#like the series has been open about forcing a canon on your choices they see fit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

confused-pyramid · 1 year ago

Text

There Is More When You Let Go | s2

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 18.8k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, kidnapping, torture, drug use, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 2x01, 2x05, 2x06, 2x13, 2x14, 2x15, 2x16, 2x18, 2x23

a/n: here's season 2 of the anchor series! I had a lot of fun writing this one (hence why it got so long lmao), and I included a lot more direct show content in this part, so I hope you like it. Also more flashbacks:) Title is from Benediction by Luke Sital-Singh

series masterlist

A gunshot. That's the last thing you hear before Elle's front door flies open, almost throwing you back onto the stairs. The shock of seeing the Fisher King standing right in front of you almost makes you miss the puddle of blood that has started seeping across the floor to your feet.

"Elle," you gasp, your moment of distraction enough time for the man to push you behind him and make a break for it. You fall forward with the force of his shove, but he's much slower than you are. If you ran after him now, you could almost certainly catch up to him, but the sight of Elle bleeding out in front of you makes you immobile.

Making the split second decision to abandon the chase, you throw yourself forward and press your hands against her wound to control the blood flow.

"You're gonna be okay," you tell her, even as her blood trickles out from below your palm. "I need to call for help."

Pressing one hand down harder, you try to ignore the sounds of her gasping in pain as you reach behind you for her house phone. After dialing 911, you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder and bring your hand back to apply more pressure.

The paramedics arrive within five minutes, and they pry you off of her as they pull out a defibrillator. You had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out that you hadn't even noticed she had stopped breathing. How could you have missed that?

"Charging to 200."

You lean back against her couch as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

"Clear!"

***

"They took her into surgery," you say when Hotch meets you at the hospital. Your eyes keep darting around, like you're looking for something, but you don't know what.

"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to regain your focus. The pressure calms you down.

"I think he was waiting for her," you whisper, your throat tightening. "He had to have been. It all happened so fast."

His eyes stay on yours, as though trying to predict your next movement. "I'm glad you're okay."

More agents filter into the hospital and he begins to turn away to talk to them, but then you stiffen under his hands. "I had him, Hotch."

"What?" he frowns, looking at you again. "What are you talking about?"

You lift your hands to your face to brush away a strand of hair, barely noticing the stains all over your skin. "He was right there. The unsub. I could've grabbed him...but I didn't."

Anderson walks over with a question, but Hotch doesn't take his eyes off you. "You went to Elle. It's okay, you made the right choice."

"But the girl he took," you protest, shaking his hands off, "this could have lead us to her, but she's still-"

"You did the right thing," he cuts you off, waving Anderson away to speak with someone else. "It's not your fault."

You grit your teeth, your voice still tinged with guilt. "How do you know?"

"Because," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "it's mine. I sent her home."

You open your mouth to tell him how unfair that is, but he cuts you off with an order to go wash up before he leaves to explain the situation to the other agents.

The only bathroom on that floor of the hospital is at the end of the patient ward, so you trudge down the hallway and into the single family restroom, trying to avoid the worried glances from all around.

You haven't seen your reflection since before leaving with Elle, and you know it can't be a pretty sight, but the face staring back at you in the mirror is still a shock.

The bottom of your shirt is matted to your skin, and your hands are covered in now-dried blood that looks flaky and dark. When you look up, you see a streak of blood smeared over your nose from when you swiped at your face earlier.

Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, you run them under the faucet before scrubbing at your face and peeling your button down off to rid them of any trace of Elle's blood. When you're sure there isn't anything left, you turn the faucet back on and stretch your hands forward, watching the warm water turn a muddy red color as it swirls around the drain.

Eventually, the water runs clear, but you can still see the blood in your mind. You are suddenly ambushed by a memory you thought you had pushed down long ago. Red blood, cold skin.

How was there so much blood in the human body?

Your department-mandated therapist told you at the time that you would be in denial for the first few weeks, but you weren't denying anything. You had seen his body, seen the blood pooling around him as the coroner snapped photographs for the crime scene report. You knew he was dead. You just couldn't get that question out of your mind.

The memory shifts and suddenly you're seventeen again. You're seventeen and you are reaching for your first aid kit for the second time this month as Hotch sits on your bed with what feels like a permanent wince fused to his lips.

"Hold still," you whisper as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and press it into the cut on his hand. There's also blood under his nose and in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to notice.

He hisses as the alcohol makes contact, but he doesn't pull away. He's used to this routine now. You both are.

"I'm sorry I came by so late," he whispers through gritted teeth as he watches your fingers peel open a bandage. You want to berate him for apologizing, for feeling so much guilt all the time, but it's fruitless. It's like he was born with it inside of him, always clawing its way out at the slightest inconvenience.

"Don't be." You shoot him a look that he knows to mean 'be quiet and let me finish this'. He heeds your unspoken order, but after a few minutes, it's you who breaks it. "How did this one happen?"

He looks down and you immediately want to take it back. "You don't have to answer."

He's quiet for a beat. "He was drunk and I cleared his bottle away before he was finished with it."

Your lips thin and you press your hand to his knee, desperately needing to connect yourself to him in some manner.

"I tried to keep him in the kitchen, so Sean wouldn't hear, but I guess the noise woke him up." He takes a deep breath, and you can almost feel the determination entering his body as he sits up straighter. "I couldn't let him get to Sean, so I finally did it. I fought back."

He looks down at his bandaged hand then, and you can see pride accompanying the blood etched into the lines of his face. "I finally fought back."

Your eyes refocus and when you look at yourself in the mirror again, there's no trace of Elle's blood on your body anymore.

***

When Elle is discharged from the hospital, you spend the rest of the break helping her move out of her house and into a new apartment. When you drove her back home, the blood had been cleaned off of her floors, but you could see in her expression that it wasn't enough. This place would always be a reminder of what had happened to her.

The apartment search was quick, only a week between finding a place she liked and signing the new lease, but she saved the actual move out for the last few days of your break, instead hopping between sleeping in your guest room and a motel in town.

That's why you find yourself in Elle's old bedroom on the final Saturday before you're due back at work, packing some of her clothes into a suitcase while she works on clearing her bathroom. She tossed out almost everything she didn't absolutely need, only packing up her basic clothing and a few other sentimental keepsakes from her past.

"What about these?" you ask, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans that you remember her wearing to the bars with you a few months ago. God, has it really only been a few months?

She peeks out of the bathroom for barely a second. "I told you, I don't care. Keep it, toss it, your choice."

You don't know how you feel about being in charge of her future wardrobe, especially since you tend to live in loose jeans and old tee shirts when you're not at work, but you can understand where she's coming from. The instinct to hand off every decision to someone else.

You remember how hard it was for you to even decide what to eat for dinner after Jeff died. You also remember Hotch slipping pre-packed meals into your fridge whenever he came over to keep you company.

It takes you a couple of hours to clear out her house, and another hour to drop her and her stuff off at the new place, with promises to visit whenever you can over the next months of her leave.

You don't realize how exhausted you are until your front door shuts behind you and you collapse onto your couch, still in your dirty clothes. The summer sun is completely below the horizon as you lean back into your throw pillows and grab the tv remote. You haven't used your tv in months, and you figure that a vacation from work is the perfect opportunity to dust it off.

The screen comes to life on a local news channel, where a young reporter with teased-up hair is announcing a recall on a vacuum cleaner brand you've never heard of. She finishes her spiel before handing the mic off to an older woman who starts reporting the details of a car accident that took place in a neighborhood a few miles from yours.

These reports don't usually get under your skin - you have seen enough to know that it happens everyday - but suddenly, you can't stand to look at the crime scene tape flashing on your screen. You don't wait long enough to see what caused the accident. Whether it was a simple mistake, or if it was a drunk dri-

Grabbing the remote, you turn the television off and stand up, shaking your limbs out in an effort to rid yourself of the anxious feeling that's been growing inside of you.

You make yourself a quick microwave dinner and wolf it down in a few minutes, before trudging upstairs and hopping in the shower. You take your time washing the dust off of your body, and only emerge when the hot water runs out.

Even after cleaning yourself off and climbing into a fresh set of sheets, sleep doesn't come easily. The minutes tick by slowly as you stare at the ceiling, and before you can overthink it, you grab your phone off your nightstand and hit the first number on your speed dial.

It rings twice before the line connects. "Is everything okay?"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you ask, huffing out a laugh as you sit up in your bed.

Hotch grunts quietly. "Hello." You can hear the tiredness in his voice, but he sounds alert. You didn't wake him up. "What can I do for you?"

"So I have to need something to call you?"

"Y/N."

"Sorry for wanting to talk to my friend-"

He sighs so loudly, you can practically see his eyes rolling. "Are you going to tell me why you called or not."

"I helped Elle move out today."

That gets his attention. "How is she doing?"

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "As good as can be expected. We threw out almost all of her stuff, you know. She ended up with just a suitcase and three boxes at the end."

"That's just her way of coping, I guess."

"When we got to her house, it was..." You pause for a beat. You don't know the correct way to bring this up. "Well, it was clean. The blood was gone."

He doesn't say anything, and you know you were right. "Hotch, it was you, wasn't it."

He exhales quietly, as though he's trying to control his volume. Shit, maybe Haley's sleeping next to him. This is why you don't call someone after midnight.

"She didn't need to see a crime scene in her own home."

You wonder if he knows how he sounds right now. How caring and compassionate he can be when he doesn't try to tamp down that side of himself.

"You're a good unit chief," you say, leaning your head back against your wooden headboard. "I don't know why you keep things like this hidden."

You do know why, but that isn't what's important right now. There's a small creaking sound over the receiver and you imagine he's getting out of bed and crossing the room. Then the click of a door closing. "All that matters is that it's done."

You can't control the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. "Who are you trying to kid, Hotch? This is me you're talking to. I know how you worry that you aren't setting a good example for the team, but it's things like this that go a long way. It really wouldn't hurt for the team to see you showing some emotion."

"That's what they have you for," he says, his voice tightening the slightest bit. "They don't need that from me. When my emotions get in the way, I can't do my job properly."

You scoff. "And what job is that, exactly?"

"Keeping you safe."

He doesn't need to raise his voice to make you feel his anger. "If I had kept my emotion out of it, I wouldn't have sent her home. I wouldn't have let you accompany her, and I wouldn't have put both of you in danger."

Your hand comes up, rubbing circles into the skin above your chest. "Aaron...that wasn't on you." You can sense his protests coming, so you try a different tactic. "It wasn't on me either. No one but Garner deserves any blame for what happened."

The line is silent for a few moments, and you take the little victory. "I'm sorry I called you so late."

"Oh, it's alright," he chuckles. "You know I was up anyway."

***

She came back too quickly. You can't get the thought out of your head as you watch Elle restlessly tap her foot on the ground as she waits for the final word on whether she will be acting as bait for the serial rapist.

You don't think she's ready, and you've made your opinion known to the team, but Gideon made up his mind quickly.

"You think Elle's ready for it?"

"We'll be there for her."

You watch her vigilantly from Hotch's SUV as she enters the house and drops her keys on the table by the window. She's wired, which is a small relief, but Gideon's instruction not to have her gun on her has you more anxious than you'd like.

"Why isn't she leaving?" Hotch says from next to you, echoing your thoughts.

A car driven by a man fitting the profile pulls up on the opposite side of the street and you hear Morgan dialing Garcia. After a few seconds, he's back on the line. "William Lee. It's him."

"Bingo," Gideon's voice exclaims through your earpiece. "She's on the move."

You turn away from the car and see Elle exiting the front of the house. She glances at the man on her way to her car in the driveway, and it's only then that you notice the gun stuffed in her waistband.

"Her gun's out," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "What's she doing?"

"She's panicking."

"We've got no reason to bring him in."

"Don't blow it, don't blow it."

A chorus of yells echo through your earpiece as Elle stomps down the drive and points her gun at the unsub. "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"

You throw open the car door and run over to apprehend the man as he fervently denies all of her accusations. "I was just stopping to look at my map."

The police put him into an interrogation room back at the station, where Hotch and Gideon try to get him to confess by showing empathy for this motive. It seems to be going well until his lawyer shows up, putting an end to the conversation.

She's been tense all day, so you're not surprised when Elle blows up. "You're letting him walk?"

Gideon is the first to step in. "Back off, Elle."

"You don't know what he's done," she yells, as though trying to reason with the police. The pain in her voice is palpable, but you can't deny the truth, even if you aren't able to voice it to her.

Hotch doesn't face the same issue. "The only reason he's walking is because you panicked."

"I'm supposed to believe that you've got my back?" she fires back, her anger redirecting to fly in his direction.

"What are you saying to me?"

"The last time you sent me home, Hotch, it got me shot."

All of the air leaves the room. You grab Elle's arm and pull her back, expecting more resistance than you get. "Walk with me."

She follows you across the hall and into a little meeting room that's scattered with evidence bags and files from the case. You let the door click shut behind her before you start speaking. "You need to take a breath. I know you, Elle. I know exactly what you're capable of. You just need to give yourself time to heal."

The fury in her eyes hasn't abated since you apprehended Lee a few hours earlier. You're not sure it will in this environment. "Take a walk. Get some air, and then come back."

She doesn't meet your eye as she pushes past you and storms out of the station.

***

"There's no reason for us to stick around anymore, is there?"

Gideon shakes his head and you purse your lips, glancing at the doors behind you. You haven't been able to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen, but you suppose that's a common notion on this team.

"Wheels up at noon tomorrow."

You're walking out to the parking lot with the team when the feeling hits you again. The last time you felt this level of dread was right before you got the call from organized crime just over two years ago.

Your fears are confirmed when Hotch's phone rings with a call from the local PD that they have Elle at Lee's address. The drive over is silent, and even though you're always the first to call Hotch out on his guilt spirals, you can't get the thought out of your head that this is all your fault. You knew she had come back too quickly. Never mind that it wasn't your call. You should've fought it harder.

Lee's bullet-riddled body is like a beacon of your guilt as Elle insists it was cut-and-dry self defense. "I was having a conversation with him and he drew his weapon and I fired."

The police don't let any of you talk to her as they load her into the back of their cruiser, but you know what you have to do if you want to be able to sleep tonight.

"I'm going to the station," you tell Hotch before flagging down another one of the officers on the scene. He moves to stop you, but you sidestep him and level him with a glare that high school you would have been proud of. "I have to do this."

The station doesn't finish processing her until halfway through the night, but you couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. When they finally remove her cuffs and bring her out, you stand up from the plastic chair you spent the last four hours in and stretch out your legs.

She doesn't spot you immediately, but when she does, her body almost deflates. "I'm fine, L/N. You didn't have to come here."

She stops in front of you, her jacket hanging over her arm as she stuffs her badge back into her pocket. If you didn't know her so well, you would be surprised by how relaxed she looks. You wouldn't recognize the front she has had up since she stepped off the plane.

"What happened, Elle?"

That catches her attention, and you watch as the mask slips by a hair. "You don't believe me?"

You don't want to accuse her of something you have no evidence of, but you also can't ignore all of the signs in front of you. "Can you really look me in the eye and say you didn't go there hoping Lee would provoke you?"

She just looks at you, and you watch in real time as the mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the station.

***

The next case doesn't come until a few days later. Elle gets cleared by the bureau's internal investigation, but you can't imagine Hotch won't tack on a psych eval just to be safe.

"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly 13 hours ago."

JJ clicks her remote and the screen in the conference room changes, displaying the crime scene photos.

"God," you curse, averting your eyes for a moment. "He's just a child."

"Blunt force trauma to the head," she continues with a forlorn sigh. "He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last 2 months. Local hunter found his body in the woods."

Morgan looks down at the case file. "First victim's name: Robbie Davis. Are these boys connected somehow?"

JJ shrugs. "Ozona's population's roughly 2, 500. Everyone has some kind of connection."

"Well if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now."

Hotch and Gideon's absences from the conference room don't escape your notice, so you keep an eye out for them upon leaving the briefing.

You spot them discussing something in hushed whispers by the coffee station, and you wait for them to finish before you approach Hotch.

"You missed the briefing."

His eyes pinch, and you notice that the lines in his forehead are more prominent than usual. "What is it?"

"Elle missed her evaluation."

Your breath releases like a sigh. "I can check her apartment."

"No," he says matter-of-factly, with a shake of his head. "Gideon wants all of you in Texas for this one. I'll go look for her."

You would normally argue, but the horrific images from the briefing are still imprinted on the backs of your eyelids. "Okay. I'll see you soon."

He leaves you with a nod, and you grab your go-bag before following the rest of the team to the jet.

"You guys see Elle's cleared?" Reid pipes up as soon as the plane takes off.

Derek nods, his lips thinning. "Self defense."

"So it was a good shot."

"She hit what she was aiming for."

Reid frowns. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"If they cleared her how come she's not here with us?" You glance up and realize Reid is looking at you. "Or Hotch?"

You don't want to reveal more than is necessary, especially when the situation is this precarious and personal, but you're saved from responding when Gideon turns around and yells, "Focus on the case!"

JJ turns the conversation back to the unsub's motivations, and you all discuss a possible profile until a new female victim emerges that strays from the previous victimology.

Gideon doesn't waste any time delegating tasks. "When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the new crime scene. The little girl."

He turns to you. "We'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."

The murder site is so far into the woods, that you can't help but imagine what it would've been like to be the little boy who was brought all the way out here with no hope of return. You can't believe that a young child would come this far out of their way unless they trusted the person they were following. "I think the victims knew their killer."

Gideon seems to be on the same train of thought. "They followed him to this spot."

"What makes you think that?" the local officer asks.

Gideon looks at you expectantly, and you take the invitation with a grateful nod. "Well I guess they went this deep into the woods because they trusted him. He probably stashed his weapon here beforehand. This means we're looking for someone intelligent, methodical."

The police officer accompanying you doesn't look sure of your assessment. "He bashed the kid's head in, it looks like a moment of rage to me!"

"I agree," Gideon muses, turning away and looking further into the woods. "It doesn't make any sense."

After informing the town's parents of the five PM curfew, and the children of the new buddy system in place, you excuse yourself to go call Hotch for an update.

"Anything new?" you ask when he answers the phone.

"I went to her appartment to talk to her," he explains, "but she was leaving with an overnight bag."

Your heart collapses in your chest. "She's running."

"I don't know, I hope not." He pauses for a beat. "I'm following her."

"All right," you sigh, wishing there was more you could do from here, "I really hope I'm wrong about this."

He's silent for a second, and you realize your slip up. "I just mean, I don't want to- I mean, fuck."

"I know," Hotch whispers. You can hear his car starting in the background. "But Gideon's right. She's innocent until proven guilty."

He ends the call with a promise to keep you updated, and you head back to the station, where another child has been reported missing. The missing boy's little brother draws your attention to a local legend that leads you to a Mr. Fennigan's so-called "haunted" house up in the hills.

***

"Garcia," you say into your phone before putting it on speaker and setting it down at the table you're sitting at. After establishing that Finnegan's house was empty, you and team have been searching the property for any indications that he's the unsub. "You got anything for me?"

"Only that Fennigan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas."

You roll your eyes, even though she can't see you. "We heard the legend from that counselor, Charles I think."

"Be careful, though," she says, her voice going lower as though she's telling a campfire story. "People that go into that house supposedly never come out."

"Garcia."

"But then there is that matter of his missing wife."

Deciding to humor her, you clear your throat and whisper, "Do you think she's still on the premises?"

"I got two words for you, my friend: 'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious bitesize pieces."

You suppress a laugh. "Pen, do you really think that's gonna scare me?"

She huffs and you grin, tugging open one of the drawers next to you and peeking inside.

"You're no fun. Reid was scared shitless."

"He's just afraid of the dark," you smile, before your eyes catch on something bright under the table beside you. "Garcia, I gotta go. And cut Reid some slack."

"No promises, Mama."

You tuck your phone away and reach below the table, where you find a small pink backpack with the last victim's name scrawled on top in Sharpie. "Guys! I found something."

The clues from Finnegan's house lead you back to Charles, the town's guidance counselor, and then to his son, who the police are able to catch in the act of luring away Tracey Belle, another young girl. You don't relax until she's back with her parents, and even then, there's still a tension in your shoulders.

Cases involving children never get easier, but you can't help the kinship you feel to little Tracey Belle, who had the same look in her eyes that you recognized in yourself when you were ten years old. You don't remember your mom's funeral much, mostly because you were so young, but also because the whole day was a blur. The few flashes that come back here and there are your father's eyes, red from crying, and the cold gray of the headstone that you visited with him every year on the anniversary until you graduated.

The plane ride back is morose, and no one looks up from their reading material until it's time to disembark. Hotch isn't at the office when you drop off your case file, so you rub the exhaustion from your eyes and drive home.

There's a figure sitting on your porch when you pull into your driveway, and you're a moment from panicking when her face comes into the light.

"I turned in my badge," Elle says after you lock your car and walk up the steps.

Something twists in your gut, but the one emotion you aren't feeling is surprise. "Do you want to come inside? How long have you been waiting?"

She shakes her head, and you give her some time to formulate her thoughts. After a minute, she meets your eye again. "You were kind to me."

You don't know what to say, but you can see the change in her since just last week. She already looks lighter, and you can't help but think about how heavy the job can be. It's a weight on each of your lives that never seems to let up, and while you're going to be sad to see her go, you understand. It's the right choice.

Elle presses her lips together before curving them into a small smile. "You supported me after...after Garner. I'm gonna miss you."

You smile at her, even as your heart fills with sadness. "i'm going to miss you too."

Her body shifts like she's making to leave but then she turns back one last time. "You're too good for him, you know."

You get the sense that you know what she's referring to, but it's not something you can acknowledge without sending a flare shooting up your spine. She nods once, like that's all she wanted to say, and turns away into the night. You blink your eyes closed, squeezing them tightly as though it will somehow make the last few months a nightmare you can wake up from. But that's not how this works.

You give yourself a minute to pretend, but when you open your eyes again, she's gone.

***

The case that takes you to Golconda, Nevada feels almost unique to Gideon, as he takes each of the unsub's decisions personally in a way you haven't seen before.

Once you give the profile to the local police, the sheriff, Georgia Davis, leads you to a woman with a story to match the previous victimology.

"Jane," she says softly as she walks into the holding area at the back of the station. "These people are from the FBI. I'd like you to tell them your story."

Her story takes you through a tale of alien abductions and young love, but the kernel of truth underneath sounds awfully similar to the unsub's M.O. Her eyes still shine with a childlike tenacity that you don't usually see in other victims of such prolific and disturbing killers.

"Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien," Gideon sighs after Sheriff George sends you all out of the room to let Jane rest. "She didn't show him the fear he wanted, so he let her go."

When it becomes clear that he is still in town, you disperse around the local R.V. park in search of his vehicle.

Hotch pairs you with Emily Prentiss, the new agent who joined the team after Elle left, and you welcome the opportunity to speak with her more than you've gotten the chance to since she arrived.

"How have you been settling in?" you ask her as you both stroll along the edge of the R.V. park.

"The team has been very welcoming," she says as she continues to scan the vehicles around you. "I'm just glad to be joining such an accomplished unit."

"That's kind of you," you smile, noting the extreme focus in her eyes. Her intelligence and intense concentration on each of the cases you've worked made much more sense when you learned about her history. Her background must have sparked more than a few nepotism claims over the years, so you don't mind letting her overcompensate, if it means she will prove to herself that she deserves to be here. "Everyone seems to like having you around. I certainly don't mind."

She shoots you a smile that you return by patting her forearm comfortingly. You were worried it would be hard for another agent to settle into the space Elle left on the team, but Prentiss has made easy work of it. She has the same humor as Derek and Penelope, and you've seen how well she gets along with you and JJ. Even Reid has welcomed her with open arms.

"This team is kind of famous," she says after a moment, piquing your interest.

"Oh?"

She shrugs, turning into another row of vehicles. "You've all been through so much, but it just seems to have made you more of a family."

When you first joined the team, that was all you wanted. You were by yourself, completely alone, and the team had become your family in the blink of an eye. It was exactly what you needed. These days, you're not so sure anymore. More family just means more people to lose.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You look at her with a nod. "Yeah, of course."

"It's about Agent Hotchner."

You should've figured. Every new agent tries to vie for his approval, until they realize it's not something you can force. "Yeah?"

She sighs, and you can tell this isn't something she wants to be talking about. "I don't know if I understand him. You're the only person who seems to have his ear. I guess I'm just wondering how I can do the same."

"I got his attention and respect through decades of friendship," you say, watching her eyes widen as you speak. "But he's not the enigma you may think he is. Showing off won't help your cause, but working hard and doing your job well is all you can really do."

She nods, taking in your words. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

You smile, bumping her shoulder to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about him. He knows your worth, I can tell."

Prentiss leans against you for a moment before shaking out her legs and turning back to the lot. "I don't think the unsub is here. We should meet up with the rest of the team."

Once Gideon puts it together that the unsub is hiding out somewhere in town, Hotch suggests that you all turn in for the night, but the older man doesn't want to listen.

"We could wait till first light, Gideon," he stresses, turning his body to stand between him and the officers. "It's gonna be dark soon."

"Do what you like," Jason grunts, shoving past him. "I'm gonna find him."

Hotch starts to go after him, but you step forward and put your hand on his shoulder. "Let him go. Maybe the walk back to the station will help clear his head."

He sighs heavily, and you know it's all the agreement you're going to get right now. "Let's head over there too. He needs our help if he wants to crack this before morning."

The stress lines on his forehead are almost as noticeable as they were the day Elle left the bureau, and you grab his wrist as he tries to turn away. You raise your eyebrows, knowing he'll be able to read the question written in the ridges of your face. How are you holding up?

Hotch rolls his neck to the side, stretching it out after what has been a very long day. When he looks back at you, you wait for a nod that comes after a moment. Alright. Been better, but alright.

Back at the station, the work is slow going, and you don't feel like anyone is helping with how uptight Gideon is acting. The air inside the small building has started to feel suffocating, and you finally get your chance to escape when Sheriff George grabs her car keys.

"I'm gonna take Jane home," she tells you when you approach her at her desk. "It's been a long night, and she needs to sleep in her own bed."

"You need to rest too," you say, noticing the droop of her eyes from sheer exhaustion. "Go home, Sheriff. I'll take her back. I remember her address from earlier."

She doesn't look convinced, so you lean in with a smile. "It's getting really stuffy in here. I need some air too."

That's all it takes to satisfy her, and she pats your arm with a nod before handing you the keys to the cruiser and walking to the exit.

You only see Morgan as you pick Jane up from the holding area, so you tell him you'll be back in a half hour and head out to the back lot.

"How long have you been living in this town?" you ask Jane as you make the short drive to her house.

"Since I was a teenager," she says dreamily, her eyes gazing out the window.

"You never wanted to live anywhere else?"

She shakes her head profusely. "Why would I? This is where I can be found."

You frown at her words, but it's not the oddest thing she has said today. When you arrive at her house, you park the cruiser out front and lead her up the porch steps, where she slowly unlocks the front door. "Do you want to come inside?"

You figure it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place, so you accept her invitation and follow her inside. "This is a beautiful home, Jane." Trinkets are scattered everywhere, and rudimentary sketches cover the walls.

"Thank you," she responds from another room. "You're very nice." You follow the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she is struggling to lift a pitcher of juice from her fridge.

"Here, let me help you," you say, taking it from her and setting it down on the little breakfast table in front of her stove. "Do you have any cups?"

She walks over to a cupboard across from you, and you unclip your side-holster and set it on the table until the sound of a footstep behind you makes you spin on your heels.

You're assaulted by the sight of a tall, white man, who you immediately recognize from Gideon's profile earlier that day.

"Jane!" you yell, inching toward the table where your gun is. "I need you to run."

"Come with me, Jane," the man says, ignoring you completely. You use the moment of distraction to reach for your gun, but he's quicker than you. A sharp pinprick of pain shoots down your neck as your hand knocks over the pitcher of juice and your limbs suddenly feel like they weigh a million pounds.

"Jane, he's a murderer," you yell, hoping your voice doesn't sound as quiet as it does in your head. Your vision is already blurry, and you wish Reid was here to distract you by spouting off a list of fast-acting drugs from memory. "Jane, run!"

The last thing you hear before you black out is the sound of hurried footsteps receding into the background.

***

None of this makes sense. As each minute ticks by, he can't shake the feeling that they are missing something that's right under their noses.

"JJ just called," Morgan says, walking back into the station with his phone waving in his hand. "Apparently an anonymous caller called the tip line and claimed they saw an R.V. driven by a man who fits the description we gave to the media."

Hotch frowns. "Claimed?"

"Well, not a single R.V. or trailer has passed through any of the roadblocks."

Morgan's words click in his brain, and he instinctively glances beside him as an idea forms, but you aren't there. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't seen you in over an hour.

"Who does the number belong to?" he asks, shifting his focus back.

Morgan is about to respond when Deputy Silo runs into the office, shoving past the other cops in his way. "We got a call from outside Jane's house. I think it was from the unsub."

Hotch stands up immediately, grabbing his jacket and gun, but next to him, Morgan stills, his face going slack.

"We need to head over there now," Hotch says, listing off a few instructions to the deputies nearby. Where are you?

"Hotch."

"And have some of your guys check in town," he continues, "in case he took her with him."

"Hotch."

He turns around. "What is it?"

"L/N drove Jane home."

His heart drops.

***

Just stay for a few more minutes, Jeff implores, his fingers dancing over your arm as you try to sit up.

You laugh as he tries to pull you back into the bed. I can't, I have to go into work.

Just five minutes, I promise. He pouts as you slide your legs out from under the covers. Three. One. One minute, please. I miss you.

I miss you too, you sigh, pressing a kiss to his lips. I'll see you tonight.

His hands reach up to caress your face, like he always does in the mornings. Cupping your cheek with his palm and running his fingers through your hair.

You settle into the feeling, wishing you had more time to just lay in bed with him. But you don't. Because Jeff's not here anymore.

Your eyes snap open right as the unsub tapes your mouth closed.

