#she’s still in the dormancy window

[sri-rachaa]

OC sketch day 1: Rehna Lee Dawson, Or Rennie!

Other close ups under the cut!! :)

[rafey-baby]

hidden 5

c/w: outlaw!rafe being his usual self towards pogue!reader, barry making an appearance, closure on the hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, mentions of murder & violence, slightly suggestive, fluffy ending, 18+ mdni!

wc: 3.5k

sooo this is the *actual* last part! (might write some blurbs for them at some point idk) thank u for reading love u <3

also him getting jealous was inspired by this ask

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Consciousness drags her out of the comfort of her slumber, forcing her to blink her leaden eyelids open to Rafe’s heavy and very much naked body weighing her down against the couch cushions.  

She can feel his chest expanding with each lethargic inhale he takes and she’s momentarily disconcerted; entangled thoughts desperately trying to make sense of her current situation.

However, all too soon, the memories of last night cause her to let out a tired groan. What on earth was she thinking? Why would she let Rafe of all people fuck her? And more than once. She can’t even recall how many times she— 

Suddenly, she’s reminded of the reason she stirred from her state of dormancy in the first place when she feels Rafe’s sturdy abdomen pressing down on her bladder. 

“Ugh,” she lets the back of her head hit the armrest before trying to pry him off, albeit to no avail.  

“Rafe? Can you...” she shoves at his shoulder.  

However, he merely takes in a sleepy breath and shifts into a more pleasant position.  

“Rafe, wake up,” she tries again, this time pushing at his face that’s resting comfortably in the crook of her sweaty neck. In response, he offers her a drowsy hum before pasting a sluggish palm over her lips to make her go quiet.  

“Shh,” he silences her and she feels like slapping him because she’s about to pee on her couch and he’s hushing her, of all things.

She wraps her fingers around his limp wrist and yanks it away from her mouth with a huff. “I need to pee. Can you get off me, please?”  

He lets out a dozy grunt before groggily raising his head to look at her; squinting due to the daffodil-colored rays of sunshine peeking from the windows and appearing just as foggy as her a few minutes ago.  

He rubs a hand over his face, mumbling something incoherent under his breath and at last, removes his limbs that restrained her capability to move.  

“Thanks,” she peeps out before getting up and scurrying off to the bathroom; hearing him slump back down onto the couch immediately after.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After rinsing off the stickiness of last night in the steaming shower and changing into a pair of sweats, she realizes she’s starving. Hunger is eating away at her insides and along with the graphic recollections of her and Rafe’s late-night activities vividly jumping around her skull; she can already feel a headache lurking around the corner. 

She’s in the process of cracking eggs on a pan when she hears Rafe entering the shower; the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the tiled floor following soon after. She begins to cut up some tomatoes to add into the mixture, when out of the blue, the doorbell rings.  

She doesn’t think Rafe hears it since the water is still running in the bathroom, which is why she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do.   

She figures that if it’s the police again, it would seem suspicious if it took her longer than normal to open it twice in a row now. Therefore, she turns off the stove and takes tentative steps towards the door.  

Fleetingly, she wonders if she should simply act as if no one’s home since opening doors to strangers was what got her into this mess in the first place. At this point though, she doesn’t necessarily have the mental capacity to care. 

She gingerly unlocks the door with her lip worried between her teeth, and behind it, stands a guy with hair as black as a crow and eyes as brown as coffee beans. 

“Is Rafe here?” He asks with such a slow drawl it makes her wonder if he’s high on something other than just life.  

And he doesn’t seem like a cop. But wouldn’t Rafe have told her if he was expecting someone?  

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s, um, he’s not here,” she decides to play it safe; the lie clumsily rolling off her tongue. However, she can tell that he’s not buying it. 

“You sure? You tellin’ me he gave me the wrong address then?” He wonders with a lazy furrow of his dark eyebrows.  

“Um, I don’t—” 

“Barry, told you to call me before you get here,” Rafe’s low rumble suddenly interrupts her; making a shiver trickle down her spine because him being right behind her, freshly showered, reminds her a little too much of his first night here.  

“Country club! Thought they got your ass already. Good to see you not in jail,” Barry exclaims loudly and takes the liberty of inviting himself in as if her home has turned into a public building free for anyone to just come and go as they please. At least he has the courtesy to close the door, she thinks.

He greets Rafe with a heartfelt pat on the back and she’s momentarily stunned when his mouth twists into a smile that would be considered warm and genuine; something she’s never had the luxury of receiving. 

“Why you didn’t tell me you were staying with a princess?” Barry pushes at his chest playfully. 

“Leave her alone, man,” Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance.  

“I ain’t do nothin’. Just statin’ the obvious here,” Barry raises his hands up in defense and the unexpected compliment makes her suppress a giddy simper. 

“Whatever, just get your ass here, I need your help,” Rafe grumbles out as he begins walking towards her bedroom. Not even asking if he can go there because why would he? 

“Ain’t nothin’ new about that,” Barry chuckles, revealing a golden tooth that glints under the light when he grins at her. 

And there’s a familiarity in which they interact that makes her figure they’ve known each other for a long time. With the little knowledge she has, she then comes to the conclusion that Barry most likely plays a part in the side business Rafe briefly mentioned when she’d found out about the cop he’d killed.

She assumes all of it is also connected to the plastic baggies full of white powder in the glove compartment of his truck, because there’s no way Rafe needs that much coke just for personal use.  

“We have to, uh, talk about some shit. So, go do something else, yeah?” Rafe looks over his shoulder at her.

“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles out before turning around to return to the safety of her kitchen.  

“Damn, Rafe. That how you talk to her even though she be letting you hide here?” Barry questions as he follows after him. 

“Shit, man, can you just— let’s just get this over with, alright? Don’t have all day,” Rafe mutters in response. 

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” Barry’s humorous tone is the last thing she hears before the door closes; leaving her to resume preparing her breakfast with a weary sigh.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

A few days later, she hears Rafe’s voice from the living room as she’s thoughtlessly reorganizing her closet; folding shirts and pants and taking out clothes she no longer wears, since he still doesn’t allow for her to leave the house without him. 

“Come watch this for a second?” His tone sounds almost excited when she pads over to stand next to him on the rug; looking over at him in question. 

However, he merely nods towards the television screen and turns the volume higher.  

“And then onto some more interesting news. The charges for Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development, have been dropped due to no significant evidence found to prove him guilty. However, the investigation is still open and the police are doing everything they can in order to find the criminal behind the devastating murder that has shaken up the entire island for weeks now. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we hope that you keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and…” 

Everything after that turns into muffled background noise as her jaw drops and her rounded eyes flicker over to Rafe.  

“I’m a free man, Puppy,” he turns to face her with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“How did you even…” she’s momentarily stunned; words withering away as she simply blinks up at him in surprise. 

“Don’t want you to worry about it, alright?” He’s quick to dismiss her as he clicks off the TV. 

“I’m, um, happy for you…even though you did kill the guy and—” 

“Already told you, he wasn’t a good person and an even shittier cop, remember? And I’m gonna need you to never mention that shit again, think you can do that?” He turns serious all of a sudden; peering into her eyes with a warning.  

“Y— yes,” her voice falters when he steps closer.   

“Cause if you can’t, I’m gon’ have to do something you won’t like, you understand?” He gazes at her with such intensity, she can’t do anything but nod with her shoulders tense.  

“You sure? Cause you’re kinda my only loose end here, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, would we?” His tall frame hovers over her as he leans down to mutter out the words, causing her to flinch.  

“No, I promise. I’m not gonna say anything,” she squeaks out and means it.  

Who would even believe her? After all, she doesn’t have any actual proof and even if she did, she thinks Rafe could easily just pay himself out of it. And she’s not particularly keen on finding out how far he’s willing to take his vengeance.  

“Good,” he seems to relax some but a sense of dread washes over her anyway.  

“But what if…someone threatens me or something?” She asks with caution.  

“That’s not gonna happen. You always worry so much, just chill out for a bit, yeah?” He shrugs it off with an air of indifference she wishes she could possess as well. 

“But it’s a possibility. How do you know someone didn’t see us together when people were looking for you?” She reasons with her mind racing.  

“Listen, if someone threatens you…you come to me and I’ll fucking kill them for you, okay?” He suggests with complete seriousness.  

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t want you to—” 

However, she’s interrupted by amused laughter bubbling out of his chest. 

“I’m joking. Stop being an annoying Pogue for one second, yeah? Think we should go out for dinner, hm? Let me, uh, thank you for your hospitality and shit,” he says as he smooths a palm over his buzzed hair. 

“Like at a restaurant? You and me?” At the notion of them spending time together outside of all this, confusion tangles up her thoughts; making her forget all about her previous concerns.  

“You’re so fucking weird. Yes, you and me. Who else? Can get whatever expensive shit you want too, how’s that sound?” He coaxes her to agree with the mellow tone he adds, however, not without making fun of her first. 

“Um, okay…sounds great?” She can’t really grasp onto his motives in the headspace she’s currently in, merely assumes he wants to be on her good side so she wouldn’t change her mind about opening her mouth.  

“Great. Need to, uh, take care of some things over at Figure Eight first, but be ready at seven,” he makes it sound like a threat, even if he’s not trying to scare her with a gun anymore.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

She doesn’t think she’s ever been at a restaurant this costly; everything on the menu more than she could ever afford. Rafe practically demands her to not pay attention to the price and get anything she wants, however, it’s proving to be quite challenging as she scans over the list of dishes in front of her with creased brows.  

“You ready?” He asks with a hint of impatience.

“No, I can’t decide. There’s so many options and I don’t even know what half of them mean,” she mumbles out in distress. 

“I’ll just, uh, order for you, yeah?” He suggests with a raise of his brows as he stretches out his arms.  

At that, she swallows, desperately trying not to pay any mind to his large biceps practically on display.

“Okay, thanks,” she graces him with a grateful smile; feeling out of place with rich Kooks all around nearly suffocating her.  

Being here with Rafe, of all people, feels strange. Not even a day ago, she was still practically held captive by him, even if the leash of his strict rules around her throat had loosened up considerably, and his overly aggressive tendencies had dwindled down to grumpy mutters and displeased glares over the course of the few weeks they’d known each other. Now, she’s solely bound to him by this muddy, grimy secret that she will probably take down to her grave.  

And despite everything he’s done to her, in some peculiar way, she’s beginning to understand him. Because against all her morals, in a killer, someone who other people would consider a monster, she sees someone simply trying to survive in the harsh world with the crumpled cards life has dealt with him. And she isn’t all too sure how far her feelings of care towards the man branch out but what she does know, is that she doesn’t want him to go to prison. No matter what he’s done. 

And she’s never even met Rafe’s father and he hasn’t talked about him to her, but she has this feeling that to be so violent and hostile, has to be learned from someone.

No one is born evil, even if she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as that.

In Rafe, she sees a boy who was forced to grow up too quickly; someone with the burden of his father’s heavy legacy weighing down on his shoulders with every breath he takes. 

Therefore, she can’t find it in herself to be entirely too upset with him for the way he treated her, thinks she can live with it, even if it was wrong. Because looking back on it, in a way that makes no sense to her, it was also sort of thrilling to keep him hidden and follow along with his very much illegal activities. After all, she’s never really been one to break the rules.  

“Are you guys ready to order?” The server’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and makes her look up at a familiar face, slightly covered by sand-colored curls.  

“Y/N? Long time no talk! How’re you doing?” Lucas, a guy she had a fling with last year meets her eyes with his surprised ones. 

“Oh, hi. I’m good. What a crazy coincidence, didn’t even know you worked here,” she forces out a strained laugh because had she known, she would’ve asked Rafe to pick another restaurant.

“Actually, just started a few weeks ago. But since when do you eat on this side of the island?” He gives her a curious look.  

“I don’t. Just a…special occasion and stuff,“ she steals a glance at Rafe who’s quietly observing their interaction with narrowed eyes.  

And him talking to her right now feels entirely too humiliating since she had told Rafe about him, assuming the two of them would never meet.  

“Right…anyway, haven’t seen you at the surf shop in a while, you still work there or?” Lucas continues with an enthusiasm she can’t quite reciprocate.  

And it’s not like they ended up on bad terms — they weren’t even officially together — she just sort of withdrew from him because despite being an overall nice guy, she felt like he only cared about his own needs. More often than not went on about his day without even taking hers into consideration, both in and outside the bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, just had a little, um…family emergency. It was this whole thing, you don’t even wanna know the details,” she lies through her teeth; picking at the corner of her napkin as a distraction.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay now?” His jade eyes are sympathetic as he peers down at her.  

“Yes, everything’s good. Think I’ll be able to return next Monday,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to appear nonchalant.  

“Cool…hey, I was actually wondering if you’d wanna catch up some time?” He scratches at the back of his head; seemingly nervous about her answer. 

She blinks.  

“Oh, um—” 

“You gon’ take our orders at some point or just flirt with her for the next hour?” Rafe invites himself into the conversation with a scoff; tilting his head at him in intrigue.  

And at that, Lucas finally turns towards him.  

“Wait a second, weren’t you just suspected for murder?” He asks with slightly wide eyes.  

“Nah, they dropped the charges cause they were tweaking. I didn’t do shit,” Rafe huffs out, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily.  

“Oh, right, right. That must, um, suck,” he rambles, seemingly intimidated by him. 

“Yeah, it does,” Rafe mutters, and him clearly trying to fight off a roll of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by her, even if she’s not entirely sure why his mood has suddenly turned sour.  

Lucas is quick to fill in the silence that follows soon after. “Right, so, what would you two like to eat?”

