#like he could have been murdering people IN the park and been way more efficient about evidence disposal

[theladyofrosewater]

Okay it's very clear if you've read both the FNAF Novel Trilogy and actually been to Hurricane that Scott has never actually been there at least with a clear memory. Because Hurricane is apart of the more desert-y part of Utah and not whatever the heck was described in the books (I remember a LOT of tree mentions and the books also take place in the 90s so the town would be smaller anyhow).

What Hurricane is, though, is close to is several national parks (Utah has 5 of them plus Hurricane is less than five hours from the Grand Canyon) It's LITERALLY less than 40 minutes away from one that is, from what I've been able to find is consistently ranked in the top ten, if not top five for park visitors. Which got me thinking that in the FNAF universe, Freddy's probably got a lot of tourist customers and like it wouldn't be THAT hard to get away with the whole missing childrens incident if most of the kids Afton killed were the kids of tourists or people not native to hurricane. Like the anyone investigating wouldn't care as much because "hey they're tourists it's their fault they weren't watching their kid". Because of this he gets an ego and gets careless, and eventually when he ends up putting one of Hurricane's kids on a milk carton, probably Cassidy lets be honest, that's when shit hits the fan because people actually CARE now and the missing children's incident becomes an actual THING and Freddy's gets shut down.

Like this idiot could have kept it up for at least another decade but noooo, bcs he's a fucking idiot he messed up the only thing he had going for him.

dumbass

[xavigav]

deal // chapter 10: not-such-a-blast to the past

word count: 4.5k

content warning: depiction of PTSD/a flashback

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯-

Following Wang’s car to a building in Gangnam in Namjoon’s own expensive vehicle, clad in a similarly snazzy outfit to him, Jimin may look the part in this sort of investigation, but he sure as hell doesn’t feel the part. Inside, he’s both still annoyed that he’s involved in this and still anxious that he’s way over his head. 

Tracing their subject’s path isn’t the first detour of the day, but it was certainly the most important. The moment they had arrived in Seoul, Namjoon insisted on them eating lunch at a restaurant much fancier than any place Jimin had found himself at before. Jimin had argued at first, but after seeing that Namjoon wouldn’t budge on that, he resigned to just enjoying the good food while he had the opportunity. 

Now, after a meal of surprisingly semi-enjoyable conversation, Wang’s just pulled up to a place that Jimin’s sure isn’t associated with Sejoo or his firm at all. It seems mildly suspicious - at least, until Jimin stops to think about it. Isn’t it only concerning because of what they already know about him? It’s not particularly incriminating to just not be at work for a small amount of time. Still, though, it’s unusual, Jimin’s able to deduce that much. The problem is, he’s not sure what to do after that part. Not that he’s going to let Namjoon know that, but it’s the truth: he still doesn’t know what he’s doing here. 

He knows why they’re right here, right now, in the parking lot of some random office building, yes. But in all of this, he’s not sure if he’s cut out to be looking into a murder, to be working with Namjoon in this case that clearly only one of them is qualified for. He’s not sure if Namjoon thinks the same thing now, since he definitely had at the beginning, and he’s not exactly getting any insight from that from Namjoon’s frowning stare out the window of the car at the boring grey building they’ve pulled up at. 

“So, Namjoon,” Jimin finally breaks the silence that’s been plaguing them, “What’s the plan? Now that we’re here, what do we do?”

“We split up,” 

Jimin’s sure he looks like some sort of owl, eyes widening at Namjoon as he blurts in confusion and shock, “What?”

“We split up. Have you forgotten the meaning of a basic phrase, Park? Do you need that explained to you?” Namjoon snorts, arms crossing over his chest. Jimin just scoffs back at him. 

“No, I understand what it means, you jerk. But why?”

“It would be more efficient if we were to get two things done at the same time. We don’t need two people here in a car observing where Wang goes, one is enough. I’ll work on the cipher, while you follow him and take note of any strange destinations,” Namjoon shrugs. 

“You keep going on about how I’m incompetent, and now you suddenly trust me to do something alone?”

“You’re…mildly capable. And I’m not making you assemble a rocket, this isn’t very difficult,” Namjoon looks away from Jimin, gaze on the windshield instead - which strikes Jimin as a little peculiar, since there doesn’t seem to be anything interesting outside of it, but Namjoon is a weird man, so he doesn’t mentally question it much further. 

“How are you going to get back to your house, then? If you take the car, either I’d have to follow Wang by foot or subway, or I might come back to find he’s not here anymore and our chance is gone,”

Namjoon turns back to him with a slight, tight-lipped frown - for all his smarts, he doesn’t seem to have actually thought of how he would do this. 

“I suppose I could…” Namjoon’s nose wrinkles in disgust, “take the bus. It’s not my preferred method, but I won’t die.”

Judging from the expression on Namjoon’s face, he doesn’t entirely believe that last part. Instinctually, Jimin hits Namjoon’s arm playfully. 

“The rich guy can’t imagine getting around like a normal person, huh?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can think them through. It’s not like he’s said anything horrible or regrettable, but he’s just joked around with Kim Namjoon. He hates him. Doesn’t he hate him? Don’t they hate each other? They’re not friends. They don’t joke around.

But Namjoon laughs, and Jimin isn’t annoyed at the moment, he isn’t hating every moment of his existence, he doesn’t feel anything like he did when he met with Namjoon for the first few times. And he realizes, Namjoon has been sort of joking around with him too, hasn’t he? And they’ve interacted with each other in a less hostile way. Sometimes, he’s even found himself slightly enjoying the man’s company. 

Something has changed, and up until now he’s been too distracted to notice that. 

Hmm. 

“So,” Jimin clears his throat, choosing to go back to a more neutral-toned conversation rather than actually confronting the part of his mind that he’s only just now realized is there, “do you need me to show you where the nearest bus stop is, then?” 

Namjoon shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Just because I haven’t taken one before doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed where the buses are, Jimin. I’ll manage just fine.”

And that’s how Jimin ends up alone, in Kim Namjoon’s car, and waiting outside a building hoping that Wang will do something noteworthy so this all doesn’t feel like a complete waste. He’s moved to the driver’s side of the car, which makes it feel unreal in a sort of way. Jimin’s not the world’s most experienced driver – he’s driven a decent amount, but most of the time he just hasn’t had any need to. Public transportation was usually enough to get him around. 

That means he has two main responsibilities – keeping an eye on their main suspect, and making sure he doesn’t crash Namjoon’s car into anything, because failing either of those would have consequences Jimin sure as hell doesn’t want to face. 

Reaching inside the pocket of his suit – or rather, Namjoon’s suit that he just happens to be wearing – he feels relief as his fingers touch a thick piece of paper, which he quickly pulls out. He had taken the letter with him before they had left, and though he had reassured himself multiple times throughout the car ride that it was still there, nothing would ever be enough to permanently soothe his anxiety. 

Nothing would ever be enough to soothe the guilt that immediately rushes over him, either. Namjoon had told him about the cipher the moment he had found it. Why hadn’t Jimin done the same? Why hasn’t he come clean in all this time? 

He’s not sure he knows the answer to that anymore. Namjoon wasn’t as skeptical about his abilities anymore, not as hostile towards his every move – but still, Jimin finds that something is stopping him from telling Namjoon. Something continues to make him hesitate and he doesn’t know what. 

The letter, unlike his thoughts, is just the same as before. He’s able to make out just as much of it, which is admittedly not much other than the gist of what it’s saying and a few key words. Much of the rest is either completely gone, partially burnt and difficult to make out, or cut off in the middle of syllable blocks so that it might as well be ash with how useful it is right now. 

Just looking at the thing is frustrating. It seems impenetrable, mysterious, so tantalizing in what it promises but keeps secret behind the veil of its own destruction.

But Jimin’s still just as determined as ever to prove he can do well in all this despite how Namjoon had thought of him at the start, so he flattens out the letter on top of the center console and leans his head down towards it, squinting his eyes so that the only thing he can see is the paper. He’s going to keep going at this until he understands it, and he can’t put it off any longer if it’s going to actually help them solve things. 

The burnt parts aren’t the only problem in his way, now that he’s observing it more – whoever wrote this distinguished little between ㅎ and ㅇ and ㅈ and ㅊ, so that the only way to really tell which was supposed to be which was through context, which was something the letter gives little of, considering he can’t even see quite a bit of it. Their handwriting is generally neat, but those little quirks make it just that bit harder to figure out what’s being said. 

Making sure to look up every few minutes to check that Wang’s car is still there, and making sure the door of the building is in his peripheral vision so he’ll be able to tell if anyone goes in or out, for about two hours Jimin fully dedicates himself to demystifying the letter. It’s sort of like a crossword puzzle, in that figuring out what one thing is helps him a bit with the words around, except it’s difficult as hell, there’s no hints designed to help him, and if he doesn’t complete this thing there’s actual stakes involved. 

He spends most of the time with one of his hands buried in his hair, pulling at the strands in frustration while he stares at the letter and tries to take in every part of it in an attempt to get something out of it, which leads to the small percentage of time where he’s scribbling his findings down on a separate piece of paper with a sense of victory. 

The problem is, the more he figures out, the less there seems to be left that he would actually be able to solve. He feels like at this point he’s already expended all of the easier words to make out, and at this point he has to strategically analyze every single letter of a half-gone word or a sentence cut off to figure out what could have been said.

It’s during one of the longer stretches between small successes that Wang steps out of the building, and though Jimin can only see him from afar it looks like his suit isn’t quite as perfect and unwrinkled as it had been when he walked in, and his eyes flick around the parking lot as he walks towards his car, head turning slightly to give him a full view. 

Certainly, it’s suspicious that he’s immediately cautious while exiting a place, especially a place where theoretically no one knows he is. But when Jimin waits a minute or so after Wang gets in his car and drives out of the lot before following after him, making sure to stay a good distance away from his car so that he’s not noticed, Wang doesn’t appear to do anything else worth noting – he drives to the office building where he does the majority of his work, and…that’s it. As Jimin stays in the car for a while longer, trying and mostly failing to piece together more of the letter, Wang doesn’t come out, no one suspicious-looking goes in. 

Of course, Jimin knows expecting someone who might have committed a murder to be constantly engaging in obviously dodgy behavior, but still, it’s a bit disappointing that things have just dropped off here. Sighing and carefully hiding the letter and his notes back into his suit pocket, Jimin starts his way back to Namjoon’s house, hoping that at least the other man had made some progress in the cipher. 

•

Jimin now has two side projects on top of this god damned investigation: the first is the letter, the second is attempting to help Namjoon improve as a person. Solving the letter’s mystery is pretty straightforward - difficult, yes, but it’s not the world’s most complicated process, especially not when compared to what he now has to do with Namjoon. 

He’s never been a goody-two-shoes, the type to drop everything to help someone, he’s always had a bit too much of a self-protection instinct for that. For whatever reason, though, he feels some sort of compulsion to help Namjoon, something that might even be more than just a need for his partner to act decently towards him. That’s why he’s essentially acting as Namjoon’s therapist at the moment.

Namjoon had insisted that they do this in his room, citing the fact that he would be more inclined to talk there, though he still seemed somewhat nervous at the start, hesitating to start speaking. Once he did start, though, he hasn’t stopped. Not once. He’s been continuously ranting to Jimin for the past hour at this point, and Jimin’s starting to reconsider whether this was actually a good idea. 

Sure, Namjoon trusting Jimin to not betray what he’s confiding and being able to get out the emotions he’s been holding in for years are good things considering it’s major progress, but the main feeling he’s expressing seems to be anger. A whole lot of anger. Not directed at Jimin, thankfully, but scary anger nonetheless. 

“I know I’ve iterated this before, but it’s all so fucked, you know? Those people, they don’t care about anything except getting more money so they can reach their neverending goals of buying whatever expensive, useless thing they fancy at the moment. And those were the people I spent half my life around,” Namjoon’s hands clench around the sheets of the bed he sits on as Jimin nods, the only thing he’s able to do to contribute with how Namjoon continues going on and on. 

This is the fifth time Namjoon’s managed to land at this point in his loop of vague details about what’s been going on in his life, and though Jimin knows he’s just trying to process things and express how much it’s affected him, this repeating cycle is starting to annoy him. At the same time, he can’t quite bring himself to interrupt the sequence to actually dig for more specific information, not when Namjoon is still so obviously distressed. In this moment, Namjoon is trusting him with something he hasn’t told anyone else before, and there’s no way Jimin’s going to risk ruining this opportunity.

Not that he particularly cares about Namjoon. He’s simply curious, that’s all. That’s what he assures himself. 

“And shit – I was like them, because I didn’t have any other choice. But…I was worse. I was worse than a lot of them,” 

Jimin perks up at the new information; Namjoon hasn’t mentioned this before. He’s never spoken with this much regret dripping off his every word. This, Jimin knows, is the perfect time to go deeper, to ask Namjoon something. But then he changes the subject. 

“I had the same ‘values’ as them, and by that I mean the only value they seemed to have was fucking everyone over regardless of morality. They’d screw someone over just for being a minor roadblock in a plan. They’d kill someone just because they didn’t want any competition in their endless quest for more and more and more. And I,” Namjoon’s voice drops to practically a mumble as his head drops in shame, “I helped them. I participated. I should have…”

Namjoon’s voice trails off, and this is the perfect time to go deeper, to help him more. But Jimin can’t focus on that. He can’t control his staggered breathing or the panic coursing through his veins like a million tiny bullet trains or the fact that everything is fading. 

“We don’t want competition,” Soo’s voice booms through his ears, antagonistic smile seeming closer to Jimin’s face than he had ever remembered before. 

Jimin feels small, looking up at him, at the other men who seem so much bigger and stronger than himself. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can tell it’s bad, that’s clear enough. Cautiously, he steps closer, gasping in breaths as fear rises in his chest, raising his arms in front of his chest in preparation to defend himself if needed.

“Jimin?”

All he can see is Namjoon standing by the door, smirking at him. A smirk that knows what’s going to happen. A smirk that paralyzes Jimin where stands. 

Everything is too slow and too fast. Everything is too muddy and too confusing. 

One moment his parents are there, the next they’re halfway out the door, and then they’re gone. Jimin screams for them to stop, screams for some sort of help, but nothing comes. 

“Jimin!”

Strong hands grab at Jimin’s wrists as he attempts to get up and run after them, keeping him down. 

One of them has come back. One of them is coming for him now. Jimin feels weak in this moment, a helpless kid who can’t do anything to fix this situation. 

All he can do is struggle against their grip, smacking their arms away, trying to convince them to stop even though he knows it won’t work. 

“Let go of me!”

He’s back all those years ago, but something has changed. He knows that, but he can’t stop himself from thrashing around to get the hell away from all this. 

“Jimin!”

He needs to escape this at any cost. He needs to get away and he doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what would happen to him and his parents and he doesn’t want to find out either. 

The hands that hold him this time are more gentle, comforting even, juxtaposing Jimin’s absolute panic. 

“Jimin, shit, what’s going on?”

Jimin freezes, suddenly aware that a few tears are pricking at his eyes, he’s trembling, and…he’s not a teenager. He’s not in that night. He’s with Namjoon, who’s keeping him still, voice laced with concern and confusion. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Jimin tries to speak, but it comes out as more of a whisper, voice hoarse from his hurried breaths and frightened yells. 

“The hell was going on there? You looked…scared. Why?” Namjoon says, always one to get straight to the point of what he wants to say. Except for a few minutes earlier, though that’s an exception Jimin easily understands. 

“Flashback,” Jimin mumbles, heart rate calming ever so slowly. “They just happen sometimes. I think…I think it was triggered, or something, when you were talking. Because you said something similar to Soo. The night my parents…”

Jimin lets his voice trail off, determined to not show Namjoon that he’s starting to choke up. He doesn’t like to talk about them, the flashbacks, what happened, and he doesn’t really understand them either. He struggles to discuss them with Taehyung, the one man he trusts most – Namjoon is an entirely different story. 

Hesitating for a moment, Namjoon pats Jimin’s arm awkwardly, which Jimin takes as an attempt to comfort him. Jimin can’t explain why, but it does sort of help. Just a little bit. 

“What am I supposed to do if you do that again? When I tried helping you at first, it just got worse. How do I…fix it?” Namjoon says the words as if it physically pains him to show any sort of overt concern for another human being, pausing a couple of times and struggling to construct the sentences.

“I’m not sure, really. They usually just stop on their own, after a while. I haven’t tried much to stop them while they’re going on,”

Namjoon sighs at him, releasing his grip on Jimin to rest his head on his right hand instead. “Really, Park? And you act like I’m the only one with issues here.”

“At least I don’t take it out on other people,”

“Don’t just deflect your issue to me, we’re both fucked up in our own special ways,” Namjoon waves his hand as if to dismiss Jimin’s comment, “both of us need to fix things if we want to be able to stop working together eventually.”

“Fine then. I help you like I have been, and if I have another flashback you help me then,” Jimin holds out his hand, which Namjoon shakes. 

“We’ve made quite a few deals at this point, haven’t we? I’m starting to think you just like shaking my hand,” Namjoon jokes with a chuckle. Jimin wrinkles his nose, pulling away his hand. 

“You wish, you dolt,” Jimin shoots back, and even though it’s an insult he thinks he might see Namjoon nod a bit. 

Must just be the wind coming through the open window obscuring his view or something. 

•

Jimin’s not the type to always have his phone on silent – it makes him anxious, to not know whether someone could be trying to contact him about some sort of emergency. Even if most of the notifications he gets are spam calls or promotional emails, he figures it’s best to keep it on, even at night, for the small chance that something important happens and he needs to be there. 

When Namjoon finally trusts him enough to give him back his phone, it’s obvious Namjoon doesn’t have the same philosophy, most likely due to the frequent and annoying stream of notification tones. A barrage of unchecked notification bubbles hit him immediately upon opening it, but one group of them sticks out. 

In the past two weeks, the time he’s been with Namjoon so far, he’s missed 15 calls, 26 messages, and 4 voicemails from Taehyung. Taehyung, who’s always cared for him and his safety. Taehyung, who’s always been his best friend. 

Taehyung, who has no idea where he is and hasn’t heard from him all this time. Immediately, guilt rises in Jimin’s chest, a heavy weight on his heart. He knew from the start that Taehyung wouldn’t believe the excuse that Jimin was with his aunt, because Jimin doesn’t have any aunts and Taehyung knows that since both of Jimin’s parents had been only children just like him. And now, it’s been half a month without any contact. If this had happened to Taehyung, Jimin would have been freaking out, too. 

He navigates to Taehyung’s contact, finger resting above the call button. His instinct is to call Taehyung, to explain what’s been going on, but he knows he can’t do that, at least not the second part. If Namjoon heard he’d lose his contact with Taehyung, and he’d end up worse off than he is now. Biting his bottom lip as he thinks, Jimin paces around the room, considering what he should do. The letter he had been working on before Namjoon had barged in and  suddenly returned his phone rests on the bed, abandoned and at this point mostly gone from his mind. 

After a few minutes, despite the fact that he still doesn’t have any real plan Jimin presses the button. It’s been two weeks, he can’t avoid this any longer even if prior to now it hadn’t been his will to do so. 

It takes only two rings for Taehyung to pick up, and he doesn’t waste a single second before he starts talking. 

“Jimin! Thank fuck, I thought you were dead or something! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Jimin can barely understand Taehyung for how fast he’s speaking, but he can still get the gist. He still knows that he doesn’t actually know how to respond. 

“Taehyung, shit, I’m so sorry that it’s been so long. I just…got caught up in family matters, and I was too busy and stressed with that to answer,” Jimin says, holding his breath lest Taehyung realize how nervous he is at the moment. Taehyung knows him too well – if he hears Jimin’s panic, he’ll know that he’s lying, if he doesn’t suspect that already. 

Which, it turns out, he does suspect that already. Not that Taehyung would outright say that, but Jimin can tell easily from the way he speaks. He’s trying to be subtle and to hide it, but Jimin knows him too well, too. 

“A…family emergency? Our boss did mention something like that…”

Jimin nods, though he knows Taehyung can’t see it; he’s hoping that it’ll somehow pass the message to Taehyung that he’s telling the truth, even though it’s likely clear that he’s not. 

“Jimin?” Taehyung says, voice softer and less panicked now, though there’s something in it that Jimin can’t quite place. “Would you be able to meet me, anytime soon? I miss you, you know.”

Fuck.

Jimin knows that he probably shouldn’t go out of his way to meet Taehyung soon just like he knew that he shouldn’t hide the letter from Namjoon. But the sadness layered over Taehyung’s voice, and the guilt he feels…he can’t say no, his conscience won’t let him. It overpowers the logical part of him that says this isn’t really a good idea. 

“Of course, Tae,” Jimin says, trying to make his voice as bright as possible. Unusually bright, if he’s being honest to himself about his lack of acting skills, but he hopes it slips past Taehyung considering what his friend thinks is going on. “I’ll plan something with you really soon. I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,”

“Long-distance pinky-promise?”