***

His hands grip the steering wheel as his SUV barrels up the small country road leading to Jane's house. He can't seem to press the gas pedal hard enough, and Reid's incessant foot-tapping in the backseat is driving him crazy, even though he understands the anxiety coursing through his body.

He beats Deputy Silo to the house, and flies out of the car without waiting for the other agents to open their doors. He's not sure what he's expecting to see inside as he pulls his gun from his waist holster, but he doesn't give himself a chance to think about it before kicking the door in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan yells from behind him as he checks around the door and makes his way through the small hallway. The house is silent, aside from the footsteps of the agents behind him, but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears is almost deafening.

"Clear," he shouts after checking each room up to the kitchen. When he steps inside, there's juice all over the floor, and he spots the pitcher on its side beside the fridge. Juice, not blood.

His eyes flash to the table and his breath catches in his throat. He would recognize your holster anywhere, especially since he was with you when you bought it.

What do you think? It's not too bold, is it?

I definitely wouldn't mess with you.

"Why didn't she reach for her gun?" he wonders out loud.

"Because she couldn't." He turns around to see Reid holding up a large, empty syringe he found under the table.

He can't take his eyes off the juice on the floor, splattered everywhere as though someone had knocked it off the counter. The image of Elle's blood spilled all over her living room is still fresh in his mind, and he can't get over how easily the dark red cranberry juice seeping into the floorboards could have been yours.

Growing up, it was a common occurrence for you to patch him up and wash the blood off his skin, but there was only one time when he had to return the favor.

He still remembers the proud glint in your eyes after you had literally head-butted a man who had grabbed you in a college bar by Georgetown. Already a year into law school, he would've thought you'd have more forethought than to injure yourself in the hopes of getting back at the jackass, but once he saw your bloody grin, his annoyance had fizzled away.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he had asked as you stuck a scrap of napkin up your nostrils to control the flow after the head-butt broke a few blood vessels in your nose. He hadn't seen you much throughout undergrad, but he was glad that you hadn't changed too much, even if it meant you were just as wild as before. "I'm getting you ice."

A few minutes of angry haggling later, he returned to your side with a small bag of ice that he held to the bridge of your nose. Nothing he said could have ruined your mood that night, especially since the man had been kicked out of the bar and banned for life.

"Did you see the look on his face?" you had asked, your eyes twinkling behind the quickly melting ice.

"I did," he sighs, before breaking into a grin. "I'm just glad that your future law degree will give you another method of retaliation against scumbags like him."

You had laughed then, causing a few drops of blood to spray out of your nose, but all he could think about as he jerked back to avoid the mess was how happy he was that you were back in his life again.

Hotch flies back to the conversation happening around him, his brain refusing to let him imagine the worst case scenario.

"Those footprints," Morgan is saying as he starts listening again, "they got to be Jane's."

Reid nods, following along. "They go to the back."

"She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine's gonna wear off, so he's got to act."

"No," one of the deputies says. "He hasn't got what he came here for."

His voice returns to him all at once. "So he took Y/N for leverage."

"He thinks we have Jane. Which means he wants a trade."

"Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and your agent fast."

His agent. He feels sick at the thought of whatever that man is doing to you. "Garcia can track the phone number from the anonymous caller. You go to town, we'll find Jane."

***

Your eyes are blurry as you try to clear the fogginess in your head from whatever he injected you with. You can see the shape of the unsub moving around the room, and you squint your eyes to get a better look at the anatomical posters and drawings on the walls.

When your vision begins to focus again, the man comes toward you with a smile. "You're awake." He reaches forward to check the tape on your wrists and you try to jerk away from him, but your body is still flowing with the drug. You can't move as he brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles down at you, a sinister lack of emotion in his eyes. You stop trying to move, realizing it's no use. He's been doing this for years. Mutilating women. Cutting them to pieces.

You can feel your heart rate increasing, and you try not to look at the knives and saws littering the tables around you in an effort to keep yourself calm. Your team is looking for you. Derek knows where you went.

When he grabs your arms and starts lifting you off the makeshift operating table you were lying on, you try to scream, but the tape just pulls at your lips, tearing at the thin skin underneath.

Your eyes widen as he drops you into a metal coffin-like box, but he just looks at you with a shake of his head. "No need for that," he tsks before closing the lid over you, enveloping you in eery darkness.

***

Reid and Prentiss help him inspect Jane's house further for clues as to where the unsub could've taken you. The wind chimes of rib bone blowing in the breeze on the front porch catch his attention almost immediately.

His chest feels tight and he clears his throat. "He's obviously been here before and left these gifts for her."

"How romantic," Prentiss grimaces.

"Well, his version of romance."

Prentiss frowns. "What, are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he's in love with her?"

"That's impossible," Reid interjects. "A sexual sadist can't feel love."

"Well," he says, "define love." He doesn't know if he can. He knows he loves Haley and Jack. He likes to think he always wants to be with them, but when a particularly excruciating case arrives on his desk, his desire to catch the bad guy trumps everything else in his mind. He knows he will always try to protect them from anyone or anything that wants to do them harm, but is that love?

It must be, because he feels the same instinct to protect you, but it manifests in him differently.

"Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin."

Of course that would be Reid's answer.

He continues rattling off a list of foods that contain these chemicals, and Hotch tunes him out, turning back to the house. They're missing something, they have to be. It's not until they spot a small trailer out back that it clicks.

***

You don't know how much time passes until the effects of the drug finally wear off enough for you to rub your wrists together to loosen the tape around them. The noises outside the coffin stopped a while ago, and you assume the man has left, likely to resume his search for Jane.

When the tape finally breaks, you let out a relieved gasp and let your arms rest for a few moments, before you begin slamming your fists into the bottom of the lid. It doesn't budge, no matter how hard you pound at it, so you change tactics, instead clawing your fingers at the seams in search of a hinge or screw you can loosen.

You're still trying to pry open the lid when you hear a muffled voice speaking outside the coffin. Despite your determination to stay calm, your heart squeezes in your chest as you bring your hands up to fight back in case he opens the lid. You feel someone slide your box across the floor, before opening the top and flooding your eyes with light.

When you adjust to the brightness, you see the familiar faces of Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss standing above you, and you almost cry with relief. Hotch reaches down with a small "thank god" and pulls you up and out of the coffin. Prentiss carefully peels the tape off your mouth, wincing as some of the skin of your lips comes away with it.

When you're standing up again, your legs give out as the fear leaves you, and you collapse into Hotch.

He catches you easily, holding you against him tightly as you shake from the sheer relief of being found before something irreversible happened. You're acutely aware of your teammates watching you hang onto your unit chief as though your life depends on it, but you can't bring yourself to let go.

It's only after your hands stop shaking that he finally pulls away.

***

When you return from Texas, most of the team heads straight home, but Gideon hangs back, calling you into his office.

"How are you doing after today?" he asks as you shut the door behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Fine," you say simply, looking him straight in the eye. You're not sure exactly what you're feeling, but it definitely isn't fine. The few times your eyes fell closed on the flight back, you could still feel Frank's fingers pressing the tape onto your face.

Gideon scrutinizes you for a moment, his brow crinkling as he waits for you to elaborate. You can appreciate his intention, but you really don't feel like talking about it right now. Not when the memory of the cold metal on your skin is still fresh.

"Okay," he concedes after a minute of silence. It's not really a concession - you can already hear him recommending you for a psych evaluation - but it's enough for the moment. "You don't have to do it right away, but you need to eventually fill out an incident report. I can get you the paperwork now, but I mean it, take your time."

He reaches into his accordion file folder and pulls out a sheet of paper that's mostly blank, except for a few lines at the top. "Just hand it in to me or Hotch when you're done."

You accept the paper and leave his office, with a promise to head home soon. You heard his suggestion to finish it in your own time, but you can't imagine coming back to this at a later date.

Dropping into your chair, you lay the paper down on your desk and read over the form. The first section is the same as every other form you've had to fill out at the bureau: name, date, badge number.

The second half is just one line of instruction before a vast sea of white space. Describe the incident in detail.

Images from Frank's workshop flash in your mind. A roll of silver duct tape. A bloody washcloth. A rusted scalpel. Nothing you can effectively put onto paper.

The words don't come, even as the lights in the hallway automatically turn off, and the hushed voices from the nearby offices go silent. You eventually stand up to shake out your legs and get another coffee, not because you need it to stay awake, but because it feels like the normal thing to do. The idea of sleeping just takes you back to the darkness of the coffin, and a shudder runs through you as you pour yourself a cup and dump the muddy remains of the pot in the sink.

You're about to head back to your desk to fruitlessly stare at the form for a little while longer, when your eye catches on a small lamplight from Hotch's office at the top of the stairs. Gulping back a mouthful of stale coffee, you toss the rest in the trash and grab your report before hiking up the stairs.

"You're still here?" he asks when you knock on his door and push it open. "I thought you left hours ago."

The same question Gideon asked you earlier is etched into his face, but you know he won't voice it just yet. He was always good about knowing your boundaries (and when to push them).

"I could ask you the same thing," you smile with a shrug, before flopping down into the chair by his desk. "You really need to replace this chair, by the way. It's horribly uncomfortable."

He snorts quietly. "It's a perfectly fine chair."

You laugh, the sound quickly turning into a yawn.

"Go home," he stresses, dropping his pen and fixing you with a pointed stare.

"You first."

"I have work to do."

"So do I."

He looks down at the paper in your hands. "Gideon gave you the form already? I was going to give it you in a few days."

"I'm glad he gave it to me today," you say, before dropping your eyes with a sigh. "I've just been having some trouble finding the words to describe what happened."

"You don't have to do it now..." he starts, but you cut him off.

"I do. I don't want to come back to this later. I need to finish it now, while I still can."

"Okay," he accepts after a moment. "Then take your time. I'll be here."

You fall into a comfortable silence as you bring your pen back down and start writing.

***

He doesn't finish his own paperwork until well after midnight. When he looks up from his reports, you're asleep, your head resting on your crossed arms over his desk.

He would normally wake you and tell you to head home, but you look so peaceful for the first time in too long. Haley and Jack would have gone to bed hours ago, so he figures it won't hurt to stay with you for at least a little while as you get some much needed rest. He can't imagine that sleep has been coming easy - he saw you shaking yourself awake each time you closed your eyes on the plane - so he lets you slumber.

He still hasn't gotten the image of you with your hands and mouth taped out of his head, and he doesn't know if he ever will. When your legs had given out, his arms had instinctively shot forward to grab you before his brain could catch up. He can barely look at the bandages on your wrist now, where the tape rubbed your skin raw.

Standing up from his chair, he slides his suit jacket down his arms and steps around his desk. Being extra careful not to wake you, he drapes it over your shoulders and lets you sleep.

***

Hotch gives you the next week off, but the quiet solitude of your house is too much to bear with all of the memories swirling through your brain. You know he would have called you if there was a case out of town, so a few evenings later, you find yourself in your car, driving over to the Virginia field office.

When you walk into the bullpen, it's empty aside from Reid at his desk and Prentiss at the coffee station. It's late, and you assume Reid is just taking some notes down from the last case, but you aren't sure why Emily is still here.

"Hey," she says when she sees you sit at your desk. "Don't you have the week off?"

She looks exhausted, but you understand where she's coming from. The urge to overcompensate for being new. For not being the agent you're replacing. You felt it with Gideon when you were transferred here. She likely feels it with Elle.

"I needed to get out of the house," you explain, adjusting your seat and settling back.

"I hear that," she says, before putting a lid on her coffee cup and grabbing her bag. "I should actually go home for once, but I'll see you in a few days."

Spencer doesn't look up from his notepad until the sound of the door closing behind Emily jerks him from his stupor.

"You're here," he states, as though he's not sure if he is supposed to be asking a question or not. "What are you doing here?"

You shrug, smiling at him. For a genius, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. "I wanted to see you guys."

"Oh," he says, placing his pen on his desk, "well, it's just me here."

You grin. "Works for me."

That makes him smile slightly, but it falls in an instant. "I'm glad you're okay."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Thanks, Spence, me too."

You expect him to return to his notes, but he just looks down and back up again. "Are you? Okay?"

You frown, more out of a lack of understanding, but he starts backtracking immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"

"It's fine," you reassure, pressing your lips together. "It's what everyone's thinking anyway."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you continue to fill the silence. "You just can't let the stares get to you."

"How, though?" he says after a beat. You're not sure what he's asking, but the confusion you're feeling must be mirrored in your expression, because he elaborates. "Ever since my mom came here for the Garner case, I feel like everyone has been looking at me, with all this...pity."

Your chest squeezes as you think about all of the lingering stares that followed him around in the week after Garner killed himself. Even Morgan couldn't hide his shock when Mrs. Reid showed up at the field office. "Have I?"

He shakes his head, and your chest relaxes with relief. Spencer glances up at you, and he looks so young for a second. "You're one of the few who hasn't."

"I guess I just understand the stares better than anyone," you sigh, feeling the familiar ache as your memories return to you in flashes.

You hear him suck in a breath as the realization dawns on him. "Agent Adler..."

You nod and Reid gives you a second to take a breath before he continues. "He was my instructor once, you know. At the academy."

You smile as your eyes shine with unshed tears. "Yeah, I know."

There's this kid in my hand-to-hand combat seminar.

Kid?

He can't be more than 20, maybe 21 years old. But the kid has guts.

You remember those nights before Jeff joined organized crime so fondly these days. The calm before the storm.

"He never treated me differently."

You look up with a sad smile, the memory receding as Spencer shares his own. "Hotch made me take a few physical training classes at the academy after I joined. All the other instructors acted like I was a joke, or a prank being pulled on them...but he never did."

That doesn't surprise you. Jeff was so nurturing and kind, much better than you ever were before you met him.

"I really miss him sometimes," he whispers softly.

You reach forward and press your hand on top of his. He doesn't pull back. "Me too, kid."

***

You can't remember the last time the team went out together. There was one night, what feels like years ago, when you all got dinner together after an especially cut-and-dry case that ended within the first day you arrived on scene. When the cases are long and hard-fought, it's not the same; everyone bolts the minute the jet hits the tarmac.

Tonight, something feels different. There hasn't been a new case in a couple of weeks, and everyone seems lighter.

"I'm back," Haley smiles, carefully setting two drinks down on the little high top table you are crowded around. "Spicy marg for Emily, and mojito for me."

You're still nursing the old fashioned you ordered a half hour ago, and Hotch is only halfway through his pint of Guinness.

"How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?" Haley asks, before putting the straw in her mouth and taking a large sip.

"She means is he being nice to you," you grin, cocking your head at Hotch as he shoots you a look of mock-offense. You know I'm right.

He flashes his eyes. And?

"Everyone has been incredibly nice," she says with a smile as a waitress approaches you with a drink in her hand.

She sets it on the table in front of you and glances behind her. "That man over there bought this for you."

Haley starts hooting before the waitress has a chance to leave the vicinity. She's definitely starting to feel her mojito, but you would never judge her on her one night away from the baby.

"That was weird," you say, hoping you don't look as awkward as you feel.

Haley leans forward and grabs your hand, an earnest smile on her face. "You should go talk to him! Only if you want to, of course."

"Yeah, it's your night off," Emily agrees, shooting you a smirk over the rim of her margarita.

"I don't know, guys," you say, sliding the drink to the center of the table.

You can tell Haley isn't done encouraging you to have a wild night, so you brace yourself for the pounce, but thankfully, Hotch stands up just as she's opening her mouth, and takes her hand. "Come on, honey, let's go show them how it's done."

"Oh!" she smiles, her face lighting up as she follows him onto the dance floor. "You ladies don't have too much fun without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you grin, before downing the last of your original drink.

Emily watches them shimmy into the crowd, her chin resting on her palm. "They are so sweet."

"They've been that way forever," you agree, glancing back over at them as they dance lazily in the center of the dance floor. Haley's movements are a bit looser as she slides through his arms, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand, keeping her upright even when it looks like she may fall.

He still looks at her the same way he did in high school, when he saw her at that first rehearsal for Pirates of Penzance. There's so much wonder in his eyes, like he's seeing her for the first time, every time.

***

You should be happier right now. You're done with high school, sitting in a sea of green caps and gowns with all of your friends, but all you can think about is how soon he's going to be gone.

You're going to be at different schools next year. Him at Harvard, you at UCLA, opposite ends of the country, for four years. The gravity of what that means didn't sink in until this very moment, the worst possible timing, because you're supposed to be happy right now.

"High school couldn't end fast enough," the girl next to you grins, her cap decorated with the glittery letters of the school she will be attending next year. "I'm so ready for all of this to be over."

You're not. You force your lips into a smile and let yourself glance a few rows up, just for a moment. When it's just the back of his head, you aren't confronted by the confusing emotions that have been swirling around your brain for the last few months. Of course you would realize you're in love with your best friend a semester before school ends. But that isn't the only reason your timing couldn't be worse.

You wave at your dad in the crowd, you is wearing more school colors than even you are, and he waves back enthusiastically. It distracts you for a moment, but then you face the front again, and your eyes are drawn back to the same place.

He turns back then, with a grin meant just for you, and your heart flutters like it's in a butterfly enclosure. You smile back, more genuine this time, but his attention shifts behind you after a quick nod. You don't have to turn back to know who he's looking at in the stands.

You shouldn't be surprised they got along so well, you practically set them up. After their first date, he seemed lighter than air, giddy with the impatient brush strokes of a first love. The look in his eyes now is the same as it was that day.

How did it go?

I'm gonna marry that girl one day.

You don't know why you had just assumed he was joking around. Hotch never joked about things like this.

Eventually, he turns back around in his seat, and you stare at your hands as you clasp and unclasp them over and over and over again until you no longer feel the cavity in your chest where your best friend used to be.

***

The next case comes in as you're working on your second drink. JJ corrals everyone at the bar into taxis, and sends you all off to the airport where the jet is already fueled and waiting.

"You missed a fun night," you note as Gideon climbs into the plane, a few minutes after the rest of you arrived.

"I had a good time," he says simply, before sitting by himself a few rows over. He hasn't spoken to you since he gave you the incident report, but you know it's not about you. Being forced to let Frank get away was hard on him, but you don't know how to assuage his guilt about your kidnapping if he won't even look at you.

Derek flips open his case file and huffs out a breath. "Well, good time's definitely over."

"The Kyles," JJ says, beginning the briefing as the plane takes off, "Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."

You look up, assuming you heard her wrong. "Only an hour ago?"

"Police were on scene unusually fast," she nods.

Derek frowns. "Why?"

"One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims."

Prentiss lets out a humorless laugh from across from you. "You're kidding."

"From inside the house."

JJ scans the file again. "According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there."

Gideon enters the conversation with a confused frown. "Sinners?"

"Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed." She holds up a photo of a page that looks torn out of a book.

"Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8."

Gideon sighs. "They're on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing."

***

Gideon was right, as he usually is. The killings don't stop, and videos of the murders are posted online, spreading the killers' message for them.

"JJ, why don't you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something."

"On it."

Garcia calls almost immediately after they leave. "There's a new video from our psycho."

Hotch stills. "Get it on the monitor here as soon as you can."

The police officer you met at the first crime scene joins you, Hotch, and Morgan in front of the computer as the video appears on the screen. The first thing you see is the dirty mattress. Then come the dogs.

You avert your eyes as the woman's screams for help fill the room.

"Jezebel's death," Hotch whispers, almost to himself.

"My god," Morgan grimaces. "You can turn it off."

The officer suddenly leans forward. "Oh, wait."

"You haven't seen enough?" Morgan asks, disgust coloring his tone. He has two sisters, both of whom he protects fiercely. You can't imagine what he's thinking about as he watches the screen.

"Those dogs," he says, his voice growing in strength as he speaks. "Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago. I would have had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner."

"You have the owner's name?"

He checks his notepad, flipping through it rapidly. "Hankel."

Your blood runs cold. "Hankel?"

"Tobias Hankel."

You're on your feet before he can finish saying his name.

***

The drive to the Hankel farmhouse is filled with hand wringing and nervous leg bouncing. You keep catching Hotch glancing over at you, but you don't care. You just need him to drive faster.

When he pulls up in front of the house, you and Emily throw your doors open before he can come to a complete stop. Hotch and Gideon head toward the house, so you lead Prentiss and Morgan over to the barn, where you can hear the faint sound of panicked breathing.

Lifting your gun and flashlight, you push open the barn door and are greeted by the sight of JJ pointing her gun at you. "JJ, it's L/N, Prentiss, and Morgan. You're okay."

She looks frenzied, her hair and clothes covered in a layer of sweat and grime. When her flashlight comes down, you notice the dead dogs on the ground.

"Tobias Hankel is the unsub," she gasps, stumbling over to you.

"We know, honey," you whisper, taking her arm and leading her outside, before glancing at Emily behind you. "Call an ambulance."

She nods and rushes over to the clearing in search of better cell signal as Derek steps forward, his face still twisted into a worried frown. "JJ, where's Reid?"

"They just completely tore her apart," she babbles, her eyes still frantic even as you put your hands on her shoulders to steady her. "There's nothing even left-"

"JJ, look at me."

Her eyes snap over to Morgan, and he brings his voice down again. "Where's Reid?"

"We split up," she says, her voice still tight, but slightly calmer. "He said he was going to go in the back."

"House is clear," Hotch calls from behind you, making you spin around, your mouth twisting with dread.

"So where is he?"

JJ's eyes glance back at the cornfield behind the house, and suddenly you're running. You can hear someone calling your name, but all you can think about is Spencer with an unsub who's idea of torture is biblical and cruel.

There are two sets of footprints in the dirt by the edge of the field, but after a few feet, they turn to drag marks. Oh no, oh god no.

***

The whole team - except for Reid, your brain keeps reminding you - sets up in Hankel's house, with even Garcia joining you on the scene to limit communication time.

You can't sleep as you alternate between reading Hankel's journals and hovering over Penelope's shoulder as she pores through his downloaded images and videos. Even as exhaustion pulls at your eyes, you periodically splash your face with water from the bathroom to keep yourself up. If anyone can understand how terrifying it is to be taken by a psychotic killer, it's you. Succumbing to sleep feels like a defeat, like you've given up on him.

You don't find anything useful until after Emily and JJ return from meeting with Tobias's N.A. sponsor, but in the sixth hour of scouring his journal, your brain clicks with a realization. "Guys, some parts of this journal match his father's handwriting. But they were written after he died."

"The bedrooms upstairs..." Gideon mutters, his eyes shifting up like they do when he's thinking. "One of Tobias's personalities may be his father."

Your brow furrows and you look down at the journal in front of you even as your eyes burn with fatigue. "Then who is Raphael?"

"My guess," Gideon sighs, "a mediator between the two."

Hotch looks at you, and you can see the concern etched into his face. "We need to start profiling Tobias's father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid."

Morgan nods. "I'll get Garcia on it."

He leaves the room and Hotch comes over to the table, where you're still staring down at one of the journals. Your hands are covered in pink half-moon indentations where your nails were pressed, and he fights the urge to take you away from here, to save you from this hurt. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine, Hotch," you whisper through gritted teeth. He can hear the worry in every word that leaves your mouth. The terror at the prospect of losing the team's youngest profiler.

"You didn't sleep at all last night," he points out gently.

"Neither did you."

You're not wrong. He didn't get a chance to shut his eyes either, but he's used to the sleepless nights. He supposes you are, too.

Your focus returns to the journal, and you don't notice as he slips out of the room and finds Gideon by the front of the house.

"Reid's brilliant," the older man sighs when he notices Hotch, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "He'll make it."

"I take advantage of Reid for his brain," he says softly, "but I never teach him how to handle things emotionally."

Jason shrugs. "Lead by example."

"What kind of example is that?"

For a bunch of criminal psychologists, you all still have no idea how to truly deal with losing people. Maybe that's just how life works. He thinks about the weeks after Jeff's death, when he wasn't sure if you would ever be okay again. Even as he held you while you cried, and promised that you would feel okay someday, he's not sure if he ever actually believed it.

But then one day, your eyes stopped shining at the mention of his name, and you no longer fell apart after each time you had to question a victim's widow.

Even after your mother's death, you were stoic. He remembers holding your hand at the funeral, but your grip was almost stronger than his, like you were holding him up with your sheer willpower to stay upright.

Seeing you now, he's not sure what will happen if Reid doesn't come back. He just knows he doesn't plan on finding out.

He and Gideon rush back inside when Garcia's voice frantically calls for everyone to look at Hankel's monitors. His eyes squint inadvertently as the video feed of Reid tied to a chair lights up the screens in front of them, almost like his brain is trying to block out the image.

Your hand flies to your mouth, but not before a small anguished sound escapes. "He's been beaten."

"This is for us," Garcia whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He knows we're here."

"I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan spits out, before turning around and slamming his fist into the room's wooden door.

Gideon leans closer to the screens, clearly trying to take in any detail he can from the scene. "Why can't you locate him?"

"He's rerouting to a different I.P. address every 30 seconds," Garcia explains, her voice thick through the tears. "I can't track him."

***

The screens shut off and the video feed of Spencer is gone. Penelope starts frantically typing away at the keyboard, likely in an effort to regain the signal, but it doesn't seem to be working.

Your body feels heavy, like there are weights on all of your limbs. Realistically, you know it's mostly the stress and exhaustion, but you can't stop thinking about the frightened look on Reid's face and how he must be feeling.

When you walk back through the house, the sound of a hushed argument in the kitchen catches your attention.

"JJ, what do you want from me?"

You recognize Morgan's voice, and you almost turn away to give them some privacy, but something in JJ's voice as she responds keeps you at the door.

"I just...I want someone to tell me the truth."

"The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't. You gotta figure the rest out for yourself."

You're walking inside before you can stop yourself. "Morgan, go help Penelope with the video file."

He looks surprised when he sees you, but he doesn't argue before leaving the room.

JJ rakes a hand through her hair as you approach her slowly. She doesn't shy away as you stand next to her, so you reach out and squeeze her forearm once before pulling back. "I was terrified when Frank took me in Texas."

She looks up with a shocked expression, her eyes finally meeting yours for the first time all day.

"I was terrified," you repeat, "but I never lost hope, because I knew you guys would come for me, no matter what."

Her eyes crinkle with sorrow and you pat her arm again, almost as much for you as for her. "I didn't blame anyone for what happened to me, JJ. Reid isn't blaming you either."

Her lip trembles, and you pull her into a hug as the tears finally come.

***

"Your team members...choose one to die."

Spencer gasps on the grainy computer monitor. "Kill me."

"Tell me who dies."

"No."

The back and forth continues as Hankel stalks toward him and lines his revolver up with Reid's forehead. "Choose."

"I-I choose Aaron Hotchner."

The room stills.

"He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense. In emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"

Reid's words sink in and you unconsciously reach towards Hotch, but he's already walking out of the room. You follow him into the other room, the rest of the team on your heels.

"I'm not a narcissist," he says, his voice lighter than you're expecting. He grabs a Bible from the table and quickly flips through it, landing on the verse Reid mentioned.

"Come on, look," Gideon urges. "You can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch."

He waves away everyone's concern. "No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?"

No one says anything. You can feel Morgan revving up, so you jump in to start things off. "You're a workaholic."

Your mind flashes back to your hometown's library, all the late nights where you would fall asleep in your chair as he worked away into the early hours of the morning. His home was a trigger after his father died, and you could see the guilt eating away at him as he realized he didn't miss his dad as much as he was supposed to. As much as Sean did. The guilt that wore him down as he struggled to figure out how to be there for his brother, when he couldn't understand his pain.

He nods at you then, and there's nothing but determination behind his eyes.

"You're a bully," JJ chimes in.

Morgan adds, "You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

Hotch is still nodding. "Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men," Emily says, her voice wavering slightly.

"Ok, good," he says, tapping the page with his finger. "I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever."

"Hotch, what's your point," you whisper, chewing your lip as you anxiously glance back at the screen.

He shushes you with a wave of his hand. "Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it."

You lean forward, taking the book from him. "'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'"

"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."

"Bury my dead," Morgan repeats, his eyes widening. "He's in a cemetery."

***

Hotch heads to the nearest cemetery with Morgan and Gideon, while you follow closely behind, with JJ in the seat next to you and Emily in the back. The drive is short, and you all throw yourselves out of the SUV when you park, as everyone spreads out to search the cemetery.

"Come with me," you tell JJ when you see her eyes flit around the darkness, a slightly panicked expression on her face. "We'll find him."

The wet mulch of the graveyard sinks under your quick footsteps, and you keep your eyes peeled as his name choruses around you, from all of the officers milling around.

The search ends with the sound of a gunshot, and when you get to the source, you nearly collapse with the relief of seeing Hankel on the ground as Reid kneels beside him.

"Spencer," you gasp as the other agents examine Hankel's body. He looks up at the sound of your voice and his face contorts for a second as you kneel in front of him.

A small sound leaves his mouth and suddenly your arms are crushing him to you, your panic ebbing away with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're okay. You're okay."

Hotch reaches out when you break apart and helps him up before Reid pulls him into a tight hug that surprises everyone. "I knew you'd understand."

Hotch tightens his arms for a moment, before they both pull back and JJ throws her arms around Reid. "I'm so sorry."

He pats her back, and for a split second, you can almost imagine he's comforting her, instead of the other way around. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

She steps away from him and he asks for a moment alone, so you all move back a few paces, allowing him the time to come to terms with the death of the man who somehow both tortured and saved him. You use the second of space to catch your breath as you will yourself not to let the tears of relief fall.

When Spencer finally stands up, you grab onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, and you help him over to the ambulance that is waiting by the edge of the cemetery.

"Thank you," you gasp as he sits on the edge of the vehicle, suddenly unable to help yourself.

He frowns, his hair hanging in sweaty pieces in front of his face. "For what?"

"For staying alive."

***

The next case takes you to New York, where you find yourself hyper-vigilant as you watch Spencer try to acclimate to the job again. You can't help but notice the small changes in his demeanor, including the snappiness in his tone as he responds to everyone's questions, but you attribute it to the shock of his kidnapping.

