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pkg4mumtown · 3 days ago

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Saturday Night Spooks

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Spencer and the team invite you to a Haunted Manor.

Content Warnings: alcohol, GN!reader (no Y/N), strong language, first person POV, canon-typical injuries and violence

A/N: 1 of 2 entries for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Autumn Air Challenge. No art this time (crying), I’m so swamped with grad school, that I don’t have the time and my first attempt was awful lol.

Also available on AO3

I packed my backpack as the academy course I was forced into teaching ended. I zipped up the last pocket and looked up as I heard footsteps approaching the desk. I internally groaned but looked up with a smile anyway thinking it was an NAT coming with a question.

“How can I—oh, Spencer—thank God,” I laughed and shook my head. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just wondering how the trainees are treating you,” he smirked mischievously.

“Of course,” I rolled my eyes. “You should be asking how I’m treating them.”

Spencer pursed his lips, laughing under his breath, “I actually came to ask you something.”

“Something that couldn’t be sent via text?”

“Ah, well I picked up lunch downstairs and—”

“—And you wanted to see my reaction face to face?”

“And…yea,” Spencer grimaced sheepishly. “You’ve also been ignoring our texts.”

“Alright, out with it,” I urged as I shrugged my bag on.

“W—uh—some of us were going to a haunted house—er—manor in Roanoke on Saturday night and I was wondering if you’d join us. You know, take your mind off—”

I sighed heavily, scratching my eyebrow and trying not to look annoyed. I knew, and Spencer knew, that I couldn’t lie to him face to face because he’d call me out immediately.

“—Yea, yea, I get it,” I rubbed my jaw with my hand tiredly. “Yea, okay. Who's going?”

“Me—um—Penelope, JJ, maybe Emily, and Derek hasn’t confirmed yet. Rossi said, ‘hell no’.”

No Hotch?

“Ok, just text me the time.”

“Will do,” Spencer gave me a satisfied grin before just about skipping from the seminar hall. A stark difference from the hesitant steps he took coming in here.

I left the hall and locked up, silently hoping that his lack of mentioning Hotch meant the senior agent was too busy rather than Spencer lying to me. Though, with how suspicious Spencer was acting, I couldn’t be certain either way.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, prompting me to quickly check it as I made my way to the elevators.

Penelope: Bought your ticket. See you Saturday ❤️

Reader: See you ❤️

They sure worked fast.

Yawning, I entered the elevator and hoped traffic was light. Not that I’d be so lucky. Checking my watch and sighing, I tried not to think about the incident resulting in the awkward relationship I currently had with the BAU.

I'd had some frequent run-ins with the BAU over the years, enough to be friendly. The frequent specialty consultations when I was teaching at the Academy surely helped. The fact that I befriended Spencer and Derek quickly helped even more.

The last couple of weeks I had frozen them out intentionally and knew they could feel it if they sent Spencer in to crack the ice. They knew what caused it—it wasn’t exactly a secret—but I’d hoped they’d wait a little longer before confronting me.

I had been consulting on a case with them when we suddenly cracked it wide open. We all descended upon a run-down building where the unsub was holding his three victims. We were not at all prepared to cut them out of their bonds, let alone while the building was on fire. As soon as we entered the building, smoke began gathering heavy in the hallways, leading us to where the victims were trapped among the flames.

The flames had eaten through the room quickly, making its way up into the rafters and making the ceiling unstable. I was no firefighter, but the situation obviously screamed danger.

Most of the team split off to catch the unsub as soon as he was spotted, leaving Hotch, Spencer, and myself to free the victims.

We were wildly outmatched.

Several broken pieces of wood and bent metal later and only two of the victims had been freed. One could walk on his own and the other used Spencer as a crutch out of the building and to safety.

More pieces of debris fell from the ceiling—larger more structural pieces—that set off alarm bells in my head.

“You need to go! I’ll get her!”

“We both need to go!” Hotch commanded back through a cough, gripping my upper arm.

I barely gave his stressed expression a glance before I was back to work on the victim.

I wasn’t leaving without her.

The frame she was strapped down to was unbearably hot and I couldn’t hold it for more than a second without it burning my hands. Giving up on freeing her, I used strips of material, mostly broken cardboard, to loop around the frame and drag the bed frame and her out.

The air was hot and heavy with smoke and despite trying to shield my mouth with my sleeve, I was getting lightheaded fast. Hotch couldn’t stop coughing and frankly neither could I, but I wasn’t going to leave her.

A sharp snap and creak from above me made me involuntarily look up. Before I could shove Hotch backwards toward the exit, I felt his hand grip the back of my vest and yank me into the doorway with him.

Bastard.

I watched helplessly as a beam came crashing down where we once stood, sending embers everywhere. The victim didn’t even scream in terror, likely passed out from smoke inhalation, blood loss, and exhaustion.

Snarling despite my coughing, I shoved Hotch off me and used what little adrenaline I had left to lift the scorched wood off the frame and send it crashing to the floor. My cardboard strips were long gone, so I tore my tattered dress shirt sleeve off and tied it to the frame, hoping it would hold on long enough to the hot metal to get us to the exit.

By whatever higher power existed it held and got us to the staging area where the fire department had just pulled up and EMTs were already working on the other victims. Derek was leading the unsub to a police cruiser while the rest of the team checked out Spencer for any damage.

Upon seeing us emerge from the flaming building, the team rushed to Hotch, who brushed them off for the time being. Firefighters came to free the victim from the frame while paramedics took over assessing her condition.

God, I hoped she’d make it.

I moved to step around Hotch who purposely stood in my way. I was forced to stay in place by a firm, aggressive fist gripping the front of my vest.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch growled. He wasn’t one to scream and humiliate his team in a public display, but I knew he was pissed by his low tone.

I clenched my jaw, knowing nothing good would come out of my mouth if I opened it.

“I gave you an order to evacuate.”

“Respectfully, I told you to go first, Agent Hotchner, considering you’re a father and all.”

Well, there went that.

I could feel the team staring at our pissing match, their eyes bouncing between us.

“You are not special here. I am the senior agent on this case! This is my team! Everyone here is my responsibility!” his voice raised uncharacteristically, cueing me in to just how pissed he was.

“I—”

“I expect my orders to be followed. Am I clear?”

“I think—uh—”

“Am. I. Clear?”

“I think you’re going to need a new consultant from here on out, SSA Hotchner,” I held my chin up, refusing to deflate under his pressure. I wasn’t even mad about the public berating, having much thicker skin than to let that get to me. It was the realization that he was absolutely right, and I refused to admit it. The realization that I almost got him and myself killed aside from whether this last victim would survive the trip to the hospital or not.

I stripped my vest off hastily and stormed past him until paramedics stopped me. After getting my burned palms loosely wrapped, I settled into one of the SUVs to wait for everyone else to head back to Quantico.

After an awkward drive back and silence from internal affairs for a couple of days, I was finally assigned to another round of Academy seminars as punishment for the rest of the year. Because being at the same location as the agent I just had an argument with was such a great move. Despite that, I didn’t mind being attached to the Academy rather than the D.C. Field Office, as it was actually a nice break from cases.

I was conflicted about the entire altercation and not just because of the alleged insubordination. OK, confirmed insubordination.

I had, rather unfortunately, been friends with Hotch until that point. We could overlook my raging crush on the man. Which, in hindsight, may have made the screw up hit harder but I’d never admit it out loud.

Spencer offered to pick me up and drive to the haunted house with Penelope and JJ, but I declined. I preferred the option to leave at my own discretion if the incident was brought up.

I pulled up to a shady looking street that would have had me clutching my sidearm on duty. The only indication that I was in the right area were the cars lining the street.

Street parking it is.

Spencer: We’re still in JJ's car. Waving you down.

I didn’t take me long to spot them after I parked and jogged over to the car, where the three of them were exiting the vehicle.

“Derek's almost here. Emily is running late, she said to get in line without her just in case,” JJ informed me as I greeted them.

Before I could get a word in, I was immediately gathered in Penelope's arms and hugged tightly.

“Oh my gosh, it’s been forever! I missed you!”

“It’s only been a month,” I scoffed, laughing as I hugged her back.

“Shut up,” she gave me one final squeeze. “You’re not even dressed up!”

I glanced down at my clothes, which were overwhelmingly black while the three of them were dressed in varying levels of Halloween celebration.

“Black is…in theme…” I stammered. “I didn’t know.”

“Hush,” Penelope took charge, unraveling something on her wrist. I heard a noticeable snap before she was grabbing my wrist and slapping a slap bracelet on my exposed skin. It was nothing gaudy, just a simple pumpkin but I smiled, nonetheless.

She reached back into the car's backseat before reappearing with cups.

“Baby girl…” I heard as Derek approached.

Another over enthusiastic greeting later and Penelope finally finished her goal, handing everyone a cup of mysterious liquid.

“The Penelope Special,” she raised her cup.

“It smells like a misdemeanor,” I chimed in, looking around to make sure we were hidden by the SUV.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Derek bumped my shoulder with his.

With a quick toast, the Penelope Special was consumed and warming our insides already. I was grateful since the brisk air had started permeating my clothes while we stood there.

“Should I be worried that I smell the alcohol more than I can taste it?” I asked, smacking my tongue briefly against the roof of my mouth.

“Probably,” JJ cringed in realization. “Definitely the only one I’m having. It was good, though.”

The cups were rounded up and returned to the plastic bag they came in and placed back in the SUV. With the car locked, Penelope spun around and clapped her hands.

“Onwards!”

We walked in the direction of the building, Penelope leading the way with Derek and Spencer on either arm.

“Have you been okay?” JJ asked with enough sincerity that I would have felt bad for deflecting.

“Yea, can’t complain. Hotch didn’t throw me to the wolves as bad as I thought he would and my hands are just about healed up, now.”

