'd feel it wasn't her place anymore especially considering how religious Naerys is.

I do imagine Viserys latched onto her when they first married and Larra encouraged this; she's a part of the little crew of rascals during the Regency so she's clearly close to Viserys when she first arrives. I think it makes sense that he would get close to her as both his wife but also as a pseudo sibling or mother figure, after being separated from his own mother so suddenly and violently. I think the downfall of her house may have been what really started to sour their relationship; even though Aegon and Viserys come to her family's rescue, the damage to their reputations has been done when the Lyseni Spring has ended. Now, instead of clinging to the only kind face in a kingdom he doesn't know, Larra becomes a political liability; a foreign wife with foreign gods and a disgraced, upjumped family. I think this is why Viserys really doubles down on the incest by forcing Aegon and Naerys to marry and trying to force Baelor and Daena to marry - trying to prove they're real Targaryens still, even without their dragons. And because Larra doesn't fit into that, she gets cut out of the whole story.

[missheavenfield1215]

Fakiru Vampire AU

I know, I know, October is over, but I completely forgot that I had to post this...

This was for the Spukisison, but I forgot about it.

Where Fakir is a writer who has inherited his great-great-grandfather's talent for turning stories into reality. And Ahiru was the last victim of Drosselmeyer's whims and is doomed to live as a Vampire (Lebensfresser, Life's Eater) if Fakir does not help her. (There are more drawings in all of this post)

Bloodline

"Thank you for giving me your blood, Fakir"

"And I would give you my soul if you asked me for it" (Obviously, he would never say that out loud)

Fakir is a very young writer, but extremely talented. His talent runs in the family, as his father, grandfather and great-great-grandfather were. In particular, critics have said that he is the successor of his great-great-grandfather, Drosselmeyer, who has become an important figure for his country.

But, despite Drosselmeyer's incredible and undeniable talent, and having written wonderful tales and stories, most believed that their mental state was not the best.

And even the bad tongues said that he possessed a certain black magic... That some of his stories came true once he wrote about them.

In his later years, he claimed to have met a race of human beings who had evolved to devour their fellow humans. Although almost no one believed him, as soon as he published his last book, “Lebensfresser,” people began seeing human-like creatures with the same characteristics as he described. And although these sightings were isolated, they were enough to motivate victims’ relatives and volunteers to go out and hunt them down. According to the accounts of those relatives, none of them remembered what had happened when they left the village.

But that remained a folk tale, as only the legend had survived. After this, Drosselmeyer was found with a fang mark on his neck, everyone believed that he had been killed by a Lebensfresser who sought revenge for telling their secret, although the popular version says that he was bitten by a bat that came from abroad.

Fakir, for his part, hates having to deal with his great-great-grandfather's legacy. So, instead of writing fantasy and drama, he focused on writing detective novels and short stories.

But it didn't help him much to take his eyes off his legacy, because a red-haired girl appeared through his bedroom window looking for his help.

It turns out that on one of his travels, Drosselmeyer found an isolated kingdom that had no resources because the nobility had taken everything from them, even their children and husbands, to make them fight in the war. Drosselmeyer, eager to be able to write and to show himself as a savior, asked the poor people if they wanted power to take revenge on those indolent nobles and after receiving suggestions, he gave them enormous power.

Before he transformed them into Lebensfresser, he had promised them that their transformation into the beasts would be temporary and would only last for a week, but when the time was up, they never became human again. Furious, the villagers sought him out for answers, but learned that Drosselmeyer had escaped.

It was 20 years before they found Drosselmeyer's village and began killing innocent people. Drosselmeyer, scared that they would find him, sent the remaining relatives of the affected families and "volunteers" with weapons and secrets to wipe them all out.

To prevent the Lebensfresser from giving information to the villagers about him and his treatment, he partially erased their memory, they will remember fighting, but they will not remember details.

What Drosselmeyer didn't count on was that before he could write "they and all their descendants died in the assault," one of them had attacked a mother and her daughter. The Schwan family had gone on vacation, but unfortunately, they arrived at the village of the damned.

There, Lord Schwan was killed while trying to protect his daughter, Ahiru, and his wife Odette. But when he was killed, the Lebensfresser locked them in the dungeon. In the midst of the battle waged by the villagers, they managed to escape, but on the outskirts of the Kingdom, they were ambushed. This Lebensfresser managed to mortally wound both of them, and accidentally transform Ahiru... And knowing that they did not have much time and there was nothing more to do, Odette offered her own blood to her daughter.

In all those years, Ahiru always refused to hurt anyone, and survived by drinking the blood of dying animals, as well as sleeping for a long time right after drinking blood, to avoid getting hungry and hurting anyone. One day, she met a fortune teller and was advised to find Drosselmeyer, as only he could revoke the curse he had placed on her and thus, Ahiru found Fakir.

She asked him for help and told him everything her great-great-grandfather had done, since apparently having a drop of Lebensfresser's blood on one of her wounds, does not make her his descendant and therefore, made her immune to Drosselmeyer's last writing.