After returning from the city, you decide to take some time to complete the paperwork you've been letting slide. Hotch managed to head home at a decent hour for once, and JJ and Prentiss are no where to be seen, but you spot Morgan twiddling his thumbs at his desk, his eyes darting over to peer at Reid almost as often as yours do.

An hour into scribbling out a case report, you head over to the coffee station to refill your mug. It has cooled down since you made it a couple of hours ago, but it still tastes just how you like it.

Burnt, Hotch's voice grumbles in your head. Even when he's gone, he won't leave you alone.

Topping off your mug, you turn around to get back to work and end up bumping into Reid, who looks worse for wear than he did on the jet.

"Shit, sorry," you smile, trying to get him to meet your eye. "I didn't see you there."

"Watch where you're going," he snaps, before stepping around you.

You don't let him get away that easily. Grabbing his arm, you hold him in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Spencer, don't do that. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I'm fine," he says simply, his expression almost emotionless as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

"I'm serious," you say, putting extra emphasis on your words. "I know what you're feeling. I can help."

His expression shifts into one of animosity and something else you can't place. "You don't know anything about what I'm feeling."

His words are like a slap to the face, and he uses your break in focus to tug himself out of your grip and stalk over to the bathroom around the corner.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to take it personally. He's just been through a horrifying ordeal. No one can expect him to continue on like normal, at least for a little while.

"Something is up with him," Morgan says from his desk, before spinning in his chair to look at the spot where Reid walked away. "He's acting...hostile."

"He's just adjusting," you say quickly, your protective instinct coming out in full force. You close your eyes for a moment to calm your voice down. "This is a normal reaction for what he went through."

Derek doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. You don't even know if you're convincing yourself, because you know why this kind of hostility and irritation manifests: when you're hiding something.

You weren't a particularly crazy teenager, so you didn't have much to hide from your parents, but there was one secret you held until you left for college that manifested in your daily interactions. One secret that changed how you acted around your best friend, how you spoke to him, how you even looked at him.

You push the thought away before turning to stare at the bathroom door as it falls shut behind Reid. You know Morgan's right. You just don't know what to do.

***

"Hey, Reid," Derek says, looking at him with a small smile. "What's going on up there?"

He shrugs. "Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas, Ethan. Pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now."

JJ called you at home a few hours ago with the briefing and an instruction to pack for warm weather. Wanting to pack light, you threw on the tank top you planned to wear, and a button-down for the flight. A few cursory glances around the jet tell you that almost everyone else had the same idea. Of course, Hotch is still in his suit, and Reid has on a sweater vest that you're sure he won't take off, even if the temperature skyrockets.

"Really?" Derek asks. "You going to give him a call?"

Reid shrugs again, and you absentmindedly wonder if his shoulders hurt from the number of times he has used that motion over the past week. "We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau but first day at Quantico he backed out."

Emily, who is sitting next to you, looks up with a grin. "He probably just couldn't take the heat."

"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Reid states, and her face falls immediately.

"Right. My bad."

He hasn't been as irritable in recent days, but sometimes a random response will rub him the wrong way. You find Emily's hand on the armrest and squeeze it once. She looks down at her hand and then at you, a grateful smile on her face.

JJ directs everyone back to the images that were recovered as you approach Louisiana.

"A slaughter like this takes time," you note as you examine the depth and shape of the wounds on the dead man in the photos before you.

"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives," Reid adds, chiming in from across the cabin, "and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero."

Gideon nods, looking up from his file. "This city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche."

"So," you say, looking at JJ. "Where do we start?"

She sighs. "All of the records were washed away in Katrina."

"With no case files, there's only one place we can start," Hotch says, drawing your attention. "Square one."

The plane lands soon after, and you disembark into the midday heat, heading to the latest crime scene immediately after dropping your bags off at the station.

Instead of a body, there's a very alive man waiting for you all at the scene.

"You must be BAU," he says, reaching out to shake JJ's hand. "Will Lamontagne."

She smiles at him, accepting the handshake. "Hi, Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

The detective is looking at her so intently, you almost feel like you're interrupting something by bring here. "Okay, then. I pictured you different."

You glance over at Emily, who is already looking at you, a smirk on her face.

"These are Agents Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, and L/N," she introduces. "This is Detective William Lamontagne Jr."

He nods at you. "Appreciate you guys being here."

"Of course," you say, trying to keep the smile off your face as you shake his hand. Beside you, JJ has turned a light shade of mauve that you presently allow her to pretend is just from the heat.

***

"Morgan called," Hotch mentions when you finally meet him back at the station. He hasn't seen you since you got off the plane. "He and Prentiss think the unsub is a woman."

You ponder the idea, your eyes lighting up as the gaps in the profile get filled. "All straight male victims, killed while on a night out at the bars. Always in groups of other men, drinking. A woman would be able to lure them away. That makes sense."

He nods, turning back to the letters from the unsub. He's about to call the rest of the team back in when he notices your forehead crinkle out of the corner of his eye. You look up at him. "Wait, you said Prentiss and Morgan think it's a woman. What about Reid? Didn't he fly out with them?"

He sighs, mentally kicking himself for letting that slip. He doesn't want you worrying about Reid any more than you already have been, but he knows there isn't anything he can do to stop you. "Apparently he missed the flight. They couldn't get ahold of him."

"What?" Your brow furrows with concern, and he quickly interjects to keep you from spiraling. "They will be back from Texas any minute now, and Gideon said he spotted Reid heading over here a few minutes before you arrived. Nothing has happened to him."

"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, before bringing your voice down. "The worst thing happened to him. He's hurting more than any of us can possibly imagine. I just don't know how to help him get through it."

He doesn't correct you. He doesn't say that almost every single member of this team can at least somewhat relate to what Reid may be feeling, including you. Instead, he puts his hand on your arm and says, "You're doing all you can."

You sigh. "And what's that?"

"You're promising to be there when he's ready for your help." He sees the tension visibly leave your shoulders, and he pulls his hand back. "That's all any of us can do."

***

When another body is found in the French Quarter, the plan changes. Everyone disperses in pairs to cover the streets in the hopes of catching the unsub in action.

Even as night falls, the temperature doesn't, and you strip off your over-shirt, leaving you in a pale pink tank top. When you emerge from the bathroom, Hotch is the only one waiting for you outside, with all of the other pairs already patrolling Bourbon Street.

He gives you a funny look when he sees you tying your button-down around your waist, and you bump your shoulder against his with a laugh. "What are you looking at?"

He exhales in a quick burst, before meeting your eye. "You look different."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No," he shakes his head, his eyes blinking shut as he clearly regrets his choice of words, "no, it's good...uh, you look good."

Your stomach flips and you turn your face down to hide the smile that's threatening to appear. "Thanks, Hotch."

He huffs out a laugh before leading you up to the bars, where tourists are bustling around in large groups. The sounds of buskers playing their accordions at the street corners loosens a memory from your brain, and you turn to him with a bright smile. "Remember your first performance of Pirates of Penzance?"

He frowns. "I remember it being my first and last foray into the world of theater."

"No," you giggle, glancing around you periodically even as you continue the story. "I mean, do you remember how that one accordion player tripped and almost fell into the orchestra pit like ten minutes into opening night?"

His eyes light up at the memory and he laughs. "I thought it was hilarious, but Haley was so stressed out the whole performance. To this day, I've never seen that vein in her forehead get so big."

"You were pirate number four," you chastise him with a grin. "She was one of the leads. I hardly think you can compare experiences."

He shrugs, his eyes still scanning the vicinity. He looks like he wants to say something, but then you both notice Morgan and Reid rushing towards one of the side streets and your conversation halts. "Let's go."

***

With help from Detective Lamontagne and his late father, the team is able to catch the unsub right before she kills another man. Once she's in custody, you wait outside by the ambulances, watching from afar as JJ and Will talk by his car.

After a few minutes, she hands him something and walks back over to where you're standing. "I can't believe I just did that."

"What did you do?" you ask, trying not to laugh at how freaked out she looks.

She puts her face in her hands for a second, before looking at you with a sigh. "I gave him my number."

"That's good!" you smile, squeezing her arm. "That's good, right?"

"I don't know," she says softly, her eyes squinting as she looks at you. "He seems really sweet. And he's clearly great at his job. I think the distance just worries me."

"You can take it slow," you tell her earnestly. "This doesn't have to be any more serious than you want it to be."

"What if I want it to be serious? Eventually, I mean."

You can't help but smile at the look on her face. You recognize it on yourself from when you first met Jeff: the excitement of possibility. "Then that's up to you too."

She nods, and you let out a smile. "Let loose, JJ. He seems like a good one, and you definitely deserve something good."

JJ glances over at the police cars, where Will is talking to one of the paramedics. "I hope so."

***

You sit by yourself on the flight home, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind from the case. You don't encounter female unsubs often, but the ones that arise always have a tendency to get under your skin. Maybe it's because their motivations seem so different from the others. Or maybe you just feel bad for them.

You're so zoned out that you don't realize Spencer is sitting next to you until he taps your arm. "Hey."

"Hey, Spence," you smile, trying to keep your tone light so he doesn't think you expect too much. "What's up?"

He looks down for a beat before meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Your heart twists and you press your lips together to keep from speaking too quickly. "You never have to apologize to me."

"I do," he says, shaking his head. "Please just let me."

He looks so strong all of a sudden. You haven't seen him look so steady in months, and it makes your chest feel lighter. "Okay. I forgive you, Spencer."

He nods, making a move to get up, but you don't let him get away just yet. "Just promise me something."

He purses his lips, like he's unsure of how to respond, but eventually he dips his chin into another nod.

"Promise me that next time you feel this way, you'll come to me."

He looks at you with an expression you can't decipher, but it quickly falls into contrition. "I promise."

***

"What are you thinking about?" Hotch's shoulder bumps yours as he sits down on the edge of the desk next to you.

"Nothing," you say quickly. He's not sure why you're lying. He can sniff out your dishonesty from a mile away.

"I thought you and Reid got a chance to talk on the plane last week," he frowns, following your line of sight.

You sigh, turning your gaze away from the younger agent. "We did. I just keep thinking about what he said about the unsub at the last scene."

He's like a drug addict.

It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help.

"All of us knew," he says softly, his eyes turning up, searching for something he can't see. "To some extent, we knew. But he's doing a lot better now. We just have to give him time to trust us with the truth."

Your eyes find his. "How did you know you could trust me? When we were kids, I mean?"

Your question takes him aback. He wants to say something profound, to mention a specific moment when he realized that he could share the worst parts of his life with you without the fear that the world would end, but it wasn't that poetic. All he knows is that you were a kid, and he was too, and the first time you saw the splotches of black and blue painting his skin, you didn't turn away. You looked at him, not with pity or sorrow, but with a strength that he still draws from to this day. "I think I just knew you would always be there."

You ponder his words, your eyes traveling back to Reid, who is flipping through a book he brought with him. He knows there are a lot of ways you could take what he said, but he believes you'll take what you need, because he was telling the truth.

You really were always there for him. Even when you weren't - either because of physical distance or because you were in a fight - he never doubted that you would be there if he needed you.

"Come on," he says after a beat. "Let's head back."

You nod, your mind still a million miles away. "Okay."

***

Friday nights used to be your date night. Jeff would promise to be home by seven, usually with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, and you would cook something special together before watching a movie or falling into bed.

After he died, Friday nights became your least favorite time of the week, serving as a constant reminder of what you should have, and no longer do.

Today, for the first time in over two years, you think you might be ready to remember those nights you used to love. Grabbing a bottle of cabernet from your pantry, you pull out a thin-stemmed glass and pour yourself some wine. Your heart thuds heavily as you swirl the wine around, and you are willing yourself to bring the glass to your lips when your pager goes off. You feel a shameful sense of relief as you set your glass down and reach for your purse.

181 Arthur Street. Why does that look familiar?

You wrack your brain for a second before it clicks. It takes you less than a minute to toss your wine into the sink and grab your coat.

***

"Where's Gideon?" you ask when you spot Hotch and the team standing in his kitchen.

"He's not here," he replied. "It seems he left in a hurry."

Morgan looks at him with an urgency you recognize in yourself. "PD thinks he did this?"

"They have six witnesses who saw him running down the street covered in blood, wielding a gun."

"Okay, he was probably chasing the son of a bitch who did do this."

Hotch shrugs, and you can feel the momentary helplessness in the motion. "Either way, we're under strict orders not to get in the way of the investigation."

"Gideon's a suspect," Emily nods, "we're his colleagues."

"Conflict of interest," JJ agrees. "There's no way they'll ask for our help."

"Which he needs badly right now."

You turn into the bedroom to look at the crime scene for the first time. The mutilation of the victim's body brings a familiar nausea to your stomach that you swallow down. "Do we know who she is?"

Hotch comes in behind you. "An old school friend." He turns back to spout off a list of instructions to JJ, but you can't take your eyes off of the woman.

Evisceration of the torso. Removal of various organs. No defensive wounds.

Something in her hand catches your attention and your eyes flicker down to see what she's clutching. Using one of your gloved hands, you pry open her fist and reveal a broken piece of bone. A rib bone.

"Frank," you whisper, almost to yourself. "It's Frank."

"What did you say?" Morgan asks, stepping up next to you. You unfurl your hand to reveal the bone, and he swears under his breath. He turns around to address the rest of the team. "Frank's back."

After JJ snaps a dozen photos of the crime scene on her phone, you all head out into the night air to regroup and formulate a game plan. You hang behind the team on the walk out, your mind spinning with memories of hands and voices you still see sometimes when you're trying to fall asleep.

"Y/N." Your eyes snap up to Emily's as she strolls alongside you. "You okay?"

She looks sincere, and you find yourself wanting to talk all of a sudden. You nod, heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, it just feels very fresh all over again."

"I can imagine." She takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze. "You can come to me if you need a break from all of it."

She leaves you with an earnest smile, and you realize, not for the first time, how glad you are that she's on the team.

***

You aren't able to save Rebecca Garner this time. Frank kills her, and you once again feel that familiar bitterness of nausea rising in your throat as you see her mutilated body.

When you realize he's going to go after children again, you join Hotch and Morgan as they go to Tracey Belle's house.

"We need a crime scene team," Hotch barks into his comm when the home comes up empty, no trace of anyone inside.

"That's my house!"

You turn around and see Tracey's parents running up to the entrance, panic reflected in their eyes.

Hotch steps forward to block them. "Mr. Belle..."

"You have to let us in. My daughter's in there."

He turns to the mother. "Ma'am, you can't go in right now."

"Where's Tracy? Where is she?"

You can see the interaction pulling him down, like a ship anchored to the sea floor.

"What's important to know right now is Tracy is alive, okay? Your daughter's alive."

S.W.A.T. takes the parents aside to explain the situation to them in more detail, and you go to Hotch's side as a pained expression crosses his face. More than anything, you want to comfort him. To tell him that Tracey isn't Jack, that this won't happen to him...but how can you?

Gideon's girlfriend was murdered tonight. Jeff was killed while undercover. Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. No one is ever really safe.

Your eyes flash back over to Mr. and Mrs. Belle, and your chest tightens almost uncontrollably as you imagine how scared Tracey must be.

When Emily and JJ find Jane in a holding cell at the local precinct, her knowledge of Frank's backstory provides more clues about his whereabouts. You go with JJ and Reid to his mother's apartment in Manhattan, while the rest of the team heads to the train station to find Frank.

The idea of Tracey being all alone, frightened for her life, plagues your every thought as the three of you drive to the city. You try to clear your mind as you push through the front door and check for any sign of life. Instead, what you find is the dusty corpse of Frank's late mother.

"Guys, over here." Reid points to a latched door. Stepping around the bed, you immediately unlock the door and throw it open, revealing the tiny, shivering form of Tracey.

"Oh, sweetie," you gasp as sits up in fright, her posture only relaxing once she sees the FBI vests. "You're okay, honey."

You undo the ties on her wrists and she all but falls forward and into your arms. You pull her into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of any possible injuries she could have sustained. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against yours brings you a familiar comfort, and you squeeze her tighter, before finally letting go.

***

He finds himself in Strauss's office again as he explains what happened with the Frank case. How he killed himself and Jane, but he can't bring himself to take that as a failure, because he knows she never would've found the strength to leave him anyway. "Once again, the team has battled a monster and won."

"The future of the BAU is not in the balance here." Her eyes are brimming with scorn. "The residual impact as a result of the investigations into the crimes and criminals you pursue is. Every cause has its effect."

He almost scoffs. "You think I don't know that?"

"I believe you are no longer effective in your post."

There it is. He knows she never liked the way he handled his team. The next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "The modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, the framed diplomas, the art on the wall are all in conflict with your family photos."

Her eyes widen but he just continues, undeterred.

"You have three children, but you favor the middle one, your son."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Of course you love all your children," he shrugs, "but not like your son."

Strauss twists her hand into a fist. "That's enough."

"The bonsai that you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother..."

"Agent Hotchner," she says, her voice bordering on rage. "I said that is enough. My position is not in question here. As your superior I am questioning your ability to lead your team."

"My team?" he scoffs, unable to keep the malice from his tone. "Let me tell you about my team. Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned and there are very few people he truly trusts.

"Reid's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions and at the moment his shield is under repair.

"Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she's a part of the team. She needn't worry.

"Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.

"Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.

"Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others, which is why he shares so little of himself. Yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.

"And Agent L/N," he pauses finally, taking a moment to find himself again, "she has taken the immense loss that life has handed to her and transformed it, not into cynicism, but into empathy, for her team, for the victims, for the world."

Strauss doesn't say anything, and he can't help the vindication that shines through his voice as he says, "I stand by my actions and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck."

"Agent Hotchner," she emphasizes, making him look back at her one last time.

"How do I know you favor your son?"

She simply looks at him, a mixture of irritation and shame on her face.

"I'm good at my job."

***

"What's wrong?" Hotch looks up in surprise as you sidle up next to him. He was staring at the portrait of the FBI director, hanging in the hallway outside the bullpen, and he only does that when he's professionally stressed.

He looks like he wants to avoid the question, but you fix him with a glare that makes him sigh. "We're being evaluated."

"Doesn't that happen every year?" you ask, still not understanding.

"It's six months early."

You take a deep breath. This past year has been tough for everybody, but you think the team has come through the other side better people. "So they're assessing our unit. It'll be fine, we did great work this year."

"The only file they didn't request was mine."

That sends a spike of anxiety through your bloodstream, but he doesn't need your fear. "They could never fire you. You stepped up to the plate when Gideon left. You helped make this unit what it is."

You're the reason I joined at all, you want to say. You made this unit my family. I can't imagine being here without you.

But that isn't fair. He doesn't need to carry this with you. This burden of having no one else.

So instead you just smile at him, bump his shoulder with yours, and say, "You're going to be fine. This team wouldn't be the same without you."

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @distortionbobble, @sanayikes (message me to be added!)

447 notes · View notes

hollowed-theory-hall · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! I love your theories, and I spent too long reading everything I could find on your blog on Harry and V specifically, and bc I fell into a ship hole and can't seem to get out, here's a random question for you! Do you ship Tomarry or Harrymort in any way? Is it believable for you that it could happen? I mean, most of the time people tend to ship hermione with Tom Riddle, with the excuse that she's super smart, but I think Tom Riddle would despise her actually. Harry's not book smart, but he's very intuitive, he's clever and he's cunning, they could fit I think 🤔. Also they have shit lives, and they've been through similar things (not everything), and that'd enable them to understand each other and all. And Harry is annoyingly stubborn, so Tom/V would have a hard time manipulating him or forcing him by other means (like spells or potions), and he's observant and suspicious enough to notice random little clues and trusts his instincts so he wouldn't be blindly in love either? Sorry I'm rambling, I'd like to hear your thoughts about this if you have some? (If you don't ship it, no problem, I don't want to come across as if I'm trying to rant or complain or anything)

Have a good day!!

Thank you so much 🥰

As with all ship asks, ship whatever you ship and have fun, these are just my subjective opinions. Also, no, you don't come across as complaining.

So, real talk, I do enjoy tomarry/harrymort. This ship has some of the most well-written fics I came across in all my various fandoms and it has a special place in my heart. But my thoughts on this pairing are complicated.

To summarise I think this pair can be narrativly delicious. We got distorted parallel mirrors, both of them outright say how much they understand each other, how they know each other better than anyone else. They are narrative foils in many ways, having similar enough backgrounds but making different choices leading down different paths. It also helps these two are in my top 5 favorite characters in the series, so pairing them up is somewhat natural since it gets interesting results.

But, I don't think canon Harry and Tom/Voldemort would actually work as a couple realistically (or at least in a healthy way). Like, even without their history and specific circumstances in the story, ignoring everything and just thinking about how I see their personalities, I think they'd get on each other's nerves if they tried to date. They'd try to kill each other, completely independent of any prophecy.

Now to make a short story long:

(I'll be using the name "Tom" but it refers to Tom at any stage in his life)

First, yes, they do understand each other and have the potential for really seeing each other in a way that others rarely see them. I mean, Harry has Ron and Hermione, but they don't get it the way Tom would. They don't understand loneliness and abuse the way someone who lived through it would. I mean, these two clearly don't know what to do when Harry jokes about ducking his uncle's fists besides looking at him with concern. With Tom, Harry wouldn't have to worry about this. Tom would also not be concerned about Harry's darker more ruthless tendencies, allowing Harry to actually be Harry.

Tom, for his part, is a very lonely character who is looking for companionship and compassion, two things Harry can give. But Tom is unyielding in basically everything, he is incredibly prideful and independent. While he wants a connection, he doesn't really know how to trust and open up, to give a bit of himself that is necessary for relationships which is going to be a struggle for them.

Harry is one of the only characters (if not the only one) Tom sees as an equal or a potential equal. Tom really doesn't respect many people (regardless of blood or magical skill) but he does grow to respect and even fear Harry by book 7. This respect is important for any relationship, but especially when it comes to Tom Riddle, who just wouldn't really take anyone lesser than him seriously. And he thinks 99% of beings are lesser than him, so, that's a point in their favor.

Additionally when we think of the narrative, like, god, this can be juicy. We have two powerful and capable individuals who are basically bound together on every possible level. They are bound by magic, having brother wands that actively don't want to fight each other. They are bound by fate with a prophecy interwinding their lives together. After Tom's resurrection, they are bound by blood and they are bound by soul due to Harry being Tom's Horcrux. They literally share a soul, like, that's insane. They share dreams and memories and get each other in a way few could.

And they are very fixated on each other and can't really escape the other's influence. Tom is obsessed with killing Harry and no one but him is allowed to do it. He even goes as far as stipulating he wants to kill Harry while dueling him properly when Harry has his wand. This is something that shows, again, his respect for Harry. And Harry sees dealing with Voldemort as his responsibility. Tom Riddle is his to deal with and no one else's.

Like, it lends itself to a very dramatic very entertaining story naturally. A messy one for sure, but fun.

All that being said, when I actually think about how I see their respective personalities and what they would want/need from a relationship, I don't think they are very compatible below the surface.

Yes, Tom needs someone who he'll respect, but that partner needs to have some (a lot of) give. They need to be able to work around Tom's 10 million personality complexes without him feeling like he is being fixed. Tom needs to feel like he is getting his way, so his potential partner needs to either be very subtle or put a lot of effort into making Tom dateable (which I talked about more here). The thing is, Harry is just as stubborn and unrelenting as Tom more often than not. These two both have the same complex from a lack of control over their lives in childhood that results in very stubborn people who will fight tooth and nail to get their way and a general distrust of people. This is a recipe for them butting heads often, especially with their different worldviews and how they see people.

Like, both of them would never bow down to anyone. They don't know how to take a backseat. Sure, Harry says he doesn't want all the danger and attention, and he doesn't, but he wouldn't be able to sit and do nothing against what he feels is wrong, he is used to carrying an impossible burden on his shoulders. And he takes a leadership rule easily and naturally. Tom is used to getting his way, he is used to being able to either intimidate or charm what he wants out of everyone, something his partner should be immune to, but I think Harry would rile him up worse, instead of putting a stop to the behavior. Like, Tom would just try harder to break Harry before trying something else would cross his mind because Harry would make a sassy comment that would get Tom emotionally invested. He's going to get his pride and self-worth hinging on breaking Harry's resolve, and he is going to fail. Neither of them would ever be happy in the shadow of the other and it's going to be a constant push and pull with these too. Now, this sort of dynamic can be very compelling in fic, it's a fun story about a relationship that is truly insufferable to be around.

Neither of them is particularly emotionally intelligent or capable of emotional vulnerability. Like, Harry, who didn't know why Cho was crying after Cedric died, would need to be the person carrying the emotional tool in this relationship, and, like, I love Harry, but navigating emotionally volatile situations (specifically romantic ones) is not one of his many skills. Tom is even more useless in this department, he sure can recognize emotions in others, but he repeatedly underestimates emotional attachment, both in himself and others because his conceptions about friendship and love are all skewered. And with romance, he would be so much worse.

Add to all of that the fact both of them have one hell of a temper and it's more likely that they'd blow up at each other rather than talk shit out.

And then there is how I think they'll behave when they actually are in a relationship. As I talked about here, Tom is a sentimental and possessive person. When it comes to romance, I think Tom would want a person to be his, he'd be obsessed and controlling while simultaneously wanting to remain independent and do his own thing. He'd be a nightmare. And Harry, well, Harry would handle the independent, doing his own thing quite well, since I think Harry is the same. Even in a relationship, he'd need to keep his own independence and freedom, and that's where Tom's controlling nature is going to butt heads with Harry's distaste for any controlling figure.

I think Tom would struggle with Harry's lack of ambition too. Because Harry is clever, powerful, has the makings of greatness, and is an equal to Tom, but he isn't planning on doing anything with it. This would infuriate Tom, honestly. I think Tom would find many of Harry's passions (like Quidditch) frivolous and useless and would probably tell him that, which Harry would fight him on.

Harry's sassy nature, would also, get under Tom's skin if it's directed at him, Tom takes himself too seriously to make fun of himself and take a joke. However, he would appreciate these same comments when directed at others. Tom has a sense of humor, but he wouldn't make fun of himself, especially not a younger Tom Riddle when he's still in school.

There are aspects that would work, though, I think Harry would be willing to listen to Tom going on about whatever quite intently, and Tom would love that. Harry can pay a lot of attention to people he cares about, but he can also get distracted and just not hear anything being said to him (he tunes out some of Ron and Hermione's conversations regardless of his love for them. It can happen when you get used to being around someone) which Tom would hate. Although Harry would find Tom's monologing kinda annoying at a certain point, I think.

I think Tom would do good for Harry's self-esteem issues since Tom wouldn't accept Harry thinking of himself as average when he is equal to Tom. Harry would be pretty good for Tom's weird prideful self-hatred and could probably help push for an arc there. Both by showing Tom actual affection and by keeping his ridiculous ego in check.

I also think Harry would appreciate someone being protective over him and wanting him so much as someone who grew up feeling unwanted and like he never had anyone in his corner. And Tom, I believe, would be protective and possessive in a relationship (a little too much, but still).

Basically, both of them (but mostly Tom) need work before they can make a relationship between them work, and that's before looking at their history in the books which will always require some canon-divergence or AU to make this pairing work. Very possible, but it takes effort. Most of said effort goes into forcing them to talk properly, honestly, because Tom really wants Harry, his one failure, dead. Like, Harry would shockingly be the easier one to convince of this, I think. Like, he was willing to forgive Tom, he already sees him as a person and not a bogeyman. Plus, he thinks Tom is hot (the younger one at least). Tom (as Voldemort, during the series), as I said, sees Harry not as Harry but as a representation of his own failings, and until he gets that out of his head, I can't really see this relationship working.

When it comes to the "Harry time travels to the 1940s and goes to Hogwarts with Tom" fics it's easier to get them together because Tom has fewer complexes, but it's still not easy (Sure, he doesn't have 10 million complexes, just 7 million instead). So even then Harry has his work cut out for him and this relationship would be a trainwreck that might take collateral damage in the form of everyone around them being miserable with their bullshit.

The key point in all scenarios I mentioned is that Harry needs to actively pursue Tom because otherwise, it won't happen. Because Tom isn't going to pursue it on his own unless some AU reason pushes him to do so. I can see him getting obsessed with Harry easily in various circumstances, but while he'd pursue his obsession, I don't think it would cross his mind to date Harry. Not on his own, I just don't see Tom coming up with it without something to help him get there. Maybe (again in a time travel scenario) a younger Tom could pursue a fake relationship in pursuit of his obsession, but Harry would fight against it because he'd see through him. I also find it hard to imagine Harry pursuing this relationship with Tom through all of Tom's bullshit. I don't think Harry has the patience for that (unless he has a specific reason to do so).

I don't think Harry would pursue this relationship to begin with either. As I mentioned, emotional intelligence and romance in particular are not Harry's strong suits. He could be in love and not notice it because he shrugged it up to something else and he has more pressing things to worry about. If he does notice, he might try to pursue it, but it again depends on the AU or specific situation. I think he could flirt if he set his mind to it, but whether that's effective with Tom depends on which point in Tom's life we're talking about...

I wrote here about the trope of Tom finding out Harry is his Horcrux and, honestly, what I wrote there applies to any potential romantic relationship between them too. Especially if this trope is relevant in the getting-together stage.

All of this is without talking about the elephant in the room of their specific age difference that I'm kinda ignoring. In the books it's a difference of 54 years, which is a lot, but hey wizards and in fic scenarios, Harry can be an adult or they can be the same age, or, well, in fic you can do whatever even when said whatever situation would be messed up irl. I mean, irl I would never advocate for anyone to sleep with their parents' murderer, but this is fanfiction we're talking about so it doesn't really matter. It does mean that this isn't the kind of pairing that I think could be canon or even canon-adjacent. And though I like it better than Drarry in many ways, it's way less likely to happen than Drarry in the canon books as they are.

So, yeah, I like Tomarrry/Harrymort. It's fun, it's juicy, it's dramatic, it has great fics for it out there, but can it realistically happen without some AU? Not really.