Jimin can hear the smile in Taehyung’s voice just like he’s sure Taehyung can hear the amusement in his. He knows Taehyung can see, but he holds out his pinky, waving it up and down just like he would if he was with Taehyung in person. It’s what they’ve always done to seal something important, ever since they were small children, and he’s sure they’ll never stop. 

“Consider it sealed,”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few days, Jimin,” 

The something is still there in Taehyung’s voice, but Jimin doesn’t feel like it’s the right time to question further – he can’t force Taehyung to be 100% honest now when he’s not doing it himself. As he says goodbye and the call ends, Jimin flops down on the bed, the letter jumping a bit next to him. 

He picks it up again, fidgeting a bit with the pen he’s been using by tapping its top against the bed. It’s underwhelming, compared to a conversation with his best friend after too long, but it’s necessary and he knows it. But still, he can’t ignore the feeling in his chest. It feels like some sort of weight has been lightened a bit, still there but less intense. 

He’s been lonely, he realizes, without his only friend and with Namjoon, who for most of the time he’s hardly been able to talk to. Really lonely, and it took talking to Taehyung again to remember that it’s not just how things have always been for him. 

Now that he’s figured that out, Jimin tries working on the letter more, hoping that he’d be able to focus more – but in fact, the opposite has happened. A million thoughts that are in no way relevant to this letter swirl around his mind, and it takes what feels like a million attempts to begin again for Jimin to sigh, finally accepting the fact that right now he’s not in the right state of mind for that and retreating back into his mind.

[something-tofightfor]

Pushing The Envelope - Valentine’s Day 2022 request #1

Pairing: Max Phillips x Female Reader 

Word Count: 2301

Rating: M - language, mention of blood and weapons, one tiny mention of a murder, vampires ... you know the drill. 

This first request is for @alraedesigns​, who wanted something humorous with Max P and an envelope. 

This is my first time ever writing for Max, and I definitely don’t think it will be the last. He’s FUN. Thank you so much for the request, Alex. I hope you like it! 

Sitting in the parking lot, you stared up at your office building. It was nondescript - ten stories of beige, windows that offered a view but let very little light in, an elevator that only worked half the time, and mostly insufferable coworkers - but it also allowed you to be near Max. 

The thought of him made you grin, even though you knew it was foolish. You knew who he was and what he was, and he’d never tried to cross any lines with you aside from seriously flirting… but you would have let him. Any day of the week. And you never stopped him, using his tactics right back on the man, your direct nature surprising him often.

Phone alarm buzzing, you swiped a finger over the screen to silence it and sighed deeply before climbing out of the car and beginning the short trek across the parking lot. Max and his team had shown up a few months earlier, quickly beginning their takeover. 

To be honest, the changes had made your workplace more tolerable. The team was more efficient, people didn’t snap at each other as often, and because you’d been given a choice about whether or not he’d turned you, you were one of the few people that could leave the building during the day … which meant that you didn’t have to worry about your coworkers trying to tag along on every lunch break or including you in their weekly happy hours, which occurred in the middle of the night. 

But it also meant that you were the one sent on errands for the ones that couldn’t leave. Your job had shifted from data entry and filing to running errands, mostly … and you didn’t mind. Max had approved an almost 60% pay raise for you to compensate you for your time and efforts, grinning at you from across the large wooden desk, and for a moment, you’d understood how he’d charmed everyone so easily. 

No, that wasn’t true. You understood it all the time, you just hadn’t wanted to let him win that round with so little fight. There was no guarantee that Max would stay in your office, and as much as you relished the thought of never having to worry about grocery shopping or waking up with the sunrise to go to work again, you hadn’t been willing to give up everything for a desk job that you hoped was temporary. Especially not this desk job. 

When the doors opened to your floor, you made your way past the cubicles of your coworkers, most of them typing away furiously or talking in hushed voices on the phone. On the walk, you laid down sheets of paper on their desks; receipts, billing statements, pick up and drop off confirmations - it was all there for them whenever they needed it as proof that you’d done what you were asked to, and as a record of what they owed you.

The last stack was for your boss, and after pausing long enough at your desk to drop off your bag and straighten the neckline of your shirt, you headed for his office, knocking twice and not waiting for him to answer before entering. “I’m back, Max.” 

His chair was turned so that he was facing away from you, the man tossing a small, green ball against the back wall of the office. “Took you long enough.” 

“When’s the last time you had to deal with daytime crowds anywhere, hmm?” Sliding a stack of papers across the desk toward him, you took a long breath. “People go outside on their lunch breaks. They go into places. They get things done before it gets dark so that they can go home and be with their families.” 

It was a fine line you walked with him - you knew the man wouldn’t lash out at you, knew that he wouldn’t try to charm you with his enhanced senses, and knew that he wouldn’t fire you because the team needed you - so you took advantage of the situation, speaking to him candidly. He likes it. He’s good at hiding things, but he can’t hide this. “If you’d let me change you over, you wouldn’t have to worry about the ‘daytime crowds’ anymore.” He spun the chair around as he spoke, the ball held tightly in one hand and his eyebrow raised. “And then I could show you what the dark is really good for.” 

“You gonna show me how to lurk in alleys, Max?” You rolled your eyes. “Gonna teach me how to charm someone so that they let me -” He frowned at you then, a mock expression of hurt on his face. “I don’t lurk.” The frown changed into a smile, both brows raising. “And I can’t teach you to be charming, so maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t let me turn you, otherwise you might have starved.” 

“Asshole.” But you were grinning, too, using your chin to gesture to the papers. “All the receipts for this week. Everyone’s got theirs, too. Make sure they all pay me, alright?” He watched you silently for a few seconds, mouth hanging open slightly. “What?” 

“Nothing.” He shrugged, sitting up straight. “I actually need you to stay and help me with something, though.” That surprised you - Max had an assistant; a perky young woman that had been more than happy to let him turn her only a week or so after his arrival, practically throwing herself at him when the opportunity arose. But I haven’t seen her in a couple days. 

“Where’s Trisha?” You glanced over your shoulder and then back at Max. “I’m sure she -”

“Trisha didn’t work out.” He pressed his lips together. “Too eager. Friendly, but shit at her job.” Didn’t work out? What does that … Deciding that you didn’t want to think about it too much, you blew out a long breath, waving your hand in the air. She made her choice. 

“What do you need?” It wasn’t like you had much to do for the rest of the day; you were caught up on your actual work, and had planned on a few hours of online Scrabble before clocking out. The perks of a highly efficient workforce. “And can I do it at my desk, I was planning -”

“No, you cannot do it at your desk, I need you in here.” He pushed away from you, reaching down and into a drawer. “Sit.” You did as he asked, moving before you could stop yourself, but instead of staying silent, you yelped the man’s name out. 

“Absolutely not, Max!” Grumbling, you pushed down on the desk, trying to stand - and you couldn’t. “No. You do not get to use that voice on me. You don’t get to -” He couldn’t hold back a laugh as you shot to your feet, the chair moving backwards. 

“Just reminding you that I can.” He was still grinning, pushing a small stack of envelopes and a typed piece of paper across the desk at you. “Seriously, though. Sit. It’s not anything hard, I just …” He leaned in, nose wrinkling. “Everyone else here sucks, and you don’t.” It was a legitimate compliment - the look in the man’s eyes warm. “I need you to address these for me. A whole lot of things improved when I was in Romania, but my handwriting wasn’t one of them.” You snorted at that, reaching for the stack and pulling it toward you. 

“Maybe after a couple hundred years it won’t look like a third grader wrote -” He growled at that and you laughed, glancing down at the sheet. “Jesus, there’s like thirty names on here, what are they -” “Don’t worry about what they are, just write.” Mumbling the words ‘yes, sir’ under your breath because you knew that he’d inwardly react to it, you began to do as he asked, methodically addressing each envelope and piling them neatly to the right of you. While you did that, he focused on his computer, typing for a few minutes and then printing off a stack of sheets, bringing them from the printer to his desk and then working through them, signing each with a flourish of his pen. 

He finished before you, and you glanced up after a few minutes of complete silence on his side of the desk, finding that he was sitting still, elbows bent and both hands behind his head as he stared at you. “Creep.”

“Nope.” He leaned closer, moving his hands to the desk. “I’m just watching how efficient you are.” Like always, the intensity of his stare unnerved you, and without glancing away from him, you reached for another envelope, the tip of your finger sliding along the edge. Shit. 

You watched the look in his eyes change and even before you felt the sting of the papercut, Max was focused on your finger, the look on his face hungry. “You cut yourself.”  

“It’s not bad. It isn’t even…” But you stopped when you saw the beads of blood on your skin. “Oops.” Instinctually, you let go of the paper and lifted your hand toward your mouth, ready to place the tip of your thumb between your lips like you’d done countless times before. Halfway up, though, you felt Max’s fingers wrap around your wrist, haling the movement. “... Max?” 

It was the first time he’d ever touched you, and you barely concealed your shiver at the way it felt. No, do not fall apart right now.  “Let me?” It was a dangerous thing to do, and you knew it, though it didn’t stop you from nodding, eyes trained on your thumb as he pulled your hand toward him - the agreement having nothing to do with im commanding you.

“Do not bite me.” You mumbled the words, Max’s gaze flicking up to you and then back down to your hand, the entire tip of your finger smeared with blood. That’s a bad one. You knew you needed to look at the envelopes to see if you’d bled on anything, but couldn’t tear your eyes away from what was happening. Because it might never happen again.

At the last possible second, Max raised his eyes and locked them with yours, the change in focus drawing your attention and forcing you to miss the moment your thumb made contact with - and then passed between - his lips. Oh shit. He sucked gently, the flat of his tongue running over the pad of your finger. He released you before you could even begin to process what happened, the man leaning back in the chair and swallowing. “You do that a couple hundred more times and I won’t need to find someone to -” “That’s inappropriate, Max.” You couldn’t hide the racing beat of your heart - and knew that he could hear it, too. “Who do you think you are?” 

“Your boss… who also happens to be a vampire, and gets very hungry after a long day of -” Rubbing at your face with one hand, you groaned. “What? I’m just being honest.” 

“I know.” What a time for it to happen, though.  You hadn’t bled on the envelopes, and after a few seconds, returned to the task, trying to ignore the man across the desk from you. It didn’t work, and your mind kept going back to the way he’d licked your skin clean, the drag of his tongue slow, like he was savoring the taste of your blood. Maybe he was.

“I was going to have you fold these letters and stuff the envelopes, but you managed to hurt yourself on a single envelope, so that might be a little too dangerous for you today.” He was joking - the man’s tone light, and without missing a beat, you set what you were holding down, flattening your hands on the desk and looking at him again, head tilted to one side. 

“You know, if you’re that hungry, we can just use a letter opener and you can slice open my arm. Would save some time, and then you wouldn’t have to hope that I repeatedly forgot how to correctly handle pieces of paper, and you’d never have to worry about me being such a smartass to you again.” It was maybe a little much - but the previous few minutes had made it clear that you’d reached your limit with pretending that you weren’t attracted to the man when you were in front of him and he was being normal. 

“I like the way you think.” He cleared his throat, standing and circling around to your side of the desk and then taking a seat on the edge of it, the man’s thigh smashing the stack of envelopes that you’d just finished, creasing every single one of them. Well, shit. “But I don’t need a letter opener.” Widening his eyes, he grinned, the pointed ends of his teeth visible. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen them, and you figured it wouldn’t be the last, either. I hope it’s not. 

“Good.” Murmuring the word, you stood too, once again lifting your arm, holding it out to him. “Might be tempted to stab you with it if -” He cut you off though, the man bypassing your arm and reaching up, his fingers curling around the back of your head. 

“You could try.” He leaned in, lips hovering over your ear. “Might be fun.” 

Instead of retorting with something playful as had become normal for the two of you as you circled each other, you lifted both hands, grabbing for the bottom edges of his lapels and pulling him closer. “I’m sure a lot of things would be fun with you, Max.” 

You’d barely gotten the words out before he pressed his lips against yours - his smile still evident… and just as genuine as yours. 

—

[early20sfailingplenty]

someone said something shitty to me the other day and I haven’t stopped thinking about how Bo would have been on them in two seconds flat for talking to HIS girl that way.

Like ha, you’re dead 😂😂

That probably shouldn’t comfort me as much as it does lmao but I thought I’d share

Ohhhh my god.😰Bo does not take at all kindly to people insulting the ones he loves hhhhhh it's okay that it comforts you! There's a lot of catharsis which can be found in horror, and who wouldn't want to be protected when it came down to it? Thank you for sharing hasdfghjkl ~ I was thinking on this some and I managed to spin a thing for you.👀

I woke up an hour ago; it’s like 718am so I hope this is okay!

TW; unspecified insult to reader, weapons, blood mention, murder, reader is morally grey, Bo is his own warning lmfao (I say this with love).

As always, GN!reader, no coded language, ‘you’ used!

Word count: 755.

Bo was usually playing up on his Southern Gentleman™ act when he came to pick you up from work in his pickup truck. He maintained that role until the truck was a safe distance away, and then he would let himself relax and you would have a proper greeting from the love of your life. But the second that shitty thing crossed the other person’s mouth while you were all waiting to exit the car park, the ruse dropped and Bo’s entire demeanour changed. His voice got a bit deeper, his smile faded into a cold cruel glare. Those baby blues you loved so much became ice, and his shoulders stiffened. A cold chill ran up your back and for a split second, you felt just a bit bad for the person who was stupid enough to insult you. Not just at all, but in front of Bo. 

But then the person smirked as if what they had said was funny, and you stopped feeling guilty. Mentally did it feel very much like grabbing popcorn so that you could better enjoy the show as Bo’s eyes narrowed. “You wanna say that shit again?” His voice was tight, his words running together as he stepped right up, challenging the person who had insulted you. Bo was intimidating and he knew how to make it even more so. He was giving the person an out, a way to change what they had said, though everyone had heard it loud and fuckin’ clear.

Fuckin’ asshole.

“Oh, so you can’t even stand up for yourself, Y/N? Sounds about right that you gotta get your shitty boyf - “

You had seen that look on Bo’s face before. That look when someone had just gotten themselves on the very top of his hit list. Those deaths were always the most brutal, the most unforgiving, the most awful, and this person had just bought themselves a one way ticket to Ambrose. You had a feeling that Lester would chuck ‘em in the roadkill pit. No way would Bo want to immortalise someone who had insulted you, and Vincent would be in agreement on that. The Sinclairs looked out for one another and that included you. 

“Y’think ya’ real funny, don’t’cha?” Bo looked left, right, took a step forward. His chin dipped, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders set as one hand dipped behind him. “I don’t. Ya’ fuckin’ dead.” You caught the silver flash of a blade from Bo’s back pocket, a deft flick of his scarred wrist all he needed to access his preferred weapon of choice. There was the rustling of Bo’s Dickies and then the person suddenly dropped, blood seeping out onto the asphalt, though you couldn’t see where Bo had struck. Efficient, quick and brutal was he. Bo smirked to himself and you could see that he enjoyed what he did. Perhaps you found a bit too much comfort in the way he protected you, but what did it matter? 

What was done was done.

Bo wasn’t even breaking a sweat, so strong was he, and he turned to you, taking you in fully since that person had insulted you. “C’mere, darlin’,” Though Bo’s jaw was set, his eyes still hard and his shoulders still straightened as he stood at his full height, you felt so safe in going to him. His arms, already opened in preparation of you, enclosed you and you melted into Bo’s chest, your arms winding around his neck and your face burrowed into his chest. if that meant being stood uncomfortably, then so fucking be it. You wanted Bo and you wanted him now. “Ain’t right what they said, Y/N’.” Bo’s arms tightened further around you and you smiled, the gesture hidden by his black clothing, but he shifted to better accommodate you and a strong hand ran up and down your back in smooth, solid motions. Bo ducked his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, and then he slowly let you go, one hand on your forearm and the other digging into his pocket for his phone.

“Lester, meet me at - “ Bo gave Lester the name of your workplace. “Got sumthin’ to go in the pit. It don’t deserve Ambrose.”

You would never be brave enough to point out all the things wrong with the last sentence. Still, you were safe, loved, protected and you gave as good as you got in every way. It wasn’t an easy relationship, but nothing worth doing ever was.

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

Meant To Be

Pairing: Hotch x F!Reader

Summary: You are studying to be an FBI profiler with a little over a year left before graduation. When the BAU team shows up in your town for a case you jump at the chance to shadow them for a day. However, things quickly take a turn when you meet Aaron Hotchner, your future boss. And the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. 

Warnings: None! A little dramatic??? This is a purely self indulgent, love at first sight kind of fic so just prepare yourselves. 

Word Count: 4,063

A/N: So I had a mild stroke trying to figure out the timeline for this series so please just don’t look too much into it lol.

MAY 2006

FORT WORTH, TX

It was just barely six in the morning when you pulled into the parking lot of the precinct. Although the sun hadn’t peaked over the horizon yet, you were surprisingly awake. In preparation for the day you had gone to bed at eight the night before which left you well-rested and alert. There was no way you were going to let yourself be off your game. Not today. Of all your classmates, you had certainly progressed the quickest. Due to your high success rate, your professor had authorized you to shadow the team of FBI profilers that were coming to your city for a case. It was an amazing opportunity for someone with a over a year left before graduation so you immediately accepted. Not allowing yourself to make even the slightest mistake, you planned everything down to the last detail in the days leading up to this. Nothing would be able to faze you. With the confidence of a woman who’d been working in this precinct all her life, you strode into the lobby. The receptionist asked for your ID which you quickly displayed. It was only temporary but even so, there was a certain amount of power you felt when she cleared you to continue into the building. After stopping briefly to ask for directions you made your way back to the Police Chief’s office. When he hears your knock, he looks up from his paperwork with a polite smile.

“Well, good morning. What can I help you with?” Clearing your throat, you prepare your most professional voice as you reply.

“My name is Y/N L/N. We met earlier this week. I’m going to be shadowing the team of profilers who are flying in today.” Recognition crosses his features as he makes his way over to shake your hand.

“Of course. I remember. It’s nice to see you again. You’re very punctual. That’s a good skill to hang on to.” You smile in gratitude. “Well, the profilers aren’t here just yet. If you’d like you can wait in here or we can find an empty desk for you.” 

“Actually, I was hoping I could look over the case files. I’d like to be as up-to-date as possible before they arrive.” As he nods, the two of you make your way into the hallway. Towards the back corner of the common workspace is an empty desk that he allows you to sit at. While you put your things down and take a seat he disappears long enough to retrieve a file folder and set it on the desk in front of you. 

“This should be enough information for you to be able to help out. If you’ve got any questions in the meantime, you know where I’m at.” With another polite smile, he leaves you to continue his paperwork. It doesn’t take long for you to read the case file. There had been a conspicuous string of murders in the area, which began about two weeks ago. Four couples were murdered in their homes, all wealthy without children. A list of witnesses and family members had been compiled to make the interview process a little easier. You predicted you’d most likely be helping one of the profilers in questioning the people on this list so you tried your best to memorize the names. 

It seemed like hardly any time had passed when you heard the main doors of the precinct opening to reveal a group of five people walking up to the receptionist’s desk. The sight of them immediately perked you up. It was difficult to make out any individual faces at first but you knew these must be the profilers. As they each scanned their IDs and made their way into the main workspace you quickly gathered your things so that you would be ready to move the moment they were. It didn’t take long for the Chief of Police to reappear, welcoming the profilers and showing them where they could set up their equipment. Every member of the team had a distinctly different look and behavior but they all seemed to work in unison. Even though they’d only been there for five minutes they exuded professionalism and efficiency. As you watched them you had to remind yourself to breathe. You had as much right to be there as them. Admittedly they did have a lot more experience than you but that didn’t change the fact that you’re all on the same team now. 

Waiting patiently, you finish putting the case file back together and fold your hands to rest them on the edge of the desk. When the Chief of Police calls you over you gather up your things and make your way around the various desks to stand next to him. 

“This here is Miss L/N. She’s a student at our local university. She’s gonna be tagging along with you guys today for a little real-world practice.” As he introduces you, you take the opportunity to study the faces of the people in front of you. There is only one you recognize for certain. They all have their attention set on you as well which makes you suddenly very aware of yourself. “Anyway, I’ll let you all introduce yourselves.” With a nod, he turns to speak to you. “If you don’t mind stopping by my office at the end of the day, I’ll get you all checked out alright? In the meantime, have fun I guess.” He adds with a laugh before finally leaving you alone with the others. 

The first one to extend his hand to you is the one person you are familiar with. More than familiar, seeing as he is kind of your hero. You had been the one to initiate the arrangement, having sent him an email a few weeks ago. He had seemed more than willing to let you work with them for the day and he was nothing but helpful, just like you knew he would be. Seeing him now was nearly surreal.

