#its just another common case of 'if love could have saved you you would have lived forever'

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs. 

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

[transjohnnycash]

Ah. The grieving

[fyxestroll]

Calm Before the Storm

pairing: fulgrim x reader (fem.)

description: high society is relentless when it comes to rumors but baseless as they may be they still contain grains of truth. but what happens when even you are still unsure of the nature of your relationship

warnings: minor character death, bird poop (do i need to put this as a warning), reader has a last name

notes: fulgrim brain worms fulgrim... fulgrim save me.. pre-heresy btw. this is mostly self indulgent btw so sorry if its a bit messy. not my best work but I need to pine for fulgrim in a vague late 19th-century setting shoutout to @yagodnyizefir for sharing the brainrot w/ me

The rumors began with a gift, a bouquet of masterfully crafted ceremite flowers resembling those from your home planet. The whispers were neither about the craftsmanship nor your decision to display it in the drawing room, it was about the colors. The choice of the flowers alone would have already been considered odd but it was colors that truly sparked scandal.

 In the flower language, a combination of those flowers in those colors, the reds, pinks, yellows and whites roughly translated to ‘My love for you is deep and true.’. 

In other words, this is a courting gift. 

Primarch Fulgrim is courting you.

Well, that’s what people think. In reality, this is nothing more than a case of cultural differences, a common occurrence within your world as of late. There are countless worlds under the banner of ever-expanding The Imperium of Mankind and someone of his rank has no time to learn all of the norms of a single system’s high society. The Primarch Fulgrim is nothing more than a dear friend and fellow connoisseur of the arts. 

Opulent gifts from him are common and he did not intend the meaning of that bouquet, truly.

But if you said that high society will not believe you, no one will. At this point, the rumors have taken a life of their own turning you into a villain, a temptress or a poor maiden in the same week. 

However, it cannot be said that you aren’t partially at fault.

High society fed off rumors and you, in all honesty, have done nothing to quell them. You continued to accompany the Primarch at events, accept his gifts and say nothing in light of the rumors assuming that high society would move on to the latest gossip.

You had assumed wrong.

And now you are paying the price.

The Purple Ribbon: The Long-Standing Affair Between the Primarch Fulgrim & Lady Dittersdorf

You slam the data slate down onto the table and place a hand on your temple, rubbing circles on it as you feel the oncoming headache.

Of course, they wouldn’t move on. Gossip is the life-blood of aristocratic social circles and what gossip was juicier than a supposedly illicit affair between a Primarch and heiress to one of the system’s oldest noble houses? Nothing! 

The story of the affair has already spread far and wide so there’s nothing more you can do other than watch as high society tears your reputation to shreds. Like it or not you’ve become high society’s latest clown just like your brother.

The rumors may have begun with the gift but the true start of this madness was your first meeting with the Primarch…

“Is this another one of the late Lord Bertham’s works?”

“Yes, my lord.”

On your end, the silence that falls between you is uncomfortable. This is nothing new, there are only a few things deemed proper that you could talk to a lady in mourning about. Though you’ve completed the acceptable mourning period it felt wrong not to display grief in an event such as this.

“You are his sister, correct?” He asks.

You look up to nod at the guest, keen on not saying ‘Yes, my Lord’ twice. It’s also an excuse to see his face. Though, with the literal shadow cast over you, you did not need to know this guest's identity. 

“My condolences Lady Dittersdorf.” 

“Thank you,” It’s common courtesy to say those four words and at this point after two years of mourning, you’ve grown tired of hearing them. Still, you could appreciate his tone. He seemed genuine. 

Lord Fulgrim returns to appreciate the painting, bending his knees ever so slightly as he does so. While most of the paintings on display today have been adjusted to a height where the Primarch and his legionnaires could view the art comfortably this piece is one of the few exceptions due to the size of its canvas.

“This is one of Bertham’s earliest works,” you explain to the Primarch gaining the courage to speak.

“Ah, that explains it,” lord Fulgrim gazes down at you kindly, “I could not put my hand on what made it different from his other works.”

Your hand caresses the frame, “He made this when he was fourteen or so and had yet to develop his preference for giant canvases.”

“It’s amazing how even then he had already developed his unique art style at that age.”

“Yes,” you agree, observing the delicate brush strokes, “he was a prodigy but we did not know it at the time. All we knew was that he was a boy who loved to paint.”

“I see…” 

Your gloved thumb runs over a stray stroke of dark green. You had placed that single stroke there as a child wanting to do what her brother was doing too. Bertham was so mad that when he saw what you did he chased you all over the manor. You expected him to paint over what you did, to erase that ‘mistake’, turns out he didn’t.

Stars, he didn’t

“Lady Dittersdorf,”

“Yes?”

“Do you paint too?”

Surprise colors your face at the Primarch’s question, “I…do.”

“Then I’d like to see your pieces one day.”

You break eye contact, unfurling the fan in your hands and covering your face with it. “My works are of an amateur’s my Lord.”

He simply smiles and replies, “That’s fine.”

…even so, you would not have wished for it to have gone any other way. You’ve gained a companion in the Phoenician, your first true friend since you’ve cast away your mourning clothes.

Sometimes though, you start to believe it could be something else, something more…

“Stop!” You exclaim, laughing as you do, “Let go!”

“No!” He grins, tightening his hold on your waist, “You’ll fall!”

“I!” you swat at his hand, your hair whipping around everywhere having escaped the confines of your bun, “Won't!”

“Still!” 

Fulgrim had a point, you know that. The skirts you wear would act as a sail and blow you away the second he releases you but…

“Please?”

One look from you and he falters, the hand on your waist loosening its grip.

A strong gust of wind blows and for a moment you feel yourself float. 

But that moment was over before you had even realised it. The hands holding you are shaking, confused, you look down at the Primarch holding you steady on your perch. “Fulgrim?”

“I–” He chokes on his words, worry filling his eyes. The golden sun shines down on his silver locks as they get blown around by the wind.

‘Beautiful,’ you can’t help but think.

He cups your cheek. The sensation is new, odd but you don’t hate it. “I’m alright,” you say, leaning into his touch. 

The wind is cool, the bustle of the city is distant and there was no one else here but the two of you. Losing track of time you don’t know how long he held you, how long you stared at each other's eyes until your lips were on his.

…but you knew better than to hope. You’ve never talked about the kiss and you doubt you ever will. That moment will forever be a secret kept between the two of you.

You know it would be better to cut ties with the Primarch and use the excuse of him being off-system most of the time causing your friendship to wane.

But you just can’t.

Be it by stubbornness or attraction, you just can’t.

So you will carry on with your life head held high and ignoring the whispers.

Today, the sky is clear and while it was still cool out you’ve decided to spend some time in the garden to clear your mind. The flowers are as beautiful as ever but the fountain—

Plop!

A splash of white falls on your dress. It stands out against the maroon fabric and you realized its poop, bird poop to be exact. 

You can’t help but let out a smile at the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps the rumors aren’t your biggest worry currently. Taking out your handkerchief you begin to wipe away the stain before it can completely ruin the fabric

* * *

Unbeknownst to you, a figure in the bushes takes a pict.

Later that evening an article will be published within the Noosphere titled Expect the Unexpected! Lady Ditterstorf Pregnant! Alongside it is a pict of you standing in the gardens with a hand seemingly cradling your belly.

[katharine1994-blog1]

Aaron Hotchner xBAUreader!

I Will Find You Part1

First time posting this kind of fanfic, super excited, would love feedback but please be kind haha! not totally sure of correct terminology so forgive for any mistakes.

Back story: You and Hotch have been very close/pining but nothing has ever happened despite all the team knowing and wanting you both together, when something goes wrong with a seemingly unconnected murder case and your stalker, Hotch is forced to confront his feelings about you and fight to keep you alive.

CW: age gap, pining, stalking, murder, kidnapping, physical abuse/assault, adult themes, sexual content. POV reader and POV Aaron Hotchner

The bullpen is eerily quiet, its a Friday 2am, the other agents have gone home or are out on field for other cases, your team is the only one in the office.

The team have been working tirelessly on a local murder case for a few days now and are no closer to catching this killer, 5 young women, all killed by asphyxiation, he's raped them before and again post mortem but leaving no physical evidence, then they are posed in the middle of the bed with a bouquet of dead flowers and dressed in a white dress, the rest of the scene is tidy and spotlessly clean, the local PD requested the BAU's support on Monday when they had the name of another missing girl, hoping she would be found alive, the press have started dubbing him the 'Black Groom' and started causing panic and chaos on the streets of DC, JJ has desperately tried to steer them away from using this name but to no avail, on Tuesday when the latest victim was discovered, Hotch, yourself and Morgan were first on the scene where you discovered a new detail, a new part of the signature.

The first periluminal profile built was he's a white male in his 20s to 40s, he's a sexual sadist and has a deep routed hatred of women in his life, possibly started with his mother but most likely a girlfriend or wife are the current stressor, perhaps a recent rejection or stressful situation where he feels a woman has emasculated him, despite his sadism he is methodical, calm even, keeps the girls for a few days before returning them home 'safely' tucked in bed or left in a motel room close by if there's too much police presence, none of the girls are linked, all single workaholic types with friends being the ones noticing them missing after a few days, usually these women keep to themselves so not hearing from them wasn't uncommon in most scenarios, no men in their lives not even online.

Garcia has combed through these girls lives and there's no link, all are on dating sites but with no common linked matches meaning he's likely stalking them for a few days, learning their habits and routes to and from work before taking them in a spree attack, he's using chloroform to subdue them, then he continues using this drug during the following 3 days likely to keep them subdued and too weak to fight back. But where is he holding them?

The only factor about the girls which was painfully obvious is that they all look just like you, no one had said it out loud which made it worse, you had been with Hotch when you saw the most recent victim and you'd become visibly distressed, Hotch tried to approach you but you had played it off as a bout of sickness, how could you tell him? The single perfect red rose left at the foot of the bed, the new signature, you see it in your minds eye, with the black satin ribbon tied round it, is it him?

You'd been working with the team for over a year now and grown close with them all, at first understandably they were weary of you but making some great calls on your first case and saving Morgan's life with an unsub along with a police officer in New York had really propelled you forward in their estimations, you noticed the most change in Hotch, at first he seemed to not like you very much, he seemed to pay particular attention to you, at first you thought he was being over bearing because you were younger, but as it continued you realised he was protecting you, he would stand with you when out in the field and would often put you in his team, he would help you with your bullet vest and would always check on you after a rough case, he even sometimes drove you home, you thought it was him being a great boss until Morgan pointed out it might be more, deep down you tried to stifle your feelings for him but you felt yourself leaning towards him while he spoke, reaching for his arm and being equally as protective of him, maybe he did feel the same, but nothing could happen, how could they? He is your boss for a start, your stern, tall, strong boss! he's had a kid, Jack was such a great kid and since Hayley's death 3 years ago Hotch had really taken time for them both, stopped taking on everyone else's work and allowed the team to help, all of you helping him finish reports on time, even Will and JJ making play dates even though Henry was far too small to really appreciate a bigger kid to play with yet you all spent time together outside and at work, its not surprising you feel this way. Everything screamed for you to stop liking this man, but you cant help how you feel, and even if he didn't feel the same way, what harm is it doing? apart from that one night, the memory is burned on your memory.

"Alright lets go over this again, the ME said the ligature marks were made on top of each other with fibres found deep under the skin like friction burns, these fibres are commonly found in satin scarfs or something similar, there's no way to pin point exactly from what or where, the unsub is likely choking them until they fall unconscious, the ME also suggested by the wound pattern he's raping them while they are unconscious" Hotch states stiffly rubbing the bridge of his nose "can we deduce anything with a geography profile Reid?"

"Not really, all these women live in different areas and are from different class backgrounds, so there's no safe zone he's choosing its very sporadic I cant work out whether he's working in or out of his comfort zone, I think he's choosing the girls rather than whether its easier or further from home. Their bodies at first seemed to never leave their own home with no evidence of a break in or struggle but the last people to see them said they were heading home they likely never made it, he's likely picked them on the way in a spree attack meaning ne knows their routes to and from home and picking the ideal spot, he will have a car or likely a van to go un-noticed. The latest victim we knew was missing which gave us an advantage slightly thinking he would bring her back home, but he's watching us too it seems, the motel was a few blocks away, he was in and out before anyone noticed she was there"

Reid says staring away from the map on the white board and turning to face the room, fiddling with the marker pen lid popping it on and off the pen, chewing his lip.

"Garcia, anything from the motel CCTV" Hotch didn't look up from his file as he spoke

"No sir nothing, the rooms were vacant with no security cameras on the grounds, seems like a cash on the door no questions asked kinda place, only ones I could find were located around the buildings and apart from supplier vans, cleaners, laundry services picking up, which I've checked there's nothing suspicious and all accounted for and have alibi's, its like he's a ghost" Garcia clicks the keys on the laptop in front of her joining the team in the main conference room as according to the current time frame, he has another girl and she's got less than 12 hours.

"Don't his actions scream remorseful to you guys? like he has to do this rather than wants to? he's not a rapist seeking dominance and to overpower his victims, not like your usual sadist, its the equivalent of turning their faces away during the act by having them being unconscious or asking how it was, his first kill could've been accidental, the scene seems more practice then perfect but caused him greater sexual release, leading him to want to do it again, to rein act the fantasy"

Emily interjects chewing the top of her pen leaning on her elbows on the table glancing down at the scene photos on the table.

Empty coffee cups and take-away containers scattered around the table, yours is untouched, you, Morgan and Hotch went to see the last victim on Tuesday and you've not been the same since, seemingly unfocused and jumpy, you've attempted to shake it off, he keeps them for 3-4 days, he's likely got a victim now but no ones been reported missing, he's 2 steps ahead and with this change in leaving the rose, his time line might of also changed, you sit staring into space chewing your nails anxiously

"Yet the Unsub is now killing them on purpose, you could argue it was an accident on the first victim but now he's got a taste for it, he's coming into his own sadism, he's likely a slim build, can't overpower women normally so the choking and drugging is a crutch, how he's leaving them yes you could say its an act of remorse, but what if its actually a taunt?"

Morgan points out to Emily, leaning back with his feet on the desk balancing on two chair legs

You shiver at the thought of it crossing your arms rubbing them as goosebumps appear all over, these girls suffered for hours before dying and he's only getting more confident, it makes the hair on your neck stand on end, but you've seen worse so why does this case matter you wonder? because its in your city, your home? or something else, the rose.

"He's spending hours with them, days even, I don't think the unsub is leaving them alone at all, the multiple rapes and choking is only a small part of it, see her hair has been washed and combed, she's got makeup on, it its well applied so maybe she's done it herself? but see her arms and legs, she's been beaten, and look this victim is the same, her abdomen is also bruised, victim one seems to of got the worst with him even leaving bruises on her face, he's beating them, either to keep them submitted or something is triggering him into a angry rage, this show pure rage in-between all the calculated steps he takes" he pauses and takes a breath in before continuing "they are workaholic, single, strong women, same build, hair type and race, who would likely not give him a second glance, we need to figure out who his real target is, profile the victim then we might find him, and figure out if she was one of these women or if she's still out there" Rossi states, removing his glasses and stares at everyone before letting his eyes fall onto you, he lingers then returns to his file in front of him.

You and Morgan look at each other knowingly from across the table, you try to avoid his piercing stare as your stomach starts turning when suddenly your eyes catch Hotch, he's been watching you for a while, even though you kept your eyes forward you knew he was watching you, you could feel it, his stern brow knitted together burning a hole into you, but when your eyes finally meet his eyes are all softness and concern, somethings off with you and he knows you are keeping something from him, you've been close in the past but for a few weeks you've been distant and it hurts not to tell him, since that night, keeping him at arms length and maybe been a little short with him, he keeps asking if you're ok, you cant worry him, not now, its better this way, its what he wanted right? there's a girls life on the line.

Morgan signals you to leave the room, you stand Hotch's eyes don't leave you as you try desperately to lose his gaze, if you could melt in to the wall you would

"excuse me" you say quietly and exit the room

"are you alright Y/N?" Hotch's stern voice low and calm freezes you into place.

"Yes, I just need some coffee" you lie with a full stone cold cup on the table, Hotch clocks the cup and his eyes burn into your head as you keep your back to him so he doesn't see the rising panic as you slink out the room, as you leave you hear Rossi whisper "come on Hotch she's clearly not OK, this unsub is hunting girls just like her, just give her a minute"

Morgan excuses himself and follows you, nodding at Hotch letting him know that he's on the case.

You stand in the small kitchen area your hands are shaking, you take some deep shaky breaths trying to steady them, you grab a glass and start filling it with water and take some slow small sips, barely being able to hold the glass, you it grasp with two hands, this cant be happening, it cant be him?

You had told Morgan a few months ago you'd been getting strange notes under your door at home, love notes along with a bouquet of red roses with a black ribbon nearly ever other day at work, at first you were flattered if not a little creeped out, Pen and Emily immediately started the 100 questions of who this guy was and how many dates we went on, but you played it off, after a while of sneaking them into the garbage you had told reception to stop bringing them through, as the attention was getting a bit much particularly from the team teasing about dating someone, and why they knew nothing about him, and he clearly likes you, this seems to really bother Hotch who you noticed would avoid the pit when you didn't get in early enough to remove them, but then they started appearing at home instead, you had tried to play it off and believed they would eventually lose interest, Reid had mentioned how he got gifts from victims we saved when they projected feelings on to us so you supposed this was a likely explanation. But as time went on you thought best to ask for some advise, once Morgan knew he got Penelope to see if she could find who it was, nothing, this guy was a ghost, Morgan even came home with you a few times to check everything over and had a rather heated discussion with the building manager about letting people through the building who didn't live here, the letters became increasingly graphic about your 'relationship' but a few weeks ago everything stopped, that was until Monday morning on your way out the front door of your apartment a red rose with a black ribbon lay on the ground next to a note saying 'we will be together soon', you hadn't yet told Morgan about this new development and weren't sure when it would need to come up again, surely it was nothing.

when you saw the rose at the crime scene everything had gone dark in your mind, this was no coincidence, this was your stalker! Were these girls dying because of you?

Morgan rushes through and grabs your arm forcing you to look at him almost making you drop the glass

"you need to tell him sweetness, this unsub is after you" taking the glass from your hands and resting it on the counter top

"we don't know that for sure, and you know the moment I do I will be off this case, I am much more useful to you helping the team"

"come on Y/N, the rose, you saw it, he's not been active for a while, has he been in touch again?"

you look at the floor contemplating how you should tell him, Morgan sighs and takes your face in his hands forcing you to look at him

"when?"

"Monday morning"

He drops his hands and panic filling his eyes and takes a deep breath

"Y/N you should've told me!! don't you get it? you are in danger"

"why is Y/N in danger?" A deep rumble seems to come from Hotch's chest, you both freeze and hold your breath as you turn and both see Hotch standing looking straight at Morgan, shock and pain all over his face

"its nothing I-" you begin but Hotch raises his hand to quiet you

"I was asking Derek, so will you finally tell me what is going on?"

It felt like hours past but it must've been a few seconds, you pleaded with Morgan in your mind to not make this a big deal, once he knows, everything will change, you will be a victim to your team.