“Mm, second degree burns?”

“Yea, a few blisters but they’re mostly gone now.”

JJ was quiet for a second, “You know he didn’t rip you a new one to be a dick, right?”

“I know.”

“So, then why—”

“—No offense, I know you mean well. I just would rather not get into it when I’m supposed to be ‘taking my mind off it’, according to Spencer.”

JJ gave me a sympathetic smile and nodded, “Sorry.”

I threw an arm around her shoulder and returned the smile, letting her know it was okay.

Once we had our tickets scanned, we entered the courtyard. There was a line looping in the courtyard to get inside, likely to keep the pacing of the experience. Luckily, there were actors, live music, and a fire dancer keeping people entertained. We didn’t have to wait longer than thirty minutes before we were at the front of the line, but Emily still hadn’t arrived.

Just as we were being ushered inside I heard Spencer shout, “Emily! Over here!”

I turned to look in the direction he was yelling, but couldn’t see through the line behind me. Whether she got to us or not I was uncertain as our group was immediately plunged into darkness with only neon-colored arrows to guide our way. I was hyper aware of Spencer's hand on my wrist at the beginning, but that soon ended as our first obstacle came into view.

“We have to do what?” I heard Penelope whisper shout among all of the screaming and terror around us.

“Just crouch, baby girl, you’ll be fine.”

It was a simple tunnel, meant to make us crouch and filter through one at a time. Annoying but effective. Spencer and I went through first, immediately meeting actors with chainsaws and bloody medical attire on the other end. Once everyone was through, we kept going and I continued trying to find Spencer’s wrist in the dark.

I turned my nose up as we passed certain set ups, not wanting to know how they managed to make each room smell like a different pile of sweat and shit.

I was surprisingly okay, jumpy of course but that was natural. Spencer and the others were having fun and laughing at each other, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the building was far too similar to that case a month ago—minus all the fire.

My moderate “okayness” flew out of the window as I was cornered by an actor, since I was further in front of the group than the others. I cursed to myself but kept my hands balled to my sides to not accidentally lash out. My friends giggled, urgently whispering “go, go, go—” as they scurried passed me and the actor.

Traitors.

The actor let up after a few more seconds of uncomfortable space invasion. I jogged past him, hoping to catch up to the group when I felt a warm hand on my wrist. It was too loud to hear as chainsaws revved to life around the corner but figuring that Derek was probably glued to Penelope’s side, I assumed Spencer had doubled back for me. My brain was too overstimulated to take in much else, too busy warring with a fight or flight response to focus on anything but exiting. I readjusted the grip on my wrist, twisting out of it and clasping Spencer’s hand instead.

There were only about ten minutes of the experience left before I felt cool air flowing in larger quantities. I sped up my steps upon realizing that the exit was close. As we exited, we were fully greeted with the cool autumn air and my body slacked knowing I finally could rest.

A laugh bubbled up from my throat and I squeezed Spencer’s hand as I turned to face him, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, you ass—.”

I stopped my backward steps as I realized the hand in mine was too hairy and the fingers too thick to be Spencer. My eyes quickly drifted over a burnt orange sweater, up a tall frame, to meet eyes with—

Hotch.

My jaw tensed immediately, realizing that I was right the other day. Spencer did lie to me.

As my ears adjusted from the chaos indoors to the calm and quieter outside, I heard laughter not too far from us. I turned my head to see the team looking our way. As soon as I locked eyes with them, they immediately turned away. Realizing I was still holding Hotch’s hand, I ripped it away and shoved it into my pocket as the chilly air got to it.

“A team effort coercion scheme? Why am I not surprised,” I scoffed.

“Wait—,” Hotch took a step forward. “Look, I was in the dark as much as you were, okay? I only realized you were here when we were in there.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion at him, making him smirk a little, “Your hand feels different than Emily’s. I’m surprised you couldn’t tell the difference between mine and Spenc—”

“I was busy trying not to hit anyone.”

“Right,” Hotch forms a harsh line with his mouth.

I can hear the team trying to hide their laughter again, making my face heat up. I knew it wasn’t malicious or with the intent to embarrass me, but I couldn’t help it.

“You guys meddle way too much,” I called out in their direction as I rolled my eyes. “Good night,” I nodded to Hotch and turned around to walk in the direction of my car. I spared a glance at the team, who had since stopped laughing and now wore the equivalent expression of a chastised puppy on their faces.

I immediately heard Hotch call my name and sped my steps up, though not enough to cause a scene. I could hear his efforts to catch up without looking like a total creep and admired his tenacity for a second until I realized we were almost at my car and he’d surely corner me then.

“Can we talk before you leave? Pleas—.”

Taking a deep breath, I turned as I reached the passenger side of my car, staying on the sidewalk with my back facing my car. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively as he skidded to a halt, trying not to crash into me.

I looked at him expectantly as he gathered his wits. Hotch closed his eyes briefly to center himself before making eye contact with such an intense gaze that I wanted so badly to look away.

“I’m sorry for lighting you up like that,” he apologized. When I didn’t react, he formed a pinched look on his face. The tension in his forehead loosened after a moment, “But, that’s not why you’re mad.”

“No.”

“Look,” he sighed. “You have to know that if I left you there, you would have been in the hospital, too, or worse. Dead.”

“Yea, I know,” I pursed my lips to the side and sniffed reflexively.

“Well, then—”

“I’m just mad, okay? I can be mad for not being fast enough in getting everyone out,” I threw my hands up.

Hotch’s shoulders sagged, “You can’t blame yourself. She’s still alive because of you.”

I stayed silent, my jaw trembling and threatening to unleash the emotions I’ve kept bottled up. I clenched my fists, trying to stop the trembling by nipping at the inside of my cheek.

“She’s okay,” Hotch stressed again, hesitantly placing his hands on my shoulders.

I shrugged his hands off explosively, “Yea, well you almost weren’t!” My chest expanded heavily from the outburst as I stepped into him angrily, “I knew that ceiling was collapsing! I could hear it and you wouldn’t fucking listen to me. I wasted time and it nearly crushed you, too!”

Hotch’s mouth was slightly open, but nothing came out. My furious eyes searched his surprised ones and before he could catch up with my words, I turned.

“I need to go, have fun with your team,” I dismissed him, rounding the front of the car toward the driver’s side.

“Stop,” he finally spoke up. “Just stop for a second,” he gently pushed me against the door of the car.

“I swear to God, Aaron, if you don’t get off me—.”

He disconnected his body from mine but brought his hands up to my face. His voice was just above a whisper, his throat too unsure and wobbly for anything louder than that, “I’m okay.”

“I—”

My voice cut off as a couple tears finally made their way down my cheeks. Before I could think to wipe them away, Hotch caught them with his thumbs. I grabbed his forearms from the outside, unsure if I wanted to push them off or bring him closer anymore.

“I was so—”

“I know,” he stressed, and I finally realized how glassy his eyes were with tears, too.

I squeezed his forearms, finally making up my mind and surging toward his mouth while pulling him toward me by his forearms. There weren’t any “fireworks” like books describe, just an overall sense of peace as my wet cheeks met his. Hotch’s hands stayed on my face, guiding me along slowly rather than hesitantly. There was a lack of urgency, taking the time to feel every brush between us. With a shaky exhale, he finally separated for a half of a second.

When it looked like he was going to speak, his phone rang from his pocket. He sighed heavily as he read the name and answered it, not stepping away. My hands found each other, since his arms were busy, wringing my fingers together absentmindedly.

“Yea. Yea, okay. Okay, I will.”

He ended the call and thrust it back into his pocket. His hands found my waist as soon as they were free, his eyes looking for any reaction to say I wanted him to stop.

“They’re—um—we’re going to dinner. Will you come with us? If you want…”

I swallowed my nerves, taking a second to wipe my face, “Yea.”

I settled my arms over his shoulders as he leaned back in, taking my bottom lip between his own. I felt him pull back after a moment and pressed into him to continue the kiss.

I felt him smile and let out a laugh at my insistence, “Are you done ignoring me?”

I sucked in my lips, sheepishly nodding as I remembered several calls of his that I ditched after the incident.

“I—uh…” I laughed at myself, running my thumbs along the base of his neck. “Can I use this to bribe you into a guest lecture on how profiling can use behavioral patterns to narrow down geographical locations?”

“I’ll think about it,” he scoffed playfully. “Get in the car.”

Thanks for reading! Once again shamelessly plugging my Hotch playlist below.

#mentioningmargins #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #gn!reader #hotchner x reader #my art #hotchner x you #Spotify #Fic: Saturday Night Spooks

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the-music-maniac · 22 hours ago

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This is one that ended up way longer than I would've liked but the brainrot has reached concerning levels.

Brief mentions of sephgen, sephgeal, sephzack, multishipping, spoilers for crisis core, rebirth etc. etc.

I've begun realizing the longer I traverse the various pages of FF7 fanworks that when I say I ship Sefikura, the romantic/sexual aspects of it don't matter as much to me as the emotional catharsis of it. And I say this because I feel like sefikura is often used to explore one specific type of fantasy/smut/kink etc. There's a portion of people who like the ship because they like exploring how fucked up it is for post-nibelheim Seph to try to make Cloud into a puppet - this is usually (not always) accompanied by size difference kink, sub Cloud dom Seph, etc. And while I personally despise that characterization common in that interpretation of the ship, it's still valid, cause y'all should be able to explore your own fanfics however you want. An "Ew. Oh well, none of my business." kind of deal.

I would like to make it known though, that as a Sephiroth fan I kind of hate domroth. Block me if you must, we can just agree to disagree lol.