“Y/N, I remember.” He begins, shaking your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jason Gideon, as you know. Glad to have you on board.” 

“It’s absolutely an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve been a follower of your work since I knew what profiling was. I am so grateful for this opportunity. I am more than ready to help in any way I can.” As you speak, a warm smile lights his face. One of friendliness and hope.

“Of course. I think I speak for my team when I say we’re grateful as well. Not many people in our field get a chance to guide the next generation to a life of helping others. Anything we can do to support you as a future member of our team, we’re happy to do.” This response is entirely heartfelt and shocking to you. Of all the ways you’d imagined this interaction starting, this wasn’t what you had in mind and yet it was exactly what you needed. 

“Thank you, sir.” Was all you could manage as you work to maintain your fading air of professionalism. 

“Well, with that I’ll let everyone do their own introductions.” Almost immediately another man stepped out of line and reached for your hand. He was very conventionally handsome and the way he carried himself told you he knew that he was good-looking. The smile he flashed you was contagious as you shook hands with him.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Agent Derek Morgan and I am very excited to get to know you.” The woman next to him has to pull him away, shooting him a look. She seems very severe and yet when she turns to look at you there is a distinct kindness in her eyes.

“Knock it off Morgan. You’re gonna scare her off before she even gets a chance to meet anyone else.” She says over her shoulder, taking your hand. “I’m Elle. If he keeps bugging you, I’ll be more than happy to rough him up for you.” Morgan holds his hands up defensively when he catches Elle’s eye again before giving you a small wink. 

“Nice to meet you both.” It’s hard to contain your laughter but you manage, giving a small smile instead. Another woman is standing beside Gideon who shakes your hand. She is very beautiful and seems to exude confidence and grace. 

“I’m JJ. I’m the Communications Liaison for the BAU. We spoke briefly last week.” You nod in recognition. She had helped you coordinate the time and place to meet up for the day.  

“Of course. Very nice to meet you in person.” 

“Likewise. We’re excited to be working with you.” She gives you a warm smile which you gladly return before looking to the last person in the small group. He looks to be about your age, very sensibly dressed with a nice posture. There is a slight awkwardness in the way that he shakes your hand but he gives you a quick smile and you can see that he has a hidden friendliness in his demeanor. 

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He says shortly to which you politely nod. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” With that, you turn back to Gideon to ask about your assignment for the day. However, you can’t help but feel like something is missing. “I read through the case file this morning so I can be of use wherever I’m needed. Did you have an assignment in mind or will I be moving around throughout the day?” 

“I think it would be beneficial for you to work with SSA Hotchner. He should be here any minute.” That’s what was missing. Hotchner. You had heard his name before but you didn’t know much about him. As you waited for him to arrive, Gideon began delegating tasks to each of the other members. Despite not being given a task yet you listened intently until the front doors of the precinct opened. 

However you had pictured Hotchner, the man that walked through that door was the furthest thing from what you expected. The sight of him striding in from the lobby made your breath catch in your throat. There was an innate power in the way that he moved. So much purpose and intensity. His eyes were dark and they found your face almost immediately. It was enough to make you squirm but you maintained your composure. Gideon turned to greet him before gesturing back towards you. “This is Y/N L/N. She’s a student who is here to shadow the team for the day.” 

With the slightest hesitation, you extended your hand toward him. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a moment as he shook your hand. 

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. It’s very nice to meet you.” He spoke with a clear sense of professionalism. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m looking forward to working with you. I have a feeling I’m going to learn a lot from this experience.” 

“I hope so. It was very smart of you to seize this opportunity. It does not come around often. Soak up everything you can today and I’m sure it will bring you a lot of success in the future.” You listen to him intently, nodding with a small smile. 

“Hotch, would you mind if she rides along with you today? We’ve got a list of witnesses we need to speak to and I think it would be good for her to get out in the field rather than being stuck here doing paperwork.” Gideon interjects, looking to both of you as he proposes the idea. Hotchner looks around the precinct briefly for the other team members before giving Gideon his attention again.

“Of course. Do I need to brief her on the case?” 

“Actually, I already familiarized myself with the case file before you all got here this morning.” You interrupt before Gideon can respond, causing both the men to look at you. “Sir.” You add, clearing your throat. They both share a knowing look. 

“Perfect,” Hotchner replied, with a respectful nod. Satisfied with the interaction, Gideon dismissed himself to begin his work leaving the two of you alone. “Give me a few minutes to speak with the Chief of Police and then we can get started. Would you mind waiting out front for me?” You nod eagerly which prompts him to walk back toward the Chief’s office. Once he has disappeared around the corner you make your way to the front of the building, stepping through the main doors. The cool morning air brings with it a sweet wave of relief. You hadn’t realized how hot you were until you had stepped outside. Nerves were already building up in your system when you were being introduced to the rest of the team but meeting Hotchner had tipped you over the edge. There was no denying that he was a very handsome man. The evidence was in the blush that was surely covering your face. Mentally scolding yourself you take a deep breath. You were a professional and you would act as such. No matter how deeply moved you felt when he looked into your eyes like that. 

A few minutes later Hotchner made his way through the front doors causing you to stand at attention. Moving briskly, you followed him into the parking lot and pulled yourself into the passenger seat of the dark SUV he had just unlocked. He remained silent as he began typing an address into the GPS before pulling out of the parking lot. Once you were on the road he looked over at you briefly.

“How much do you know about questioning witnesses?” He began.

“Quite a bit. I’m only about a year away from graduation so I have a fairly advanced understanding of a wide variety of concepts that pertain to profiling.” Watching the GPS, he nods. Feeling a tinge of awkwardness, you allow your eyes to stay focused on your lap.

“Good. Any real-world experience?” 

“Unfortunately no. In my courses, we do simulate certain scenarios fairly often but there isn’t much opportunity for real application.” 

“Well the best advice I can give for today is to stay quiet and watch me. If I need you to speak up, I will tell you as much. Otherwise, don’t say anything. It isn’t that I distrust you. It would just be irresponsible of me to allow someone with zero field experience to question the victim’s friends and family during some of the most difficult times of their lives. Especially without having seen what they’re capable of beforehand. I’m sure you understand.” 

“Oh absolutely. I completely understand. I know that I’m here in more of an observational capacity today. And even if I wasn’t, you’re the boss. No explanation necessary.” Hotchner is quiet for a moment. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with avoiding eye contact, you would have seen the remnants of a smile on his face.

“I should have you talk to the rest of the team. They could learn a thing or two from you.” This causes you to laugh lightly. 

When you finally do decide to look at him the sight steals your breath yet again. He is bathed in the golden light of the rising sun and he seems almost ethereal. You can see a flash of his deep brown eyes which seemed very soft now in the glow of the sun. As though he could feel you looking at him he turns to meet your eyes although this time you don’t look away. The two of you sit there in what seems like the most eternal moment, dancing in and out of each other before he breaks away to look back at the road. For a moment you could almost swear you saw something there in his eyes, something almost like longing. It must have just been a trick of the light. 

“So, what made you decide to be a profiler?” The moment is over as quickly as it began as he speaks up. 

“Well, I’ve always had a deep fascination with the human psyche. Finding out what makes people tick. Picking apart their personalities, their behaviors. Growing up that almost felt like the only way to understand the kids around me. By studying them. Every friendship I had felt like a science project. When I found out that I could use that ability to be part of something bigger than myself, to make the world just a little brighter ... well, it was really a no-brainer.” 

“That’s very ... noble and, honestly, very uplifting to hear. With this job, you experience a lot more bad days than you do good. Sometimes it is hard to remember why we started doing this in the first place. It’s people like you that remind me this job is worth it. Hang on to those beliefs. They’ll help keep you sane, I can promise you that.” With a nod, you give him a kind smile.

“I will. I promise.” It isn’t much longer before you arrive at the first house. The interview is fairly straightforward. You stay close by Hotchner’s side as he introduces the both of you. Once you’re inside you sit quietly as he begins asking questions, merely listening and taking mental notes of the way he conducts himself. It is over fairly quickly and then you’re both back in the SUV and off to your next destination. The next two interviews are the same. On the third, he lets you ask a few routine questions. It is a simple gesture but you are very grateful for the experience and you handle yourself very well. 

Your final interview is with the parents of the latest male victim. When Hotchner knocks on the door, it takes a minute for it to open. Standing on the other side is an older man with a tired expression. 

“Yes? What is it?” The man says briskly. Hotchner pulls out his badge.

“I am SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. This is Miss Y/N L/N. May we come in?” Hearing the term FBI causes the man’s expression to darken rather quickly as he looks between the two of you.

“Where’s your badge?” He questions, nodding in your direction. Remaining silent, you share a look with Hotchner. After a second of thought he gives you a small nod of approval.

“I’m not actually an FBI agent yet, sir. I’m a criminology student at the local university. I’m shadowing Agent Hotchner today as a learning opportunity before getting out in the field myself.” 

“A learning opportunity?” It takes the man almost no time to answer and you can hear a significant shift in his voice. “You’re using my son’s death as a learning opportunity?” 

“You misunderstand--” Hotchner begins in your defense before you quickly cut him off with your own response.

“Sir, I can’t begin to fathom what you’re going through. But I can promise you that my lack of experience is entirely made up for by my desire to see the person who did this to your son pay for it. It doesn’t take training to see that your son deserves justice for his death.” The man is silent but keeps his eyes locked on yours. 

“My wife and I have already told the police everything we know.” 

“We know, sir. It will only take a few moments of your time and anything you can tell us might be crucial in finding your son’s killer.” 

“No. No, we’ve already talked about this more than any parent should ever have to. If it’s that important go ask the police what we said.”

“Please, sir--” Before he can finish, the man smacks the door frame.

“It took the deaths of eight innocent people for you to swoop in and save the day. You really think I want to waste a second of my time speaking with you? I have nothing more to say. Now get out of here.” With that, Hotchner nods before turning to leave which prompts you to quickly follow. As you get near the SUV you are startled by the sound of the man’s door being slammed shut. Once inside you release the breath that had been caught in your chest. When you look over at Hotchner his expression shows a deadly calmness and you are suddenly struck by the idea that he must be pissed at you.

“I’m so sorry. That was all my fault. I upset him. I shouldn’t have said anything to him. I should have just kept my mouth shut like you told me to. I had no right to do that. I’m sorry.” The crushing weight of embarrassment and guilt settled over you. This morning you had felt more than ready but now it seemed like the day had been filled with challenges you couldn’t possibly have prepared for. In only a few hours you had managed to show your boss that you are completely incompetent. You ready yourself for what must surely be his wrath however when he turns towards you his expression shifts from one of unwavering calm to gentle kindness.

“It’s okay. I’m not angry with you. What you said was perfect, it’s exactly what I would have said. You were establishing a rapport with him to gain his trust. You did the right thing. Believe me, it wasn’t you. There is nothing either of us could have said that would have gotten a different result.” When he sees that you are still wary he shifts in his seat to face you more directly. “As a future member of my team, you have my trust. You handled yourself very impressively today. You’re going to make a very fine addition to the BAU.” 

His words ease your anxious mind as you nod quietly. Soon after Hotchner is pulling back out onto the street to take you both back to the police precinct. After a minute of silence he glances over at you.

“So ... are you still sure you want to do this?” The question catches you off-guard but it takes you no time at all to answer.

“More than anything.” This time you do catch the faint smile that crosses his lips which causes you to give a small smile in return.

“Good.” Is all he says for the rest of the ride back to the precinct.

The day is over much more quickly than you had hoped for. When you step back into the police building you make a beeline for the chief’s office, remembering his request that you find him again at the end of the day. You return your temporary ID and he fills out a form for your professor to verify your activity for the day. Once the formalities are over he bids you a good evening and shows you back out to the main workspace. The team all gather briefly to say their goodbyes as well. You thank Gideon profusely for allowing you to join them before shaking hands with the rest of the team members. As you make your way to the exit you see Hotchner standing near the main doors. 

“Thank you so much for letting me tag along today. I really learned a lot.” As you say this you extend your hand which he quickly takes. 

“Absolutely. It was a pleasure working with you and I look forward to seeing you again in a few years. In the meantime, here’s my card.” He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out his business card which he hands to you. “If you ever need anything, feel free to give me a call.” Tucking the card safely into your pocket you thank him with a smile before heading out the main doors to your car. 

Once inside you pull the card out of your pocket and sit for a minute, staring at it. Unable to control yourself you let a giddy smile paint your face. After the day you had, a year has never seemed longer. The anticipation of your future at the BAU looms over you but rather than filling you with nerves it brings you hope and excitement for the things to come. Opening a small compartment on your dash, you tuck the business card away before heading home to get a good night’s sleep filled with wonderful dreams.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild @lannister-slings-and-arrows @gamingaquarius @gryffindorwriter @nopeforyou @sheerfreesia007 @roxypeanut @ohpedromypedro @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @the-mechanical-angel @races-erster @maxlordd @pascalisthepunkest @paintballkid711 @hotchafterhours @h0tchner @ssahotchswife @ssahotchhner @technotic-prophecy @klinenovakwinchester​

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at home:

So. My dad has owned one very special truck for more than twenty years. (He bought it new when I was 12, he’s had ever since, it’s a Ford F-150 diesel, 6 speed…it got stolen and it was a Big Family Deal )

Things car people will understand:

1)my civil engineering PhD having dad, who lit a microwave on fire with a cup of ramen noodles, is Very Proud of the fact that No Mechanic Has EVER TOUCHED HIS BABY. (We should probably note that OP is literally married to a mechanic and this is a Contentious Position)

2) My mom literally refers to this truck as her “sister wife” and any time mom brings up buying a new truck my dad goes down the rabbit hole of “okay but it needs to be able to do this” and it’s a thing that no new truck can actually match up to. Because no new truck can have the hauling capacity and charging capacity and efficiency capacity (basically there is no truck in Existence that my dad is going to like but he’s not going to agree to anything else)

3) my dad literally has to coach his hunting buddies on how to put this truck in REVERSE. (There’s a very specific slapping motion, and you have to know that the actual shift knob came off on a specific trip when I was 15 and he got the knob replaced with a 5 speed grip that he liked the fit of but didn’t…y’know… indicate reverse correctly)

4) you basically have to be my dad in order to operate this truck, and the poor dum fuck who stole it was a stupid piece of shit who knew nothing

Guys. My mom has been trying to get my dad to buy a new truck for TEN FUCKING YEARS. I’m turning 34 this week, he bought this truck brand new right before my 13th birthday; he’s literally raised 3 kids in this truck, there’s a very special way to prop your self up in the passenger seat for a 12 hour road trip…

Mom legit said “the sixth time I saw him cry was when I took his truck for a Girl Scout camping trip where I had all the girls and no other parents and needed to haul the camper because he had to do PhD review that weekend…he’s only ever cried when you girls were being born and he first held each of you.” (We have a sister that was born and died within the first 3 days because of missing her 13th chromosome)

All of this leads to the fact that my dad leaves his truck parked in the driveway with the keys in the cup holder because where they are in New Mexico is…actually really safe? Like honestly it’s really not that bad, he’s been doing this for 20 years with no problems but for One Night people suck and are present.

So my moms sister wife, that she’s been jokingly fighting for attention against for the last 20 years, gets stolen. Let’s be absolutely clear; my mother, who physically gave birth to me and my younger human siblings, is referring to the truck. The truck that after 20 years is in fact completely reasonable to refer to as a person.

My dad was honestly pretty devastated…for about a weekend.

Whatever dumbfuck stole The Truck was only able to get her two miles down the road…two miles towards the only nearby gas station. She literally sat in a ditch for two days before my dad came to get her. Friday night till Monday morning.

The truck me and my sisters/sibling learned to drive stick on, my mothers mechanic sister, the absolute bitch the my father will not let die…some punk ass bitch laterally could not drive her.

Could not drive her, left her in a ditch, and abandoned her. My mom is absolutely livid because she’s been telling my dad for ten years it’s his turn to get a new car and me and my siblings are letting out a deep breath because holy fuck we got the truck back but it’s kinda like Holy Fuck!!!!! WE GOT HER BACK! Who needs to be murdered? Where? Who? Lots of baseball bats!!!! No, seriously where and who????

And my mom is sitting there being all “So Close!” Because she could’ve gotten rid of her mechanical sister, but she’s actually a wonderful human being who would actually rather my dad come inside and spend actual time with his children.

The cops are not generous with information ( or at least dad is not willing to let me commit felonies)

[nikanndros]

I just want you to know that I think about From Eden at least once a week and I've lost count of how many times I've reread it. If you ever wanna share what comes next amd what other ideas you had for that universe i'm here to listen op 👀

Thank you, I love you! When I first wrote that fic, I had two other parts (at least) that I wanted to go with it, and since they’re partially written I’m happy to share those bits with you:

From Eden Part 2

“It’s just unfair, you know,” the girl said. Her words were slightly slurred. To be fair, they were in a nightclub after midnight. Everyone was slurring. “I was there for him, and I paid his bills while he went through college and now! He has a real job and he dumped me for his secretary.” She started sobbing.

Damen, who was six foot three, strongly built, and also carrying a loaded weapon, took her hands and made a sympathetic noise. “Lykaios,” he said, because he --unlike Laurent-- had actually listened when she’d introduced herself. “I think the best thing for you now is to forget about him. He didn’t deserve you.”

Lykaios sniffled. “You think so?”

“Of course I do,” Damen said. “I’ve only known you for a few minutes and I already can see that you’re incredible. Right, babe?”

“Right,” Laurent deadpanned. He glanced at his watch. “It’s quarter to.”

Damen nodded. Still holding Lykaios’ hands, he turned to Laurent. “Security?”

“Just the two.”

“Great.” He looked back to Lykaois. “Listen, doll, we’ve got to get down to business, but I want you to remember what I said, okay? You’re worth a lot more than that guy gave you.  And your mascara is running a little. Maybe you should go fix it up in the bathroom and wipe your tears?”

“Okay,” Lykaois sniffed. “Thank you.” She left.

Damen gave Laurent a grin, the crooked, teeth-baring one that appeared whenever they were about to do a job. “Ready?”

“You never call me doll.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Try it sometime and see.”

Damen yanked him in by the jacket and kissed him, slowly and bordering on indecent. “Alright,” he said, after he pulled back. “Show time.”

As Damen disappeared into the crowd, Laurent grasped his --still full-- drink, turned, and threw its contents at the roughest looking guy in the place.

“Hey, what the hell?” The guy squared his shoulders; he was intimidating even covered in lemonade.

“Fuck you,” Laurent replied. 

At this point, three months of travelling and stealing and, most importantly, Damen, Laurent had become pretty efficient at inciting fights. He didn’t need to see the punch coming to know that it was, he just sidestepped and let the man stumble into the back of another patron. It took less than thirty seconds before half the clientele were involved in an all out brawl.

The two security guards rushed in, and were immediately overwhelmed enough that the only bartender -- a youngish lad with a crooked nose -- had to join in to get everything under control. Laurent punched him.

Eventually, the fight got calmed down enough for fingers to point to Laurent and the lemonade clad man as the inciters, and guards hauled them both out into the parking lot.

“Let me go!” Lemonade guy yelled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“You can try,” Laurent said, a lot more willing to be subdued by the guard that had him by the arms.

“Don’t make us call the police, man,” his guard complained. “The both of you can go your separate ways, come on.”

The door behind them opened. 

“Sweetheart,” Damen said, chidingly. “I step away for two minutes and you get yourself into trouble.”

---

They go back to a motel after this and Damen reveals the money he stole from the tills while Laurent was being a distraction. Sexy times ensue. Damen eventually falls asleep and Laurent stays awake with the tv on. The news comes on and an interview is shown with Lykaios being interviewed about the robbery at the bar -- she gives a completely inaccurate description of what Damen looked like, and Laurent reflects on how easy it is for Damen to charm people to taking his side.

From Eden Part 3

Their most recent car was a much older model. The aircon was busted and they had to wind down the windows themselves, but at least the radio worked. It was hot, despite it being a couple of hours past sunset. 

Damen was singing with the radio. He wasn’t going to win any awards, but his voice was deep and he had a nice enough sense of the music. He grinned at Laurent. He was always happy. It was part of what made him so magnetic. 

Laurent smiled back. After two years with Damen, the expression felt natural.

Except for them, the road was empty. Damen reached over and took Laurent’s hand in his. 

“Watch the road,” Laurent said.

Damen laughed. “But you’re my favourite view.”

“I won’t be happy if you kill us in a car wreck.”

Obediently, Damen looked back to the road. And then, because it was Damen, the car sped up.

Laurent’s hair flew about chaotically, longer than it had ever been when his uncle had been keeping a hand of Laurent’s appearance. It needed a trim, but as much as Laurent trusted Damen, he didn’t trust him to do that. Damen had offered to take him to a salon, somewhere quiet where there was no chance he’d be recognised, but Laurent wasn’t fond of the idea of being trapped in a chair like that. He was too used to freedom by now.