"She's being stalked, and I believe the stalker might be our unsub, I think she's who he's actually after"

The air seems to leave the room, it was true, you thought the same you just didn't want to believe it, you were the intended victim, you were the reason these girls, these beautiful young women with their whole lives ahead of them, were murdered, because you caught this sick bastards eye. Your eyes begin to brim with traitorous tears as you fight them back.

Hotch looks at you for a while his face moving from broken, to full of rage, to completely calm in a split second, was he mad at you? did he blame you too? At that moment his phone begins to ring in his pocket, he takes a breath and reached in his pocket and turns away from you and Morgan to answer, Morgan turns to you and wraps his arm around you mouthing 'am sorry baby girl' as he kisses your forehead, you feel the tears fall down your face and wipe them away quickly. Hotch turns back to you both still holding the phone to his ear

"they've found another victim, up town"

Part 2 to follow

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

you should make a donna x reader where donna has a dream about y/n and becomes obsessed with her, thank you!!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))

Dreams

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, slightly dark themes, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna, happy ending

Word count: 7,782

Summary: Were you real?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Dreaming is a third part of our life”

It was a phrase that always seemed curious to me. I had been alive for a long time, and a number of days, months, and years were insignificant to me. I was no longer a woman, a person, a human being. I couldn’t count the time passing around me. I had lost count for years.

Sometimes I remembered those more difficult, but different times, when time mattered, when days had a meaning, when dreaming was nothing but a waste of time, a silent theft from the countdown of my existence.

But that was no longer the case, my existence had no end, it was like an eternal sentence, like an unlimited time that was granted to me by the grace of the Black Gods. I couldn’t blame Mother Miranda for turning my life into a succession of days and nights, into a constant reminder of better times. What nonsense, there were never better times.

Stripped of the only thing that made me human, my mortality, the limits my life would have, I became a ghost, an erratic soul that stopped looking for its place, it already had it.

Being a Lord was just a nickname, a nickname that served just for the purposes of the same witch who turned me into what I am now, a monster. A monster they said had no feelings, a wounded, sick monster, one more doll of my creations, a puppet that dances to the tune of this horrible village.

Donna Beneviento, a feared woman, repudiated and turned into a terrorizing machine, making people feel the real fear, that was me. I couldn't say that I didn't like having that power over the people who one day laughed at me, who forced me to isolate myself from the world, who believed themselves better for not having scars.

I had gotten my revenge a long time ago, and I liked doing it. Loneliness was a common thing, another companion, like Angie, like my dolls, a dark shadow that surrounded me, that crossed my body day after day, that reminded me of who I was and how I had gotten there. However, there was something that Mother Miranda had not managed to take away from me, something that the Black Gods could not prevent: I continued dreaming.

I wonder if my siblings also dream, if they are capable of traveling to a different world, if they are happy dreams or horrible nightmares. I suppose their personality has something to do with it, that mine forces my subconscious to torture me when darkness is not just a metaphor, when I want to sleep, to make time pass more quickly, even knowing that the next day, nothing would change.

The nightmares were just another routine, the crises, the tremors… Everything imprisoned me even more in myself.

 Why, Mother Miranda? Why save a sick woman like me? No matter how many times I asked myself, I was never able to get an answer.

If I look back, I even dare to miss those horrible dreams, those memories that torment my disturbed mind; screams, terrors, helplessness, all of that was replaced in a moment by something else, something that made me want to keep dreaming, and at the same time stop doing it.

“If you could choose, what would you do? Where would you like to go?” you asked, playing with my hand, looking into my eyes, looking at my face that was not deformed, at what I never was, nor will I be.

“I don't know,” I answered with a smile, letting myself be carried away by those soft caresses, by the sensation of your skin on mine, by the subtle touch of our naked bodies like every night. “Anywhere, as long as it were with you.”

Your laughter lit up my face, your soft voice, your sighs made my heart want to jump out of my chest, it wanted to feel, just like me, the warmth and softness of your body.

“Are you always that romantic?” you asked, snuggling into my chest, sighing again, making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, in this dark world.

“Only with you,” I said, leaning down to kiss you, to caress your lips with mine. I don't know why I kept trying…

“Hey, hey, Donna, wake up, wake up!” you said in a gruff tone, shaking me by the shoulders. It was another ending.

“Hey, hey, move your lazy ass and wake up!” an irritating voice pulled me out of that scene, out of that feeling of having you near me. Of course, Angie always took care of ending my dreams, forcing me to return to my horrible reality.

“Angie…” I murmured in a sleepy, angry voice, annoyed by the light that illuminated my room, with my faithful doll, my only friend, jumping on my body in a comical, but annoying way.

I pushed her away with a slap as I sat up, glancing sideways at the other side of the bed, where an empty, cold space reminded me that I had dreamed again, dreamed of you.

Sighing, I rubbed my only eye, wishing to return to that alternative world, one in which you were with me, in which I was not completely alone.

“Wake up, wake up!” the doll shrieked, with a mocking laugh, which disappeared with my furious look, with my furious growl at her attitude.

“Oh, Angie…” I sighed, uncovering myself and approaching the dressing table, where the reflection of that cruel mirror revealed my deformed face, revealed my true nature, my true appearance, the appearance of a monster.

I combed my hair slowly, avoiding looking at myself in the reflection more than necessary, remembering that pleasant dream before my mind forgot it. Well, forgot part of it. There was something I couldn't forget, that my head still kept intact: You.

“Buongiorno…” the doll sang, irritating me even more.

“Angie, I dreamed about her again,” I whispered, closing my eye, hoping that, when I opened it, I could return to your arms. I couldn't, I never could. It would never be real.

“Oh, the mysterious girl,” the puppet commented, with a mocking but understanding voice. “Was it a nice dream?”

“Yes, it was,” I whispered, leaving the comb on that horrible dressing table, getting up to start another day, another day of terrible and anguishing loneliness.

It hadn't been long since I started dreaming about you, since your figure appeared in the middle of the fog, dissipating it, making way for you with the light of your beauty.

I didn't know who you were, what you were, I didn't know if you existed, but I wanted you to. There were many possibilities. It could be that my head had created you just to relieve me, so my madness wouldn't get worse, at least during those hours of sleep.

A warm smile, silky and shiny hair, the perfection that I could never have. At first I thought that maybe it was a coincidence, that the nightmares had managed to give a break to my tormented soul, but it wasn't like that; you kept appearing in my dreams, you kept talking to me, telling me that I was beautiful, caressing me...

If you didn't exist, why did I feel you? If you were just a creation, why did you always look the same? Why did my heart beat the same way when I saw you? I never knew how to answer, I never wanted to answer. If you could live in my dreams, at least you would live. If you didn't exist, at least you would do it in my mind.

But the passage of time worsened that desire, that desire to dream, that desire to be more and more disconnected from reality, where you didn't exist, to live in an unreal world where you did. The first few times I took it as a relief, like a balm, a warm bath in the coldness of my dark life.

Little by little, it became an obsession, and I knew it, but... How could I become obsessed with someone who didn't exist? Did you really exist, or were you just like another one of my dolls?

“Have you tried asking her name?” Angie asked, after I got dressed, preparing to live another day without you, a vigil that was torture, just because you weren't there.

“No,” I said dryly, reading a book while eating breakfast, desperately searching for an explanation for your presence.

“I think that's important, don't you?” the doll said, looking at me over that old essay on dreams.

“Get off the table, you know I hate when you get on while I'm eating,” I ordered the puppet, who grumbled, changing the table for my lap. “Angie…”

“Let's see, let's see…” she murmured, turning the pages in an unpleasant way. “Look, Donna, it says here that it can be a recurring dream.”

“Of course it's recurring,” I said, laughing nervously, impatiently, frustrated for not getting answers to all the questions in my mind. “I don't dream about anything else.”

“Okay… Look, it says that it can also be due to sexual dissatisfaction,” the doll joked, making my cheeks turn red-

“Don't talk nonsense,” I whispered, turning that horrible page.

“Nonsense? Tell me, Donna, tell me, tell me… What do you think about when you kick me out of your room at night?” the doll mocked, which made me push her angrily off my knees, terribly embarrassed.

“What do you care? That's private,” I said furiously, pretending to read, pretending not to have your image in my mind.

“Bah,” the doll sighed, with an amused gesture. “You think about her, huh?”

I stopped reading, closing my eye and the book at the same time.

“I can't stop thinking about her,” I admitted, passing a hand over my forehead, holding my coffee cup with a trembling hand. “I think… I think I'm going crazy.”

“Well, that’s not new,” the doll mocked, with an unpleasant tone, with that independence that I gave her and that I sometimes regretted.

“You don't understand... I... I...” I said, gritting my teeth, hitting the table with my fist. “I can't be like this... I... I don't even, I don't even know if... If she's real.”

“In your dreams she is,” Angie said, with a more serious tone.

“That doesn't mean anything,” I murmured, trying to relax, trying not to let my demons force me to break everything, to hurt myself again. “Maybe, maybe I can, I can ask someone for advice.”

“Who?” she asked curiously, with a tone that I didn't like at all.

“I, I don't know... Alcina, maybe,” I said, shaking my head, crossing my arms, scratching the fabric of my dress with my nails.

“Do you know what Alcina is going to tell you?” Angie said, with an ironic tone.

“She'll offer me a poor girl to play with,” I sighed, head down, knowing that Angie was right, that no one could help me.

“Maybe that will help you,” the doll commented, giving me a shiver. No, I could never do that.

“I've already told you…” I hissed, denying to myself that it was one of the reasons for your presence, that I needed a body to have fun with, that then, you would go away, you would leave me alone again “… That it's not about sex. Cazzo, Angie, I haven't even been able to kiss her…”

“But you can talk to her, right?” the puppet asked. I nodded.

“More or less,” I said thoughtfully, letting myself be carried away by my obsessions again, thinking about you, always about you, always about your look, about your smile, about one that I couldn't, didn't want to know if it was real.

“Then ask her name,” she said finally, just as she had advised me at the beginning.

It seemed like absurd advice, stupid, but little by little I began to consider it.

In one of those books something that made my hopes suffer appeared, something that perhaps explained my obsession, the games my subconscious played while I slept. Apparently, a person could dream about someone they had seen once in their life, or had just passed by. The brain, the human mind is incredible. It was designed to torture me with an unknown girl.

Thinking that maybe you were that, a ghost from the past, a random village girl I saw once and whose image stayed inside of me forever was not good news. I wanted to think, to believe, to know that you were real, that somewhere there was someone… Someone who could love me.

There was only one way to get out of doubt, to know if I already knew you: by listening to Angie, by knowing your name.

“It's a beautiful day…” you said, walking hand in hand with me, with that smile so real and so ephemeral, so… You.

“With you every day is wonderful,” I said blushing, enjoying your caresses, your hand in mine, the feeling that could disappear at any moment. “W, wait…”

“Mm?” you murmured, leaning on me, without losing that smile.

“I want, I want to know your name,” I said unsure, not knowing what was going to happen, if I was going to wake up, if I would lose you again.

“(Y/N)” you whispered with an almost imperceptible voice.

(Y/N)…

“(Y/N)? No, it doesn't ring a bell,” Angie said when I told her your name, when I was finally able to name your presence, when you were more than just a beautiful girl, when you seemed more real…

I frowned as I worked on my dolls, an increasingly insignificant hobby, one that I thought would make me forget you for at least a moment. I couldn't do it, once I knew your name my mind only repeated it over and over again, only projected your smile, I could only see your eyes in those porcelain dolls.

“Doesn’t it?” I asked, delicately painting a head, a head with your eyes, (Y/N). “It's not a very common name.”

“Did you know it?” Angie asked, taking me out of my thoughts and ramblings again, making me concentrate unintentionally, not wanting to know if you were just part of my past, if you were someone who really existed but were unreachable for me.

“No, I don't think I've ever heard it before,” I said with a nervous voice, with the trembling of my hands ruining your porcelain face, once again.

“Curious,” the doll said, holding my hand so I would stop ruining her companion, something she hated. “How can you dream about someone you don't know? I mean, you can't know her name if you've never even heard it before...”

She was right, and her question had a possible and horrible answer.

“I think it's pretty obvious,” I whispered, leaving that head in a safe place so my messy strokes wouldn't deform her face, your eyes, your smile... “That's because (Y/N)... doesn't exist!” I said furiously, feeling how the darkness loomed over me, how it forced me to kick the floor when hitting the table, losing control.

“Hey, hey, Donna, no, no!” Angie interrupted, trying to stop my outburst of anger, trying to uncurl my fingers clenched in a glass jar before the rage of knowing that I could never have you shattered it into a thousand pieces. “Don’t do that! Silly Donna!”

“Non ne posso più!” I yelled furiously, losing control, losing my mind, not bearing the true reality of my discoveries, knowing that your name, that you, were just an invention of my mind, that I could never have you, never. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Donna, Donna, basta, basta!” Angie said, trying to calm me down, fighting my attempts to scratch my ugly face, to pull my hair, to hurt myself for being so stupid, to want to stop existing in a world without you.

Surrendered, unable to even hurt myself, I buried my head in my arms, crying inconsolably, crying for having lost something I never had, and will never have.

“Angie, I… I… L’amo…” I confessed, I confessed a shameful truth, a truth that shouldn't exist, a truth that couldn't be, that didn't make sense, that my mind forced my heart to feel. I couldn't love you, I couldn't, but I did.

“What?” the doll said in an exaggerated tone, patting my back to try to comfort me, stopping as soon as she heard that terrible and delirious declaration. “You can't, you can't love her,  Donna.”

“I do… I… I’m, I’m in love with her…” I said again, sobbing, noticing the absence of Angie, who had retreated with a furious sigh.

“No, no, no, you can't, Donna,” she said with an unsure tone, knowing that what she was going to say would hurt me. She was not wrong. “Come on, come on, you can't love someone who…”

“Say it,” I said raising my head slowly, stopping crying, changing the sadness, the crying for pure anger, for rage, for the pain that such a horrible truth produced, for the dagger that common sense slowly sank into my chest.

“Um, Donna, I…” the doll said with a different attitude, surely due to my cold, dark and dangerous gaze.

“Say it!” I shouted, getting up from the chair, making Angie run away from me, making my madness terrify her again. “Say that I can't love her because she doesn't exist! Say that (Y/N) is nothing but a name I read in some book and she's not real! Say that I'm so disturbed and lonely that even a dream can make me fall in love! Say that I can't love a dream!”

Angie fled under a table, looking at me terrified, unable to say that truth, which I knew and didn't want to see, which tortured my mind, the love I felt for you, the love I felt for something unreal, for a dream.

“Porca puttana!” I screamed, kicking the chair, clenching my fists tightly, hurting myself, injuring my body as well as my mind.

Angie was right, I was disturbed and nothing could cure me, nothing but you, nothing but that non-existent presence I could only enjoy while sleeping.

“Of course… Of course… That's it, right?” I rambled, passing a hand over my forehead, my body shaking, my hands moving erratically. I had lost control and you could never help me. “Donna is a stupid crazy woman, a disturbed woman who will never have someone who loves her, who is so lonely that she can only love in dreams, she can only be loved by women who don’t exist, because, because she is a monster, right?”

“Do, Donna, calm down,” Angie said, hiding behind a table, shaking from my anger, from my nerves, from me. “Nobody, nobody said that…”

“But they think so,” I said, mad, pointing at the doll with my finger, starting to walk aimlessly through the old workshop. “Yes, it's surely their fault. They're the ones to blame! They’re always so elegant, right? With a perfect face, with maids who would do anything for them, with charisma, with… With possibilities of being loved… Donna can't be loved, she can only dream, right? Well, fuck you all! Fanculo a tutti!”

“Come on, come on, calm down,” Angie said, coming out of her hiding place with her hands out in front of her, fearing my reaction, that my madness would hurt her. I couldn't blame her.

“Lasciami!” I protested when her wooden arm reached my leg, shaking her to get her to move away.

“Donna…” Angie said in a sad voice, getting up from the floor because of my push. At that moment I collapsed again.

“Angie…” I whispered, sorry for my attitude, for taking out my frustrations on the doll, on my only friend, a real one. “Gods, I'm, I'm so sorry…” I said, helping her up. She shook her head, understanding as always, too understanding.

“You should calm down, Donna, nobody hates you, I'm sick of telling you that,” the doll said, with a cocky pose. I shook my head, sitting on the floor, leaning my back against a wall.

“I can't stand it,” I murmured, crying again, calming my heart, my breathing, my madness. “I can't stand the idea that (Y/N) doesn't exist… “

“She exists in your dreams,” Angie said, in a more casual tone, sitting next to me, as always. I don't know what I would have done without her.

“I can't live on dreams... I, I can't... But I can't forget her either, she appears every night, every time I fall asleep she's by my side, she hugs me and... She, she loves me and... I... It doesn't matter if it's crazy or if I can't do it, I know what I feel and, I, I love her...”

Angie sighed comically, resting her hands on my knee, letting the silence flood the workshop, the thoughts echo in my head, recognizing my irrational obsession, my stupid love, my heart's inability to stop getting upset just by thinking about you.

“Phone!” Angie shouted, when the screeching sound interrupted my silent crying, my lament.

I nodded, returning to the reality of my sadness, to my duties, to my only purpose in life: to serve the Black Gods, and Mother Miranda.

“Donna, is everything okay?” a soft voice on the other end of the phone asked, my sister, Alcina.

“Y-Yes…” I lied, stifling my sobs, not wanting pity, compassion. No, it wasn't for pity, a crazy woman did crazy things, felt crazy things, it couldn't be understood, it couldn't be helped. I could never change.

“I've been calling you for a while, dear…” Lady Dimitrescu murmured.

Yes, probably the thoughts of you had silenced my hearing, my senses. I could only feel, see, hear you, (Y/N), even if it was only in dreams, in memories…

“I'm sorry, I was… Busy…” I apologized, with Angie tugging at my dress, offering herself as an interlocutor. No, it wasn't necessary. My sadness overshadowed even my fear of communicating with others.

“Mm,” my sister murmured with disinterest, snorting. “Mother Miranda has summoned us for the monthly sermon to the Black Gods. I know it's a hassle for you, but I'm afraid that...”

I sighed. No, being surrounded by the villagers and the rest of my siblings was definitely not what I wanted at the moment.

“I know,” I whispered with a broken voice.

“If you're not feeling well, I can tell Miranda that...” she said, feeling sorry for me, like everyone else.

Poor Donna, she's so crazy...

“No, I... I'll go,” I said abruptly. “I need some fresh air.”

After that, I hung up the phone, telling Angie to bring my black veil, my curtain, my wall that blocked me from the world, that prevented me from being seen, that allowed me to hide that... I was a monster.

The church was too crowded. The whole village was there, everyone was looking at me, judging me. I could hear their criticisms, their thoughts. It was a simple paranoia, but a torture nonetheless, one almost as horrible as the idea of ​​not being able to have you.

“Is everything okay?” Mother Miranda, my creator, my savior and my executioner asked. She was the woman who put an eternal sentence on my existence, an eternity without having you…

“Yes,” I answered dryly, with a voice so low that I doubt the rest of my siblings heard it. Besides, as always, they fought among themselves.

“You don't look well, Donna,” the witch repeated to, putting her golden claws on my shoulders. I moved so she moved away. I didn't want pity, I only wanted you.

“I'm fine,” I said abruptly, clenching my fists tightly, causing the priestess to frown and Angie to squeeze one of my hands, reassuring me.