And after he’s left with their orders, Rafe turns to look at her with an annoying smirk overlaying his features. “That the guy who couldn’t make you come?” 

“Rafe! He can still hear you,” she hisses and looks over her shoulder; relieved to discover he’s already out of earshot.  

“Don’t really care. That shit’s just embarrassing for him. What did you see in him anyway? Seems like an ass,” he furrows his brows at her.  

“You’re talking as if you’re any better?”  

“At least made you come, no? Multiple times, may I add. Or you need a reminder?” He nudges her foot under the table with his own; the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face making her subtly kick him back.  

However, he merely wraps his fingers around her ankle; ceasing her futile attempt at bruising his leg with a chuckle rumbling from his chest.  

“You seriously just tried to kick me? Didn’t seem to complain when you were begging for me to—”  

“Rafe! Why are you talking so loud?” She whines, trying to release the limb he’s captured, however, his grip is strong and she’s not getting free until he decides she is.  

“Calm down, no one here cares. You Pogues never know how to relax, do you?” 

“I am relaxed!” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he taunts before finally letting go of her foot and she quickly pulls it back so he can’t grab for it again.  

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Can I ask you something?” She swallows something akin to sand in her throat; disrupting the sound of their silverware clinking against the ceramic plates as they contently fill up their bellies.  

“Hm?” His eyes flicker over to meet hers. 

“After this, um, are we just gonna go back to our sides of the island and never talk again?” There’s a wistful hue coloring over her question.  

“That’s what you want?” He raises his brows and she blinks; slightly taken aback by him not immediately answering with a yes.  

“Um, I don’t…know. What would we even do?” She takes a sip of water to appear indifferent to the entire situation. However, she’s failing miserably. 

“I mean, could think of a couple of things we could do…” he trails off with a smug grin, causing her to huff out a soft laugh. 

“Thought you didn’t hang out with Pogues?” She narrows her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s even taking this conversation seriously. 

“Yeah, well, guess I could make an exception. After all, you did help a Kook, so you’re not really a Pogue anymore, are you?”  

“Okay first of all, that makes zero sense and I only helped you, cause you were gonna kill me,” she states, lowering her tone towards the end.  

“Stop saying that shit, Puppy,” he hisses, looking around to ensure no one heard it. “Wasn’t gonna kill you, just needed you to listen, alright?”  

“Well, you could’ve been a bit more polite about it,” she rests her elbows on the table, tone accusatory.  

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? That what you want me to say? A lot was going on and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Sometimes it’s, uh, hard for me to control my anger and shit,” he mutters out the last part, as if it’s difficult for him to admit.

“Yeah, I figured,” she’s smiling now; her attempt at making him feel guilty going down the drain because him trying to defend his behavior for once, is sort of entertaining. 

A scowl covers his face at the realization that she’s merely trying to make him sweat for her own enjoyment. “You know, I still think I should’ve picked another house,” he grants her a lighthearted glare.  

“Yeah, me too,” she nods in agreement.  

And at the sight of her barely contained grin, he can’t stop his mouth from curling up as well; both of them quietly giggling at the entirely too bizarre of a situation, that for some reason, feels far too much like a first date.  

It’s almost as if they’re meeting for the first time all over again.

[sweetjulieapples]

Dear Commander - Chapter 21: Skyhold

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

As they settle into Skyhold, Cullen comes to realize that he needs to let go of his affection for The Herald.

Full chapter below:

The afternoon sun was warm, casting golden rays that illuminated the brickwork, its details sharp against the icy mountain backdrop. That brickwork—detailed, sturdy, and preserved in time. How long had this place stood abandoned?

Colours, vibrant and alive, shimmered through the stained glass windows, perfect and undisturbed. A gentle breeze swept over the courtyard, carrying with it the hum of footsteps and voices. The cool mountain air brushed against the stronghold’s grounds, once more alive with activity after lifetimes of dormancy.

Cullen stood in the center of the yard, arms folded, staring up at the main hall in awe. A castle. Solas found us a castle. The words sounded strange, even in his own mind. This wasn’t just a place—it was a fortress, something built to last centuries. A far cry from the shattered remnants of where they had lived at Haven, so easily crushed under the weight of their enemies.

He looked around, eyes scanning the battlements with growing interest, then pausing on the weathered stonework, the faded banners fluttering in the wind. A stronghold. This is everything that Haven should have been. His chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was hope or the bitter taste of loss. The memory of Haven, so full of promise and yet so quickly torn apart, hung heavy in his mind. He clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts forward. This place could be different. It has to be.

Around him, workers moved through the courtyard, hauling crates and supplies. Pilgrims filtered in through the gatehouse, more each day. Word of Skyhold had spread. It had become a place of hope. A new beginning.

Cullen noticed a worker moving towards the room to the side of the gatehouse. A temporary infirmary had been set up on arrival, mostly serving as a stockroom for healing supplies with the limited space. The Herald had spent most of her time there, carefully monitored for lingering side effects of hypothermia while she rested by the fireplace. He’d barely spoke to her in the few days since they arrived, only catching glimpses of her moving about from afar, mostly overhearing updates of her health from chantry sisters that wandered past him.

He hadn’t seen her at all today, but her presence had been lingering on his mind. He’d tried to distance himself, to give her the space she needed to recover, and perhaps, more selfishly, to give himself the space to make sense of his own feelings.

The night of the attack on Haven still haunted him—the fear of losing her, of failing in the one thing he promised to protect. He could still hear the echoes of that night, screams, panic, and the crushing sense of helplessness. He hadn’t been enough. If only I had been more focused, more alert.

When the camp had started singing that hymn, something had shifted inside Cullen—a moment of clarity. She hadn’t failed. Any lingering doubt about her status as “The Herald” had vanished in that instant. It was a moment so powerful that he’d felt compelled to join in the singing, against all better judgment.

She wasn’t just a symbol. She was revered. Respected. More than just a leader—she was something greater than he could comprehend. It was hard not to put her on a pedestal.

It certainly hadn’t helped that the tune of the hymn had stuck in his mind, a relentless reminder, tormenting him with the idea that she was now even further beyond his reach.

Loud chatter from the courtyard broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He blinked, shaking his head, trying to shake off the remnants of his reflection. His gaze landed on another worker carrying a crate of supplies towards the infirmary—the perfect opportunity had presented itself.

He took a steadying breath before calling out, “Are those healing supplies?”

“Yes, Commander,” the worker replied, pausing and glancing back at him. “This is almost the last of them, for today at least.”

Cullen nodded, his response quick and firm. “I’ll take them.”

The worker handed over the crate, giving a quick nod before continuing on his way. Cullen’s hands were steady as he lifted the box, even though his mind had drifted elsewhere.

He imagined what she might be doing at that moment. The image of her sitting by the fireplace, resting peacefully, bathed in an ethereal light… You’re doing it again, he scolded himself. He had to stop idealizing her.

What would I say? He could feel the weight of the silence between them, gnawing at him with every thought. Perhaps he should have seen her earlier, but what if she thought he had been avoiding her? Or worse—What if she thinks I don’t care?

With each step towards the building, his mind raced. The idea of going in with supplies seemed practical enough, but the doubt kept creeping in. Would it look like I’m hiding behind duty? Would she see right through it? He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Not that it would matter. I’m sure she has more important things to think about. She was The Herald, after all—her mind likely occupied with a thousand other things, none of which involved him.

As Cullen walked past the campfire where injured soldiers lay in recovery, the scent of burning wood and the warm flicker of the flames reminded him of the night they had escaped the tavern in Haven, just moments before it collapsed. The flickering flames cast jagged shadows over the soldiers, their faces marked with exhaustion and pain. It should have been enough to ground him, to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He just couldn’t shake the memory.

She had been beneath him, her body pressed into the cold snow, wide brown eyes staring up at him in shock. It was the way she had looked at him, the way her body had felt so close. He had felt an undeniable pull. It should have terrified him, but in that moment, it hadn’t. It had felt right, even though it was wildly inappropriate. He almost kissed her. The temptation had been overwhelming, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

No. I was a fool. It was a line I should never have crossed.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” a healer greeted, pulling him from his thoughts.

He blinked, trying to focus. "Good afternoon," he muttered, his response automatic. A smile appeared on his face, stiff and awkward, before he turned away, walking past her with haste.

He despised himself for even thinking this way about Juliette, now, of all times. There had been so many casualties that night—brave men and women who had lost their lives, and here he was, consumed with thoughts of her. As he stood, surrounded by the injured, his soldiers no less - guilt hit him hard.

Yet as Cullen walked closer to the infirmary, he could almost feel her hand, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. Her touch was so soft, fleeting. His breath stilled. It had been a gesture so simple, and yet it had meant everything to him.

Almost two weeks had passed, and still, his mind replayed it over and over. The way her touch had been nurturing, almost inviting. Did she want me to kiss her?

Cullen slammed his eyes shut, balancing the crate in one hand so that the other could press into his forehead. This is ridiculous.

She couldn’t possibly see him as anything more than a Templar—and rightfully so, he thought. He had treated her terribly those first few months, when he had been consumed by prejudice.

Cullen hated Juliette before he had even laid eyes upon her.

Of course it’s a mage.

Of course a mage had caused the Conclave explosion.

Of course a mage had killed The Divine.

He saw the circle robes before he saw the woman wearing them. Despite his effort, his intentions to change - he was still a Templar. Still, he is chained.

But she’s different. She’s terrifying, but different.

Even if by some miracle she were to feel the same, Cullen wondered what he could possibly offer. She’s a mage. What future could they have?

Irrelevant. These thoughts…I’m wasting my time.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her at all. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about anything beyond The Inquisition, beyond survival.

Cullen stood before the infirmary door, his hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, he hesitated. I’m her Commander, he reminded himself, as if it could somehow erase the turmoil inside him. That’s all I can be.

Before his fingers had touched the handle, the door burst open, and a startled voice called out "Oh!”

Cullen instinctively stepped back, the sudden noise and movement causing his mind to flicker to his sword, ready to reach for it need be. He gripped the crate tightly, eyes sharp on the figure stepping out of the infirmary.

A chantry sister stepped out, cheeks blushed with colour, looking flustered. She quickly closed the door behind her and, lowering her voice, said, “Commander Cullen? You near frightened the life out of me!” She glanced back, her face softening as she spoke. “Are you here to see the Herald? I’m afraid she’s sleeping at the moment. Poor dear must still be exhausted from the journey.”

Cullen hesitated, his eyes flickering towards the door for a split second before he quickly forced himself to focus. She’s resting. Just drop the crate and go…

"No," he replied, but there was a slight waver to his voice, a hesitation. He quickly added, "I’m just delivering supplies." The words were a little too firm, as if he were trying to convince both her and himself.

The sister didn’t seem to notice, nodding with a cheerful smile. “Oh, wonderful. You can take them inside, just be quiet. I need to see if the kitchen…” She trailed off, already turning away, muttering to herself.

Cullen stood for a moment, staring after her, his words replaying in his mind. He shook his head and stepped towards the door, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest.

Mindful of his steps he shifted the crate to one hand and gently closed the door behind him. The room was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and soft warmth from the hearth.

Cullen paused at the door, his gaze immediately drawn to Juliette. She was asleep, but in the most graceless of positions. Her legs were tangled in the blankets, one arm thrown carelessly over her face, her hair a mess of knots and stray strands that caught the low light from the fire. For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her with a strange mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. She looked... human. Not The Herald of Andraste. Just her.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, all the worries, all the noise in his mind faded. The guilt. The doubts. The relentless weight of responsibility—all of it—drifted away.

He found it almost funny, the way she slept so peacefully yet so undignified for someone of such importance, of nobility. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not to see her so twisted, half on her stomach, face crinkled against the pillow. The position looked uncomfortable, and yet, she seemed so completely at ease. The way she looked stirred something inside him. He liked it. She was no less beautiful this way. In fact, there was something about it that made her more alluring.

It caught him by surprise—the warmth that spread through him, the quiet pull of affection. Yet as he stood there, his smile faltered once realizing that he had lingered too long. He had no right seeing her this way, intruding on her privacy. He needed to leave.

With an effort, Cullen carefully placed the crate on the bench, wincing as his armor gave a slight squeak. Don’t wake her up, he silently begged himself. He moved as quietly as possible, stepping cautiously, distributing his weight to avoid creaking the floorboards. Every step was deliberate, measured—until he didn’t see the fire iron lying by the door.

The moment his foot caught the edge of the iron, the clatter was deafening. The sharp metal struck the floor with a sound that seemed to reverberate through the quiet room, far louder than he’d expected. Cullen froze, his eyes widening in horror as the noise rang in his ears. His face flushed hot with embarrassment, and he held his breath, unwilling to tear his gaze away from the floor. Among the light crackle of the fire, he heard the rustle of blankets, a soft murmur and…

He tore open the door with force, ready to run… anywhere. Anywhere but here.

“Cullen?”

He froze, a wave of dread washing over him. Her voice was soft and croaky, almost a whisper as though she was still half asleep. Maybe I can pretend I didn’t hear her, keep going as if…it’s too late. She knows.

He let out a nervous sigh. Slowly, painfully, he turned around.

Juliette sat up in bed, one hand clutching the blanket tightly to her chest, the other shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight spilling through the open door. She looked disheveled, still tangled in the warmth of sleep, but there was something in her gaze that stopped him from looking away. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light, and that’s when he realized what he’d done.

With a sharp inhale, he stepped back inside, pulling the door closed gently to block the sunlight that irritated her.

“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“What time of day is it?” she asked, her voice soft and groggy.