My interest in Sefikura stems mostly from Sephiroth. I'm gonna shamelessly admit here that while I love Cloud as a character, he doesn't intrigue me as much as Sephiroth does. And I know I'm biased cause he's my favourite, but I get easily stuck on characters who were abuse victims that became villains because they gave into their demons, characters who managed to stay kind, up until they were so beaten down they snapped, characters who I think have redemption potential, even if it wouldn't be easy to do. Which can be the case with Seph both pre- and post- Nibelheim.

Post-nibelheim is a LOT harder to write convincingly, seeing as how he actually did fuck up like. Everything. And his victims don't have to forgive him. Not Cloud either, even though I am writing a post about sefikura. The redemption is more about personal improvement, rather than forgiveness. But it's really interesting because a Sephiroth that even has a chance at redemption post insanity, is one who is a mix of before and after. He still has all that rage inside him from how he was treated by humanity, still has visions of annihilation and delusions of grandeur in his head, but he also remembers that he used to love, that he used to have companionship, scarce as it was, and cared for the well being of the soldiers he lead, etc. How does he get to that point in the first place, and how does he deal with it after? With the warring that is likely occurring from those two sides, the festering resentment of knowing he was given so much less than he should've been, knowing that he had a human mother, but since he IS closer in capability to a god than a human, does he think he's a monster because of his heritage still or because he gave in? Does it even matter at this point, what he is? And what will he do, now that he has a portion of his humanity back (however that occurred) and isn't just purely Jenova? How does he deal with knowing that even in the depths of insanity, he still just didn't want to be alone? And of course the turmoil on Cloud and Co's side, usually some flavour of, okay so repeatedly killing him isn't working, I'm tired of fighting him every couple of years, I still have the responsibility of making sure he doesn't fuck everything up again, and of course the hatred they understandably feel for the shit Sephiroth has done. And as Sephiroth kind of fights to recover some semblance of identity and understanding of himself (without destroying anything), watching that occur and knowing objectively that your enemy didn't deserve what he got when he was a child, that a part of what occurred was after he was pushed to that degree - even if you subjectively can't make yourself feel it at the beginning. And then as the story progresses and characters undergo development, Cloud likely wrestling with the fact that he actually is starting to understand Sephiroth's predicament, realizing Seph can be so very human at times. And dealing with the worst sin/betrayal of all, enjoying his company for his company's sake. A Sephiroth that gets through that and finds some semblance of contentment is meaningful because it would take a mind-boggling amount of hardship and work to get there. And tbh here's where the bias comes in - it's what I would say is a happy ending for everyone. I know people would disagree, a lot would say Cloud and Co getting rid of Seph is good riddance, why should he get a chance, why should they have to deal with him, etc. hence why I acknowledge this is biased - but a happy ending to me is one where everyone else gets to stop fighting Seph and move on with their lives and Sephiroth actually gets to live the life he wanted when he was a child. I won't ever be entirely satisfied with FF7 canon for this reason (true of any tragedy). Nothing that happened to him pre-insanity was fair. So. Catharsis.

As for "redemption" of pre-nibelheim Seph, I read time travel fix-its when it comes to sefikura cause I find it more interesting. For anything pre-insanity that involves canon divergence without time travel, sephgeal, sephgen, sephzack, shipping, platonic or poly makes more sense to me, cause those three are positioned better to help Sephiroth in a meaningful way. Also I personally do think Cloud is a little too young for that then (even if I'm also convinced he 100% had a celeb crush on Seph. Which is also not what Sephiroth needs at that point).

So, for sefikura, pre-nibelheim redemption usually involves Cloud getting yeeted back in time, either by the planet or by choice, to stop things before any of it happens. Cloud usually believes he has to kill Sephiroth, so he'd likely be in close proximity. So how would he deal with seeing, first hand, all the ways that Sephiroth was isolated and dehumanized in Shinra? Cloud still hates him at this point, for good reason. So he's here, witnessing not only Sephiroth being a kind/decent (awkward) human being, but also the lab visits, Hojo being Hojo, being paraded around for propaganda, the effect the "betrayal" of the other firsts likely had, Sephiroth being straight up depressed and malnourished and overworked, hearing whatever lies were fed to control him when he knows the truth. How does he deal with the moral repercussions of killing a technically innocent man? Especially when he realizes that a little support and compassion could've changed the outcome entirely? And Sephiroth on the other hand, now stuck with this persistent stranger that doesn't treat him like either an emotionless weapon or a legend, but some secret third thing (is he trying to kill him???? Can't tell, mixed signals are happening). Cloud would also likely help take Sephiroth's mind off things by virtue of existing - not because Sephiroth particularly cares about Cloud at the beginning (why would he, they're strangers) but because Cloud is fucking weird. Not a soldier, still mako enhanced, angry/aggressive at him in particular and seemingly frustrated about it, history that doesn't match up to current behaviours, etc. Hell, Shinra would likely even order Seph to keep an eye on Cloud. Meanwhile Cloud is desperately fucking with the timeline to ensure everything ends up differently, and accidentally becomes some sort of support for Sephiroth in the process. Because while everyone else was so fooled by the propaganda surrounding their hero, leaving him alone to his own devices (despair and depression), Cloud knows that his attention should be on Seph right now. And I don't think he's the type to just leave things alone out of spite if Seph where to, for example, stumble out of the lab, half delirious from Mako, because of one of Hojo's whims. There's also the question of whether Cloud would know to help with Angeal or Genesis' degradation, which could help either clear up some misunderstandings between Seph and his friends, or just ensure that Seph doesn't lose them at all in the first place.

And if Sephiroth were to find out/be told the truth, about his mother, or about the future, HOW is he gonna react to that???? Knowing that okay, so my heritage isn't actually that of a monster, I have human DNA, but ended up snapping and trying to destroy the world anyways - once again, what does it mean to be a monster, and is he one already, if he hasn't even done all of it yet, technically? In this timeline he's likely closer to Zack, maybe close to Cloud, potentially has met Aerith, maybe Genesis and Angeal are still alive, so he's more tethered by a support system, so how would that change his viewpoints? Would he feel guilty? Does that send him into a worse depression?

Sefikura just tends to give me emotional catharsis when it's written like that, because it gives Sephiroth the opportunity to mourn what he should've had, and gives him a fighting chance to change it. It's someone else being shown the decades of neglect, how deep the hypocrisy of Shinra actually went, the systemic abuse, acknowledging all of the bullshit Sephiroth went through before Nibelheim. It's him breaking out of other's expectations of him, Jenova, or Hojo or whoever else, and getting his childhood wish to just be normal. Like Angeal said (quoted loveless I think) "and what do angels dream of?" "Angels dream of becoming human."

This is also why I find very little enjoyment in reading domroth sefikura. Sephiroth isn't someone who reminds me of that type of personality, before he went crazy. He seems like a very awkward, calm and even sometimes soft dude in his downtime. He's literally just some guy. We don't see a lot of his personality because he was trained (tortured) into believing anything other than perfect control is weakness and failure. I don't think he would have any sexual experience. I think he's depressed, and exhausted and alone and is just very good at hiding it. I don't think he even wants or needs sexual intimacy necessarily, so much as he needs someone to feel safe around.

Anyways. This is. Way too long now. Goodbye.

#final fantasy vii #ff7 #crisis core #ff7 rebirth #sephiroth #sefikura #sephzack #sephgeal #sephgen #cloud strife #Multi shipping #sephiroth ff7 #sephiroth crescent #professor hojo

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heylittleriotact · 20 hours ago

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𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵:

The initial contact with a funeral home when a passing has occurred to arrange the transfer of the body from the place of death.

He got it: it wasn’t every day the Viscount of Kirkwall strolled into their sleepy little inn, but did they all have to rise deferentially?

“No need to roll out the red carpet on my account.” He adjusted Bianca’s strap on his shoulder, making his way through the room of standing people. “Just passing through for a drink and a ghost story.”

In other words: The story of how Varric recruited Rook to the cause.

A violent gore filled horror fest 🩸

Full under the cut or on ao3

He got it: it wasn’t every day the Viscount of Kirkwall strolled into their sleepy little inn, but did they all have to rise deferentially?

The patrons of the inn exchanged wary glances, but one by one they all sunk back down to their seats and resumed their conversations - though the odd look of curiosity was thrown his way now and then.

Heaving a sigh, Varric made his way to the bar and helped himself to a seat. Only one other person sat at the bar: a tall, gangly elf with a bare face and a mop of messy black curls, had to be in his mid-thirties. A chipped wine glass sat in front of him, along with a nearly empty bottle of wine that Varric knew was an expensive vintage.

He was the only person in the inn that hadn’t stood up.

Varric ordered a whiskey (neat) from the innkeep and slipped Bianca over his head, resting her against the bar at his feet, in reach should he need her.

“What business brings you to Wrenwith, Master Tethras?” The innkeep - a stout older man with a ginger moustache and little other hair - asked, sliding the measure of whiskey over the wood to Varric.

Varric brought the short glass to his nose and inhaled - paint-thinner… just the way he liked it. He was grateful that at least the innkeep hadn’t insisted on dusting off something expensive and fancy just for him.

He took a sip and hummed at the familiar burn on the way down, and the warmth that spread in its wake. “You thought I was kidding about the ghost story, didn’t you?” He chuckled and arched a brow when the innkeep visibly paled. “I know, I know: why would the Viscount of Kirkwall personally drag his famously lazy ass here in person just to stick his nose into a bit of trouble with the undead?”

“If it pleases Your Grace to know: we’ve already got somebody looking after it.” The innkeep babbled. “No need to burden the city coffers with our humble problems.”

He was nervous - didn’t want to say too much. Wanted him to finish his drink and hit the road.

“That’s the reason I’m here: I caught word that this ‘someone’ is none other than a Nevarran Mortalitasi - one of their Mourn Watch, in fact.”