If Miranda got angry and finished me off, I wouldn't be able to dream of you again. That was a punishment worse than death, than the condemnation of immortality.

“Mm,” the priestess murmured, distrustful, sighing, possibly tired of putting up with a fool like me, disgusted by having such a stupid daughter, a daughter who had fallen in love with a ghost, with a dream…

Then there was silence.

“Children of the Black Gods,” Miranda began, spreading her wings elegantly, moving away from me, standing in front. “I welcome you.”

“In life, and in death, we give glory…” the faithful crowd repeated, like an obedient and sinister flock. I sighed tiredly, wishing that this torture would end, that I could dream of you again.

My ears didn’t hear her words, her untouchable mantras, her prayers and proclamations of salvation and glory. Nonsense, no one could be saved, I could never be saved. My eye wandered absentmindedly through the crowd, watching those perfect faces, imagining them disappearing, those pews empty.

My heart stopped when I looked at the back of the chapel, when I saw a figure that my mind recognized before my gaze did. A young girl leaning disinterestedly against a wall, arms crossed, bright eyes, silky hair, you.

It couldn't be possible, I even blinked several times, shifted in my chair, closed my eye, opened it again. No, I wasn't imagining it, my obsession hadn't overcome my madness. It was you, (Y/N).

The same clothes, the same face, a different expression but with the same affectionate touch, with a tender but tired look, those same hands, those playful fingers tapping your arm impatiently. I wasn't crazy, you were there. You existed. It wasn't a dream.

But the little rationality I had left screamed to be heard, to make me understand that, even if you were real, it wasn't you. Yes, it could be a coincidence, it could be someone who looked a lot like you, too much. I got nervous, I wanted to believe it was you, I needed to believe it.

The sermon ended before I could make sure of the reality of what I saw, before I could know who you were, if you were the girl of my dreams, the girl I had fallen in love with. It seemed crazy, it surely was.

Without saying goodbye to my siblings, I walked away from the altar, pretending to want to leave, to want to go home. Of course my steps weren't as hurried as other times. My walk was slow, opening a corridor of people who lowered their heads when they saw me. They feared me and... I liked that, deep down I liked it.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” a voice caught my attention, a voice addressing that mysterious girl, you, a voice that called you by your name.

(Y/N), that was your name, it was you, there was no doubt.

“We are going to go to Luiza's house to have tea, it's Irina's birthday and we have bought a lot of food, are you in?” that annoying villager asked, talking to you, talking to the owner of my dreams and my broken and disturbed heart.

I stopped without wanting to. I turned my head towards your perfect figure. You smiled, so did I. Your smile was the same, it was you, there was no doubt. I had found you.

“Of course,” you answered with a kind tone. Your voice, (Y/N) the voice that sounded in my dreams filled my ears, calmed my heartbeat, made me sigh. You were real. “But first I have to do some chores at home, I will meet you later.”

“Oh, perfect, perfect,” the boy said, turning slowly, paling when he saw my dark figure looking at him. I wasn't looking at you, stupid. “Oh, Lady Beneviento…” he said, bowing in respect.

Then it happened, your eyes looked at me, your expression relaxed, changed to one different from my dreams, to a worried, thoughtful and nervous one.

I ignored him, I could only look at you, you could only look at me. It was a strange moment, perhaps too strange. I dreamed of you, but you… You couldn't know.

Scared by my own behavior, I turned around, looking at you one last time before leaving the chapel. I could feel it, I could feel your eyes fixed on the back of my neck, that shiver you always gave me when you came close in my dreams.

“Angie…” I whispered, walking slowly, discreetly separating myself from the crowd. The doll, which rested peacefully in my arms, nodded.

“Yes, yes, it's her, it's her,” she said with a slightly lower voice, jumping comically in my arms.

“Yes…” I sighed, not being able to help but smile, to feel happy. I had found you. “Wait, this isn't a dream, right?” I asked, scared, thinking that I would wake up again with the emptiness of your absence at my side. “Ow!” I screamed when the doll hit me hard in the stomach. “Angie!”

“It was just for you to check that it wasn't a dream,” the doll joked, getting off of me and peeking through a nearby bush. “Look, look, Donna, she's there!” she said excitedly, pointing at you.

I approached nervously, watching you from afar, seeing how you chatted with what seemed to be your friends, how you gave them that beautiful smile. I felt jealousy invading me, absorbing the joy of having found you.

“Donna, Donna,” Angie called me again, waking me from those horrible images of me not being your company under the sheets. “What are you going to do?”

It was a good question, the best one, in fact. Now that I had found you, that I knew you were real… What should I do? You were you, but you weren't the same as in my dreams, you didn't recognize me, you didn't know you were part of my life.

But you had to be. I had been dreaming of you for so long, of having you by my side. What you thought didn't matter. All I could see was you, all I could think was that fate made you mine even if you were incapable of knowing it.

I couldn't let you go, let you get away from me, let me stay dreaming of you again, conforming to your distant image in a mass, with your smile that wasn't directed at me. No, my rage increased, darkness loomed over my skin, over my hidden gaze. You had been in my mind for a long time, I couldn't, I didn't want you to disappear again.

“Come,” I whispered to the doll, with a sinister voice, camouflaging myself among the bushes, following your steps, waiting for the moment, the moment when you were alone, defenseless. I don't regret thinking like that, you had to be mine, you already were.

“Are you going to be bad, Donna?” Angie asked, making me rethink my intentions. She didn't succeed, the darkness dominated me. Your body was the only thing I was looking at.

“I need her,” I whispered as I walked slowly, chasing you without you knowing. You, who seemed as intelligent as in my dreams, turned around several times.

Could you do it, (Y/N)? Could you feel me stalking you? Could you feel my gaze following you? Sure you could.

You turned around, frowning, blinking in confusion. You didn't see anything, I wasn't behind you, but you could certainly feel me. As expected, given my subtle harassment, you walked faster, towards the part of the village where you seemed to live, a lonely path, perfect for me, unfortunate for you.

“Who's there?” you asked nervously, scared by my presence, by one that you could only sense. Nothing, I didn't answer, I didn't reveal myself. I simply went a little closer, just a little closer. “Shit, shit...” you whispered, running, scared by something you couldn't see.

I followed you, I ran after you, without worrying that you could see me. I didn't care anymore, you were mine.

“Shit!” you shouted again, turning around, watching how I chased you slowly, without running, knowing who I was, but not what I wanted. I wanted you.

You screamed again, as Angie ran after you, making you trip loudly in the snow. You turned on the ground, dragging away from my slow walk. I didn't want to scare you, but I wanted you, I needed you. I couldn't lose you now that I knew you were real, and not just another dream.

“Hey, hey... I... Let me go... Don’t, don't come closer...” you moaned in pain from the fall, looking at me with eyes of terror, with the fear that I was supposed to generate in the villagers.

You had the sight of a monster slowly approaching, crouching beside you, placing a hand on your forehead and closing my eye so I could concentrate.

“No, no, please…” you whispered, losing the strength of your voice, rolling your eyes as my powers acted on you, making you faint, making you collapse in my arms.

“KO, good job, Donna,” Angie said, while I held your unconscious body, taking some time to caress your hair, to check, once again, that your beauty was real. “Now what?”

“I'll take her home,” I whispered with a cold look, picking you up in my arms, lifting you off the ground, keeping you very close to my body.

“Home, home!” the doll sang, surrounding us, surrounding my dark figure, my figure carrying yours, hugging your body, holding you against me.

You were so beautiful… Even asleep, unconscious on a sofa, I could feel your warmth, your beauty, the one that lived only in my dreams. I, sitting next to you, played with your hair, caressed your forehead. I cried, laughed with joy. I had found you, and now you were mine, you had to be.

My caresses seemed to move you. You groaned confused, frowning, waking up little by little. I wonder what you were dreaming about.

You opened your eyes slowly, focusing on me, knowing who was next to you, moving back weakly, almost agonizingly, causing my hand to stop touching your perfect skin.

“No… No… What…?” you murmured, pressing your temples with your hands, confused, scared, trembling. I only laughed, I could only laugh, cry with love.

“Ciao, bellissima…” I said in a whisper, with a smile that you couldn't see, helping you to sit down.

Hearing my voice confused you and you shook your head, looking at me, as if something I had said had surprised you. It shouldn't have, I was used to adoring you in my dreams.

“That voice…” you whispered, almost without a voice, with that same expression, one that changed instantly, surely when you remembered what had happened. “Oh, my, my…” you said scared, pushing my hand away, trying to get up from the sofa, something that I prevented with a hand on your shoulder, forcing you, perhaps a bit roughly, to sit down again.

“Sit down,” I whispered in a tender voice. Your eyes were still terrified. I didn't see love, only fear in your gaze. It was too late to back down, to consider the terrible possibility that my love for you was not reciprocated.

“Lady Beneviento,” you sighed, shaking your head, blinking several times to situate yourself, to know where you were. Deep down, you knew. “What…?”

“I have finally found you…” I sighed, caressing your face, unable to reason, to do something to calm you down. No, I couldn't, I only wanted you. I wanted everything from you. You pulled away in an unpleasant way, which produced a knot in my stomach. Your gaze didn’t leave its fear.

“What? I, I don't... What am I doing here?” you asked, trembling from my innocent caresses. I sighed. I wasn't going to let you go, no matter what you said.

“You're with me, (Y/N), you have nothing to fear,” I said softly. You blinked again, shaking your head.

“What? Why do you know my name?” you asked, shifting nervously on the couch.

“I know more than your name, tesoro...”  I said with a tender, but terribly dark voice.

“Oh, shit...” you sighed, closing your eyes. “This, this is because of what my friends said about you, right? I, I promise you I didn't say anything. Besides, I've never sneaked onto your property on a dare or something like that and... Shit...” you stammered, more and more nervous.

I started to think that you really didn't know who I was. You didn't know you lived in my dreams.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said in a serious tone, slowly losing my patience. I wanted to hear your sweet voice, not swear words, you never said them. You weren't like that.

“I don't know what I'm doing here either, I mean... Why?” you asked, gripping the fabric of the sofa tightly, shaking with fear. I didn't want you to shake.

“You know why,” I said simply, sighing at your passivity.

“No, I don't know, have I done something that could offend you? If, if so I apologize but please...Don’t, don't kill me...” you said, putting your hands together, lowering your head and squeezing your eyes tightly.

“I'm not going to kill you,” I said in a dark tone, nervous, more nervous than I would like. “I've spent so much time thinking about you...”

“About me?” you asked again, pointing at yourself, unable to stop me from caressing your cheek, from feeling the softness of your skin again. “I… I…”

“You are even more beautiful than in my dreams… I can’t believe you are with me,” I said in a delirious sigh, one that scared you even more.

“Dreams? No, I… Please, let me go, please,” you said, stabbing a dagger deep into my heart. You didn’t say that in dreams. I had found you, you were mine… You weren’t going anywhere.

“You can’t go, (Y/N), not when I’ve spent so much time dreaming of having you,” I murmured. Your expression stopped being terrified, your eyes darkened. I could only see disgust in your gaze, disgust towards me.

“No, no…” you said, getting up slowly, scared but confident. “You, you're wrong...I, I don't know what's on your mind but...I , I have nothing to do with it, I'm just, I'm just a villager, I've never hurt anyone, I've never messed with you... Let me go home, please, I’m begging you.”

“Cazzo…” I hissed, moving away, frustrated, disappointed with the long-awaited meeting. “Stop denying the obvious! You are the girl of my dreams! You are going to stay here, with me!”

“You are, you are sick in the head…” you whispered with a pitiful voice, walking slowly, taking advantage of my loss of control. “I have nothing to do with you!”

“Do you think that by insulting me I would be able to stop loving you? I could never do it,” I said, frantic, unable to believe my own reality, that the dreams were casual, a projection of my desires, not yours. You didn't love me.

“Love me? No, no, this is not happening…” you murmured, moving nervously, looking around. “Help me!”

“Don't yell!” I screamed furiously, preventing your escape with a strong tug on your arm, one that made you hiss in pain. Still, you didn't give up, no matter how hard you tried, you wanted to get out, you wanted to leave me, to get away from me. You couldn't do it.

“Let me go, you crazy bitch!” you screamed, trying to offend me. Nothing you said could hurt me. Only losing you could.

“Shut up! Don’t, don't say those things to me...” I protested, pulling you tighter. “Don't insult me, amore mio...”

You growled furiously, pushing me, making me let you go, so you could run away.

“Get her, Donna, she's getting away!” Angie shrieked, pointing at you when you had already reached the hall.

Suddenly, you stopped, staring at my portrait, which hung on the stairs. You were confused and nervous, your gaze fixed on mine, one that you could see.

 I ignored your sudden stop. I just threw myself furiously at you, knocking you to the floor, with my legs on either side of your hips, fighting with your hands, which were struggling to defend themselves.

“Stop! Stop... Resisting!” I screamed, straining with my hands. “Why don't you love me?!”

“Leave me alone! Let me go!” you screamed.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Angie encouraged, among grunts and sounds of effort. You were strong, my love, but I was much stronger.

Without thinking about the damage you were doing to me, you moved your head forward, giving me a painful blow to the forehead, knocking me to the floor. Still, the pain of your blow, of your betrayal, was not enough to stop me.

I roared furiously, reaching out my hand to pull on your ankle, knocking you again as you kicked to get rid of me.

I dragged you across the floor, using all my strength to reason with you, to make you understand why you couldn't leave.

“You can't leave, you can't leave me alone... you can't!” I screamed, pulling you. You took advantage of my weakness again to pounce on me. Running away was no longer an option for you, you wanted to fight. I was falling more and more in love with you.

Your hands fought against mine, moving with me on the floor, with my back pinned to the wood. You were winning, and that only meant I would lose you.

“Damn it...” you hissed when you saw you couldn't do anything against me, that, even immobilized, I was much stronger than you. I always would be, you were my only weakness. “Fuck!”

With that last scream, you managed to free yourself from my grip, moving your hand furiously, managing to grab the black fabric of my veil, tearing it from my face, leaving me exposed. You shouldn't have seen me like that.

Far from continuing to be furious, from continuing to move, you stopped, open-mouthed, catching your breath, losing yourself in my face wet with tears in my eye that shone with rage and desperation.

You ran a hand over your forehead, shook your head and let me go, with a confused and strange look.

“No, it just can't be...” you murmured, also with tears in your eyes, covering your surprised mouth with your hands. “It's, it's you...”

I didn't answer. I limited myself to hating you for a moment, hating myself for living in dreams. I didn't even pay attention to your confused look.

“Gods…” you said in a calmer tone, getting off my body, dropping to the floor, not being able to stop looking at me. A strange smile formed on your face.

I sat on the wood, confused, sad, sobbing, wishing you wouldn't try to leave again. It seemed that, for some strange reason, you didn't want to.

“Oh, it's you…” you sighed again, crawling towards my position, putting an unexpected hand on my cheek, looking at me, then at the portrait. “I can't believe it…”

“It's you, it's you. What are you talking about, stupid?” Angie interrupted, helping me deal with that horribly confusing situation.

“Gods, I… I've been, I've been dreaming about you for months… I… Oh my Gods…” you said as if you had gone from hatred to euphoria. My crying stopped, and my gaze darkened once the voices in my head let me hear you.

“You…?” I asked in a weak, distrustful voice. It could be a trick. “Have you dreamed about me?”

“Yes, I…” you said with a smile, getting a little closer, with a happy glow in your eyes. “Well, I, I didn't know it was you, you know because…” you said, changing your mood completely, gesturing towards your face. “Because, because of that veil and… Well, because, because, you didn't have much clothing on so…”

“What? Are you kidding me?” I said nervously, incredulously, taking your hand away from my face. You cringed again.

“I, I… I don't know why but… I'm telling you the truth. There isn't a night in where I don't see you with me… In fact, when I've heard you talk I… I can't believe it, it's you…” you sighed with a sincere, surprising smile.

“I dream about you too,” I whispered more calmly, looking at the floor, not letting you see me, not letting those dreams you had be tarnished by my ugliness. “Every night. I, I didn't even know you were real and when I saw you, I…”

“You froze,” you finished my sentence, just like you did in my dreams. “I, I understand you, I… Me too.”

“I, I didn't want to hurt you, (Y/N)…” I sobbed again, regretting my attitude. “I just wanted, I wanted… For my dreams to, to come true…”

“I wanted mine,” you sighed, sitting next to me staring into space, like me. “What a coincidence, huh? I didn't even know what you looked like.”

“I'm sure you find me disgusting,” I murmured, pointing at the portrait. “You were expecting something like that, weren't you?”

“The truth is, no…” you said in a low, confused tone. You were nervous too, I could see you trembling. “I saw you just like right now.”

I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my neck, not knowing what to do with that information, with that cruel coincidence. I never believed in destiny, but it was never too late to start doing it.

“It's incredible... It was you,” you repeated, making me more nervous.

“Will you stop saying that?” I said nervously, confused and upset. “How the hell was I supposed to know that...? Cazzo...”

“How was I supposed to know that you existed? I thought I was going crazy,” you said amused, looking a little more like the (Y/N) of my dreams.

“Me too,” I whispered, looking into those beautiful, bright eyes, looking at the reality of your beauty.

“Donna, um… Can I call you Donna?” you asked, touching my hand, grabbing it, interlacing our fingers like in my dreams, like in yours. I nodded. “There's something I've never been able to do in my dreams...”

I looked at you as you approached, fearlessly overstepping my personal space, grabbing my face, looking at me before closing your eyes. Then you did it, you kissed me, your sweet and soft lips landed on mine.

You sighed, I sighed, we kissed slowly, enjoying that unattainable, pleasurable feeling. I cried again, grabbing your body, kissing you deeper, not wanting our bodies to separate.

“(Y/N)…” I sighed, pulling away against my will, overcome by emotions. You looked at me confused, caressing my skin, as if you were feeling the same, something that seemed impossible. “You are definitely the girl of my dreams…”

[mortifying-macaroni]

𝔒ℭ 𝔇𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔢: 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

The prospect of being reduced to an underdog stripped of her freedom. She doesn't want to entertain the idea of having her agency trapped in another's clutches again. The Camarilla tried it, however they paid the price.

Do they have any pet peeves?

People with a moral high ground. She's seen her fair share of it throughout life and unlife: from the congregation her mother was a part of to kindred selling their version of idyllic behavior. People who hide behind the pristine wall of self-righteousness are usually the dirtiest scumbags who secretly want to be puppeteers over those they deem "unworthy".

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

CDs from various metal genres (Nu, goth, heavy, thrash, industrial, powermetal,..), a pack of Marlboros and a display case with her collection of daggers- all with various designs.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their vibe. Gretchen can immediately sense whether she'd have an easier or more difficult time getting along with someone. It also helps her determine how honest or fake she should be in their presence.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

On a physical scale 11. She can handle shotgun blasts, flaming arrows, getting electrocuted, crashing and falling off her motorcycle (I mean... the girl gets off to having her organs fiddled with during certain 'private times' with her Tzim boo). In short, she's tough as nails, yet refuses to label herself as a masochist.

Emotionally, she'd be a 3. Gretchen is a ticking time bomb ready to combust when pissed off. Two strikes and she'd either bottle it up and save her wrath for the right time or go straight for the jugular within a second (depending on who makes her lose her temper; either way they're going to get what's coming to them guaranteed).

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (or freeze and fawn)

Always fight. Whenever she feels cornered then it's full throttle.