“It’s afternoon, Herald. I—”

“Ugh,” she groaned, sinking back into the pillows, her palms rubbing her eyes. “I had hoped they’d wake me. There’s so much I should be helping with.”

Cullen stood frozen in place, his thoughts jumbled, caught somewhere between embarrassment, guilt, and disbelief. The words he’d meant to speak, the apology that should have come easily, stuck in his throat. Instead, he simply stood there, watching her, unsure of what to do next.

Juliette slowly sat up again, her expression faltering when she noticed the stillness in his posture. Her brow furrowed, curiosity creeping into her sleepy gaze as she focused fully on him. "Cullen?" she asked, her voice soft, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. His voice was rushed, and his words felt clumsy. “No… it’s fine.” He awkwardly gestured towards the bench. “I didn’t mean to disturb your rest. I’ll leave you be.”

He turned his back to her, his fingers brushing the door handle, but paused at the sound of her laugh. It was soft, almost airy, and it took him by surprise.

“Oh, so now you’ll let me sleep,” she teased, her voice light and melodic.

He turned back, meeting her gaze. She was watching him with a playful smirk, her eyes bright with mischief. “All those times I had nap requests denied…” She let out a small, tired laugh again, her teasing tone soothing some of the tension between them.

Cullen couldn’t stop his smile from mirroring hers when their eyes connected. The embarrassment slowly faded, the tension soothing as he considered her words.

He took a slow step forward, fully turning towards her. Still wearing a smile, he bowed his head slightly as he spoke, his voice warm and sincere.

“I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?”

Juliette said nothing, but instead she smiled at him. Her smile, lips gently closed together, cheeks rosy - it was as though it had lit up her face, softening the weariness in her eyes. There was something about it, how genuine it felt, that made his heart flutter. His own smile lingered without any conscious thought, completely unaware how his words had sparked something in her.

Cullen tore his eyes away, forcing himself to turn his back. He tried to avoid getting caught in the moment, but the soft rustle of movement behind him made him glance over his shoulder. In that split second, he caught an accidental glimpse of her bare shoulders before she quickly snatched her coat from the armchair, wrapping it tightly around her chemise. His gaze snapped back forward, his heart racing as he silently chastised himself for looking.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. He’d seen too much, yet entirely not enough. He didn’t want to think about her that way—not here. Drawing in a steadying breath, he prepared himself as he heard her footsteps approaching.

“What can I do to help, Cullen?” Her voice, serious and dutiful, broke through his thoughts. She brushed past him, reaching for her boots. “I can’t stay cooped up in here. I’m better now, truly.”

“Herald…” he began, bending down to grab the boots. He extended his arm, and she accepted them gently, her fingers brushing his briefly as she straightened. She looked up at him , holding his gaze for a moment—a sincere, silent thank you in the curve of her smile.

“I’m not asking for permission,” she said, pulling the boots over her feet. The oversized coat hung loosely on her frame, clearly borrowed from a pilgrim or villager—far too large compared to her usual, more tailored garments. “What can I do? Unpacking supplies? Tending to the injured? Sweeping floors… it doesn’t bother me.”

“You don’t ha—”

“I’ll figure it out,” she sighed, pushing past him with determination. She weaved her fingers through her hair, loosely pulling it into a side braid while walking out into the courtyard. Cullen followed behind her, a little stunned at her sudden departure.

“Herald!” he called out, forcing himself to act. “They’re setting up the kitchen. Maybe they could use an extra set of hands.”

She stopped suddenly, and spun around, glancing in his direction. A radiant smile spread across her face. “Of course. Thank you, Commander.”

When Juliette turned and walked away, Cullen hung his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. That had been uncomfortable.

He kicked his heel into the dirt, watching the dust settle before he threw his head back, squinting into the sunlight as he looked up at the sky. He squeezed the muscles at the back of his neck, hoping to press away the awkward tension that had been building ever since he’d decided to go to the infirmary. Everything feels different now.

The thought lingered, but he shook it off, letting the quiet of the moment settle in. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his thoughts a jumbled mess of self-doubt and confusion. He wondered why he bothered to see her in the first place—why it felt so difficult now, just being around her.

As he lowered his head, he caught a glimpse of Cassandra from the corner of his eye, striding towards him with purpose. He tensed, the unexpected sight of her pulling him from his quiet reflection. He wondered how much she had seen, and how that interaction might have looked to others.

“Cullen,” Cassandra said firmly as she approached.

“Cassandra,” he replied slowly, his tone more cautious than he’d intended.

She stopped before him, eyes narrowing as she glanced towards the direction Juliette had gone. “You’ve seen the Herald? She’s up and about, I take it?”

“It would appear so, yes,” Cullen answered.

“Good,” Cassandra’s sharp gaze lingered on him, her voice steady and serious. “Then I need to ask you something. What is your opinion of her?”

“The Herald? Why…” Cullen reached a hand to the back of his neck. He glanced at the ground, trying to buy himself a moment of thought. “Why would you ask...?”

“I know the two of you haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I need to know your honest opinion. Do you consider her a good leader?”

Cullen looked back at Cassandra, dropping his hand and relaxing slightly at her question. This was easier to answer.

“A leader? Well…” He paused for a moment, considering the question. Much of what she’d achieved had happened outside of Haven, prior to the attack, but he had heard things—wonderful things. People spoke highly of her, her kindness, her compassion, her willingness to help those in need. “I suppose I do,” he said, a subtle flicker of a smile crossing his face before he regained composure. “She hasn’t exactly had the odds stacked in her favour. But what she did for Haven, for all of us… that’s got to count for something.”

Cassandra regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. She didn’t smile, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, as if his words had reassured her more than she had expected.

“I’m glad you agree,” Cassandra said after a moment, her voice softening slightly. She tilted her head and motioned for him to walk with her.

As they moved across the courtyard, Cassandra gestured vaguely towards the people gathered around, some working, others talking in low murmurs. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One.”

Cullen shrugged, trying to ease the tension that still lingered in his neck and shoulders. “After what she did with one trebuchet, I’d bet against direct attack.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed, her expression turning serious as she glanced around. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.” She stopped abruptly, her gaze locking onto the distant ramparts where workers pulled down worn flags and banners. Cullen followed her line of sight, his arms folding as they both took in the sight of the preparations, the keep now free for a banner of their own.

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra continued, her voice steadfast.

Cullen shot her a surprised look. “Are you saying that it should be Juliette... I mean, The Herald? Not you?”

Cassandra’s lips twitched slightly, as if amused by the suggestion. She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the flags flapping in the breeze. “No, it can't be me. I wouldn't want it to be me.”

She stood there for a moment, the wind tugging at the fabric of her armor, before she spoke again. “Mother Giselle is strong in advocating for The Herald. She says that we need someone who is not tied to the Chantry or its failings. Someone who stands outside of the politics, someone who can unite the people.”

Cullen didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts swirling as he considered the implication. He couldn’t agree more, she had already proven her ability to rally people to their cause. He understood that this needed to happen, that there was no one better suited to the role as Juliette. But that realization was bittersweet. His heart tightened at the thought, the weight of it heavier than he cared to admit. They had a clear path forward now, a solid plan, and a greater chance of survival than they had ever imagined. For the Inquisition, for the people, it was a victory. Yet, it felt like a quiet loss to him.

All he had to do now was let her go.

Let her become the leader they needed, let her take her place at the head of the Inquisition, while he stood at her side. She was meant to lead them—she always had been—but in doing so, she would be further from him than ever before. Anything that might have been, anything that he could have hoped for, was now impossible. He had to be okay with that.

He glanced at Cassandra, meeting her steady gaze. “I couldn’t think of anyone worthier.”

Cassandra's expression softened just slightly, but her voice remained steady. “She will need guidance. We will all need to support her.”

“And she has my support,” Cullen replied earnestly. “Anything she needs.”

[misscammiedawn]

I want to talk a little about "disappearing" or 'dormancy' within the contex and vernacular of plurality. But this one is more of a little personal ramble and less educational essay so I'm doing it under a readmore.

After 9 days of absence where our system were desperately trying to get me back, I found myself in the middle of a Lush reacting to the scent of a lavender bath bomb. There was no gradient. No sense at all for it. No gradual return. The scent hits, I respond as if I had been there the whole time.

Disoriented but not impacted or missing any beats. The headache was kind enough to wait until we reached the safety of the car. I was back. As if I were never gone to begin with.

Describing these events has always been hard. It has certainly raised denial in our condition. We believe firmly that none of us experience 'lost time' or amnesia between parts. Recently it has been a hard time learning "you don't know what you don't know."

When one of us is missing it is fairly obvious and apparent. We no longer 'feel' them. The little spark and emotional resonance and all that is attached to it. Regardless of who is fronting that spark carries with it an essence that is part of who we are as a person. When it is me who is gone it is like our passion in hypnosis is gone, we lack the social flare, the theatrical spirit, the confidence. When it is Cammie gone we feel emotionally wounded, like we are merely emulating human behavior. With Camden gone it is like our discipline and impulse control are crippled.

I subscribe to the notion that we are all aspects of a single person and aspects are always there, even if they are not the leading force for one of our presentations. It's why denial is so rampant with us.

When we interact with aspects of life that would attract the attention of a part, there is an emotional reaction. Since we began communication work the "IM Windows" have been less impulse and more intention.

When a part is not there the lack of that feels oppressive. Like something that should be there but simply is not. We felt it before Discovery too, often. We just didn't have the context for it. Back then it was this overall sensation of feeling like we were "playing a character" and that there were times when the actions came natural to us and times when we had to perform the act of "me" rote and it was stiff and awkward.

Perhaps I should provide some context...

We have been having a rough time in trauma therapy recently. We are about 4 months into the Processing phase of our adapted multi-phase trauma recovery program. Safety, stabilization and processing are our phases, though discovery/mapping was its own thing.

Our therapist wishes for us to build a narrative of our life and identify the parts that were present during the traumatic moments. Childhood was mostly a blur but we identified some pivotal moments with Cammie and Craig and even worked out that Craig himself is a construct designed to prevent our father from seeing signs of our mother who he hated within us. We essentially invented a "with mum" and a "with dad" persona before we understood what such things were.

Good progress.

However childhood is still a vague blur and we rushed through it and are now into young adulthood.

When we were 16 in the span of 3-6 months we went through a lot. More than I feel safe sharing. But we ended up homeless and had to start working, broke all contact with our biological mother (did not speak to her for 7 years) and our father was involuntarily made an inpatient at a mental care facility for a second time.

We've been stalled on discussing this segment of our life for a month and Camden and Wynn, the parts that associate in with the memories, are exhausted. Cammie showed up to therapy in their stead and when prompted to speak to why those two weren't showing up she *went looking* and... we had an extreme reaction. Horribly extreme. The "my throat is closing, I can't breathe, my chest is caving in and I'm going to pass out" kind.

Poor sweetling...

Since then we have been horribly destabilized. I am still piecing things together because it's been a mess in here. Camden was gone for a few days, Craig a few days more. Wynn was present at first but has held back since the others came back. I did not. It was simply an absence where the Flirty Fae was involved.

I am reliably informed that there were attempts to get me back. From intentionally breathing in lavender scents to imagining notes being slipped under my door in our conference space to reading Marvel comics and taunting my proclivity for anime.

But there was nothing.

Meanwhile obvious memory issues were happening. Even in spite of feeling like there was not. That truly is a remarkable thing.

When someone "can't remember" it is a spectrum. There are times where this is the standard amnesia as depicted in fiction where a concept is inaccessible. You simply do not have access to it whatsoever. This can take the shape of denial in which you refuse to accept the missing information exists at all or confusion in acknowledging the feeling of your recollection does not match the evidence of it.

It can be as simple as *not thinking* about something. We are deeply involved in hypnosis as a kink and amnesia play runs on this principal. Learning how to put a thought or memory "on the shelf" and to trust yourself to just break the association and walk away from the thought.

Incidentally those with CPTSD have more flexible brains and experience spontaneous amnesia more often than neurotypical folx.

Apparently I need to do a full write-up on amnesia in both trauma and play.

In this current sense it is somewhere in the middle. It's not that we're trying to retrieve the memory and unable and it's not like we're explicitly not thinking about it. It's just the idea of "last Thursday" is just absent. Like I am moving with blinkers on. Typically there's an awareness of space that is mildly 4-dimensional. As I work on a project on Thursday I am aware of the reports I performed on Monday and how the flags from Monday relate to what we're doing on Thursday.

In this scenario we merely skip that step. It doesn't even prop up for us. We just do not even realize it's something we should be checking for. That is what I mean about blinkers.

Slowly but surely things seep back in. "I'm looking forward to the next issue of Hulk" becomes "We read it last week and it wasn't that good." and that is pretty much what the DSM-5 refers to as "normal forgetfulness". But the spectrum between "normal" and "abnormal" is a matter of perspective and context.

In this context not having any firm awareness of the past week and needing things to be fed in slowly is just odd.

So... how do I experience an absence?

With our panic attack in session, Cammie came back 5 hours later still in panic. It's not a confusing jump from "we're talking to our therapist" to "we're talking to our girlfriend????" and more "the wave of emotion that was being repressed has returned and we're back in the panic attack hangover phase"

If that makes sense? There's no jump. It's just a continuation.

With the 9 day gap it's kind of the same. I actually do not remember when I last fronted. I do not remember being missing. It feels like I was here the entire time and nothing weird happened. Evidence to the absence is... it doesn't feel right, even if I know it is.

It certainly explains the invisible nature of the condition. Even after Discovery and enough therapy that we have clear internal communication we still are inclined to pave over any blips. Act like everything is normal, always.

And now all is just as it was, as if nothing happened.