He was absolutely making this guy squirm for the hell of it… just a little. It only stood to reason that hiring a professional who belonged to a mysterious and ancient order of people who liked to play with dead people and spirits might be frowned upon by Kirkwall’s authority.

The innkeep swallowed hard, the guilt on his face suggesting that he may as well have personally been the one to hire the Watcher. “She said she could kill it, Your Grace. Permanently. No funny business or anything!”

The elf a few seats down, silent until now, snorted into his cup of wine. “Nothing ‘funny’ about that one, I’m afraid.” Emerald green eyes flicked up to the innkeep and a smarmy grin spread over his handsome face. “I was here when she came in: got a face like hewn granite and the disposition to match.” He turned on his stool to face Varric, still looking rather like the cat that had eaten the canary. “Doubt she’ll take kindly to you trying to run her off her work - even if you are Viscount.” His eyes roamed up and down over Varric with a haughty scrutiny that reminded him so much of Chuckles he was tempted to yank on his hair and see if it was a wig.

“That fearsome, is she?” Varric probed. “I heard she was a Reaper. Can’t say I’ve ever met one, but I have heard that they take their authority over the dead pretty seriously.”

“I wouldn’t want to piss her off.” The elf smirked and downed the rest of his wine, refilling his glass with the dregs of the bottle and tapping it with a fingernail to indicate to the innkeep that he’d like another.

“You’ve… you’ve been in here all day, ser, d’you really need another whole bottle?”

If it was true and the elf had been drinking all day, he looked pretty damn sober to Varric’s eyes.

The elf adjusted the lapels of his road-worn leather topcoat and rearranged his long legs under him. “I’m on holiday,” he drawled. “I think I deserve to indulge a little.”

“Holiday, huh?” Varric swirled his whiskey. “Whereabouts are you from?”

There was an unexpected coolness in his eyes and a tightness to his smile when the elf answered, “Nowhere.”

Varric shook his head and turned back to the innkeep. “Listen, I actually came here to talk to our macabre friend: can you tell me where I might find her?”

The innkeep nodded once, “Cemetery, Your Grace: end of the lane, take a right. Can’t miss it, can you? But… are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait? It’s nearly midnight, and the… being… she hunts is vicious.”

Varric tossed back the rest of the whiskey and waved a hand. “Bah. I’ve blundered into worse things in my day than a pissed off spirit.” He slid a gold piece over the bar with two fingers. “That being said: I’d appreciate it if you had the bottle waiting for me when I’m back… I get the feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

It was a brisk night: one that creeps in after the harvest when the days are all of a sudden a few hours too short, and the heat of the sun is leached from the soil, scattered away with the dying leaves on a chilly breeze.

If Varric hadn’t already had some idea of what awaited him in this place, he would have been creeped out by the atmosphere alone: between the moonless night, the morose howl of the wind between the headstones, and the rustling of dying leaves and long grass, this place was something straight out of a pulpy horror novel. All that was missing was someone shouting, “Boo!”

He shifted Bianca on his shoulder, trudging through the cemetery, feeling uneasy amongst the dead.

Of course she had to be a Watcher, this promising kid he’d gotten word of. When he first heard the rumour of a Watcher who had been effectively exiled by the order for single-handedly stopping a war (at the cost of two politically important undead nobles), Varric’s curiosity was piqued: he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d never met a Watcher, but he knew enough about them to know that making the choice between full-blown war, or killing the undead she was sworn to protect couldn’t have been an easy choice - but she made it anyway, knowing full-well it would piss some powerful people off.

He needed someone like that. The world needed someone like that.

He found her sitting at the base of a willow tree, her back against the trunk. He would have missed her completely in the darkness if it weren’t for the small vial of captured veilfire she wore around her neck that cast pale light over her face and the gleaming sword in her lap.

She looked up at the sound of his approach: hewn granite had been a fitting comparison indeed, for hers was a strikingly solemn heart-shaped face with a long scar running from her brow nearly to her jaw. Her cheeks were somewhat hollow, and her skin pallid, with dark circles lingering under celadon eyes the same hue as the veilfire at her neck. Pretty, he supposed, in a very I-spend-most-of-my-time-with-dead-people kind of way. Was it just part of being Nevarran to look intimidating at all times? He thought of Cassandra and made a mental note to send her his latest manuscript when he got back to Kirkwall.

Given her morose countenance, he was instantly taken aback when her lips curved into a warm smile that caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle in a way that sent a feeling of comfort and assurance straight through Varric’s heart. It wasn’t an expression of joy or mirth, but rather one of seeing: of perceiving him and all of his many regrets and sorrows and longings and silently saying ‘I see you, Varric Tethras’. A handy trait for a Watcher to possess, he supposed… if a bit creepy.

“You’re definitely not who I was expecting to see in this place tonight.” Her voice was deep, but the soft rasp that permeated it was inviting and kind. She laid the sword she’d been tending to over her legs to give Varric her undivided attention. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, revealing an ear that had been pointed at one time: something - or someone - had clearly bitten the tip off of it. “Better to come back in the morning to pay your respects, I think: I’ve a spirit to take care of and while the business end of that crossbow doesn’t look like it’s just for show, I’d hate to see you come to any harm on my watch.”

She thought he was a mourner - someone who lived in the village and had come to visit a dead loved one… and picked the middle of the night to do it.

“Actually, I–”

She was on her feet, sword gripped loosely in her right hand, looking down at him with a wry smile. She wasn’t much taller than him, and she wasn’t wearing nearly as much armour as he’d expected: he’d heard tales of foreboding and grim figures that prowled the Necropolis in moulded plate designed to be form-fitting mirrors of the anatomy underneath. This Watcher, though, wore flexible dark leather and a short but warm looking cloak draped over and around her shoulders.

“I know it’s not ideal, and if it wasn’t incredibly important I wouldn’t ask this of you, but it’s nearly midnight, and you really do need to be gone from here before the spirit awakens.”

She was clearly used to telling people what to do… and she was used to them listening.

“I’m not here to visit!” Varric groused, “I’m here to talk to you!”

Her brow furrowed and her cascading black hair flared in the wind when she shook her head a little in befuddlement. “I’m sorry, you want to talk to me?” She posed the question as though she didn’t quite believe him.

He switched Bianca to his other shoulder and thrust out his hand, “Varric Tethras - writer, businessman, and most recently - much to my own chagrin - Viscount of Kirkwall.”

She frowned at his outstretched hand, the keen smile vanishing completely, scepticism replacing it instead. “Shouldn’t I be bowing to you or curtseying or something if you’re a Viscount?”

“I’m not really into that kind of thing, kid.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m thirty-six.”

“Just a kid to me. Don’t worry: I’ll come up with a far more endearing nickname in no time.”

Her nose wrinkled a little as though she wanted to laugh, but wouldn’t let herself. Instead she passed off her sword and shook his hand at last.

“Amina Ingellvar, but I suppose you already knew that if you came all this way just to find me.” The sword was back in her right hand the second his palm parted from hers. “Whatever it is you want with me, we’ll have to talk about it later. Right now I need to focus on–”

A soul-rending wail split the night air and Amina’s eyes lifted in the direction it had come from - it wasn’t far.

“Shit,” she breathed, turning and scooping up a dented and scuffed steel buckler that had been leaning against the tree. “She’s awake.”

Not really wanting to know the answer, but having a good idea of what it was anyway, Varric asked, “Who’s awake?”

Amina pressed a finger to her lips. “The Wilis,” she murmured just loud enough for Varric to hear. “The tanner’s daughter died about a month ago. She was set to marry the innkeeper’s son - Gethin is his name, I think - but he called off their engagement and left her for another girl in the village. She died by her own hand, spurred on by the betrayal of her beloved.” She started off in the direction of the shriek. “The raw pain she left life with was powerful enough to draw a potent spirit to this place.”

Despite the hush of her voice, he couldn’t help but notice the melodic chiming that accompanied each footstep. He looked down at her feet and could just make out the leather cord draped around her boots, strung with what looked to be at least a dozen simple golden rings.

She must have noticed him looking, because she said, “I don’t want to startle her, and the resonation of the metal is known to soothe restless spirits.” She considered him for a moment. “You still have time to leave, Viscount: you may find this… unpalatable.” There was another wail - this one closer.

“You’re going to kill that spirit, aren’t you?”

A humorless smile pulled at her lips. “Is that what the innkeeper told you?”

“Well? Are you, or aren’t you?”

“Of course not!” She looked reproachful at the mere suggestion that she would do such a thing. She ducked around a vine-covered obelisk and peered around the side, trying to get a visual of her intended target. “I’m going to free it - I only told those bumpkins in town I was going to destroy it so they’d let me work in peace instead of running me out of town for peddling my perverse heathenry.”

“Ah, so you've been in the Marches for a while.”

“I was recently encouraged to travel by my superiors.”

“So I’ve heard.”

A heart-wrenching sob this time - it burrowed in under his skin and robbed him of every feeling of good cheer he might have had up until then.

“She’s close,” Her breath clouded in the cold air. “Stay behind me and do not address her, even if she addresses you - she’s been taken by Yearning, drawn to the tragic circumstances of the young lady’s death. She may attempt to bewitch you - make you her thrall. That said, I should be able to convince Yearning to relinquish the body as long as nothing upsets it.”

He knew he should feel confident in her professional acumen, but still he asked, “And in the off-chance that Yearning isn’t keen on returning to the Fade?”

Amina snorted derisively and adjusted a strap on her gauntlet - she didn’t like having her abilities called into question. “Then I’ll have to resort to kinesthetic percussive negotiation methods.”

It was Varric’s turn to frown. “Which entails…?”

She glanced down at him and smiled again - this time with all the frigid warmth of brittle shale. “Tussling with it until it either kills me or tires itself out.”