What animal represents them best?

A panther. Although Gretchen is a part of a pack, she prefers being a solitary predator. It takes away the pressure of having to ensure their safety at all times despite them being capable of holding their own. Of course, there's her fierce personality that just adds to the similarities she holds with big cats.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

"There's something going on behind those eyes that gives me the chills. I can't tell whether she's pondering about the ways she could eviscerate me or if she's simply not keen on me."

Do they have any hobbies?

Playing guitar (both acoustic and electric), singing, playing video games, collecting daggers, doing nail art, taking her motorcycle "Lemmy" for a spin, honing her blood magic.

Tagged by: @kavalyera @diableriedoll Thank you, my lovelies! <3

Tagging: @hlozt @porcelainseashore @swoomoo @informaltorching @its-sixxers @arc-tu-rus @garygoldenbignaturals @crownedinmarigolds

[maxdibert]

No I meant that Lily wasn’t in the wrong for trying to change Snape in the sense of him not hanging out with bigots etc. It was futile because Severus had his own opinions about it and thought there wasn’t much wrong with it - prove of their misunderstandings and miscommunication which is essensially why they are incompatible. But in this case trying to change your friend's path who is claiming they love you and are your best friend but betray you by hanging out with people who want you dead and trying to make them see reason etc. I

is not wrong and Lily clearly wanted to keep the friendship going so if we are committed to that person and want them in our lifes then trying to change them like this isn’t wrong, because it would actually contribute to Sev's well being. I mean both Sev and Lily wanted to have each other in their lives. Idk I feel like it's okay to try to change people, if its not to the detriment of your sanity or health, its not comparable to regural interests like acting a certain way or doing certain things if they don’t harm others (in this case its wrong to try to change someone and people shouldn't be with each other if they cannot handle someone being themselves) But Severus's case was different tho so it doesn’t compare. But I see what you mean and I do appreciate your perspective.

Look, if you want your friend to stay away from awful people, the first thing you need to do is provide them with safe spaces—not gaslight them when they express their suspicions about their bullies or tell them they should be "grateful" to one of those bullies for "saving their life."

There are several moments in Severus’s memories where Lily comes across as quite lacking in empathy regarding his situation. It’s one thing to be too young to fully understand why Severus was drawn to certain people, but it’s another thing entirely to half-justify or even try to sugarcoat the actions of his abusers. That directly contradicts the idea that she truly cared for him, wanted the best for him, and was trying to steer him away from the "dark side." If she had genuinely wanted him in her life, she wouldn’t have conveniently overlooked certain things while focusing solely on what she didn’t like about him.

On another note, I also don’t think she would have ended up with the guy who made Severus’s life miserable for years. Like, I haven’t spoken to one of my childhood friends in over eleven years, but I can assure you I would never hook up with the guy who caused her to develop an eating disorder at sixteen—because there are certain unspoken rules that people with common sense should respect.

I still don’t think they could have had a relationship, and honestly, even without their dramatic "falling out," I believe their friendship would have naturally faded over time. It’s pretty clear that Lily’s interests and ambitions were headed in a different direction. And that’s fine—those things happen in life, especially with childhood friends who, as we grow up, no longer have anything in common with us. That’s just how I see it.

[lifeofalegacy]

Life of a Legacy Chapter 4

“See? I’m fine.” Grian huffed as he met back up with Scar and Mumbo in the ER’s lobby.

Rolling his eyes, “Your wing is almost completely wrapped in gauze,” Mumbo pointed out. “And if I’m not mistaken, there’s some pretty heavy bandages peeking out from under your sweater.” 

Ok. So maybe Grian was oversimplifying a little bit. “Well, I don’t have a concussion.” That’s not to say the nurse who was treating him hadn’t taken one look and gone to put on a layer of gloves to treat all his wounds. Or how she had desperately tried to make sure Grian was ok as she had to practically pour antiseptic onto his wing. That hadn’t been fun. 

“You said you weren’t anywhere near the fire when it happened? How fast was this bike going?” 

Scar crossed his arms. “Well, if that’s where the bar is then I’m thoroughly disappointed. Grian, you should have told someone earlier! Hell, you should have been here last night to get all of this treated. Most people from the fire only had minor injuries! You’re one of the worst cases I’ve seen, and you weren’t even there!” Another failure on Scar’s part, just add it to the list. He wasn’t able to save everyone alone, he wasn’t even able to save his friend. Some hero he was. 

“I was told I will be fine.” Besides when they had to pop his arm back into its socket, and the nurse had nearly demanded he get an x-ray to see if anything was broken. Listen, he loved his friends, but they could truly be overbearing at times. Especially during times when all Grian wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep for days. “A few days' rest, no heavy lifting, maybe a few weeks for new feathers, but I will be ok. No cracked ribs, no head injuries, just some nasty scrapes and bruises.” 

“If you say so mate.” Mumbo matched Scar’s frustration. “Still, please tell someone next time? We’re here for you.”

Last night had been a wreck, with Jimmy’s sobs still echoing in his head. He was older, more responsible. Grian didn’t have time to tell people. And ironically, he couldn’t tell them now.

“Ok...” 

“Grian.” Mumbo placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, the one wrapped in less bandages. “Promise me.” His gaze stared straight through Grian’s soul, as if he were draining it. 

“Jeez! Fine, I promise.” He shook off his friend, and tried to ignore the creeping guilt. Forcing his mind off of it, Grian began to look around the lobby. “Where’s Jimmy?” 

His brother had been surprisingly cooperative when they told him Vex had sent a car to drive them to the hospital. Apparently Gem had rattled some sense into his brain during their phone call, and Jimmy revealed he’s avoided the EMTs the day before. He knew that girl was smart.

When Jimmy had asked about why Grian needed to go to the ER, the elder had been… cagey at first. Until Scar shot him a look that rattled the windows in his brain and he spewed out his story about being hit by the bike. In retrospect, it was a pretty good story. Believable, but not too common that any of them would know what the injuries looked like off the top of their heads.

However, Grian had been under the assumption that Jimmy had been cleared by the paramedics on scene, so finding out his brother could also be hurt shot him through the heart. On the other hand, Jimmy finding out his brother was suffering and had to sleep on the floor made the other feel like absolute trash. Mumbo had just muttered something about apples not falling far, but guided them to the car just the same. 

“I think he’s fine. Got out wayyy before you did.” Mumbo said. “He went across the way to the store to pick up some lunch. Scar offered to go with him, but he said he needed some time alone.” 

“You being hurt really messed with him.” Scar muttered guiltily. 

Shaking his head, Grian led the two out of the ER on a quest to go track down his brother. There were like, four stores Jimmy could have gone into. 

With a sigh, Grian pulled out his phone and shook his head. “Why is it always hospitals that have no service?” He turned to his friends. “Any clue which one he went in?” 

Both Scar and Mumbo cringed and shook their heads. “No clue mate. He didn’t seem in the mood for small chat when he got out.” 

“I don’t think The Market Place sells food?” Scar guessed. “It’s more like an… herbal medicine store?” 

Grian looked between the remaining options, “Let’s start at Hen’s Grocers.” 

The store was chilly compared to the bright sunny day outside, and Grian took a look around, but how was he really to know? Jimmy ran off often, and had been for years. The brothers were much the same, preferring to avoid the problems rather than outright face them. So if Jimmy was running, then there was a problem. 

“Any ideas on how to find him?” Mambo asked. “Because–”

“Energy drink section.” Grian blurted out loud enough that even he startled. Scar looked over at him in bewilderment. “He, uh, goes there a lot…” No he didn’t? Why would he know that? Why would he say that? 

“You good there Grian?” Scar asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He felt fine. “Yes…” 

Before the group could make their way to wherever Jimmy might be, Jimmy emerged from the aisle, carrying an energy drink and a boxed sandwich. He was worrying his lip, and glancing around every few seconds as if checking for someone. That was not good. 

“Jimmy!’ Grian called out, and he saw his brother visibly relax at the sound of his voice. 

After quickly running his items through check-out, Jimmy hurried over to them, meeting his brother with a tense smile. “Hey.” 

“Hey, why’d you run off like that? I thought you’d wait in the lobby, is everything ok?” Now he was looking around for whatever had Jimmy paranoid, his feathers fluffing against his will. Mumbo noticed immediately, coming around Jimmy’s other side to protect him. He glanced around. 

Jimmy’s eyes were red, and his cheeks swollen from rubbing at them. He shook his head and leaned closer to Grian. “The nurse I saw, he, figured out about…” His wings twitched. “So, it’s just paranoia.” 

Placing his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, the other muttered words of comfort. “You’re going to be fine, it’s just one person, and he can’t say anything.” 

Behind Jimmy, Mumbo’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent, instead taking a step closer to the younger avian. 

“I just want to go home, Grian.” 

“Let’s go then.” 

---

Scar had been at this for hours, ignoring the growing amount of emails his computer pinged with every minute. But at this point, how could he not? 

It was fascinating, the way she moved. He suspected the cameras weren’t truly doing her any justice. The air seemingly under her control, and not the other way around. Xelqua’s movements were light, gentle, yet rumbled with the power of a thousand suns when she turned it on her enemies. She was everything a hero had needed to be, wrapped up in one tiny powerful flutter. 

Even though Cub had encouraged Scar to look into his predecessor a long time ago, the newer hero had never truly felt it necessary. The way the two fought were like night and day, and on top of that, Scar found himself firmly planted on the ground. Unlike Xelqua, he didn’t truly rely on his powers for combat. Sure, the whole walking, running, and jumping bit was a nice perk he got to use for a few hours at a time before his body felt like it was shutting down, but it wasn’t exactly the same. But boy was he regretting not knowing about her now. 

Even if the two were nothing alike, she was fascinating. Everything about her had an other-worldly quality, from the way she fought to the weapon she used. It shone like its own light source, and amplified her voice to the point she herself became the weapon. Most of the footage that remained of her had faded into obscurity over the years she was missing, but now that she had miraculously returned from the dead, people were posting her all over the internet. Her takedown of the Zombie King, saving the people in Flight 346 from total annihilation, volunteering at the lost kid’s home for the holidays, it was all resurfacing. Everyone was buzzing about Xelqua. He’s seen her up close, and it was incredible. 

Scar leaned back in his chair, and looked out the glass wall of his office into Vex Co. Everyone out there needed a protector. Xelqua seemed to agree. 

Were they really that different? Scar would love a chance to know. 

Yet, in the days since the Town Hall incident, no one had seen hide nor hair of her. Once again, it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Scar had been doing his best, not only to cover everything, stopping muggings and busting convenience store robberies, but also to keep an eye out for her. 

To say he wasn’t worried when she showed up to the scene of the fire with already scratched up legs would be a blatant lie. And when she fell, not jumped, but fell from that balcony with Grian’s brother, Scar’s heart had caught in his throat. Sure, he was no expert in avian flight, but she shouldn’t have hit the ground that hard. The way she skidded, purposefully landing under Jimmy so he wouldn’t touch the pavement was heroic, but largely stupid. 

Up close, Xelqua wasn’t anything like she was in the videos, and Scar wanted to know why. 

When the office was closing up, nearly everyone gone, a few lamps on here and there, Scar finally built up enough courage to talk to Cub about his thoughts. 

“Maybe she was just out of practice,” He tried, not really paying attention to his friend’s swirling doubts and conspiracies, instead scrolling through something on his phone. “Or she hit her head when some of the rubble fell. It’s not like we could see into the building.” 

“I know, I’ve thought about all of that.” Scar replied tightly as the elevator let them out onto the ground floor. As the pair stepped into the cold night air, Scar already felt himself searching around for Xelqua. “But I saw her up close. I watched the way she spiraled, and how she took off. It was nothing like in the videos.”

“So you’re finally taking my advice then? Learning how to be a proper hero?” Cub smirked, finally looking over at the other. When that didn’t get the lighthearted response he was expecting from the other, a frown slipped onto his face, and he shoved his phone into his pocket. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, and I feel like you’re not serious enough.” Shaking his head, he refused to look over at his mentor. “Everyone thought she died Cub. I read all the theories, watched the videos about her last battle. But suddenly, out of nowhere, and exactly when we needed her, she reappeared? It’s strange.” 

Cub had to choose his next words carefully, he knew that. When Scar got his mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to sway him, no matter the cost. He placed a hand on the other’s arm, stopping them. “It’s very strange. I’m not arguing with you about any of this, but I’m also not entirely sure what you’re getting at.” 

Scar wasn’t either. He’d been thinking about Xelqua all day, thousands of questions circling his mind, but they hadn’t condensed into anything really important. Where was she? Probably living her life in the city away from the spotlight. How did her microphone work? Magic, like anything else in this world. 

“There hasn’t been a single avian with flight in this city within the past 25 years. Did you know that?” He’d learned that during his deep drive spiral after lunch today. 

Cub and Scar had worked together for years. Scar had practically been hand picked from the group of interns he worked with during his grad school days. The older had helped him along his path to greatness, even recognizing the struggles Scar went through on a daily basis. Many a night had been spent going over grueling paperwork and admitting secrets before Cub had truly decided Scar was the one he wanted in charge. Further, those secrets had culminated in the creation of Scar’s super alter ego, his boss encouraging the other even during the first few rough patrols. Without Cub, Scar would be neither the CEO of Vex Co, or Hot Guy. Put simply, they knew each other very well. 

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Cub said coldly. “Even if I’m not your “guy in the chair” for a night, I do still get all the notifications from your suit.” 

“In all honesty, I thought I turned that off.” 

“Every night Scar. For hours you are out there. When you started this, you promised me that you would never let it get this bad. That you could balance this!” Rage filled the usually stoic man’s voice. 

“I’m– I’m fine.” 

“Fine? You think I haven’t seen the way you wince when no one’s watching, or how for the first time in years you’ve been exclusively using your powered wheels feature on your chair? I know, I know your curiosity is something I cannot truly stop, but you need to cut back. Your body cannot take the strain you are putting it under, and your magic is going to give out one of these days.” Taking a few steps from his friend, Cub planted his face into his hands. “Please Scar. I love that you want to help people, and right now Xelqua is at the top of your list, but for her sake, and the sake of everyone else, take a step back. If she wants to be found, she’ll be found.” 

He was right. Scar knew Cub was right, but that didn’t mean he liked to admit it. Not only had he been pushing his body and powers to the extreme these few night, the metal nanites swirling around in his bone marrow and blood stream keen on following any command he gave them, but he really was pushing the amount of rest he needed before any document he signed could be dismissed under the clause of insanity. Mumbo had been trying his best, offering Scar more coffee than a regular-sized person could have, and Grian had tried to take over some of the meetings once he returned to office. Their pity was something Scar hated, but he truly cherished their loyalty. 

And they would understand him if they knew.

“Tomorrow night, I’ll rest.” He said, staring Cub down. “But please Cub, one more night. I know I’ve got enough left in me for one last search. If I can’t find her tonight, then I’ll stop looking.” 

The other hated not getting exactly what he wanted, but in terms of how Scar compromised, this was a generous offer. So, Cub had no other choice. “Fine. But I’m on mic, and you have to listen to me if I deem something too dangerous for you to do in this state.” 

“Deal.” 

---

Grian was never particularly good at “taking it easy.” He just wasn’t wired for it, always needing a project to work on, or someone to talk to so his thoughts wouldn’t get too loud. So, to be cooped up (ha) in his apartment, forbidden from anything kind of strenuous action was truly nightmarish. He’d already reorganized his socks three times, and his ties twice, brushed poor Maui more than appreciated, pruned his bonsai tree to the point where he was worried he may have killed it, and scrubbed his kitchen so many times with so many different chemicals he was sure he made mustard gas in there somewhere. If he asked Mumbo or Scar to come over, he knew they’d come running. Even Impulse, or Joel, or even Bdubs would all be there for him, but he couldn’t. That would be admitting weakness.

These past few days were tortuous. His friends were all clingy, which he loved at first, because that meant they were safe with him. But that quickly turned suffocating. Except Jimmy. He could never be suffocated by his little brother. 

Jimmy had finally returned back to his apartment the day before, complaining about needing to do his own laundry in his own washer, which, fair enough. He had also had plans for tonight that Grian knew he didn’t want to bother his big brother with, so he retreated. 

That left Grian alone. With his thoughts. Great. 

Shaking his head, Grian tried to focus back in on whatever stupid gameshow cable had on tonight, and found a sheep staring back at him. Wow. The Game Network was really scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas now, weren’t they? He really didn’t like the way that sheep was looking at him. 

He let out a long suffering groan. What else was there to do? Any more cleaning and his skin would fall off, any more organizing and his clothes might disintegrate, and if he just sat there then he would explode. 

“Groceries!” Grain exclaimed to no one, startling poor Maui off the couch. “...Sorry.” 

He could just go buy his groceries, and maybe even pick up some new bandages for his wings. The ones from the hospital were scratchy and started to pick at Grian’s new feather growth. 

The sky was a brilliant orange by the time Grian made his way outside, and he stopped to marvel at it for a second. Clouds crawled by at a snail’s pace, and he could see the way the last of the sun rays caught the little water droplets. It seemed quiet, pleasant.

He could be up there.

Shaking himself, he continued on his way to the store, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling in the back of his head that had settled after the fire and not faded since. 

The doctors hadn’t found anything wrong. 

Street lights clicked on as he walked, and highschoolers around him began their daily walks home from the library or whatever small coffee shops they chose to study at. He remembered picking Jimmy up many times from the library when he had stayed too late. His little brother had always been afraid of the dark. 

But that darkness paid him no mind as mindless chatter filtered through Grian’s ears, and he picked up a piece of gossip or two that would have made him gasp if he knew the person. Walks like this usually helped him clear his mind after a busy day of putting out Scar’s fires, or listening to another one of Mumbo’s four hour lectures on the benefits of potato based proteins, whatever that meant. Besides, it wasn’t like he would be completely alone out here, the city had a hero to protect it. 

Tilly’s, the local grocery store, was always a bit more expensive than Grian preferred on a daily basis, but it was close, and he did like their local selection of produce and sweets. Even Netty had a small section for her cookies in the corner of the bakery section, specially restocked every morning. 

It was a treat to fully shop there, one that Grian decided he had earned after that week. Besides, if he finished his shopping for the week here, then he could spend the next day asleep, which sounded quite pleasant. 

He’d been at it for a few minutes, now stuck on picking which kind of apple he wanted to bring home when a familiar voice sounded behind him. 

“Hey man! Funny seeing you here.” The accent itself was enough to tell Grian exactly who was talking, and the pure swagger the man spoke with only confirmed it. 

“Hi Ren.” Grian turned cautiously, apples still in hand. “How are you doing?” 

He was wearing his teal-tinted glasses again, but had switched out the formal suit for a red hoodie and a pair of sweats. Interestingly, he also wore a beanie that pinned his ears down, leaving no trace of who Grian knew the man was. 

“Fine! Busy though. Doc and I have been working our butts off alongside legal to get our end of the deal finalized.” Pulling out a list that was much too long, Ren grinned up at the other, canines on display. “I’m actually really glad you all accepted it, having that old building was just making me sad. We used to use it for research, but after the extension to headquarters, it’s just been sitting empty. Part of me was worried we’d sell to a developer that would turn it into… apartments.” His eyes glazed over in pure terror for a second, and Grian found himself letting out a laugh against his will. 