In addition to that, she helped Fakir to see the truth behind what his own writings... Apparently a couple of thieves have come out wanting to imitate what they read in his books, but apparently it is not a coincidence.

Apparently, Fakir still has a part of Drosselmeyer's power in his blood and has caused a very small part of his writings to come true and therefore, he can help her.

Fakir feels partly guilty of what happened to her and he cannot let her continue drinking the blood of dying animals, because she can get sick again. So, Fakir lets her stay at his house until he can return her to her human form, in addition to giving her his blood every time she gets hungry (at first, she refuses because she does not want to hurt him if she enters a euphoric state by tasting human blood, but he insists and she sleeps a lot to avoid having to ask him for more blood and hurt him)

At first, Fakir helps her to take the guilt off of himself but everything becomes closer and he genuinely wants to help her because he knows she is worth it.

Well, it was more or less like that... I didn't want it to be so long but, I just thought it was better to give more context... I hope I haven't bored you 😅

Here are more sketches:

I tried to do more, but I ran out of ink

How I thought the relationship between Ahiru and Fakir was going to be in this AU:

As it really is:

I hope you like it and if you have any suggestions, I want to read them!

I hope you have a nice day!!

[luwe21]

Favorite Sibling Ships.

This post includes Spoilers for the MCU and Umbrella Academy! Read at your own risk. This is very long, sorry.

Wilkercest. (Malcolm/Reese, Malcolm in the Middle)

I really enjoy the dynamics between the unlike siblings and I just like the teasing and pranking. Also Reese is kinda "innocent" despite being older. He has no experience with anyone because of his childish behavior.

Thorki (Thor/Loki, MCU)

They perfectly embody the two sides of a coin trope and the sunshine/darkness dynamic. Also Himbo/Nerd, Golden Retreiver/Black Cat. So many to love with so many feelings. The sun will shine on us again. I shipped Lokius for a while as the show came out but went back to Thorki after the hype stopped. I shipped Thor with Star Lord too for a while.

I am hopeful to see Thor and Loki interact again. Now that the multiverse is open. Hope is the last thing to die.

Moonsytem (Marc/Steven (Moonknight) Is this Incest? Please educate me. Or direct me to information about that.

Next is a fandom with complicated family dynamics, even more so than Thorki: Umbrella Academy aka The Hargreeves. They are 7 children out of forty-three, all born in the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989 to mothers with no previous signs of pregnancy. They were all brought here by Sir Reginal Hargreeves and live together at the Academy. They all have different superpowers and were trained to be superheroes until the public lost interest.

My ships is Fiego (Diego/Five)

This is where Himbo/Nerd comes in. Five is also old, but has a very young body. He's supposed to be in a 12-year-old body (the show doesn't really care about the age of the actor, but he's actually a minor for part of the show, he's 20 now), and his actual age in the show is well over 60. Diego is maybe 29-36. Can't really pinpoint because of a lot of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. The show is fun (last season was terrible), but there is not much explanation. Watch the show to get the full context.

Well, Five is a bastard to everyone, but he has a big soft spot for all his siblings and is very protective. He is a trained assassin, leader of the Commission (Time Protection Service) and 100% deadly. He accidentally left the family when he was 12, he can blip through time and has spent about 60 years trying to get back to them and save them from several apocalypses. He actually saw them die and was stuck in an apocalypse as a lone survivor. He had a relationship with a mannequin. He is often classified by fans as asexual and/or aromantic. He is tired and an old guy who desperately wants to rest for five minutes.

Diego is well Diego. He is hot as hell and a hero type. His superpower is the power to manipulate thrown objects such as knives while in flight. He likes to be as epic as Batman but he is "Batman for poor people" like his sibling call him. He is the only one that continued doing "hero work" as the kids got older. He worked with Eudora Patch, a police officer and that was his first (?) girlfriend. She was killed.

In a timeline Diego tried to save JFK but was locked into a mental asylum and meet his future wife Lila Pitts. Lila is later revealed to have superpowers as well, meaning she is technically also a sibling. A lot more story but this is getting long enough.

Back to my ship. Five found all of his siblings dead, he only touched Diego, turning him around to check for signs of life and cried over his body. He also expressed his dislike for Diego's relationship with Lila and gave Lila a shovel talk. Subtle scenes, but nothing more in canon.

Unfortunately, in Season 4, the 20-year-old actor (Five) kissed the 35-year-old actress (Lila). So Lila cheated on Diego with Five. Sexual contact was implied. I am very disappointed with this choice in the show, not because of my ship. I am just a character fan (I have been burned by actors/actresses before) so the real life age difference was gross to me. I do not care if ships become canon or not. I do not need a kiss or even a smut scene for any of my ships. Fanon before Canon is my motto.

Next is Horrance (Klaus/Ben)

Klaus is a freak, a medium, a seance leader, a drug addict, a sex cult leader, a war veteran and can see and experience ghosts. In the military he was in a relationship with a another soldier called Dave. He can't die naturally and Dave sadly died in his arms. I liked the ship but after a few scenes Dave wasn't shown again.