-

“Left here,” Laurent instructed.

They’d had to slow down once the got near the town. It was best to avoid anyone’s attention for as long as possible. (An admittedly difficult feat when traveling with someone like Damen).

They drove a little way past the house, until they found an obscure little dirt road to park down. It wouldn’t do for someone to see the car. They grabbed their things, and looped back to the house on foot.

Quietly, Damen was still singing. 

“Stop it,” Laurent said.

“You love it,” he replied. “This is your birthday present, baby, at least look like you’re having fun.”

“This is literally the worst place we could get caught.”

“No it isn’t,” Damen replied. “I checked out the police station last time I was here. Breaking out of the cells would be too easy.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“There were no lights on when we drove by. No one is home.”

That was true. And they’d timed it perfectly, assuming schedules hadn’t changed in the last two years. The house was silent when they got to it, not a light in sight as promised.

Laurent took a deep breath.

“Chin up,” Damen said. “Let’s go rob your uncle.”

-

The spare key wasn’t where uncle used to keep it, so they went around the back and Damen fucked with the lock until it opened. It was almost hard to walk into the house, full of so many bad memories, except it had never truly been Laurent’s home and he could just tell himself this was another job. 

“The study,” Laurent said, leading the way.

They crept up the stairs together, torches on their lowest settings.

The study was a formidable room with the big, mahogany desk, and the shelves of books that existed solely to make visitors feel stupid. “Look at this,” Laurent said, pulling out one of the books. “War and Peace in Russian. He doesn’t even know Russian.”

Damen reached past him, and nonchalantly, tipped a stack of books off the shelf. They clattered noisily onto the floor. “Oops,” Damen said. He turned away. “Where’s the safe?”

“Under the desk,” Laurent replied. He was busy searching through the books, finding any early editions to pilfer. They’d probably be able to sell them to an antique store for a bit of quick cash. 

Damen worked away at the safe for a bit, guessing potential codes Laurent had told him about. “None of these are working, sweetheart.” The safe made a beeping noise. “Oh, wait. Got it. Wow, he really deserves to be robbed.”

“I’m sure he thought I’d never come back here.”

Damen made a vaguely angry noise. He didn’t like reminders of what had happened to Laurent in this house. He’d even tried to convince Laurent that they could just murder his uncle while they were here. Laurent wasn’t sure he wanted to add cold-blooded murder to their repertoire just yet though. However tempting.

Damen stood up, suddenly. Hands full of Laurent’s uncle’s emergency cash. He grinned.

“Happy birthday - to - you,” he crooned.

Laurent couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I love you, you beautiful fucking bastard.” 

Abandoning the books, Laurent moved in and kissed him. Carefully, Damen put the money down on the desk so that he could cup Laurent’s face in his hands. It was always intoxicating to kiss Damen. There was something about him that made Laurent forget himself until there was only the press of their lips.

“I love you too,” Damen whispered, pulling back a little. He’d stopped smiling; it was a moment of complete genuine emotion. He did that sometimes, always out of the blue, and it always made Laurent want to clutch him tighter and maybe cry. 

“Let’s finish up here,” Laurent said, “and then we can go find somewhere nice and fuck under the stars.”

“You always know just what to say to seduce me,” Damen said.

They bagged the money, and the books Laurent had picked, and then they made their way down the stairs again.

“Wait,” Damen said.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.” He turned into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Oh hey, chocolate.”

Actually, that was an idea. Laurent followed him into the kitchen and went straight for the pretentious temperature controlled wine fridge. “Pinot noir or Shiraz?”

“Whatever is more expensive,” Damen replied. He was adding strawberries and oranges to the bag as well. Cream?”

“It’ll go warm too fast.”

“I feel like we should unplug the fridge before we go, at least,” Damen added. “If you’re still against me putting bleach in the milk.”

“Wouldn’t that make it curdle?”

Damen shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a cement mixer in a bar once but that was lime juice.”

“You can unplug the fridge. If he dies from food poisoning, that’s on him.”

Damen started to look for the cord to the fridge.

“Wait,” Laurent whispered. “Did you hear that?”

They froze, listening.

There it was. The soft sound of the stairs creaking. Fuck. Silently, Laurent gestured towards the back door. Damen nodded. He was carefully reaching over to the knife stand.

“Renaud?” came a small voice.

A young boy, no more than thirteen, stepped into the kitchen. He was wiping at one eye sleepily in a childlike gesture. Less childlike were the bruises on his arms. Laurent knew he and Damen had matching expressions of horror.

The boy’s eyes widened as he took them in. “Who are you?” he said.

Damen’s expression was one of barely concealed fury. He looked at Laurent. “I’m not leaving until that man is in a shallow grave.”

“Don’t scare the boy,” Laurent admonished. He turned to the child and tried to look as non-intimidating as a late-night home invader could possibly look. “What’s your name?”

“Are you Renaud’s friends?” The boy asked.

“No,” Laurent said. “Definitely not. I’m Laurent.”

The boy was frowning. “You used to live here.” 

“Yes.”

“Well,” he straightened up, suddenly hostile. “You’re not allowed to come back. He doesn’t want you anymore; I’m better.”

“Where are your parents?” Damen asked.

“We’re not giving him back to parents who-”

“They’re dead,” the boy said. He didn’t sound upset.

--

The boy is obviously Nicaise. They hear a car in the driveway and Laurent locks Nicaise in the pantry. Laurent’s protective instinct rears up and he insists they kill the uncle now. Damen is fully down for it. Murder ensues. They let Nicaise out and keep him away from finding out that the uncle is dead in the next room. They tell Nicaise to pack a back and discuss what to do with him. Damen suggests dropping him off at a hospital or somewhere like that where someone can get help for him (since they can’t exactly go to the cops). 

Nicaise overhears and says that he doesn’t want to have a new foster parent; at least his current one has a big house. Laurent hearing that feels too wary to risk Nicaise getting another bad household. Damen is like, well I guess we can keep him if you want??? Laurent agrees. They go get in the car and drive away. 

-

Anyway this AU was directly inspired by the film clip for Hozier’s ‘From Eden’, you should watch it bc that’s the story I intended to write 

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

[daringyounggrayson]

written for the lovely @aeligsido as part of a gift exchange!

Summary: After an argument with Bruce, Dick retaliates by running off to a not-so-safe part of Gotham. During his misadventure, he drinks a slushie, stops an attempted robbery, and lands himself in someone else’s trunk. He can’t exactly say that his current situation is a surprise, but that doesn’t mean getting out of it is going to be a piece of cake. Especially when he has a head injury working against him.

oOo

In retrospect, Dick made a lot of stupid decisions tonight.

The first stupid decision had been starting up the concert argument again which, at this point, is a losing battle that isn’t really about a concert anymore. Dick still doesn’t understand how going on a mission in space isn’t a big deal but going to a concert with a few friends who happen to be in college is. Especially since Dick met the “college kids” when they were all still in high school together. And, besides, a couple of the people he went on the space mission with are the same age as the aforementioned college kids.

Dick didn’t—doesn’t—even care about the concert that much; he’s annoyed that Bruce is being a controlling hypocrite and treating Dick like a child. He’s annoyed that after all these years of continuously proving himself to Bruce, the man still doesn’t trust him.

So what did Dick do to show Bruce why he should trust him? A series of stupid, stupid things that served the sole purpose of making Bruce angry. And to make it worse, Dick knew how stupid they were and chose to do them anyway. He knew he was being stupid when he left his phone at home, and he knew he was being stupid when he ignored Bruce’s use of Dick’s full name as he left the grounds. He knew he was being stupid when he immediately drove to a not-so-safe part of Gotham just so he could rub it in Bruce’s face later.

The point is, Dick knows it won’t be fun when he eventually has to face Bruce’s wrath and whatever punishment is waiting for him the second he gets home—but Dick doesn’t care. Right now, Bruce is an ass and Dick finally has some space to think, to breathe. Plus, just by sitting outside this gas station and drinking a cherry slushie at eleven o’clock at night, in perfect view of a security camera no less, he knows he’s making Bruce furious. That part’s fun. So is thinking about how Bruce is probably watching him from said security camera, fuming and trying to figure out how to handle the situation he’s found himself in. It’s almost worth the inevitable grounding. (Almost.)

It stays fun right up until Dick notices two guys walking into the gas station, hiding their faces. Dick watches them carefully, still sipping his slushie and doing his best to seem innocuous. The second they pull out guns, Dick runs in, wishing he’d brought his phone with him so he could’ve called the police first. Wishing he’d brought a mask so he could’ve had more options.

But, stupid mistakes already made, he only has one option: get their attention and disarm them.

What happens after entering the gas station is kind of a blur. He remembers getting their attention, and he remembers emptying bullets onto the floor, so he must have disarmed them. But he’s not sure how quickly or efficiently he’d done that; he’d heard gunshots, he’s sure of that much, but he doesn’t remember if anyone had been hit.

He also remembers that he’d been recognized as Bruce Wayne’s kid at some point, and the situation had quickly shifted from a robbery/mugging to a kidnapping. Dick remembers trying to resist, and he’s pretty sure he broke someone’s nose in the process. The last thing he’s sure about is being pinned to the ground. He can’t remember which goon had done that, but before Dick could so much as think about getting out of the hold, they’d slammed his head against the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious for a second, hard enough to disorient him long enough to shove him in a trunk.

Now, in the trunk, Dick realizes another stupid decision he’d made: he didn’t bring his Robin belt with him and now getting out of this isn’t going to be a piece of cake.

What feels like fifteen minutes later, Dick’s tied to a chair in some car repair shop with a skull-splitting headache. His situation isn’t exactly ideal, but he knows that if it comes down to it, he’ll be able to get out of this—he’s Robin the Boy Wonder after all. It just won’t be easy, and his odds of coming out of it unscathed aren’t exactly low. Especially since the two men have guns again and Dick’s pretty sure his head is already bleeding.

The more Dick thinks about it, the more he hopes that Bruce had been watching him on that security camera.

“Alright, kid, what’s daddy’s number?”

Dick tilts his head up to look at the guy holding the phone, trying to figure out why he wants a dead man’s phone num—oh. Bruce. He means Bruce.

Dick doesn’t usually have to type Bruce’s number. It’s not often that he calls Bruce, and when he does, it’s almost always on his cellphone, so Dick just dials from his contacts. He knows the number by heart anyway though. It’s just that the pounding in his head—the one that’s getting worse the more he tries to focus—is making it hard to think; it’s making it take longer to access the information Dick knows is there.

“Uh,” Dick starts, trying to recall the numbers and what order they go in. But then again, is it even worth it? Will Bruce answer a call from an unknown number? And what time is it? The odds of him answering drop significantly if he’s already on patrol. Maybe Dick should call Alfred instead.

Impatient, phone-guy kicks Dick’s chair, sending him back a few inches with a screech. Dick blinks as the world spins and his stomach threatens to give up his slushie.

“Come on! I’m not asking again.”

“Chill, man,” the other guy cuts in, voice sounding slightly off and distorted. He has dried blood on his face and his nose looks crooked.

Huh, Dick thinks, guess I did break someone’s nose.

“You chill.”

Another kick to the chair, and this time it forces a mouthful of cherry slushie into his mouth. Dick grimaces as he forces it back down, squeezing his eyes shut as someone yells at him and tugs his head back by his hair.

Dick rattles off Bruce’s number, hoping that he’ll answer so Dick can go home and forget about all of his stupid, stupid decisions. Maybe Bruce will even take pity on him and forgo the lecture and grounding—not that Dick will be leaving the house any time soon if this headache is an indication of anything.

A phone is shoved against his ear and Dick flinches at the contact, snapping his eyes open and looking around.

“Dick? Are you alright?” Bruce is asking, voice controlled but urgent.

“Where are you?” Dick asks.

“I’m on my way,” Bruce says. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

Dick doesn’t feel alright; maybe Bruce hadn’t been watching the cameras. “Did you see me?”

“Wha—”

The phone is gone and the lights shut off.

“Shit, shit, shit,” nose-guy rambles, voice higher than before as he slaps his hand over Dick’s mouth. Dick twists his head to try to get out of the man’s grip but it doesn’t work.

“Shut up,” phone-guy hisses. “Do you want to get caught?”

“Come out with your hands up!”

Dick’s first thought is a sarcastic guess the GCPD isn’t completely useless, and his second is one of relief. The third is that he should probably help them out, so he starts shouting behind the hand covering his mouth and kicking his legs against the chair, trying to create as much noise as possible.

“Shit, shit, shit,” nose-guy repeats, working himself into a conniption. “What do we do?”

“Would you pull it together,” phone-guy hisses, simultaneously slapping his hand over nose-guy and trying to still Dick’s legs. “Kid, if you don’t chill out, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Dick knows a bluff when he hears one, and Dick also knows this guy knows he’s about to get caught and doesn’t want to add murder to his list of charges. So Dick keeps yelling, and—shocker—his head stays bullet-free.

Not even a minute later, a flashlight dances across Dick’s face, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he can make out two police officers, both wielding guns and flashlights.

The one yells, “Hands up—now!”

The hand is gone from Dick’s mouth and his legs are no longer being held down.

“Okay. Keep them up and step away from the kid. Nice and slow.”

The other officer moves to Dick’s side, immediately going to untie the ropes. “You alright, kid?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, moving his arms in front of him and rubbing at his wrist once the ropes are gone. The officer presses something—gauze, probably—against Dick’s still bleeding head. He winces, holding back a hiss. “Aside from my head.”

“Sorry about that. EMTs are on their way,” the officer assures, keeping a straight face and not giving any indication of how bad the injury is. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Richard Grayson,” Dick says. Instead of looking at the officer, Dick watches as the wanna-be kidnappers are led out of the car repair shop in handcuffs.

“Alright, Richard, while we wait for medical to get down here, how about we call your parents and let them know you’re okay, yeah?”

Dick nods and rattles off Bruce’s number.

oOo

Dick’s would-be kidnappers were some of the worst he’s ever seen, and as Robin, he’s seen quite a few. They barely had him for thirty minutes, and that includes the time spent at the gas station. Their license plates got called in twice: once from the store clerk who found their license plate by checking the security footage, and a second time when Dick kicked out one of the car’s taillights and someone behind them saw Dick’s hand sticking out. And then—this part still makes Dick laugh—they just parked the car right in front of their so-called hideout. The hideout belonged to a friend, but they forgot about the silent alarm, so when they tripped it and didn’t key in the code to turn it off, the police were alerted a third time.

Bruce was probably tracking their call, too, but it wasn’t necessary because the police showed up at the car repair shop five minutes after Dick and his kidnappers did. Dick was almost embarrassed about getting knocked in the head by one of them, but he felt a little better when he found out that both of them were on their high school’s wrestling team—or at least, the EMT who apparently went to high school with them had been pretty sure.

“Richard’s right over here.”

Dick peels his arm off his face and opens his eyes when he hears the nurse. The curtain is pulled back and Bruce is standing there. The amount of relief Dick feels just by seeing Bruce is something he won’t admit to. It almost feels like that time he’d lost his mom at a craft store as a kid, specifically the moment when they’d found each other again and she’d pulled him into her arms. She’d been just as relieved as Dick, so much that she hadn’t berated him at all for running off. She’d just held him close and whispered Dick, thank god while pressing kisses into his hair.

“Dick, thank god.” Bruce looks like he’s experiencing a similar feeling, albeit the flipped version, the one his mom had felt. Or something close to it. Then, to the nurse, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Dick says, quirking his lips into a small, brief smile.

Bruce’s brows furrow, looking Dick over and lingering on the bandage over his head where he’d needed stitches. Bruce is rigid, uncertain. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Bruce, honest,” Dick tries to assure. He sits up, moving his hand to reach for Bruce. Before he can complete the action, Bruce tugs him into a tight hug and it’s not until that moment that something in Dick’s chest unravels and he realizes he’s okay.

Bruce pulls back for a moment, scanning Dick’s face and looking like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. Just brushes Dick’s hair back before pressing a kiss against his forehead. Then he pulls Dick back into the hug, resting his cheek against the side of Dick’s head that’s still intact.

“Are you mad?” The evening started with a fight, one that hadn’t really been finished, and if Dick hadn’t left just to piss Bruce off, none of this would have happened. Though, the look on Bruce’s face and the heaviness on his shoulders tells Dick that he doesn’t care about that right now.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Dick holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable addendum. “We can talk about this when you’re feeling better.”

So, no punishment, but the conversation—the argument—isn’t over.

Dick scowls but, for whatever reason, he doesn’t pull away from Bruce’s hold.

Bruce shifts to sit beside Dick on the bed, keeping one arm wrapped around Dick’s shoulder in a side hug. Dick rests his head against Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce presses a kiss into Dick’s hair. Dick doesn’t mind.

“Tired?” Bruce asks after a while.

Dick nods.

“Get some sleep. We’ll likely be here for a few hours.”

Dick groans. “Why can’t we just go home? I feel fine.” Well, relatively.

Bruce squeezes Dick’s shoulder. “According to your doctor, you have a concussion and likely a linear skull fracture. I doubt they will be discharging you anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but can’t you Brucie Wayne us out of this?”

“Not this time, chum.” Dick can’t see Bruce’s face from this angle, but his voice sounds like he’s frowning.

As much as Dick wants to argue his way out of the ER, he also wants to lie down again. His headache is getting worse and so is the nausea. He already threw up once and it’s not exactly something he wants to have happen again. Especially since Dick’s cherry slushie turned the vomit red, which understandably concerned the medical staff.

Dick sighs and lifts his head, and Bruce mirrors the action by pulling away and standing up. Dick lies down and Bruce hesitates before moving to a chair. Dick reaches to grab Bruce’s hand, which Bruce accepts immediately.

They’re quiet, Dick dozing for a while until the doctor comes back with the CT results, confirming both the concussion and the linear skull fracture. The good news is that Dick will live, the bad news is that he has to stay put for a few hours so they can observe him and make sure nothing goes wrong. He supposes it could’ve been worse, though; Bruce reminds him that they could’ve admitted Dick and kept him overnight.

Bruce calls Alfred to give him the update after the doctor leaves. Alfred didn’t come along because Barbara had already left for patrol and he didn’t like the idea of her being on her own and not having anyone to assist her via comms as needed. It had been the right decision, but when Bruce hands Dick the phone to talk to Alfred, Dick hears concern and worry and guilt in the man’s voice. It hadn’t been easy for Alfred to refrain from running to Dick’s bedside tonight, and he’s sure Alfred will hover for the next few days, but Dick won’t mind.

The phone call ends with Alfred passing on well-wishes from Babs and an exchange of I love yous between Alfred and Dick. Alfred lets Dick hang up first, and then it’s just Dick and Bruce once more.

Bruce not exactly being the best conversationalist and Dick being very much concussed, Dick decides to sleep some more. But before Dick falls asleep, Bruce’s chair shifts.

Leaning closer to Dick, Bruce murmurs, “I’m … I do trust you, Dick. And I’m proud of you—every day.”

They had exchanged a lot of hurtful words during their argument, but right now, none of them feel true. Not what Dick had said, and not what Bruce had said or hadn’t said. Funny how a crisis can make everything else feel so small and insignificant, if even for a moment.

“I know, B.” Dick reaches blindly for Bruce’s hand, squeezing it when he finds it. “Love you too.”

[irelise]

Yassen Gregorovich - Books vs TV

With the excellent new Alex Rider tv show out, I thought I would make a comparison post for one of my old favs, Yassen Gregorovich, who has a somewhat different feel in the books as compared to the show! This post will largely cover the first book Stormbreaker and should theoretically contain no spoilers for the potential future arcs of the show, since the events of Stormbreaker are presumably non-canon now. (Spoilers abound for the episodes of the show already out, though!)

If there’s any interest, I’ll put up a second post covering Eagle Strike and some parts of Russian Roulette that delves deeper into Yassen and his complicated relationship with Alex. Just let me know!

Much like the show, Yassen was the one who killed Ian Rider. Unlike the show, however, he’s known to be active on the field and the first time we “encounter” him is prior to Alex’s first mission, where Mrs Jones gives Alex a warning:

She took out a black-and-white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dancer. The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, possibly with a hidden camera. “I want you to look at this,” she said.

"I’m looking."

“His name is Yassen Gregorovich. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China.”

“What does he do?” Alex asked.

"He’s a contract killer, Alex. We believe it was he who killed Ian Rider.”

There was a long pause. Alex had almost managed to persuade himself that this whole business was just some sort of crazy adventure…a game. But looking at the cold face with its blank, hooded eyes, he felt something stirring inside him and knew it was fear. He remembered his uncle’s car, shattered by bullets. A man like this, a contract killer, would do the same to him. He wouldn’t even blink.

[…]

“Why are you telling me this now?” Alex asked. His mouth had gone dry.