Yeah. This one had the potential to make for one hell of a flea in Chuckles’ ear… if they both survived the night.

A dark figure rounded the corner of a hedge about thirty yards away from the obelisk. It was too obscured for Varric to make out clearly, but he could surmise from the jerky, spastic way it hovered a few inches above the grass, and the glowing green eyes that it wasn’t the groundskeeper. It turned its back to them, appearing to be looking for something beyond the hedge.

“Her name was Gisele,” Amina said reverently, her face grim in its disciplined stoicism as though speaking her name aloud was compulsory to her next actions. “And no matter what drove her from this life, her absence is keenly felt by those she left behind.”

She stepped from behind the obelisk, sword and shield lowered but at the ready as she trudged towards the figure, not intimidating, but with an air of confidence and authority that wasn’t lost on Varric. The rings on her boots sang, their melody rising and falling with the wind.

“Venerated greetings upon you, Yearning,” she called out, coming to a halt when she decided she was close enough to the figure - there was a decent amount of space between them, but not so much that Amina had to shout.

Varric edged from behind the obelisk, following Amina’s tamped down path in the grass until he was just behind her. As he drew close, the wind shifted direction for an instant and his nose filled with the unpleasantly familiar odour of rotting flesh, pungent and sweet.

The glowing green eyes became visible again as the Wilis twisted to face the woman who spoke its name. A guttural hiss issued from the darkness.

Amina speared her sword into the ground and with a small ‘click’ flipped the small iron stopper on the vial of veilfire around her neck. The eerie blue-green flame streamed from the opening and floated up into the air where it hung in the air and arranged itself into a roiling sphere the size of a melon, small flares occasionally leaping from its surface.

He would have taken the time to admire the enigmatic beauty of the thing, had it not illuminated the creature that now stood in its light.

Death was far from new to Varric - between his own personal losses and the seemingly endless cavalcade of bullshit he’d been dragged into over the years, the occasional appearance of undead, a revenant, or a waterlogged corpse was just another day at the office. This, though - the Wilis - belonged to a whole new category of horror.

She’d been buried - likely on account of the village not daring to spare the wood for a pyre with winter approaching - and grave dirt hung from the hem of her dress in damp clumps. The dress itself looked like it was once white, but between the flickering green light and the deep brown and ochre stains that had leached into the material, it was impossible to know for sure.

In life she might have been quite a beauty, but a month in the cold ground had robbed her of that: what once appeared to be thick waves of golden hair was now sparse, matted, and stained like the dress, and her face was a nearly unrecognisable amalgamation of flesh comprised of skin that ranged from a putrescent russet shade, to grey, to black. Her tongue - pale and withered - dangled by a shred of lingering muscle, twitching morbidly as the Wilis struggled to open and close its wasted jaw - it was trying to speak. Frustration flared in the orbs of light nestled in the hollows where her eyes used to be.

“She was pregnant?!” Varric spluttered, his eyes landing on the obvious curve of her belly, straining against her ruined clothing.

“No.” Amina muttered sharply. “What you’re seeing is the result of guttural anaerobic activity: she’s full of putrefied gas.” She yanked her sword from the ground and looked back to Yearning. “If you lot actually put some care into the handling of your deceased instead of just dumping them into a hole in the ground as soon as their hearts stop, she wouldn’t look like this - not for a long time, at least… maybe never.”

“What are you saying, Watcher?” The Wilis demanded, finding her voice at last, though her lips did not move along with the crackling, wet sound that the spirit manipulated into words. She inched forward, her head tilted inquisitively. “What falsehoods… do you share with your… companion’s ears and not mine?”

“No falsehoods - only an opinion on our respective differences.” She addressed the decayed corpse like an acquaintance one might run into on the street.

“You think she’s ugly… don’t you?” Nearly skeletal hands gestured over the form of the Wilis as if she were preening in the mirror. Varric couldn’t help but notice a few of her fingernails had fallen off. “This girl… who was so… unlovable, so unwanted… I found her… I wanted her… I love her.” There was a bite to the last words - a challenge.

“But she was loved, and she was wanted - by many. She had family and friends who cared very deeply about her, and it causes them great torment to see her body like this.”

Yearning spun slowly in the air, ignoring Amina’s gentle implication that it should leave.

“Rather far… from home, aren’t you, Watcher?” It observed primly. “You… miss it, don’t you? You long for… the cold… dry air and… the stillness of the tombs. Many call… the Grand Necropolis home… but it is truly… all… that you knew.”

“I do miss it,” Amina conceded, “But I’ll return someday - for now I’m making the best of my current situation: seeing new places, trying new things. Ferelden is a bit weird, but I could get used to the Marches.” She tapped her blade distractedly against the toe of her boot as she spoke. “That’s what we - people - do. We adapt. Change can be painful and challenging, but we weather the storm and keep going anyway. That’s what Gisele’s loved ones are trying to do too, but they can’t do that with the spectre of her haunting the cemetery, so I need you to let her go.”

“Bold lies…” the Wilis made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, a tooth slid down her chin, trailing black ooze behind it. “I know… what loneliness dwells in your… heart… foundling. You have… no authority… over me here… Let me keep her… I will treasure… her… eternally…”

The already cold air seemed to get colder in that moment as Amina stiffened slightly, her stance now commanding instead of casual. Varric could see strong muscles tensing and flexing under the leather of her armour - an unspoken promise of disciplined brutality should she be denied. “My authority does not end at the gates of the Necropolis - it is incontrovertible, and you know this. Do not make me ask again.”

“You… threaten… me?”

“No, but you will be relinquishing this girl tonight.”

It was like watching a stern parent reason with an overtired toddler.

“And your companion… such longing fills… him… too. For things long passed… such things left unsaid… a glib tongue stilled by nerves…”

Don’t address her. Even if she addresses you.

“Gisele!”

Both Amina and the Wilis turned their attention to the source of the sound: a scrawny ginger kid - actually a kid, couldn’t be older than twenty - had burst from the hedges and into the light of the veilfire.

“Leave! Now!” The Watcher ordered, lifting her sword and shield.

The Wilis was shaking, it’s ghostly eyes flaring and sparking at the sight of the innkeeper’s son.

“I came to help!” He pleaded, voice breaking at the sight of Yearning. “I came to say I’m sorry!”

“I think we’re a bit past that, kid!” Varric shouted over the bitter wind - it had picked up around them, whipping at their hair and clothing. “Now do what the nice Watcher says and get out of here!” Bianca was in his hands, aimed at Yearning, ready to unleash upon her. Amina had said she might be able to talk the spirit out of the girl’s corpse as long as nothing upset it - it was upset now.

“You!” Wailed the Wilis, pointing an accusatory finger at Gethin, “You abandoned her! Broke her heart for the love of another! You will fulfil your promise to her! You will join me!”

Nothing about that could possibly be good.

“Don’t listen to it!” Amina shouted over the gale, moving to place herself between the Wilis and Gethin. “Run!”

“This is my fault!” Argued Gethin, raising his arm to shield his face from the wind. “I shouldn’t have hurt her like that!”

“But you did!” Amina countered. “There’ll be no undoing that fact by throwing your life away! Now stop being noble and fuck off out of here!”

“NO!” Shrieked the Wilis. “She… will have… him! I will have him!!”

Green lightning sparked in the air around the spirit, and the flames of Amina’s veilfire were yanked and pulled in the burgeoning tempest. Gethin seemed frozen in place as the Wilis raised its rotting arms, loose skin sliding over wet bone. There was a tremendous crack, and Varric heard Amina swear again, and he didn’t have to wonder why for long: all around the cemetery, mounds of dirt appeared on the grass as the inhabitants of the graves below began to burst free, clamouring to their feet with the same gracelessness the Wilis possessed.

The one nearest to Gethin reached for him, its decomposed hand wrapping around his arm. The boy shrieked - a bloodcurdling sound - and Amina was on him, neatly batting away the corpse with a shrug of her shield, sending it sailing off into the hedges. The hand remained gripping Gethin’s arm. “Stay behind me,” she commanded, resetting her stance and assessing what they were up against.

Wrenwith was a village - little more than two hundred lived here based on the information from last year’s census, but it was old… at least a few centuries old. Plenty old enough to boast a well-populated graveyard…

Varric could see at least a dozen undead shambling towards the light and wagered there were at least a few dozen more beyond his sight. This wasn’t good: they were outnumbered… badly.

“Both of you, follow me!” The Watcher barked, and Varric watched as she coiled in on herself and then burst her left arm wide - her shield flew from her, audibly shearing the air as it hurtled towards a cluster of walking corpses, colliding into each with a meaty ‘thud’ and then looping back - she caught it with ease and Varric could see the telltale glow of an enchantment on the heavy buckler that he hadn’t noticed before. “Varric, are you able to keep her at range?”

His finger was already on Bianca’s trigger. “Yeah I can manage that. What’s your plan?”

She started backing down the corridor of hedges Gethin had emerged from, her summoned veilfire trailing obediently. “Get some space between her and this one.” She jerked her head at the kid. “She won’t rest until she claims him. I saw a small crypt on my way in here that we can defend, but it was chained up tight and I don’t think I can break the lock.”

The Wilis appeared around the corner of the hedge and spotted them, a desperate scream tearing from her as she glided towards them. Varric loosed a bolt and caught her in the shoulder, sending bits of sodden flesh into the air.

“I can deal with the lock. You just get us there in one piece.”

“Speaking of which - please try to use discretion with your shots: her body is in a fragile state already - I’d prefer if it didn’t suffer more trauma than necessary.”

Varric gritted his teeth at the absurdity of the request. “Sure kid, I’ll try and shoot her gently.”

“Feel free to scoff all you want the next time you’re the one that has to restore a corpse in such an advanced stage of decomposition, Viscount!” She snapped.