Klaus is the only one who can interact with Ben (he's a ghost). His nickname for him is Bennie Boy. Ben is the level-headed, quiet counterpart. But he also has a "freaky" side. Huge uncontrollable tentacles (they are called The Horror) come out of his body and, not surprisingly, are not lethal to Klaus and even "know" him, whatever that means. It is unclear if the Horror can interact with Ben similar to Venom Symbiote or not.

It is revealed that Ben is in love with a girl named Jennifer (Bennifer lol) but if they interact the whole multiverse would be "cleansed". So his adoptive dad shot him and Jennifer that is why he is dead at the beginning of the show.

We meet another version of Ben. He is part of the Sparrows. Another academy in another timeline and a big idiot and a grumpy cat. But I love him too. At a party at the end of the world where Luther from the Brellies married Sloane from the Sparrows (but that is hetero so of course that is way different and not at all problematic/s) , Klaus and Sparrow Ben disappear and are found hungover and half-naked the next day. Ben has "Asshole" written in Sharpie on his back. They seem to be close, or at least Klaus is forcing Sparrow Ben to accept his affections. Ben tries to push Klaus away, but ends up grouchily accepting the touchy behavior. They definitally "did" something.

Nobody got a happy end however. They all sacrifice themself at the end, together at least, because they were never supposed to exist. (great message am I right) Also the Sparrows do not appear in Season 4. Yeah! And the show is officially over. They are comics but I did not have touched them yet. Right now I am plotting and sceming on a huge Fix It.

[ae-neon]

Reading Throne of Glass (4-9)

Again. I'm nitpicking, it's just how I enjoy a lot of my media. Overall I'm still giving the story a fair chance. (Except the Nehemia plotline)

Chapter 4

Really great opening paragraph, like honestly so good.

Proof sjm once understood that starvation would decrease breast size. Also proof that misogyny rots the brain cause god forbid Nesta didn't look hot enough for Cassian to fuck during her depressive breakdown.

Sorry, back to tog.

This chapter is great, amazing even.

Everything from Celaena falling asleep on the floor cause the bed feels too different after her horrible year in the mines

-> her reaction to sunlight and the small bits of hope she has

-> her figuring out a way to kill Chaol every 15 minutes.

-> her solemn reaction to the fact that no one else would be leaving the mines in anyway except death.

The scene with the dogs was nice. I like the interaction and characterization going on between these 3 main characters.

The scenery and worldbuilding is good too. We have Ellwye, the West, Wendlyn, The Witch Kingdom, the East, Endovier, Ardalan and Rifthold all mentioned and somewhat defined within narrative context. No info dumping, just small relevant tidbits.

Okay so Celaena is 18, Dorian is 20, Chaol is 22.

It's almost shocking how reasonable sjm used to be.

Celaena's a little crazy but it's fun sometimes. She says she's trying to get under Chaol's skin but she's the one saying he's not very nice and being bothered when he doesn't engage with her.

22 is much better than I thought. But he honestly has to be not only the best swordsman in the country but also a very high up, well connected young lord to be Captain of the Royal Guard.

Me and Celaena locked in, fr. She clocked him as a Lord.

Also characters with a strong sense of justice >>>>> another 5 points for Chaol.

Top tier chapter overall.

Chapter 5

The forest scene is cool. King Brannon. 2000 years ago. Fae. Hope this plays a big role.

If the Fae are just gonna be dudes who run around the same as humans (with pointy ears and magic) why make them immortal? I don't think sjm really comprehends the concept or how otherworldly it really is.

She knew plenty about this forest, knew that the denizens of this place had once been faeries: gnomes, sprites, nymphs, goblins, more names than anyone could count or remember. All ruled by their larger, human-like cousins, the immortal Fae—the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in Erilea.

Just say Elves, I beg of you

Okay but surely the King of Ardalan, aka Dorian Senior, banning magic and making it disappear is an act of magic itself? Like unless bro is god, the simple act of banning magic would not erase its existence.

The King of Adarlan had outlawed it all—magic, Fae, faeries—and removed any trace so thoroughly that even those who had magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Celaena herself being one of them.

This all just happened within the last maximum 30 years. She herself just told us Fae are immortal. How the fuck would they forget they ever had magic? There are humans old enough to still remember.

"It had been a while since she’d contemplated the gifts she’d lost, though the memory of her abilities haunted her dreams." okay so it's happened only in the last 10 years??? That means everyone still remembers. Why not just write that Celaena could barely remember instead of implying it was a common thing.

Still really like her descriptions of the forest and of the faeries.

I'm guessing gnomes left her flowers. We'll probably never see them again.

Chapter 6

Icy rain kept them company for four days, during which time Celaena was so miserably cold that she contemplated throwing herself into a ravine, hopefully dragging Chaol with her.

Her dedication to murdering him is quite endearing, I fear

The weather hits for me rn because it's autumn here too.