"Because if you see him, if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once."

“And then?"

“We’ll pull you out. It doesn’t matter how old you are, Alex. If Yassen finds out you’re working for us, he’ll kill you too.”

I always thought this was a pretty good introductory scene -- Yassen has a very deadly reputation in the books, which is established at once then hammered in over and over again. Other traits which come up again and again include his coldness and his dancer’s body which is totally something I’m into, gotta love those “elegant and deadly assassin” tropes

(also, yes, Yassen is blond in the books and definitely not a brunet or even a redhead as in the movie. he also doesn’t have a distinctive facial scar!)

Yassen doesn’t actually have many scenes in Stormbreaker, although the shadow of his presence looms pretty darkly over the narrative. Alex only runs into him twice on the mission: once from a distance -- A lean, fair-haired figure dressed in black detached himself from the assembly line and walked languidly toward a door that slid open to receive him -- and the other encounter also occurs from a distance, when Alex is spying on a mysterious delivery at the docks in the dead of the night...

And then the tower opened and a man climbed out, stretching himself in the cold morning air. Even without the half-moon, Alex would have recognized the sleek dancer’s body and the close cropped-hair of the man whose photograph he had seen only a few days before. It was Yassen Gregorovich. Alex stared at him with growing fear. This was the contract killer Mrs. Jones had told him about. The man who had murdered Ian Rider. He was dressed in grey overalls and sneakers. He was smiling. He was the last person Alex wanted to meet.

[…]

Meanwhile, the guards from Sayle Enterprises had formed a line stretching back almost to the point where the vehicles were parked. Yassen gave an order and, as Alex watched from behind the rocks, a metallic silver box with a vacuum seal appeared, held by unseen hands at the top of the submarine’s tower. Yassen himself passed it down to the first of the guards, who then passed it back up the line. About forty more boxes followed, one after another. It took almost an hour to unload the submarine. The men handled the boxes carefully. They obviously didn’t want to break whatever was inside.

By the end of the hour they were almost finished. The boxes were being repacked now into the back of the truck that Alex had vacated. And that was when it happened. One of the men, standing on the jetty, dropped one of the boxes. He managed to catch it again at the last minute, but even so it banged down heavily on the stone surface. Everyone stopped. Instantly. It was as if a switch had been thrown and Alex could almost feel the raw fear in the air.

Yassen was the first to recover. He darted forward along the jetty, moving like a cat, his feet making no sound. He reached the box and ran his hands over it, checking the seal, then nodded slowly. The metal wasn’t even dented.

With everyone so still Alex heard the exchange that followed.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “I won’t do that again.”

“No. You won’t,” Yassen agreed, and shot him.

Largely a reaffirmation of what we saw from the photograph scene, this time in person: Yassen is generally quiet, understated and deceptively relaxed -- up until the point he murders somebody without blinking. I think the show does a good job capturing that aspect of Yassen, with scenes like Ian’s death and Dr. Greif in the car coming to mind in particular. Gotta love that pairing of Yassen’s generally calm demeanour with the bursts of restrained yet lethal violence!

Some other minor but interesting character notes: despite being one of the most highly-paid and successful assassins in the world, Yassen is perfectly comfortable doing grunt work (passing boxes, dressing in shitty grey overalls). Similarly, despite being (presumably) more comfortable working alone, he’s also at ease with giving orders and coordinating large groups of people.

Now, moving onto the last time Yassen shows up in Stormbreaker. This is right at the end of the book after Alex successfully foils the plot of the big bad (Herod Sayle), only to get kidnapped by him while his guard is down. Sayle takes them to a rooftop where a helicopter is coming to whisk Sayle away, but first he wants to have some revenge...

"That’s my ticket out of here!” Sayle continued. “They’ll never find me! And one day I’ll be back. Next time, nothing will go wrong. And you won’t be here to stop me. This is the end for you! This is where you die!”

There was nothing Alex could do. Sayle raised the gun and took aim, his eyes wide, the pupils blacker than they had ever been, mere pinpricks in the bulging white.

There were two small explosive cracks.

Alex looked down, expecting to see blood. There was nothing. He couldn’t feel anything. Then Sayle staggered and fell onto his back. There were two gaping holes in his chest.

The helicopter landed in the center of the cross. The pilot got out.

Still holding the gun that had killed Herod Sayle, he walked over and examined the body, prodding it with his shoe. Satisfied, he nodded to himself, tucking the gun away. He had switched off the engine of the helicopter and behind him the blades slowed down and stopped. Alex stepped forward. The man seemed to notice him for the first time.

"You’re Yassen Gregorovich,” Alex said.

The Russian nodded. It was impossible to tell what was going on in his head. His clear blue eyes gave nothing away.

"Why did you kill him?” Alex asked.

“Those were my instructions.” There was no trace of an accent in his voice. He spoke softly, reasonably. “He had become an embarrassment. It was better this way."

"Not better for him.”

Yassen shrugged.

“What about me?” Alex asked.

The Russian ran his eyes over Alex, as if weighing him up. “I have no instructions concerning you,” he said.

"You’re not going to shoot me too?”

"Do I have any need to?”

There was a pause. The two of them gazed at each other over the corpse of Herod Sayle.

“You killed Ian Rider,” Alex said. “He was my uncle.”

Yassen shrugged. “I kill a lot of people"

“One day I’ll kill you.”

“A lot of people have tried.” Yassen smiled. “Believe me,” he said, “it would be better if we didn’t meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grown-ups and you’re still a child.”

He turned his back on Alex and climbed into the cabin. The blades started up, and a few seconds later, the helicopter rose back into the air. For a moment it hovered at the side of the building. Behind the glass, Yassen raised his hand. A gesture of friendship? A salute?

Alex raised his hand. The helicopter spun away.

Alex stood where he was, watching it, until it had disappeared in the dying light.

HOO BOY where to start! This is a longer scene compared to the rest but I love it so much, it’s probably the best part of Stormbreaker for me and obviously it’s fairly different from the show. I adore the last scene of the show since the tension was delightful, but this hit in a different way. Alex! And Yassen! Actually talking!!! It’s a sparse scene (like most of AH’s writing), but very atmospheric and loaded with meaning all the same.

Let’s start with the obvious stuff first - book!Yassen is fair-haired and blue-eyed (or grey, depending), and has a very measured way of speaking without any accent at all. He very much falls into the archetype of “inscrutable Russian assassin with a mysterious connection to the protagonist” and it’s delightful.

I do like the fact we only really see Yassen in person for two scenes in the entire book, and both times he kills someone ruthlessly and efficiently. (...yes, he did kill Sayle while piloting a helicopter) His reputation is well-deserved and I think the show does an excellent job with that too; every time we see Yassen on screen there’s a feeling that shit is about to go down and somebody is about to die.

The show also does a pretty good job hinting at the connection between Yassen and Alex (ughh Yassen’s expression when he sees Alex for the first time kills me every time). In Stormbreaker, Yassen does (initially) seem colder towards Alex, emotionless, just a man on a job. But even then, we get little hints of warmth shining through such as the way he smiles when Alex promises to kill him, and of course the salute! It’s pretty clear that Yassen has some measure of fondness for Alex, because no way an assassin would normally just let somebody go after they promised to kill him, even if that person is only a teenage boy (especially considering that teenage boy is driven by a desire to take revenge on his uncle’s killer). I also think it’s interesting that Alex reciprocates his salute. He’s clearly aware (even if only subconsciously) of the connection between the two of them.

Though I think what hits the hardest for me is the fact Yassen is the one to tell Alex that he belongs in school, that he’s a child and he shouldn’t be part of this world. Alex in the books is much, much lonelier compared to the show. There was no Jack or Tom there for him, since Jack was kept completely out of the loop and Tom doesn’t even exist in the book. Wolf and the K-Unit largely either ignored or bullied Alex. As for Blunt and Jones, Alex just saved thousands of kids in England yet the only thing MI6 tells him afterwards is that his actions can never be revealed to the public, his youth will make him useful for future missions, and then the only thing they give him is a doctor’s note(!!!) to explain his absence from school.

If that sounds all sorts of terrible and unfair, Alex agrees:

In the end the big difference between him and James Bond wasn’t a question of age. It was a question of loyalty. In the old days spies had done what they’d done because they loved their country, because they believed in what they were doing. But he’d never been given a choice.

Nowadays, spies weren’t employed. They were used.

And of all the people to point out how fucked up the whole situation is and how Alex needs to get out...it’s Yassen, the contract killer, his uncle’s murderer. And Yassen says it straight to Alex’s face instead of just making token protests about how wrong it is to send a teenage boy into danger and then doing it anyway. I think the moment had a fairly big impact on Alex, and I was sad it wasn’t included in the show, but ah well. Another time, maybe?

BONUS

OK i know this was meant to be a book vs tv show thing BUT I WOULD BE REMISS IN MY DUTIES NOT TO LINK TO THE LAST SCENE AS DEPICTED IN THE OLD MOVIE

‘2 minutes of questionable everything’ from the video description about sums it up. the violins. the closeness. the long lingering looks. “i’ll never forget you.”

Anyway, hope this was interesting and at least a bit informative! Do let me know there’s any interest in a part 2 of this post covering Eagle Strike and maybe a bit of Russian Roulette!

[homogrimoire-archive]

Kingfield's Fourth Anniversary - Day 1

Just An Urban Legend

Feng, David, Dwight, and Jake find themselves at the fire together after a trial. Stories from back home are exchanged to pass the time, and some of those stories manage to find their way into the trials.

AO3 Link

This time around, it was Dwight, Jake, David, and Feng around a fire. They all had finished a trial some time ago, Dwight and David were with a different set of survivors, and Feng and Jake from another set as well. Jake was contently resting on the outskirts of the camp, Dwight and David were leaning against each other by the fire to keep even more warm, and Feng was sitting on a log bored out of her mind.

She really didn’t like this place. Its not like she was ever particularly outdoorsy. Sure, she had her smartphone, which miraculously never died, but it was entirely useless. No offline games on it, no music, and the clock was obsolete in a place where time didn’t matter. The flash didn’t stun killers, and throwing it at them just made them angry more than anything.

Still, she held onto it. A piece of home. All of them had something from home they kept on themselves. For Jake, it was a well used Swiss Army Knife, an expensive and genuine one at that. For Dwight, it was his old wristwatch. Apparently, he had it since forever. It looked as old. And for David, it was a roll of sports bandages. It never seemed to run out, despite how much he used it.

“I’m bored. Any of you got any stories?” she eventually asked since she figured the others would like to kill the time too.

“Hmmm… ” Dwight contemplated. Feng noticed that David patiently awaited his boyfriend’s response. How someone could manage to fall in love here was beyond her.

“I saw bigfoot once.”

“No you didn’t.” Jake quickly protested as he shot up from where he slept. “It was probably an emaciated bear, or some guy in a suit, or a trick of the light with some branches or something.” He then promptly went back to lying down.

“Yeesh mate, how long’ve you been holdin’ that one in?” David wondered.

“I just have very strong strong and very right opinions on dumb myths like that.” he rationalized.

“Well it’s true!” Dwight pouted. “I was working as a janitor for this huge park and this kid got lost in the woods so they arranged a search party. I went to help after my shift with a co-worker. We were searching for hours, and it was getting dark, so we decided to head back. Keep it one missing person instead of making it three, you know? So, we were on our way back when we heard this terrifying scream! It was like something I’d expect to hear here, honestly. So me and my co-worker are scared shitless. We’re back to back with our flashlights looking around to see if we can find the thing. And just when we think we’re kinda safe, I turn my light to see two glowing eyes staring right at me and the outline of a huge man.”

“No!” Feng says, almost in disbelief.

“Yes! I scream and cling onto my coworker, and then he sees it and screams, and we trip over ourselves and fumble as we run away, still screaming like little girls!” Dwight laughed. “No joke though, it had to have been at least twice as tall as me.”

“What you heard was probably a cougar, or some other large cat. Or some animals mating. Those things are freaks.” Jake shuddered. He heard animals getting it on more times than he would have ever liked to.

“Well, I know what I saw, or my name’s Aloiscious the Third! And its not.” the honest man proudly stated.

“…Whatever.” Jake sighed.

“Well, I believe you, luv.” David comforted with a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks David.” Dwight cooed as he leaned back into his boyfriend.

“You know, I saw something’ kinda scary too when I was a kid.” David mentioned. “Not so scary now, but that’s kinda expected.”

“I’m down to hear it. Fire away, champ.”

“It began on a dark night. Me ‘n some blokes were bored and decided to pay a visit to an abandoned church.”

“You know how cliché that sounds, right?” Dwight questioned.

“And wanderin’ to the woods at night ain’t?” David fired back.

“…Touché.”

“Anyhow, we were walkin’ up to the place when we saw the thing. It was a Black Dog. Thing was guardin’ the place of course. Pry thought we were gonna tear it up, so it howled bloody murder and ran straight for us barkin’ like it was rabid!” David laughed at the memory. “Needless t’say, our arses were humbled for a few good days.”

“You saw a feral black dog? I guess that’s kinda scary.” Feng commented. She liked Dwight’s story better.

“Yeah… Could be scarier.” Dwight admitted.

“Wasn't just any ol’ bloody black dog, A Black Dog. Guess you lot might not know what they are. Legend says the first buried at a churchyard had t’guard it ‘gainst the devil. Since no one wanted to be the poor sod stuck doin’ that, people buried a dog first. Then again, could’ve just been a regular ol’ demonic black dog. Lot more of those furry bastards.”

“I could believe that.” Dwight conceded.

“Yeah. If I’m remembering correctly, there are tons of spirits and a ton of different types back home. I never really bothered to learn about it though.” she nonchalantly admitted. It never really interested her. “But, this one gaming cafe I was staying at did have a legend around it. Supposedly, a guy solo queued nonstop and died there. Sounds like a noob if you ask me. Honestly, he wasn’t even Top 500. He wasn’t even Grandmaster!” she laughed, and then saw David and Dwight looking at her in confusion. “Oh wait, you’re all kinda old huh? Guy played alone in a team based video game nonstop, and died. He wasn’t even that good at the game.”

“Ah.”

“That makes a bit more sense.” David said gratefully. Things could get rather confusing when you had friends from a few decades ahead or behind you.

“So anyways, legend has it that if you sat in the chair he died in, his spirit would possess you, and you’d get his skills. But, you’d also game yourself to death like him.”

“Did you ever sit in his chair?” Dwight wondered.

“Pft, and gain the skills of a noob like him and get wrecked? As if! I might as well have went AFK for a week. I had some juicy Prestige to keep up you know.”

Before they could pester Jake for a story, the Fog began to roll in.

“Aw shit, here we go again .” Feng said as she rolled her eyes.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked, huh? See you guys there.” Dwight said with a wave. With his other hand, he still held onto David despite knowing the Fog would separate them regardless. They had all worked together before, so Dwight didn’t need to explain a plan of action.

“I hope it’s one a them Legion bastards. Love seein’ ‘em lose.” David grinned, sure they would have a successful trial. He gave Dwight a kiss on the cheek in celebration of the impending victory, making the shorter man blush.

“As long as we survive, I don’t care who we're up against.” Jake said as he threw in an offering, hoping it would land them in the forest. “See you all on the other side.” And with a salute, they were whisked away.

-

The Fog cleared to reveal the Red Forest. Dwight knew that somewhere, Jake was happy. He just hoped the Huntress wasn’t here this time. She was far too efficient on her home turf. Dwight wandered shortly before coming across a generator to work on. Surprisingly, he managed to complete it before something happened. Based on the scream, David was hooked. But thankfully, he wasn’t too far away from him.

Sneakily, Dwight made his way over to the hook, keeping an eye out for this trial’s killer. In a close call, he saw the eldest Legion member passed right by him. Dwight let out a sigh of relief once he was in the clear, and then rushed to David.

“My knight in shining armour’s come t’rescue me, has he?” David chuckled, but instantly regretted it and winced from the pain of the hook.

“You can thank me later. Come on, let’s go!”

“Oh, I will~” David said smugly.

“You’re terrible…” Dwight said in a restrained voice, not wanting to reveal his anticipation and spurn the other man.

Eventually, it came to the last generator, and Dwight ended up being the one to keep the Legionnaire busy.

“Come out come out wherever you are! Don’t worry, I bite!” the young man teased. Dwight tried to keep calm as he hid in the locker. Slowly, the legionnaire passed by the lockers, dragging his knife across the metal doors.

“Gotcha!” he steamed as he yanked open a locker door, revealing it to be empty. “Fucker…” he cursed as he slammed the thing shut. “Now where could he have gone?” he wondered as he idled in front of the locker Dwight was hiding in.

“How about… Here!” he screamed as he opened the locker Dwight was in, causing him to scream in turn. “HA HA HA! Classic!” the Legionnaire rejoiced as he tossed Dwight over his shoulder.

Dwight tried to break free, but was unable too. The closest hook was nearby, leaving him with not enough time.

“Alright, let’s hear you scream again!” the killer announced with eager anticipation. But just before setting Dwight on the vile contraption, there was a roar that seemed to shake the area. “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is that?” he said once he caught a glimpse of the roar’s source. Dwight saw it too, a tall thing with glowing eyes.

“Hmm?” the killer hummed, and brought up his free hand to the side of his face like it was a phone. “… Really? … Alright, alright! I get it! Sheesh… Consider it done, boss.” the killer said and hung up, and threw Dwight to the ground. For a moment, he thought he was about to get mori’d.

Instead, he got a kick to the dick and a boot to the face as the killer ran off laughing joyously. Meanwhile, Dwight curled up into a ball as he clutched his groin. A few moments later, he got up and hobbled away. A terrible experience, but better than being mori’d. When he reached the group, they had just finished the last generator, sounding off to let the killer know as well.

“Shite, wot happ’ned to ya?” David fretted as he immediately went to Dwight’s side, the deep bruise on his face and funny walk evident. “I swear, I’ll find a way to make the bastard pay!”

“Well, a kick to the dick and face. I’ll live. But, something else happened, something odd.” Dwight began. Then, they felt the heartbeat, letting them know the killer was near. Then, something passed then, something neither survivor nor killer.

“Get back here so I can skin you alive! Papa needs a new pimp coat!” the Legionnaire giggled.

“Hey, watch this pro strat!” Feng told the other survivors. “360 no scope!” she announced with a twirl, and tossed her phone. It flew in the direction of the killer, just so happening to land in front of him. He stepped on it, and slid head first into a tree. A crack formed on the mask as he groaned.

“Suck it!” Feng taunted as she brought her hands to her hips as she thrusted outwards. The others celebrated with her. This was the most fun she had in a long time.

“You little bitch! I’ll-” he began, but was cut off with a swift knee to the dick. He let out a long, high pitched squeal as he slowly crumpled to the floor, clutching his family jewels.

The thing had come back to help out. It gave a thumbs up. They all knew what that thing was now that it was in front of them.

“Nice.” David said as he gave it a thumbs up in return before it ran away again. Dwight looked at Jake with a shit-eating grin once it had left, and they were on their way to the exit gate.

“Okay, you know this doesn’t count!”

“Gotta take the L, my guy.” Feng said as she patted Jake on the back.

Back at the campfire, Dwight recounted what happened, to the shared anger and surprise of the others.

"Least that bigfoot bloke seems like a good fellow. Has my respect."

"I hope we see him again. He seemed cool." Feng hoped. It would be something to spice up life in hell.

"And what do you think, Jake?" Dwight smugly asked.

"I refuse to acknowledge that thing." he simply stated. Dwight let out a little laugh that David found cute.

But, to the surprise of everyone, the Fog rolled in. It never rolled on so soon after a completed trial.

"Oh come on! We just finished one, you bastard!" David yelled out.

“It’s probably because of what happened last round.” Dwight sighed. None of them were in terrible condition or overly exhausted, but still. It would have been nice to have a longer break.

“I’m sure we’ll do fine like last time.” Jake assured.

“I just hope it’s not that doctor. He really creeps me out.” Feng said. The others agreed, and were taken by the Fog.

On the other side, they found themselves in a warm climate, a ghost town in the wild west. Dwight and Feng found themselves spawned near each other, and were quick to get working on a generator. As it neared completion, their hearts hastened as they heard the fear-inducing lullaby of The Huntress.

She was unbothered by the vastly different environment. She sniffed the air, and snapped her head in the direction of the generator. An axe was readied, and thrown in the direction of the generator.

“Run!” Dwight yelled as the generator announced its completion. An axe buried itself in the spot where he was. Feng was faster than him, so Dwight found himself the target of the killer once more. He cursed being fun to chase. He noticed that for some reason, the Huntress particularly liked to hunt him. He didn’t want to dwell on why.