We're back to Stabilization work in therapy. It shall take a while to get back to processing. I do not know what lessons are to be learned from this experience but there is a lot of data points.

All these years and we're still learning how to navigate this annoying brain of ours.

[titanicfreija]

Squirrelly

Thomas watched his young roommate pace, mentally calculating how much heat she was generating by the change in temperature as she moved toward and away.

So far, neither Ghost nor Guardian noticed the pattern. Thomas, home and audience every time, couldn't miss it.

It was always the crucible. She would go in too hard, drain herself until she could hardly remember how to breathe, then come home and build back up.

~

Once she recovered, she struggled to get her momentum back. Sometimes it was discouragement, sometimes it was anxiety, but she would freeze up and stay home.

Freija home with the crucible calling would put her in a state Thomas referred to as "squirrely", where she was hypervigilant and ready to run, and in this particular Sunbreaker's case, feverish in the way a volcano coming out of dormancy might be. She'd escalate until someone could give her enough of a kick to just go.

This run took two recovery days before the buildup started, and Day Three of the buildup had Thomas wondering how much of their apartment was heat-resistant.

"You are going to work the climate control to death," he told her, testing her mood.

"Am I?" She looked toward the device on the wall, then at her hands as if she could see how hot she was. She eventually realized that was silly and gave a cautious poke to the closest wall before she snapped her hand away. Thomas didn't look so he couldn't confirm the scorch marks he expected. "Sorry," the Titan mumbled, lowering her head between her shoulders.

"When are you going back into the crucible?" he asked, hoping that making it sound obvious would help.

"The crucible?" she asked, blinking at him.

"Yeah. You need to go, you're going to melt the windows." He folded his hands over his belly. "Or at least take your heat wave outside, but you really need to go shoot something. Go clean out some Hive nests on the moon, the Vex out of Nessus, I think it's Mayhem in the crucible right now. Just something. You are going to burn the entire apartment to a crisp without a single flame."

The silver Guardian looked at her hands again and frowned, pouting at the Warlock. "Sunny's out and about."

That was an easy fix and she knew it. "Exactly why aren't you going?"

It shouldn't be so annoying, but this was the third time she had done this very thing, it was practically annual. And she still hadn't even noticed. He rocked to his feet and strode across the apartment, and he took her shoulders between his hands, and he guided her to the door.

Freija didn't resist initially, only leaning her weight against him, but she eventually planted a heel, effectively becoming a brick wall. "I worked the anxiety back up," she admitted. "I'm scared."

"It makes perfect sense that someone would be scared of deliberately placing themselves into the line of fire," he agreed, taking his time in the playful pushing war now that she was coming clean. "But you have to go. You know you love it, you know you'll forget all about the fear once you get in there. Go tell Shaxx you need some encouragement. I'm about to line up with Stasis just for the duskfield, you are a living heating element." She let him push her to the door and kindly opened it for them. He steered her into the hallway where he gave a playful shove. "Go before you spontaneously combust!" She took her own weight and turned to face him. He showed her his reddened palms before he shook and blew on them. Not horribly burned, but he certainly felt like he pulled a dish out of the oven barehanded.

"Sorry," she said again, lowering her head bashfully. He pushed her shoulder and she let the force turn her around, and she shuffled down the hall. "Thank you."

The warlock had to use his sleeve to touch the still-hot doorknob. "You're welcome. Don't come back until you've gone through a few matches, please. You're becoming a fire hazard for this entire side of the barracks."

@annieruok94

@wolvereaux

[slasherhoe87]

The Gift

Peepaw Michael Myers x GN Ghostface OC

MDNI

Warnings: Gore, Death, Murder etc

Note: Set during Halloween Kills - only difference is that the Johns do not live in Michael's childhood house. So all HK scenes in Michael's home plays out in another house owned by the Johns.

Blood soaked the ground of Haddonfield once more on this Halloween night.

It seeped into the asphalt of the roads, melted into the wood of aged floorboards, crept into the tiny crevices of tile and concrete, nourished the damp soil of the grass.

Michael stared down at the vacant eyes of his aggressors who littered the road around him - the ever hungry voices within his mind sated. Fat, full and quiet from the bountiful feast he had provided.

Fools the lot of them.

They should have known better.

Rage welled up within The Shape of Haddonfield knowing that he had only slaughtered one instigator of tonight's 'Kill Michael Club'.

Laurie Strode and her kin were still out there. Alive. Unacceptable.

Taking in a shaky and pain-filled breath, Michael took a wobbly step forward and gripped his knife tightly. The anger and frustration vibrating throughout his entire being.

Laurie still being alive was downright mockery at this point. How did she manage to evade death every time Michael finally had her in his clutches?

Michael grunted in both pain and frustration. Laurie can take a dive off a building, get hit by a car or eat his blade - he didn't care, he just wanted that bitch to stop breathing once and for all.

Well, if he couldn't end her ridiculous existence yet, he would hurt her so terribly that he'd break her spirit and heart, hopefully irreparably.

With a limp to his gait and wheezing breaths Michael stalked off towards the house where he had left Karen's daughter with a broken leg. Laurie Strode would die this night, not physically. But he would shatter her.

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Michael's eyes fluttered open. They felt heavy as if he had been drugged. He knew that feeling all too well after been locked up in an asylum for 40 years.

He looked around the room he was in, groggy and confused. He was in his parents' bedroom in his old house. The double bed he laid atop was dusty and moth eaten. The room was dark and smelled stale - it naturally would, after decades of decay and dormancy.

Had he dragged himself to his old home after killing Karen and Allyson? It concerned him that he couldn't remember.

Michael looked at the window which was slightly ajar, letting a breeze in to freshen and cool the room.

It was night - stars glittering and sky as inky black as ever. Yet when he stepped out of the house where Karen and Allyson's lifeless bodies lay the sky was tinged a pale orange and pink, indicating dawn was fast approaching.

Michael then noticed the next strange thing... his jumpsuit was pooled around his waist, his injuries bandaged and seen to. He looked to the old nightstand beside the bed and saw a glass of water and a bottle of Tramadol sitting there, along with a juice box, a store bought pre-packaged sandwich and a bag of mixed candies.

Now he knew why his injuries felt dulled, his head fuzzy and eyes heavy - he had been given pain medication.

Anger rose within him again. Who did this and why? And why couldn't he remember anything?

Who would want to aid the Boogeyman of Haddonfield? Curiosity swam around his mind as he sat up, wincing at the slight pull on a stitch from a particularly deep stab wound.

Hundreds of thoughts ran through Michael's mind as he reached for the candies.

Satisfaction was the leading feeling coursing through his veins. He had taken away the two most precious things in Laurie's life and for once, she could not stop it. Surely this would lead to her letting her guard down? Her motivation to carry on will have been quelled... perhaps she'd off herself and be done with it?

Michael would lay low for a while and then strike. He would not fail this time.

Just as Michael popped a candy corn into his mouth he heard a thud from downstairs which immediately caused him to stand and grab his knife which was also placed on the nightstand.

He perked his ears and tried to listen for any other sounds but all was quiet again - the house once again its ghostly self.

Slowly he crept out of his parents' bedroom and into the dark hallway. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary he made for the stairs intent on ending the life of whoever was in his home. He didn't care if it was his "savior", he didn't ask for or need any help and they would die just the same as all of his other victims.

As he stepped into the moonlit kitchen he spotted his mask, washed and sitting on the counter beside the sink. Michael made a beeline for his second skin. As he grabbed his mask and placed it over his head he let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

He had nearly lost his mask once already the previous night when Karen had stolen it and if it was truly lost to him he wasn't sure what he would do. The mask is as much a part of him as he is to it. Losing it would be losing a very substantial part of himself.

Something large and black catches his eye and he turns to face a body shaped thing in the middle of the kitchen floor wrapped in black giftwrap with red heart prints all over it. A big red bow sat atop its middle, practically begging to be undone.

Michael tilted his head to the side, studying the.... gift.

This must have been the thud he heard. Someone had deposited the body here and left as soon as it touched the floor.

He cautiously stepped forward and crouched down, sighing irritatedly at the popping sounds his aged knees produced.

Placing his knife beside him on the tiled floor he reached for the large obnoxious bow and began untying the ribbons. The more he handled the thing that was wrapped up the more he came to realize that yes, this was indeed an actual body.

Michael's body practically vibrated with curiosity and intrigue.

Clearly this was a gift for him. And again his mind ran with who and why.

With the bow and ribbons now off and chucked to the side he tentatively reached towards the clear strips of tape holding the giftwrap together along the center of the body and started ripping.

The first thing he saw was a blood soaked black blouse, a few buttons missing - having been ripped. Stab wounds gaped from the holes in the blouse and they looked very deep. The stabbings were clearly performed with a lot of force and emotion.

Michael began to pull the wrapping apart again higher towards the face and stopped dead in his ministrations as he came face to face with a now very dead Laurie Strode. His breath hitched and his eyes widened, he fell back onto his backside and took in deep labored breaths at the sight before him.

Thousands of thoughts and emotions ran through him like a freight train.

Laurie was dead.

Laurie Strode was dead.

Her lifeless eyes and bloodied and bruised face stared up at the kitchen ceiling and--- Michael did a double take... not eyes. Eye. He leaned forward and saw one eye was missing, entirely pulled out from its socket. He wondered if it was coincidence that it was her left eye that was missing - as she had damaged his own left eye so many years back.

Who had done this... for him. And why?

This person had succeeded where Michael had failed time and time again.

Michael didn't know whether to be impressed or pissed off.

He didn't care how Laurie died, he just wanted her gone. And now she was. But he had to admit he was ever so slightly peeved that he was not the one to witness the life being snuffed out of her eyes.

He rolled his shoulders and felt as though a weight had been lifted. The thorn in his side had finally been removed.

The woman with supernatural-like luck on her side was finally dead and soon to be buried.

For once in his life, Michael could say that he was feeling something pretty close to happy.

Before more thoughts pushed to the front of his mind the ringing of a phone rang out somewhere in the kitchen.

Swiftly standing, Michael spied a cellular phone lit up and buzzing on one of the counters in the kitchen.

He picked the black device up and squinted at the screen, just like with Karen's cellular phone when Laurie had called her after he had killed her, he didn't quite know how to use it. Did something as simple as a phone have to become so complicated?

Finally he managed to swipe the green button in the correct direction and brought the little piece of plastic hell to his mask covered ear. He didn't speak, but let his deep breathing indicate he was there and listening.

After a few beats of silence a distorted voice greeted Michael from the other end.

"Hello Michael"

Michael looked down at the gift that was Laurie's corpse before he focused back on the mysterious caller.

"Do you like my gift?" the distorted voice asked him in eager anticipation

With Michael feeling such elation at Laurie's death he decided to gift the killer on the other end of the line with using his voice. Something Michael had not done in years.

"Yes" came Michael's soft and raspy reply

The voice on the end's breath hitched and their breathing became noticeably heavier.

tap tap tap

Somewhat startled, Michael spun to face the direction the tapping had come from - the kitchen window.

"Boo!"

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Hope ya'll like.

Part 2? Yes/No?

[fictive-culture]

Hi it’s the Pokémon fictive I’m back again hi hello

I just got hit with a huge wave of missing my home so excuse me while I talk.

My mom (the one who didn’t try to kill me, aka Amber) was/is a Wooloo/Dubwool specialist. We lived together for many years. She found me in Kalos, trapped inside a cave after who knows how many years. She took me home, helped me recovered, and I never left emotionally her side after that. Even when I was traveling the world p, the feeling of always having someone to come home to was very nice, and not like anything if ever felt in years. I was native to Kalos for the most part. Born there after being created, lived there for millennia outside of traveling and such. The kingdoms of Kalos were established, I had been in the atmosphere, sort of in a hibernating state. Unbeknownst to me, gravity had finally pulled me in. Crashing into the courtyard of the castle. The first one who found me was their princess. I can’t overstate our bond that we shared after that. It was like we were siblings, never taking a moment apart from each other. I seriously don’t even remember leaving Kalos during that time. She’d eventually even became Queen, we were together into her late ages. But of course, as all Kingdoms do, ours fell. I ended up retreating into the wilds, invisible to all. The Queen’s daughter had also been quite… not good for a lack of better word. I ended up feeling the need to leave the Queen’s side for the first time since we’d met all those years ago because of her. I don’t think I ever was the Queen again. I never even got to say a proper goodbye to her. I miss her. And for years I would never feel that kind of deep connection to anybody ever again. But Amber was different. She loved me. She didn’t care I was some weird god pretending to be a human child. She’d loved me all the same. As her own. I miss her so much. We have her in the system but we haven’t spoken in a while. I hope she’s doing okay. Anyways. We lived in Kalos together for awhile until she eventually got a place, a house lab with a large pasture, to work and live at in Galar. I moved with her, to her shocking surprise. I really don’t understand if she didn’t think i’d come with her. She was really just my mother. She had already been taking many Woolf specimens back in our home in Kalos, but now she could own all of them and have them live happily, grazing in the pasture fields. She did have a pet Wooloo even before she found me. Frills. WHO eventually did evolve into a Dubwool back in Galar.

Now to I don’t think anyone’s surprise, I was not emotionally stable, and I still am not. Frills helped me through many mental breakdowns and panic attacks. I think you can imagine having somebody searching every corner of the earth to hunt and kill you is not a pleasant thought. Frills, and my Sylveon, spots. I honestly cannot remember when I caught her. Though it was as an Eevee. I named her after her spotted and splotchy fur. They helped me more than i can express. Countless sleepless nights staring out the window in my room, cold air flowing in, trying my hardest not to just leave and burrow myself into the millions of layers of the earth to sleep forever.