...the Crown Prince pulled out of line and came trotting toward them, his dark hair bouncing. His red cape rose and fell in a crimson wave. Above his unadorned white shirt was a fine cobalt-blue jerkin trimmed with gold. She would have snorted, but he did look rather good in his knee-high brown boots. And his leather belt did go nicely—even though the hunting knife seemed a bit too bejeweled.

Dorian the fashionista

Okay wait. The castle is half stone half glass... Can you just see into the castle? How did they even build that. If this was wheel of time or something I'd assume it was a modern skyscraper being seen through the eyes of people who didn't understand that. But there haven't been any other clues to suggest post apocalyptic fantasy stuff... Idk how I feel about this

The writing continues to be good. Celaena's dreams are pretty disturbing and her moment of quiet contemplation while staring at the greenish glow of the glass castle was really solemn and grounding. I think her thoughts about putting kingdoms behind her would have really hit if sjm revealed her identity and still had her refuse to rule.

"She wasn’t fated for anything. Not anymore"

During this scene the weight of her life experiences so far - running from her burning home at 8, losing her magic, being taken in by a man she couldn't trust, being made to murder for a living, being betrayed (most likely by that same man) and ending up in a slave mine - feels real, feels like it's made her truly lonely.

Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.

Okay so why didn't sjm give Feyre a moment like this if we're supposed to believe Rhysand is her destined true love.

Chapter 7

There's a sense of life in this story thats really missing from acotar. Rifthold has flags and sigils and trumpets announcing the Prince's return. The horses smell, the city smells, the spices from the market smell, the river smells. Like there's a world here and it's tangible.

Acomaf really is the grave. And stans act like it's her magnum opus. No wonder sjm doesn't talk to them.

From bearded peddlers to servant girls carrying armfuls of hatboxes, everyone paused as the flag-bearers trotted proudly ahead, and Dorian Havilliard waved. They followed the Crown Prince, who, like Chaol, was swathed in a red cape, pinned over the left breast with a brooch fashioned after the royal seal. The prince wore a golden crown upon his neat hair, and she had to concede that he looked rather regal. Young women flocked to them, waving. Dorian winked and grinned.

Nobody in Velaris or the Hewn City or Illyria gives a fuck about Rhysand like this lmaooo

Now that she noticed, there were countless chained slaves working the docks, lifting and sweating, holding parasols and pouring water, eyes on the ground or the sky—never on what was before them. She wanted to leap from her horse and run to them, or to simply scream that she wasn’t a part of this prince’s court, that she had no hand in bringing them here, chained and starved and beaten, that she had worked and bled with them, with their families and friends—she was not like these monsters that destroyed everything. That she had done something, nearly two years ago, when she had freed almost two hundred slaves from the Pirate Lord.

I get what sjm was trying to do but the White Woman Energy™ is off the charts. It's not about you and you being seen as bad. Decentre yourself from the slavery narrative, please and thank you.

Kinda disappointed Celaena didn't spot any other spies or assassins lurking about. She was strangely unobservant for once.

Spears erect, they held rectangular shields, and their eyes were dark beneath bronze helmets. Each wore a red cape. Their armor, while tarnished, was well crafted from copper and leather.

Actual description of uniform and weapons rather than just "Illyrian leathers" "Illyrian knives/swords" BUT why does the description sound like Roman soldiers when we're clearly in a renaissance-esque fantasy time period

No, okay, I don't like the literal glass castle on top of a stone castle. Celaena agrees.

Dorian: you won't compete as yourself, we'll keep it a secret.

Dorian at the entrance to the castle while nobles and guards are welcoming him back: WELCOME CELAENA SARDOTHIEN

They were each armed with a sword, knife, and crossbow, and though they’d been alert while their captain passed by, she knew a crossbow wasn’t exactly a light weight to bear for hours on end. Celaena crept to her bedroom window, pressing herself against the marble wall, and glanced down. Sure enough, the guards had already strapped the crossbows across their backs. It would waste precious seconds to grab the weapon and load it—seconds when she could take their swords, cut their throats, and vanish into the gardens.

Smart, and even adding to her character weight and credibility. She surveys the room, makes a weapon and categorises what she could use to kill. Legit feels like a competent assassin.

Even the clothes are so much better than in acotar. What happened to sjm??

“He has a big heart, His Highness.” hahaha Dorian is apparently out here hoeing, I respect it.

Not the literal throne of glass.

And then there was the matter of Dorian’s sapphire eyes—not even his mother had his eyes. No one knew where they came from.

I hope this matters

The conversation between Dorian Snr and Dorian Jr is loaded with politics:

King Dorian I is a conqueror

Dorian II doesn't want to inherit the empire.

The younger brother isn't really a threat, neither of them take Hollin seriously.

Ardalan is in active war against Wendlyn

Why call Celaena a witch if the race of Witch exists. Why not just call her a snake or temptress or something

Dorian wants to kill his dad. He just like me fr.

Chapter 8

Okay. Chaol has an eagle shaped pommel on his sword. Dorian's sigil is a wyvern. The guy Celaena ends up with can turn into a bird I think. Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel have bat wings. The love interest in Ccity is an angel. SJM has a thing for wings, yes?