(Also, you mentioned Tom and Hermione so I'll add in a little aside that I think that pair will get along worse than Tom and Harry. I think they would misunderstand each other a lot. And Tom, contrary to popular belief isn't going to appreciate someone who's trying to prove he isn't the smartest person in the room. I also think Tom wouldn't like Hermione's attitude over basically anything. I think Hermione would disapprove of Tom's general disregard for others' lives and well-being as well, and she would take more offense at it than Harry. I think Hermione is more likely to get intimidated by Tom than Harry too. Like Hermione would startle at something Tom says whereas Harry would call out his bluff)

#harry potter #hp #voldemort #tom riddle #lord voldemrot #harry james potter #tomarry #harrymort #hp meta #harry potter meta #i guess #hollowedtheory #anonymous #asks #ship talk

116 notes · View notes

mylittleredgirl · 1 year ago

Note

For the ship it or not game: Benjamin x Kasidy, please?

(ship asks)

I Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

they literally COULD NOT have written a better love interest for ben sisko, and they put them together so thoughtfully. jake sets them up -- after a build-up where we see jake turning into a young man thinking about his future and really wanting his dad to have someone. i love that she's a freighter captain, a type of person in the ds9 universe who we have never really gotten to know, and essentially a grounding element -- she's a civilian living her own life who is (at first) totally uninvolved in the a-plot. and she knows about baseball!! the sheer joy i felt watching her walk in in her second appearance in "the way of the warrior" and they're already together and falling in love...

i couldn't find a great two shot of them so look at these caps from the "don't get killed" moment in the way of the warrior........ ROMANCEEEE

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

it's such a good relationship!!!! they're mature, open, respectful, demonstrative, sexy... every beat is so potent and it expands into episodes she's not even in. i love her, i love her for him, i love him for her, and i LOVE her relationship with jake. their love stories are both heavy and light ("it's a big step") but there's never a flippancy to their relationship ever. and hooooooly shit. for the cause. i remember my dad showing me the last scene of casablanca like "this is the end scene of all time" but have you seen the last scene of for the cause.

genuinely i think this would be THE undisputed together-on-screen-in-canon star trek relationship of all time if it weren't for the fact that kasidy is a guest star and, while she has a rich implied life and does develop and grow, we never get the full main character treatment with her like we do with riker/troi and paul/hugh (and michael/book because book is also a guest star but he's a driving force of the a-plot of a whole season).

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

i think most people probably agree with me tbh that it's an incredible ship that's electric on-screen and underrepresented in fanworks. i don't know if people agree that the last part of their arc was the weakest part because it was rushed (that engagement scene was so sweet though!! it's your house i want it to be our house!!), and i don't really like unplanned pregnancy as a trope (planned pregnancy? yes please!). like yes, her entire presence in the series has always been to serve his emotional story, but this felt different. until that point, her life between episodes was mostly implied until it intersected with the plot, but it was important to her and believable. in the final chapter it vanished completely, and i can't remember if she ever made that an intentional choice (or, if she did, if that choice was given enough weight).

#chatter post #nerdgatehobbit #ship asks #the siskos #it's funny that my tag is the siskos when just now when i looked her up and saw they called her kasidy yates-sisko i was like NO.#that is kasidy YATES. of family sisko.#the siskos is for all siskos and siskos-adjacent #deep space nine

40 notes · View notes

alectoperdita · 2 years ago

Note

What creative hobbies does your interpretation of Joey and Kaiba (in general) have or do? Like for example, drawing, creative writing, 3D modelling, sculpting, woodworking, etc

I do remember reading one of your chapters from the gundam crossover series where joey did sketches lol

I don't think I really have a consistent view of creative hobbies for these two. In fact I don't seem to write a lot about them having creative hobbies unless it's directly plot relevant. Ironic, given 90% of my life outside of work revolves around my creative hobby.

Canonically in the manga, Jounouchi is mentioned as enjoying plamos. Which makes a lot of sense to me that he likes making stuff with your hand. It's also hard to have a lot of creative hobbies when growing up poor. So I can see Jounouchi wanting to make a lot of stuff like plamos and kits, but that shit gets expensive fast if you do the whole painting bit too. One of the pleasures of growing up and making your own money for Jounouchi will be getting to explore those hobbies he might have always wanted to but couldn't because of financial reason. That opens the door to related hobbies like painting/sculpting/woodworking.

(Related, I love making Jounouchi a carpenter. I think it's an excellent trade for him to pick up, giving him both room to grow and decent financial security).

Conversely, traditional sketch art/doodling is relatively inexpensive and a much lower barrier to entry re: tools. So that's why I think drawing/sketching is a nice hobby that Jounouchi could pick up and enjoy earlier on. In the Gundam crossover, that combination of a love for plamo and sketching definitely informed his career choice.

I think Jounouchi enjoys singing too, but he probably thinks of it less as a hobby than as a way to goof around. He's pretty good too when we take into account his Japanese VA's singing career.

Kaiba, on the other hand, lived a life of (relative) financial security. However, given how strict his education was, I dunno if he was ever given much of the mental space to explore creative hobbies. Art might have been seen a frivolous waste of time within his home schooled education. The one exception to that might be music. I can see Gozaburo insisting on Kaiba learning an instrument or two. But at that point it's more about developing a skill set to show off (and maybe me projecting the Asian experience of your parent forcing you to pick up an instrument because that's classically considered part of a well-rounded education in many East Asian cultures). Violin or piano are the most likely candidates here. Kaiba is good at them, because he has to be. He can't not learn it well if Gozaburo is invested in that part of his education.

How much he personally enjoys it is up for debate.

Definitely one of those things that I imagine falls quickly to the wayside once he's out from under Gozaburo's control. But that also offers opportunities for him to maybe rediscover it later in life, after his skill set had rusted a bit from lack of practice, and learn to enjoy the hobby for itself while relearning the ropes.

A lot of the creative hobbies I've written for Kaiba follow the same development model, including tea ceremony and calligraphy.

I guess that makes them both kinda comparable, because they've each lived a life of scarcity in their youths (more financial for Jounouchi, and emotional deprivation for Kaiba) that robbed them of opportunities to explore their creative sides. As they heal and grow, they can begin to explore those possibilities for themselves.

#replies #nanoseven #thanks for such a thought provoking ask #I originally thought I wouldn't have much to say but uhhh #this is longer than I first planned (like all my fics lol)#joukai asks

8 notes · View notes

rnelodyy · 3 years ago

Text

c!Dream and the rules

(/dsmp /rp, all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I think one of the most striking parts of Exile is something that I rarely see talked about, and it’s Dream’s rules. Or rather, how his rules were made to be used as justification to hurt Tommy.

The thing about exile is that, outside of the initial rule of “Don’t go back to L’Manburg”, Dream never told Tommy the rules, yet constantly operated under the assumption that Tommy already knew them, and had accepted them. The rules also changed constantly, without Tommy ever being notified until he was already in trouble.

The second time Dream told Tommy to put his armor in the hole, he didn’t tell Tommy to do that right away. Instead, the conversation went like this (slightly edited to remove stammering and unrelated dialogue).

Dream: Do you have, uh… something you wanna put on the floor here? Tommy: Yes. (drops two pieces of red concrete as Dream digs a hole) Dre-eam! You’re evil. You’re evil. Dream: Anything else, Tommy? Tommy: Nope! Dream: Oh c’mon, I know there’s something else you wanna drop down here. Tommy: (panicking slightly) No, there… (messages BBH “take this and run”, throws him the disc BBH had gifted him earlier) Um… I don’t reckon there is! (pause) Dream: Okay, are you suuuure? Tommy: YES. Dream: Alright… How ‘bout your armor, Tommy? Tommy: Well, no, this is- I actually earned this myself. Dream: I know you did! Tommy: Leave me alone. Dream: Just drop it in the hole, Tommy. Tommy: Wh- no, NO, you can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit, what do you mean?! Dream: (sing-song) Tommy… Tommy: What? (Dream hits Tommy with his axe, taking over half his health) Tommy: (screams, drops his armor) OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!

The only rule Tommy was aware of at this time was that he wasn’t allowed to go back to L’Manburg. Dream had taken his armor the night before, but there was no indication that he expected Tommy to do this constantly. Taking his armor upon initially arriving at Logstedshire made some kind of sense, allowing Tommy to keep it would run the risk of him trying to fight his way back into L’Manburg. Taking his new, very shitty armor (seriously it was an iron chestplate and a pair of golden leggings he got from a ruined portal chest) made no sense at all, so the fact that Tommy was confused and refused to cooperate at first isn’t unexpected in the slightest.

And the thing is… Dream was aware of this fact. Throughout the conversation, he never really sounded annoyed, and was actively teasing Tommy at times. This isn’t a good thing btw, it’s a sign that he was fully aware that Tommy didn’t know what he wanted from him, and that that would create a situation where Dream could “put him in his place” as it were.

If you’re a parent, and your kid does something that’s not allowed, without knowing it’s not allowed, you don’t start off with a beating. You sit them down, calmly explain the rules to them and explain why those rules are there, then send them on their way with the knowledge that they shouldn't do it again.

This interaction wasn’t an instance of Tommy acting out and Dream correcting him. This interaction was a trap. Dream set Tommy up to fail by not telling him the rules beforehand, and when Tommy offered even the slightest bit of resistance and asked why he needed to drop his armor, Dream jumped straight to beating him. It’s a powerplay, plain and simple.

This is demonstrated again with the destruction of Logstedshire. Dream got pissed that Tommy disobeyed him by having hidden chests with gear under his house, and retaliated by destroying everything Tommy had built, destroying every item he’d collected, killing his pet and only foodsource, barring him from the Nether, banning everyone except himself from visiting, and telling him to start over from scratch after a whole lecture about how Tommy betrayed him.

Again, I wanna point out some specific lines from this lecture that illustrate my point very well.

Dream: You were lying to me! You were lying to me. Tommy: No- Why was I lying?! Dream: What do you mean, why were you lying?! Tommy: I wasn’t hi- I wasn’t- Dream: You hid things in a chest knowing they were things I wouldn’t want you to have! And you hid it in a way that way I would never find it!

Except Tommy didn’t know that. The contents of the stash were all items that Tommy had obtained previously without any issue (diamonds, emeralds, iron, ender pearls, some pickaxes, and some purely sentimental items like flowers, a jukebox, and pictures of Tubbo and L’Manburg). In fact, the vast majority of them came from Tommy’s aboveground storage, which Dream had full access to, and had looked through before!

Dream also never said Tommy wasn’t allowed to hide stuff, and there was nothing to suggest he didn’t want Tommy to keep secrets from him.

There’s been a theory floating around for a while that Dream knew about Tommy’s item stash beforehand, since it was a very strange place to dig a hole (like, right in front of the house in the center of Logstedshire itself, instead of out in the plains where the TNT wouldn’t damage any structures), and Tommy had previously forgotten to cover up the entrance ladder. While Dream hadn’t looked inside the house, he would’ve definitely heard Tommy place the block back.

If this theory is correct, then this was yet another trap. Dream knew Tommy had a hidden room, and instead of just saying “hey, I don’t want you to have a hidden stash, go put this back and fill in the room” (which would’ve still been bullshit btw), he went COMPLETELY ballistic, destroyed EVERYTHING Tommy had, and while doing it, kept admonishing Tommy for betraying him, said shit like “I thought we were friends”, and even accused him of preparing to attack Dream. Again, a powerplay.

Hell, even the exile conflict itself is this! Tommy was exiled for griefing the king’s property while being a high-ranking official in L’Manburg. Except Fundy, the then-president’s son, CONSTANTLY griefed Eret’s shit after the L’Manburg war, ranging from ripping down one of their towers to “shrink” it, filling another tower with water, and multiple elaborate plots to steal the throne from under their nose. But apparently, between all of that shit and the exile-conflict, the rules were silently changed, meaning Dream could exile Tommy for breaking a couple blocks and placing some rude signs in George’s house. Even the punishment itself was changed without warning, as Tommy went from being exiled from L’Manburg to exiled from “everywhere that’s ever been touched.”

...I was originally gonna make a different point here. I may put it in the reblogs, because I still think it’s very interesting. But, in the middle of writing this essay I had to stop because it was late, then I spent the entire next day packing up because I’m in the middle of a move. It's now the next evening, I'm sat in my new room, on my camping bed, I opened this doc because I pretty much forgot what I typed, I reread it, and then I realized… This isn’t an isolated series of events. This is a pattern for Dream.

Before Tommy first joined the server, there were only three set rules: no stealing, no griefing, and no killing people. Except by that point, those rules weren’t enforced at all. In fact, Dream broke all three at once at one point, by killing George and burning his diamond armor because he didn’t feel it was fair that George got to run around in full diamond when everyone else still had iron.

Tommy joined the server, and broke the rules like everyone else. He stole shit, broke shit, killed George for funsies… and he got exiled for it. Seriously, they dumped him in an empty snowfield for breaking rules that nobody had enforced for weeks. So technically, the Exile-arc isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to him!

During the events that would eventually spark the Disc War, Sapnap stole a bunch of Tommy’s items (including the only Netherite chestplate on the server at the time), and told him he’d only give the stuff back if Tommy helped him with a conflict he had with Ponk. Long story short, Dream tried to intervene and was killed by Tommy and Sapnap, and Dream stole Tommy’s discs to force him to apologize. He then kept the discs, and the Disc War followed. Sapnap, despite being the aggressor and arguably forcing Tommy to participate in the conflict, was never punished.

This proves not only that the rules can change whenever Dream feels like it, but that they’re arbitrarily enforced. Dream refuses to punish his friends for the same crimes he endlessly fucks over Tommy for.

L’Manburg was created in part because of the fact that the rules were unevenly enforced. Tommy, Wilbur, and later Tubbo were repeatedly killed, stolen from, imprisoned, and even held hostage for very minor crimes, while the people killing, imprisoning, kidnapping and stealing from them were able to do so without impunity.

This was also the point where Dream just started making up new rules; there was no rule against having governments on the server, or making a separate area where Dream’s rules wouldn’t apply, so Dream banned governments, and used this new rule as an excuse to kill them, take their items, and tear their land to shreds.

And that’s another thing: the punishments for breaking Dream’s rules are INCREDIBLY harsh.

Kill him non-canonically one time? Your most prized possessions will now be dangled over your head and used to hurt you for the next few months.

Make a country with different laws that doesn’t infringe on anyone’s territory, has no desire to expand, is explicitly pacifistic and open to trade negotiations? You’ll be forced to fight a war you’re in no way equipped to fight, you’ll be betrayed and murdered and have your land destroyed in front of your very eyes until you literally have no choice but to surrender.

Mildly vandalize the king’s house, which nobody else has ever been punished for? You’ll be dragged into court, exiled from your home, and subjected to weeks of abuse until you believe that all of your friends hate you and you actively want to kill yourself.

Hide some stuff in a secret chest? Your only shelter will be exploded, your pet/only food source will be killed, all your items will be destroyed, you’ll be banned from the Nether, and none of your friends will be allowed to come see you.

This is all such disproportionate retribution it’s ridiculous. It’s like punishing someone for speeding by blowing up their car with a ballistic missile.

So to sum up: Dream’s rules are arbitrarily enforced, and he can just straight up make them up on the spot if he feels like it. Sometimes, he won’t tell you a rule exists until you’ve already broken it, and you’re treated as if you broke it out of malice instead of genuine ignorance. And if you do break a rule, and he decides you have to be punished, it will always be a punishment so harsh it doesn’t even ATTEMPT to fit the crime.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking corrupt and tyrannical to me.

When people say Tommy deserved exile, or made Dream spiral into villainy, or abused Dream somehow (seriously I’ve seen this take multiple times and every time it makes my brain melt) by breaking the rules, I would invite them to take a step back and ask themselves, why did that rule exist? Did Tommy know it existed? Was it enforced for everyone other than him as well? Does the punishment fit the crime?

Dream has a bad habit of making up rules, or enforcing old ones that were never enforced before, to punish those who threaten his power. None of the Dream Team were ever punished for anything, despite committing the same crimes as the L’Manburgians. That is, until they founded Mexican L’Manburg (i.e. went against Dream’s rule), at which point they were attacked by Dream and George was dethroned for “not being neutral enough.”

Tommy should’ve faced consequences for what he did. But those consequences should’ve come naturally, and been carried out by the people he hurt. Like, if Dream hadn’t intervened, griefing George’s house would’ve resulted in George griefing Tommy back in revenge. In fact, he DID do that, by turning Tommy’s entire house into granite and putting the Jump In The Cadillac picture on his front lawn.

These are natural, proportionate consequences. Exile was none of that. The Disc War was none of that. Everything that happened to L’Manburg was none of that.

Dream’s rules and how he enforces them are inherently corrupt and tyrannical. To pretend it’s anything but is disingenuous at best.

#dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #c!dream #c!tommy #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #i had a COMPLETELY different point that i wanted to make but then i thought about it and went w a i t #uhhh if you wanna hear my original point lemme know i guess #anyway c!dream is such an interesting character! i hate him!#little green bastard man #c!dream critical

589 notes · View notes

quirklessidiot · 3 years ago

Text

title : minazuki [12: gardenias] pairing : gojo satoru x f!y/n Genre: angst, arranged-marriage au, mystery/thriller, mature, enemies-to-lovers-ish, and very slow burn (canon compliant-ish for ch-0 to the anime)

Summary: In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival.

Warnings: force-vomiting, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of suicide, self-harm, manga spoilers for ch143, alcohol notes: ah my dumb ass cant believe it. finally. anyways see yall soon idk when but maybe sunday bcos school :”)

series masterlist || taglist closed ||

Chapter Summary: Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres

Funerals are often depressing.

You didn’t like attending them at all. They’re a reminder of what your end will be, of what will happen in the future when you aren’t too careful yet around this time, another feeling surfaces; you feel absolutely sick and horrified to the core.

You’ve only been to two funerals your entire life; your grandfather, who you didn’t care for and would probably just rot away down there with the worms and the roaches, and your grandmother, a person you had murdered in order to live.

You weren’t able to attend Yu Haibara’s funeral since they hadn’t allowed you, apparently it was improper because they believed you two were involved, as such, you were then ordered to not attend such things. Although you valued Yu to a high regard, you’re quite thankful to not be there at that time. You’d probably feel the same way as you did right now.

The intense feeling of self-condemnation lunges at you like a spear when you enter the funeral home. It’s one that you’re slowly getting accustomed to since you knew you’d have to bear this until your death bed.

How every time you’ll probably shut your eyes, that will be the only thing you’ll see.

Hana’s picture laid in the middle of a sea of yellow and white lilies and chrysanthemums; her face is youthful and cherubic, like the daily memory you have of the young girl who’d trail behind you and talk to you about what she had successfully made on that day. Your gaze slowly trails to the open casket where you see her ghastly pale face, her eyes shut tight permanently.

Your throat bobs up and down at that tumultuous thought. It’s enough to have you hesitate and think of turning back, maybe run outside because you were the cause of all this but your feet remain firm on the ground.

You stood alone amidst the many people in Hana’s life. Her father, her cousins ,and some friends were sitting there behind you and the nauseous feeling washes over you like a large wave ready to engulf you whole in it’s dark abyss. It’s as if the people behind you knew what you did, how their eyes seemed to train on you as if they were cognizant of who was responsible for this poor girl’s death.

The incense feels heavy on your hand as you light it up in memory of her.

You believed in no god but you deeply prayed that if there ever was a god out there, Hana would be rebirthed and be given a better life than she had now.

You turn around, decorously pacing back to your seat as you try to ignore the prying eyes that trail your lonesome figure.

A few people wanted to ask as to why would the lady of the strongest and most affluent family of Jujutsu Society be here attending a lady-in-waiting’s funeral, some had even questioned where your husband was but you remained passive and told them that you personally favored the girl.

It’s enough to silence them.

You don’t bother answering them about Satoru, though.

You hadn’t heard from your husband after that brief conversation, it’s safe to say that whatever had gone down will remain that way for good. He left for Africa while you remained in your home.

It was also at that instant you realized that you might’ve been one of the few people to hurt Gojo Satoru that way.

You were his kryptonite at that moment, a weakness, a considered vulnerability. You’d really thought there’d come a time when your husband wouldn’t hesitate to throw you to the wolves but in some unexpected manner, it turned out to be the opposite.

In more ways than one, you feel as if you’ve grown a bit too dependent on him as well. You were hoping to have your husband next to you today like he had promised but you couldn’t exactly hold it against him. The last conversation you had with the said man and he seemed more than right. Although he didn’t mince his words they held nothing but the truth behind them.

You feel your hand form a small and tight clench as they prepare to move the body of the young girl to the furnace. You watch as her friends mourn, her no good father looking away, and her close cousin shutting his eyes tight as he is given the responsibility to operate it.

The shaman would usually hold your hand when things would go too awry, saying that you needed to get rid of that habit wherein you balled your fist too tight because despite how easily you could heal it, the action in itself would still hurt you. When he sees you start doing that out of habit, he’d try to distract you. He’d play with your fingers, maybe even trace the lines there like that night where you invaded his room and sat on his bed to dry his hair. Sometimes, you’d just feel the rough expanse of his palm on top of yours, the warmth is more than enough to compensate for the painful feeling.

Your chest rises in an unsteady manner, your surroundings are muted when they burn the young girl's body. You try to remain stoic nonchalant, even. Trying to show that you were just an esteemed individual who was paying her respects to the deceased, like you weren’t too attached nor were you responsible for it but the sickening feeling makes you want to crumble the resolve you desperately try to rebuild.

“Gojo-sama?” Hana’s cousin snaps you out of your train of thoughts, he has the same set of onyx eyes that are filled with nothing but innocence yet he has a certain flare to them, probably because he worked under the elders, “...There's a funeral feast right after this, Hana’s father would like you to attend if you’re available?” he questioned.

You couldn’t stay any longer.

You feel too nauseous, it was too bothersome to the point where you could feel like you’re about to pass out.

“I apologize,” you bow down out of respect, shoulders squared right after, maintaining a kind but distant disposition, “I have some errands to run, please send my well wishes to her father and my condolences once again.” you couldn’t stay here any longer.

Her cousin seems to have gotten cold feet when you let go of your words. Hana had always described you as a tender-hearted individual, a person who she looked up to because you were filled with poise and grace yet when he looks at you now, something seemed amiss.

Your gaunt features and empty smile seemed as if you were a tired and debilitated patient on their deathbed.

He wonders if it was your marriage or because of his cousin’s death. He had heard that Hana felt like a child when she was with you, always seeming to be so nurturing and pushing her to be better.

“Gojo-sama, would you mind if you’d hold on for a moment?” he utters, tilting his head to the side in wonder if you’d spare him any more of your time.

You hesitantly nod and quickly, the young man leaves you standing there on your own and comes back with something red. A talisman that seemed to be handmade, her cousin falters for a moment at the absurd gift but you feel the bile on your throat lurch as if you’re about to throw up anytime, your body swelters up, and your vision is starting to cloud as if you’re coming down with a hazy fever.

“She had this shiawase blessed at a temple last time before she died when she was on her day off…” he opens his palm, “...She only wished for your happiness, Gojo-Sama.”

You feel your knees turn weak as you're faced with the dilemmas and choices you had suddenly taken on, how this poor and well-intentioned girl did not deserve her grisly end. She must be wondering in the after life just how thick-skinned you were to show your face at her funeral and accept this gift.

“Thank you.” it comes out more as a choked out cough as you receive the handmade gift with both of your hands. After politely saying your goodbyes to the young man, the driver takes you back home and you’re only greeted by it’s stiff silence and bleak environment. You hurriedly take your shoes off, tossing them to the side without so much care, and place your hand on top of your mouth, cupping it, as you run to your bathroom. The cold floor is much felt as you start pattering with your bare feet.

You lift the toilet seat up, kneeling down on your knees, and roughly reach for your uvula, trying to get rid of that rancor taste that’s been bothering you since you stepped foot in the funeral home. It’s the acidic feeling that’s been growing in your stomach and been prodding you once you see Hana’s eyes shut tight in the casket, one that makes you want to force the bile out as much as possible

You feel the disgusting liquid pour out of your mouth as you forcefully regurgitate it all out of your system, trying to get rid of that repugnant feeling but it only makes you feel worse repulsed, even.

You feel soiled and tarnished, how no matter how much you wash your skin and even force it out your system, that feeling won’t probably ever get away. How these thoughts would probably drain you to the point where if you were to ever even blink, the first thing you’ll probably see is them.

There’s only mournful and oppressive silence in the room as you sit down on the tiled floor and lean against the bathtub, looking heavenward at the bright lights of the bathroom. Your mouth parted as you tried to catch your breath.

This had been the first time and it probably won’t ever be the last when you’ll have unbearable moments like this.

Your hair is in a complete disarray and your black silk kimono rumpled and turning ill-fitting.

You feel your vision turn blurry, your eyes welling up as if your emotions were filled to the brim like a full glass of water overflowing. An ugly and choked-up sob escapes your lips and it’s the only thing that echoes in there like a cruel siren’s song. Gone was the perfect mirage that you had desperately built, you were now reduced to a heaping pile of mess.

Everything was falling apart.

Your eyes shut tight.

Yu Haibara.

Hana.

It’s the way their names had come off your head, how their faces had been etched there, how you betrayed each of them, continued to selfishly use them, and in the end led them to the demise that they didn’t deserve.

Then, Gojo Satoru.

You’re starting to feel sick again and you throw yourself back to the basin, roughly running your hands through your hair, pulling it back, as you try to push everything out until you can’t even feel your stomach anymore.

The tears don’t stop streaming as you start bawling loudly in the solitude of your bathroom with no one to hold or to say a word to. There's only guilt that’s continuing to eat you up and the feeling of that unfamiliar fiery emotion that you have for your husband that makes you bilious.

You slowly slump back and lean against the cool surface once again, a thin sheen of sweat covering you as the mascara smears your cheeks, “Fuck.” an uncharacteristic curse leaves your lips as you start panting heavily.

You only wanted to live.

Why did it have to be so hefty?

What exactly have you done wrong for you to deserve this?

Questions after questions start to pile up in your head, all you wanted to do was to make everything stop. Maybe your grandmother is right, after all.

How you were never cut out for this lifestyle.

How you were only simply just a pest towards people's existence.

You take in one heavy breath then another, sniffling as you try to wipe the tears and runny mascara away. It was in that moment that you wanted him to come home, you wanted him next to you right now, you wanted him to hold you, and tell him everything.

You knew you could trust him.

“Ah…” you shakily pour each emotion out of you when you take one hefty breath after another.

Yet just as that feeling takes you, you take it all back.

No, Gojo Satoru didn’t need to know what you did, what you are, and what you’ll be. Whatever will happen, the secret of your family will remain a secret. He did not need to be tainted by the bloodshed, he did not deserve nor need to carry the burden and guilt with you.

No matter what you’ll protect him from the truth.

It’s only darkness that follows when you clamp your eyes shut once again, not even caring for your appearance since you knew no one would come home and be there for you.

Chefchaouen, unlike Japan, seemed hotter.

It’s luscious green since Yuta had lived in a city mixed with what seemed to be a countryside as well, with endless abundance of picturesque fields with zebras on it and a bustling city just nearby it.

Satoru is walking down the cobbled path, hands stuffed in his pockets as he ignores the passing glances of people. It technically is odd to walk around with a blindfold yet he’s used to them. Yuta Okkotsu, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. He has to awkwardly throw a smile or two when a passer-by stares a bit too long then glance back towards his teacher. He's quite worked up when he tries to piece together why his teacher is in front of him.

He hasn’t seen Gojo Satoru in months, after the young boy’s charges against jujutsu society were sort-of cleared, he had shipped him off to the far-off lands of Chefchaouen with Miguel an odd choice, considering his allegiances back then but he’s more or less still a pretty great teacher since Yuta had massive improvement.

“Um,” Yuta finally clears his throat, catching his teacher’s attention. Technically, it’s not everyday that he sees him on this side of the world, “...What are you doing here, sensei?” he finally inquired, tilting his head to the right in wonder.

“Checking up on you,” his teacher’s tone remains casual and nonchalant, maybe even more joking. Strike one, “and because I needed to tell you this in person...”

Yuta cocks a brow at his teacher’s words as he trails next to him, onyx eyes that don’t seem to waver at the older man.

Yes, Satoru is going to check up on Yuta and inform him about certain predicaments but he also wanted to take you here and show you the place. The sweet sun and beautiful city is more than enough to have you fall in love with it if you got down the airplane, he could only imagine it. After all, he recalled you saying that you’ve always wanted to go somewhere far and sunny. Anywhere in South Africa would be a good place to settle in after everything is over and when he completes his job.

Yet he wouldn’t say that now, would he?

Instead, he gets down to business.

He had other problems to tackle and entrust to the boy.

“I just have a bad feeling.” he finally answered the question that the young boy had in his head as he looked straight ahead, “That’s why I’m here… If anything happens to me, you'll take care of the first and second years…” he paused for a brief second, turning to the young boy so he’d be able to take note of the seriousness of the situation, “...and Y/N.”

Hakari will most likely be fine but his main importance is you and the kids, if the higher-ups would catch wind and you aren’t able to kill him before them, he’ll need to resort to this.

“If anything happens to you?” Yuta fidgets for a bit, tapping his finger on top of the expanse of his pants. What is going to happen? Why did he need to take care of his distant relative’s wife? He’s unsure of what to say next so he tries to joke about the situation instead, after all, what could ever happen to his teacher? He’s the strongest man on this earth, “...Do you have trouble with Y/N-san? Other women, perhaps?” he inquired, trying to keep the air light because the topic seemed to make the air around the both of them heavy.

Satoru narrows his eyes behind the blindfold, did he really look that unfaithful to many? Although the dynamic may have shifted between you two, he wouldn’t let himself off easily like that. It wasn’t a good excuse to go around and frolic with other women. He also doubted that anyone could compare to you, you’re probably the only person who’d ever make him feel this way.

“...Yuta, you’ve learned to tell jokes.” he dryly retorts, unamusement littered in his tone.