He heard the same sound of metal slicing through air as she turned and whipped her shield down the corridor, mowing down a few more undead that would impede their way. As the shield returned to her arm, a corpse sprang from the hedges, scrabbling for her eyes, her throat… whatever it could reach.

The rings at her feet clinked together sharply as she lifted a leg and drove her heavy boot into its chest, breaking a few ribs and sending dust into the air. It hit the ground and Varric watched as a wisp, luminescent and slight, rose from its sunken abdomen and vanished into the night.

“How is it controlling them?”

Amina looked over her shoulder to confirm the proximity of the whimpering innkeeper’s son, and jerked him a little bit closer to her with a gloved thumb and forefinger on his sleeve. “Its need for companionship is so insatiable that it can enthral other spirits. Wisps aren’t robust concepts - they don’t possess the will to resist Yearning.”

Varric loosed another bolt and reloaded as the Wilis persisted, shaking his head. “I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my day, but this is rapidly climbing the list.”

“Best avoid ever visiting Nevarra if that’s the case - this is nothing.”

They fought their way back through the cemetery, Amina keeping the hordes of undead at bay, and Varric keeping the Wilis far enough away from them that she couldn’t attempt to enthral Gethin.

By the time they made it to the crypt, Amina’s nose was bleeding and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow. “I’ll cover you,” she panted, adjusting her sword in her hand - they really were against the wall now as the Wilis and a handful more undead closed in around them.

Varric only nodded and leaned Bianca against the stone wall of the crypt. His fingers found his lockpicking kit in his breast pocket, and he set to work, trying to ignore the fleshy sounds of violence that were erupting behind him as Amina kept her word and bought him the time he needed to pick the heavy old lock - it was slow going: the tumblers inside the lock were rusty and stiff.

“Stop. Trying. To. Kill. Us.” He heard the Watcher grind out over the pummeling of flesh - hers and that of the undead. “Surely we can come to an agreement that doesn’t involve anyone else dying.”

He heard the Wilis’ weepy laugh in reply just as the lock clicked. He started dragging the chains free from the bars they were wrapped around, pausing before ushering Gethin inside when it occurred to him that there were undead behind the stone plaques in the crypt. Surely they couldn’t get out… right?

He decided he’d risk it and shoved Gethin inside before slipping through the gate too. “Amina!”

She shot a look over her shoulder, and seeing that they were safely inside the crypt, she darted backwards from the Wilis, breathing hard, eyes wide as the spirit descended on her in a fury.

She wasn’t going to make it.

A revolting ‘splat’ followed by an agonised scream rent the night as Amina grunted with effort and backhanded the Wilis’ midsection with her shield as hard as she could, bursting her putrefied gut and splattering the ground with a fragrant blend of semi-liquified viscera and reeking bodily fluids. Next to him, the kid immediately blanched and vomited, and Varric wasn’t far behind: the smell was that of a poorly maintained abattoir caked with blood and shit, overflowing with heaped piles of discarded offal left to rot in the sun. The odour of death - because death indeed had an odour - decked Varric in the nose harder than any fist could, ramming its confoundingly spicy but simultaneously cloying fingers into his sinuses and down his throat, fingerfucking his esophagus into submission until he doubled over and heaved too…

Then Amina was beside him, looping the chains around the bars again and locking the crypt from the inside as the Wilis shrieked and rattled the gate and tried to claw the Watcher’s eyes out through the gaps.

“We’re not coming out until you agree to let that body go,” Amina declared firmly, blinking blood out of her eye as she finished with the chains - she’d taken a nasty blow across her forehead, but it didn’t appear to be slowing her down. The orb of veilfire fluttered between the bars. “If you’re thinking of being stubborn about it, please consider the fact that the three of us will eventually die of thirst in here and you won’t get any of us if we do, so time is of the essence.”

She marked the disturbing sound of fingernails scrabbling against the plaques surrounding them with half a glance, and deeming them to be of no concern, sheathed her sword and leaned her shield against the base of a small statue. Having apparently tuned out the anguished wails of Yearning, she drew her gloved hand over her face, wiping away some of the purge that had splattered upwards. She heaved a sigh and turned to Varric and Gethin, her eyes going round as she comprehended the state of them. She looked down and wrinkled her nose at the sight of her feet and legs which were shining with the heinous smelling rot that had been contained in Gisele.

“I’m so sorry!” She said, genuine concern written across her bloodied face. She waited for Grethin to finish dry-heaving before continuing. “I really had been hoping that I wouldn’t have to do that.” She withdrew three roughly cut scraps of what looked to be linen from a pouch on her belt and handed one to each of them. She used hers to wipe the blood and remaining fluids from her face, looking calmer than anyone had a right to look in this situation.

Varric dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the linen, trying not to think about why someone from Nevarra would have such a thing readily available on their person. “So much for ‘unnecessary trauma’.” He muttered. “You okay, kid?” He turned to Gethin, who looked incredibly pale, but didn’t have a scratch on him.

The boy nodded and rubbed his arms to ward away the cold, but continued to shiver. His blue eyes were rimmed with tears. “Wh-what do we do now?” His chin trembled and he stared at the gate: the Wilis had gone, likely to search for some other means to get into the crypt. It was eerily silent.

Amina finished cleaning herself up as best she could and tucked the used linen into a different pocket. “We give it what it wants.”

Varric and Gethin protested, and she let them finish before saying, “At the very heart of all of this is a young woman’s death. Gisele took her own life when you ended your betrothal for another woman - she was blind to the fact that she was anything more than a failed bride and a burden to her family. She saw herself as a failure… selfish for even daring to crave that which seems so effortless and natural for everyone else.”

“But that’s not true!” Gethin insisted.

“Your perception or reasoning behind your actions are of little consequence - though they’re repellant.” She levelled a look of disgust at the boy that actually made him flinch. “The fact of the matter is whether you intended to or not, you made Gisele feel unlovable, and that sentiment was so strongly believed by her that Yearning could not help but be drawn to her, even in death.”

“You told me not to throw my life away not fifteen minutes ago, and now you’re urging me to do that very thing?!”

“You don’t have to die.” Amina said, her voice softening somewhat. “You give it what it wants,” she repeated. “You give it what Gisele wanted: love. Real, genuine, love - not falsified or put on in an attempt to fool her.”

Grethin dragged his hands through his hair in exasperation, “How the hell do I do that?!”

Amina smiled coldly at the young man and crossed her arms. “I’m sure you heard a few fairy tales in your youth.”

Well, shit…

“Y-you think I should… you w-want me to… to…”

“True love’s kiss to break the curse on the fair princess and set her free. Yeah, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“N-no!” He babbled, eyes as round and pale as the moon. “There… there has to be some other way!”

“Want to let Yearning kill you and stuff an enthralled spirit in your corpse?” Amina taunted. “Because that can be arranged.”

She was compassionate and warm when she wanted to be, but damn she could be blunt…

“But she… she’s all–”

“Decomposed? Yes.”

“Won’t I… w-what if I catch something?”

She actually rolled her eyes, uncrossed and recrossed her arms, and tapped the toe-cap of her boot against the floor tetchily. “Please. The worst thing you’ll catch is another bout of nausea, but luckily your gut’s already empty so that shouldn’t trouble you any.” She regarded him with those perceptive eyes. “You made a decision that you thought was right for you - for all I know, it was - but there were unforeseen consequences to that decision, and now you are dealing with them… as do we all. It won’t be easy, but I know that you can do this.”

Gethin sighed; whimpered a little. All the fight seemed to leave him.

“Alright.” He whispered brokenly. “I’ll do it for her… for Gisele… so that she can finally rest.”

“It was brave of you to come here tonight,” Amina reached out and squeezed the boy’s shoulder reassuringly - an amusing sight, Varric thought, because he was half a foot taller than her.

They left the crypt soon after, and it didn’t take them long to find Yearning, sitting on a gravestone, its knees drawn up to its chest, shoulders quaking with quiet sobs.

If she hadn’t literally raised the dead to try and kill them a short time earlier, Varric almost would have felt bad for her.

“Yearning?” Amina called out softly, approaching the Wilis with gentle footfalls.

“I hate this place!” The spirit bawled, not lifting its head. Varric noticed there were still a few of Bianca’s bolts sticking out of Gisele’s corpse. “Everything… is so… unattainable.”

Amina crouched in front of the spirit and looked up into her curtain of tattered, dirty hair. “It’s… it’s not great for a spirit of your ilk, I’m afraid - and that’s not a mark against you. It’s hard enough even for those like me.” She reached up and tenderly pushed some of the hair aside, and Varric could see the green glow of those haunting eyes sunken into rotten flesh. “There are other places in the world that would have you though, if you still want to give it a chance. Why don’t you manifest at the Necropolis? There are spirits there that would thrive under your attention.”

Yearning’s chin lifted and it looked directly at Gethin. “I want him to come with me.”

“He’s going to stay here with his family where he’s needed. But if you’re willing to relinquish your hold on Gisele, he has agreed to bequeath you a token of his affection to remember him by.”

Yearning cocked its head and Gethin stepped forward.

He raised a hand in awkward greeting and Amina stepped aside so that he could stand before the desiccated remains of the woman he betrayed. “You’ve got this.” She whispered as she passed him by.

Amina stood next to Varric and got his attention with a light tap on his shoulder.

“This is a private moment - we should give them space,” she murmured.

“Do you trust that he’ll actually do it?” Varric mumbled in reply.

“He will.”

Varric’s eyebrows lifted sceptically, but he turned with Amina and began walking towards the cemetery entrance, noting that she was favouring her right foot with each step she took.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, clearly sensing his concern. “A mild sprain. Nothing that a hot bath and a few hours of sleep won’t fix.” She flicked open the stopper of the vial around her neck and the orb of veilfire dissipated into it.