Tamlin not having wings is more proof of Feylin not being endgame than anything else you can point to in the text.

Chaol is giving the assassin a tour of the castle... Is he stupid??

The competition begins tomorrow??????

“I don’t understand why you refuse to enter the glass addition,” he went on. “There’s no difference between the interiors—you wouldn’t even know that you were inside it unless someone told you or you looked out the window.”

I lack the visual imagination to understand what the fuck is going on with this building. It really just sounds like a skyscraper

A clocktower made of black stone. Something like you'd see at the Gates of Wyrd. Hmmm. King built a spooky magic tower thing around the birth of his son. The same king magically made magic disappear.... The gargoyle on the tower points to a tile in the garden with a symbol on it. It's feeling very Da Vinci Code rn

A library... I miss Nesta.

The letter exchange between Celaena and Dorian is better than anything in acomaf. I said what I said. Including it for proof:

Your Highness—

It has come to my attention that your library isn’t a library, but rather a personal collection for only you and your esteemed father to enjoy. As many of your million books seem to be present and underused, I must beg you to grant me permission to borrow a few so that they might receive the attention they deserve. Since I am deprived of company and entertainment, this act of kindness is the least someone of your importance could deign to bestow upon a lowly, miserable wretch such as I.

Yours most truly,

Celaena Sardothien

Celaena beamed at her note and handed it to the nicest-looking servant she could find, with specific instructions to give it immediately to the Crown Prince. When the woman returned half an hour later with a stack of books piled in her arms, Celaena laughed as she swiped the note that crowned the column of leather.

My Most True Assassin,

Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves.

Most affectionately,

Dorian Havilliard

What happened to Sarah, when did she abandon romance?

Also. Again. This is supposed to be kept secret but she signed her name??? And Dorian responds "my assassin" any courier or spy would have had them by the balls before the day was done.

IS THAT KALTAIN??? Her ladies are idiots.

Ahhh, classic YA girlhate

Chapter 9

Super short chapter.

Aww, Chaol.

----

Overall I'm still enjoying this more than I expected.

Again what happened to sjm? This love triangle is building so well.

[coffeefrenchandhistory]

The Little King Dreams

Regulus Arcturus Black. Younger brother of Sirius, Slytherin, Death Eater, and the man who stole the Locket of Salazar Slytherin from Lord Voldemort himself. We all know his story. He died stealing the locket, saving Kreacher’s life, and his brother never knew that Regulus died fighting the Dark Lord. 

But is Regulus really dead? 

In the cave, where Voldemort hid the locket, we know there are protections. In additions to Inferi (corpses reanimated through Dark magic), the fountain in which the locket is stored is filled with water cursed to cause excruciating pain. But it’s curious. The water doesn’t kill. 

The water causes unbearable thirst. It causes excruciating pain. But it doesn’t kill. Why on earth would Voldemort have a protection that does not kill, when he’s trying to protect something like a fragment of his soul? 

"Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island."​

​Harry couldn't believe it. Was this more of Dumbledore's insane determination to see good in everyone?​

​"Sir," said Harry, trying to keep his voice reasonable, "sir, this is Voldemort we're —"​

​"I'm sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want to immediately kill the person who reached this island," Dumbledore corrected himself. "He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defenses and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes."​

​Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.​

​"Undoubtedly," he said, finally, "this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyze me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way."​ --- (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 26 "The Cave", pg. 569; US edition)​

So why does Voldemort have water, a potion, that does not kill? And if, like what Dumbledore suggest, he would want to keep the person alive long enough to find out why they were trying to steal his Horcrux... how would he do it? Why would he make a potion which causes unbearable thirst — when the only source of water is Inferi-infested waters? 

Simple. It was mentioned in Philosopher’s Stone. 

The Draught of Living Death. A potion that causes very powerful sleep which, according to the Advanced Potion-Making textbook in HBP, “can last forever”. 

“But Josh!” you might be saying, “What about the Inferi!” 

Yes. There are Inferi. But they are not there to kill the person. No. They are there to drag the person underwater. The person who drank a variant of the Draught of Living Death, and pull them into enchanted waters to bring about a state of suspended animation. At least, of course, until Lord Voldemort can interrogate the person. To find out how they penetrated so far past his defenses. Why they were so intent on draining the fountain. The Inferi aren’t there to kill the intruder. 

The Inferi are there to hold the intruder until Lord Voldemort arrives. And since Voldemort did not realize that his Horcrux had been stolen — since the fake locket was still there in the fountain nearly 20 years after, the Inferi are still holding the intruder. 

And they are still holding him... 

But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wandlight had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed him, this time, a dead man lying faceup inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke. 

“There are bodies in here!” said Harry, and his voice sounded much higher than usual and most unlike his own. --- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 26 “The Cave”, pg 565-566; US edition

And meanwhile... Regulus Arcturus Black floats in the water, dreaming... 