I really don’t like the cold all that much. At least when I can’t manage it. Gotta tell you, being crucified on top of Mt. Lanakila in an attempt to be killed and end the world really fucks you up. Thanks, Lyra. /s

I still love Lyra. At least, in recent times. She came into the system awhile back, she was there when Amber went dormant for the first time. I didn’t know that dormancy could be temporary, so I’d really thought I’d lost my mother forever, for the second time. She helped me through it, helped me sleep. Helped me get through the days afterwards. We called a truce. Though it really wasn’t necessary on her part, as she ended coming from a world where she’d stopped trying to hunt me down after Mt. Lanakila.

It’s really a shame she had to do it on that mountain. I loved Alola, but after that I really couldn’t go back to that place. Atleast not on that island. Also, fuck Violet. Not the game. Lyra’s main assistant. I fucking hate her I hate her so much she’s the fucking worst I hate her so much. She was the worst. Worse than Lyra. So much worse. At least after a while in the timelines where Lyra kept trying to hunt me down she eventually stopped trying to taunt or tease me when she’d be about to try and kill or capture me again. But not Violet. She never stopped. I couldn’t do anything about it. I hated her so much and I still do. I don’t think i’d ever be able to forgive her.

I still want to go home. I want my body back I want my powers back I want my immortality back I want my mother again I want my Pokémon again I want my Spots I want my Frills I want my Sligoo. I want my paws I want my ears I want my fangs I want my fur. I had a necklace that reminded me of the one I had at home but I lost the pendant and i want it back. It made me feel happy. I want to see my sister again. Thorn, if you see this later, I want to talk to you more :( I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

-🎀🐾 (sorry if this isn’t the emoji tag I used last time, I keep fluctuating between not using the paws and using them.)

Sorry this got so ventish. If you don’t want to post this that’s fine.

Hi! I'm really sorry it took so long for us to post this but we like to read everything before posting and it took us awhile to read this please don't feel bad about that and feel free to send in more stuff like this :) It's what the rambles are for sharing your story and feelings I do hope that you get to see your family again and speak to them more often and just in general I hope that life is kind to you :)

[homophyte]

plant updates time again!

it was my birthday so i got myself some nice new carnivorous babies!! but first let’s talk about garlic again.

she’s still doing pretty well with ALL that new growth, and again the immature traps seem to be staying so i think the problem was indeed fixed. honestly i’m surprised those two large traps have held out as long as they did, i figured they’d be on their last legs last week! either way i’m very excited about the new growth but a little nervous it’s so slow growing atm. i think it did go through a like, mini-dormancy or something and we’re on the tail end of it now (i hope!). again considering some changes to how i water mainly thinking about just biting the bullet and buying distilled water. i’ve been hesitant because in my area we have really good tap water and it’s been working great so far plus it just seems a waste to buy water from the store when i have it on tap…but if i don’t see more improvement i’ll probably make the switch. i might also make it because i now have TWO more carnivores to feed who have likewise picky tastes with water.

first, here’s my new sarracenia pitcher (north american pitcher plant). VERY excited about this one because they’re native in my area so should do well and in my experience VERY hardy. i’m not quite sure of the species (so many hybrids…) but i’m hoping i’ll be able to find out more when/if the color comes in. it’s in a really tiny pot cause i just got it home but i’m gonna take a more suitable one home fromy job with some more sphagnum and give it some more room. i just think he’s beautiful and ALL the new growth..! accepting name suggestions if you’ve got em.

i don’t think i’ve ever been as nervousited for a plant as i am for this nepenthes pitcher (tropical pitcher plant). this is probably the most difficult to grow plant i’ve ever had in my care but he’s so fabulous…! really hoping i don’t muck it up. my biggest worry atm is for the soil it came in which i don’t really have the ability to supplement atm, best i can do is add sphagnum :(. i know i have it in good lighting (bright diffused, between the windows and not direct) and i’m not too worried about water, but i know they’re SO finicky (flytrap dramatics aside). take a look at these traps + new growth though!

at the moment i’m trying to just be happy i have one. again not sure of the species (SO SO MANY HYBRIDS…) and i don’t have a name picked out so suggestions welcome! i’ll definitely keep updating because i’m ecstatic about my new ones!

[orioncore]

wearing a shirt that says "ask me about my ocs (please)" (the back says "I am actively procrastinating homework indulge me if you dare")

fuck it I'll do it myself here's some stuff

Clarity

My main oc story! this baby is my passion project

fantasy & action yaya

elemental based magic system where (almost) everyone has magic within their souls that is shown through eye color (eyes are the windows to the soul type deal)

story focuses on the country of Aster where a rebellion against the king begins to run rampant, and the main character (Eli (I'll talk abt them in a bit)) has to choose what side to fight for after being given a letter to join the rebellion

there's elemental beings (and monsters!) who the main cast will have to tackle

along with the unsolved mystery behind the god of crystal's dormancy

there's a hell of a lot of queer people (we have token straights here), drama between ex-best-friends, general relationship drama, trauma of many shapes and sizes, and the main character's undeniable feeling of being watched wherever they go

about the main character! (the story will switch between character povs but Eli is still the lead here)

Eli Velle, 17, enby they/she, pansexual

does Not have magic, but everyone thinks they do due to their eye color being a very vibrant blue

despite their horrible treatment at school and in public, they love their parents and their parents love them

very knowledgeable on magic and has a good eye for noticing illusions

full of sarcasm

keeps a dagger hidden in their bag 24/7

I don't have any recent (finished) art of them but a friend of mine calls them "my little creamsicle" because of their color palette so have this LOL

[matriarchofwar]

❛ as long as there is life, there is hope. ❜ — @futureforged

even oversees, the name jayce talis was echoing through cities in rolling waves — not dissimilar to the piercing, prophesying toll of war bells. a harrowing intimation of possible horrors to come. a deep, rumbling whisper of new technology that passed from person to person, varying levels of interest and disregard in every utter; only recently developed — something many would desire to claim as their own when its full potential is revealed; its capability for war, conquest and destruction.

ambessa's interest was only aroused upon the revelation of his whereabouts — piltover. a soft city of craven fools lacking all that was necessary to truly thrive. who favoured retaining their cowardice in a gilded room with their ineffectual prattling in lieu of ruthless strength and merciless resolves.

she believes her ears to be deceiving her when the matter is initially brought to her attention. it was simply not possible for those soft-spined individuals to be competent enough for anything outside of their meaningless congregations to discuss things she can only imagine to be as inutile as the council itself.

the warlord's surprise is carefully concealed following her unprecedented arrival to the city of progress. the moniker brings a sour taste to her tongue — how they boast advancement yet fail to deal with the looming threat only a bridge's length away. the abhorrence at their impotence is not masked, for she finds it unnecessary: she'd discovered shame to be an effective catalyst for action. the general consensus in regard to the stain that was their sister city was poor. that it needed to be quashed, lest another insurrection threaten the pleasent lives they'd grown accustomed to.

yet here she stood, ire dripping from the scowl distorting marred, aged features. arms clad in thick black and red wrappings were poised against the work bench belonging to the man of innovation himself. the one in which she'd heard so much about, who ran his wasted spiel of peace and prosperity on her deaf ears. they are two things which cannot coincide.

" hope? " distaste coils around her words, spilling from her mouth with no attempt to conceal it. he may label himself a man of progress, but all he did was stand directly in its path — unwilling to do what was necessary to ensure their survival.

" that city lost all hope the first time it tried to rebel. " pushing off the table, boot clad feet thud heavily with her sizeable strides as she passes the short distance to gaze from the grand window onto the bustling city streets below. sunlight poured through the glass, the warlord's silhouette looming across the patterned floor in a way that mimicked her mere presence — dark and daunting. hands clasped together behind her back, a deep exhale causes broad shoulders to deflate momentarily.

" you must take the steps necessary to guarantee it does not happen again. " glancing at the seated man over her shoulder, her lips threaten to curl into a sneer. she didn't enjoy babying those who should have enough wits about them to know the implications of dormancy. a lack of action proves nothing but weakness. peace talks and vacillating between mercy or war would have the enemy upon them before they knew what to do with themselves.

" should their next attempt be successful? " still, she does not turn to face him — instead strolling to the blueprint ridden work bench, amber eyes scanning over each paper with meagre interest. " there will be nothing you can do when they're knocking down your doors, killing your people, taking everything that has been built for their own. " conviction almost palpable, a fisted hand slams into the table with the force of her mounting bewilderment; pens rolling from the edge to clatter to the floor, cups jumping and teetering over, spilling whatever liquids they held.

how these ragtag bunch of halfwits are able run an entire city, ambessa will never be able to comprehend. nor will she ever see how this zaun has yet to hold any success in their endeavours — for their opposition were frail imbeciles who couldn't find a resolution to their problems if it were spoon fed to them.

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 11: Unsettled Dreams

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

“Before all of this, a forest lay to the north, and a river which followed the mountains to the east,” Bartholomew explained, gesturing beyond the window and out to the sprawling roil of ash. “I built my lab here to be close to everything. Town roads, mountain paths, harbours. To the west there are more islands.” 

“And what about them?” Lilith asked. “Are they also experiencing storms?” 

“I’m not sure,” the professor replied. “I cannot find signals for their gateways, and with The Core sleeping, there is no way of telling.” 

Violet eyes flickered over the desolate wasteland outside. Lilith couldn’t say she’d ever experienced anything like this, but Bartholomew’s descriptions invoked a land of serenity, balance, and wonder, and she understood why he wanted it back. “Funny how quickly all of this slipped into myth,” she mused. “When my guardian told me of the nine worlds, and gateways to other realms, I took them as stories. But they’re real, aren’t they?” 

“All stories have at least a little truth in them. Some more than others.”

Lilith drifted closer to the window. Through the hazy veil of ash she glimpsed the curve of a giant rib cage, jagged remnants of war reaching for the misty sky. In the back of her mind, her own world’s recent history resurfaced, and she fought against the waves of disquiet. “Has the planet fallen into a sleep before or become unreachable?” 

“Not exactly,” Bartholomew said, leaning his hip on the glass and folding his arms. “The Core, like most sentient beings, needs times of dormancy. When that happens, it is more comparable to a brief nap rather than a deep slumber, and I can always communicate if needed.”

“You’ve never been totally cut off?”

With a mournful shake of his head, the professor peered at the scuffs on his once spotless shoes.

“In theory, what do we do if we can’t wake it up?” Lilith asked. 

“I… I do not know,” Bartholomew sighed. “Myriad would be without its protector.” 

“How?” 

“The Core acts as a central system, scanning the entirety of Myriad. Everything is monitored from here, from localised unrest to warning networks. When the gateways shut down, all became confined to each individual world, but now… you may have institutes of Delorem eyeing the capabilities of Solgarde and they can travel there within seconds. Just as an example, of course.” 

“So we’re talking inter-world conflicts that have the potential to escalate quickly?” 

Bartholomew hummed. “It is not the technology in here that allows me to watch over Myriad; it is The Core. They work in tandem, you see, I designed it that way. In the past, when issues arose, I blocked access to the gateways, but if we cannot monitor the nine worlds effectively, we may be too late to respond to any problems.”

“In that case,” Lilith said, “we had better wake this planet up while everyone is still trying to figure out what’s going on.” 

As she drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin, Bartholomew regarded the soldier within her, disciplined and capable. Mighty beyond her years. And yet a tinge of mercy lingered in her eyes, hidden in the depths of her resolve. Taking a moment to stand in her presence, he realised why he had been warned not to cross the Sunbreak guards on Solgarde. 

A noise of enthusiasm from the stairs diverted their attention from the window. Altair all but bounded down the winding steps from the upper levels and wrung his hands. 

“Professor Spark, your laboratory is magnificent,” he gushed. “I fear I could spend a lifetime in here and still not be able to study everything. Tell me, is that crown on the second balcony truly made of pure starlight?”

“It is,” Bartholomew said. “I helped the merfolk of Aetherdril some… oh, must be eight hundred years ago now, and they practically shoved it on me as a recompense for my troubles. ”

“I look forward to hearing all about your adventures. And your discoveries.” 

“Once The Core is awake, I will be more than happy to oblige. While Commander Cleaver and I are gone, you can peruse the library if you wish. My collection contains some books I think you may find enlightening.” 

“Some,” Lilith laughed. “I guarantee he’ll sink into every page in this room. The only thing hindering him is time.” 

Altair shot her a raised eyebrow. His heart filled with warmth at the responding grin. It had been so long since he’d seen her smile like that, since she’d had a reason to smile, and he wanted to cherish the moment a little longer. 

“Perhaps you could accompany me to assess the situation outside, Professor Spark,” Lilith said. “I’m sure Altair would appreciate some quiet to explore the lab on his own.” 

At her request, Bartholomew walked her to the door. She cast a fleeting glance at the exuberant man she’d known for over a decade, the man who’d fostered her talents and spurred her ambitions, and hoped he’d found his new calling. The stars above knew they both needed it.

* * *

In a measured breath, Lilith closed her eyes and let her power flow into the planet. Trailing her fingertips across the rough and grainy ground, a prickle of unease began to creep up her skin. She altered her direction and slowed her efforts, hushing the restless world with soothing waves of magic. 

From the covered veranda, Bartholomew leaned against the remaining railing and watched the mage at work. Her aura surged, swelling and radiating out into the storm. Soft violet streams embraced her and poured underground. Inside, lightning forked in a blood-red hue, the Eventide and Imperial energy twirling in tandem and amplifying the effects of the other. He’d never encountered a magical synergy like it. Three hundred years ago, he’d have insisted it was impossible for one person to control the strength of two Solgardian crystals. And yet, Lilith Cleaver had managed to prove his theory wrong in a way so remarkable that he had to shake himself from his reverie and remind himself to breathe. 