“We don’t need any more of those now, do we? Roads can barely support traffic as it is.” Grian bagged up his apples. He waffled for a second, sighing and turning towards the other man, wings drooping. “By the way, I’m sorry for any of the weird vibes you were getting from me during the meeting. I really am happy that we are developing Mumbo’s plans after years of working on them, I just wish Scar would have brought me into the loop earlier. I am totally cool with it now though.” 

“Glad to hear it. Not like I helped your fears or anything, I was a bit too intense, I will admit. Just got excited to see another hybrid so high up.” That crooked smile was contagious, and even if Grian was still weary of the man, he was warming up quick. “Speaking of, are you ok?” Ren cringed, and gestured behind Grian, “Sorry if it’s personal, just, your wings weren’t that beat up last time I saw you.” 

Ah. Of course. Grian had hoped no one would mention his injuries, maybe just making their own fatal assumptions, but he was never that lucky. 

“A bike…” Might as well stick with his story, “took a corner too fast, and I was around it. Skid me nearly 3 meters down the pavement.” 

Ren sucked in a pitying breath. “Beezus man! That’s awful.” 

“No, no. I should have been paying more attention, but the fire was happening, and my brother worked at Town Hall, so I just was completely out of it.” Maybe some details should be kept under wraps, but if they were working with Ren, then Scar or Mumbo might accidentally let something slip, and he didn’t want to make anything awkward. 

Ren’s face morphed into horror. “Is he ok?”

“He’s fine, in fact, I think everyone in Town Hall escaped with minimal injuries for what it was.” Grian hadn’t actually said it out loud, nor let himself feel the pride he should after realizing just what he did. Everyone was ok in the end. He let himself smile, just a little. “The nurse actually said I was one of the worst cases they got relating to accidents from the fire.” 

Ren let out a whistle. “Well, that is impressive. Xelqua and Hot Guy really did an amazing job, and I’m glad your brother’s doing well.” 

“Me too.” Looking down at Ren’s cart, he let out a surprise laugh. Ren raised an eyebrow at him. “Woah, are you preparing for a party or something? That’s a lot of… meat.” He trailed off as he thought about what he was saying for more than a second.

With a bitter grin that showed off all his sharp, sharp teeth, Ren spoke. “Nah, the full moon’s coming up, you know what that means.” He scratched at his ears from over his beanie. 

“Sorry, dude.” Really, he should have realized it sooner. “Curse features suck.” 

“You’re telling me. It’s actually why I’m shopping up here. Most of the stores in South Herotopia are already banning Canids from shopping there for the week, even though the full moon is in two days. I’ve got quite a few sick and old neighbors that can’t make the trip up here themselves, so I volunteered. Got to make sure they’ll have food, you dig?” 

A pit formed in Grian’s stomach. He’d heard about Dog Hybrids before, but was never close enough with one to have a conversation like this. Ren… didn’t seem like some of the more horrid stories he’d heard, about how Canids turned into flesh-seaking beasts when the moon rose full. But then again, no one was truly themselves after the Reckoning, were they? 

“Stores still do that?” Grian asked quietly. “After all these years?” 

Ren scoffed. “Not just to us, there’s more than a few who are trying to ban cat and monster hybrids as well. It’s insane.” 

“It really is.” Grian had it rough, he really did. Living with two broken wings attached to him, lugging them around day in and out. But in the grand scheme of things, he was lucky. Lucky in a way he preferred not to think about when the news pushed another piece on hybrid attacks. It was never an avian’s whose mugshot they showed. 

“Ah, sorry to bring the mood down, and interrupt your shopping.” Ren’s voice was still casual and light, but Grian could tell he was just putting it on for show. 

Grian scoffed. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just hope these next few days treat you well. It’s really admirable what you’re doing for your neighbors.” 

Ren paused for a moment, and a tiny, real smile graced his face. “Thanks, I think I needed to hear that.” He hummed for a second before pulling out his phone. “Listen, I know you all agreed to buy the building off of us, ‘site unseen,’ but if you want to see some of our old projects before we clear everything out, just give me a call. Can I put my number in your phone?” 

“Would Doc really be ok with that?” Grian handed his phone over to the other, watching him tap at the screen. “I’ve heard he’s kinda private about the work Perimeter does.” 

Ren paused his typing and bit his cheek before shrugging. He looked at Grian with an expression the other couldn’t fully place. “Doc… doesn’t need to know. He’s a great scientist and engineer and everything, but he takes our work a little too seriously sometimes. I miss being able to talk about what I’m doing, and besides, this is a lot of our old projects, we haven’t touched them in like, two years. If you want, you can invite the Big Guy and your boss too. I like meeting new hybrids.”

“Mumbo and Scar? Oh, Mumbo isn’t a hybrid–” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I know, he’s just massive, but I think he’d love to see where his big development is going. He’s been waiting for years for it to get put through. And I don’t know how accessible your building is, but Scar’s a vex, so I think you two would actually get along really well.” 

“...I thought Cub was a vex?”

Grian hadn’t been paying attention that much when Scar took over, so he had no clue about the selection process. He liked to think that Cub wouldn’t base leadership just off of species, but then again, what did he really know about the man? Either way, Scar was absolutely the right choice. 

“They both are. Vex Co and all of that.” Grian took Ren’s phone from him and began to press in his number. His smile slipped a little as he made an important decision. “Listen, I know we don’t really know each other that well, but if you end up needing anything from the Central stores and can’t make it up here, feel free to reach out. I’m right on the red line bus, so it wouldn’t be a bother to me. It really sucks what’s happening down there.” 

Ren’s beanie shifted as his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank dude. That’s really generous.” And there was that bright look again, the one that Grian had assumed was his default. 

“Of course.” Sticking out the phone to the other, Ren took it and began to place it in the tote bag in the cart. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite make it…

And Grian was practically already moving before it fell, grabbing it tightly. Both froze. 

With a low whistle, Ren took it back. “Woah! Nice reflexes! Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Strange. 

The two parted ways pretty quickly after that, Grian finishing up his shopping pretty easily besides the struggle of finding non-itchy bandages in the medical section. Luckily, the painkillers we had been taking were doing their job, and his dislocated arm was already feeling better after a few days of taking it easy. So, as night settled over the city, he hoisted his grocery bags up onto his shoulders, and walked home. 

—

“This is not what we agreed to Scar.” 

The moon had long since rose over Herotopia, and Scar sat atop one of the tallest buildings, just scanning the darkness. He was tired, and sore, and felt his magic already flickering, causing him to stumble across some of the rooftops. But he didn’t care. 

“You’ve been out there for hours, already stopped 3 muggings and returned a lost kid to their parents.” Cub’s voice voice through his headset. “Come back.” 

Cub wouldn’t understand. That buzzing sensation Scar felt every time he put his mind to something, that wouldn’t fade until he got it or crashed out. He’d tried to explain it to his mentor many times before, but he didn’t understand.

The two of them were close, but could never be the same. 

“Just a bit longer.” He muttered. 

He ignored the cutting words Cub returned to him, admonishing him for not caring. But Scar did care. 

Hermitopia didn’t have a protector. Not really. The police were… there, kinda, and private security details easily ran most of corporate protection, but it wasn’t enough. No one was there for the people. Muggings ran rampant, murders even worse. It didn’t use to be like this. But it was all Scar knew. The terror, the fear, the descent of society into a world that didn’t trust each other, and the consequences that came with that. 

So, instead of lamenting and weeping, Scar decided to do something about it. He wasn’t nearly as impressive as the last hero, but he was decent enough with a bow, and had the know-how to build technology that generally improved his physical characteristics. 

Overall, he’d been doing really well at it. Most of the population liked him, and he’d saved a lot of lives over the past few years. Not all of them, sure, and those would forever haunt him, but those he could save returned home to their families and friends, and that was something to be proud of. Town Hall had been the first time in a long time that he felt truly powerless to save people. 

The last time had been Grian’s sister. 

Maybe Cub was right. It was late, and he was tired, and his mind was starting to wander to places he didn’t like to think about. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

Scar let out a long-suffering sigh. “What do you think?” 

“Jesus…” Scar could hear the way Cub shook his head. “Scar. You told me a few hours. It’s been more than that, on top of the fact you’ve been out every night for who knows how long. Please.” 

That buzzing feeling turning to crackles. “I can’t. You know I can’t.” 

In the distance, a flash of pink swooped between the buildings, and Scar leapt to his feet. He lifted his glasses, trying to see it again. 

“I know you can’t, but this is hurting you.” 

Come on, let me see you again. Be real.

“Please…” Scar muttered to himself, taking out a zipline arrow and slotting it onto his bow. He was ready, he was right. 

“Scar?” 

There. 

A flash of pink, and Scar knew he had to act. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Cub.” With that, Scar took out his earpiece, muffled angry yells getting shoved into his pocket. He knew Cub would forgive him. 

But for now, there was a bird he had to find. 

—

It was late. Really late. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tossed and turned and tried to make himself comfortable, Grian couldn’t sleep. Ever since the fire, it was like there was this buzzing energy in the back of his head that he couldn’t get to go away. When Jimmy was there, he was able to focus on that enough to get at least a few hours a night, but not anymore. 

He’d tried all the normal sleep aids. A nice cup of tea, warm milk, melatonin, he even put on an old dvd of ocean sounds to try and drown out his feelings. None of it worked. So, after another hour of staring blankly at the ceiling, Grian made the tough decision to kick the blankets off, and get out of bed. 

No good decision will ever be made after 9pm. Grian knew that, after all, Pearl had practically pounded it into his head after she found out what he did in high school. 

But no good decision was going to come from stewing in his misery at all hours of the night either. Passing by Maui’s bed at the end of his, Grian made his way out into the living room. Large windows framing a perfectly clear night sky over a dark city met his gaze, and he paused for a second to really take it all in. 

It wasn’t often that Grian got to truly appreciate how beautiful the city was when everything was still. Most of the time he was forced to deal with it’s people, it’s bus delays, it’s litter and it’s prejudice. But in the silence, it was almost like he could see what it once was. How people used to get along, how arguments breaking out on the street were few and far apart. He’d never been alive for that, born less than a year after the curse took effect, but he could imagine. 

In the distance, some buildings had lit their roofs pink in honor of town hall and the fire, many more now publicly raising funds to try and rebuild the monumental building. But in the dark, lit only by a mostly-full moon, Grian could pretend those lights were flying. 

Subconsciously, his wings spread out, fluttering a bit in the imaginary wind. The feathers were ugly, brown and scruffy, like a swan’s might have been if it got stuck in its baby stage forever. The ugly duckling truly was a haunting story. And sure, he had managed to grow a nice looking secondary here or there, but his primaries just never came in right. Some tried to, but they bent and broke easily, leading to a lot of pain and bloodied bedsheets in the night. Now, if Grian ever saw one trying, he’d just pluck it before the disappointment turned painful again. 

It wasn’t like that a few days ago.

Grian knew he couldn’t dwell on what he did, taking such a precious heirloom and using it so recklessly had almost cost him his ability to use his arm. Not to mention the growing anxiety and confusion he knew the city was feeling due to his actions. Everything he did that day was stupid, and dangerous, and he should never even touch that damned thing again–

But you flew. 

“And I saved Jimmy.” Muttering to himself, gods, Grian was losing it, wasn’t he? The lack of sleep toying with his brain, pushing him towards desires he’d never even toy with in the day time. 

That heirloom cost him his family, nearly cost him everything. But it was also the only thing that saved his brother. 

It was nice to fly. 

Moving before he could psych himself out, Grian pulled open the drawer he had haphazardly shoved the microphone in during his rush to get to Jimmy. Its crystals were still covered in ash and dust, their shine barely coming through in the moonlight. 

Overall, it was something incredibly gaudy, and flashy, and everything Grian wasn’t. But it was perfect for its previous owners, people who just wanted their voices heard, who weren’t afraid to show off and do ridiculous stunts to get noticed. A woman who do anything to protect her family, and a girl who would do anything to keep her mother’s memory alive. 

“I’m not actually going to do anything with it,” Grian muttered as he put on his shoes and quietly made his way up the staircase to the roof. As expected, it was completely empty, with a cool breeze blowing through the night. “It’s just nice to pretend.” 

Pretend what, exactly?

That wasn’t a question Grian wanted to answer, especially not at 2am. But deep down, he knew. 

He was jealous. Jimmy could fly, and Pearl was able to at least glide. They hadn’t been hit with the curse as badly as he had, their feathers looking properly developed, feeling resistance when the wind blew against them. Sure, maybe his jealousy was a bit selfish. Flying did mean that Jimmy would have to live his life in terror about anyone ever finding out, fearing that someone would overhear and snatch him off the street. 

Jimmy was never truly interested in flying, but at least he had that option. Grian didn’t. 

But for a few minutes, he did. His feathers had caught the wind, and he glided like it was the most natural thing in the world for him. 

The damned bandages were itching again. With a groan of frustration, Grain stuck out his wings to carefully peel them off. All of the open wounds had scabbed over, and even if his back was a bit sore here and there, he was doing exponentially better than after the fire. Trying to ignore how some feathers caught in the adhesive and ripped out with a hiss, Grian forced himself to open them fully. 

The breeze easily blew through them, shifting the fluff every which way, something he had no control over. Avains were supposed to guide the wind with their feathers, bending it to their will to cut through the air. That bitterness bubbled up again. 

In his hand, the microphone glowed lightly, scattering its pink across Grian’s sleep shirt and onto the roof. Grian thought it lucky that no one would be out this late to see the strange way the sparkles amplified the light more and more with each passing second. 

What?

But the time Grian realized the microphone was hot, it was too late to let go. His body physically wouldn’t listen to him as the heat spread up his arm, burning his shot nerves. This time, he managed to keep in the scream as it hit his chest and neck. Without the adrenaline or panic from the days before, he could feel the way his bones popped and shifted beneath his skin, and how his wings were pulled apart and put back together roughly, feather by unnatural feather. His head ached something fierce, and his eyes were overcome by not the pink he knew, but a toxic looking purple. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the light and heat faded, and Grian settled into this unfamiliar body once more. Unlike last time, this had been an accident, and his brain wasn’t twitching with instincts he couldn’t fully comprehend. 

Opening his eyes, the moonlight let him look upon himself with a mix of horror and anticipation. These clothes were not his, and that was terrifying in a completely different way. To be unknowingly changed in all ways, to the point not even his pajamas remained.

With a deep breath, Grian spread out his unfamiliar wings, and felt the resistance from the wind. If he shed a few tears in that moment, no one would know. The pink feathers that surrounded him were correct, unlike his own useless brown. Angling them up, he was pulled to his feet by the air. 

“Why did I do this?” Grian shook his head, staring out at the city horizon through tears. It was tortuous, knowing this is what he could have been if he wasn’t born wrong. Sure, escaping reality was fun for a few moments, but only hurt more once it all came crashing back down. 

A particularly hard gust of wind hit him, and Grian found himself stumbling along the roof, speeding dangerously close to the edge. His heart sped up at just the thought of being here. Just a little spike of adrenaline. 

Transforming back would suck. Grian knew it sucked from personal experience. So… why not get something he wanted out of this first? 

His legs shook as he looked over the edge of his apartment building. Bracing himself, he climbed up onto the ledge, trying to ignore the way his body desperately wanted him back on solid ground. That wasn’t him right now. He didn’t have to worry about falling. 

And wasn’t that a fantastic thought? 

Maybe the way he stepped off into the air was a little too cocky. He was missing some feathers after all, and the soreness in his entire body hadn’t faded yet. But when the pain of his feather’s catching air passed, Grian couldn’t help but feel ecstatic. He was actually doing it! Sure, he had to remind himself to flap his wings, and maybe it was more of a slow downward glide than true flying, but there he was. 

Any terror about being seen was stomped down by the way he cut between the buildings, feeling the air rush past him. His eyes were watering at the unfamiliar sensation, but he couldn’t care less. Steadying himself, Grian willed a large flap, and he began to ascend. A childish giggle escaped his mouth. 

Continuing his little journey, he weaved around some of the tallest buildings in the city in a figure eight, just getting the hang of turning. In his enchantment, Grian hadn’t noticed the blur of teal and orange that lurked atop, watching him closely. He even got the courage to point himself downward, letting his body catch some real speed before gently pulling back up in a large arch. Below him, the last buses of the night were finishing their routes, late night shifts changing hands, and night owls finally finding some peace and quiet in the world. 

It was truly everything he’d dreamed of. 

But as the night got later, and that initial rush of excitement began to wear off (though Grian suspected it would never truly go away), he began to look for somewhere to land. At that point he had no clue where he was, and his muscles were starting to ache. If he wanted to go home easily, he’d have to figure out the best direction to beeline in. 

Spotting a mid-level building a little bit ahead, Grian figured he would be able to get his bearings and catch a break. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t 100% on the landings. 

Doing his best to circle slowly down, an unlucky gust of wind knocked him off course at the last minute, and Grian found himself stumbling to keep his footing before promptly landing on his ass. At least he almost landed on his feet that time. 

Brushing the dust off his clothes, he made his way over to the edge, swung his legs over the side of the building and pulled out his phone. Clicking open to the map app, he tried his best to orient which way he was looking. There was a pretty big intersection in front of him, and he knew he was still somewhere within the centre part of the city. 

Behind him, a man landed silently, years of practice under his belt. He watched the other with curious, prying eyes. Finally, a voice rang out across the rooftop.

“Hello?”

Grian shot to his feet, whirling around in terror. His hand went to the mic on his belt before realizing he had no clue how to actually use it. 

“Woah! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Hot Guy. 

The hero had come onto the scene a few years ago, wearing surprisingly little for the type of work he got up to. Tinted glasses framed his face, obscuring any chance at figuring out who he was. Not that Grian really cared. After all, he did good work. The news gave him a segment during the end of every week, covering the publicly reported stats of how many muggings, break in, and other crimes the man had handled. And it was a lot. 

So sure, he trusted the man. As Grian. 

But he wasn’t Grian right now. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure who he was in general, and having a prying hero wasn’t going to help anything. So, while working with him the other day was nice, he wasn’t looking for anything more than that. Grian took a shaking step towards the edge.

“Wait! Please.” Hot Guy sounded almost desperate, and took a shaking step towards the other. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

What. 

“What?” Grian actually said that out loud, pausing his retreat. Actually, no! How the hell did this guy know where he was? “How did you find me?” 

The hero immediately slumped, looking a bit sheepish. “I’ve been keeping an eye out for these past few partols, hoping I’d run into you. I managed to catch a glimpse of you around the Iver Tower…” 

“So you followed me?” That was… freaky. Grian hadn’t had any clue anyone was watching him. Sure, there was the risk that someone might glance something quick out one of their windows, but to know he was stalked? 

“Yes…” In every interview Hot Guy did, he was confident, well spoken, and not this shaking mess trembling before Grian. “I’ve been going out every night to see if I could see you. My partner told me to just let it go, that you were fine–” “Your partner is right.” Whatever he had to say to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible. 

“--But I say how hard you hit the ground.” Hot Guy finished. “Your feathers were everywhere, and you left a streak of blood across the asphalt. Now, I’m no expert, but I do have some experience getting roughed up, and having a full-grown man use me as a toboggan would do some pretty heavy damage.”