[iviarellereads]

The Great Hunt, Chapter 10 - The Hunt Begins

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Horn icon) In which that's something beyond evil.

PERSPECTIVE: Rand, as Ingtar sets a fast pace, hoping to catch them up despite the head start. Rand worries about the horses, but says nothing, because it’s Ingtar’s command and Rand is still just a shepherd.(1) At one point though, one of the men, Uno, says Ingtar's going to kill the horses at this rate. It's not until much later in the day that Ingtar sees sense, and they start alternating walked and ridden miles. Mat and Perrin continue to avoid Rand, along with some of the retinue.

The path avoids all settlements. They sometimes see farms or villages in the distance, but never close enough that they'd have seen the Trollocs et al coming or going clearly. Eventually, Ingtar finally calls to make camp for the night after twilight. When Rand takes out his bundles from the pack horses, he shouts so loudly that several men come running, swords out. He's a little embarrassed that it was just because he saw his coats, the supposedly serviceable, low-key ones: both more ornate than the one he's already wearing. Ingtar points out that they are wearable, and Moiraine Sedai saw to Rand's packing personally. Rand thinks he'd almost rather go naked.(2)

Masema is serving the stew, and slops a bit of Rand's meanly. Ingtar is sitting next to Mat and Perrin, so Rand sits near them, glad that his friends don't leave again. He wonders aloud why Masema hates him. Ingtar hesitates, but says that Masema fought against the Aiel for three years once, and he (Ingtar) is glad to take everyone's word that Rand is from the Two Rivers, but Masema can't see past the resemblance to his enemies.(3)

Rand dropped his spoon in the plate with a sigh. “Everybody thinks I’m somebody I am not. I am from the Two Rivers, Ingtar. I grew tabac with—with my father, and tended his sheep. That is what I am. A farmer and shepherd from the Two Rivers.” “He’s from the Two Rivers,” Mat said scornfully. “I grew up with him, though you’d never know it now. You put this Aiel nonsense in his head on top of what’s already there, and the Light knows what we’ll have. An Aiel lord, maybe.” “No,” Loial said, “he has the look. You remember, Rand, I remarked on it once, though I thought it was just because I didn’t know you humans well enough then. Remember? ‘Till shade is gone, till water is gone, into the Shadow with teeth bared, screaming defiance with the last breath, to spit in Sightblinder’s eye on the Last Day.’ You remember, Rand.” Rand stared at his plate. Wrap a shoufa around your head, and you would be the image of an Aielman. That had been Gawyn, brother to Elayne, the Daughter-Heir of Andor. Everybody thinks I’m somebody I’m not.

Ingtar says Aiel only recognize themselves, gleemen, peddlers, and their enemies. They changed that for Cairhien 500 years ago, for no reason anyone else can tell, but after the Aiel War 20-odd years ago, he doesn't think they ever will again. Loial says they're willing to let the Tuatha'an into their Wastes, and they trade with Ogier sometimes, for sung wood, but they're a hard people. Ingtar wishes he had some men half as hard as any Aiel. Mat wonders if that's a joke.

“Aiel are hard,” Ingtar said. “Man and woman, hard. I’ve fought them, and I know. They will run fifty miles, and fight a battle at the end of it. They’re death walking, with any weapon or none. Except a sword. They will not touch a sword, for some reason. Or ride a horse, not that they need to. If you have a sword, and the Aielman has his bare hands, it is an even fight. If you’re good. They herd cattle and goats where you or I would die of thirst before the day was done. They dig their villages into huge rock spires out in the Waste. They’ve been there since the Breaking, near enough. Artur Hawkwing tried to dig them out and was bloodied, the only major defeats he ever suffered. By day the air in the Aiel Waste shimmers with heat, and by night it freezes. And an Aiel will give you that blue-eyed stare and tell you there is no place on earth he would rather be. He won’t be lying, either. If they ever tried to come out, we would be hard-pressed to stop them.(4) The Aiel War lasted three years, and that was only four out of thirteen clans.”

Mat mutters that grey eyes from his mother don't make him Aiel, but Rand remembers Moiraine's story about his birth, and as he settles in for sleep, he repeats that he won't be used.

The next morning they continue before dawn, until they come on an abandoned camp. Hurin says there was worse than murder done here, and they turned northeast. An hour's ride later, Hurin says they turned south again, and another murder. The next day continues the same, slowly gaining ground based on the tracks and remains, but more direction changes, and more murders. After Ingtar says they won’t lose time burying Darkfriends, the subject doesn’t come up, even when they believe the victims are Shienaran.

Eventually, they come upon the River Erinin, a few hours past breaking camp. Long past time to have found the Trolloc camp and first direction changes, from the pattern of the last several days, but instead they come to a quiet village near a river much smaller than the stories made it out to be.(5)

Perrin says the village smells wrong, getting him a look from Hurin.(6) But he's right: there's no one left here. Uno sees a woman in a white dress in a window, and runs for the house, but it's empty after all.(7) Hurin says there was no murder here, but violence of a sort he's never smelled before, and something across the river.