“I can pick up The Core sleeping,” she said, blinking a few times to adjust to the hazy light. “But the further I try to go, the more difficult it is to detect anything.” 

“Here.” Bartholomew knelt down next to her and pressed his palm to the ground close to hers, tendrils of his own silver magic suffusing through his fingers. “If I enhance what you’re detecting, it might make it clearer.”

Minutes passed in concentrated silence. Ash whirled in clumsy spirals and bumped into their auras. The wails and howls of wind gradually died down until all that was left was the laboured breathing of the world. 

Professor Spark adhered to Lilith’s path and allowed her to guide him, lending her the extra power she needed to access the multiple layers of The Core’s psyche. “I would not attempt to get through that way,” he advised, as they hit a blockade. “Try the other route. That’s it.” 

“What was that?” she asked, brows pinched. “It wasn’t coming from The Core. Is there something else there?” 

“I am not sure,” he replied. “Carry on and see what else you can find.”

At the end of their trail, they reached a clump of inky clouds, pulsating and writhing like the heartbeats of a wild beast. Every instinct screamed at Lilith to retract her magic and never attempt such an undertaking again, but the professor held with her, bolstering their efforts. “It’s like a nightmare,” she said. “Is that even possible? Does The Core dream?” 

Bartholomew hummed and nibbled at the inside of his cheek. A nightmare was an apt way to describe what he detected within his beloved world, yet a dread prodded at him that silently spoke of something deeper. Something darker than any nightmare could ever be. 

“There is a link between the storm and the troubled dreams,” he said, reaching a little further to correlate his theory with the findings. “I have a feeling the situation up here is creating the nightmares.”

“I’m getting that too.” Gently, so as not to disturb the slumbering world further, Lilith withdrew and rose to her feet. “I couldn’t pick up exactly what the nightmares were. Did you?” 

“No,” Bartholomew replied, pushing himself up and wiping the lost grains of ash from his trousers. 

“Is that something we should worry about?” 

“Not that I can tell. Whatever The Core is seeing, I do not believe it pertinent to our current predicament.”

“At least that’s a positive,” Lilith sighed, shimmying the wrist straps on her fingerless gloves to take them off. Barbs of red and faded lilac blotches stuck to the skin between her fingers. Angling away from the professor, she shook them loose. “Sorry. Old mage habit. So many students end up in the medical bay with bruises all over their hands because they don’t check for residual energy after practice.”

When she slipped off her vambraces and pushed up her sleeve, Bartholomew spotted a littering of faint streaks. The smudges of ghostly white almost blended in with her natural complexion, but the pale pink hue on the borders made them more distinct. She itched them with a grumble and caught him looking. He quickly diverted his gaze, squinting out at the storm. 

“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I’m luckier than some.” 

“It is easy to forget that centuries of history have passed me by while I was asleep,” Bartholomew admitted. “Outside, so much has shifted, and yet in my head it still feels like everything is the same as before. But wars have been fought and won. Rulers have risen and fallen, and civilisations have changed.”

“If we can settle this storm, The Core may wake up,” Lilith said, “and then, you’ll be able to watch a new era thrive. I know I’d rather see peace than more conflict.” 

“Then we have our mission,” Bartholomew declared, adjusting his glasses. “Are you with me, Commander Cleaver?” 

A smile tugged at Lilith’s lips, and she accepted the outstretched hand. “You’re offering me an adventure. How could I refuse?”

* * *

“How did it go?” Altair asked from his seat by the holographic map of Myriad. “Any good news?”

“The storm is keeping The Core asleep,” Bartholomew said. “If we can settle that, then with some luck, it will wake.” 

“Only problem is we’re not sure how to get rid of the storm,” Lilith added, dropping into a wheeled chair and slipping her vambraces back into place. “There must be a book or something in here with an answer.”

Ruminating on the thought, Bartholomew surveyed the lab, looking upon the numerous bookcases that filled the first and second balconies. Although he owned many volumes on strange weather phenomena, he couldn’t recall any containing information on storms like this. To get the answers he needed, he had to look further than his personal collection. “I doubt my books will provide a solution, but there is one place that might just have something.” 

Long, purposeful strides carried him to the monitors, and he keyed in a series of co-ordinates, mumbling to himself as he scrutinised the data. “The Core’s moon holds the largest library in all of Myriad. If the information we seek is going to be anywhere, we will find it there. Ah… it appears we may have a problem. The library gateways didn’t trigger when you activated the others, but fixing it should not be too difficult.”

Bartholomew crouched down by the hexagonal podium and unlocked the panel underneath. He inspected the inner workings and unhooked some tools from his belt, motioning for Lilith to move closer. “Those wires at the side,” he said, pointing to a clump of cables with his screwdriver. “Can you push them back for me and hold them?” 

She cautiously inserted her hand into the opening and shifted the wiring aside, making sure her digits weren’t in the way as he began his task. “I always thought the gateways were powered by pure magic. Seems weird to see the inside.”

“Shall I explain how the mechanism works?” Bartholomew offered, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. 

At the eager nod, and Professor Bevan’s curious gaze lifting from behind a heavy tome, he tapped on the first connector box. “This here is the coupler motor, which connects to the navigation system. From there, it feeds into the Eventide crystal, and signals the output. That contacts the desired gateway and prepares for transportation. The issue here is with that communication. To link up to an inactive gateway, we must boost the signal. Small gateways like this seldom possess the capacity on their own.” 

He swapped out the slender cables and proceeded with his explanations, providing them with a comprehensive summary of the whole system and the fundamentals of temporal travel. “Naturally, there is more than just that,” he said, shutting the hatch and viewing the readings, “but that is the basis.”

“Do you have any books in here on the gateways?” Altair questioned. 

“Dozens. They should be on the second balcony bookshelves, right at the far end. Although you are free to peruse my personal research while Lilith and I are away. You’ll find some files in the middle drawer of my desk.” 

Altair’s face shone with delight and his eyes gleamed. “That is extremely kind of you. Thank you.”

“Hate to interrupt this heart-warming moment,” Lilith said, “but if you two are finished patting each other on the back, we’ve got a job to do.” 

“Of course,” Altair replied, surrendering with a chortle. “You’ll soon discover, Professor Spark, that Lilith is no stranger to adventure. Once she has it in her grasp, it is quite difficult to persuade her away from it.” 

Lilith’s eyebrow arched, and he strolled back to the winding staircases, his excitement to explore the pages and records of times long forgotten lingering in his faint smile. 

Bartholomew took his place at the console by the gateway and input the code to the library. Lines juddered and what should have been a steady flow fluctuated. 

The mage observed him wordlessly. His brow furrowed, and a disgruntled noise rumbled in his throat. “Another problem?” 

“No, nothing that will hinder us,” he said. “Once the situation has been rectified with The Core and the storms, I will teach you how to operate the gateways properly. As a catalyst, that knowledge is your birthright.”

“A catalyst?”

“One who holds the power to control the gateways. How do you think you opened them in the first place? It is in your blood.”

Mumbling instructions to himself, he tried another method, and the frequency settled into a low hum. He let out a short ‘ah’ in triumph and spun to the waiting woman. “Come on, commander. No time to waste. We have a planet to wake.”

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 3 - The party scene

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an upper-class residential Virginian neighborhood, monogamous values rarely get broken. A dangerous serial killer chooses to lay into dormancy exactly there for the next five years with his latest victim. Or for as long as it takes to catch him. Two highly trained and widely different agents go undercover, posing as a married couple to scope him out and make the arrest. They’ll be nothing more than professional for months, working under the same roof.

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of both Haley and Jack being killed by Foyet.

A/N: I feel the need to explain what a recovery brew is, because I don’t think most of you actually know what it is, since it’s Danish beer slang. But... It’s a term that we use for a beer the morning after you’ve been out drinking, and it’s supposed to help you recover from your hangover (which it actually does :))

Masterlist

Gif credit: @ropoto​

You woke up to the sound of chirping birds outside your window. Waking up in the Hills was so much different than waking up in your own bed. Maybe it was the thought of not having to walk more than a couple of steps before you were “at work”. Maybe, it was the Disney-like princess life you’d always dreamt of. Or maybe, it was just the fluffy plush sheets you’d been entangled in all night; having gotten the best sleep you’d had in a while. Your peaceful morning was disturbed by the sound of backfiring from the exhaust pipe of what could only be a car that didn’t fit into the neighborhood. Rolling out of the bed, you slipped on a pair of fuzzy slippers, you’d found in one of your boxes last night and pulled a robe over your outfit. Before stepping out on the balcony, you smoothed down your hair, not wanting to give off a bad impression to the neighbors that surely would be investigating the almost unbearable noisy spectacle that was waking everyone up early in the morning.

The morning breeze washed over you, making you feel refreshed as you stepped outside. Down on the street, you noticed an old, rusty, pale blue Volkswagen beetle parked, it looked like something you’d see rusting away in a gutter somewhere, abandoned by its owner, but perhaps it once had been. 

Martha had come out on her porch to investigate too. You made eye contact with her, quickly fluttering your hand in a wave, politely acknowledging your newfound “friendship” from yesterday before you watched her stomp over to either reprimand, hopefully, Corbin, or welcome them to the neighborhood. You watched as a thin, red-haired woman stepped out of the passenger seat of the beetle. She looked taller than you, her hair was pulled into a low hanging bun and her fingers clad with rings. She turned around as Martha approached. Anna. Which could only mean that Corbin was still sitting in the driver’s seat, either waiting for Martha to leave or for Anna to signal him to come out. At this point, you were sure that he had groomed her to some extent, making sure that she wouldn’t try to run or scream for help.

When it felt safe to leave the balcony without drawing too much attention to yourself, you stormed down the stairs and into the living room, practically jumping down the stairs and landing with a thud on the floor.

“Over here,” Aaron called in an assertive tone, having watched you frantically look around in confusion when you hadn’t found him sleeping on the couch like you had thought he’d still be doing.

“How long have you been up?” You questioned, scrunching your face in confusion, seeing him fully dressed, his hair still damp from the shower he had tiptoed past your sleeping form to get. “They’re here! And Anna’s with him!” You exclaimed, interrupting him right as he opened his mouth to answer your first question. Aaron could feel the slightest tint of anger starting to bubble within him. He hated being interrupted. Especially, by you.  You did it so often that sometimes he wished you were outfitted with a button to silence you. Or a muzzle, at least.

“How are they fitting in?” Aaron saw his cut to break into the conversation. His tone was as stoic as ever, in fact, you wouldn’t be able to tell that he was more relaxed than he had been in years. More relaxed than he had been since Haley and Jack were taken from him. There was something about getting away from everything, from the majority of the team, somewhere so secluded that he had no choice but to stop stressing over everything and everyone he was responsible for at work. It was not his responsibility now, at least not while he was working on this mission.

“They aren’t. The most “Emerald Hills” they look, is Anna, she’s glammed up with golden rings and a little tight-fitting dress. If I’m not wrong, Martha’s jealous of her. I noticed her husband peeking out from behind the curtains of their kitchen. He couldn’t keep his eyes from her boobs. Corbin didn’t show himself yet, but they drive this disgusting-looking rusty beetle. If it hasn’t happened yet, people will start talking. I don’t think he cares that the car doesn’t fit in. But it’s so far off of his MO that there must be something deeper. He overthinks everything too much to just waltz in here with a crap car.” You rambled. As much as Aaron hated to admit it, he felt his lips slightly twist into a smile as you were looking away from him. He couldn’t help it, seeing how enthusiastic you were doing your job. He remembered how he’d been when he first started out in the bureau. How different he had been back then, how young, dumb and naïve he had appeared to his superiors at the time. It was crazy how civil you were able to act towards each other when alone, or at least when work consumed at least one of your minds.

“He might be becoming disorganized, but that would be very unlikely when he's about to become inactive. We don’t usually see that change in this stage of the unsubs behavior,” Aaron recalled, pacing a little while sipping the glass of water he’d been in the middle of pouring when you’d entered the downstairs area.

“He could be on the cusp of going insane. Maybe his childhood trauma finally caught up to his receptors or neurons, whatever sets his sails... DON’T! I’m not Reid. I have no clue how the brain works.” You raised your voice as you noticed Aaron subtly laughing at you when you had mentioned the workings of the brain. Finding it hilarious that you had no idea what you were talking about. Aaron almost spat his water out trying to control himself. “Whatever.” You grumbled, getting up from your seat. You knew he would never take you as seriously as he did JJ or Reid, even Anderson seemed to be more credible to Hotch through your eyes, and he was constantly annoyed by the agent. It hurt that he never even had told you something as simple as a “good job”, but then again, you’d probably fed into it as well, being at each other’s throats all the time, constantly barking hurtful things. You couldn’t lie if you said you were over what happened last night, it hurt, a lot. Hearing those words, yelled at you by the person you had once sought approval from felt absolutely horrible. But you pushed those feelings to the side, they had been cried about once. You didn’t need to do it twice.