He was eventually axed and downed in a single hit. He screamed when she yanked it out, revealing that its iridescent red color didn’t just come from his blood. She scooped him up in her arms and held him like a baby, resuming her song to try and comfort him. He tried to wiggle free, but it was harder than it looked. Sometimes, he wondered if the Entity even gave her any supernatural strength. He wouldn't be surprised if she didn’t. He was soon on the hook in a basement, crying in pain. She stood there for a moment to admire her work, or something, before leaving.

Dwight knew to wait for someone to unhook him. It was safer, even more so with David around. But basements were a more dangerous place to be when the Huntress was involved. She always seemed to know when someone was there. He figured that another generator or two had to be finished by the time he heard someone approaching. It generated a spark of hope that quickly dissipated as he heard her song.

And down the stairs came Feng, a wound in her shoulder, also in her arms like a baby too. As she screamed on the hook, the Huntress also winced, muttering something unintelligible before leaving.

“Hey Feng…”

“Hey…”

“How- Ack!” he cried as the hook moved a little in him.

“Fine.” she sighed, already knowing his question. “Two more gens. … I hate this place.”

“Yeah…”

They waited for a rescuer in the ambient silence of the basement. With two left, it would be easy to lure the Huntress far from the basement so they could be saved. Their hopes rose and fell, just as before. She came down singing with David slung over her shoulder. One of his arms appeared to be wounded.

“Fockin’ bitch!” he screamed as she tossed him onto the hook and left without a second glance at him. “I swear ’m gonna- Argh!” he yelled as the hook dug into him as we squirmed.

“Okay, let’s just, keep calm. Wait a few moments, and then we’ll try to free ourselves.”

“As you say luv.” David agreed. Feng hummed in agreement as well.

“So, how’s it hangin?” he dared to ask after waiting a little bit.

“Ughhh, you did not just say that.” Feng groaned.

“David, I swear!”

“Sorry…”

“You’re lucky I love you. Alright, on the count of three guys. One… Two… Three!” Dwight yelled as they tried to unhook themselves. Each of them failed, screaming in pain as they fell right back onto the hook, Entity’s claws showing up to induce more fear.

“It’s okay guys. It’s- It’s alright.” Dwight said, trying to sound calm himself even though he was not, panting, sweating, and a few tears breaking free. He didn’t want to feel that emptiness that even love could not stave away. Neither did the others. Then, the last generator sounded completion. A few moments later, Jake came hurrying down the stairs. The Huntress would surely be there soon.

He unhooked David first, who unhooked Dwight with one arm as Jake got Feng. They didn’t even bother to heal, not that it mattered when she could one shot them into dying this trial. But at the top of the steps she awaited. With a hunter’s cry, she threw an axe down the stairs, the survivors narrowly dodging it. Still, she sang her song and grinned a mad smile

Just when she was about to lunge at them, she shifted to block an attack from something. It was a dog. It chomped right through her axe handle. She wasn’t singing anymore. She quickly retaliated with a headbutt, knocking it away. She cast aside her broken axe with a snarl and lunged at the other beast. They wrestled each other to the ground, aiming for each other’s throats. Seeing their chance, the survivors took it and ran.

“I thought you said those things were demons?!” Dwight questioned as David carried him in one arm.

“Most a ‘em! The church ones ain’t the only ones to do protectin’.”

“Who cares! Let’s just hurry up and escape!” Jake yelled as he led the way.

They soon reached an exit gate and hurried to unlock it. About a third of the way through, they heard an animalistic yet human roar. She had won. Around her mouth was black blood. But, she did not come out unscathed. She bore many scratches, a number of them deep and flowing with dark red blood. Even half of her mask was broken, revealing a red iris surrounded by black.

“Come on come on hurry up!” Feng shouted at the switch as she ran towards them, laughing maniacally with an axe in hand. Their hearts were pounding, the knowledge that at least one of them was probably going to die about to set in. Jake took out the flash light to try and stun her, but fumbled and dropped it.

And out of nowhere, she was knocked to the ground by a blur of black. It was the black dog again. It was on top of her, and then in one swift motion, she was on top, and tore out it's throat with her bare hands. She tossed aside the flesh and fur and resumed her true hunt. She was only a few feet away when she fell forward, the dog’s maw mangling her ankle. She let out a scream as she tried to hit it with her axe, but missed. Then the alarm sounded and the gate opened.

“Go, go, go!” Jake ushered.

“Wait!” David shouted, and switched Dwight for Jake’s flashlight. He ran back, and aimed the light at the Huntress as she thrashed about. Once she was blinded, David whistled for the dog and patted his thigh to usher it to come.  It did, and ran beside David as they ran through the exit gate to the safety of the campfire.

David and Dwight laughed in celebration, the dog rejoicing with them. Feng breathed a sigh of relief as Jake mended her wound.

“Wanna refuse to acknowledge this one?” David joked as he ruffled the dog’s thick, dark fur. Jake finished patching up Feng, and went to go patch up David while Feng took care of Dwight

“Refuse to acknowledge what?” he asked, playing dumb. “There’s no such thing as a Black Dog, just black dogs.” Just as he was about to apply something to David’s arm, the dog growled at him, causing him to back away. The others lightly laughed.

“Alright, fine! … It’s real.” Jake told the dog. It seemed content with being acknowledged, so it let Jake do his work, proceeding to rest at David’s feet.

“So, what can you tell us about your dog, King?” Feng asked.

“Hmm… their name is Heir, being heir to the King’s throne an’ all. Fights like a King too!” he praised he he ruffled the dog's fur.

“You mean we’re keeping them?” Dwight asked with a bright smile.

“Well, I hope so.” David said as he continued to pet it. “Don’t think Heir’ll be goin’ to trials though. Pry for the best.”

“Aww, so cute! C’mere!” Dwight called. It got up and went to sit before Dwight. He let the dog sniff his hand, and it licked it before ploping back down in front of David. “Oh my god they like me!” Dwight squealed, looking like he was about to cry.

“‘Know I said most were demons. A few are good, like this little bloke ‘ere!” he praised as he scratched behind its ear, which it seemed to like. “Either protect a church, or guide the wayward. Fittin’.”

The Entity seemed to be willing to allow them the repose, since it didn’t quickly call them into a trial. Even after the next trial the dog remained by the fire, awaiting David’s return. If David were out in a trial, Dwight would oft find the dog at his feet, lounging around. The big, dark furball comforted other survivors after dreary trials, even if it too could not dissipate that empty feeling.

And even so, the trials soon became much more lively, as did the times round the fire

[thewatermelloncat]

Blank Canvas

Summary: Five struggles to deal with life in a timeline that he doesn’t think he belongs in. Not wanting to confide in his siblings enjoying their newfound lives, he turns to self-destructive methods.

Warnings: Self harm

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Five was low. Last night he’d slept in his cupboard, the small space enveloping protectively around him. Anything just to make the world around him feel smaller. The wooden floor didn’t bother him, instead it felt familiar after spending nights upon nights on the ground in the apocalypse. The increased darkness didn’t bother him either, it made him feel like he was somewhere else. Somewhere far away, where for the moment nothing mattered, that nothing needed to matter.

The strange thing about it all was that he could spend nights like that then go down stairs to his siblings in the morning like nothing unusual happened. And he wanted to keep it that way. They were so happy having their old lives back in their rightful timeline. Who was he to disturb them with the fact that he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there?

He wasn’t there the first time the timeline rolled around this point. He was out of place, like a game piece put back in the wrong set. Matching some of the other pieces but not meant to be there all the same.

But he couldn’t tell them how he felt about any of it, that would involve a lot of explaining and sharing of things he didn’t want his siblings to know. Both things that he couldn’t be bothered with. And deep down he knew that in the end he was the only person who would understand what he was going through. So, he shut it all in on himself and threw away the key.

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He’d been fundamentally invisible all day, going down in the morning for breakfast before retreating to his room where he stared at the walls for hours on end. Though it was doubtful that anyone else noticed, they all had their own stuff to do, and he was sure no one was keeping tabs on him.

Eventually he’d fallen asleep and woke up curled sideways on his bed, shaking. He didn’t have the powers of Klaus to see the dead, but he knew the spirits of the people he killed followed him everywhere. Plaguing him in his sleep even through to the moments when he is awake. Somehow, they never leave his mind.

He knows his job had never been personal and it was what he had to do to get beck to his family, but the memories of killing stayed with him. For the most part the people deserved to die, but the owners of the flower cart and the child minding their own business playing in the park were exceptions. They stuck with him.

The people who screamed and begged for mercy before the life in their eyes faded out stuck with him. After returning from an assignment he would often hear agents bragging about how long they tortured their targets before their bodies gave out, how loudly they screamed, how they pleaded with them. Five always left the room. He may have been the best in the business, but he was the one who hated it the most.

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He can’t remember when the scars started appearing on his arms. He thinks one day he had gotten low in the apocalypse and it had happened on accident, moving past something that had split his skin. The pain had made him take his mind off of things but it hadn’t lasted.

Delores was always critical when he began to do it intentionally, pleading and trying to reason with him that they would become infected. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. It didn’t matter either way, the pain was good and there were many more ways he could die quicker than by infection.

It was in his later days in the Commission that he started to stop. He guessed it was the prospect of his final calculations finally settling into place, the fact that he would be able to see his family soon. Or what he refused to admit – that he was becoming acclimatised to the frequent killing of people.

When he’d travelled back through time to his siblings, the scars on his arms rewound leaving blank, smooth skin. A blank canvas. Though the deaths still haunted him, he hadn’t had the time to think about punishing himself with the threat of the apocalypse looming closer and closer. But now with two apocalypses having been averted, he had all the time in the world.

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There is a knife that he keeps in the draw of his desk. He doesn’t really know why but it sits there under a small stack of books. It had been there since he was a child and he’d never had a thought about using it. Though after waking up to the memories of the child in the park, he brings it out.

Sitting on his bed, both his hands resting on his knees, he hesitates. He knows this isn’t logical and he isn’t afraid to admit to himself that he knows it never has been. But part of him wants to indulge in the old pastime. Just to remember what it feels like.

He’s already punished himself for the child in the park and the owners of the flower cart, and looking down at his unmarked arm he debates whether he really wants to do it again. Then he remembers the conference. The blood dripping from his axe and splattering against the walls and his clothes, marking him as their murderer. He hadn’t punished himself for those.

The fading sunlight shining through his window glints off the knife like it’s trying to hypnotise him into doing something stupid, and he gives in bringing the blade against his forearm.

He inhales at the stinging of his skin. He’d forgotten how satisfying it could be to have some of the pain he inflicted on someone else reflected back at him – no doubt to a much smaller scale, but a reminder of it nonetheless.

Looking down he sees the reddening mark standing out in stark contrast to the fair skin on the rest of his arm. Alike to Öga for Öga written in blood on the pale-tiled floor.

He hadn’t punished himself for Elliot’s death. Unlike the others, he hadn’t caused it but he certainly could have prevented it. Bring the knife back to his arm he blames himself for not having been careful enough.

“Shit!” he whispers out a curse as the blade cuts deeper than he intended for it to. Dropping the knife to the floor a small amount of blood splatters off it onto the wood, camouflaging in with the drops from his arm. With is hand now free he clasps it over the cut.

It isn’t too bad, but it is certainly deeper than intended and he knows he will have to patch it up because the bleeding won’t stop on its own. Luckily, he has a few medical supplies around his room and he gets up to grab them from the box in the cupboard, saving him from wondering through the hallways with a reason he doesn’t want to explain.

Back on his bed he lifts up his hand, ignoring the stick of blood, assessing the damage done. He’s had his fair share of injuries and decides that this one doesn’t need stitches. So, he begins by cleaning up the smeared mess around the wound, wiping the blood off his other hand as well.

With a well-aimed throw, the used cloth lands in the rubbish bin next to the desk, as Luther’s voice rings out from behind his door. “Five, dinner!”

Five bites back a curse at the poor timing but is thankful that his brother doesn’t open the door. “Okay, coming” he calls back hoping that his voice sounds even.

Whether it did or not, he’s relieved when he hears the heavy footsteps fading away. Though he still can’t afford to take much time getting down stairs, or it will raise suspicion.

Quickly he pulls a bandage out of the box and hastily wraps it around his wrist in probably the worst job he’s ever done. Though in fairness, he’s never been this short on time and he can redo it later. After tying it off and tucking the end underneath, he stands from his bed and makes his way down to the kitchen.

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It’s not long into dinner that he feels the bandage beginning to slip around his wrist. Maybe he should have spared another minute to wrap it more efficiently, but it’s too late now. So, he deals with it, resting his arm on the table and turning his wrist up against gravity. No need to hide it away just yet and raise suspicion.

So, dinner continues, seeming to be going fine until Five realises he can feel the bandage soaking through. Now taking the opportunity he shifts his arm under the table to rest it against his leg. Thankful that the dark fabric of his blazer should hide the worst of the staining if it were to bleed completely through.

No matter how careful he was being, he shouldn’t have gotten complacent as he reached up to put his knife and fork on his plate after he’d finished eating.

“Is that blood?” Vanya’s voice startles him.

Five freezes but doesn’t dare look down to asses the damage. Quickly suppressing any expression that he knows what she is referring to he stares at her blankly.

“Five, show me your hand.”

As a play of deception, he raises his unharmed left hand to her.

“The other one” Vanya demands.

Biting the bullet Five raises his right hand above the table. Quickly flicking it back to front and hiding it back under before she can get much of a look at it. By this time the rest of their siblings have abandoned all other conversation and are staring at them intently. He doesn’t dare look at any of them, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Give me your hand, Five. I know what I saw” Vanya lowers her gaze at him, her voice turning into a warning tone.

“I’m fine” he says through loosely gritted teeth, trying his best to suppress his anger. Knowing it would only raise more suspicion like an animal acting out when cornered.

“If it’s fine you should have no problem letting her have a look at it” Diego says.

Five rolls his eyes. Figures that Diego would say something as predictable as that to try and prove he is smarter than he actually is.

He was hoping that his siblings would drop the conversation at his lack of response, though after a painstaking silence he realises they are willing to keep waiting until he says something. “S’just a stupid mistake” he mumbles.

To be fair, he isn’t lying. He hadn’t meant to cut himself that deep, and it had also been outright and inexplicably stupid.

After glancing once at all of his siblings staring at him with varying looks of concern, none of which he wanted, he was hit by the realisation that not only did he not want to be there, but he couldn’t be there. So, he decided he wouldn’t be. There was no way he could deal with this now.

He hits his fist down on the table as he pushes his chair out, for no other reason than as a warning for them all to back off, before making for the door.

“Five, it’s okay. Accidents happen” Luther’s voice calls out to him and he wonders why he didn’t just blink out to avoid this situation.

Nonetheless, the words stop him in his tracks and he swallows convulsively.

“It wasn’t an accident” Klaus says weakly as he realises. Staring at Five with more understanding than sympathy.

“Oh my God!” Allison gasps as it all clicks for her. Clasping a hand to her mouth and pushing her chair away from the table in shock. She’d known Five had been through a lot but somehow it had never crossed her mind that he would use self-harm as an outlet.

“Five?” Luther’s voice sounds strained. “Talk to us.”

Something in Five shifts and he realises that no matter what he does or says now his siblings will look at him differently. His time for keeping secrets is over. They will no longer sit by not being able to understand him, to not know what he had gone through.

For once in his life he wishes he could act like the thirteen-year-old that he looks like, to be able to storm out of the room and hide away. But he isn’t thirteen and he knows he owes his family an explanation.

“I can’t have this conversation now” he begins, “and I’m going to be honest and say that it’s because I don’t know what to tell you because I never planned to have it.”

He swallows deeply as the cracks in his armour open.

“But I understand that there are things that you want to know which I have been keeping from you, and in time I will let you know them. I just can’t tell them all to you at once.”

For a long time Five stands in uncomfortable silence, feeling all eyes on him and a trail of blood running down his hand, curling between his fingers to drop on the floor.

None of his siblings know what to say. Never having heard him be so honest, they don’t know how far they can push him. Somehow, they know that there is really only one thing that they can bring up without Five changing his mind and disappearing.

“How long?” Allison asks smally once she finds her voice again. Her eyes not leaving the slow trail of blood tracing down Five’s hand.

“I don’t know” Five begins, his voice sounding tight with his whole mind telling him not to speak. “Sometime in the apocalypse, I guess. On accident.”

Clear that his brother won’t elaborate any further Luther shifts in his chair before asking the most obvious question in the book. “Why?”

Five sighs shakily, closing his eyes.

There are so many reasons why, but then again is there a reason at all? Does something justify marking your body in such a way if everything is temporary? There are so many answers.

Five can’t pick one and his body turns to leave before his loyalty to his family commands him to stay and he reluctantly turns back.

His siblings can see that the conversation is hard for him, and they shift uncomfortably in their seats wanting more than anything to bring him over to them. Though they know if they move toward him, they’ll spook him and he’ll disappear.

“I take it back, that was badly worded” Luther backtracks before rephrasing. “What makes you think about doing it?”

Five feels a shiver run down his body. Regardless of his family already knowing about his stint as an assassin, he doesn’t want to explain it in more detail just yet and he shakes his head.

“Okay” Luther nods to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain now.”

Five’s shoulders relax a little and he shifts further around to face his siblings directly.

“How often?” Vanya asks, her voice small like she doesn’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t remember… but I stopped nearing the end of my time at the Commission. This is the first time in a while” Five’s siblings seem to relax slightly as he is able to give them more of a detailed answer.

“What can we do?” Allison leans forward in her chair and for a second Five is scared that she’s going to move toward him.

“Nothing” he says. It should have been expected that they would all look at him with varying levels of disparity, but it still irritates him. “Look, I know it’s stupid and I know I shouldn’t do it! But it’s not as simple as that” Five lowers his voice in a sigh, his arms tensing then relaxing at his sides.

“No one said it was simple, buddy” Klaus murmurs quietly.

“I thought I was over it” Five’s voice cracks as a single tear rolls down his cheek and he immediately brushes it away. He sniffs frustratedly as he drops his hand, looking away from everyone. “And I never meant to go that deep… like I said, it was a stupid mistake.”

There is a long silence but this time it isn’t painful. It’s clear that Five isn’t able to handle more interrogation so they decide to shelve it for another day.

“Do you want one of us to have a look at it?” Allison asks.

Five shakes his head.

“But if you said it went deeper than” – Five cuts her off.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t need stitches.”

“Okay” she says quietly as she gives in.

Sensing the conversation drawing to a close Five shuffles impatiently on his feet.

“Just – Five” Vanya calls out to him before he can disappear, breathing out a sigh of relief when he stays. “If you ever get low like that, can you promise that you’ll come to one of us instead.”

Her words take on a tone of pleading and he knows the sentiment is reflected on behalf of everyone. He swallows thickly and looks away, unable to meet their eyes as he tells them, “I can’t.”

[velvetthunder1999]

All the time on Earth

Part 22 - Saying Goodbye

Summary: You know the twins are going to leave soon, but saying goodbye was never easy for you. George knows this and leaves you with a present that will remind you of him when the two of you are apart

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

After your battle with Umbridge had seemed to die off, your mood definitely changed for the better. You and George were not arguing anymore, and with evenings that you didn’t have to spend at detention you were able to catch up with your studies as well. All was well, until one morning in February you opened the Daily Prophet at breakfast and choked on your eggs and bacon.

“What?” asked George immediately. You shoved the paper in front of them as Fred leaned closer, too.

“Escaped Death Eaters?” said Fred. “Look — They blame Sirius for it!”

You looked at the pictures of the ten Death Eaters who — according to the paper — had broken out of Azkaban last night. Your eyes fell upon an extremely nasty one.

“Antonin Dolohov,” you read. “Convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett… Is that —?”

“It is,” said George darkly. He exchanged looks with Fred.

“D’you think your mum’s all right?” you asked carefully. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe you should write to her.”

“Why?” asked Fred.

“To make sure she’s okay! It must be horrible for her!”

“Sure,” shrugged George darkly. “If you think it’s a good idea.”

“I think you’d make her feel better.”

George stroke your cheek gently before standing up from the table.

“You’re so kind, you know that?” then he left with Fred to the owlery.

After reading the article about the prisoners you felt a certain sense of danger. Evil was approaching, and you wanted to do everything in your power to be ready when it arrives. During the DA lessons you worked harder than ever, and when you started combat training, you always made sure to give the best performance you could. Numerous times you were practising with Ginny, eagerly watched by others how the two of you sent curses and counter-curses at each other; just like how in a real battle would be.

You watched enviously as Ginny’s silver horse was running around above your heads. You had just started the patronus charm and more and more people in the room were able to conjure their own. Ginny looked at you, nodding encouragingly.

“Just think about something happy.”

“I’m trying,” you said with gritted teeth.

“Think about my brother,” she said with a teasing grin.

“Never mind that, I just can’t stay focused long enough.”

“Try again.”