“Ah, sorry Gojo-sensei…” He raises both arms, signaling that it was just a bad joke and he was taking everything back. So it was an issue with his marriage then. It’s a curious thought. Although his classmates had often asked the older man about dates and lovers, his teacher would just wave them off and say that everyone loves him and no one would be able to say otherwise yet judging by the jest earlier, the white-haired shaman had a different perspective regarding those things now, strike two, “I just can’t imagine ‘what’ could happen to Gojo-sensei, that’s all.”

‘A lot.’ Satoru thought, ‘especially to her.’

The conversation you had that night when he confessed his fears of losing you because you were involved with him had made him feel god awful all of a sudden, along with the flawed deal because if he did die, what then would happen to you?

It felt like he had you at gunpoint at the end of a glacier and pushed you headfirst in it’s crevices, alone with no one and nothing to catch you.

This was going to be his safety net.

“Take special care of Itadori Yuuji.” he counts off, “And Y/N…. Like you, Yuuji has a special execution order from the higher-ups. It will be helpful if you can watch over him...Y/N, on the other hand…”

Okkotsu Yuta notices the vague distress on his tone as if worst case scenarios had flashed before the older shaman’s head, his disgruntled features is more than enough to make the young boy feel queasy as well.

He has heard of the bridal market in the world of jujutsu sorcery, recently. Miguel had told him about it and how you were involved in it when the young shaman had casually mentioned you in passing. Apparently even one of their tribal chieftain was interested in a bid but after finding out how young you were and how you were simply just the same age as one of his daughters, he withdrew it. The African had even said that Geto Suguru was interested in the capabilities you had regarding childbirth and was planning to entice you with an offer if you and Gojo Satoru ever had children.

It made him sick to the stomach when he imagined the twisted horrors that would happen to you if something were to happen to his teacher and you were left vulnerable.

Of course, Gojo Satoru himself is a man made of steel. Nothing would get through him and his thick layers but seeing his teacher’s crumpled expression was more than enough to know that he’d need to take precautions and listen well.

“Me and Y/N have a deal if something happens…” Satoru finally uttered, as if he was letting him in on a little secret, “...Although she has a choice. It’s best if you never, ever let her get back in the market.”

The older shaman knows you’d want to stay out of fear. You even denied Yu Haibara out of all people for sanctuary because you trembled before the system but he knows Yuta will be able to push this plan forward and get you both out of there alive.

The boy is technically aiming for his spot as the strongest.

If there's anyone he could trust with your life, it would be this boy.

“But...the higher-ups…” Yuta would think of the flaws and holes in Gojo Satoru’s plan. After all, it could happen at random and maybe Okkotsu Yuta won’t be there immediately to whisk you away.

“I’ve taken precautions and paid Meimei before I left for Chefchaouen.” The white-haired shaman knew it was going to be quite the gamble but he was willing to risk it. He had this plan already set in stone right after he had seen you cry in his arms that night in front of your new home. The tall blue-haired had associates on stand-by, ready to help her in case anything happens to him then she’ll hand you to Okkotsu Yuta and finally the boy will take you.

Heartbroken or not, he will take you away no matter what.

Gojo Satoru is not so much of a dishonorable man to take back what he said. He may feel like shit now regarding the recent events between you two but he couldn’t even conceptualize the idea of leaving you defenseless under the sycophants in his clan or the elders for that matter. Who knows who they’ll hand you over to? What they’ll do to you? Force upon you?

“You take her from Meimei, she’ll take Y/N to Malaysia.” he summarized as if it was an executable 1-2-3 step plan. Mind you, Yuta had a sense of foreboding regarding it. He knew it wouldn’t be as easy as the older man said, “Then that’s where you come in.”

“Then what?”

“There's money stowed away under Y/N’s name, the first thing you do is take her as far away as possible from japan…” he needed to talk to Miguel about that. The tribe, unlike the elders back in Japan, had more respect for the women. He could hide you here for the time being, no one would dare look under the chieftain for he was a feared and esteemed individual in the continent, “No matter what she says, even if you have to drag her out of there… do it…”

Yuta Okkotsu hasn’t ever seen Gojo Satoru worried nor has he ever heard him talk about someone in that way. strike three.

Gojo Satoru is in love.

Yuta eyes his distant relative like a hawk, trying to assess the situation and the heavy task he had given him. He’s also trying to process the newfound and uncharacteristic emotion from him, after all, when they had that passing topic on love after Rika’s little fiasco a year ago, it seemed as if Satoru hadn’t had any positive outlook regarding it and he was already married to you then because he had caught him whipping out a wedding ring when a woman tried to approach him.

“Gojo-Sensei…” Yuta finally breaks the silence, “I’ll be sure to protect her but this is sudden and…”

The boy is anxious.

If they caught wind of such things going down, it’ll result in a harsh punishment on your side. They'll sell you off and have you consummate the marriage with someone from the Zen’in’s or the older man in the Kamo Clan immediately to secure your spot.

He doesn’t think he has the stomach for that.

“It’s too much, right?” Satoru laughs, realizing the burden he has put on the child’s shoulders just now but knowing the prowess and how much he has improved from the scared boy he had met last year, he knows he can do it, “But you’re stronger and Y/N trusts the power you have. She trusts each and everyone of my students. If there's anyone who can successfully pull it off though, it’s you…” he pondered out loud, recalling how he had trained the new generation to the fullest and gave them the necessities needed to survive. They knew how to mobilize it and it’s more than enough to know

Yuta Okkotsu shakes his head, the likelihood of this happening is low but he’ll be ready. He’ll train harder with this in mind, “She’ll be safe with me.”

“Good,” Satoru feels like he can rest easy now that his safety net has agreed to his plan, he stares down at his phone and checks the calendar, there's a little mark with the words D-Day. He raises a brow at the reminder when he scrolls down to see nothing listed below it. The shaman feels as if he’s forgetting something important today but then again, maybe it was prior arrangements with some elders he flipped off so it probably wasn’t as significant. He shuts his phone and shoves it back in his pocket, “Where’s Miguel, by the way?” he finally asked.

“Ah,” the serious air between the pair breaks off, Yuta smiles and scratches his head awkwardly when he realizes that the African local wasn’t anywhere to be seen around them, “It seems as if he doesn’t want to meet you…” he remarked.

Well, it figures that he wouldn’t want to see Satoru. Not only had he beaten the man, he literally burned all the black rope that he could find right after the fight they had. Call him psycho but he didn’t want to risk a Toji Zen’in 2.0 happening to him anytime soon.

“You look like shit.”

Nanami doesn’t hold back a lot with his words, you’ve gathered and accepted that when you had started to hang out with him alongside Yu Haibara and you hold no offense from that. It’s clear that he was simply just looking out for you as a friend.

Whenever he’d say those words to you back when you were teenagers, Yu would usually call him out for it, saying that he was too impolite but behind those soft tawny eyes, there would be, what seemed to be like a hidden message behind them as if he was saying, ‘Get some rest and close your eyes or I swear to god.’

Technically, you haven't had so much sleep these days. There's constant shifts of migraines from the lack of slumber, the dreams that are often too haunting to even try to dissect already, and the constant push and pull feeling towards your husband.

There are some days that you have kept the phone next to you, hoping that he’d call or maybe even send a text but after what seemed to be like another week you have nothing.

So you would call Kento instead to check up on Satoru for you, it’s probably because you were worried internally. You're starting to get anxious, gnawing your cuticles because what if he starts looking at someone else?

Of course, it seems rather unfair on his part. You had told him that he could freely pursue another woman since it was normal and you had seen how typical it was with your own two eyes growing up but the ache of someone else taking what he had given you, looking at you with those compassionate eyes, and holding them with the same fervor as he did made you internally sick.

You want him back, you want to be selfish, you want to ignore your past, pretend that everything is alright so you could build a normal home with him.

There's also that dispiriting side that wants to keep going through this pace because it’s what he deserved. It’s a small fire but it’s enough to light up a torch and keep you up these past few nights.

“Good evening, Kento.” you turn to Yuuji, he seems rather troubled, “Hi Yuuji, are you alright?”

The pink-haired boy looks up, his big eyes and angelic features are contorted to a rather downhearted look as if he was trying to keep himself together at this point, “I’m good, Y/N-san.” he easily lies, mouth turning upwards as he fakes a smile to prove it, “And your new home looks amazing, as well! I can smell the food you cooked all the way from here!”

You warily eye Kento for a bit then face the young boy, “Go on ahead, I think I have some fried gyoza on the table you can start on.” you ushered him inside, the boy nods, making sure to take off his shoes and carefully walking towards the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you continue to stand by the doorway with your friend, “What happened to him?”

“He made a friend…” Kento presses his lips together, “But he died.”

Trust Kento to deliver the news in a straight-forward approach, “But that’s not the matter now, why do you look like shit?” He repeats like a prodding mother disappointed in her child, “I thought I told you that Gojo-san is there with Yuta Okkotsu only and not…” he paused, shutting up for a moment and placing his fingers on his nose bridge, “Y/N, you should just go and talk to him when he gets back. You’re throwing your health away at the expense of this silly argument.”

You knew that the blonde was only trying to help you but he didn’t need to know the constant back and forth argument you had constructed in your mind nor the fact that you had been suffering from sleeping problems because you’re sure that he’ll start dragging you around and asking for second references from other doctors.

“It’s nothing,” you casually wave it off, raising your hand, “This will pass and Satoru-” you paused, repeating the words of reassurance that Kento had said to you moments ago in your head, “Satoru can do whatever he wants...That’s always been our agreement since we started this arranged marriage, anyways.”

“Y/N.” he explicitly remarked, narrowing his eyes, reminding you of your conversation last time, “I’ve never seen you this devastated over a person that’s still alive. I don’t want you regretting things…” he paused, lifting his finger and softly pointing to your head, “Sometimes, it’s all just in here, Y/N. What’s the worst thing that Gojo Satoru could do when that idiot of a man doesn’t seem to stop and look back because he’s too caught up with you?” he specified.

You part your lips to a small sigh, the reminder of his feelings setting off two alarms in your head.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, Kento.” you finally cut the conversation short. You wanted a distraction, not more reminders nor wise sayings from your good friend that would lead you to another set of existential crisis to think about when you lay on your bed alone tonight, “Let’s just go have a good dinner, shall we? I’m sure Yuuji is waiting for us.”

You turn to the side, leaving Kento with a crumpled expression.

It seemed like you were starting to slowly let go too, albeit he could still hear the discouragement littered there in your tone.

The dinner proceeds without a hitch. You try to cheer up Yuuji and shift the topic elsewhere, recommending some things that he should probably try since you know how much of a foodie he is. You did all this while ignoring Kento’s heated gaze from across the table, “Itadori-kun.” the blonde pries the boy away from your conversation, slicing his meat up in a violent manner, “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

Oh boy, you know where this is going.

“Um uh…” Yuuji awkwardly stares down at his meat, turning bright red due to embarrassment at the sudden question, “I...well, I haven’t had one?” he hesitantly answers, lost as to why his mentor had suddenly asked that.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Nanami clears his throat, stabbing the meat hard, “If you ever had a lover who you love too much and seemed to be too shy or better yet, quite insecure...I mean this by no offense…” his pointed gaze returns to you as if he was telling you to listen up to him, “What would you do?”

Yuuji turns to you as if he was asking for help because he’s still diffident by his mentor’s way of poking around his love life like this in front of you out of all people!

He doesn’t want to be judged by a sophisticated woman like you, he’d probably die in embarrassment and never show himself here again if he said the wrong answer or better yet, if he said anything too cheesy or cringey!

You give the boy a tight-lipped smile, gesturing that it was fine and you couldn’t help him with the mare’s nest that Kento seemed to have created for the young boy just to prove his point. The man could be prideful when he wanted it to be. You recalled trying to best each other once in geography to impress Yu. It was a tie in the end, though.

“Well,” Yuuji scratches the back of his head, “Honestly, Nanamin, I’d still love them. I mean, I kind of asked them out and made romantic gestures, why would I take it all back if they were just a little shy with expressing herself?” he stalled,

Nanami nods in approval at the boy's words then turns to you once again, “That’s right. That’s a good answer, Itadori-kun. Your grandfather must’ve taught you well.”

“Why...Why are you asking that?” the boy inquired, eyes darting nervously between you two. His cheeks flushed like the color of his hair. If it weren’t for the situation and your friend’s pride to demonstrate a point, your funny bone would have been tickled because this is a feared individual as of the moment. Seeing him as a self-conscious and awkward teenager is clearly a different story altogether.

Kento continues to slice his meat roughly into small pieces as if he was pouring out his frustrations there, “Just to remind myself that there are some good people around me.” He stabs the steak with a fork and places it on his mouth, eyeing you still, “I’m sure if you, a fifteen year old, can fill in that sense. An adult man can actually do the same as well.” he coolly remarks.

“I’m sure Yuuji knows this and is willing to take those risks,” you turn to the boy, “But mind you, the so-called fear and insecurity just doesn’t simply shoo away. You may love her but at the end of the day if she doesn’t deem herself fit for you, she will walk away.”

Yuuji looks quite appalled by the scene unfolding in front of him, it was as if he had got himself unknowingly entangled in a fight between two individuals who wouldn’t back down. This was very different from when you and his teacher were fighting; Satoru would usually leave you to cool off. Meanwhile, Nanami looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to poke a sleeping bear if he had to prove a case to you.

“Wow,” a new voice erupts, “I come home to find you arguing on the dinner table?”

You feel your blood freeze up at the familiar voice that joins in on the conversation; Gojo Satoru stands there with his night bag in tow. His expression is collected as always as he drops the bag to the floor and takes a seat next to you. Usually, he’d greet you with a small squeeze on the hand but he doesn’t bother to glance your way this time which makes you immediately glance back at your food.

“What were you people arguing about?” he pokes his nose in, “Y/N looked pumped up and we rarely argue these days.”

There’s a small hint of sarcasm underneath his tone but you choose to ignore it.

“We were talking about the theoretical idea if Itadori-kun had a lover who's a bit too shy at expressing their thoughts.” Nanami doesn’t bother dropping the subject, he’s willing to drag both of you to hell if he has to because he wants to get a good night’s rest tonight.

“Ah,” Satoru nods, understanding the situation as he takes a sip of his water, “Well, Yuuji, from one mans mouth to another and take it from a married man,” you notice how he doesn’t seem happy when he says those words unlike before, which makes you ball your fist tightly, “Just know when to pack your bags and leave. It’s not only going to hurt you...probably going to hurt the other person as well if you keep sticking around.”

Yuuji presses his lips together as he eyes his teacher then you then Nanami. The boy had unknowingly stepped on a landmine tonight and the appearance of his teacher seemed to worsen the tension in the room, “Let’s go Itadori-kun.” The blonde’s brown eyes narrowed between the both of you, imperceptible disappointment laced on his tone like he couldn’t believe you two were actual adults, “I’m sure Y/N and Gojo-san have a lot to talk about.”

“But-” You try to say.

Your friend stands up before you could let another word pass your lips. He takes a hold of Yuuji who silently yelps as he’s being dragged out of your home like a little boy, “We’ll show ourselves out. Have a good night.” Nanami exclaims, not even bothering to say anything more.

You both are left there alone and for what seemed like a long minute, you break the silence, “There's a spare room right across mine. I’ve prepared it for you in case you came home.” it’s soft and nimble, you seemed rather doubtful as well when you say that.

There’s another round of silence and it’s one that seems too heavy to bear because you’re unsure of how he’ll respond.

“Thanks.” was all he said, standing up and not even bothering to finish the meal with you. You’re left alone there in the solitude of the dinner table, heart still beating erratically from that small interaction.

After you had done the dishes and cleaned yourself up for the night, Satoru seemed to have remained in his room the whole time.

You went back down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed. As you open one of the cabinets, something else catches your eyes.

A bottle of aged-old sake. You hear that they’re light and relatively easy to down. The servants had probably forgotten that Satoru wasn’t fond of alcohol nor were you so much of a drinker yourself. Maybe you could try a sip, apparently it’s a good sleep-inducer if you take the right amount.

You pour yourself a glass, taking one shot in. The tangy taste burned your throat slightly but otherwise, it tasted delicious. You’ve never drank alcohol before, not only was it not ‘lady-like’ but there’s that small fear of drinking too much and being taken advantage of right after. As you continue to down the whole glass until you’re half-way through the bottle, you have come to your senses that the drink didn’t work on you.

It’s probably because of your technique seemingly doing the job for you that prevents such things so it ends up being useless and turning into just a juice drink, “Well, that didn’t work.” you mumbled, staring at the label, specifically at the words ‘additional alcohol content’. It’s another night of trying to find ways to get you to sleep better but ending up as a failure.

“Y/N?”

You almost drop the glass on your hand when you turn to find your husband standing there under the dim light. His hair is still damp from the shower and he had a towel hanging around his neck. His hypnotic gaze is enough to make you gulp down nervously the last bit of sake in your mouth. You're tempted to ask if he needs any help getting his hair dry but you stop yourself from doing so at the moment.

“Satoru.” you maintained, “Sorry, I know you don’t like the smell-”

“I’m fine.” he expressed, shaking this feeling off, “Just try not to drink everything all at once.” he paused, pupils suddenly dilated as he realized the words that he had just said, “Sorry, force of habit…”

Your grip on the glass tightens as you pour in another glass for yourself, “I can’t get drunk.”

“Oh.”

Satoru watches the way your throat bobs up and down when you down your drink to the way that your dress hikes up a bit with slightest shift of movements, it’s enough to make him look away, “I’ll leave you on your own-”

“Satoru.” you state his name, your tone isn’t coated with saccharin anymore as if you were about to say something momentous at that moment. It’s one that makes the shaman stop in his footsteps and carefully bore his gaze back to you. You had the very same steady gaze from before, the one filled with unfathomable confidence, “Have you ever wondered why we both got married?”

Your husband’s face contorts to a massively perplexed expression, the topic seemingly out of place in that moment, “What?” wanting you to repeat those words, thinking he had heard you wrong.

You carefully approach him, the only thing separating you is the kitchen counter top. Your expression remains passive and quite striking, just like those old times, “I said,” you uttered, enunciating your words carefully again, “Have you ever wondered why you’re in this mess?”

He looks at your eyes briefly, they’re the same hard to read ones as if you’re trying to gouge something out of him like a test subject, “Because the elders-”

“It’s because of me.” you blink, not even faltering with your confession, trying to seem strong, “You’re in this mess because I used you and your hesitancy to capture Suguru Geto on that day…” you don’t even pause to catch your breath, instead you continue on, “I used your ‘kindness’ towards an old friend to save myself.”

Gojo Satoru blinks, his azure blue eyes trying to scan your features for a moment, thinking that you were just pulling off a bad joke but it wasn’t there. Nothing was, it seemed as if you devoid yourself of emotion at that moment, “Are you mad?” you continue, tilting your head, trying to provoke him, “That I’m just like the rest of them?”

He parts his lips for a moment, unsure of what to say as he tries to hold the unfamiliar swirls of emotions at bay.

“I don’t know.” he honestly replies.

“You should be.” you blink, “It’s why I told you that you and I are not and won’t be compatible.”

The tall man continues to watch you carefully, watching the way that you had habitually clenched your fist to the way you try to maintain the strong front. It’s quite funny and right in some way that you and Satoru could never lie to each other, “Alright,” he mumbles, playing into your game, “What does that have to do with the feelings I have for you now?”

“I could be using you until now.” You probed, walking closer to him as if you were trying to taunt him, “Your feelings.” Those words come out sourly, rather disenchanted by his responses.

“That’s not what I’m seeing now.” he mused. You looked tired, gaunt, and rather hollow as if you had been constantly shifting around these days and couldn’t seem to sit still as if you were continuously drowning in your thoughts, just like him.

“Really? Just a few days ago, you were so keen on pointing out that you didn’t wanted to be used as some cheap second-hand replacement for Yu-”

“Just now,” he cuts you short, slowly starting to piece out everything together. He walks around the counter, towards you, “You just gave me a reason. You’re scared I might react negatively because of that.” his heart starts doing those weird somersaults again, as he slowly raises his hand to take your clenched fist, gently prying them open to rest his palm against yours. So he wasn’t imagining things after all, maybe he did have every right to feel confident around you.

Just how easy it is to build up that front, all sense is lost when you don’t get the reaction that you wanted. Theirs a sense of fear and what seems to be relief when you catch on that he wasn’t the least bit irate at all.

“I-Satoru, what are you doing?” you feel your head turning dizzy and your knees turning weak at the scent of his aftershave and the heat radiating from his body. The distance between you two closing in gradually as you lean against the counter top, encaged on his arms. The man right in front of you clearly knew what he was doing and how to get ahold of you yet you remained there, all the air sucked out of you.

“You really are fond of lying to me, aren’t you?” it doesn’t come off as an angry hiss like last time, “If I hypothetically told you that I didn’t care about what you did because I’m still falling for you, what would you say?” his sharp nose bumping yours at his ministrations. He could faintly smell the alcohol mixed with the lavender scent from your skin but he doesn’t care. He continues doing these dangerous actions since he’s very aware of what you’re thinking now.

You bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes only looking at his sapphire ones as if your surroundings are muted, “Then you’re an idiot.” you muttered, trying to compose your heart.

“Really?” he chuckles, the small reverbs of that beautiful sound is more than enough to fuel your erratic heartbeat. You’re sure that he could hear it now since it was too loud, “Nothing else?” his thumb starts tracing small circles on your wrists. There's mild teasing there already, “I take back on the words selfish and manipulative, it seemed like my wife shows utter care for me, after all.” he continued.

“I literally just told you…” you sighed, shutting your eyes tight in complete frustration. Trying to cherry-pick your words, stammering a reply, “Satoru, this doesn’t feel right…” you finally confessed.

“That?”

“That you aren’t angry.”

“I’m literally just asking,” Gojo Satoru wants to hear it from you especially, a little confirmation that he wasn’t actually just imagining things. Words that’ll make him close in this distance between you two finally and end those little charades you both like to put up and dance around with.

Mind you, it was at that moment that he actually realized what internal delight felt like for the first time in what seemed to be forever. You, on the other hand, are still nervous but you don’t want to pry away from him, instead, something else comes out of your mouth.

“You know I have trouble saying it but I’m sure you understand how I feel.” your eyes slowly blink open, staring into his, finally admitting it. There's only another round of heavy silence again as Satoru seeps in your golden and compelling features underneath the dim-lighted kitchen. He raises his hand, not even breaking eye contact at all when he starts tucking the strand at the back of your ear, “Satoru.” you mumbled, your feet turned cold because you knew where this was going.

Yet for the shaman, he feels as if he’s in the middle of summer. His body burning hot at the interaction but he loves it and he wouldn’t hesitate to bask on it fully for it’s a giddy and addicting feeling that he probably wouldn’t ever want to let go of and trade for anything else.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, there's a tinge of red dusted on his cheeks when those words escape his lips, “Please?” he adds softly.

He didn’t need to ask because you’d still respond positively if he didn’t but something about the way he had said it with such innocence made you inwardly happy, you pressed your lips together and hesitantly nodded as you felt him cup your cheeks.

The moment is unlike any other you’ve experienced for the only thing running around your head was him like he had engulfed you wholly in his presence. You’re quite ready for it but you notice how Satoru doesn’t sweep in immediately despite getting your permission, instead, he simply takes his time as if he was capturing this moment in his memory and he smiles lightly, “What are you waiting for?” you’re unsure, wide-eyed still.

“You look very beautiful,” he compliments, eyeing you, “I just wanted to look at you more.”

He leans in closer, lips hovering on top of yours before pressing it softly there. Your heavy eyelids flutter shut, hands slowly sneaking in to hold his warm face. It’s languorous and unlike the first time you kissed him in front of the altar; it’s warm, slow, and sweet. How he holds you with much fervor and smoothly rubs the soft expanse of your cheek.

Gojo Satoru hates alcohol but if he gets to taste it from you, he wouldn’t mind getting drunk on it.

You slowly pull away from him first, breathing turning heavy as you rest your forehead on his. His eyes are still shut as he lets out a raspy chuckle, “That’s probably the only time I’ll get close to alcohol.” he admits out loud, opening his eyes to give another kiss on your nose, “Could we erase the wedding kiss? I like the one earlier.” he pulls you into a hug, burying himself on your shoulder, taking in the moment and making sure to imprint it on his memory.

“I...I like that one better too…”

You could feel him drawing comforting circles on your waist. The shaman realizes that he still hasn’t apologized for another thing, “And Y/N…” he paused, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come home for Hana’s funeral. I know how much you needed company that time.”

He had only comprehended the situation when he had caught a glimpse of your features a while ago at the dinner table. He might need to find a way to make up for it because you didn’t look very well, maybe a little trip again after he gets Yuuji settled in?

Yet you don’t mind.

You place your hand on top of his head, smoothly carding your fingers on his hair, “You’re home now.” you whispered, “That’s all that matters.” you shut your eyes tight, a small tear escaping your eye.

You could be a little selfish and relish this moment, right? One more little lie to be able to protect him from who you are.

When Satoru wakes up the next morning, he finds you laying on top of his chest, burying your head on his neck. Your lips are parted slightly and eyes shut tight as you hold onto him tightly like a little koala bear.

A smile is on his lips yet again as the feeling dances on his chest like an ember that continues to burn never-endingly, “Satoru.” you mumbled, “You have work in a while.” you reminded him, slowly moving away from his side but he takes ahold of your hands and returns it back to where it once was.

“They can wait, I miss waking up and seeing this.” he whispers in your hair.

When Satoru used to think of love, affinity, and marriage as a child, the first thing he’d do then was crinkle his nose in disgust and then with pride, he’d puff out his chest, saying things like, “I don’t need a woman in my life. I’m happy being alone.” or something along the lines of that but if you’d ask him the same question now; the first thing that’ll probably pop in his head is the image of you, right here, in this moment with your bed hair and puffy face, sleeping blissfully in his arms.

taglist (had to remove ageless blogs sorry, i actually only noticed this now sike, if u wanna be back on the taglist, dont hesitate to send me a pm and tell me ur age <3);; @shokobuns ;; @aprosperlys ;; @menacanela ;; @shutuptenguu ;; @imuziawi ;; @senjuasuna ;; ;; @jjkdilfs ;; @kageyamakock ;; @pjofics ;; ;; @cowward ;; @tsumuuwu ;; @gojojogo ;; @fiona782 ;; @hinaamaya ;; @taihjj ;; @menacanela ;; @roione ;; @kgojo ;; @archonssun ;; @gyubit17 ;; @cupieyeri ;; @enesitamor ;; @lavandula-stuff ;; @yuutaokkutsu ;; @rogueofbullshit;; @kiyoojima ;; @daiawritss ;; @cosmeti ;; @wasurenagusaa ; @gomchan ;; @rinnieroulette

#Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you

738 notes · View notes

real-jane · 3 years ago

Text

drifting (8)

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: canon level violence, google-translated russian. angst, recovered memories returning. first appearance of brock rumlow.

word count: 4.5k+

a/n: Happy Birthday, Bucky!

series masterlist

***

“Leave him alone,” Captain America barks, flat on his back in a snowy divot.

Bucky staggers forward, towards the prone man, nevermind the rhythmic click of every available gun raising. The blond man holds up a hand. His nose gushes, and he spits a shock of blood into the snow. When he makes it to his feet, Bucky’s fingers hook into the straps of his shoulder holsters, and all the sounds around him dampen.

“Buck! It’s me,” Steve pants.

Oh, yeah. That particular familiarity is why Bucky reels back and slugs him again. He flings the other man as hard as he can. Steve’s up again—Bucky’s boot meets his sternum. Cap scrambles to stay on his feet.

“Come on!” Bucky growls. “You knew.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s head falls back as he catches his breath. “It gave me hope. For both of you—“ He dodges Bucky’s heavy swing, but catches the counter-punch in his palm. “You’re my friend. She meant something to you. I had the power to get her here. Easy choice.”

With all his might, Bucky shoves against the gloved hand, and the simplified explanation.

“You are no longer my mission. I don’t need your help. Go. Away.” Definitely not his friend, either, whatever the paltry word means.

Steve ducks under Bucky’s elbow and checks him. Bucky drives his elbow into the other man’s stomach.

“They never mattered,” Cap gasps. “Women. Not to you.” Bucky clips Steve’s jaw. “But she does. I wanted you to have that. Because if I can’t help you, maybe she can. That’s all this has ever been. I want to help—”

Bucky whips him around and kicks him with the force of all the pain, and denial, and frustration pent up in his veins. Steve’s shield breaks his collision with a tree. Someone opens fire behind Bucky. A bullet ricochets off his arm. His attention is drawn long enough to see Y/n wrest the gun from the offending agent, and fire off a warning shot at the feet of the next. She doesn’t have to look at Bucky to know where he is in relation to her; she backs up until they’re heel-to-heel. Gun drawn.

Steve groans in pain. The tree trunk splinters over him and falls towards the cabin with a whoosh. Bucky catches Y/n around the waist, diving out of the path of the thirty-foot Douglas Fir. She clutches at his shirt in shock–he broke their fall, but now a massive tree lays between them and Cap. Two agents in heavy snow gear skirt around the reaching branches. Y/n rolls onto her stomach beneath Bucky, and points her weapon at them.

“Stay back,” she warns. Her threat is enough to make the agents hold their ground.

“You okay?” Bucky murmurs in her ear as he helps her stand.

“Are you?”

He opens and closes his fist. His fingers ache from wailing on the only other person who can take a punch of his full-force. She presses her back to his chest, staring down the short gun barrel like she wants to buy him a moment to recover. Bucky gives himself a second to shut his eyes.

I wanted you to have that.

Not since he failed his mission to eliminate Steve Rogers has Bucky felt so conflicted about what he was meant to do with ‘noble’ declarations out of Captain America’s mouth.

Like it or not… his intention—to give Bucky back a woman who might help him—was successful. Steve’s propensity for being correct hasn’t been lost to the decades. Still just as annoying. Maybe more so.

“I’m okay,” he manages, finally. She hums in relief.