Oh. Yeah, maybe Grian chose to forget that Hot Guy and nearly the rest of the city had seen how he completely failed that landing when dragging Jimmy to safety. So what? It wasn’t that strange of a way to land, and he’d been able to pull himself to his feet afterward. Sue him if it wasn’t the perfect, graceful fluttering steps of the old days. 

When he didn’t get a response, Hot Guy laughed, nervously. “I just, are you okay?” 

His wings twitched nervously, and Grian felt the way his bare skin hit the air. “I’m… healing. Uh, nothing I haven’t handled before.” Because he wasn’t supposed to be him. 

Even in the dark, Grian could see the prying look in Hot Guy’s eyes, raking him up and down, as if searching for something. He could see the awkwardness drying up the longer he stared at the other, coming to his own conclusions. Grian didn’t want to hear them. 

“Well, if that’s all, I’m going to go.” Backing up, his heels dangled off the edge of the building. Sure, it was show off-y, but Hot Guy actually thought he was a hero. 

Speaking of, the hero shook himself. “No, please–”

“Sorry babe, you’re out of questions for the night. Thanks for your concern.” With that, Grian let himself drop. 

He had no clue how to properly right himself from this position, and after stepping realized he was much too close to the ground. Oops. In trying to look cool, he made himself look like the most foolish baby bird stepping out of the nest for the first time. FInally, and just in the nick of time, his wings caught the air, and he went from perpendicular to parallel. With that, he shot one last look towards the building he’d stepped from, and saw Hot Guy had rushed to the edge, watching him. Great. 

What was less great was that he now had to get home without the hero following him, and Grian heavily suspected he might. On top of that, while he had mostly managed to figure out where he was, he still wasn’t entirely sure how that got him back home. 

No good decisions are made after 9pm. Even if they’re fun in the moment. 

This time, Grian flew near the rooflines of each building he passed, making sure no one in them could risk seeing him. The whole time, he kept his head on a swivel, checking to make sure that blue and orange clad man was nowhere to be found. By the time Grian spotted his apartment building, he was fairly sure he was alone. Unless Hot Guy could turn invisible, and then he was doomed. 

Speaking of doom, Grian cringed at the thought of having to make another landing, but knew he had a better chance at succeeding this time. So, trying the spiral technique again, he managed to avoid any rude gusts, and felt his feet hit the roof. Sure, he had to jog a bit to keep from falling, but he stayed upright! Absolute win!

In the horizon, the very, very beginnings of morning was peaking above the horizon, and Grian knew the rest of his day was about to be miserable. Not like Scar would punish him if he called out though–

No. There was too much to do. 

Taking the microphone in hand, Grian braced for the explosion to tear through his body. That heat began to creep, and maybe he was just tired, or getting used to it, but it didn’t quite burn as much. Then came the shifting of his entire skeletal structure, and oh. There it was. 

Panting as he laid on the rooftop, Grian tried his best to grab onto the memories he’d just made. The good ones at least. 

“This can’t happen again.” He muttered to himself. 

Grian was always good at lying. Especially to himself. 

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 9)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+,cursing, blood, near death, angsty but good ending for this chapter, injury, second last chapter, MDNI (smut in the next chapter)

Word count: 2K

A/N: Also a little heads up, this story is coming to a close. So there will be only one more chapter ( and finally the smut I teased you with🤭😉). As always it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/rebblogs are much appreciated…Thank you❤️✨

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

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(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 8)

CHAPTER 9

When he opened his eyes, his whole body felt like lead, trying to pull him back under, but he fought against the deep sleepiness attempting to drown him.

 

 

He slipped between unconsciousness and half wakefulness, hearing someone talking next to him. Though he only understood snippets of what was being said.

 

“Fuck…Geralt…no…not like this.”

“Please!”

“Stay awake, damn it…”

“You have to wait for…”

 

“Will be back…saved you…got to thank…”

 

 

Jaskier was sick with worry, not just because of Geralt but because of you as well. Why hadn’t you returned yet?

What if you were…? He stopped his thoughts right there, he could not think about that or he would completely succumb to panic.

 

 

You had saved them. Transformed into a wolf, despite the danger of maybe never turning back. Then you had attacked the monstrosity twice.

The second time you had sunken your teeth into its black fur, desperately trying to get it away from the witcher, who was lying on the ground unprotected. And you had succeeded, though not quick enough to doge this time, the werewolf’s claws had sliced you across the snout, blood running over your own quite terrifying maw.

 

When it had lunged again, you sidestepped its attack. Sure to aggravate it enough, you snapped at the monster repeatedly, so it would follow you, and only you. Trying to lead it far, far away from the injured witcher and himself.

 

Though now it had been at least four hours since your disappearance, making him feel sick to the stomach. He couldn’t even do anything for Geralt, as the blood continued to pool beside his body.

 

 

Jaskier had prayed for your return, though slowly but surely he was giving up hope on ever seeing you again, as the night turned into early morning.

The first sun rays shining down, as if this particular morning wasn’t reeking of blood, despair and death. As if it was just like another lovely morning and he wasn’t about to lose his best friend.

 

 

Then there was loud, heavy panting. He immediately looked down at Geralt, though he was still only breathing shallowly, chest barely even moving at all. So he was definitely not the source of the loud breathing.

As the panting grew closer, Jaskier closed his eyes, giving himself over to the inevitable. The werewolf was back, surely about to maul him.

 

 

Suddenly a small, warm hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch so violently, one could have thought a bear’s paw pressed down on him.

 

 

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Jaskier whirred around on his knees, blue eyes frantic when they landed on your bloodied face.

 

He swiftly pulled you down, in a rather painful hug,” Fuck…I’m so glad to see you.”

 

 

You whimpered lightly, because the hug aggravated your wounds. He quickly loosened his grip, inspecting your battered body closer. “S-sorry, are you…are you alright?”

 

 

You winced a little at the question, as blood still dripped down your cheek and nose, “Well no…not really.” At his teary eyes, you added, “But I will be. And he looks worse. Got…got to help him.”

 

Your own eyes skimmed over Geralt’s unconscious body, he looked extremely pale and the large accumulation of blood below him, made you feel nauseous.

 

 

“But you’re wounded, you should re-…”

 

 

“I’ll rest, after I’ve helped him.” Jaskier wanted to argue, but you shut him up, when you continued sternly, “Saddlebacks. His potions. Get them.” He looked at you doubtfully and rightfully so, because you could barely hold yourself up on your knees, you still pleaded, “Jask, please.”

 

That finally made him move. He was back by your side with all the potions rolled up in a special little bag. You scooted closer to Geralt, whimpering quietly as the minimal movement, wracked havoc and set your pain receptors on fire. Though you ignored your screaming body, starting to murmur lowly, while using a mixture of different potions.

 

 

The bard watched you, as your magic began to work. The flesh of Geralt’s shredded torso slowly started to close, then the wound was gone as if it had never existed in the first place. Jaskier saw that his chest finally seemed to move normally again.

 

Though he was now more worried about you. You had stopped murmuring and had taken a swig of one of the potions yourself. When you turned to look at him, your eyes were already half-closed, slurring, “‘ave to sl-sleep this off.”

 

 

Then you crumbled down, but he had prevented you from face palming into the ground, as he had caught you just in time. Jaskier carefully lay you down, next to the witcher then proceeded to put a blanket over the both of you. Beyond relieved that you two would be alright.

 

 

He knew you couldn’t hear him, though he still felt the need to whisper, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

 

 

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It had been a few very slow and painful days, after you had woken up. On the first day, your wounds weren’t healed completely just yet. But you had been able to sip a bit of water before falling into a deep slumber again.

 

 

“…gonna be alright, you’ll see.”

 

Was the first thing you heard, when you woke up a second time.

Amber eyes flew to your face, at the little whimper you had let out as you had started to sit up.

 

 

Geralt was kneeling by your side, hand gently placed on your back, assisting you in sitting up.

Voice low, barely a whisper, “Careful now, don’t want the wound to open up again.”

 

 

You looked at him bewildered, “What?”

 

 

He looked nearly pained, when he explained, “Well…it really got you there on your side. And it seems like it won’t heal, at least not completely.”

 

 

You held onto his biceps with one hand, while you lifted your blouse with the other, until you saw what he meant. A deep gash on your left side, reached from your hip up to the middle of your ribcage. It was strange that it hadn’t closed yet, but at least that explained why you were still in pain.

 

 

“Well fuck…”

 

Geralt felt terrible, you didn’t deserve to be scarred for life. Especially not because he had been too unprecise with his sword. It was clearly his fault.

 

 

His dark eyebrows were drawn together in thought, when you let the fabric fall again. You were glad he seemed to be fine and just that alone was worth all the pain and destress.

In the spur of the moment you reached up to cup his chin. That seemed to do the trick, as his cat like eyes widened and looked down at your smiling face.

 

“You know I’ll be just fine.” You could feel him relax into your touch, which made you realize how close you two were.

 

 

Warmth began pooling in his belly, at your careful touch and the softness in your eyes. They were screaming forgiveness and a little something else, when your tongue briefly swiped across your lips. The urge to press his rough ones to your softly looking lips, was overpowering, so he began leaning in. Though not too quickly, wanting to give you enough time to pull back, if you’d want to.

 

 

Geralt’s whole demeanor had shifted, after you had said that and then he started leaning in, as if he had read your thoughts. Very slowly his face got closer. Actually too slow, not being able to hold back any longer you leaned in the rest of the way. He let out a surprised grunt, when your lips pressed against his. Though he quickly recovered and reciprocated the kiss.

 

 

The kiss felt electrifying, your lips were even softer than he had remembered them to be.

 

 

Unfortunately it didn’t last too long, as a certain bard interrupted you two, “Uuuh my…the two love birds together at last.”

 

 

Geralt wasn’t having none of that, he had pulled back, but only to throw a nearby branch at Jaskier. Who grunted when it hit him in the shin, but began giggling loudly anyway.

 

 

As the moment was now gone, you squeezed Geralt’s biceps, to let him know you wanted to stand up.

 

Worried you might fall, he helped you and only removed his hands from your back, when he was sure you wouldn’t.

 

It felt surprisingly good to simply stand up, after days of lying and sleeping.

 

Jaskier always the curious one, immediately asked, “So how did you do it? What happened?”

 

 

Both looked at you expectantly, when you didn’t start talking right away. The witcher offered you some more water, which you thankfully took, before beginning to explain what happened once you had lead the werewolf away.

 

 

“I knew I had to keep him busy until daybreak and that’s what I did.”

 

 

Geralt didn’t seem happy with the short explanation and raised a dark brow in disbelief, “There is more to it though. I looked for the werewolf, but couldn’t find a trace of it. So what happened?”

 

 

You shrugged your shoulders as if it was obvious, though hissing a little because the motion still hurt, “Well after he had finally turned back, I gave him a neckless.”

When you stopped again, as if that had been explanation enough, Jaskier grew impatient, “Yeah sure, so he’d look prettier, next time he nearly kills you?!”

 

 

You couldn’t help yourself and chuckled, but stopped the second your left side started to burn as if on fire.

Two sets of worried eyes on your pained grimace, but you waved your hand, “I’m alright. And no, it was a silver neckless with a special charm.”

 

Geralt nodded in understanding, “Ah so he’s not going to turn again, if he keeps wearing it.”

 

 

You shook your head, yes, then Jaskier approached and hugged your uninjured side gently, breathing against your hair, “You know, how amazing you are? Saving him, despite nearly dying in the process. Though I’m very happy you didn’t, darling.”

 

He still beamed at you when he stepped back, then he went over to Roach, who nuzzled his hand when he started petting her.

 

 

The witcher had observed your interaction with the bard and had to agree, so he began stumbling over his words, “You know…,” when you gazed at him lovingly, his brain stopped working all together, “um… you know…that…well…”

 

It was, as if your beauty had stunned him once again, overriding his thought process with just your gorgeous smile.

 

 

Jaskier didn’t hold back with the teasing, “Oooh, that’s just painful to watch. You witchters are real smooth talkers, huh?”

 

If glares could kill, the bard would have melted from the heated one he was now receiving from Geralt. You bit your bottom lip, trying not to laugh. Instead you opted to change the subject, “Um… I um… we need to head in that direction next.” Finger pointing in the direction, where you could sense a waterfall.

 

 

The sudden change of subject, puzzled the bard enough, he forgot he was in the middle of mocking Geralt, “What? Why? That’s in the opposite direction of the nearby town?”

 

“There is water there?” Jaskier looked at you, as if you’d lost your mind.

 

Without a word Geralt pointed at the full water-skin in your hands and you quickly explained, “Ah no, um not for drinking. For the wound, I sort of need it to heal.”

 

 

“Then that’s where we will go.”

 

Even though the witcher sounded final in his statement, Jaskier started, “Oh yeah as lovely as that sounds, I think it’s sufficient when Geralt is the one escorting you, right? I mean I don’t want to abandon you or anything, you’re way too precious for that darling. But…but I think a warm bed in a tavern in that nearby town is calling my name.”

 

Then he mumbled, “Beside anymore attempts at flirting from him and I may die from second hand embarrassment.” Geralt clearly was about to say something clever back, but you were quicker.

 

 

“That sounds like a plan. So we’ll meet you back in that town then?”

 

 

Jaskier happy you had agreed to his suggestion so readily, chirped,” Perfect. So I’ll see you soon.”

 

 

Once you three had packed up, though you weren’t allowed to do much as Geralt had prohibited you to do anything to worsen the pain, you said your goodbyes to Jaskier.

 

When he hugged the witcher he dared to wink, “You are welcome. Don’t fuck it up though.”

Swiftly sidestepping the fist about to meet his ribs. Then he waved at you, now a save distance away from the glaring witcher and was on his merry way to town. While you, Geralt and Roach headed in the direction of the waterfall.

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[wistsandmagic]

Any Perceptor headcanons? Also Ark/Teletraan or Metroplex. :P

Heh. You talked about how your Brainstorm doesn't believe when people flirt with him?

Perceptor, for both Eterna and TFA doesn't know how to flirt. Eterna Perceptor understands the existence of flirting, but despite all his brilliance, that is a skill he has never quite managed to master. To him, 'flirting' consists of intense mathematical debates or very deadpan sarcasm, so...it's somewhat difficult to tell if he's being normal or if he is trying to make someone realize he is interested in them. The one true 'tell' he has is if he starts talking in-depth about the stars. He may be a microscope, but he is an astronomer, and it is his first passion. He doesn't share that passion easily.

TFA Percy, on the other hand, does not even understand the concept of flirting. He understands love and lust, despite what some people may think, but flirting does not exist. It is not a skill to be developed, the very concept is so alien as to be nonexistent for him. (Yes, even after Brainstorm 'fixes' him by putting his personality back into place. It didn't exist as a concept before Percy removed that part of his own processor.)

Going back to Eterna, Perceptor very, very rarely uses his alt-mode. He only does it when someone asks him to, for his degree of precise magnification and focus as a microscope is unparalleled, but he does not go into his alt easily or, truthfully, all that willingly. Spending more than 10 minutes in his altmode gives him crippling back pain and a migraine with such intense light-sensitivity that he can't function for the rest of the day afterward. He also has not told anyone this. It used to be bearable, until the Decepticon boarding party on the Ark that shot him in the face and made him lose his eye. Now it is not, and if he can get out of transforming, he will.

Ark and Teletraan, huh? Well, first off, for a very long time, not many people realized that Ark and Teletraan were actually two separate bots. It was 'common knowledge' that Straxus of Darkmount had commissioned hotspot Sparks to be nurtured into Vanguard-class Titan frames, to create an army of spaceships that would carry him and his elites of Praxus off of Cybertron with all the wealth they could carry, leaving the planet to its fate. These bots were supposed to be held as slaves via a computer installed in their bridge, which would allow them to communicate with the much smaller bots that would crew them. For most of the Arks, this was true.

For Ark-23, named Arcturius (though he just goes by Ark, honestly), this was not the case, as a rogue hotspot Spark landed into the frame of the computer that was supposed to enslave the newborn Vanguard Titan, and became another bot entirely, named Teletraan-1. This nullified the slave-coding, and Teletraan became Ark's City Speaker, so to speak, and grew alongside him as a constant companion that no one knew about. Everyone assumed that Ark-23 had designated himelf Teletraan, as all the other ships had given themselves names to differentiate between them, and this was allowed by the slave-coding. Teletraan and Ark thought it prudent to not correct anyone...until Straxus, an active Decepticon sympathizer (because it served Praxus's interests) BUT more interested in saving his own skin than helping any 'cause', began actively planning to leave.

They were going to run away, until a small contingent of Autobots managed to sneak through the Praxian security in Darkmount and stole Ark and Teletraan out from under Straxus' nose. Unfortunately, the Autobots didn't know that Ark was a sentient ship; they thought he was a regular ship with Teletraan being an enslaved Cybertronian bound to the ship. They thought all of the Ark ships had been such, as a Titan-class Cybertronian had not been naturally born in millennia. Eventually Ark and Teletraan told them. Uh. Via...waiting on everyone to leave for the day and having Ark transform into his bot mode to wait on them to get back, while Teletraan waited on his shoulder.

Needless to say, THAT was an interesting conversation.

As for Metroplex, you get a shortie because I have done WAY TOO MUCH RAMBLING ALREADY. How did this get so long?

Anyway. Metroplex has synesthesia. Diagnosed by medics, and that is one major reason the tiny sparkling, not even old enough to be a youngling yet, named Windblade from Caminus was assigned as his City Speaker when Cybertron made contact with Caminus, as she also has synesthesia. The other major reason is that Metroplex and Metrotitan, the Elder Twins, were and ARE the largest of the 13 Legendary Titans, and Windblade is such a strong telepath, that despite her age (or perhaps because of it, as she was branded as a City Speaker at the equivalent age of four) she was the only one that stood a chance of being able to interpret Metroplex's speech without immediately having her brain boiled from the sheer immensity Of Him.

Metroplex honestly prefers communicating via colours and sounds and moving shapes, as actual speech and letters for text communication is still incredibly difficult for him, even after he's managed to heal as far as he has. He still has a long way to go, and straining himself slows down his recovery. Thankfully, his incredibly young City Speaker understands his 'colour-language' just fine, as do both of her triplets, thanks to their connection with her, and Metroplex does not have to strain himself to speak to his charges very often. It's genuinely helping him heal much faster than projected, to the point that he is able to actively look outside his own Speaker Chamber now to watch his charges (the bots living in his cityscape) as they go about their daily lives. He takes great pleasure in watching the tiny cadre of children get into mischief, and, unbeknownst to any parents of said children, sometimes actively encourages their mischief himself via a message sent through Windblade, Sunstreaker, or Sideswipe, depending on which of the triplets is closest to his Speaker Chamber at the time. He enjoys watching the kids get to be kids.

[abbatoirablaze]

Criminal Minds, Season 1, Episode 7

Word Count: 1.9k 

Warnings:  angst, mentions of a miscarriage.

Samantha Reid

Aaron sat, wondering about the fox, while he spun his ring on the table in front of him.

At least, he was trying to think about the case.

Instead, his mind had been on the woman that he loved. 

“Hayley...we need to talk.” She gave him a sad look and his brow cocked, “what is it?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“Know?”

Her own brow raised, and she began to wonder if he was testing her. 

He was, after all, a profiler for the FBI. 

He had to know.

“Aaron, I don’t want to play this game,” she sighed, admitting her own wrongdoings, “I know that you have to know...so just come out and ask me already!”