“What’s the story with that?” He nodded at the pendant that was once again filled with placid light.

“It’s a wisp that bound itself to veilfire - it was fascinated by it, so it became it.”

“And it’s fine with being stuffed into a bottle and worn as jewelry?”

She glanced sidelong at him with a rapidly swelling eye. “It chooses to accompany me. Should it wish to leave at any time or shed its current manifestation I wouldn’t stop it.”

“Why’d you become a Reaper? It seems like painful work.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But not usually. I was young when I was put on the path of a Watcher: I was good at gathering my bearings - a skill that was demonstrated in my uncanny ability to sneak out at night and run rampant in the city during my youth, always a step ahead of my handlers. A useful trait for someone who wanders the ever-changing halls of the Necropolis.”

“Bullshit,” Varric scoffed. “Without looking at the stars, point out the cardinal directions right now. Go.”

She came to a halt and without a moment of hesitation, lifted her hand and pointed in turn. “North, East, South, West.”

“Holy shit.”

“You should see me at parties.”

“So let me get this straight: some higher-up at the Necropolis saw some kid running wild in the streets who was good at not getting lost and decided to chuck her into servitude to the dead for the rest of her life?”

“Is that meant to be an insult, Viscount?” She raised an eyebrow.

“No, no! Not at all! I just… don’t get it is all. And please - call me Varric.”

She shrugged and looked forward. “You don’t have to. As for becoming a Reaper, I’m not a mage, and any idiot can swing a sword, but becoming a Reaper is complex and requires just as much study as Necromancy. It’s extremely difficult to make the cut and actually be put on rotation in the Halls.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I knew that spirit’s natural reflection wasn’t Yearning - it was Devotion. They train us in Nevarra to reason with both spirits and living people, and most of us are very good at it for a simple reason.” She heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at her eyes. “Only the most empathetic and compassionate are chosen to become Reapers. Our strength - our power - is drawn from a place of deep understanding and feeling: our ability to comprehend and make the pain of another our own. It’s our blessing and our curse, because I’ll be honest with you, Varric: it’s bloody exhausting.”

“Then why do it at all?”

She was silent for a time as they continued to walk. He almost thought she’d forgotten the question when she finally said, “Because I love it. It fulfils my soul in a way nothing else ever could.” She smiled again: the warm, kind one she first greeted him with. “Could it ever truly be a burden when it brings such joy to me?”

He didn’t have an answer to that, so he hitched Bianca up on his shoulder. They were almost at the entrance. “You’ve gotta go back and bury her, don’t you?”

“Can’t leave her sitting out for the crows.”

“Want help?”

She looked down at him, trying to get a read for whether he was just offering to be polite. “No thank you, Varric,” she said finally, practically beaming at him through split, bloodied lips.

“I still need to talk to you: I’ve got some work that I think might be of interest to you - when you’re done come find me at the inn. Drinks are on me.”

“I don’t really drink, but… after tonight, I think I could be amenable to one or two.”

“There’s a whole bottle waiting for us. Whatever it takes for you to hear me out.”

“Oooh… sounds important.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“You have no idea, kid.”

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unsung-idiot · 2 months ago

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don't show him modern technology; it won't end well

bonus under the cut:

#i'm not sure if ford would really be interested in using the internet much #but i could see him wanting to look something up real quick and ending up reading something so outrageously wrong #that it pisses him off to the point that he gets into an argument about it lol #gravity falls #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #digital art #my stuff #anyway i really don't like how this one turned out #but i don't feel like changing it #bc i already spent way more time on this than i actually wanted to #and i don't wanna look at it any longer

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141trash · 10 months ago

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rating: sfw (brief mentions of sex, but no graphic anything)

Captain John Price x Reader

AN: Somehow this ended up with very little actual Price in it, but I have plans and he will be more prominent. I just have word vomit rn and needed to get everything down

imagine having a one time fling with Price after your husband leaves you for another one because you just can't seem to get pregnant and he wants a family.

It was a good romp, he was a bit gruff, but was super sweet afterwards with the aftercare. he even stayed to buy you breakfast the next morning. Months later you've been focused on yourself, getting your life together and learning what it means to move on.

Only you've been feeling rather ill the last couple days. And then you remember you're late. Which isn't entirely unusual, sometimes you miss a period when you're stressed and the last couple months finding your feet have been stressful. Still you go to the doctors and its there you remember your night with Price, definitely can't remember if he used a condom or not, and you know you hadn't been on birth control since previously you'd been trying for a baby.

Oops you're pregnant.

The timeline fits that it's his and not your now ex-husband's and part of you is instantly hugely relieved about that.

You leave the doctor's office in a bit of a daze. It doesn't sink in until you're stumbling your way into the cafe you own/manage and you promptly dissolve into a fit of tears in the backroom, much to your teeny bopper part timer's utter horror.

Pregnant. You're fucking pregnant. You're elated, over the moon because you had always wanted kids. (yeah adoption's a thing, but in some places its really hard to adopt if you're single and you weren't ready for another relationship after the last trainwreck). You're also fucking terrified because holy shit you have no plan. Nothing is ready. You live in a tiny flat in the city with one bedroom because why would you need more than that?

Your friend appears in the back room as your mind is going a million miles a minute, turns out your part timer had panicked and called her. You breakdown again in her arms and tell her the news. She reminds you that you're not alone even though you're not in a relationship and that you will have all the support that you need.

With her help you start to prepare for the baby. Things move quickly, you're so busy getting things ready, searching for a larger flat, buying things, filling your head with every single bit of parenting knowledge you can get your head on. All your regular customers say that you're glowing, they've never seen you happier.

You've recorded every little thing since finding out you were pregnant. kept print outs of every scan. More than once you find yourself staring out the window, guiltily wondering about whether or not Price would have wanted to know. Not that you have any way of contacting him. You knew he was military, from the dog tags he'd had hanging around his neck, but not much more.

The first time you feel the baby kicking is when you're in the middle of a shift. Its the slow time of day so you're cleaning up the tables when you gasp suddenly. The girl behind the counter is by your side in an instant, babbling questions making sure you're okay. She's sweet and like your friend has been beside you since you found out.

"I'm fine Cally. The baby kicked." you announce, beaming brightly. She squeals and begs to be allowed to feel next time the baby kicks. Before you can do more the bell above the door dings and you both automatically turn, your customer service smiles back on. Only.

"John?" Your mouth drops open in surprise. Standing there looking oddly sheepish is the man you hadn't thought you'd ever see again. The man whose baby was currently kicking as if demanding your attention.

His eyes sweep over you appreciatively, though when he sees your obvious pregnancy he freezes. The shock of seeing him makes your legs weak. Cally lets out a panicked yelp when you knees buckle, but he's already darting forward, catching your arms gently and helping you to a seat.

"Careful there sweetheart." he says and god does that warm your chest. You remember the last time you heard him say that, it had been when you'd bumped into him in the bar.

"What are you doing here?" you ask breathlessly as Cally scurries off to get you a drink and he glances at you for permission before pulling a chair up next to you.

"Remembered you talking about your dream of opening a café. When i got back to town I spotted the name nd wondered if it was just a coincidence." he tells you, but you can see his eyes keep drifting towards your stomach. He's obviously trying to figure out if its his. But it takes a moment for you to respond because you can't believe that he remembered that. It'd been an offhanded comment you'd made while the two of you had been enjoying late night takeout before going at it another round.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you put a hand over his, biting your lip, "Listen. I. I don't want you to feel obligated or anything. I would have told you sooner only I didn't have any way to contact you."

"It's mine." he says for you. You nod, cursing inwardly when tears start to sting your eyes.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself.

"Like I said. I'm doing fine. I don't expect anything from you. I've got a plan. I'm looking for bigger flats."

He stares at you in silence, expression unreadable. You worry for a minute about what he's going to say. You've been prone to overthinking everything since becoming pregnant and now suddenly having the father of your child reappearing in your life. It's a lot.

John squeezes your hand gently halting the panic as you look back up at him.

"I would very much like to be able to meet the kid when they get here. If you'd let me." he tells you hesitantly, "Being in the Military I don't know how often I'd be able to be around, but if you let me I'd like to be in their life."

All of your emotions flood you like a tidal wave at his confession. You burst into tears, letting him pull you into a firm, but careful hug.

"Yes. Of course. I just didn't want you to feel like I was pressuring you. You have every right to know them too." You promise tearfully, smiling at him as he thumbs the tears from your cheeks.

He insists on exchanging numbers so he can contact you and in case you need anything. He won't always be able to answer, but he promises to do his best. Then he bashfully asks if you'll tell him about what's happened so far. Shyly you tell him you've written the entire experience and kept the scans.

He eventually leaves you to get back to work, but the copy of the ultrasound photos you kept in your wallet is tucked into his jacket pocket and he promised to meet you at your flat for dinner and to collect your pregnancy journal so he can catch up on everything.

#this ended up being way longer than i meant it to be #i have so many random ideas for this because damn i love me a price as a daddy fic #if i write more do you want it because if not i'll keep it to myself lol #cod x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #price x reader #sah rambles

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revvethasmythh · 9 months ago

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The research notes on distilling dunamancy found in Brenattos apothecary are so interesting actually. It’s not outright stated who’s notes they are, but with a retrospective lens it’s quite clear that they’re Ludinus’. There are fragments there about his musings on some of Trent’s protégées showing proficiency with early dunamancy, that he is planning to incorporate it into his own skill sets to aid him in his pursuits, and he records how it seems the Kryn have been quote unquote “learning to bend and break the threads of destiny for hundreds of years. Be this truth, I cannot imagine the Raven Queen looks down upon them favorably either, though the thought brings a laugh to my lips.”