Ingtar sends two men to retrieve the ferry, sitting on the far bank, and to scout for any ambush. They come back unable to put words to what they saw, but there's no ambush, for certain. Rand et al are in the first group to cross the ferry, though Mat still sneers at Rand's coat. Perrin remarks that this is how they left home, on Taren Ferry, and says it will be worse this time. Both Rand and Mat are curious why he'd say this. Perrin just says he can smell it.

Fifty paces from the ferry, they find the bodies, strung up to a tree. The two faces are intact, Changu and Nidao, the guards Rand met the first time Egwene brought him to see Fain. They've been skinned alive. Rand seeks the Void, but feels more sick inside it.(8) Some men start digging graves, and Loial explains Shienaran burial rites: no clothes, no shroud, no coffin, just plain burial. Someone might say a particular ritual phrase over the graves, but that's unlikely here: these must have been the men who killed the guards and let the Trollocs into the Keep.

However, before they leave, Ingtar does say the words over the two unmarked graves. Nobody comments, but he looks at every man in turn before saying that they saved Lord Agelmar at Tarwin's Gap.(9) Then off they ride.

They come upon an old, abandoned manor house, and there's some discussion of countries that once were, but are no longer. Loial talks about how many cities and countries fail, sometimes because the population dwindles, sometimes trade stops, and sometimes crops fail too many years in a row. Ingtar says yes, and what city will not fail tomorrow, or the next day? Humankind is being swept away. How long until there's nothing left but the borderlands, and how long until not even that? The whole group is shocked into silence, and rides on.(10)

They come upon another village some time later that day, abandoned too. All the villages here have a grudge against Shienarans, because Shienar can’t or won’t spare soldiers to defend them against human brigands, when the Blight is right there. The men prepare for a fight as they near.

Some of the men go to check the houses for occupants, and Rand approaches a door, but stops short, then chides himself for being afraid of an empty door. Inside is a tidy room, flies buzzing around the food laid out on the table, even a roast, cold in its own congealed grease. He blinks, and sees a vision of a smiling family, serving themselves from the food, when it was fresh. Suddenly, one of the girls screams, pointing at the road. The door bursts open and...

Rand blinks again, and they're gone, the flies sounding louder. Blink again, and the vision starts over from the beginning. Over and over. Between the visions, the room starts to feel very, very cold to him, but he can't move, until suddenly he starts to feel warm and breaks free of it, tearing at unseen cobwebs holding him.(11)

He hears Mat yell that there's nothing in the house he looked in, and Rand resolves not to enter another house in the village. There's a commotion in the main square, and when he approaches, it's not more people murdered... not exactly. A Myrddraal, a Fade, has been murdered and near crucified on the biggest door in the village.

“Who,” Mat began, and had to stop to swallow. “Who could do this to a Fade?” His voice squeaked at the end. “I don’t know,” Ingtar said. “I do not know.”(12) He looked around, examining faces, or perhaps counting to be sure everyone was there. “And I do not think we will learn anything here. We ride. Mount! Hurin, find the trail out of this place.” “Yes, my Lord. Yes. With pleasure. That way, my Lord. They’re still heading south.” They rode away leaving the dead Myrddraal where it hung, the wind stirring its black cloak. Hurin was first beyond the wall, not waiting on Ingtar for a change, but Rand came close behind him.

=====

(1) Is he still just that? Was he ever just a shepherd? (2) As much as Rand, rightly and fairly, doesn't want to be manipulated into doing something against his will, we've known since the first page that he was the Dragon, and if he's going to fulfill all these prophecies, better to look a lord than a beggar, to look the way people will expect the Dragon to look and be more willing to accept him in the role even as they may despise what he means for the world. (3) Especially when Aiel looks seem so distinctive. There were a few folk in Caemlyn who had paler skin and lighter hair, like the Trakands, but the implication is that's pretty rare in the wider world. No wonder he's been treated very oddly by the Shienarans since his arrival there, and no wonder Moiraine's been fighting so hard to build him up a reputation as a lordling so he couldn't possibly be an Aielman. (4) Gee, I wonder if that'll become relevant again. (5) The narration (Rand) attributes this to it being far from its source. Do you think Robert Jordan knew how rivers work? That they're fed all along and tend to get bigger the further they travel, biggest as they approach their lake or ocean endpoint. Rand probably wouldn't know that, whether RJ did or not. (6) Given everything, it's possible Perrin just smelled the decay or some such, from a greater distance. Who knows what wolves smell? (7) A mysterious woman in a white dress? Keep a pin in that for now. (8) Now THAT'S odd. What about the flame and void might make Rand feel sick, or is it just too much for even that trick to work? (9) After leaving so many behind, he takes the time for this? Just because we recognize their names, or does he finally feel guilty over leaving the others? (10) This guy seems real pessimistic suddenly. But, look at Shienar. They watched Malkier fall to the Blight well within living memory. Who wouldn't be a bit pessimistic about humanity's chances as the signs ramp up for the final confrontation? And when faced with this much death and betrayal and just everything? (11) Rand's visions in the house are creepy as hell, and the cold kinda makes me wonder if this is Power at play, or something else… perhaps the same kind of "strange thing" that Lan refers to happening close to the Blight, when Rand gets caught by the wind during their practice fight in chapter 1. But, the Dark One is stirring in his prison, his influence on the world growing. Who's to say what effect that might have? (12) Who could do this to a Fade? What could be WORSE than a Fade? Why do all my sentences now end in question marks?