“I’m not playing games, Hayley.  What are you talking about?”

“His name is Cole.”

Aaron’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. 

While their marriage had been all but over, and he’d moved on emotionally, there was something that had him upset that Hayley had moved on so fast as well.  She was, his first real girlfriend, and despite the fact that they hadn’t been ‘in love’ for years, it stung him to his core.

“What happened?”

“Don’t make me say it, Aaron.”

“I need to know.”

She bit her lip and sat down at the table, “you should sit.”

Against his own better judgement, he did, needing to hear it from her lips, “tell me.”

“I don’t know who’s it is, okay?”

It felt like his heart stopped, “what?”

“I-I was sleeping with you and him-and he came to visit when you took cases,” she admitted, the tears welling up in her eyes.  She tried to reach across to the table to take his hands, but he slid them off, instead placing them in his lap, “Aaron...I didn’t plan it out like this.  You have to know that.  I-It just sort of happened.”

“So, you’re pregnant?”

She nodded, sniffling even more, “I-I found out last week.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

She shrugged, “I-I’m still processing it myself, Aaron.  I didn’t-“

She stopped speaking when he took his ring off and placed it on the table between the two of them.  She looked up at him in disbelief.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked.

“When the baby is born, we’re going to see who the father is...me or this Cole gentleman,” he frowned, “but I think that you know our marriage has run its course Hayley.  It’s been over long before you started sleeping around.  Now it’s time to call it what it is.”

“Yeah!” she said sadly, looking back down at her flat stomach.  There was a sad, slow air filling the room, accompanying the silence. That was, until she looked back up at him, her hands now resting on her stomach, “w-would it be wrong if I asked you to stay?  You know, even after the baby’s born?  We could-“

“Hayley...I’m not in love with you anymore...” he said quickly, “just like I know that you’re not truly in love with me.  And maybe this ‘puppy love’ was all that it was...we did fall for each other in high school after all...but now...we’re adults.  And we clearly don’t have as much in common as we thought we did...not enough to save a marriage...and we both know that a baby isn’t going to add to that.”

“Cole-he-he didn’t mean anything.  It was just-he was filling the space in the bed and-“

“I’m in love with another woman!” he said quickly, cutting her off.  This time, it was her that shakily looked into his eyes.  He sat there, steadfast and firm, “nothing has happened between her and I, but-this-Hayley, you were my best friend for so long, that I don’t want to lie about it.  I’m not going to stay with you, even if this child is mine.  I’m in love with someone else.”

“Wh-what’s her name, Aaron?”

“Samantha,” he said slowly, “her name is Samantha.”

“A-and you’re sure that you are in love with her?”

“I am!” he admitted quietly, “I know that I am.”

“Hotch?”

His attention snapped away from his ring, and to the woman standing at the door. 

JJ was giving him a sad look as she stepped in and closed it behind her. His eyes looked to the window, where the team was working on a profile without him, “what is it?  Did something happen in the case?  Did-“

“I need to talk to you about something!” she said quickly, cutting him off, “someone, rather.”

He pursed his lips. 

JJ was observant. 

He knew that.

She may have only been the unit’s liaison, but she was a better profiler and agent than half of his team. 

He also knew that he and Samantha had been having a lot more communication than they had in months.

But he feigned ignorance, hoping that she would buy into it.

“What is it, JJ?”

“Reid...”

“What about him?”

“Samantha.” He tried not to visibly tense or react, but he found himself sighing when JJ walked up to his desk and sat down in front of him, “so it’s true.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“What do you know?”

“Only that Reid, and the rest of the team know nothing.  Either they don’t want to know, or you two are better at being sneaky than you think,” she said smartly, “but I do know that there’s something there.”

“Hayley and I-“

“You don’t have to tell me the ongoings of your separation, Aaron...” she said sadly, “I know about you and Hayley.  I’ve heard her side.”

He frowned.

Hayley always had been good friends with JJ, ever since she started at the bureau.

“When did it start?” she asked.

He couldn’t stop the smile as it reached his eyes as he thought about the day that he met her, “she pointed out that she needed a left-handed holster and told me that without one she’d be sacrificing safety and efficiency.”

JJ snorted as she laughed, looking back to the bullpen, “yeah...that sounds like her.  And it sounds like you too...falling for a girl who’s more analytical than you.”

“When I got one for her...and her fingers touched mine...I-“

She smiled even more as the supervisory special agent found himself at a loss for words, “You fell for her...you really fell for her.”

“It was more than just that though...it was sparring sessions where after the first class no one wanted to pair up with her because she’s a blackbelt in Judo and how she told me not to take it easy on her because a suspect wouldn’t.  It was how understanding she was when we got closer, and I told her about mine and Hayley’s separation.  She never held it against me.  It was how she cared about every person she met, even if she didn’t like them...how she charged onto the firing range because she was the first one to spot the blood from the Quantico Killer’s victims being tied behind our targets.  JJ, she’s an equal to me in every way, and better in some...I-I don’t know what to say...”

“Sounds like you really care about her...”

“I do...”

“Then why did it end?” she asked, “I mean, I know that she must not have been on board when you and Hayley started to try again after the miscarriage...and how she’s acting now?  Seems a little...interesting...especially since you’re mirroring her.”

“Things are...complicated,” he admitted, “I know you remember Hayley’s first pregnancy, and how she lost it...”

“Yeah?”

“It had a lot to do with that night,” he admitted, “when I went to her...and I told her how I felt...how I really felt.”

“How did you feel, Hotch?”

“You know...I never thought I wanted to be a father,” he admitted dryly as he took a sip from the glass. 

You gave him a sad look and stroked his cheek while you remained perched in his lap, “it’s okay, Aaron.”

“I-I shouldn’t be taking it this hard,” he admitted as he put the glass down.  His arms wrapped lightly around your waist, and he pulled you closer to himself.  You wrapped your arms around him and kissed his temple.  While the action couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds at best, when he pulled away, he found tears streaming down his cheeks, “I didn’t even know if the baby was mine.”

“Sometimes...sometimes we don’t know what we want until the possibility of it is taken away from us.”

He looked up and you wiped the tears away from his cheeks.  His grip tightened ever so slightly, “I-I’ve been thinking about it a lot since she told me...and I think that I want to be a father, Samantha.”

You snorted, a little giggle making its way from the back of your throat. 

Aaron frowned.

He had opened himself up to you. 

He was allowing himself to be vulnerable. 

And you were laughing.

“What?” he asked, “don’t you think about it from time to time?  Don’t you want kids?”

This time you picked up the glass of whiskey from his desk, taking a long sip, “I don’t know about all of that.  I mean, I’m only 22, on the brink of being 23.  That would mean giving up my career.  And while I’ve already done a lot for the bureau, I’ve barely started that as it is.  I-I don’t know if that’s something I want to do!”

“You-you wouldn’t have to do it right now!” he tried, hoping for some sort of compromise, “I know that you’re younger than me, and I know that you have goals you want to reach within the bureau.  I’m just asking if it’s something you’re open to...in the next five years or so...”

You frowned and sighed, shaking your head.  Your own insecurities came rising to the surface as you thought about your own family dynamics, “I-there’s some things in this world that just weren’t meant to be, Aaron...I don’t know if what my family has is something I want to pass along.”

“She didn’t want kids.”

The two of them stayed in silence for a few minutes, and Aaron found himself looking back out to the bullpen.  You were at your desk, talking with another agent from some other team.  You were giggling and smiling. 

And it felt like his heart was breaking all over again.

He could remember the days behind closed doors when he could get you to smile like that.  The stolen moments when after a sparring session you would kiss him and say that you could kick his ass all day, but you ‘let him’ win a few times to remind him that he could have control any time with you.

It felt like someone was stabbing him.   

“She doesn’t want kids!” he said, trying to remind himself of his own predicament, “she-she doesn’t think that she wants to pass along her genetic traits.”

“Well, that sounded awfully scientific!”

“Her words,” he frowned, still staring at you.  Then his gaze returned to JJ’s, “she told me that.  Just like that.  And that was the first and last fight we ever had...I realized that what I wanted, what I viewed as a deal breaker, wasn’t something she would ever consider.  I had to ask myself...really ask myself, if that was okay.  If I was alright with the idea of never having kids.”

“And you weren’t...”

“I want children, JJ,” he frowned, shaking is head, “and after the loss of the baby, Hayley and I talked about it.  She felt the same as I did...that’s why we started trying again.”

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you didn’t give up on her, Hotch?” 

“All the time, JJ...Samantha Reid is the one that got away...the only difference in my case, is that I’ll have to see her move on with someone else so long as we both work for the BAU.”

S1, E8

[vickyvicarious]

aww, why didn't Quincey's VA introduce the gunshot :( I hoped to hear him sound slightly smug. then again this way it isn't spoiled for anyone new

the way Jack says "one's own wonderful experiences" almost like he's rolling his eyes. Not really, he's not being sarcastic so much as using the sense of 'wonderful' that means 'out of the ordinary' but still he has a fun tone here

Jack's surprise at Jonathan not looking like Rambo or whatever is always funny

Ooooh, they've rearranged things again I see!

Jonathan spends so much time on trains lately. Mina must be so jealous.

hehehehehe the way he describes "the... opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst" is so funny

"consequent thirst" I love it every time.

hehehehe Jonathan saying "if he knew what I knew he would, I think, have raised his terms" this man has jokes today!

I love Jonathan and Mina working together and getting everything organized. I just KNOW they are such a good team, in such perfect sync.

oh MAN I wouldn't have predicted that tiny whispered "Stop. That way madness lies..." but I love it

Jonathan immediately pointing out Dracula barometer Renfield. I WISH we could see them interact so badly

speaking of Renfield, I wonder if him happily wanting to leave is because he knows there is another vampire out there now and is hoping Lucy will turn him into one?

"to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need." ughhh seward

the little rustly paper noises after Jonathan's (tiny) entry

Mina gushing about Jonathan with such a smile in her voice. She is so proud of him and loves him so much. I also do love that she was so worried about him leaving even after he seemed stronger. She's happy he is recovering so well but wouldn't have held it against him at all if he didn't

"I feel myself quite wild with excitement!" The delivery of this line is SO CUTE and also makes me so mad that van Helsing is gonna tell everyone to exclude her. she's ready for a vampire hunt! let her go on a vampire hunt!

the way she speaks of pity for the Count is very perfunctory here. as to be expected, but... well, I'll save that

"It was - to me - a-a painful. meeting" auuuugh

HEHEHE "blowin' my trumpet!" was so fun

Arthurrrrrrr, I love how he gets to cry but also it makes me sad to listen to him cry :( I personally feel like he wasn't quite openly sobbing as much until Mina spoke to him but mileage varies I suppose

ohhhh the hesitation before Mina says "now she is - gone..."

Mina and Arthur skipping straight to cuddles and adopting one another <3

and yet despite him being so open about expressing his emotions he couldn't speak of them. It makes me so sad, and is not at all the sort of thing I want him and Lucy to have had in common

"the sunshine of your life" reminds me of what Mina wished for Lucy to have and I'm so sad about it

I'm not a fan of all this 'no one but a woman can comfort a man' but I love how Mina and the suitors all connect so quickly and comfort one another almost immediately. especially to them she is just a stranger at first but the shared love for lucy unites them

Quincey's declaration after Mina kisses him is delivered so well

Jack why are you suddenly calling them "Godalming and Morris"?? Are you feeling self-conscious about everyone reading your diary (and its many exclamations over their manhood)? usually you full name Quincey Morris and just say Arthur or Art

"Oh, very well," Renfield sounds so deliberately casual. "Juuust wait a minute till I tidy up the place." ahahaha I love this moment

Renfield: *sits quietly* Seward: looks like he's thinking of murder!!! (granted the attack on himself gives him more reason but this isn't the first time)

I LOVE the delivery of all Renfield's lines so much. His voice is SO GOOD akldjflsdf I can't be coherent about it

Renfield dragging Seward so badly here.

ughh, and Seward in turn being so dumb and condescending about being SHOCKED by Renfield talking eruditely and Mina SOMEHOW getting him to do so by... talking kindly to him?!?!?!

Renfield talking in past tense about his beliefs here... once again I wonder to what degree he's being genuine about any of this

Renfield's goodbye to Mina...! I nearly teared up.

van Helsing saying Mina has a man's brain annoys me especially given what he says next but I do find it funny that he immediately clarifies 'a smart man that is'

"the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards" my favorite line

Mina blushing hehe

Mina specifying when dinner was, again so conscious of time

van Helsing saying that he has "trained" himself to have an open mind is some really interesting characterization if you think about it

I love that almost all of van Helsing's vampire information is shown in Jonathan's journal

the music when vH brings up the possibility of them all becoming vampires

<3 Jonathan and Mina holding hands and sharing a wordless look of understanding <3

~GROUP HANDHOLDING OF FRIENDSHIP AND VAMPIRE SLAYING~

"We have on our side power of-" I interrupt van Helsing: "friendship and document review!"

Ohh I really like the music as van Helsing lists off where the vampire has been

positioning Dracula as a prisoner to his nature is such an interesting description, especially given the thing with keys (I may be writing a meta on this, I was thinking about it the other day)

the music through all this speech is so inspiring.

I love everyone just sitting there awkwardly for a moment after Quincey leaves, then carrying on without mentioning it

OMG THE COWBOY MUSIC AFTER THE GUNSHOT AHAHAHA

art why are you running straight to the window that a bullet has just come through

the muffled "Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it." is sooo funny

I fucking love this scene

but then it's followed by 'leaving Mina out' scene. BOO HISS

Mina I wish you would speak up here. :( She sounds so off-balance and disappointed

Quincey why are you suggesting an evening assault on his home. We just went over the hours when he is weak. For that matter why is everyone else accepting. People, I know you want to prevent other victims but please be smart about it

[brightdown00]

Why Hades x Persephone Isn't The Healthy Couple You Think They Are (Part 2)

I strongly recommend that you read Part 1 before Part 2 ...

In my first post, I thoroughly debunked the myths people have about this myth, and re-examined the historical context behind the myths, and so this post will just be wrapping things up with my own thoughts on the subject.

Another fairly minor but still common misconception I've seen is that Hades is steadfast loyal to Persephone, which is not true. In the original myth about Minthe, the word used is pallake, which is Greek for 'concubine' (even though Minthe never bore Hades a child). In the original myth about Leuke, an Oceanid and friend of Persephone, the word used is adamavit, which is an Latin verb used for describing passionate yet adulterous love. (Hades also abducted Leuke to the Underworld, so ...) The Roman poet, Vergil, claims that Hades fathered the Furies with Nyx (and Nyx is their mother according to Apollodorus). Hades is, after all, King of the Underworld and ancient kings will always have their concubines if only one can be the queen consort (see my post, Why Hera Isn't The Jealous Wife You Think She Is).

People use Persephone turning Minthe into, well, a mint plant and stomping on her as 'proof' of her love for Hades, but that's only one version of the myth, the other version of the myth has DEMETER turning Minthe into a mint plant and stomping on her, which is likely to be the original myth since there was a hill named after her in the neighborhood of Pylos, and there was a temple to Hades and a grove to Demeter at its foot (source: Theoi.com). They also disregard how Persephone has cheated on Hades with Adonis (one of the only goddesses to cheat on her husband), whom she raised as a baby (so a classic case of the abused becoming the abuser) and so Adonis chose Aphrodite over her. A girl is not going to fall in love with her uncle who kidnapped and raped her, and if she does, we would call that Stockholm Syndrome.

Really, the only inclination I've seen of these two actually loving each other (or, rather Persephone loving Hades) is when Melinoe was conceived on the banks of the river Cocytus ... but that's in the Orphic Hymns, where Persephone has sex with her daddy Zeus who is the guise of her husband, Hades. No, Hades saving Persephone from Pirithous doesn't count, because Zeus would have done the same if it was Hera (and he did, in many myths). Sure, Hades treats Persephone with respect, but bear in mind he's terrified of her mother, who made it abundantly clear (pun intended) that she could make his job infinitely harder.

Oh, and few people know this, but Demeter's son, Plutus, the God of Wealth, was originally fathered by Hades (y'know, the God of Wealth, whose name is also Plutus). Ioanna Papadopoulou, an Greek author, actually touched upon this in her retelling of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, Winter Harvest.

Lastly, the final misconception is that Hades and Persephone are together for six months, which is why we have the fall/autumn and winter season, but that's a misconception dating back to the application of Victorian Era protoscience to Hellenism. The Mediterranean climate of Greece and Rome doesn't allow for four seasons, and heavy snow don't occur in Greece, the myth is to explain why crops don't grow for a third of the year (since the Ancient Greeks divided their calendar into thirds), so, really, Hades only has his wife around for four months (two in the winter, and two in the summer). In the myth of Adonis, Zeus divided Adonis' time with Persephone and Aphrodite into thirds; he gets four months with Persephone, four months with Aphrodite, and a third by himself (which he chooses to spend with Aphrodite).

I'd also like to mention the reason why you don't see other myths about Hades and Persephone is because of the taboo on death-worship in Ancient Greek culture. Ancient Greeks would address Hades by his epithet, 'Aidoneus', or his nickname, 'Zeus of the Underworld'. They would also address Persephone as 'Kore' or 'Despoina' (also the name of her half-sister fathered by Poseidon). People would only use Persephone's name in curses. There is a reason why you don't see Hades depicted as unreasonable (his epithet, 'Aidoneus', is Greek for 'reasonable mind'), when compared to Zeus and Poseidon. People figured out that Zeus was lustful and Poseidon wrathful, so they attempted to lift up Hades as some kind of dark and repressed antihero, but really, it's more Palpatine bad versus Vader bad.

FUN FACT: In Ancient Greece, unmarried girls who died young was considered a Really Bad Thing. A big upset for the family - basically it meant you were a shitty parent. (Of course, assuming that these families weren't the cause of their deaths ...) So, what the women in the family would do is dress their deceased daughters up as if they were going to get married. The funeral procession would play out like a wedding profession and during the bridal ceremony, the daughter would "marry" Hades as his newest concubine. It's a way to comfort parents because believing that your daughter is at his mercy sounds terrible, but with Persephone, you can imagine that she's looking after your lost little girl. (I suspect it's also to ward off necrophilia ...)

My own thoughts on this subject?

I am absolutely convinced that women just really want to fantasize about the original versions of myth but also don't want to admit it so they have to retell it. Women seem to have collectively agreed they would get excited over the thought of getting taken by an abusive kidnapper. I think our tendency to write and seek out these types of retellings (where there is a romanticization of an abusive situation) is also deeply connected to our internalized misogyny and the romanticization of abuse that a lot of us have grown up with. We were taught in many different ways that physical (including sexual) and emotional (including verbal), stalking, abduction, etc, is romantic when guys do it. We were taught that it means he loves us and that it's something we should desire; that it means we are special. (E.G. Little girls are told that if a little boy hits her, it means he likes her, and they also get shown movies like Beauty and the Beast.) Growing up with these messages instilled in us through sayings, stories and so on, as well as (for many of us) having experienced this firsthand in romantic and sexual relationships means it's now deeply rooted in us; in our worldviews and sexualities, and so we tend to repeat the pattern.

I think making Hades the hero and Demeter the villain in modern retellings is another proof of how much we are influenced by the patriarchy. It just fits in so perfectly in all the stereotypes about the evil mother-in-law.