Michael Corbin and Anna hadn’t shown their faces since they arrived yesterday. You were sure that the angry stares from the neighbors had been enough to make him hide away for the rest of the day, trying to lay low until he was simply another neighbor. For the most part of the afternoon, you had spent it working on the reports, writing down every single detail you’d managed to sniff out from your brief glimpse of the two and your talk with Aaron. At one point, Martha had shown up, already thinking that you were the bestest of friends. She wanted to talk about her new next-door neighbors, how loud their car was, how rancid he looked compared to her. For all you could tell, Martha was only willing to let Anna live in the area, but you simply sat and nodded at her statements, giving her pointers and inputs on her statements about the pair. Without realizing it, Martha gave you great knowledge on Corbin that could go straight into your work, but of course, you knew you had to discuss your findings with Aaron, get him in on the ordeal to make sure that he didn’t mess things up if he got with the boys alone at some point. At this point, you now knew that Anna’s name had been changed to Michelle Smith, making you believe that she was posing as Corbin’s wife and that one of the rings on her fingers was a “wedding ring”, perhaps even a souvenir from one of his previous victims.

You were sitting on the vanity counter in the bathroom, applying a thin layer of makeup as you made yourself ready to go to Martha’s welcome party. You were happy that she’d let it slide that they were in fact attending. At least you didn’t have to doll yourself up for nothing. The gentle splashing of Aaron’s shower filled the room, none of you were talking, feeling awkward for needing to be in the same room when you were getting ready. And although Aaron had been done with his shower minutes ago, he waited for you to leave, not wanting another fight to unfold between the two of you, not when you had to be on your best behavior all evening. It was better to stay neutral with each other for as long as you could, knowing that you would have to caress, maybe even kiss each other to keep up your act of being newlyweds. You were the hardest to convince when it came to how public you wanted your “relationship” to appear.

Slipping into a sleek rose color midi dress, you were almost ready. The satin enhanced your bosom, while also accentuating the shape of your butt, making it stand out to the people behind you. Aaron walked out of the bathroom, still drying his hair with the towel as you were slipping on a simple pair of nude heels, with a low heel. You caught a glimpse of him, he was only wearing a pair of boxers. You could sense the outline of his cock through the fabric. Quickly looking away, you didn’t want to stir any attention to where your gaze had been focused. You just hoped and prayed that Aaron hadn’t been paying any attention as you grabbed your clutch, the same rosy color as your dress, and left the bedroom.

It didn’t take longer than five minutes before Aaron was ready. Dressed in all black, his polo hugged his bicep, making him look beefier than someone supposed to appear ten years older than they really were. His leather shoes looked glossy in the light, well-taken care of, and overall like he had just bought them. Which at first you thought was the truth, until you realized that these were Aaron’s personal shoes. He checked the time on his watch, the silver Rolex resting comfortably on his wrist.

“Time to go.” He confirmed, walking towards the front door, he opened it, waiting for you to walk out first, like a gentleman, but in all, you knew the neighbors would be watching and that this was an act to convince them of your status. You waited for him to lock the door behind you, feeling his hand on the small of your back as he led you across the street to the Walton’s place. Martha was ecstatic to see the two of you, you were by far overdressed for the occasion, but something told you that no one minded it, in fact, they all looked pleased to see you setting the standard higher than their expectation of you. 

You were pranced around amongst the other residents of the Hills, politely greeting them with a handshake and exchanging names that you were sure to have forgotten in the morning. Or at least forgotten who they belonged to. It was probably better to just let them pass and be apologetic about it the next time you had an encounter with them. Martha presented the two of you with glasses of alcoholic beverages, already staking the night up to be a cocktail party, without the dress code. Taking a sip, you instantly tasted the fresh, fruity, almost pear-like taste of an elderflower, mixed with what you assumed to be some sort of citric fruit. You almost couldn’t taste the alcohol in it, except for the burning after taste. Martha had definitely mixed too much gin into yours. Or the whole batch if you were to guess. The passionfruit wedge was a nice touch, you thought, gently sipping the drink, trying not to get too drunk to keep up with your work. But, soon the first cup had been drunk, which was noticed by Martha, who came up with another one for you. They were delicious, you couldn’t lie about that, and as the night progressed, you got more and more intoxicated from the number of drinks you’d had.

Aaron had made his way out into the garden, where you were sitting with a bunch of the wives laughing about something. You looked angelic in the moment, happy. He smiled at you, watching you scrunch your nose when you laughed, genuinely listening to the people around you as they told tales of their lives.

“You’re a lucky man, Nick. She’s a beauty.” A guy, Sam, Aaron recalled, as he strode up beside him, patting his shoulder. They had a short conversation with each other in the upstairs office. Martha’s husband, Jerry, had wanted to show off his collection of taxidermy animals from his hunting trips. Especially the birds caught his eye, he instantly thought of how outraged Gideon would’ve been if he had been alive to see this, how he would’ve been at Jerry’s throat accusing him of something outrageous.

“Yeah, she is.” He sighed. Aaron was calm, at least until he noticed your enlarged pupils, seeing you sip at what he could only recall being your third drink, but there was something about the way you engaged with the other women, that told him that he was way off his count. He confidently made his way towards your circle, silently eyeing the woman next to you, asking if he could have a seat next to his “wife”. She complied, scooting to the side, probably not complaining about the big hunky man sitting next to her. Aaron gently took your glass from your hand and sat it down on the table next to his. You snapped your head to look at him, your pupils fully dilated to the point where you couldn’t tell what color your eyes were. Thankfully, you stayed silent. Aaron had been sure that the biggest whine would slip from your mouth, that you’d fail to keep your real identity hidden and call him everything under the sun that wasn’t either Nick or Aaron. At least he could try and pass up his real name as his middle name if he was lucky.

“Remember how you get when you drink too much baby? Can’t have you stay in bed all day tomorrow with a hangover.” Aaron played into the role of playing your husband, splashing a pet name of endearment in, pulling you towards him, he let you lean your head on his shoulder. His hand was wrapped protectively around your waist, almost with a bruising strength compared to how little of a struggle you were putting up. Aaron noticed the quiet awes and whispers around him. Some were even staring at him with a hungry look in their eyes. He thought back to what you’d mentioned about Martha on your first night, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about how much of their attention he was getting. 

Anna and Corbin didn’t make much contact with the rest of the party, Aaron had kept an eye on him since the moment he sat down next to you, feeling your drunken state immobilize your training. Aaron had strategically emptied his drink down the drain, changing it out for a can of sparkling water he found in the fridge. He managed to make it look like the drink he had received from Martha, hours earlier when you’d arrived. Corbin looked nervous like he didn’t want to be there, constantly keeping Anna within reach. He didn’t make much contact with the other residents, it was hard not to notice, they mostly stood in the shadows, his hand wrapped harshly around her waist. Aaron noticed how hard he had been holding you, loosening his grip up a bit as he heard a small whimper leaving your mouth. It was barely audible, but it was enough.

“What is it, babe?” The nickname rolled off his tongue, it felt so natural to say it, so… pleasant. You stared up at him through your blown-out pupils, barely able to form a coherent thought in your head, until you remembered why you’d made a sound in discomfort.

“My stomach hurts Aar… Ouch!” You whined, feeling him pinch your hip swiftly, apprehending you from revealing his name to the rest of the group you were sitting with.

“Come on, let’s get you home then. Poor thing had too much to drink.” Aaron directed the last part to the group, apologetically furrowing his brows as he stood up from his spot between you and the woman drooling over him. Aaron deemed that there was no harm in leaving the party, not when Corbin acted the way he did. It was dark and cold, and truthfully, he was tired after everything that had happened the past couple of days. He managed to gather you in his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carried you through the party, nodding a brief goodbye to Jerry. Who only send him a knowing smirk back, probably thinking that he was taking you back home to bend you over the back of the couch in the state you were in. Aaron didn’t deny nor confirm anything to Jerry. Knowing that you’d probably go off on him for pinching you if he knew you right.

“Hey! You up there? Tiger?! Can I have kissies?” You asked innocently as he stepped out on the street with you in his arms. Aaron had never in his life thought he could hear something as cute and cuddly coming from your mouth as he just had. He stopped in surprise, amused at your sudden change in nature, purely based on your intake of alcohol.

“If I’m a tiger, what are you then? A bunny?” He quipped, gently putting your feet down on the floor as you entered your house. Aaron couldn’t help but grin when he watched you nod your head madly in agreeance with his words. He was sure that you’d be pissed if you had seen yourself right now, the way you looked so vulnerable up at him in the moment, probably would’ve let him bend you over without a fight if he had been that kind of man. “Well, will the bunny hop off to bed then, cause the tiger is very tired and they have to work tomorrow.” Aaron’s voice had gone soft, like the tone he had used on Jack when he was alive, before Foyet, before the tragedy. It was his dad voice. You stared up at him through heavy lids as you barely were in a conscious state. The hint of defiance that usually burned behind your bright orbs was nowhere to be found. You didn’t say a single word before scurrying off to bed, giggling. It was the first time he had heard you giggle like that. So… carefree. So… pleasing. Whenever he’d heard your giggles, they didn’t last for long, merely caused by a joke or something you’d just watched, but never something as genuinely pleasing as the way you sounded right now. Aaron followed you up the stairs, wanting to grab a clean change of clothes and his pillow before heading back down to the couch.

“Where are you going. I thought the tiger was tired?” You peaked out from underneath the covers. “Stay here?” 

“And you won’t be mad in the morning when we wake up in the same bed together?” Aaron quirked his brow, watching you dwell on the thought for a split second. You couldn’t have been thinking about it any less than you did. And Aaron knew that, if you’d been rational, you would’ve bid him goodnight and good riddance as he stomped down the stairs, hurting his back by sleeping curled up on the couch. Reluctantly, he scooted in on the side that you weren’t occupying. Facing away from you in an attempt to make this less awkward in the morning. You were fast asleep before he shut his eyes. He listened to the soft sounds of your breathing, in and out, they calmed him, lulling him to sleep quickly too.

Waking up, you felt something draped over your waist, holding you tight. Upon turning your head an inch or two, you spotted Aaron’s face, nestled in the crook of your neck. He was snoring lightly, dreaming even by the way he sometimes pressed you closer. You felt disgusted, instantly flipping the covers away from your body, making sure that nothing had happened last night. You knew you’d fucked up, letting yourself accept one too many cocktails at Martha’s party. You barely even remembered seeing Corbin and Anna there, at all. Hopefully, Aaron had made some observations, so the night wouldn’t be wasted after all. When his grip loosened around you, you managed to slip out of the bed. Feeling the pounding in your head as you managed to stand up. Finding yourself in the bathroom, you desperately searched the cabinets, looking for the closest thing to a pain killer you could find. At this point you didn’t even care if you managed to get your hands on a recovery brew, knowing that it could effectively ease your hangover, maybe even cure it if you were lucky. You groaned in frustration, finding the cabinets empty. You hoped that you hadn’t woken Aaron up with all the noise you were making. Not ready to face his mocking smirk before you’d at least taken care of your headache.

The kitchen was to no avail either. How could Cruz plan this whole operation, down to the smallest detail, and then forget something as simple as paracetamol? You winced as the doorbell rang, quickly glancing at the clock hanging in the kitchen, it was eight-thirty in the morning, who was up at this hour, except for you of course. With heavy, dragging steps, you opened the door, quickly smoothing your hair down with your free hand as you were met by one of the women from last night. You didn’t remember much about her, except for the fact that she lived next door.

“Hi?...” You greeted, trailing off in hopes of her mentioning her name again.

“Camilla.” She confirmed, smiling at you before walking inside as you moved away from the entrance, offering her to enter. “You went pretty hard with the drinks last night, sweetheart.” Her posh British tone was almost condescending as she took a spot at the island, her handbag placed in her lap as she pulled both her legs up on the bars of the stool.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t give off a bad impression. Martha just kept handing me drinks, you know.” You explained, hoping that she wasn’t a stickler for rules and that she’d be able to look the other way, but then again, you didn’t really know her, at all.

“Don’t be sorry. I thought it was quite nice actually, gave the rest of us an excuse to keep drinking. Our husbands usually don’t let us have that much to drink, it was a wonder you got as far as you did before Nick stopped you.” She giggled, even her laugh sounded posh and proper, you felt like a sewer rat compared to the women constantly surrounding you. They had all seemingly grown up in or around the likings of rich people. Living in lavish mansions, never working a day in their lives. Most, if not all, had probably inherited their fortune. Meanwhile, you’d grown up in a tiny apartment with your parents, living day by day as you tried to make ends meet. It had been a living hell, having had to walk a newspaper route at the earliest possible moment you could, helping support your family to the best of your ability.

“Nick stopped me?! I’m sorry, I barely remember anything from last night, except the first hour maybe.” You smiled, trying to push your genuine surprise away from the conversation, hoping that she hadn’t caught onto the slight panicking tone. Hotch surely wouldn’t have stopped you, unless you’d been a danger to the mission, had you?

“Yeah! It was so sweet. The way you clung to him afterward. You looked so in love. I’ve never seen anybody in this neighborhood look as happy together as the two of you did. He even carried you home when you started feeling a little sick. What a gentleman.” She explained, visibly swooning a bit at how Aaron apparently had treated you last night. 

Speaking of the devil. You heard the weighty steps of his coming down the stairs. Only dressed in a simple grey t-shirt and his boxers. He yawned as he stepped into the kitchen, his body finally feeling well-rested after having felt the scrumptious sheets crinkle around him all night.

“We have company.” You lightly tapped his chest with the back of your hand, startling him for a second as he snapped out of the trance he had been in. Aaron caught the hint of annoyance in your tone, shooting a glance up at Camilla to see if she’d caught it too, her eyes were only trained on the two of you, how pure your relationship seemed. If only she knew.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll go change right now.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not bothering me. Besides, your wife is still in her PJs too.” Aaron was about to mess up. His trail of thoughts immediately went to Haley, perplexed by how she could still be dressed in her pajamas when she wasn’t even alive. “And I won’t be staying too long anyways. I just wanted to pop by to check in on Amy, see how she was holding up. Seems like the two of you had fun last night.” Camilla smirked, hinting at your bedheads with a single nod. “You’re a nice, fresh change to the neighborhood, don’t let the originals tell you otherwise. Us “newcomers” all adore you.” Camilla left as quickly as she had arrived. Leaving you surprised, your eyes wide from the pure terror that you actually could’ve slept with Aaron last night.