You scowled in concentration. You were searching for memories in your mind. The first that came to you was when the two of you had been walking in Hogsmeade, feeding a big black dog.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Silvery smoke puffed out of your wand. You looked at it hopefully, fighting to forget how you had been lying in bed after that certain Hogsmeade trip, devastated, thinking that George doesn’t like you a bit.

Your smoke wanished.

“That wasn’t a really good memory,” said Ginny.

“Shut up, let me think.”

You looked around in the room, looking for the twins. They were standing next to each other, investing a great amount of work into the spell. You smiled to yourself. Even though they did not care about a lot of things, they worked extremely hard for those that they did.

George realised you were watching them and looked up, grinning. You beamed at him. He winked and you let out a small chuckle. You remembered the spell you had to say. ‘Expecto Patronum’.

You felt a sudden vibration from your wand and a very nice, warm feeling throughout your  whole arm. You looked down in surprise and saw the silvery smoke again. You had almost done it. Just a little more… You concentrated and said the spell out loud again.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A beautiful form of light in the shape of a greyhound burst out of your wand and shot gracefully into the air. It ran a circle around you and Ginny, then lowered itself to the floor, standing next to you. Your mouth fell open and Ginny shouted in excitement.

“Amazing, Y/N!”

You looked back at George who was watching your patronus in absolute delight. He raised his wand, too, looked deeply in your eyes and let his silver coyote join your greyhound, Ginny’s horse and Fred’s hyena. Maybe it was due to the patronuses in the room, maybe because of something else, but you were sure you had rarely felt happier than in this moment.

——

Weeks flew quickly as Umbridge’s new regime took over the school. After she had busted the DA and Dumbledore had left, Fred and George made sure to welcome the new Headmistress accordingly. Fireworks on corridors and loud bangs in the middle of lessons were usual at this point; just as the night time celebrations in the common room after particularly efficient pranks.

Easter holiday was about to end; you had just recieved Mrs Weasley’s chocolate eggs which were filled with delicious caramel. You had eaten the last piece of them on Sunday morning, before you headed down to have breakfast. You were still half asleep as you reached the Great Hall, but jerked awake the moment you saw an unfamiliar face next to a very familiar one. A Ravenclaw girl — who you rarely saw on corridors but once had asked you how was it being together with a Weasley twin — was having something with George which just didn’t seem like a friendly conversation at all.

He was eating with one hand, writing on a parchment with his other, deep in thought, while the girl was talking eagerly about something while leaning quite close to him. He nodded rather absent-mindedly and mumbled something in response. The girl took it as a good sign to touch his shoulder and giggle loudly. You frowned and walked towards them; when she saw you she said something to George then went back to her own table. You eyed her with a frown until she sat down, then joined your boyfriend at the Gryffindor table. When George saw you, too, a smile appeared on his face and he reached for a mug to pour you some coffee.

“Morning, sweet — ”

Your lips cut him off as you kissed him, tasting coffee and butter on his tongue. He froze with the mug in his hand, but didn’t hesitate much; he kissed you back just as quickly, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck. When you pulled away, he looked dizzy.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled dreamily. “What was that for?”

“Who was that?” you said sharply, taking the mug from his hands.

“Who was who?”

“That girl.”

“What girl?”

“That Ravenclaw girl, she was just here.”

George shrugged.

“I don’t know. Some Liz or Louise… She wanted to buy our Skiving Snackboxes.”

“She clearly fancies you,” you said with a tone.

You wondered why was this sentence so familar to you; then you remembered that George had said something similar to you when McLaggen had been nagging you. George’s lips curled into a cheeky smile; he seemed to remember, too.

“Witty?” he said, smirking.

“What?” you snapped.

“Jealous?”

“Shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. He wheezed.

“My sweet baby,” he kissed you on the cheek.

“Shut up,” you said again, but this time softly. He had smiled against the corner of your mouth before putting another kiss there. Then he sat up straight, his face turning serious.

“Listen, can I talk to you later?”

You looked at him with a start.

“Something’s wrong?”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” he sad with a reassuring smile. “I just want to tell you something but I don’t have the time right now. Meet you before lunch? The Room?”

He was already standing up, ready to leave. You nodded.

“Okay. Meet you there.”

You were supposed to focus on your homework but you were just too interested watching the wind blowing a loose piece of thread stuck on the windowsill. Down in the park you saw a couple of boys and girls throwing a frisbee around, racing each other on who’d get it first. You chuckled in silence.

The common room felt unusually empty and quiet and you knew very well why. You were hoping, though, that you were wrong; but you knew the twins that much to read the signs. You just wanted to push the thing aside for as long as you could, but George had already arranged meeting with you. There was no way back.

You left for the Room with a heavy heart, but you didn’t want to make him wait. Thirty minutes to lunch, you pressed down the handle of the door behind which you were expecting the news.

You saw him at once; he was waiting for you, standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets. When his eyes met yours he smiled warmly and opened his arms to invite you into his embrace. You did not hesitate; leapt over the distance between the two of you and let him welcome you in a hug.

The two of you stood in silence for a minute. George was acting as though he didn’t want to start talking just yet. Maybe he had figured out… he had realized that you knew and was scared of your opinion? Or were you just paranoid and he was just about to talk about something completely different?

It was you, who broke the silence.

“Just tell me.”

“I’m… I’m sure you know already.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

But he didn’t answer. He let out a deep sigh and placed his cheek on the top of your head. He was still holding you close in his arms. You bit your tongue, but forced the question out anyway.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

You nodded and he started gently stroking your hair.

“I knew it was gonna happen,” you said. “I’ve had this feeling for a while. Since you were banned from quidditch. I knew the day would come. Is today that day?”

“No. But soon.”

You nodded again. You didn’t want to think about it too much, you just wanted to accept it and move on.

“I won’t stop you,” you said. “I know you don’t want to stay.”

“How about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to stay?”

You looked up at him, at his freckled face, into his beautiful brown eyes. You tilted your head with a sad smile.

“You know I can’t go. I still have next year to finish.”

“I know. It was worth a try.”

He gently brushed your cheek with his index finger.

“I’m really going to miss you,” he said.

“I’m really going to miss you, too.”

“Will you remember me?”

You snorted.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Just curious,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out something what seemed like a necklace with a small stone. “But perhaps this’ll remind you, that you have a handsome ginger chap  waiting for you somewhere.”

You chukled and took the necklace into your hand. You examined it curiously. The little stone was shaped like a trapeze and in your palm it turned into a nice shade of light pink.

“So what’s this?”

“It’s a crystal, a very rare one. I have it’s only true pair on me,” he showed you his wrist on which was a bracelet with a small stone identical to yours in both shape and color. “The two exist as one. They’re connected. Whenever you touch it and think of me, mine will glow. Same thing goes for yours.”

“Show me,” you said, throat dry.

“Here.”

He closed his palm over the tiny crystal and closed his eyes. For a few seconds nothing happened, then you started to feel a growing heat from the crystal in your hand. Its color was changing as well, it became more and more of a bighter pink.

“Every time one of us thinks of the other —”

“They’ll know,” you whispered, totally in awe. Then your expression darkened.

“What’s wrong?” asked George. “You don’t like it? I thought —”

“No, it’s not that, I… I love it, but… George, where did you get this, this must’ve been very expensive…”

“Never mind that,” he said, closing your fingers on your crystal and kissing your hand. “It was worth every last sickle.”

“Well, I don’t want you to spend your last sickles on me.”

“It’s all right love. This time next year we’ll be richer than the Minister for Magic,” a certain kind of excitement came back to his face. “I cannot wait to show you the shop, it’s gonna be brilliant.”

“Oh, I know,” you nodded. “As brilliant as you are.”

You kissed him lovingly, standing on your toes. God, you were going to miss him so much.

“You have to say goodbye before you leave,” you said sternly. “Both you and Fred. You might as well tell him that.”

“I will,” he said. “I’m sure he wants to say goodbye, too.”

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: A Familiar Face (1/?)

WELCOME WELCOME EVERYONE! Today, the tournament arc begins! I do hope you’ll enjoy this ahahah

I dedicate this to all the wonderful people of the Au’s Discord - hit me up if you wanna join! Also, a special thank you to @traitorous-bisexual and @awebo without whom this arc wouldn’t exist <3

Finally, before we start: make sure you check out @whatimevendoinhere , @spout1nk and (soon) @julius-ranch for art and fanfics about the AU!!

It was a lovely morning. 

The sun shined through the tinted windows, turning the light a soft orange glow that lessened the glare of it against his eyes. 

It was a welcome respite: during the months that involved preparing the tournament, days were quick to melt together, nights becoming just darker afternoons as Scott and everyone around him hurried to make everything look ready for the contestants' arrival. So, not having the sun shine directly into his eyes as he looked over the final challenges that had been chosen for the tournament was a relief. The cup of warm tea by his desk was also a saving grace.

Stifling a yawn, Scott figured that he could let himself take a stroll. Maybe open up his window, let the room freshen up a bit. 

With his window overlooking one of the many parks inside the Academy, maybe he could distract himself for a moment and see if his protege had finally started warming up to his teammates. 

That plan had flown out of the window almost immediately. Or maybe it would be better to say that it had flown into the window, along with a green tipped arrow that had suddenly appeared in his field of vision. 

Now, Scott hasn't been adventuring for a while, but it would be foolish to think that he's forgotten how the world works - with a flick of his wrist, a translucent dome of purple arcane energy materializes between him and the incoming arrow, which impacts with the barrier a split second later. The tip goes through, piercing the veil of his magic, and for a terrifying moment Scott thinks it's not gonna stop, but it simply stops, held in place as if caught in a web. 

Which is a relief, the amateur that tried to attack him - an Archmage, in the middle of his own Academy - failed to get their first shot in and this will give him the time to step back and call his most trusted in order to quickly and efficiently get rid of the problem at hand. He has other more pressing matters to attend to, he's not going to waste his time on this. 

As his Shield spell fades, it congeals like a shimmering second skin over his upper arm. Maybe calling the guards isn't that pressing, he's got this. 

Or maybe he doesn't, he thinks as he get a second, much more terrifying surprise - in the span of a couple of seconds, he really can get no breaks.

A figure materializes in the air in front of him, with a dark hood over their head that covers most of their features except for a huge - terrifying - grin and an intricate bow strapped to their back.

The figure appears with a puff of iridescent smoke, crouched in the air as if they'd been in the process of jumping before they decided to teleport, and- crashes into him, the force of the impact and the shock of it happening making him lose his balance and start falling back. 

There's a moment where Scott is confused: is this some sort of strange tactic? Did the stranger misjudge their trajectory? Are they going to wrestle on the ground as if they weren't both magic users? 

Then, a brief split second of panic - he didn't look what the stranger was holding, and he is currently falling on his back. He is going to get stabbed, at the very least, and that conviction is only made stronger as he feels the stranger's arms close in around him. 

But then, Scott has simply enough time to blink in shock, as the arms just wrap around his back, before his world is literally turned upside down.

One moment he is falling on his back, already anticipating the pain of a knife to the back - please no vital organs, spare him the need for an extremely expansive healer. The next the is wrapped in a hug and grunting in pain as his knees impact with the ground. 

"Ah, fuck that hurt- Scotty are you alright?" 

Scott refuses to believe this. He pushes against the chest under him - the arms give, letting him go - and finds himself face to face with a sight that is both very familiar and weirdly unusual. 

"You-" Scott says, tone an unconvincingly mix of menacing and angry as he jabs a finger into the not-so-stranger's chest -"Are lucky to be alive. I could have murdered you."

Hbomb's worried glance instantly brightens, despite Scott's best hopes, and he throws his head back to laugh. No matter how irritated he is at his friend, he can't help but huff out a laugh himself, and a moment later they're both chuckling together on the floor. By all the gods, it has been some time.

"You are a dumbass, H. You couldn't just use the door? You know, like a normal person?!" Scott asks, holding himself up on his left elbow because H has always been one to laugh with his whole body and Scott is still recovering from jamming his knees into the floor, he's not in the mood to be jostled around by an enthusiastic ranger. 

"Aw, Scotty, aren't you happy to see me?" The half-elf asks, putting a hand on his chest as he fails to pretend he's insulted. Scott flicks his nose. 

"Ah- that hurt!"

"I know, I meant it to hurt. Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing here? And what is that doing on your face?" Scott demands, serious at first until he realises that H has been growing out his beard well past what he considers to be a good length - H's pout is barely visible under all that scruff.

"Well, now, that is unnecessarily rude. I've been traveling for a while now, and I wasn't gonna risk injuring myself-" Scott grabs a wandering hand and brings it back on H's chest. 

"H." Hbomb has a tendency of gesticulating when his hands aren't being kept busy, and while he did figure that his friend had simply forgotten to shave, he has known him long enough to be able to recognise when H is going off on a tangent - which is perfectly fine - and when he's changing the subject because he doesn't want to answer. 

He knows he's right when H simply shuts up, eyes wide like those of a deer - quite fitting, considering where he enjoys spending most of his time. But instead of looking pensive, or starting to answer, H just … looks down. At where their hands are. 

Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. But H looks almost sheepish, and his eyes keep moving from his face to their hands, so Scott looks down. 

His brain screeches to a halt, and suddenly he stands up a little straighter, sitting on the floor next to H as he grabs his hand in his. 

Around his fingers wraps a perfect replica of a silver winged fae dragon, while in his palm- one of the most accurate representations of the different Planes. 

Scott turns his stare to his fiend, who looks more calm than Scott feels he has any right to, and when he speaks he sounds almost breathless. 

"What happened to you?"

The tale of how Shubble's patron reached out to him to grant him powers is exhilarating. Not in the "funny" sense, more in the "my friend who is usually not that fond of talking and interacting with people especially when he's not in a place he is familiar with, was transported to a different plane and spoke with a being of transcendent power". So maybe a bit in the "funny" sense. 

The only negative side of the whole affair is the fact that Shubble is currently not present. 

She actually teaches at the Academy, so H was right in his assumption that reaching this place would have helped him out, but he just barely missed her by a couple of weeks. She's recently left, called out on an urgent mission by her patron themselves, and a part of Scott's mind can't help but feel like it is an extremely weird coincidence: he respects power gained through pacts, but he fears deeply the machinations of otherworldly beings' minds and the power they hold over his friends. He'd much prefer dealing with forces controlled by his own self, so that when a spell backfires comically he only has himself to blame. 

But all things considered, he's glad to see H is still alive and seemingly doing better than ever. He looks fine, happy and more confident than the last time he saw him - the way he stands and moves more firm, more secure, filling his space in a way the Hbomb of some time ago wouldn't have. 

It's nice to see him like this. 

What isn't nice is the way his increased confidence leads him to suggest how good of an idea it would be for him to take part into the tournament. Which is a horrible idea. 

"Listen, I know I am banned from playing again-" H starts, arms spread open with a mischievous grin on his face. Scott has sudden flashbacks to all the times he'd seen that grin from the other side of the battlefield and shakes his head firmly before pointing a stern finger at his chest.

"You still have a year before you can." 

H huffs, shoulders falling, and he adopts the most fake-innocent expression Scott has ever seen. 

"But I'm just here to say hi!" Scott levels him with a blank stare, using all of his willpower and internal strength to avoid bursting out laughing. Because for all that his friend's expression is hilarious, this is really no laughing matter. He can't have him win again. 

"I said what I said." H's head hits the desk with a groan of protest. 

On the other side of the table, Scott pinches his own arm in order not to laugh. 

He fails.

H still manages to pout his way into getting a free room to stay in for a while - just like the old times, come on! - and seems to be alright with being left to his own devices for the rest of the morning. 

Knowing him, he'll take it as the perfect chance to snoop around, make new friends and bother the tournament's contestants. 

As Scott turns back to his schematics, the only thing he does is chuckle to himself. 

[gorogorogorochansan]

CP2077 OC ask game *:･ﾟ✧⚔️🤖🔮 [x]

PERSONAL.

1. what is their full name? do they have any nicknames? what are they and why did they get them? His full name is Maximilian Noirceuil Roquentin Vandermeer. Vandermeer to others, Max to his family. His mother just loves French literature and culture.

2. how old are they? how long have they been living on their own? 33 as of 2077. He’s been living on his own for 15 years since he joined Arasaka.

3. what are their astrology signs? sun/moon/rising. He was born on May 2nd 2044, which makes him a sun Taurus, moon Cancer and ascendant Leo.

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them? The Devil.

5. are they religious or spiritual in any way? Not at all. Max is rather materialistic and self-indulgent at times.

6. which of the four elements would you associate with them? Air for intellect and mental intention.

9. which of the nine alignments are they? (lawful good etc) Lawful neutral.

10. which of the myers-briggs personality types are they? ESTJ, the Executive.

11. do they have any cyberware? is it cosmetic or is it weaponry/armor? He’s not into combat much, he prefers doing his job quietly if he can. Better yet - a silver tongue coupled with unsettling look can achieve a lot more than a weapon. Hands: Smart Link; Ocular system: Kiroshi Optics; Nervous system: Kerenzikov; Cyberdeck: Stephenson Tech Mk.2; Integumentary system: Optical Camo;  Skeleton: Endoskeleton, Bionic Lungs; Legs: Lynx Paws.

12. what is their occupation? He likes to call himself a free artist but technically he’s a solo. Murder, sabotage, thievery, recovery, delivery - you name it and he’ll do it, quick & clean. A man of high standards he prefers to be silent, precise and effective about his work. Even during his Arasaka days he never shied away from hard or morally repulsive (to some) tasks. A job is a job and needs to be done.

13. if you were to choose a class for them, what would it be? The closest would probably be a Stealth Solo.

14. what is their weapon of choice? HJKE-11 Yukimura pistols & Electric Baton.

15. what is their preferred vehicle or transportation of choice? Black Quadra Turbo-R V-Tech.

16. how would you describe their style? Neomilitarism. Corpo chic through and through.

17. are they a early riser or a night owl? Normally he’s an early riser but not averse to adapt if work demands it.

18. share three songs you associate with them. Eisbrecher - Verrückt [translation] Dorothy - Wicked Ones Oomph! - Augen auf! [translation]

NIGHT CITY.

19. is your character from night city? if no, where were they born? what brought them to night city? if yes, what area of the city did they grow up? He is from Charter Hill, Night City. His maternal family is from North Oak but his parents moved to something more affordable before he was born. He worked his ass off to stay in Charter Hill on his own but after his boss Jenkins lost the power struggle in Arasaka, Vandermeer had to survive and look for a cheaper place.

20. where do they currently live? describe their home. Watson, Little China, near Sutter Street. He rents a small apartment that satisfies his needs, which turned out to be rather simple - a quiet (as much as possible), clean and efficient space that is suitable for living and working in.

21. do they have any favorite spots around NC? Lele Park in the evening and night. And Dark Matter club.

22. do they like to cook for themselves, or eat out? do they prefer restaurants or street food? and how do they feel about vending machine food? He can cook a few things thanks to his mom but generally prefers street food and restaurants. He finds vending machines repulsive.

23. do they prefer the city or the badlands? The city. He loves comfort, hygiene and availability of things only megalopolis can offer. 

24. what gang/faction/corporation do they align with, if any? He prefers to keep balance and mutually beneficial relationships with everyone strictly for business. He always looks for people reasonable enough to bargain with. 

25. which radio station(s) is their favorite? If it’s a car radio then it’s Vexelstrom most of the times. He likes hearing heavy rhythms in the background. When it comes to listening to music at home he has a variety of genres in his playlists from classics and jazz to heavy metal.

26. if they do merc work, do they have one dedicated fixer? if so, who? It’s Rachel Vogelman (another OC created by @bnbc). They used to be corporate rivals during their Arasaka days. To add fuel to the fire their colleagues believed them to be siblings because of certain visual similarities between the two. When Max lost his job Rachel was the only person he could ask for help. It wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t but they focus on the business side of things. Or at least try to.

27. have they ever had run ins with the badges? He doesn’t like to attract unnecessary attention. Nobody likes when you’re the star of TV news.

28. are they quick to help a stranger in need or do they prefer to stay out of other peoples business? He most likely won’t help unless it can benefit him in any way.

29. do they have any favorite celebrities that frequent or live in NC? how would they feel meeting them? He doesn’t give a shit about celebrities. But he knows Michiko Arasaka, and their first meeting face to face left him baffled to say the least.

RELATIONSHIPS.

30. is your friend a social butterfly or more of a loner? Something in between. He hates useless small talks and fake politeness but understands their necessity when required. 

31. who are their closest chooms in NC? He doesn’t have any. Never cared enough to rely on people and always expected a knife in the back. His most regular stable contact is probably Rachel Vogelman but  they’re not even close to being chooms.

32. do they have anyone they would consider family? His mom and his sister are the only family he needs.

33. what is/was their relationship like with their parents? He loves his mother Jessica who raised him to be a well-rounded personality that can always land on his feet. She’s an economist with a good sense of humor and interest in arts. But he doesn’t have much emotional connection with his father Mark, since the guy is always busy with his retail business.