Plus it helps that Hades is "shadow daddy". He is dark, brooding, mysterious, emotionally distant, vaguely Goth, probably tall and skinny. The myth of Hades and Persephone hits all the tropes popular in Epic Dark Romance like a wrecking ball, 50 Shades of Hades and all, but let's just normalize being abducted and raped by your uncle as a child, right?

[ohakosubs]

Love and Greed, a.k.a The Husband Witnessed (「女の小箱」より 夫が見た) 1964 dir. Yasuzo Masumura

status: completed - download here

・A note on the title of the film: there's another finicky situation with this film's Japanese title and its 'official' English localized title, in that there doesn't seem to be one. The original Japanese title is the somewhat awkward "Onna no Kobako yori - Otto ga Mita" (「女の小箱」 より 夫が見た), which directly translates to "The Husband Saw, from 'A Woman's Small Box'". To provide a bit more explanation, the film is based on one short story from Jugo Kuroiwa's short story anthology "Onna no Kobako" ("A Woman's Small Box"), and the title is trying to illustrate that for some reason (perhaps some kind of licensing agreement?). There's weird uses of brackets and spaces as well, and I can't think of any other case where a film adaptation of a novel has used this kind of bizarre title format - all in all, a bit of a nightmare for cataloguing and localization. To wit, the most commonly used English title for this film when being shown at overseas film festivals and so on seems to be split between "The Husband Witnessed" and "Love and Greed" - the latter, which seems to me personally a little more film title-like and less 'clumsily translated' than the former, seems to be most widely used online thanks to The Movie Database/Letterboxd etc. - but there are also instances of "With My Husband's Consent", including on Wikipedia. For these subtitles, I opted to include both of the most commonly used titles, using a trusty "a.k.a." - but let the record show that if I could have avoided doing something like that I would have.

・When Namiko tries to stay at her brother's house around halfway through the film, it is hard to establish in their conversation that he is her brother when translating the dialogue to natural English. As is somewhat widely known, using vocabulary like "onii-san/nii-san" (brother), "one-san/ne-san" (sister) when talking to one's siblings is an incredibly natural way to clearly establish relationships between characters without explicitly including a line like "after all you are my brother/sister", but doesn't translate well to English at all. It's one of the most common JP-ENG translation challenges there is, and I was nearly able to get away with establishing the sister-brother connection through using nuances like "...our relatives", but I felt it just didn't provide enough information for the viewer. In a later scene, toward the end of the film, there's better dialogue to naturally translate the sibling connection between the two, but by that point it's far too late in the story. To wit - the only way for me to include that information and give the story the context necessary was using a line like "That's enough, brother."; but as it's not great English I'm not terribly satisfied with it.

・In the same scene, Namiko's brother tells her, "Bungaku-shojo mitai na koto wo iu na" (文学少女みたいなことを言うな). Directly translated, this would read, "Don't say things a book-loving girl would say". To elaborate, the term "bungaku-shojo 文学少女", literally "literature girl", has the connotation of a young (early teen/teenage) girl that spends too much time reading romance/fantasy novels or manga, and thus has a kind of overly romanticized, 'rose-colored glasses' view of the world, particularly with regards to men and relationships. All this context is too much to include in a line that spans a grand total of about 1 second, so I opted to translate it as "Quit acting like a little girl." Hooray for localization!

・At a pivotal point toward the end of the film, Namiko makes a certain comparison between the life of a woman in Japan and a pearl. Her line in Japanese is, "Onna te kono pearl mitai...hako kara denakya dame ne" (女ってこのパールみたい・・・箱から出なきゃダメね), which I have translated almost word for word - save the key word "hako", which generally means "box". Once the "box" word appears here, the meaning behind the film's title comes in to perspective, and is a great little turn of phrase for the film to drive home its central theme; there's only one problem: pearls do not grow in boxes...they grow in shells. There's obviously a separate word for "shell" in Japanese that Namiko doesn't use, but I feel that the word "hako" in Japanese can be interpreted in countless different abstract ways, unlike "box" which just sounds pretty weird, especially when the subject is pearls. There is another, deeper layer to this "box" motif, too, however, which also ties in with the title of Kuroiwa's original short story collection, "Onna no Kobako". There's a common phrase in Japanese that reads, "hako-iri musume" (箱入り娘) which translates literally to "girl in a box", but means a "naive girl" - potentially one that has lived a sheltered or privileged life, and as a result has a fantastical, unrealistic view of the world. The "hako" kanji is included in the title, only attached to the kanji for "small", "ko" (小), turning it into a "small box"...one that might fit a pearl, perhaps? To wit - for the pearl line, I went for the more naturally English phrasing of "to come out of one's shell", so to speak, but let it be known that the "boxed in"/"married woman"/"naive girl" nuance is needed here too.

[ultraericthered]

Why DB's story peaked at the Cell Saga

Inspired by another recent Tumblr post on the Cell Saga.

A lot of times when I've seen talk online about where fans believe the late Akira Toriyama should've ended the original run of Dragon Ball, thus the original Dragon Ball narrative (and this is a question at all because very few fans were really satisfied with where it actually did end, with a weird ass final saga and a really weak epilogue/ending), by far the most common refrain seemed to be that "it should've ended at the Freeza Saga." Not hard to see why this is, as that was easily the most iconic saga of the entire series in Japan, with Son Goku's transformation into a Super Saiyan and domination of Freeza (hyped up as the most powerful villain Goku could ever face and also the one responsible for wiping out Goku's people and why he was on Earth to begin with) in the fight that followed being considered the high point of Goku's entire story, thus of the series on the whole. Many who loved the saga took umbrage at the arrival of Trunks proceeding to completely undermine both the threat of Freeza and the significant uniqueness of the legendary Super Saiyan, which is cause for them to say this is when the series began to go downhill.

To me, of course, this is nonsense.

The argument that the Freeza Saga was laid out to be the perfect possible finale for Dragon Ball is one that requires tunnel vision in order to make. Specifically, tunnel vision on a single character - Son Goku himself. The Freeza Saga being a climactic one for the story of Dragon Ball and where Goku's character peaked is undeniable, as there's not that many more avenues you could explore with Goku's character following him becoming a Super Saiyan and fulfilling his destiny of avenging his race against the genocidal tyrant Freeza. But...what about everyone and everything else? Though Dragon Ball was always Goku's series, its setting and events always concerned much, much, much more than just Goku, and features a wide cast of characters that has many who are just as valuable. So where would the Freeza Saga leave them off were it to end the whole thing?

Gohan just returns to his studies while waiting for daddy to come back home, his own power and hidden potential never receiving any major payoff. Piccolo is back alive but stays on Earth rather than rejoin his people, leaving him seemingly aimless since he no longer desires to dominate Earth nor does he wish to re-merge with Kami. Vegeta is back alive and on Earth (which, if the Freeza Saga was to be the final saga, would not happen) and now wants to become a Super Saiyan to surpass Goku, Krillin's wished back to life but still hasn't found a girlfriend, and other characters like Bulma, Master Roshi, Kami, King Kai and the rest get absolutely nothing, after having had precious little to work with the whole time in this saga.

Now let's contrast with where things go in the Cell Saga:

GOKU, even after hitting his peak as a Super Saiyan, is presented with three new ideas and developments that actually challenge him. First is the idea that for all his strength and for all the fights he's won, he could end up passing away and unable to save the Earth from a new threat due to a simple heart virus, a disease that does end up attacking him and nearly costing him in the present. Next is the idea that there exists a level of power even beyond a Super Saiyan, which he has to put in a maximum amount of effort to ascent to. And finally, the idea of knowing when to walk out from a fight and pass the baton to someone else he knows can be depended on, in this case, his son Gohan. And even with that last one, how dependable Gohan actually is is called into question more than once, and so it takes Goku sacrificing his own life, dying a second, supposedly permanent death and lending his faith and fighting spirit to Gohan from the afterlife, for the fruits of his labors to be realized. Then, to spare his son any further dangers and fights for the Earth's safety, Goku opts to stay dead, leaving everything in the hands of the next generation from his son on down. To me, that's the most ideal end to Goku as the hero, and it would've sent him off with more dignity and heart than later entries like GT and Super would allow him.

GOHAN not only becomes a Super Saiyan himself, but his hidden potential is fully realized when he is the first to make the full, proper ascendence from Super Saiyan into a Super Saiyan 2. When his dad gives up his life to save everyone from something that was partially Gohan's own fault, it humbles him and almost breaks his resolve to fight back and protect the Earth from destruction at Cell's hands, but with encouragement from his father's spirit, he is able to, with only one functional hand, launch a Kamehameha Wave to counter and overpower Cell's, ultimately destroying the malevolent lifeform. It truly felt like a passing of the torch moment, so that even if Dragon Ball proper ended here, Gohan would be set to be the first new main protagonist in any future sequel and spin-off installments.

PICCOLO is finally able to recognize that in order to combat a threat to the world he's come to love as his home and protect the people he now cares for, he needs to re-merge with the Namekian his original self had split off from, Kami Sama. We were first introduced to Kami and Piccolo as two halves of what used to be a whole Namekian, so how poetic is it that Piccolo's arc be completed with him returning to Kami and Kami agreeing to give up his own existence to make Piccolo a whole Namekian once again? And Piccolo tellingly never got much in the way of character development following this saga.

VEGETA is able to become a Super Saiyan, then he becomes an Ascended Super Saiyan, he has a son with Bulma who even has a version of him who time traveled from the future playing a big part in this story, he shows he's able to care about others and fight in the Earth's defense in spite of remaining unrepentantly evil and prideful for most of the saga, and he gets a big redemptive moment at the very end before resigning himself to retire from a life of combat. Yes, he still has a lot more character growth and strides towards full rehabilitation of his character still to go, but for the initial Dragon Ball story, this still would've been a fitting place to end his character arc.

KRILLIN, from the start, got into martial arts partially to impress the ladies and get himself a girlfriend, but for years he was never able to find love. In this saga, he finally does. He and Android 18 don't quite make Official Couple status by the end, but he clearly loves her enough to think of her needs ahead of his own wants, and she's become pretty tsundere for him to, so the implication is still there.

MASTER ROSHI gets a small moment of reflection at one point here, about how he used to be considered the world's strongest man but now he's old, not of much use, and watching the current generation of fighters AND the generation after it leaving him behind, tying into the theme of torch-passing from the past to the future.

BULMA & CAPSULE CORP have a hugely pivotal part to play here, as Bulma is the mother of Trunks, the child she had with Vegeta, and played the Sarah Connor role to Future Trunks in the timeline he hails from. Her company's services and technology are also constantly used, all hands on deck from start to finish, right down to fixing up Android 16 (and removing the bomb inside him, regrettably so). Even the very final scenes of the saga take place outside Capsule Corp, and I can't stress enough how much sense it makes that Trunks exists and takes things in this direction. The series literally all began with Goku and Bulma, so now it (almost) ends with their offsprings - Goku's son mentoring Bulma's son in the future but dying in that world where Trunks eventually ends up killing Cell, and then Bulma's son allying with Goku's son in the present but he dies in that world where Gohan ends up killing Cell (though unlike Future Gohan, he gets wished back to life). It's poetry, it rhymes, it's perfect!

TIEN, after getting a bad deal in the Vegeta Saga and then being all but ignored, gets to have one last big moment where he stands up to Semi-Perfect Cell and hammers him with Tri Beam attacks over and over again so that Androids 16 and 18 can flee, almost losing his life in the process. It's a fittingly badass and noble deed from the guy.

KING KAI, having lost his relevance after the Freeza Saga, returns for the third act of this one...and he ends up dying for it when Goku transports himself and the self-destructing Cell to his home world!

The SUPER SAIYAN transformation peaked here. Goku, Vegeta, Gohan, and Future Trunks are the limit to how many Super Saiyans we needed to see, all of them end up ascending to a higher level of the form, and only one attains the Super Saiyan 2 form in the end. It made sense, did not feel too cheap or inorganic, and was used in moderation and applied to the right characters in the right situations. Post-Cell Saga is when these transformations got out of hand.

The VILLAINS in this saga tied all the way back to the first real "Big Bad" villain(s) in Dragon Ball, the Red Ribbon Army. That alone was enough to give off a "full circle" feeling, but the obvious problem was that 5 different evil androids still just were not convincingly as great and worthy villains as a single Freeza had been. So we got the curveball of the saga's actual Big Bad, Cell, an artificially engineered lifeform made from the cells of all the strongest, most major fighters seen in the series up to this point, Freeza included, knowing all of their techniques, exhibiting many of their traits, and having a unique character progression that made him feel like the worst of all the past villains put together. His very existence marks this saga as the grand crescendo of everything Dragon Ball had been building itself up as during this time, his concept practically screaming that this is a "final boss"-worthy villain if there ever was one. And the final face-off with him did not disappoint of underwhelm, being grand enough to put Goku VS Freeza to shame (and no "longest 5 minutes ever" here!)

The STAKES felt even more personal compared to the preceding sagas. In the previous saga's climax, after everyone was revived and wished off of Namek with the Dragon Balls, the stakes centered entirely around Goku on a distant planet that was already doomed to explode. Whereas here, the stakes are for everyone on Earth, as the villain does not wish to rule over it like Piccolo or to exterminate its life and sell it like the Saiyans, but to blow it up, and in addition we get the threat of him being able to terrorize the rest of the universe so that countless other worlds would meet the same fate! The was more of a need to see this menace stopped than there'd ever been before.

The CALLBACKS that got made to just about all previous ones, right down to resurrecting the World's Martial Arts Tournament concept. Can't even begin to list them all here, but it's just very The Rise of Skywalker-esque in this regard (and it's even the 9th saga, too!)

The ENDING, as I said before, is outside Capsule Corp, and just look how it visually caps off the stories of Trunks and Gohan, and by that extension, of Bulma and Goku:

Those matching faces on Goku and Gohan. Simply beautiful.

Thus the case is made for why the original Dragon Ball ought to have ended at the Cell Saga. And when it did continue into one last saga afterwards, I will never forgive Master Roshi for selling me false hope

Fuck you, old man!

[choicesficwriterscreations]

September MC & OCs of the Month - Special Edition: Ales Spencer Hunt

Help us in welcoming September's MCs and OCs of the month! That's right, plural! Most months, CFWC highlights one randomly selected MC or OC from our Meet My MC / OC List. (More info here.) But this month, we're doing something different.

In August, @lilyoffandoms hosted a Writers Appreciation Month, and we announced the September Writer of the Month would be selected from its participants. But all participants agreed - Lily deserved the honor! Still, we wanted to do something nice for the eleven writers who elected to participate to help uplift other writers in the fandom. So, this month, each of the eleven participants will have one of their MCs or OCs highlighted.

We will introduce each MC / OC individually, and once all eleven have been highlighted, a masterlist for the month will be created. We hope you enjoy getting to know all about them!

The sixth MC of the Month is @lovealexhunt's Alex Spencer Hunt.

Learn more about Alex below...

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC. 

Alex was the first MC I wrote about in the PB universe. Alex got me writing again. She got me interested in fan fiction again. She brought this whole world into my life. I had lurked in the Choices fandom before, but it wasn’t until I started writing for Alex (and Thomas) that I really stepped out of the shadows to join. I love Alex and Thomas more than I can express. They have my whole heart. They inspired me to take a chance to join a community, to try writing again, and to make new friends. Without them, I probably wouldn’t be here today. What I love most about Alex and Thomas (because they go together) is they saved me and gave me something to aspire toward. The life she created is absolutely beautiful, and I hope that I can be even half as lucky as her! Alex gives me hope. 

Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

Alex and I definitely have several similarities. Our biggest similarity is her love of coffee and all things caffeine. Alex sometimes carries 2-3 coffees with her just in case, and I may… also do that… I mean, can you really have too much coffee? No. No, you can not! Alex also loves animals, like I do. She rescued a black lab, Bogart, who is the most precious, goodest boy ever. I also have a black lab mix that I rescued. She believes in leaving the world a better place than she found it, even if it’s by doing small things, like picking up a piece of trash or pushing a shopping cart back. We both enjoy quiet moments at home with family. We also enjoy watching movies snuggled on the couch.

Alex is more outgoing and social than I am. I definitely struggle more with making friends and taking control of situations than she does. I am far more of an overthinker than she is. She can get in her own head, but she also knows how to get out of her own way; I definitely just get stuck in my head sometimes.

What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life?

Alex’s family is absolutely the most important thing to her. She loves Thomas, and her whole heart belonged to him until the day she met her twins. Felicity and Vincent are her entire world. She would do anything to protect them and keep them safe. Thomas and Alex decided that they would alternate projects between them so only one of them would work at a time so that they could be present parents. They love their careers, but with the demanding hours on set and the travel anywhere in the world, they never wanted to be apart or have their children raised by nannies, so this was their solution. The twins are their first thought in anything they do. 

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes? 

Alex has an irrational fear of frogs (another thing we have in common 🙈), so that is definitely her biggest dislike. 

Some of her pet peeves are paparazzi (especially once the twins are born), bad coffee (it’s the worst), and unrealistic beauty standards. Alex refuses to have her photos highly photoshopped/edited because of the unrealistic beauty standards set by the industry. If a magazine does edit her photos, she always releases the unedited ones to show the world what is real, especially after the twins are born. She hates that mothers are embarrassed by their post-pregnancy bodies. Everyone is different, and everyone is beautiful! 

If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be? 

Alex would probably want to save her father. He died when she was 12 of a heart attack. He was in good shape, so it was completely unexpected. However, after years of wishing to change the past, Alex has realized that it is both the good and the bad that help define us. She desperately wished her father could have walked her down the aisle at her wedding, or met Thomas and their children/his grandchildren, but if she saved her father… then she may not have turned to acting as a source of comfort and to explore her feelings and then, she may never have met Thomas, and her world would be less whole without the life they built. So, in short, she wouldn’t change a thing. 

What is your MC’s favorite quote or song? 

Some of Alex’s favorite quotes:

“Nothing is impossible; the word itself says 'I'm possible!” ~ Audrey Hepburn

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” ~ Neil Gaiman

“Magic is believing in yourself. If you can make that happen, you can make anything happen.” ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” ~ Anne Frank

“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

"I can't stop drinking coffee, I stop drinking coffee, I stop doing the standing and the walking, and the words-putting-into-sentences doing." ~ Lorelai Gilmore (Also any other quote by Lorelai about coffee)

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC? 

Hey there, my wonderful fans,

I just wanted to take a moment to send some love and inspiration your way. 

Can you believe this small-town girl ended up on this incredible journey? Being a mom to Felicity and Vincent (and I can't forget Bogart,) wife to the one and only Thomas Hunt, and living my dream as an actress – it's like a whirlwind of amazing! On the outside, it may look perfect, but that doesn't mean it's without its challenges. Every one of us has our own struggles to overcome. 

Remember, life might throw you curveballs from time to time, but that's just a chance to swing for the fences. I've learned that settling is like saying, "Nah, I'm good," to life's adventure. And who would do that? Not me, and I hope not you! Your dreams are just as important as mine! Your best life is out there. If you haven't found it yet, keep searching, keep fighting, and keep believing!

What you are hoping for matters! Your dreams matter. YOU matter! Don't give up on yourself or anything you want. You are a star in your own story. Embrace the challenges as they come, chase your dreams, and always remember that I am cheering you on every step of the way.

Hugs and dreams, 

Alex