“You know, you got a habit of saving my life.” She glances up at him with a look of amusement, even though she is prepared to put a bullet between the eyes of any offender.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You had my back.”

“What was I supposed to do–stand on the porch and watch you get mobbed? As long as the trigger-happy idiot didn’t hit you, I’m golden.”

“Just grazed me.”

“Don’t like people shooting at you.”

“I got that idea.” He grasps her shoulder, and rubs his thumb over the tense muscle at the base of her neck… because even if Steve’s machinations led to her being at his side, Bucky is still thankful she’s there. No matter how much he has tried to lie to himself about it. There is someone at the end of his fingertips who welcomes his touch, now.

One of the agents trying to pin them in position takes a side step as if to flank them, but she blows a hole in the tree trunk mere inches from his knees.

“Rogers? Call them off!”

“At ease!” Steve orders in a ragged tone. The agents who have vantage on them look hesitant to drop their guard, given that she hasn’t lowered her gun either.

Bucky slips his left hand into the crook of her elbow, and wills her to stand behind him. She holds up her hands to the agents, but not before slipping the gun into the back waistband of her pants. One of them–a gruff-looking man with a high-and-tight–gestures with his head for them to rejoin the others. Bucky grunts.

“Jamie–” she whispers, grabbing his coat in haste as he takes a step forward. He turns his head a fraction so she knows he is listening, but he moves in the direction of the SHIELD agents. They back away the closer he gets.

“Was it satisfying? Hitting him.”

He huffs. “Yeah, doll.”

“Was for me too.” She tugs at his wrist until he lets her slot her fingers with his titanium ones. “Don’t think we have a choice but to go with him, but I’m not gonna make it easy if these rookies keep pushing their luck,” Y/n confides through gritted teeth.

“Steady.” He says it like neither will I, and not like watch yourself. Far be it from him to tell her to contain that protective impulse. What he wants to do is bisect the tree and see how the famous shield does against an all-natural pinewood bat, but he lets his fury with Steve simmer. If he were alone–one against eight–he wouldn’t think twice. Guns be damned. But he isn’t, and a bullet will do a lot more damage to her than it will to his sorry flesh, even if she’ll heal quickly.

They step around the bulk of the tree (which brushed the front porch with its tallest needles on the way down, as evidenced by the dearth of snow in a cone-pattern). It gives Bucky a chance to take in the formation of the snowmobiles; they’re parked four and four, positioned to block the open space on one side of the small cabin, and where the road would be in springtime. The vehicles are truly suped-up with gear, in preparation for reconnaissance of a most wanted woman. A Black Widow, lest he forget. Each snowmobile has a rifle strapped to the tail with a long barrel. It says volumes about her power, which he has only witnessed a fraction of in order to be floored by it. Bucky savors the feeling of standing beside a woman who puts fear in an organization like SHIELD. But then he supposes: They prepared for me, too.

It lasts just a second, but a memory steeped in similar undertones hits him:

Standing a few feet in front of her, panting into his respirator. Her fingers curling around his shoulder, her lips at his ear. Flipping a knife–

She laughs sadly. “God. I delivered you right into SHIELD’s hands.”

“Well,” he says lowly, blinking away the intrusive vision. “Tired of running, anyway. Maybe they’ll go easier on me if I go willingly.”

“Us. We.”

He squeezes her hand in response. The agent who nearly lost a kneecap moves to Captain America’s side and speaks quietly. The figurehead of SHIELD hunches over his own protective symbol on the seat of a snowcat.

Bucky clocks the location of all seven agents, and how many steps it would take to reach each of them in case someone goes rogue. All the while, he stares at the man responsible for it all.

“Turned your phone off,” Steve says, not looking up. He wipes his own blood off the shield, and lodges it edge-first into the snow at his feet. He seems no worse for having had a tree broken over his head, but his cheekbone is violet and swollen from Bucky’s fist, and his eyebrow is split open.

“Some good it did me,” Y/n replies. “So. Fury sent you, huh?”

“I volunteered.” Bleeding doesn’t stop Steve from looking between the two people standing before him with curiosity.

“Why didn’t you come the second I sent my coordinates?”

“You told me not to, if you recall.”

She bristles at Bucky’s side. “Why wait until S&R found my pack, if you were gonna ignore my request anyway? You’ve known where I was for weeks. Were you hoping I’d ask you to come for us, instead of forcing your hand? Or is this some kind of fucked up apology–”

“You can be pissed, but this is the best scenario,” Steve murmurs.

“Gonna leverage some of your diplomatic immunity for two former Russian agents, or what?”

“Basically.” Steve smiles sadly. “Or else, what’s the shield good for?”

“Such bullshit–”

“What happens now?” Bucky finds what few words seem sufficient, but not liable to start a conversation he isn’t ready for. Since they don’t have a choice, and Steve Rogers is notoriously relentless… what the hell is in store for them at the hands of SHIELD?

“Can’t avoid going back to DC,” Steve says. He turns his gaze on Bucky, and exhales slowly. “But from there… we’ll see.”

Two agents step forward with titanium cuffs, waiting for Steve’s signal. Y/n peers at Bucky.

He knows she’s fierce, but the look in her eyes is full of unspent rage. She looks ready to take on anybody who isn’t smart enough to realize her power. Bucky hopes someone tries. But this is a no-win scenario… fight these agents, and give them a multitude of reasons to make her life more difficult once they arrived wherever they intended to take them in DC. His reputation precedes him, but she still has a chance if he doesn’t make things worse.

The moment he makes up his mind to agree to the cuffs which he could surely snap by making a fist, she rips her hand out of his hold and wheels on the agent who has been taking incremental steps behind Bucky, as if he’s waiting to trap a wild animal.

“If you touch him, Rumlow, I will gut you with that sorry excuse for a knife on your belt.”

Rumlow laughs. “Still a bitch, I see.”

“Rumlow,” Steve warns.

“She lashed out at me, Cap.”

Steve sighs. “A bit of integrity wouldn’t go amiss. Unless you’d like to share your snowcat with her.” Rumlow rolls his eyes, but he shuts his mouth. Steve’s hands rest on his hips.

“Gee, Cap,” she says, “it sure will make you more comfortable if we all get along.”

Rumlow grunts. “Fat chance. Your boyfriend just decked him–”

“That’s how he says ‘hello,’” she snarls, and Bucky experiences an entirely new sensation–failing to contain a chuckle in total surprise. He coughs into his fist.

“Y/n.”

Steve seems to have realized his agents don’t feel the same way he does about the two people they’ve been sent to recover, because he steps forward with his hands raised to keep them all from becoming aggressive.

“Please,” he begs. “Fury can be reasoned with. We have some leverage.”

“What’s your angle?” She crosses her arms.

“Purely selfish. I hoped we could talk, instead of… there are things to say. And you deserve some answers.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head like he doesn’t even mean to do it.

“We both do.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard for me to trust you mean it, Steve.”

“I can understand why. Now that I’ve seen you, I’m relieved. I know Bucky’s okay, for one.” He gestures to the felled tree as if it’s an upended parking cone, and not a Rockefeller Center-worthy Christmas monstrosity.

She scoffs. “How would you have any inkling of how he’s doing?”

“He’s been with you.”

Bucky’s focus snaps from her to Steve, and the shared eye contact is cutting. I knew him, he thinks. And he still knows me. Bucky shakes his head, because Steve is right. This is the best he’s been in a long time, and she has everything to do with it. Even if it did scare the pants off of him. Despite the fact he told her he didn’t feel that way. Then again, she stood by him in the face of a potential fight, and not long after kissing him better than any woman ever had in his long life. So. She probably forgives him for it. She seems to make a choice at his elbow, because she clicks her tongue.

“Yeah, well. He’s strong.” She presses her shoulder against Bucky’s arm to punctuate the feeling. “He didn’t need me.” Y/n pops the bullet cartridge out of the gun she’s been wielding, holding it out. Bucky takes it. “Get rid of this for me, Jamie?”

Bucky turns towards the highest point of the mountain, from whence the snow came which brought her to him, and hucks the cartridge as hard as he can. It disappears into the clear blue sky, but the fallacy of the statement–he didn’t need me–makes a nest in the corner of his mind, beside the convoluted idea that he didn’t want her.

“I’m harmless, now,” she simpers. “Coming?” She attempts to head for the front door of the cabin but Rumlow steps into her path.

“Where you going?”

“You’re not about to force me down this mountain without my coat, or shoes. Or do you prefer me generally pathetic? Because I’m about five minutes from hypothermia in my toes.”

It is in that moment that Bucky realizes she’s standing in packed-down icy snow in her stocking feet. She didn’t even think about it, just raced out into the cold to stay by him. She must be miserable, and he didn’t pay any attention–

“We’ll sweep the house for your shit. Maybe you’ll be less of a cunt with one less toe.”

The crunch of Rumlow’ bottom jaw compacting into his upper teeth makes the other agents wince. Before he can react, she flips him over her shoulder and onto his back; the breath is knocked out of him. The blade of his pathetic knife is pressed against his Adam's apple as she kneels on his chest. The agent pants.

“Stand. Down!” Steve bellows at the agents, all of whom are ready to inch forward to intervene. They all take their defensive stance, guns braced at their hips for quick-draw in case the woman decides to follow through with the promised gutting.

“If you want my cooperation, call off the toddlers with weapons,” Y/n calls to Steve.

“All agents disengage,” he orders. One by one (all except for Rumlow) the SHIELD operatives holster their guns and return to their vehicles… but they’re all jumpy. None of them settle. But then–they’ve seen her disarm one of their own, and pin another with his own knife. For his part, Bucky can’t blame them. They should be on their guard.

“We have one fucking bag,” she insists. “Can we get it or not?”

Steve nods once. Bucky scoffs under his breath. He holds out his hand to the former Black Widow. She lays her fingers in his. The tip of the knife draws a bead of crimson at Rumlow’ jaw.

“Stay down, Brock.”

Then, she looks up at Bucky, and her eyes soften. He can’t help the way his mouth pulls up at the corners. She allows him to help her stand, and she gestures to the agents surrounding them, all of whom watch her like she might explode.

“At ease, fellas.”

“Didn’t have to make a scene,” Rumlow sniffs.

Her fingers stiffen in Bucky’s grasp. She throws the knife. It indents itself into the packed-down snow beside Rumlow’s head. His wince is almost satisfying. She looks the agent dead in the eye and smirks. Y/n steps over Rumlow’ torso and he cowers. Bucky follows close behind her.

“Never know that was the Winter Soldier,” an agent mutters. “He’s so tame, her little pet.”

Bucky takes the joke on the chin–because her thumb makes little circles at his wrist, above his watch. Tame. Bucky’s tame in her hands. That’s the word he’s been searching for, what she does to him. He wonders if stray cats follow her home. If she kisses them, too.

The moment they’re inside the cabin she winces. “Oh my god, my poor feet,” she whimpers, shivering like she’s been holding it back. He shucks off his coat and bundles her up. She can’t move one step further; her feet hurt so badly, she grips his arm in panic.

Bucky lifts her around the waist and carries her into the bedroom; he sits her on the bed, and grabs for the pack she abandoned in the middle of the floor to chase after him. He unfolds a pair of socks. With care not to touch her skin more than is necessary, Bucky pulls off the soaking pair, and stuffs them in a side pocket of the bag, so they won’t make anything else wet. He holds open the dry pair so she can put her toes inside, and rubs the bottoms of her feet until she can wiggle her toes again. She watches him with a frown. Bucky cuffs the much too long socks so they don’t pool around her ankles. She touches his cheek when he’s done.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Bucky presses his lips to her skin, which broke punching Rumlow in the jaw. She sighs softly. “I shouldn’t have let Rumlow get to me.”

“You’re not about to apologize to me.”

“No, just… I don’t know what came over me.” Y/n steps off the bed hesitantly, and her shoulders relax in relief that she can feel her feet again. She darts into the washroom.

“With, uh–Rumlow?”

“I was pissed. From my bones,” she says. She came back out again with his journal in hand. “The second he aimed for your head, I saw red.” She offers the red leather notebook, but he reaches for the bag and holds it open. “I think that’s everything.”

“Huh.” He brushes her hand as he zips the olive drab bag shut, and slings it over his shoulder. “The cartridge thing was a nice touch.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she laughs. “The tree thing kinda takes the cake, though.”

Bucky snorts. “Total accident–”

“And impressive,” she says, but her cheeks are pink. She doffs his chin. “What Steve said. In the midst of the ass-kicking.”

“Which part?”

“The women comment.”

“Oh. Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really… a one woman at a time kinda guy.” Bucky puts his hands in his pockets bashfully. “Thoughtful of him to bring it up.”

“Things change,” she says. She raises her chin when his mouth drops open, unable to find any suitable retort. It doesn’t seem to bother her; she wrinkles her nose and turns for the door. Bucky grabs her wrist.

Bucky forces himself not to let go, even though his brain is whirring with the need to run the other direction at her insinuation. He swallows what first comes to his tongue, and lets his hands settle at her waist. She turns, and her own hands rest on his chest. He leans down slowly, giving her every opportunity to remember that he is the sort of man she ought to run from, and mere hours ago he was freezing her out as she tried to diplomatically sort out what the hell they were going to do to establish their cover while coming to terms with his rejection. He doesn’t deserve any kind of allegiance from her, let alone another chance to disprove his own declaration. She offers it anyhow.

“I’m with you,” he breathes, more from the need to make sense of the words. It doesn’t make them less true. Y/n inclines her head and kisses him so gently he barely registers it’s happening.

“In case,” she says. She tucks his hair behind his ears. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “If you thought it was a heat of the moment decision, before. Kissing you. It wasn’t.”

“We–shit.” The cabin door opens, and he hooks his fingers through her belt loops frantically. “We need to talk. There’s no time. And–I–”

“Hey. We will.”

“Nobody is going to give us a second alone–”

“I’ll say what I wanna say in front of God and whoever, I don’t care.”

“We need to get moving,” Steve calls out somberly. Bucky clenches his jaw. Asshole probably heard every word, and Bucky doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. So he forgoes words, in favor of something better.

Bucky cups Y/n’s jaw and kisses her soundly. She squeaks in surprise like she hadn’t told him she had wanted to kiss him, before. It might be the last time they have a single second with privacy, and even though she is willing to tell him any number of things, Bucky isn’t sure he wants anyone else to ever see this side of her. It’s special. It may spring from a deeply-rooted connection–muscle memory, right?–but it isn’t something which happened because they were forced to feel inauthentic things. He doesn’t even know if he’s a decent kisser or not, but her enthusiasm seems to speak to some amount of skill. But she pulls away when the floor at the end of the hallway creaks.

No, he thinks. More time.

“Do you know where my boots ran off to?” she asks, nosing his cheek.

“The oven,” he says. She freezes and looks at him with a surprised laugh. “It was off. At the time.”

“Could you grab them?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll follow.”

“Okay.” His face is centimeters from hers. Why would he ever go anywhere else?

“Jamie,” she whispers with a smile. She nudges him back to reality. “I’m with you.”

***

She keeps unblinking eye contact with him as Steve helps her get situated on the snowmobile he’ll be driving down the mountain, and gestures to Bucky subtly to keep his cool when he’s directed onto a neighboring vehicle, with the agent who looks the least skittish. He manages to stay upright on the back of the snowmobile he’s confined to by the grace of smooth snow, and strong thighs.

They’re bustled onto a helicopter on the outskirts of Breckenridge, and then a sleek jet at Buckley Air Force Base. Not in handcuffs, to Steve’s credit. All the time, Y/n is attentive. She checks in with him through weighty glances, straight up ignoring agents with pushy instructions if she thinks he isn’t with her. But he is. She’s his levee.

They are seated for the duration of the flight in the miniscule hold of the military-grade aircraft, which doesn’t have any sort of normal passenger space, so they have to sit on the floor with only cargo straps to keep them from being jostled around. About halfway through their journey, a yellow neoprene backpacking bag is dropped at her side. She gives Steve a salute in thanks, but she just folds her hands over the top of the equipment she once thought was lost, until he climbs back up the ladder to the cockpit. The fact that three agents are tasked with staying in the hold with them is little reassurance that things aren’t going to go poorly as soon as they reach Washington, but she leans into Bucky’s side. At least Rumlow isn’t among them.

She opens her bag, and produces a gun of her own (“No ammunition, of course,” she snorts. “It’s a wonder they didn’t just keep the stupid gun.” Her weapon is dropped back into the bag with the gun she stole off the agent.), a power bank that she promptly plugs her phone into, a change of clothes (including slim boots she slips on happily), and a small black cross-body bag from the bottom.

“Oh–do you wanna see it?”

She doesn’t give him a chance to ask what ‘it’ is. She unzips the satchel. From inside a compact wallet, she produces a treasure with worn edges–a photograph. She holds it up.

“Christ,” he utters. His own baby face smiles back at him. He shakes his head slowly. “This kid had no idea what he was in for.”

“Mmm. Handsome son-of-a-gun, though.” She eyes him with her mouth curved in a soft moue. She curls her fingers around his elbow.

"What did you do with my knife?" he asks. This is the first time he's thought about it since he gave it to her, but seeing himself at the age he was when he received the thing sparks the memory.

She blushes and reaches down the front of the hoodie she wears under his coat. "I thought they'd take it, if they frisked me."

Bucky blinks at her. "Good hiding place," he coughs. "No, you can keep it."

She slides it into the front pocket of the hoodie. "It's safe with me."

The weight of it… of not apologizing, it hangs heavy on his shoulders.

His eyes flick between her irises, noting the ways in which the color pattern diverges after every blink. “‘M sorry for what I said a couple days ago,” he says as softly as he can. The agents at the other end of the hold focus on their card game, too annoyed to be on this mission at all to listen in.

“The things I get attached to get taken away. And I was afraid of this happening.” He huffs a sad laugh. “So afraid that I lied to you when you asked if I felt the same. I sat outside your door that night listening to you call my name, and for about an hour, debated whether or not you’d speak to me again if I broke it down. Felt very sorry for myself. I knew I screwed up. Then you came out and I just wanted to die at the look on your face. How resigned you were to it. Truth is… I think I could’ve stayed in the middle of nowhere reading about wizards with you, and giving you my clothes, and never wanted for anything, ever again.” Bucky hands her back the photo of him which she had cherished enough to bring along. She holds it over her heart.

“Maybe more food,” she whispers. Her eyes are glassy.

“Right,” he chuckles. Bucky reaches into his own bag and produces the book which inspired their first argument, about the sound of wizardly voices. She hums. He thumbs the book open to the back inside cover. “I don’t want to add you to this count,” Bucky admits.

She freezes for a second, and then her finger traces over the carved tally marks.

“I’m still worried that I will.”

“Are these… you remember all of them?”

“Every single one.”

“But it wasn’t you.”

“I still did it. And I can’t for the life of me understand why you’d want any part of me, knowing that.”

“Jamie,” she soothes, pressing her cheek against his bicep. His coat crowds around her chin at the gesture.

“But… I know you aren’t stupid. If you say you do, I believe you.”

“You know…” She closes the book with his enlistment photo as a bookmark in a random page, and drops it into her lap. “My dad. Said a thing I kinda like, and when you doubt me–or yourself, I guess–think about it.”

“Alright.”

“Everybody’s love looks a little different, but every form is good if it’s honest and kind.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Bucky’s hit by another bolt from the blue. It’s an echo, honest and kind, my love. Honest and kind. Honest and kind. She speaks it between his ears, but her lips aren’t moving anymore. Bucky groans.

“Честный и добрый.”

“Oh my god… why is that so familiar–” She pinches the bridge of her nose, but it hits her, too. Her eyes widen. “Честный и добрый, моя любовь.”

He clutches her hand. “You’re remembering–”

“Fuck. You too?”

Bucky nods. “Just that phrase. Like I've heard you say it a million times.”

“No fucking way.” She rests her forehead against her knees.

Two of the agents speak quietly, but the moment Bucky stares at them, they clam up and look away. He pulls his arm out of her hold so he can wrap it around her shoulders. “What else did he say? Your dad?” he asks. He can feel it radiating off her in waves… the realization that he’s coming to, as well.

“‘Not all powerful men need be frightening.’ His tribute to Gandalf,” she murmurs.

Bucky rubs her arm, but the phrase sits heavy at the back of his tongue. “Не все сильные мужчины должны быть пугающими.”

“He was HYDRA,” she breathes. “My dad–”

“Doll–”

“Нет ничего святого.”

“Nothing is sacred,” he translates. “A perennial favorite of Arnim Zola.”

She turns her face into his chest, and he holds her so tight that he feels her wheeze. She just burrows closer. He knows well enough how her body shakes when she cries, even though she’s silent about it.

“It’s alright,” he mutters into her hair. The last lie he can stomach telling her weighs heavy on his heart, as hers breaks in his arms.

***

Chapter 9

Thanks for reading! :)

Tag list: @peterhollandkait @abitgryffindorky @hogwartsahist0ry @idgafiamallthefandoms @mysticatto @ohheyjanie @im-just-star-dust @light-through-stained-glass @ginger-swag-rapunzel @sanguineterrain @honeywithemoney @lalalalokii @themorningsunshine @mumbles411

message or comment to request to be added to the tag list!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #drifting by real jane

159 notes · View notes

bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Note

Please say more abt how Martin fits the closed off trait I'm begging 👁👁

Okay, so I got a bit carried away with this and it got quite lengthy....

I've put a TLDR above the cut and the details, transcripts, and general discussion below the cut!

TLDR: Martin is at his core a closed-off character who keeps his vulnerable feelings hidden and close to his chest. He instead focuses on caring for others and considering their feelings above his own, particularly in the case of Jon, who he cares for (sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice) throughout the podcast. His arc with the Lonely in season four and his interactions with Jon in season five demonstrate this lack of emotional vulnerability, and it's really only during the moments he spends by himself that we get significant insight into Martin's emotional state and inner thoughts.

Martin, to me, is a character who is very used to hiding how he feels. He tends to care for others at the expense of himself, has low self-esteem, and has a predilection towards the Lonely, all of which go hand-in-hand with somebody who is very used to hiding their emotions--particularly the negative ones--because they either think they're not important or that they're inconvenient and inappropriate for the situation. On a textual level, that's probably due to growing up with a sick (and likely unsupportive) mother who he had to take care of, where there was 'no time' for his emotions to get in the way or for him to prioritize himself in any way, shape, or form.

Martin is self-destructive, dislikes moments of emotional vulnerability, and (I would argue) genuinely struggles when he doesn't have somebody else to prioritize over himself. (His mother at first, but as the series goes on, Jon settles comfortably into this role for him.) Additionally, the biggest way that we, the audience, know anything about Martin's emotional state is when he's alone and self-reflecting (such as in MAG 170 and 186 or when talking to the tapes) or when he's forced to talk about something vulnerable (such as when Jon confronted him about his CV).

We don't get much insight into Martin's character between seasons one and three (at least not as much as we get in four and five), but I find myself drawn to this bit in MAG 118, when Martin is talking to Elias:

MARTIN

So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?

I think two things are important to note here. The first is that Elias is surprised (or least intrigued) that Martin is acting in this way--specifically, acting on his emotions in such a dramatic way. (And given that Martin is doing this as a distraction, rather than actually acting out because of his own emotions, maybe he's right to be surprised.) The second is that this line very much implies that Martin doesn't talk about how he's feeling, not like 'everyone else' does. He doesn't talk about it, doesn't act on it--just 'runs around, making tea.' And when Melanie comes back in after Elias is done, Martin immediately focuses on the plan and whether it succeeded, ignoring Melanie when she asks if he's okay or not. He closes himself off, and as far as we know, doesn't talk about it at all after that.

And then Jon goes into his coma, and we reach season four.

Martin is incredibly closed-off during season four. He's self-isolating, self-sacrificial, and approaching a state of genuine emotional numbness by the time he's cast into the Lonely. There's a lot to unpack there, but I'm going to focus on a few main things, many of which can be drawn from this bit in MAG 158:

MARTIN

It’s not him! It’s not anybody. It’s just me. Always has been. I…

When I first came to you, I thought I had lost everything. Jon was dead, my mother was dead, the job I had put everything into trapped me into spreading evil and I… I really didn’t care what happened to me. I told myself I was trying to protect the others, but… honestly we didn’t even like each other. Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.

And then… Jon came back, and… and suddenly I had a reason I had to keep your attention on me. Make you feel in control so you didn’t take it out on him. And if that meant drifting further away, so what? I’d already grieved for him. And if it meant now saving him, it was worth it.

When you started talking about the Extinction, though… you had me actually, then, for a while. But then – (laughs sardonically) then, you tried to make me the hero. Tried to sell me on the idea that I was the only one who could stop it. And that I’ve never sat right with me. I mean, I mean, look – look at me, I’m not exactly a – a chosen one. But by then I was in too deep. So I played along. Waited to see what your end game was, and here we are.

Funny. Looks like I was right the first time. It’s probably still a good way to get killed?

This monologue is a big insight into Martin's thought process during this season, and I'm mostly going to focus on two parts: the self-sacrifice and the prioritization of Jon.

Self-sacrifice

There's quite a bit of discussion about Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies, but less so about Martin's, both in this season and in season five. In my opinion, Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies originate from (among other things) survivor's guilt from his traumatic childhood experience with Mr. Spider, his increasing belief that he's less than human, and the fact that he prioritizes the lives of others over his own. Martin's self-sacrificial tendencies, while very similar, come from the fact that he thinks he only has worth if he can help and care for someone else and the fact that he doesn't think he's important enough to live. (For example, he says in MAG 158 that he's 'not exactly a chosen one' and says in MAG 198 that he's 'not important enough to kill.')

It's a subtle difference between these two things, and I would argue that while Jon's tendencies are more rooted in the 'help' (ie, 'I want to help other people and I will sacrifice myself to do it'), Martin's tendencies are more rooted in the 'hurt' (ie, 'I will sacrifice myself and other people will be helped in the process'). There is, of course, overlap, and it's not a black-and-white distinction between the two, but ultimately, I think Martin is so used to prioritizing others' emotions and needs above his own that when he's left mostly alone as he is at the end of season three, with the only person left to hold onto being in a coma (possibly forever), he falls back into the same patterns of self-destruction and closed-offness, only without the 'help' to go along with the 'hurt' because there is nobody left to help (especially after his mother dies). Ultimately, he joins up with Peter because he thinks it 'would be a good way to get killed.'

Prioritization of Jon

But then Jon wakes up from his coma, and now Martin has justification for his self-sacrifice again, because he can protect Jon by continuing to work with Peter!

... Maybe.

Jon isn't harmed by Peter during season four, sure, but he does climb into the coffin and visits Ny-Ålesund and is tracked down by Julia and Trevor and struggles emotionally and morally with his own humanity and is hurt, in a way, by the distance Martin puts between them. And I hesitate to place blame for the apocalypse on anybody but Jonah, but if we're going to argue in-canon that Jon was responsible for the apocalypse (he wasn't, but that's not the point of this post), then Martin contributed to that blame and responsibility because it was his actions and decisions that ultimately drew Jon into the Lonely and resulted in him getting the 14th and final mark. (Again, I don't think Jon or Martin are at fault for the apocalypse, but if we were to blame Jon, we could blame Martin as well.) It was only after getting that mark that Jonah was able to use Jon to end the world, something that was hugely hurtful for Jon. So did Martin really protect Jon at all by staying away from him and continuing to work with Peter? Or was that just a convenient excuse to keep self-destructing?

Jon and Martin, in my opinion, had very similar arcs in season four. Martin was sinking further into the Lonely and Jon was sinking further into the Eye. We hear a lot more about Jon's emotional struggle with this given that he's the POV character, sure, but Jon also talks about this with other people. He talks about it to Helen (MAG 152):

JON

…

When does it stop?

HELEN

(impatient) What?

JON

The guilt. The misery. All the others I’ve met, they’ve been – cold, cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does the Eye (inhale) make me monstrous?

And to Daisy (MAG 136):

JON

My – (large sigh) My memories of the coma are not clear, but I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I – I don’t know if I made the right decision; I’m stronger now, tougher, I can – (he cuts himself off) If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever? I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else, so if I can maybe – stop that happening, and the only danger is to me, I – I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster.

But all we really get from Martin are the things he tells the tapes when he's alone and the monologue he gives in MAG 158. It makes sense that he wouldn't be as open, yes, given the nature of the Lonely, but I can't help but think of (MAG 154):

JON

The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?

MARTIN

(no hesitation) You know, I think it always did.

Jon was always curious and hungry for knowledge; the Eye amplified it. Martin was always closed-off and isolated; the Lonely amplified that as well.

But then Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely, they flee to the safehouse, and three weeks later, the apocalypse begins. Martin isn't as consumed by the Lonely as he was in season four, he's with Jon--the person he loves--for extended periods of time, and they're in an extremely stressful situation that's sure to be incredibly emotionally charged. There's a lot to be said about Jon's emotional vulnerability during season five and how Martin both pressures him for it and rejects it in different ways, but for the purposes of this post, I won't go too far into detail about the motivations behind how Jon is feeling and acting.

I will say, however, that in season five, Martin still continues to place a lot of focus on asking Jon how he's feeling, encouraging (or pressuring) him to share, and getting frustrated when Jon can't or doesn't (MAG 167):

MARTIN

Okay, so how exactly would you describe your current emotional state regarding all of this?

JON

I –

MARTIN

(overlapping) Go on, I’m all ears.

JON

I feel…

MARTIN

(go on) Mhm.

JON

(sigh) I feel… sad.

[Brief pause.] MARTIN

(flat) Sad.

JON

Very sad.

MARTIN

(*very* flat) Very sad.

[He sighs slightly as he says it. Their bags jangle.]

A few moments prior to this, Martin expresses displeasure that Jon is Knowing things about him, specifically pointing out his emotions (MAG 167):

MARTIN

It’s just – it’s weird knowing that you can know literally everything I think and feel. E-Especially since you’re not exactly the most open of people – emotionally, I mean.