“Did we!?” Your voice was lowered, as you subtly yelled at him after having closed the door behind your new friend.

“God, no! I would never!” He furrowed his brows in disgust, matching the tone you’d given him. “And don’t you dare hit me in front of our neighbors like that again! They could get the wrong impression of us already!”

“Take a chill pill, Hotch! It was only a fucking tap, no one is going to think that I’m abusing you. Not after we apparently "looked like the sweetest couple last night" according to our next-door neighbor. You could’ve been a little more thoughtful about how you stopped my consumption of liquor because now all the wives think that, YOU, are as controlling as the rest of the men around here. And is that really what we’re going for, sir?” You hissed at him. Mocking his authority as your boss. For all in the world, you wanted to scream at him, wanted to punch your fist against his chest at the stunt he had pulled last night, making it seem like you’d been tangled in the sheets all night, making sweet, sweet love to each other. And the fact that both your hair looked the part, the rumors would soon spread. “I hope you at least got some good intel on Corbin.” 

“You know what? I don’t have to answer to you. You fucked up! You drank too much. Figure it out yourself! I’m going for a run, and so what if all the women around here are drooling over me. At least I know who I can cheat on you with if we ever need to stir up some drama.” You didn’t hear more from him the rest of the day, barely seeing him at all. After he had left the house to go on his run, you’d been sitting, cross-legged on the couch, thinking about what he’d said. How he’d tracked back to the argument you’d had on your first night. And the truth was, none of the men seemed to have an eye out for you, which could potentially, as Aaron had mentioned, be a problem if you needed the trouble in paradise to appear all of a sudden. Somehow you found yourself imagining what it would look like if he suddenly went for Martha or Camilla. He would look so misplaced in a relationship with them. Sure, Martha was closer to Hotch’s age than you, although she was older than he. And Camilla was a posh prissy, who could turn any committed guy into his own homewrecker with a single syllable rolling off her tongue.

Your eyes had been scanning over the files for the bigger half of the afternoon, trying to figure out what it was that was so off about how Corbin acted around everyone. At one point, you’d even thought of calling Cruz, asking him to send in Reid already, you were sure that the genius could crack this in an instant. But sending him in now? It would look weird to the other residents. Barely having moved in and gotten situated within the circles around you, and then your fake brother arrives, also needing to fool everyone around him that the two of you are siblings, when you look nothing alike. Something told you that you’d have to come up with a diagnosis for him, maybe autism or ADHD, to make it more believable to everyone. Reid would flip, you could almost see it before you. He’d go absolutely insane, like that time Morgan had given out his number in a press conference just to annoy the doctor. But maybe that was just what was needed to really convince your neighbors, maybe Reid did need to have his buttons pushed a little. Get him all riled up and angry. But you had to wait, wait for the right time, now was too suspicious. Too early.

“I’ve got a chance!” Aaron slammed the door behind him, startling you as you hadn’t heard him enter at all. He was covered in sweat, chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing. He pushed his hand through his messy mop of sweaty hair, waiting for your response. When you turned your “full” attention to him, he finally finished his sentence. “I have a chance to close in on Corbin! Tomorrow afternoon!”

@bitchwhytho​ @ashhotchner​ @ssahotchslover​ @witchybitch2​ @wheelsupkels​ @red-red-rogue​ @katiehall99​ @mintphoenix​ @slytherinprincess00​ @skylar666​ @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91​ @cheyxfu​ @hotchnerxo​ @rousethemouse​ @itsemohours​

[botanyshitposts]

my Cephalotus finally has big enough pitchers for me to feed her her first meal!! i gave her a dead fly I chopped into little bite sized pieces and put in the pitchers with tweezers, and a droplet of distilled water in each to help stimulate her digestive glands!! she's getting so big guys omg

[umbralsound-xiv]

Prompt #10 - Channel

Character: Little Bird The Indigo Deep, Present Day

Imperceptibly tiny footsteps walk on the sound of worn metal in the darkness. Her pace is slow; slower than it had any right to be.

The usual thrum of the ship had fallen into silence. With no aether to power the engine, every light flickered into a dim dormancy; every door open, the air clinging with the remnants of the sickly sweet toxin, deprived of it’s stores. Now, only the sea keeps her company.

“And we’ll go where the wind takes us, to sea, to sea ♪ For there are lands of bounty a plenty, to see, you’ll see ♪”

The quiet, wavering sound of a sea shanty accompanies her footsteps. It helped to keep her in relatively high spirits, but even her usually unshakable cheer had begun to falter.

The Locket had never been so quiet.

There were no reports to write. No monitors to watch. Nothing to clean or repair.

“For a ship is nothing without her crew ♪ So come aboard and sail with us, across the briny blue ♪”

The doors lay open to what few private chambers there were. She does not go inside. But passing glances as she made her way down the corridor were filled with sorrow.

One room posessed a single bed, unmade; and an incredibly worn and tattered rug that might have resembled a sheep, long, long ago. Most of the fluff had been torn out, and it was barely fit for purpose, but it still remained. A broken compass settled on the desk, along with a small pile of maps and parchment.

The next was considerably tidier. The bed made to perfection. A single chair. A single desk. The only mark that gave it any sort of personality were a sole pair of shoes perched atop a folded piece of cloth, suspiciously placed on a windowsill next to a half-melted candle.

And the next...

...She stops. It reeked of alchemy and horror. The pale pink paint had flaked at the walls; no one would have known the colour should they have not seen it before. A small hand slowly smooths over the edge of the door, but she dare not go in. It was hers, once.

A room she had gifted to another out of kindness. She hadn’t felt the need for sleep for years, now; it was unnecessary. So for a young boy of fifteen cycles, newly plucked from the horrors of the world, it was the very least she could do.

His name was Alastair. But no one ever called him that, now. Father always gave them the option of a new name; a new start. Most opted to take it, even if not immediately.

He didn’t speak for months. Never a word of the horrors he came from. Father said that he was the only one who survived the ordeal, but none dared to ask. His recovery was long, and agonising. But eventually, a cure was found for the horrible disease that would have surely claimed his life many cycles ago.

Part of her wished it had. A frown crosses her features, for even daring to think it.

Others joined the crew, in time; their quiet little seafaring family soon became a bustling ship of people. Several infants required round the clock care, and without hesitation, he thrust himself into those duties with a newfound sense of purpose.

The first was a girl. They were not sure she would make the night; so extreme her disfigurement was. But she did, and every sun she got stronger. When she was old enough to take her first steps, he even made her first set of prosthetics. They were inseperable.

The second, were twins. Old enough to walk and talk, but young enough to not know what horrors had befallen their home, Father quickly took them in without hesitation. As they grew too, into children and then into and beyond their teens, they had always viewed their older ‘brother’ with such adoration. No matter their questions, he would always have time to answer. Were it not for his pointed ears and darkened hair, it would have been difficult to deny.

Little Bird leaves the door, and makes for the room at the end of the corridor; windows illuminating a slumped, barely breathing form on a Captain’s chair in the moonlight. A tiny hand takes one of the gargantuan fingers, as she presses her face against, it, tears flowing down from beneath her mask... Which joins with a rivulet of blood from her nose.

“...It won’t be long now, Papa.” She whispers. But there is no response. There had not been for weeks, now.

The boat was adrift; it was only a matter of time before it ran aground.

Little Bird casts her gaze out of the window, then; only endless sea in front of them, basked in pale light.

And quietly hoped she could see land one last time.

[garmgeyr]

”Heh, that’s the spirit,” Gallagher commends. He’d listened to her circle through her theories without offering any input of his own. Whether she wanted to think of him or Dormancy as Death didn’t much matter to him when the outcome was the same. Likewise, whether one thought dream was reality or reality was dream made little difference to him. As long as it could be experienced, who could say it wasn’t real? That she was on her two feet, grousing about the rain and her gracious guide, should be proof enough that she was still alive.

Perhaps just not in the way she’d gotten used to.

They still have a walk to go. The rain-slicked street smeared in the bleary light of decrepit lamps remains devoid of any other sign of life. Even the dumpsters that sit at the edge of every alleyway have been emptied, and the signs and posters plastered to the brick walls are faded to the point of illegibility.

”This city is home to all sorts of people starting over, just like you,” Gallagher continues, attention on what’s ahead. He almost sounds like he’s lying with how silent the streets are, but if Chiori were to look up at the towering skyscrapers the hem them in, she’d catch sight of warm yellow light flickering on in a window or two. “Some of ‘em have no way of going back home. Some of ‘em never want to go back home. Of course, she’s not showin’ her best face tonight, but rain’s got a way of making anywhere feel cold and lonely.”

It’s then that he glances back at Chiori again, and it becomes clear that he doesn’t seem like he’s getting around to answering her real questions. Or maybe he’s simply forgotten them in his drunken haze.

”What’s something you’ve always wanted to be?”

sleepie times

[circulars-reasoning]

Summer System Education Week!

Today’s prompt: System Communication and Innerworld!

Hope you’re okay with a simpler post today. I’m low on spoons and it’s been a rough one.

Innerworld Shit:

Our innerworld is incredibly complex while being completely straightforward.

It started as a round, grey room with golden circles on the floor. There was a white door that led to Rice, and me and Sierra would just take turns at the “fronting screen.”

Once Sie and Numb formed, the circles got a use. Whoever was in the middle-most circle was fronting. If a switch was incoming, that alter would move up a circle, until they were then in the middle, and the one who had been there moved back.

After some really fucked up shit in high school, the entire system just. Blanked out for awhile until College. We've got next to no memory of the last two years of high school, and the start of college is blurry.

Once we all came back from that big ol' dissociative barrier, the innerworld had expanded a lot. We were still in this huge circular room, but now there were two hallways. Those two hallways somehow connected back to each other, despite the fact that they went off in different directions, but whatever, innerworld physics and all. Down the hallway was the bedrooms (which all looked the exact same), but also a locked white door. That door was mine. It's heavily trauma related, cause I'm a trauma holder, so yeah I'm not going into that shit in a tumblr post lmao. Let's just say I went there when stuff went bad.

As time went on and we got better at talking to each other, our innerworld shifted some. The first big change was the jukebox, and the fact that oh shit there's walls now? Yeah that was a big stunning one, cause the "circular room" was just kind of... nebulous before that. Now there were concrete grey walls.

Once Deb came back from dormancy, a window opened up to the outside, right where she planted her garden. There's a whole city out there, though we don't know how to get to it.

Once LED formed fully, Sie and him got the Pillow Pavillion! It's this little wooden pavillion with pillows all under it. It's super great and cozy and all their toys are there and I stay there a LOT to play innerworld Stardew.

Curtis and Numb got their bedroom together, but it still looks the same as the normal ones. But when me, Deb, and Sierra all hooked up (me with deb and deb with sierra), our bedroom got expanded and changed CONSIDERABLY. Sierra's got her vanity mirror in there (it's fucking ridiculous) and our bed got MUCH bigger. Softer too (fuck you numb)

Once Ve formed, we got a cloud layer above the main room, where she lives, and has a goddamn TV. Wtf.

Now, the most up to date version of our innerworld features: The main room; Rice's room; Numb and Curtis's room; Me, Deb, and Sierra's room; bedrooms enough for like a million more people (plz no); the pillow pavillion; Deb's garden; Ve's cloud layer; Tavi's forest AND his library (WE STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO ACCESS THE FOREST AND I AM UPSET WITH THIS FACT); Roy's weight room (and apparently, just learned this, he's sharing that with Avery, so that's nice).

Whoo! That's a lot. Onto the next topic.

System Communication

We've always been baller at this. Okay, not FULLY true, but we've always been better than most. We like to refer to our system as "always co-conscious" because. Well, we're always a LITTLE BIT in the headspace at all times. No matter what, I can turn inward and see what everyone else is up to - unless they are VERY PURPOSELY blocking me out, or unless they're Rice.

Back in college, it was a lot harder? We had much higher dissociative barriers then, and we really saw ourselves strongly as multiple different people. Now, we've grown a lot, and our dissociative barriers are a lot further down, meaning we can see each other much better - we're all parts of a whole, and weirdly enough, that's made us so much more individual than we used to be. It's almost like not having as much amnesia between switches means we have more time to figure out who we are. Who knew? Lmao.

It's always been a little funny cause... A lot of the resources I've seen are stuff like "how to communicate with your alters better!!!" And I'm like. "Got that one down, next issue: how do I shut them up?" And uuuuh I usually just get a "that's unhealthy >:" in response. Which is frustrating but valid. But also, I see a lot of resources for systems who get frontstuck a lot, or systems who struggle more with amnesia between switches, rather than just amnesia always. And for us... We've ALWAYS been able to switch more-or-less on command. And that's always been a concern for us, because so few systems we meet are able to do that, and usually they say they can only do that with a lot of therapy.

For us, we talk to each other, and we figure out who's best to switch in. This happens about 85% of the time - the other times being triggers and such. Back when college started, that percentage was MUCH lower, but we were also super stubborn about "getting our time to exist" back then. Nowadays, we just... exist in the innerworld when not fronting, so it's fine.

IDK where I'm going with this - but it's technically Day 4 already, and I"m tired, and this has gone on for awhile. Just some thoughts for today's prompt!