[m0n0lithical]

Sims - get to know me

Tagged by @igotsnothing thanks so much I absolutely wanted to do this one! Also if ya’ll like occults you better go follow them.

1. What’s your favourite sims death? Either meteor because of HOW dramatic it is, or pufferfish since that’s like, the only way for your own sim to kill another sims (without mods, anyway).

2. Alpha CC or Maxis Match? Mostly Maxis, but I do have mix elements (like the hairs that aren’t TECHNICALLY alpha but are so detailed they almost look it), especially in my fandom saves because the outfits in those are always alpha.

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight? Nah, if I really want a sim to stay the same weight, I lock the weight/gain loss (I do this for my selfsim every time so she’ll STOP LOSING WEIGHT oh my god woman). But if I’m playing with it on, what happens happens.

4. Do you use move objects? I don’t even have to enter this cheat because it’s always ticked on my BBB.

5. Favorite mod? I mean the most practical favorites are MCCC and BBB, and really most of the ;must haves’ the majority of people have, so lemmie pick a lesser seen one – PreferencesPlus by Helaene is a huge game-changer for someone who really dislikes all the missing likes/dislikes in the game.

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got? ...I wanna say Outdoor Retreat? I know, horrible pick, I didn’t know how lacking it was.

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing? Like LIVing

8. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? This...is hard, but I’m gonna have to roll with Amie, because she’s evolved beyond being just a sim at this rate – she’s also my FFXIV character, as well as a VtM character. But she absolutely did START as a sim.

9. Have you made a simself? Yes – she’s set loose in EVERY save I have for sake of hilarity – I love passing by her in-game and she’s doing something utterly random. The last time I saw her she was shooting down a goth witch lady flirting with her – thrilled the sexuality update can make her proper asexual now, was so happy to see it without having to put dumb flags on her!

10. What sim traits do you give yourself? Lover, Unflirty, Lazy, Cat Lover, Creative, Foodie.

11. Which is your favorite EA hair color? I’m a pretty big fan of the middle red tone. Or the green, if we’re picking unnatural colors.

12. Favorite EA hair? The RoM updo short locs are SO good. Honorable mention to the EL undercut half-ponytail.

13. Favorite life stage? I’m gonna be boring and say YA, because the game is LITERALLY built around them so you have so, SO many more options.

14. Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? I do a little bit of everything, but CAS is my specialty. I spend HOURS in there.

15. Are you a CC creator? If some hair/eye recolors and simple tattoos count, then yeah. I really can’t be fussed learning blender beyond pose-making.

16. Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? My social anxiety stops me from interacting a lot, even if I try my best to talk to people. Like, I know the chances of someone being an asshole to me are very, very slim and that most everyone is chill and laid back like I am – REASONABLY I know I’m being dumb, but also my brain is an asshole.

17. What’s your favorite game? In Sims, I’ve honestly only played 4 (a friend sent me 3 a while ago but I have yet to fire it up). Outside sims? Uh...Okami for single player, Guild Wars 2 for multiplayer.

18. Do you have any sims merch? God I wish.

19. Do you have a YouTube for sims? Hahahah like my internet would let me upload videos.

20. How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? Lord I have no idea...I’ve been fiddling with different types of sim face styles, but I keep falling back to the same one, really – at least for non-themed saves. And it doesn’t even stand out I’m pretty basic bitch.

21. What’s your Origin ID? Monophony! I mostly make sims, but there’s a few terrible builds there, too.

22. Who’s your favorite CC creator? That is a hard as hell question...but I wanna say @simandy,. For multiple reasons, but primarily because their hairs are just...to die for.

23. How long have you had a simblr? It’s been a year or two, but I took several hiatuses as I got distracted by my MMOs. I have a goldfish attention span.

24. How do you edit your pictures? I have several different reshade presets I’ll alternate between, and a good number of Photoshop actions and/or PSDs, and it’s always some combo of those. Each save has a different reshade/action (or PSD) combination to make them have their own looks (I have a word doc for ref so I know what save uses what combo).

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? Vampires will always be my favorite, but I was shocked by how much I also enjoyed Werewolves – I’m not a werewolf person, really. Non-occult...Growing Together really does add a ton through the whole game.

26. What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? I uh...well you see >-> I’M STUPID WITH MY MONEY I HAVE THEM ALL.

I’m only gonna tag a few peeps since I’ve seen most people having done this - @simarcana, @druidberries, @apricote, @lotus030, @salemssimblr if ya’ll wanna do this here’s your excuse! <3 Feel free to ignore if you don’t wanna!