34. do they have siblings? He has a sister named Brit who is 15 years younger.

35. how would you describe their relationship with their family? Max is close with his family, although they’re all often too busy to meet regularly but they keep in touch.

36. who is their biggest enemy? Detective Marc Sanderson? Hard to say for now because there’s no official lore information on him yet.

37. tell a short story about your character with their best choom. His rivalry with Rachel Vogelman was almost comic at times, which only worked against them as their colleagues called them siblings on purpose. But since the two have mutually beneficial relationships now he can admit Rachel is pretty good at what she does. He won’t tell it to her though to avoid giving her the pleasure. They have both grown up after losing their corporate jobs but some habits die hard.

38. do they have a love interest? if so, who? His current LI is Michiko Arasaka. Initially he'd met her as Ichigo (a Japanese name that means strawberry) in a cyber sex VR club while he still worked in Arasaka. It was a series of encounters they both enjoyed until he abruptly put an end to it during his unemployment. He suspects she started digging info on him because she reached out to him some time after he had made a small name for himself as a solo. 

39. are they in a committed relationship or do they date around? Given the social gap between the two and solely sexual nature of their affair it’s implied they’re in open relationship. Besides it’s unknown if Michiko is still married. However, despite loving sex Max can be picky because he’s slightly fixated on hygiene. Michiko also sparked genuine curiosity and creativity in him with her wild and magnetic personality.

40. has your character ever been in love? if so, with who? No, what is love? He won’t recognize it even if falls in it.

41. do they believe in soulmates? No, he believes in shared goals.

42. do they believe in love at first sight? A ridiculous notion.

43. describe their ideal date. Their idea of romantic evening is to hook up in clubs where it’s noisy and crowded enough to ignore them but also to tickle their nerves. Sometimes they have a follow-up in motels (Michiko knows all the right places) if they can afford it. I don’t mean financially of course. Currently such state of affairs suits both of them perfectly.

44. would your character ever get married? Theoretically he can but marriage is a serious commitment, and right now he’s not interested in making one. And when it comes to Michiko it’s a no-no for a variety of obvious reasons. 

45. what was your characters first impression of their partner(s)? Michiko Arasaka was not someone he expected to see when Ichigo asked for a real life meeting. She definitely enjoyed the effect she made while Max was trying to figure out in his mind if this was a setup. She was bold, straightforward and irresistable - not like anyone he has ever met before. The whole situation felt like getting into a sports car without breaks. Once in a lifetime opportunity, a one-way ticket. And he took it. He suspects he’s not the first and not the last such input for her but life is too short for missing out the fun.

46. are they open about their relationship or low key? how would other people feel about them together? Somewhat semi-open. Max’s mom knows and she’s worried for him, although she knows he can take care of himself. And Michiko doesn’t mind him telling about her to his family as he has no friends and isn’t the type to brag, and she doesn’t care if anyone recognizes her in public. Her social circle wouldn’t care about him, and those who might won’t be able to do a thing about it.

47. share a headcanon about your character and their partner(s). Just one? I’ve already got plenty. • Michiko calls him Max and he calls her Ichigo or Ichi (one) because that’s how they’ve met and it's something of their inside joke, a secret; • Michiko keeps him at distance on purpose. She studied his profile long before they’ve met face to face and probably knows what he wants for breakfast before he even wakes up. So she knows Max has opportunistic tendencies like majority of mid-tier corpos. But another reason is that she also doesn’t want things to get serious and complicated between them because it can ruin the fun. She appreciates he doesn’t ask stupid questions or demands more attention than she can give him; • Michiko likes to подъебывать Max. I guess the closest English equivalent would be to tease - cracking suggestive jokes on him, giving him simple presents she finds hilarious, sending him nudes and demanding payment with his in the most inappropriate times. She is amused Max tolerates her shit so stoically - but she’s never malicious, disrespectful or obnoxious. In return Max knows it’s hard to impress someone who comes from the Arasaka bloodline & that it would be safer not to get on their bad side, so he focuses on making her feel good. And strangely it makes him feel good too.  • Max loves to touch her hair. Michiko always looks flawless when they meet and he adores her for it. • When Arasaka Tower was under attack Max called her until she finally picked up as he was genuinely concerned about her safety. He asked if she was alright and offered to take her home but she refused. She doesn’t know he was waiting outside.

48. share three songs you associate with your character and their partner(s). Garbage - Bad Boyfriend Eisbrecher - Exzess Express [translation] Eisbrecher - Rot wie die Liebe [translation] Bonus: Dinah Washington - Relax, Max - a song Michiko likes to tease him with.

NSFW.

49. name three of your characters biggest turn ons. Mature, confident women who know what they want and don’t waste anyone’s time.

50. name three of your characters biggest kinks. Touching Michiko in public - it’s the kink of kinks.

51. do they like having multiple partners or do they prefer monogamy? He doesn’t like being in relationships. The secret to his successful affair with Michiko is that both are totally free of any commitments and expectations from each other. Normally he prefers flings, BDs and cyber sex. But currently his mind is occupied with one specific woman with blue hair.

52. do they watch porn or braindances? Porn is ancient, BDs are far more superior.

53. would your character ever make an explicit braindance? He doesn’t have the right implant for that. He might though but not with Michiko - he’s not that stupid. 

54. do they have any cybernetic enhancements that serve sexual purposes? He’s no netrunner but he got himself a Stephenson cyberdeck that supposedly prolongs orgasms. Turns out the cyberdeck can be useful for other things as well, even moreso as now he doesn’t have a corpo protection and needs to be more careful.

55. do they have a preference for ‘ganic bodies or do they like modifications? He doesn’t like cheap implants. Other than that he doesn’t care.

56. name three of your characters biggest turn offs. Poor hygiene, naivete and girls who don’t know when to quit. 

57. what is their ultimate fantasy? or ““secret”“ kink? Michiko is his ultimate fantasy now. There’s something liberating and intoxicating about having her at the tips of your fingers moaning your name. He feels like he can try anything with her and she won’t say no, although he is aware it’s an illusory freedom.

58. would they ever use any substances like aphrodisiacs, alcohol or drugs during sex? Yes because why not? It’s not necessary but it can’t hurt.

59. what is their wildest sexual experience? A corpo group sex party. It was fun but he doesn’t like joytoys, even premium ones. Had to do a medical check-up afterwards.

60. are they more submissive or dominant? Dominant. But one time Michiko cuffed him to bed and he didn’t mind.

61. does your character need to have an intimate relationship with someone to have sex? or do they prefer being unattached? Unattached is best at the moment. Though he’s not fully aware he’s currently attached.

62. has your character ever participated in group sex? In the past, during his Arasaka days. 

63. do they like to sext or play over the holo? Why not both, depending on situation. 

64. has your character ever ghosted someone after a sexual encounter? Yes because he doesn’t like attachment. The reason he didn’t ghost Ichigo was that she was always creative during their virtual meetings.

65. how would they react if they were ghosted by someone they like after a sexual encounter? If Michiko ghosted him he’d be probably pissed and then upset. But he suspects she’d tell him first because there’s a certain amount of trust between them.

66. do they prefer kink oriented sex or spontaneous passionate sex? Usually the latter but the former is good too.

67. how do they get down on their own? quick and easy or do they have to romance themselves a little? It depends on a moment.

68. in what outfit do they feel sexiest? how do they dress to impress? Naked is the best. He dresses sharp because that’s how he was raised and also because it makes him feel good about himself. He mostly prefers clean black suits.

69. do they like having music on while they have sex? share three songs they’d play while getting down. He usually doesn’t care but Michiko likes to put on something energetic and loud when they’re in motels. This is just to give the idea of the mood: Fatboy Slim - Ya Mama Beastie Boys - Sabotage Mylène Farmer - Des larmes

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 11, 2942 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for.

Read on AO3

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Vex had succeeded in evading Vax’s questions about the bow.

She hadn’t really given him the option to speak at all. After resting for the night, her exhaustion had melted away and left all the space for anger. She’d driven out on her truck, not on the motorcycle, but that was only because the bike wouldn’t go on the snow very well. She’d just wanted to get to one of the temples fast.

They let her walk right into a fucking trap. They hid this from her and she could have died. There is going to be a scar on her shoulder, even with the healing she’s received. She wants to scream at all of them.

What if she’s not the first one to get hit by whatever the fuck the fiend is capable of doing? What if there are bodies literring that castle, bodies of innocent people who walked in on a fiend and died because no one fucking warned them?

Her rage carries her through the whole drive, until she stops in a furious screech of tires not far from the temple and basically runs to it. It carries her as she slams her whole body into the door and it bursts open. She doesn’t care about the bruises she’ll have after this.

She’s lucky, she guesses. They’re all there. Pike, and Grog, both priests and Cassandra. Somehow, the latter’s presence is no surprise. They were acting a little weird about everything, after all.

“What the fuck is up with the thing in the castle and why did none of you bother telling me about it?” Vex roars.

She can feel her hands shaking as she balls them into fists, trying to canalize her anger at least somewhat. She’s a professional, she can’t go and yell the heads off of clergy. Or maybe she can. Maybe she needs to, right now, because they let her walk into an incredibly dangerous situation.

Grog is still holding up his axe. He doesn't look specifically aggressive but she knows he’s ready to defend his friends against her if necessary. She appreciates that, even in this situation.

“You saw him?” Cassandra asks, standing up. “Does he… look alright?”

Vex blinks.

She wasn’t expecting this. Cassandra seems concerned, but more about the thing than about the fact Vex was in close contact with it and could have died.

“He’s a smoking fiend in the shape of a humanoid and I don’t know what kind of shit he packs but it made a hole in my shoulder. A big one!” Vex snaps back. “That doesn’t sound alright to me.”

Cassandra’s face hardens in as neutral of a face as Vex has ever seen. Pike reaches for them, gently putting a hand on their arm, beckoning them to sit back down.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Pike says quietly. “Do you need more healing?”

Vex shakes her head. “No. I have a couple of Healing Spells, and my brother gave me a potion. I’m fine.”

She’s mad that they’re showing concern, when they should have told her this was a threat. Pike and Grog make it all worse. They knew, when they took down the Barbed Devil, that it wasn’t the fiend Vex had sensed. And yet, they let her be fooled, let her believe that she’d done her job correctly.

“Lady Vex’ahlia, I think you should sit down,” Father Reynal says then, with his serene priest façade that Vex wants to smash through right now.

Grog gets up to bring another chair and they all stare at her until she moves and sits down at the table. They all settle back down.

There’s a large file on the table, closed and title-less. Vex raises an eyebrow. Father Reynal takes it and pulls it off of the table, away from her prying eyes and wandering hands. Smart of him. Suspicious too. Vex is on high alert and everything right now is a threat.

“I’m not a lady,” she mutters.

“I know,” Father Reynal nods. “But I’m being polite.”

Vex rolls her eyes. “Cut to the chase. What the fuck is going on here? What is that thing and why didn’t you tell me?”

They all settle back in their seats, all tense, all very unwilling to talk. Vex isn’t budging until she’s given answers though. She’ll camp here and harass them until they crack. She doesn’t give a fuck how long it takes.

“We didn’t tell you,” Keeper Yennen starts. “Because there was no reason for you to know. The fiend cannot walk out of the castle, the trail had been condemned by our work, and the secret tunnel was… well, secret.”

Vex sighs slightly. “Until Keyleth told me about it.”

“Our dear Keyleth is not skilled in the art of deception,” Father Reynal adds then. “We should have expected this would happen. But we couldn’t take you into account when all of this started. Your predecessor, Ranger Regae was not… exactly zealous. He was either oblivious to what was happening or didn’t care enough to stop it. All the contrary to you, my lady.”

“Not a lady,” Vex repeats. “Please stop calling me one.”

They nod as well. “Apologies,” they mutter. “Now. As for your other questions…”

Cassandra bristles. “His name is Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III,” they rattle off without even blinking. “Depending on which succession law you follow, he’s either Lord of Whitestone, or just my brother, in which case I am Lady of Whitestone.”

Vex takes a second to take in all of what she’s just been told. The De Rolos are not all dead. At least two remain. She’s staring at one of them, and the other is the thing in the castle. And they’re all covering it up.

“What happened? Because that’s not a person in there anymore,” Vex points out. Cassandra flinches at that.

Well… The eyes flashing to blue and the humanoid voice could belong to a person. The part that had yelled her to run… that could be a person.

“We don’t know exactly,” Cassandra continues, despite her flinching and obvious uncomfort. “We know that he’s been possessed by a fiend. Which I’m guessing you sensed and came in contact with.”

“Do you know how he came in contact with the fiend? What kind of fiend it is?” Vex crosses her arms.

“He.. came back to Whitestone with the fiend already with him. I haven’t been able to get more details from him.”

Every time Cassandra or anyone else says something, it just adds more questions to Vex’s plate. Where was he before coming back? Why had he left in the first place?

“As for the kind,” Father Reynal interjects. “I haven’t gotten to see it up close since he became possessed by it the way he is now, but from Keyleth’s description, it seems like a demonic creature. Perhaps a shadow demon of some kind.”

Shadow demons are more difficult to take down than barbed devils, but they’re not… impossible. Between Keyleth, Pike, Grog and the others, they should have been able to take it down a long time ago… Though it isn’t just a fiend. It’s also Cassandra’s brother. That changes things, she guesses, for all of them. There’s a person trapped in there, the one that made it so Vex could get away.

That’s the thing with possession. There’s always someone else than the creature involved in it.

Vex sighs heavily, putting her hands over her face. “You haven’t told any sort of authority, I’m guessing?” She asks.

“They’ll just… kill him to take out the creature,” Pike points out. “None of us want that to happen. We want him safe. As safe as possible.”

“Or they’ll fuck up the barrier we put up and he’ll be free to roam and probably kill more,” Keeper Yennen adds. “That’s another one of our concerns, and one of the reasons we didn’t tell you. We’re aware rangers have some spellcasting abilities and we did not want to risk you messing with the barrier.”

Vex huffs. “Well, I can’t promise I didn’t do anything but I don’t think my encounter with it fucked up your spell.”

They all fall quiet then. As she looks around the table at these people, these people of faith, of knowledge, of ability, it suddenly dawns on her the mess she’s gotten into. There’s a nobleman possessed by a fiend, with a weapon from the nine hells that shoots holes into people. They’ve been dealing with it for who knows how long, and they’re not getting anywhere. They seem at a standstill.

It’s all terrible. She should run away now. Grab Vax, pack her bags, and never come back to Whitestone again.

She’s not going to succeed at her job here, not when the fiend in the castle is much stronger than she is, not when there are people who won’t let her deal with it quickly and efficiently because it would mean murdering someone. Not that she would murder someone to do her job, but… it’s just another thing to think about.

She should give up and leave.

But where can she go? She can’t go back to Syngorn. Syldor’s made it incredibly clear in the letter she read yesterday. It was only yesterday but it feels like weeks. The emotional distress and the encounter with the fiend, or Percival de Rolo… It all seems so far away.

So she has to stay, and she has to deal with this somewhat. Because there’s no way she can go back to her life when she knows about the thing in the castle. No way. She’s too… stubborn.

“I have many questions,” Vex starts after a moment. “And I want you to answer them to the best of your abilities. If you want me to help in this matter, you’re going to have to be straightforward with me. Honest. If I catch you in a lie, you’re fucked.”

She doesn’t really think she’ll tell any authority about this, but she is going to use every bit of power she has to get her way and get the answers she’s desperate to have.

“Fine,” Cassandra nods. “I think that works with us.”

Vex doesn’t reply that they don’t have a choice anyway. She’s not that big of a dick.

“My very first question,” she moves forward. “How did you know my last name?” She stares at Father Reynal, with his chestnut eyes.

He sighs heavily and takes out the folder that had been on the table when she came in. He slides it over the table towards her and she takes it, and opens it.

Everything. They have everything. They have her grades and report cards from the schools she attended in Syngorn, from the noble general educations to the specialized ones, to the ones from her training with the TWC. Things on Vax as well. And then the Shademurk. Reports on the fire, a copy of the report she wrote for the TWC about what happened. Pictures of her and Saundor at the official parties he dragged her to, both because she was the ranger attached to the Shademurk, but also because she was his trophy, and he wanted to show her off.

She remembers the specific day this photo was taken on. She remembers the pretty green silk dress with the completely open back, almost the exact color of his skin. He’d insisted she made her hair in a way that uncovered her ears. He’d made a braid of vines that wrapped around her neck in a necklace. He’d called her perfect. She’d been the only non-fey in attendance, and all eyes had been on her, and on him, because he’d brought her.

She’s smiling in the photo in front of her. It was taken when she was already tipsy on sweet and heady fey wines. That was why she was smiling so much. The evening hadn’t been pleasant. Some sort of anniversary of something where she’d obviously been there for people to stare at, for Saundor to have. He had not let her move out of his side all evening, arm wrapped around her waist, hard as stone, unmovable. Possessive. She’d already known better than to try and break his hold on her, it had been months after she’d realized he was much, much stronger than her. When he decided to hold her, there was no getting out.

She slams the folder shut when it gets to more details about the fire.

Her hands are shaking when she looks up at the priest in front of her.

“Why?” She asks. Her voice is weak. It’s shaking, it’s ugly.

“We had to know who you were, who had replaced Regae. If you’d be a threat for us and Percival,” Father Reynal explains. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not. It’s obvious he’s not. Vex gets it, but it doesn’t qualm her anger and betrayal. She grabs the file in her hands. “I’m keeping this.”

None of them deny her that. Good. She would have exploded if they did.

Her mind is swimming. The pictures of those nights in the Feywild, the reports on the fire and her escape, the fiend, the trapped noble, her father’s hatred of her, these people… all of it was too much. She needs a fucking break. But they won’t let her have one.

“I need to go for a moment,” she says. This time her voice is steadier, and she’s so incredibly glad.

“You have some decisions to make,” Keeper Yennen nods.

Vex stands up. She’s not as shaky as she expected she would be. “I’ll be telling my brother all of this. You’ve involved him.” She points at the file. “Non negotiable.”

Cassandra looks a little uncomfortable at that but says nothing. Good. She’s getting Vex to help in saving her brother, Vex is involving hers.

This is too much to deal with alone, anyway. She needs Vax by her side with this. Despite everything, she needs his presence, she needs him. They’re both unsteady and neither of them are the rocks the other needs, really. But they’ve got each other and that’s at least something. It would be horrible if they couldn’t have each other.

She walks out of the temple with barely a word. She can’t do the goodbyes and everything else right now. She can’t pretend her mind isn’t full of questions and fears and anger. She needs to take time with all of this.

It’s hard. A part of her feels for Cassandra, and even the rest of them. She can understand why they did what they did, why they hid it from her, from the world. But she’s still so deeply angry about all of it.

And the file just made it so fucking worse. It’s all there, all the things she wishes to forget, all the things she prayed there were no traces of. She hoped the fire of Shademurk destroyed all evidence of her presence there, of the months spent in Saundor’s thrall.

Just like the memories and the scars she bears, just like the bow under her bed, it’s not going to go away this quickly. She should have expected pictures to be taken of the parties, she should have expected the reports to exist somewhere in the system.

What kind of research power did they even have, to acquire such information from her schools in Syngorn and the TWC?

Fuck. She gets into her truck and punches the leather outside of the wheel, cursing out loud. She puts the file down on the passenger seat and exhales. She needs to calm down. Her hands are shaking and she needs to be calmer to drive home, or she’ll drive herself into a fucking tree.

She would have thought being researched would be the worst part. But the worst part is the memories of Saundor the research brings. She’s fought so hard to put this behind her, she’s spent months bothered by horrible nightmares, every time she fell asleep. She’s better now, but this is a lot to deal with.

She really thought she was going to be safe from him now that she was hundreds of miles from the nearest portal to the Feywild. But the memories will not leave her and the scars are still obviously on her skin.

She can’t be safe. Not when she has her memories intact and his bow under her bed. It hasn’t been long enough. Maybe she’ll be done with him in a few years, or a few decades. Hopefully it will fade away faster than what her father did.

Falling from Syldor to Saundor was to be expected, now that she thinks about it. She was desperate for approval from some sort of authority figure and Saundor was that. And he had her wrapped around his little finger within days of meeting him.

Gods, she loved him. At least somewhere in the middle. Not at first, no. It had been all for comfort and pleasure. And then… at the end, it had been fear and hopelessness. But she had loved him in the middle. She’d worshipped him.

The great powerful Lord Saundor the Forsaken.

Her forehead hits the leather covering the wheel and she sighs heavily. She’s so tired. Her fingers find the key and turn it, sending the engine roaring on. The radio turns on with it as contact is made. It’s still on that pop channel since they went for a groceries run whe Vax arrived.

It feels like it happened weeks ago. The onboard calendar says it’s the 28th of Cuersaar. Vax has been in Whitestone for three days.