I think Martin is making an effort to open up more to Jon. But I still think it's difficult for him to talk about how he feels so openly, and while he is completely in the right for not wanting Jon to Know things about him without his permission, I think it's interesting that the focus is on his feelings and that he brings up how Jon isn't emotionally open immediately after. It scares Martin to think that Jon could know, at any given moment, how he's feeling, and I think it's partially because he's not used to that level of vulnerability. He turns the focus on Jon, away from himself, and doesn't really make an effort to talk about how he's feeling about all of this, instead prioritizing Jon's feelings and mental state like he's grown comfortable with.

And when Martin bottles up his emotions--of which there are a lot, in such a stressful environment, they can explode out in hurtful ways:

MARTIN

(overlapping) I know! I know, okay, I just – (bracing exhale) Look, I j,just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever.

JON

Is that – a joke?

MARTIN

(a bit faster, a bit shaky) No, no, okay? I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!

I don't think Martin really thought about what he was saying when he told Jon, who has a large burn scar on his hand, that burn scars make him sick, and I don't think he meant it maliciously. But he'd spent the greater portion of the conversation talking around the fact that he didn't like burns and that was why he didn't want to go into the building, and so when it finally ended up coming out, it did so in an explosion of emotion rather than a conscious decision to share. Martin doesn't have a good handle on his emotions, and he doesn't have a good handle on sharing them.

(Is it too much for me to say that Martin was more emotionally vulnerable with himself in MAG 170 than he was with Jon when Jon finally found him?)

Throughout season five, Martin asks Jon questions, he expresses frustrations with Jon, he shows discomfort or fear at times, but for as much as Martin feels frustrated that Jon isn't talking about how he feels about their situation, Martin really isn't doing so either. The most he talks about his feelings is in MAG 170 and MAG 186, when he's by himself, and I remember MAG 186 in particular because before that, we really didn't know what Martin was thinking about for the majority of the season! And in this episode, we find out a lot of very important things about Martin's character. Like (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Look, I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it.

Also-Martin acknowledges that Martin often doesn't say what he means and hides what he really feels, telling him that it's 'hard to be vulnerable,' and Martin is initially very resistant to the idea. And then, when Also-Martin suggests that Martin wants to stay so that he can be 'quietly sad,' we get (MAG 186):

MARTIN

We could talk to Jon about it.

ALSO MARTIN

We could. But we both know that loved ones make the worst therapists. They’re too wrapped up in trying to stop you hurting to actually help. But hey, we know all about that, am I right?

MARTIN

There’s nothing wrong with comforting people.

ALSO MARTIN

A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster. At worst… a muzzle.

This is very interesting to me, because for all that Martin tries to help other people, he also believes that comfort doesn't always help and that you can't be your loved one's 'therapist.' I think this gives a lot of insight into why Martin doesn't share his emotions with the people he cares about, especially Jon; he doesn't want to put Jon in the position where he'll become his 'therapist,' and he doesn't necessarily think Jon can help. So instead, Martin just chooses not to be vulnerable at all, because he doesn't want to burden the people he cares about. But, when it's just him (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Don’t lie. You don’t need to. Not here. It’s just us.

He doesn't feel like he needs to pull his emotional punches. He can't accidentally hurt somebody or put them in an awkward position; it's just himself. But what's said to himself remains with himself, and (at least on tape), he doesn't discuss any of this with Jon. Not even the bit about, if it came down to it, Martin would have rather had Jon smite him than continue to rule over a domain. He goes right back to being closed-off around Jon, but now we, the audience, know what lies underneath, and how little of it reaches the surface.

In fact, the thing Martin's probably most vocal about is how Jon's feelings about himself bother him (MAG 199):

MARTIN

I guess that’s why it really bothers me, you know? I try, but I can’t actually imagine ever making a decision that I knew meant losing you.

And it… It hurts to know you can.

And I think he has a tendency to use anger and frustration to cover up hurt, shying away from the admission that something Jon's done has hurt him (an incredibly vulnerable thing) and instead relying on the less-vulnerable and more external anger to cover it. This is more speculation than true analysis, but I think that's a lot of what's happening in MAG 200, when he discovers that Jon has already assumed the position of the pupil and has, in Martin's eyes, broken his promise.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #tma meta #jonathan sims #(because i do talk about jon a bit in this too)#i actually think martin isn't good with emotions at all #both his own and others'#i think he doesn't quite know what to do with them so he puts on a mask and defaults to things he knows will work #*thinks about the low empathy autistic martin high empathy autistic jon post with love in my heart*

553 notes · View notes

thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I love your meta’s, a little while ago you talked about The Order of the Phoenix as an organization could you talk about the Death Eaters?

The post anon is referencing.

TL;DR the Order is incompetently hilarious and Dumbledore is a man who trusts no one.

Oh, the Death Eaters, what to say about the Death Eaters...

In a World Without Voldemort, They'd Probably Be Arsonists

One of the things JKR implies in the series, and something fandom seems to take for granted, is that Tom Riddle is the ultimate corrupting influence.

Were it not for him, the Wizarding World would be a much better place, and people like Bellatrix LeStrange would be productive members of society.

As soon as he is killed, even, by Harry, the good guys win, their problems all presumably solved, and Harry tells his son Albus Severus that it's totally fine if he's put into Slytherin.

I don't believe that though.

To me, it's not so much that Tom Riddle corrupted these people, but that he gave them an organized cause. The people themselves, oh, they were itching for a fight.

In a world without Tom I think they'd be a loosely, poorly organized, group (probably with Bellatrix as the ring leader) where they commit acts of domestic terrorism probably involving burning offensive shops to the ground or attacking muggleborns, halfbloods, and blood traitors.

Voldemort, to me, is designed to pander to them (and not the other way around).

The Death Eaters' Beginnings

So, first off, I think Tom's goals are not what he says they are. What he represents to his followers is exactly what they want to hear, wrapped in a grandiose theatric bow that they just love.

But how did this all start?

First, I don't believe in the Knights of Walpurgis. Instead I think Tom came relatively out of nowhere in the 70's uses parseltongue to prove his heritage as the Heir of Slytherin and thus of purer blood than any of them.

He throws these exciting rallies/parties that the rebellious, angsty, teenage heirs all go to. There he says everything they wanted to hear in the most eloquent manner they've ever heard, promises them the action that their fathers have never delivered, promises them a role in the glorious revolution and a place in history, and probably offers them mounds of cocaine.

All the Death Eaters we see, or the core of them, appear to be in this age range where they'd be in Hogwarts or just out of it when Voldemort came knocking. I can imagine they're all whipped up with excitement, YEAH LET'S BLOW UP THE MUDBLOODS and for some that's great, for others... things don't go the way they expected.

October 31, 1981: It All Falls Apart

Regulus famously steals Tom's horcrux. I imagine it wasn't so much that he learned the error of his ways but that he saw what Tom Riddle was really after: the destruction of his very society.

Lucius is riding high until October 31, 1981 and he sees the complete destruction of the entire Black family. Lucius' priorities greatly shift and as he grows older he prays Voldemort never returns. Unfortunately, Tom does, and he charges interest.

Bellatrix absolutely loses her mind, refuses to accept reality, and tries to torture the Longbottoms for information they do not possess. She is imprisoned in Azkaban and never truly recovers from this.

Snape ends up the cause of death for Lily Evans and must forever live with the guilt and be tied to her prophesied son. He also becomes Dumbledore's lackey forever, which ultimately gets him killed.

Point being, no one's having a good time. Some because they figure out being a Death Eater wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and others because they had the Voldemort rug pulled out from under their feet when Tom Riddle disappears.

Pettigrew flees and lives as the Weasley rat for nearly fifteen years.

They're left making a mad scramble as they try to pick up the pieces of their lives.

Canon Catches Up

More than ten years go by and then suddenly, in a muggle graveyard, the surviving Death Eaters discover that they are bound to Voldemort for the rest of their lives.

Death cannot stop this man and he has branded them: there's no escape.

Some are still enthusiastic supporters of the cause: Bellatrix is vindicated that her lord has returned, he rescues her from hell on earth, and everything's finally coming up Bella. Barty is similar in actively working for Voldemort's resurrection.

Lucius, meanwhile, lives in constant terror. Karkaroff desperately flees the country and hopes Tom will not find him. Snape, is in fact, Dumbledore's agent. Pettigrew only returned in utter desperation and has now cut off his own hand.

They're not the young men they were, some of them have families, to some of the past ten years have been utterly miserable. They have to watch as their children make the same damn mistakes they did, be sucked into this same hell hole, and there's nothing they can do about it.

There is a notable reluctance for the cause, and yet, they have to try with the same vigor or this madman will kill them all.

And it's all worthless anyway: come 1998, Voldemort dies again (perhaps for real this time, who knows, Harry Potter seems to think so for whatever reason) and then they are imprisoned for their acts as Death Eaters.

And they just laugh, because how badly Lucius wishes he could go back in time and tell his eighteen-year-old self, "YOU DUMB FUCK, LEAVE NOW!"

But Do They Learn Anything?

No.

Just because we see some of them regret being Death Eaters doesn't mean they regret their beliefs. Their beliefs were fine, even blowing up people here and there, a bit gauche but fine.

But maybe following Voldemort blindly was a bad idea.

Are They More Competent Than the Order?

No.

Tom Riddle is terrifyingly competent in that he infiltrates the government with ease, has spies everywhere, and all but proclaims himself minister one day and nobody blinks.

He gains the full support of most of the wizarding world's wealthiest and prestigious families.

But he doesn't actually give these people anything to do. Because there's nothing for them to do, with them, Tom's won. He owns the Wizengamot, the Ministry, everything.

There's no need to fight. It's over, there never was a war. Society is primed to accept Tom Riddle as their ruler.

However, the likes of Bellatrix LeStrange thinks there's a glorious war on, so "uh, go out and blow up a few muggles, have fun." And the young Death Eaters (and the older ones), think they've committed this great, daring, brave, and very important act.

Tom only seems to hand out real assignments when in desperate straits or else when being particularly vindictive.

Lucius, after messing up with the diary, is told to retrieve a prophecy he is not allowed to touch in a department of the ministry he should have no access to. If he fails: Tom kills his entire family. When Lucius does fail, Tom assigns his son to assassinate an already dying Dumbledore. These aren't real tasks, though they do have the appearance of one, and consequences for failure.

Barty, Tom is forced to rely on, as he is trapped in this dying infant's body. And better Barty, someone who is truly loyal and seems fairly clever, than Peter Pettigrew who is a miserable scum bag who'd sell his grandmother for a bar of soap.

Barty, of course, fucks this up. Rather than just kidnap Harry Potter at any of the many easy points this could be done (Hogsmeade trip, lure Harry out to Hogsmeade with super secret serial information about Voldemort/Snape being a Death Eater, etc.), Barty is determined to make use of the Triwizard Tournament to destroy his father's legacy.

This means rather than a few weeks, it takes months to kidnap Harry, and even then they bring along an extra boy who then gets killed and provides some evidence that Tom Riddle has in fact returned. (Somebody murdered Cedric). It takes months and Barty actively ensuring Harry makes it through the tournament and does well, leaving open the possibility that he might get caught helping Harry cheat at any moment. And of course, Barty has to pretend to be Madeye Moody for months, keeping his man locked and drugged in his trunk.

Thankfully, Moody's such a paranoid wreck, no one even notices.

Quirrell, Tom is forced to rely on. Quirrell fucks up, though admittedly not as badly as Barty. Quirrell fails to steal the stone when it's in transit/in Gringotts. He fails to murder Harry Potter, an eleven year old boy in the world's most dangerous school. He rouses Snape's suspicion almost immediately. Then of course he doesn't get the stone. He at least gets to the room with the stone and nearly overpowers Harry and gets it had he not been mysteriously lit on fire by the power of love/Lily Evans.

The only one Tom ever really relies on by choice is Snape. Snape is charged with spying on Dumbledore and later running Hogwarts (which he fucks up).

There is only one competent man in Britain: Severus Snape. Which is, of course, why he's a double agent that Dumbledore and Tom both extensively rely on despite his being a double agent.

There's no one else.

Tom Riddle doesn't make use of the Death Eaters but given they prove themselves enthusiastically incompetent at every turn I don't blame him. Just pretend to give them something to do and hope it makes them feel important.

That's all I've got in general, you want anything else you'll have to ask for something more specific.

338 notes · View notes

starlightrows · 4 years ago

Text

4 — The New King

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

← Previous - Next →

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussion of losing parents, mention of disordered eating, bed sharing

Summary: Saved from an untimely death by starvation and exposure, Boba offers you a place in his palace

*This chapter contains an Easter Egg for an upcoming series that severely deviates from canon*

When you wake up your head is throbbing and you feel sick to your stomach, you’re so hungry. But the one thing you don’t feel, is cold. In fact you’re actually quite warm and comfortable at the moment. You crack your eyes open and are confused to find yourself wrapped in a worn blue blanket, laying in what looks like a large storage closet with a mattress on the floor.

You peer out the open door and see you’re on a ship. How did this happen? Who’s ship is this? Suddenly your stomach growls loudly… you smell something… something good. It doesn’t matter who’s ship this is, you have to eat whatever it is that smells that good.

You clamber out of the sleeping closet and see Boba turning off a hot plate and sealing a bag that surely must contain dehydrated food. He turns when he hears you.

You stare at him, at the food. You’re confused and starving. Having no idea what to stay you just stand there.

He offers you a hand, a gesture to approach “It’s not the most flavorful or healthy dining option” he says “but it’s hot, and will be ready in just a few minutes”

You step closer cautiously and look up at his face “How did you find me?” You ask in an unsteady voice

“I went back to the inn and saw what happened to it. And the town. Followed the road, I figured you’d take the shorter path with water even though it would be uphill and colder” he explains, handing you the sealed bag and a long handled spoon. You open the bag and dig in, not even caring what it is. “Eat slowly Princess, you’ll make yourself sick”

He’s right. You’ve seen it before. Travelers who haven’t eaten in days… weeks even… come to the inn and eat a lot of food in a short period of time… they land up retching in the woods behind the inn. So you slow down and actually taste the food as you eat it.

You make it about half way through the meal before you feel a little sick. You don’t normally eat this much food to begin with. So you set aside the bag of food and let your stomach settle. Boba is eating from a similar bag of food. You study your current meal companion and apparent savior.

“Why did you come back? Why did you come after me?” You ask

“I told you I would” he says “I came back to extend you an invitation, to come to Tatooine”

“You want me to go to Tatooine with you?” You're surprised by that. Sure he’s said it the last time you’d met, but you didn’t think he’d meant it. Men who pass through little towns like yours generally don’t keep promises to return.

“You don’t have to by any means” he says “But the offer is on the table”

“I can’t exactly refuse, can I? My home and businesses are gone…” This is coming out all wrong. This man just saves your life and you’re treating him like he planned this all out “I’m sorry… that was rude and ungrateful”

“You are not wrong” he points out “Put it another way. As you have said, you can’t go back. So I’ll offer you a choice, Princess. Come with me to Tatooine, or tell me anywhere you’d like to go and I will take you there”

“You would really do that? Just ferry me anywhere in the galaxy or take me back with you to Tatooine? That is a kindness I can’t repay”

“You already have. You saved my life that night in the storm. And I did promise you I would come back for you”

“Why?” You ask in a whisper “why would you come all the way back here? You owe me nothing… even if I did let you come in that night”

“Because you made an impression, little one. I found myself thinking about the sweet innkeeper at the edge of the universe often. Even before you saved my life. I always planned on coming back for you, I only wish I had done so sooner”

You let his words sink in. I always planned on coming back for you. You can feel your heart beating in your chest and your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’ll go with you” you say softly “back to Tatooine… Let me work in the kitchens or something to be useful in your household”

“We can talk about that later” He chuckles. “I know it isn’t flavorful, but I want you to eat and get more rest. Replenish your strength”

Your stomach is full, given that you usually don’t eat heavily on a regular basis. But he’s right, you know you need to eat more. Not just right now to recover from hypothermic exposure, but in general. That’s always been a struggle for you. But you do try. The food is right there, and he has been kind enough to offer it you freely.

Boba returns to the cockpit to manually fly his ship, you force yourself to eat at least a few more bites of the rehydrated food he prepared for you. You take the blanket from the cot where you woke up with you, and climb up into the cockpit to sit with him.

He doesn’t turn when you slide into the seat next to him but he does when he notices you wrapping the blanket over your shoulders.

“Apologies Princess” he says “This ship was not built for comfort”

“It’s alright. Just a little cold” you run the edge of the blanket between your finger tips

“You won’t be cold when we reach Tatooine” he chuckles

“No, I suppose not. I’ve heard Tatooine’s binary suns make it so that nothing grows” you can’t imagine it. A world where nothing grows. You grew up in the greenery of a forested planet, at the base of a mountain with rich soil for growing vegetables.

“Tatooine is rather desolate” he admits “Most of the palace is actually built underground to keep cool”

“The palace” you muse “And how does being king suit you so far?”

“The Hutt’s left that place a mess. The palace and their business affairs. It’s all been a nightmare cleaning it up” he admits “My partner Fennec and I have only been able to clear out a few rooms, the business affairs take precedent”

The word partner pulls you up short. Your heart sinks. Partner… your mind immediately jumps to significant other. If that’s the case, then why is he inviting you into their space? Does this person know Boba has made this journey to see you? Do they know he’s bringing you back with him? Your mind races, and you feel a bit measure of panic setting in. What if this partner has no idea, and gets angry? What if this situation turns sour and you have to figure out somewhere else to go?

“You’re awfully quiet” Boba observes “Have I said something to offend you?”

You figure you may as well ask… better to know what you’re walking into rather than go in blind. “Your partner” you swallow the waver in your voice “What are they like?”

“She’s a former bounty hunter like me” he says

Oh no… now you’re really in trouble…

“Hmm… and she’s just fine with you flying off to the edge of the galaxy to visit an innkeeper?” you try not to make the question sound like an accusation.

He turns to look at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips “You misunderstand little one. Fennec is my business and hunting partner. She has no influence or opinion over my personal affairs”

Relief floods your heart, followed instantly by embarrassment. “Oh, that’s… that’s good I suppose. I just didn’t want… I didn’t mean… I just don’t want to cause problems”

“You’re not causing problems. I offered this to you, and to be honest I am glad you accepted,” he admits

That makes you feel better, a little more at ease. In that moment, you realize why you’d reacted so suddenly and severely in your mind. You like him.

You haven’t had many crushes in your life, not a ton of opportunity for it. When you were young there were a few other kids your age in the settlement, maybe one or two of them caught your interest, a few secret kisses in the barn or behind the one roomed school building, but it never lasted, and for good reason. The people who passed through your inn were never really the type you had interest in either. Until now…

Hours pass sitting in the cockpit next to him, chatting about your life in the settlement and his traveling on his own since the age of ten.

You don’t want to pry, but you do make a comment on it “Ten is quite young to be on your own”

“You said yourself you were young when your parents passed and left you with the inn” he points out

“Suppose loss like that makes a person independent” you sigh

“Would have been nice if we didn’t have to be independent so early in life” he said curtly

“I would have liked to have brothers or sisters” you say wistfully “At least things seemed to turn out well enough”

“I think if my father had lived longer, I would have had a younger sibling” Boba says “I think my mother wanted a another son or daughter”

“Your mother never found love again?” You ask sympathetically

“No idea, I haven’t seen her since the beginning of The Clone Wars” he says, starting the command sequence to drop out of hyperspace

Since the beginning of The Clone War… over thirty years ago… “That’s very sad” you say quietly

“It’s better this way. I don’t think she would be proud of some of the things I’ve done” he says “But maybe someday I’ll find out what happened to her” You take that as a queue to drop the subject.

The ship drops out of hyperspace, and Boba starts the landing approach sequence. Tatooine is a massive planet. Even from space you can see it’s yellow sand and rock formation topography. It’s a wonder how any species manages to live there, given the prominent lack of water or greenery.

As the ship flys down closer to the surface you find that the chill of space dissipates, and heat radiating off the planet's surface permeates through the reinforced walls of the ship. You shed the blanket that had been keeping you warm before even touching down.

The palace is massive. The biggest structure you’ve ever seen. Three cylindrical towers built into the cliffs overlooking The Great Dune Sea.

Boba engages the ground security protocols, and lowers the ramp and escorts you to the intimidating durasteel door. There are no guards, no one patrolling to prevent entry. Boba opens the door with no indication of announcing his entry. The entryway is a short sandy strip of a room leading to a descending staircase.

He offers his arm to you “Careful Princess, these shifting sands make these steps more slippery than you’d expect”

You accept his offer, and place your hand in the crook of his arm and start down the staircase. He’s not wrong, loose sand on stone is slippery and you are glad to have his arm for stability.

The staircase ends and leads into a large space clearly meant to entertain groups. The room is in disarray. It is clear, based on the drag marks and blood splatter in the sand, Bib Fortuna and whoever else of Jabba’s entourage remained died at the hands of Boba and his partner. Outcropping in the stone walls lined with low couches, pillows, tables and chairs. Many of which are broken or knocked over. A large grate in the center of the floor sits at the foot of an elevated platform. A throne.

Boba lets your arm go, freeing you to move about the space and explore. He ascends the shorter staircase to reach the throne and sits, quietly observing you. After a moment you turn to him, and take in his regality. He’s intimidating with his emotionless helmet and solid stanced posture. A king in every right.

You smile at him and give a small curtsy “My lord”

He chuckles behind his mask, so very contrary to the stoic picture he paints with his armored silhouette. “Come, allow me to show you the rest” He rises from his seat, and extends a hand for you to take.

He shows you down a hallway lined with doors, explaining they’re private rooms previously used for guests. “Most of them haven’t been cleaned in decades”

“You would think with all the credits the Hutt’s had, they’d pay for cleaning services” you shake your head

“Unfortunately I haven’t had the time to clear out many of the private quarters. Just the Master’s chambers and a single guest room Fennec uses” he tells you, turning down a hallway with an ornate door at the end. Clearly the Master’s chambers he was referring to.

The room is bigger than the footprint of your inn. High ceilings to let hot air rise, an en-suite fresher with a deep soaking tub, a massive bed is the only furniture left in the room. It’s beautiful despite not being decorated or well maintained. But you could imagine it was much worse if this is what Boba describes as “cleaned out”.

“If you are comfortable, I would like to invite you to stay with me in the Master’s chambers” he says from behind you “At least until a room can be cleared out for you, if you so choose”

You whip around to look at him. An offer to share a bed with a king. He must see the touch of fear in your eye because he quickly speaks again.

“I have no intention of asking favor of you. I only wish to make sure you’re comfortable here. You have my word.”

You soften at his promise, and give a silent nod before thinking better of his hospitality. “Thank you”

Later that day you finally meet Boba’s infamous partner, Fennec Shand. She’s got a sharp eye, quick wit and a taste for good spotchka. It’s an interesting tale to hear how they came to meet and land up in each other’s company.

As there are not yet staff or guards in Fett’s employ, dinner is some kind of hunted desert beast Fennec killed yesterday. It’s actually not too bad, but not like the game hunted on your homeworld.

“In time we will get this sorry excuse for a capital back up and running” Boba says when the meal is finished “Full staff and guard and reopen trade”

“I can help begin clearing out the palace” you offer “Make suitable accommodations for your staff and guard, and any allies that may come to stay”

Boba looks to you “You are not obligated to do so little one, but your help is appreciated”

“I enjoy having projects” you admit with a smile “Things to work on and keep me busy”

“Then you make take the task, for so long as you choose” he smiles at you.

Despite his haggard appearance, Boba has a nice smile. It softens him, brings out the light in his eyes. You find yourself returning the smile, and unable to wipe it from your face.

The evening comes to an end. Fennec excuses herself to return to her own bed chambers. Not without casting a sidelong glance between you and Boba, still chatting away. Eventually Boba leads you back to his own chambers. True to his word, he takes his robes into the fresher to allow you the privacy to change into borrowed sleeping clothing.

“I’ll buy you new clothes tomorrow” he promises, climbing into the oversized bed beside you.

Your impulse is to thank him politely and decline the offer, but given that you are his guest and no longer have property of any kind, it’s a kindness you have to accept.

“Thank you” your cheeks burn with heat, a little embarrassed to be needing so much from him at the moment. Borrowed clothing, a place in his palace and in his bed.

You get down under the blanket on the bed. Night time in the desert is quite cold, and sandstone walls that keep the palace cool during the day turn the air chilly when the binary suns set.

Boba turns towards you, laying on his side, he looks as if he wants to say something. Ask you something. But instead he just stares, with his dark soulful eyes and seemingly perfect hint of a smile

“Goodnight Princess”

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey @paige6768 @littledragonlady @star-hoes @aeryntheofficial @xx-small-town-witch-xx

#Boba Fett #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

111 notes · View notes

atamascolily · 1 year ago

Text

The final scene of S1 punched me in the face so hard, because Shang comes full circle, once again standing in the rain by the Buddha shrine, and everything and nothing is different. Not only that but we get Shang's character poem as the literal last word!

All of the character poems appear at the moment their subject fully embodies who and what they are--this can be right away in the case of straightforward characters like Xing Hai and Wan Jun Po, who don't bother trying to hide their nature, or later on, as with Lin Xue Ya. (It can also come as "crowning moment of awesome" or martial might, as with Lang Wu Yao.) The paradox with Shang is that he is simultaneously exactly what he appears to be and yet he's so much more than that. He is what he has always been, and yet we see him differently now as a result of following along with his journey.

(It's not a coincidence that S2 opens with that same poem--we know what Shang is now and there's no reason to hide it anymore, plus it also serves as a compact summary of the previous season. Ditto with Lin's poem, which is repeated verbatim in his first appearance. This is also why I cheered when Shang got a new poem in S3, because it marked significant character growth while also not ignoring anything that has come before.)

I also read Shang's rejection of the umbrella as a subtle "fuck you" to Lin Xue Ya--if he doesn't take the umbrella, he doesn't have to play by the rules, he can make his own choices and act freely instead of being bound by obligations or personal ties. I don't think Shang exactly regrets getting involved with Tan Hi as a result of Lin's meddling, but I think he sure as hell is going to think twice about accepting a gift with strings attached in the future. Shelter of any kind comes with a price; sometimes it's easier just to suck it up and get wet on your own terms.

Thunderbolt Fantasy S1 and the original PMMM series end in more or less the same place--the world is fundamentally changed, yet still the same as it has always been, and the protagonists stride off alone, their work forever incomplete. They don't stay that way, of course, because the story continues and forces them to move beyond that, but it's so striking to me how similar they are in spite of arising from vastly different genres.

I really want Shang and Homura to meet in a crossover, because they have so much in common and yet are complete opposites in many respects. I think it would be good for Homura to have a father figure in her life (while simultaneously driving her crazy), and Shang has already quasi-adopted so many kids already (Lang Wu Yao, Tan Hi, Juan Can Yun, etc, etc) that what's one more on top of that? Plus their interactions would be hilarious to watch.

(I'm so sad the one canonical PMMM x TF crossover only featured Kyubey on the PMMM side, but it was probably inevitable, given how much money and effort goes into making those puppets in the first place--far too much to justify for a comedy short.)

Thinking today about how Homura is often depicted with umbrellas/parasols... a shield-shaped object that protects its wielder from what they don't wish to experience.... essentially creating their own little world within.

This is, of course, not even going into the whole "sharing an umbrella as a symbol of romantic love" trope that so prevalent in Japanese media. The fact that Homura, who desires nothing more than to shield Madoka, is always alone is telling. She even has an empty chair set up at her table in this scene, as if she's waiting for someone to join her!

In general, umbrellas protect against rain, while parasols keep the sun off--thus allowing the person beneath to remain hidden in the shadows. It's hard not to look at this admittedly gorgeous shot and not feel a frisson of unease. I also like how the parasol focuses our attention on Homura as if it were a spotlight.

This use of umbrellas/parasols as a recurring motif in Madoka Magica is especially striking after watching the first season of Thunderbolt Fantasy (Gen Urobuchi's ongoing wuxia fantasy puppet epic), where the protagonist's acceptance of an umbrella is what kicks off the whole plot!

By the end, however, Shang Bu Huan has come full circle, and is explicitly defined by his refusal of an umbrella:

Even a storm that could ruin an umbrella is not enough to halt a man's journey. Should I come across murky waters on my travels, I shall continue forward unburdened by that which may hold me back.

Granted, Shang is older and more experienced than Homura, enough to know that umbrellas are often more trouble than they're worth, but the contrast is striking. And given that Urobuchi has said on Twitter that the script for Walpurgis no Kaiten was written immediately before Thunderbolt Fantasy S1, it's entirely possible he had Homura in mind when he was writing this scene.

#puella magi madoka magica #pmmm analysis #thunderbolt fantasy #wuxia fantasy puppet epic

245 notes · View notes

earnestly-endlessly · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I hope I'm not bothering you, I just found your blog and I love it sm, and I saw you sometimes do cherik fic recs. Do you have any Canon divergence aus/fix it, preferably after Cuba, that are 30k or longer and have a happy ending? If not thats okay! You don't have to answer this. Have a wonderful day!

Hi anon, thank you so much. I’m happy you both like my blog and my recs. You are certainly not bothering me, and feel free to send me an ask any time. I have plenty of recommendations for you. Some of them diverge a bit from your request because I couldn’t help but recommend them as well. I will put a note on those who diverge from your request. As always, I only recommend fics I have personally read and enjoyed and I sincerely you love them too.

-Canon divergence aus/fix it, post Cuba, 30k or longer, with a happy ending cherik fic recs-

Not Half As Blinding- keire_ke

Summary: Cuban beach AU. Charles discovers that death does, in fact, solve everything.

Lay down beside me (so still and so soft) – C-Gracewood

Summary: A different take on the events of the film.

Rumor Has It – blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

Forward Momentum – AsYouWish

Summary: Six months after Cuba, Charles and Erik find themselves thrown fifty years into the future, where they meet their older selves, the Avengers, and a world that's very different from their own. Faced with the pieces of their broken relationship, an unparalleled adversary, and dealing with Tony Stark on a daily basis, Charles and Erik do their best to adapt while trying to find a way back home -- and to each other.

When an Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Optimist – ToriTC198

Summary: "You are always trying to save me, Charles." Erik mused aloud. "Ever since you dove into the ocean and dragged me out. Did it ever occur to you that I might not be worth saving?"

A genuine smile broke out on Charles' face as he brightly answered, "No, my friend, not once. I have every confidence you are well worth saving. But, I never truly believed I could save you. You are not the sort of man who someone saves. The choice to be a better man has always been yours to make and I hold no illusions that I can make that decision for you. I simply have faith that one day you will save yourself. I only hope I am still at your side to witness it."

What if Erik and Charles had been able to find a middle ground in the end?

Take the First Option – ShowMeAHero

Summary: When Erik becomes unbalanced, Emma presents him with three options: go back to Charles for three months and learn to deal with whatever he has going have going on, lose his Brotherhood, or let Emma control his mind.

He really only has one choice.

Virtue to Which We Aspire – varlovian

Summary: Nine months after Cuba, Charles is found by Erik's Brotherhood in the smoldering ruins of an abandoned CIA base, exhausted but alive. As the only known survivor of the CIA's vendetta against mutants, recovering Charles' memory of the incident—which he admits to having forgotten—just became paramount.

But the harder they push, the closer Charles gets to breaking point. When he finally cracks, the X-Men and the Brotherhood will learn the truth, but it comes with a price...

Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed.

Some minds, once broken, will never be the same again.

The Waking of the Red King – rustingroses

Summary: When Charles' heavy injuries on the Cuban beach conspire to leave him in a coma and living in fantasy of his own making, Erik, the man who once threatened to divide the mutant cause, finds himself desperately trying to hold everything together. First of the Red King trilogy.

Wake Up and Smell the Pancakes – Ayra Sei Ethari

Summary: In one universe, Erik left Charles. In another, he stayed. So what happens when the two Eriks get switched? "At first, Erik thinks he's dreaming. Then he realizes that this is Charles. Who is not paralyzed. And kissing him.

Rage and Serenity – MagickMaker, TheFangedGoblin

Summary: After Charles is shot on the beach, he is rushed to the hospital and paralysis is prevented. Ridden with guilt, Erik finds that he cannot leave him. He helps him heal, and eventually, Charles learns to trust him again. But when they set out to rescue Emma from the CIA and accept her onto their team, tensions rise. Will love keep Erik and Charles together despite their differences?

No Yesterdays on the Road – pocky_slash

Summary: It's been two months since Cuba and things are settling down for Charles, Erik, and the beginnings of their mutant school. Right up until Charles disappears, that is. Faced with the possibility that a bitter Emma Frost has kidnapped Charles, Erik is forced to team up with Moira to hunt down the remainder of the Hellfire Club. From there, they hope to locate Frost and retrieve Charles, without killing each other along the way.

(Or: Erik and Moira Drive Across the Country and Talk About Their Feelings.)

What Can We Do Without You? – SwoopSwoop

Summary: Charles and the boys were holding onto a secret more dear to them than their own lives when Charles disappears into the night; Erik is betrayed and finds himself returning to Westchester in the hopes that the government was just trying to trick him. All the while the boys are stuck in the middle, left guarding the secret from the man they are most afraid of finding out who is weaselling his way back into their lives alarmingly easily.

Note: Includes Mpreg, but don’t let that discourage you from reading it because it’s a really great fix-it.

Survival Instinct – Lindstorm

Summary: It’s been months since Charles pulled Erik out of the ocean, and Erik is beginning to wonder how many more times he can choose Charles, and still keep his vow to kill Shaw. Cooperating with the CIA is straining Erik’s patience. When a fact-gathering mission goes wrong and Charles is kidnapped, Erik is left trying to hold their mutant band together while Raven and the rest of them fall apart. No one can foresee how the mutant Charles meets in captivity will challenge all his assumptions about his own power, and twist Charles’ telepathy out of his control. In the race to stop Shaw's nuclear ambitions from coming to fruition, Charles makes a crucial misstep. Erik’s decision between Shaw and Charles takes on unexpected ramifications when [spoiler deleted].

Needles (Series) – Skull_Bearer

Summary: AU where everyone's born Dominant or Submissive

Once a Dominant and Submissive pair is born, they are linked to each other, no matter how far apart they are. This link doesn't actually tell the Dom or the Sub each other's thoughts, but it does allow them to know how the other's doing and serves as a reassurance that there's someone meant for them out there.

Another one of the reasons that Erik hates Shaw so badly is because Shaw managed to break Erik's link to his Sub. Now Erik doesn't even know if his Sub's alive because breaking a link like that can kill a Submissive.

Meanwhile, Charles hates himself for not yet having telepathy strong enough to contact and help his Dom, especially after feeling the pain his Dom was forced to go through. He truly believes that his Dominant is dead. Hopes it, some nights when he remembers how his Dom was forced to suffer. It's better than to think of his Dom still being forced to bear that pain.

And then Charles pulls Erik from the water

Time to Grow – zarah5

Summary: In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.

Note: This fic is less than 30k words but it’s such a fandom classic and just a great read if you love your fix-its.

Faults for Fixing – beren

Summary: Charles sees the events of the missile crisis and subsequent weeks when he uses Cerebro to touch the mind of a mutant with the power to see the near future. When he wakes up he is determined that he will not allow them to happen and he will not lose the people he loves.

Note: A bit less than 30k words long but another great read.

It’s like one of us woke up – kaydeefalls

Summary: "You came here for me," Charles said, meeting Shaw's gaze levelly. "So let's not waste any more time."

Canon!AU in which Charles and Erik do find Shaw in Russia.

Note: XMFC fix it, but the events in Cuba don’t happen.

Afterlife – Anna (arctic_grey)

Summary: A year after Washington, Erik wakes up in excruciating pain as sudden awareness washes over him: Charles is dead. Erik has to adjust to yet another future: no extinction, just a world without Charles. But the death of his former friend leaves Erik weak and his powers drained. His quest for answers leads him back to Westchester, where Erik has to face his past with Charles and put together the puzzle pieces of what happened to the man he once cared for.

The Burdens We Long to Carry – arcapelago (arcanewinter)

Summary: When mutant-supporter and ally President Kennedy is assassinated and all pro-mutant progress is dismantled, Charles is no longer so confident that he's on the right side, and extends his hand to Erik after a year of animosity. They settle tentatively into their old partnership, but not everything is the same as it was--and not everything can be. When Hank develops a metal frame to move the lower half of Charles' body for him if he wants it, Erik offers the use of his mind and his ability in order to make it work. Both find out what they're willing to do for each other, and neither knows if it'll be enough to keep them together.

Other Futures Than These – midrashic

Summary: In which Cuba doesn't break them apart, but that doesn't mean that their futures are tied together. (Except that it does.)

A Days of Future Past AU where only one person can defeat the Sentinels and save the future: the man whose imprisonment and torture created them, and Charles Xavier's ex.

The Winter of Banked Fires – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles Xavier has returned from the dead -- but is lost within his own mind. Rogue has cast aside her own power and doesn't know where she fits in the world any longer. The production of synthetic Cure means mutantkind itself is newly at risk. And Magneto, turned human against his will, is in despair until the day he feels a familiar consciousness tugging at his own --

Set after X-3 (with much desperate fix-it applied), during XMFC, and every time in between.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #for some reason Tumblr refuses to post my entire answer #feel free to ask me whenever you want anon #I really love making these lists

177 notes · View notes

rynnaaurelius · 4 years ago

Text

Titan’s Curse But Make It Time Loop: Nico di Angelo Edition

-Okay so I’m at work and not doing much and who wants to actually edit your shit drafts for your actual WIPs so that they’re less bad? No one, that’s who

-So I had an idea: The Titan’s Curse. Also known as the book where people start to die. It sucks to be a demigod in this book--for the first time in the original series, it really does.

-Not everything is fixed, not everyone is saved, and people start to have to make really tough decisions.

-So we fix it. Not by throwing Percy, or Annabeth, or Thalia, or, hell, even Bianca or Grover into the mix.

-Throwing the marginally more grown-up, more trained, and more knowledgeable demigods into the fire, who’d get everyone alive and safe by the third time ‘round? Nah.

-We’re making Nico fix this.

-Because here’s the thing about Nico di Angelo: Sure, he grows up to become a major badass, the Ghost King, so on and so forth. But not yet.

-For now, Nico is baby, a ten-year-old whose experience with any kind of fighting consists of one (1) Capture The Flag game and who’s still half-reliant on Mythomagic to explain what the fuck is happening.

-He’s also got the worst knowledge makeup possible! He knows he’s a son of Hades, which is bad, he knows to stick monsters with the pointy end of swords but nothing else, he knows that Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace are Very Big Deals (But also doesn’t know why beyond parents), and he’s, at best, vaguely aware that there’s some kind of bad prophecy hanging around.

-Also by the end of the book, he’s just been told his last immediate family who isn’t Hades is dead in one of the worst ways possible, and he--pretty irrationally IMO, but Nico’s a kid who has been through a lot recently, so we’re not holding that against him--blames Percy Jackson.

-Literally, you probably can’t pick an angstier or worse choice to run through the time travel trope. I love it.

-We’re making this kid save Bianca’s life via time loop, which happens due to. . .hmm, we’ll say the Fates did it.

-So, Loop 0 = Canon, only at the end of the day on December 21st, after the conversation with Percy, Nico falls asleep only gods know where only to wake up the day he meets Percy Jackson:

Loop 1:

-Nico doesn’t actually change anything meaningful at first.

-Spends most of it shellshocked and not unconvinced the last week (For him, anyway) wasn’t a horrible nightmare; shellshocked and staring at Percy Jackson, anyway.

-(Percy’s wondering what’s up with the silent kid his sister had talked up as a cheerful chatterbox)

-It’s only when Bianca agrees to join the quest for Artemis that he starts kicking up a fuss; demanding to go, screaming that she can’t leave him even more, not again.

-(Bianca hesitates; briefly, enough to remind Nico that she loves him. But she’s not their mother, and she needs this)

-Bianca still dies. Percy comes back pale and guilty. Nico doesn’t yell at him when he returns--he already knows. He accepts the Hades figurine so that he can throw it into the lake.

-He slinks off back into Cabin Eleven and falls asleep, hoping desperately that he gets a third chance.

Loop 2:

-He does.

Loop 3:

-After a very painful death at the hands of Dr. Thorn, Nico, generally being a straightforward person at this stage of life, takes the obvious path this time around: He tries to tell Bianca--who brushes it off as a dream.

-Annabeth still goes over the cliff when Nico takes the initiative of attaching himself and his sister to Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace at the dance. He tries to tell Percy and Thalia when Bianca still joins the Hunt, promising Nico that whatever he saw, she’ll be extra careful.

-(Bianca’s fearful of what Nico's saying, and thinks that if these sworn sisters can’t keep her safe, who can?)

-Artemis gives Nico a speculative look but agrees when he begs her to protect Bianca at all costs.

-He doesn’t get on the quest. Being a reasonable demigod of questionable parentage, he sneaks out of camp.

-He gets caught, because despite being aware of his awesome new powers, he doesn’t know how to use them, and is still a ten-year-old who can barely hold a sword the right way.

-He gives Percy the puppy dog eyes and shows off said awesome new powers. Percy forces him back.

-Nico follows him.

-Repeat until Percy dies saving Nico from the Nemean Lion in Washington, DC.

-Nico can’t find it in himself to be terribly sad--especially when he doesn’t make it much longer.

Loop 4:

-He’s really stuck like this, huh?

-Oh, Di Immortales.

-(Before Percy gets his chest ripped to shreds by a lion and Nico meets skeleton cats, he learned how to hold a sword properly and curse fluently in Greek. Percy probably only meant to teach him one of those things)

-In unrelated news: Having a big crush on a guy who thinks he’s only known you for a couple hours? Terrible.

-Trying to hate the guy who let your sister die when he’s that stupid and nice? Even worse.

-That stupid lion.

Loop 5, 6, 7, 8, 9:

-Nico repeats: That stupid lion.

-Somewhere in Loop 7 he starts to steal supplies out of the camp store when he follows Percy following the quest.

-They forcefeed the lion enough trail mix and frozen ice cream in Loop 9 that they don’t die this time.

-At least until someone called the General shows up and Nico’s dead before he can raise his sword.

Loop 10:

-Nico wakes up in his and Bianca’s room in Westover and starts crying. Bianca tells the headmaster they’re both sick and Nico lets her hold him all day.

-They fall asleep and Nico swears he won’t let her die again.

Loop 11, 12, 13:

-He wakes up and he still can’t get out of bed without feeling that blade cutting between his ribs, burning like it’s on fire.

-Gods, he’s so sorry, Bianca. Dispiace tanto.

Loop 14:

-He can get up without feeling like he’s about to die again. Bianca fusses but assumes it was just a bad dream.

-Nico is caught stealing and can’t follow Percy until it’s too late.

-Everyone assumes this means he’s a son of Hermes, however, and Nico can’t correct them without opening his mouth and letting the sobbing laughter out.

-Figuring he’s about to get another chance next round anyway, he takes Travis and Connor Stoll up on their offer to learn a thing or two so that he doesn’t get Cabin Eleven slapped with kitchen duty from now until Doomsday.

-He likes the Stolls. He spent most of the time, pre-looping, actively avoiding everyone at camp as he waited for Bianca and Percy to come back, but they’re not that bad.

-Percy comes back with the figurine and no sister and Nico remembers why he’s stuck.

Loop 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23:

-After Loop 12 and being killed in Washington DC again, Nico realizes: He needs to learn how to fight.

-Unless he gets killed early or refuses to leave Westover, the loop resets after seven days. So, he has seven days to train each time.

-He gets to camp, finds the arena, and meets Clarisse La Rue. He demands she teach him how to kill monsters.

-She laughs, and tells him that attitude in his size will make monsters easy to kill, they’ll laugh so hard.

-Clarisse teaches him how to swing a sword each time--but only after mocking his unamused face.

-Somehow, Percy coming back with news of Bianca’s death only hurts more each time.

Loop 24:

-Nico wakes up before Bianca this time. He looks over at her bed and knows. He’s got to try this time.

-It’s disturbingly easy making friends with Percy Jackson after the last loops.

-Bessie’s new. Cute, but new.

-Nico wonders just how much he’s missed in the past--he thinks of Annabeth Chase, and hopes she hasn’t been dying each time.

-Percy doesn’t even argue when Nico shows up in the stables with a bag slung over his shoulder, and the sword he’s been stealing out of the shed strapped to his hip.

-Nico suggests the ice cream--again--to Percy in DC before

-Nico might be getting the hang of this.

Loop 25:

-Nico is not getting the hang of this.

-Zoë Nightshade’s refusal to accept Percy and Nico on the quest--violating a prophecy, and gods, Nico’s curious if that prophecy ever mentioned this--has so far gotten them attacked and killed by spartoi once.

-And again. As Nico bleeds out on the floor, he watches a panicked blond man--a demigod--plead for mercy.

-Isn’t he on the other side?

Loop 26:

-His name is Luke Castellan and he apparently wants the gods dead.

-Nico can relate at this point.

-The General is Atlas, and Nico knows enough about Greek mythology, real and wrong, at this point to know that is bad.

Loop 27:

-Twenty-six tries, but they finally make it out of DC. Threatening the questers with Atlas killing them all is more than enough.

-For the first time, Nico doesn’t know what happens next. He glues himself to Bianca’s side and glares at anything suspicious.

-With help that Percy refuses to name, even when Nico tries his hardest, they go to New Mexico.

-There’s a boar and it’s so close, they make it to what the others are calling “the junkyard of the gods”.

-Nico sees the Hades figurine on the ground.

-Bianca grins in delight and picks it up, calling for him.

-He can’t help it.

-Nico starts screaming.

Loop 28:

-His sister’s murderer was never Percy Jackson.

-His sister’s murderer was a force of mechanics that makes Nico fully understand, for the first time, what the gods are, beyond stats on a card.

-Talos.

-Nico is going to destroy him.

Loop 29:

-She dies.

Loop 30:

-Again.

Loop 31:

-Again.

-Loop 32, 33, 34, 3536373839FortyFo r t y O n e--:

-Again. Again. Again. Again again againagainagainagainAGAIN--

Loop 42:

-Nico gets out of bed. He finds Percy Jackson at the dance, hugs him, and tells him he’s sorry.

-Nico walks outside and waits for Dr. Thorn in the snow. He can feel the shadows curling at the edge of the wood like a sixth sense, now. Waiting for him to summon the restless dead out of them.

-So many attempts to save his sister, ranging from sacrificing himself to sacrificing Percy--not that Percy needs the push, Nico has found--to any and all members of the quest.

-She dies. Always, always dies. Whatever Nico does, that junkyard is full of the death of Bianca di Angelo.

-He tried avoiding it. Once. Loop 33. Nico threw such a fit he’s surprised he wasn’t sent back to Camp Half-Blood by the Hunters, but it kept them out of the junkyard.

-He tries not to remember how little was left of his sister’s body by the monsters that time.

-Son of Hades. After all this time, Nico’s beginning to wonder if this is what it means. Death and death and death.

-Dr. Thorn walks outside, and Nico can feel a ghoulish grin crossing his face that has no place on a ten-year-old.

-One of them is going to die, this loop. And Nico will not go to New Mexico.

Loop 43:

-Nico wonders if there was a past life of his he needs to remember. Who could he have made this angry?

-He lies to Bianca and they stay in Westover again this time. Better than death, anyway.

Loop 44:

-Nico tries a different tack this time. A more roundabout way of things.

-He takes Bianca and throws the two of them in the way of the battle with the manticore.

-After all this time, he still doesn’t know much about Annabeth Chase. She gets kidnapped and returned safely to Percy every time, to the best of his knowledge.

-Nico dies holding up the sky, but at least Bianca lives, under the protection of Artemis.

Loop 45:

-Nico looks in the mirror and studies the new grey streak with fascination. And, maybe, some hope.

-Things can change.

Loop 46, 47, 48, 49, 50:

-Nico gets kidnapped a few times. Once, he’s killed in a rage by a Titan with horns, but it’s quick. Mostly, he holds up the sky to get Artemis out.

-She looks at him strangely each time and Nico wonders if she can see what he’s done.

Loop 51:

-They figure out he’s a son of Hades. They offer him Olympus. Olympus and Bessie--the Ophiotaurus, rather.

-Nico says no.

Loop 52:

-Nico says yes.

Loop 53:

-Being on the verge of overthrowing the gods and keeping everyone he’s grown to care for--in the case of several Hunters, against his will; in Percy Jackson’s case, Nico loves him as much as he hates him at this point--doesn’t do much, apparently.

-Nico stays in Westover again. He resists the urge to tell Bianca that would-be destroyers of Olympus don’t need to brush their hair, whatever she says.

Loop 54:

-Nico goes over the edge of the cliff again, but with Percy Jackson.

-This isn’t the first time; in Loop 46, Percy had taken the sky for both the sake of Artemis and Nico until it killed him.

-What’s different, is Nico’s in the middle of what’s become the usual panic attack when he’s about to die for the hundredth time, and his powers react.

-Percy holds him close and calls him cousin. Tells him he’ll never leave Nico.

-You have no idea, Nico whispers. You can’t leave me.

-You think I want to? Percy whispers back. You’re not alone, Nico.

-Nico’s sobbing sounds like laughter.

Loop 55:

-Nico tells Percy the truth for the third time. This is the first time he hasn’t told Bianca first.

-They’ve just found the Erymanthian Boar, Thalia’s told Nico his goth needs work--whatever that means--and Nico’s bracing himself for the junkyard again.

-Getting kidnapped by the Titans really gets old after a while.

-He still has the grey streak, and no number of excuses will fully soothe his sister, but the Hunt’s a good distraction from it.

-Nico doesn’t blame Bianca anymore for it. He thinks.

-Nearly a year into this loop and Nico’s finding it hard to blame anyone for much of anything, anymore. Especially when he sees what she’s faced. Again. And again.

-For now, this time, Percy Jackson is staring at Nico with wide eyes at what Nico’s told him--through these loops, Nico’s starting to wonder if he now knows more about Percy than Percy’s own best friends--and says he believes him.

-Once, Nico would’ve exploded from joy. Now, he just sighs and nods.

-Percy tells him how to condense the conversation for the next loop. He advises Nico to research Talos, “like Annabeth would.”

-He advises Nico to warn Percy’s next loop self about Annabeth’s kidnapping. Nico wonders if he’s gone insane that he’s considering it.

-Bianca dies.

Loop 56:

-Nico makes the executive decision this time to try and befriend Annabeth Chase. As such, he takes Percy’s advice.

Loop 57:

-It takes him two tries to befriend Annabeth Chase and learn about Talos.

Loop 58:

-Three times.

-But the nail. The nail in the ankle of Talos.

Loop 59:

-He hangs back at camp again this time and meets Charles Beckendorf, head of Cabin Nine, and son of Hephaestus.

-Nico figures that short of finding the god himself and committing temporary suicide--not that it hasn’t crossed Nico’s mind--his son will have to do.

-(He’s tried his hand at summoning ghosts, but Daedalus refuses to show, for some reason)

-Beckendorf frowns and tells Nico he would have to see Talos himself.

-Nico hadn’t realized just how much cursing he had picked up off of Percy and Thalia until that moment.

Loop 60:

-Nico knows what the prophecy says. One shall be lost in the land without rain.

-He knows it’s why he’s been failing so much.

-The trouble is, he no longer cares.

Loop 61:

-It took him a try, but he gets Beckendorf on the quest, prepared to defeat the Talos prototype.

Loop 62:

-Strike that, two tries.

-Nico really hates the Nemean Lion.

Loop 63, 64:

-Nico has solved half a problem: How to defeat Talos without putting someone inside the robot.

-The other half of the problem is now that they are all electrocuted by a dying automaton for their efforts.

Loop 65:

-Beckendorf’s crush--girlfriend? crush, they’re both insisting--Silena Beauregard comes along this time. Nico won’t complain over the extra manpower, even if he’s positive that eight campers and Hunters are patent overkill for one quest.

-Silena pulls Bianca out of the wreckage. Nico’s heart stops.

-Silena’s crying when she mentions that if they had been a bit earlier, she could have been revived.

-Nico wonders if Thalia’s going to stab him as he starts whooping. And takes notes about where Talos falls.

Loop 66:

-Nico swears, if Percy Jackson tries to sacrifice himself for Annabeth Chase one more time--

Loop 67:

-Bianca.

-I found you, he sobs. I found you.

-Gods damn the Hoover Dam.

Loop 68:

-And again.

-Despite having the distinct inkling at this point that he doesn’t much like like girls, Nico could kiss Silena Beauregard and Thalia Grace when they manage to revive his sister each time.

-She’s shaky and leaning on him and was dead, he could see her soul floating away--

-But she’s there.

-Nico refuses to let his sister out of the sight at the Hoover Dam and Percy befriends the Naiads this time.

-At least, until the Titans--who Nico made the very big mistake of taunting at DC--sends monsters he can’t control.

Loop 69, 70, 71, 72, 73:

-They keep dying in various combinations at the Hoover Dam now that Nico’s figured out how to save Bianca.

-At least, until he gets separated from Percy in Loop 73 and he meets a redheaded girl with a penchant for calling Nico pint-size.

-Athena dislikes Percy, Nico, Bianca, and Thalia in equal measure. Having learned of the Great Prophecy in Loop 16 and Percy’s mooning over Annabeth in. . .well, every loop, Nico can’t quite blame her.

Loop 74:

-Her name is Rachel Elizabeth Dare and Nico likes her. She takes none of their shit and if it weren’t for the fact that they already have eight people on the quest, he’d want to take her along.

-Bianca gets in a fight with the Old Man of the Sea. Thalia electrocutes him when he throws Bianca in the bay.

Loop 75:

-Nico wakes up in Westover with the distinct feeling that he was drowned on dry land.

-He stays in bed shivering, that day.

Loop 76:

-Atlas is the father of Zoë Nightshade. Nico learned this around Loop 50. He had realized around five loops ago that this probably meant she was going to die “by a parent’s hand.”

-He hadn’t realized that it was going to hurt to watch.

Loop 77, 78, 79, 80, 81:

-Now that he’s figured things out to about San Francisco, it seems the world is out to get him. The number of fights or mistakes that he either makes himself or has to head off are ridiculous.

Loop 82:

-Nico is so very tired. And wishes he felt ten years old again.

Loop 83:

-If Thalia gets in one more fight with Nereus, Nico's going to walk into the sea.

Loop 84:

-He wanders off, in this one. Grover had been killed in Hoover Dam, so Nico’s waiting for the reset at this point.

-In the meantime, Nico figures there are worse things to do than enjoy a good afternoon in San Francisco. He even meets a boy in a purple shirt.

-His name is Jason and he has hair like the sun.

-If he ever fixes this, Nico wants to find him.

Loop 85:

-Nico’s not fast enough in the junkyard.

-In San Francisco, he tries to find the ugliest, biggest trouble he can find.

-He finds a pair of teenagers in armor who yell Latin at him instead.

Loop 86:

-There’s a dragon that will attack them in the Garden of the Hesperides if they make it angry enough and Nico is so tired.

Loop 87:

- Zoë Nightshade is dead. They’ve won.

-Funny definition of “win”, considering they’ve all almost died this loop about a dozen times each, and Nico can’t explain why he’s crying on the body of a Hunter he only met a week ago, in their eyes.

-She hates him, some loops. More loops, she looks at him with ghosts of old grief in her eyes and hands him a knife.

-The gods execute Bessie, and then, Nico watches as his father turns to him and Bianca with sorrowful eyes.

-Nico should’ve figured, after almost ninety loops.

Loop 88:

-Luke offers one of them the entrails of Bessie again.

-Nico takes them.

Loop 89:

-For all the good it does. Nico wakes up as he does every time now: Powerless, in bed, and with only a grey streak to show for his efforts.

Loop 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98:

-Nico doesn’t know how to save Zoë Nightshade. Bianca, he could trick and fight his way into it. Beckendorf and Silena and Percy and a loophole in lost could save his sister.

-Her, she just. . .dies. Sometimes in DC, sometimes in San Francisco, sometimes on the hills of Mt. Tamalpais. Always at the hands of Atlas.

-Always, being murdered by her father.

-It’s not as gutting as watching his sister die, but it aches more in his chest, somehow.

Loop 99:

-He sticks close to Zoë this time. Same as he’s done with Percy, Annabeth, his sister, Thalia, and Grover, time and time again. But not her, Nico is realizing. Not the clinging he’s achieving now.

-Hoping for. . .something.

-He knows better than to tell the immortal Lieutenant of Artemis the whole truth. The loneliness is enough.

-She’s less frosty to him from the start than to, say, Grover or Percy, after Annabeth goes over the cliff again. When he shows up in DC, she’s much less angry than he’s seen her.

-Along the way to New Mexico and then San Francisco, he listens. He’s grown better at it, this far in. When the others are asleep, when Bianca is being fussed over after Talos, when everyone but them is asleep by the fire, he listens.

-And she tells him about her sisters. About her father, when the world was young and Atlas had looked on every daughter of his with pride. She tells him, pride glistening in her eyes, of the battles she has seen, the hunts she has overseen at the command of a goddess, the monsters she has killed, and the epithets she has been given.

-He doesn’t ask anything of her. Not until they’re in the house of Annabeth’s father, drinking lemonade the night before the battle, and Nico knows she is about to die again.

-What do you want, he asks. You’ve done everything. What’s left?

-She stopped, ice seems to creep over her again, and Nico wondered if he’d hit some sore spot.

-He’s opened his mouth to make his apologies when she answers, so quiet and quick he thinks he’s imagined it.

-To be remembered. When my lady has taken another lieutenant, as she must, and I have gone to where all gods go when they die, I wish for my memory to remain. And. . .

-Nico waits, and ignores the sudden, terrifying thought that he no longer knows what he wants.

-I wish to see the stars again. I was born a nymph of the sunset; starlight is precious to me. I want to see it again.

-Nico dies to preserve the memory of Zoë Nightshade.

100:

-Nico di Angelo wakes up in Westover Hall. He hopes for the last time.

-He does everything right: Annabeth goes over the cliff, his sister joins the Hunt, Percy is soon his friend, and he convinces Silena and Beckendorf to join the quest.

-The Nemean Lion never stands a chance, and Nico is glad to be rid of it.

-His sister lives.

-Nico watches Percy watch Rachel Elizabeth Dare go, looking like he’s just taken a frying pan to the face, and fights the urge to snicker.

-Thalia doesn’t start a fight with Nereus, but Percy certainly does. Nico could’ve sworn he saw the boy with sun-hair again, watching with curiosity.

- Zoë Nightshade dies in the arms of Artemis and is made into the stars she loves so dearly. Nico promises her soul that he will remember.

-For, he has found, the dead have a tendency of remembering things they shouldn’t.

-Annabeth and Percy now have grey streaks to match Nico’s, and Nico can’t wait to spend the rest of his life trying to explain that.

-It’s closer than he would like, but much less close than other lives with Olympus. The Ophiotaurus is alive and safe, and they are all alive.

-As Nico walks out of the council, he looks off to the side. By the fire is the familiar girl with red eyes--the Lady Hestia, looking much closer to Nico’s age than that of the Olympian she is.

-Besides her are three old ladies. Nico’s heard about them from Percy, in Loops 26, 53, 61, and 62.

-One lady holds a ball of string that is the color of a warm umber. The other is knitting what looked suspicious like socks. The last. . .

-Scissors, in one hand. Just as expected. Nico swallowed.

-In the other, was a knot of burnt string, tied to the socks. Behind her, Nico could see discarded string of all colors: an electric blue, a stormy grey, a black that seems to glisten with the promise of a storm, string the soft, hopeful pink of love, yarn run through with bright copper.

-Glowing threads that Nico could only describe as the color of starlight.

-As he walked out, firmly between Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace, the Hunt of Artemis behind him, Nico hears one last promise:

It is done, Nico di Angelo.

130 notes · View notes