#I am going to be honest: I assumed he was aware of dunamancy for MUCH longer than this #but the way its stated implies this was a fairly new discovery #like i was aware that essek giving over the beacons had consequences™️#but I suppose i had not considered it to its full extent before now #why did i think ludinus knew about dunamacy for ages because apparently NOT #also the bit about the raven queen at the end just made me laugh. he’s such as shithead lol #yes another c2 rewatch #cr2e48 #also what’s the EITHER at the end there?? what the beef with TRQ??? does she hate you specifically??#i want the hot goss I want to know what he vanguard wear the symbol of TRQ I want to know why HER #otohan used to worship her. ludinus has beef with her. the vanguard wear her symbol #they marbelized HER champion #what the FUCK is up with that

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cherrirui-official · 9 months ago

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Valentines Day post except its not Valentines day themed, I lied to you

@saltydkart-reblogs

#the saltydkdan server got to see this early #and by early i mean yesterday night right before i went to bed #also WHEN I SAY THIS TOOK WAY LONGER TO MAKE THAN I WANTED TO I MEAN IT UUGH #i ended up having to edit and render this on blender aint that crazy?#anyways... one day i'll actually make a proper valentines day special but today isnt that day #saltydkdan #sanctoklinge #aeroartwork43o9 #ms pastey #now fully animated!... kinda...#im not a pro animator lol im still a beginner #cherris canvas #if tumblr lowers the quality on this im deleting my account /j

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accidentally-in-fictional-love · 6 months ago

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📖 🔫 🩹 ? Love ur writing btw :)

Use Your Sharp Claws to Hold Me Gently - Murdoc/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, pet names, lonely!reader (he fixes that don't worry).

Wordcount: 2354

Summary: You were alone, he knew it the moment he entered your apartment and saw only you in every inch, but you were also interesting, and that was something he couldn't let go of.

Notes: Thank you so much QwQ I was SO tempted to make the reader take care of Murdoc as I was song hunting to set the mood, so if I get this combo again know that I won't be able to resist hehe I ended up going with this song, full disclosure, and it fueled me so much that I blacked out and when I came to this was written so I hope you enjoy, cause I really like this one a lot 💗💗💗

He was in town again, his only warning the single text from his unlisted number, the other end going dead as soon as the message was received, no number to save to your phone and reply back to. You’d been doing this for a long while now, your arrangement to keep him close carefully discussed behind closed doors the night before he had to hop on a plane and become scarce again. You understood completely why that was, it didn’t scare you like he’d expected, but then again, he’d expected a lot of things to scare you, things that would scare anyone else for very rational reasons.

Not you though, not once you’d stared down the barrel into those brown eyes and fallen hard.

You were never supposed to be on his list, your presence a prime example of Wrong Place Wrong Time as you’d stumbled upon his hit just moments before he’d pulled the trigger. His target had pleaded with you for help when he’d seen you, money offered in sums you couldn’t dare to imagine owning, tossed around like it was nothing as he put a price on his own life. You never accepted, knowing that if you did then you’d be putting that same price on your own as well, wanting to risk your slim chance of survival as you just stood there, blocking off the alley so no one else would find themselves in the same situation.

He’d shot the man in that same instant, the gun pointed at you next without a hint of mercy.

You’d just stared him down, knew it was inevitable the moment you interrupted his carefully planned work, everything about him gave off the essence of preparations and structure and purpose, you were a fly in the wheel of all that to him, nothing more.

‘Just get it over with,’ you told him as you shut your eyes, trying to hide the fact that you were trembling and it wasn’t from the downpour currently soaking you to your now very tired bones.

He never did, wet footsteps approaching until you felt cold steel against your forehead. ‘Why aren’t you afraid?’ he asked you, eyes seeing right through you, down to your soul as he tried to find the answer. You opened your eyes then, his voice so much softer than the gun held in his leather gloved hand, rain dripping from his ginger-dyed bangs, the colour almost fully grown out from what had to have been a past disguise, and running down his face in streams. He was beautiful, you thought even as the thunder roared high above, the sounds of the city telling you that you still had a chance to run, salvation was only steps away, but you didn’t move, you couldn’t.

‘I am,’ you confessed, but it almost felt like a lie.

‘You should be,’ he replied lowly, and it held the same weight as your confession.

You took the back ways to your apartment, unable to miss how he dedicated every way to get inside without being noticed to memory, a silent promise that if you survived and told someone what you saw then he’d know exactly how to find you. You told him which window was yours, the fire escape leading right up to it, that fact the only reason you’d bought it in the first place; those metal stairs meant freedom for you in case of emergency, something you’d never had before as you moved to the big city and lived through too many unfortunate events to count.

He was taking that away from you as he jumped up, hoisted himself onto the stairs with such ease that you knew you’d never be able to outrun him even if you started now, no amount of window latches able to keep him out. You used the front door and met him upstairs, the security cameras sparsely spread throughout the building only catching you heading home, drenched but not giving away a thing. He hadn’t waited outside as expected, the window unbroken but still wide open as he dripped water all over your hardwood floors, shoes tracking mud over the thrift store rug in the living room.

He was seeing what you had to lose, but it wasn’t much he was soon to realize, your walls and surfaces bare of photos outside of the rare empty frame you’d bought but forgotten to fill, the default photo showing strangers looking happy behind the dusty glass. He lifted one of them up, knew they weren’t yours, and you heard him laugh at your loneliness, the sound so hollow like he didn’t even know what a laugh really was and was simply acting the emotion out.

Maybe he was lonely too.

You offered him tea or coffee, not knowing what to do to fill the time until the gun would surely reappear again but he refused, his attention now on you like he hadn’t even noticed you come in. He walked over to your tiny kitchen, searching through your cupboards until he found a glass; he went to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of filtered water, poured himself some without asking, left everything out for you to clean up later if you’d even get the chance. ‘Expecting anyone?’ he asked casually, eyes looking for any sliver of a trace that you shared your life with anyone, the answer in his head before you could even open your mouth. ‘No, you aren’t… don’t you know it’s dangerous to live on your own in a place like this?’

It held no real concern. You offered him no real worry as you just shrugged.

The lights remained off as he let you get on with your night, his eyes always on you as you grabbed a towel to pat yourself and your clothes dry, the takeout you’d gone out to get reheated as you sat at the table and ate. He was never out of sight but he never approached you either, the only other thing he grabbed being one of the kitchen knives from the hand-me-down block you’d stolen from home when you moved out. You wondered if he might throw it at you like a circus performer, maybe it’d hit its target, maybe it’d fly right past and embed itself in the wall behind you, a trick to be applauded for either way, but it never left his hands, the blade occasionally catching the light as he spun it in his fingers.

You thought he might be coming to slit your throat when he walked behind you as you tried to cut through the too tough meat, his arms around you and making you still as the knife was pressed down and sliced through with ease. His movements were so delicate like that of a dancer, he was well trained in what he did, and when he was done he lifted the knife up to his mouth to lick away the sauce before going back to the kitchen. It was tossed down loudly into the sink now that he’d dirtied it but you didn’t jump at the sound, your eyes on him as he then strolled over to the couch and sat down, recently dried mud flecking off his shoes and onto your coffee table as he got comfortable.

He let you finish eating in peace, your last meal no doubt, before taking the gun out again and motioning for you to go to the bedroom, your body freezing cold but surprisingly calm as you did as you were told. There was no rush at all as you both walked in, the door wide open and letting you know that you weren’t trapped, and you waited for his next command when the gun was set down in plain sight on top of your dresser. It was perfectly spaced between the two of you, only two steps away with the grip facing you, an open invitation to grab it and defend yourself.

Images of trying flashed through your head. You didn’t act on them, his eyes shining the longer you just stood there; there was no point, you didn’t have much of a life anyways, the empty photo frames reminded you of that every day.

‘Aren’t you an interesting one,’ he thought aloud, your hand twitching only once towards the dresser before you fell still again. ‘My job is done tonight, and I might have a bit of time free in my schedule if you’d like to hire me, little rabbit,’ he then told you, his eyes meeting yours even as half of his face was shrouded in shadows, the light from your bedroom window making the only parts visible practically glow between his dark hair and even darker outfit.

‘What do you do?’ Your voice didn’t tremble, he was impressed.

‘I make problems disappear, for a price.’

‘Can you make more than problems disappear?’

This interested him even more, and he took a few steps closer to you, your head tilting back so you could look up to him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

You couldn’t say it, he already knew the answer already, and he considered what you wanted before taking off his coat and folding it up, the slightly damp leather creaking as it was placed on your dresser next to his weapon. He opened his arms to you, the gun still just in reach as he waited, and you could only stare at him as you walked forward; he wrapped his arms around you as you let your head fall against his shoulder, and the hug held nothing but the transaction as he attempted to make your loneliness disappear. He was warm as the rain continued to fall outside, his controlled breathing rustling your hair ever so slightly as the trembling began, your shaking hands reaching up to cling to his black sweater.

When you’d awoken the next morning you’d found your apartment empty again, although there was a text from an unfamiliar number on your phone telling you, ‘Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful,’ the line pulled directly from your copy of Frankenstien, the book open to the page and waiting for you to notice it on your dresser where the gun had been.

He’d returned to you a few months later, another new number with a quote alerting you to his arrival before you’d heard him tapping on the window, this time waiting for you to let him in. This situation repeated many times over the year, each time with a text, each time the two of you just retreating to your bedroom where he held you and stole your loneliness for hours at a time, never once telling you about where he’d been or what he’d done. Your frames were still empty all the while, and with every visit he’d hold you closer, share his warmth with you as he threaded bare fingers through your hair, let you lay there in silence or cry into his chest if you needed to.

He slowly filled all your empty spaces, even if just for a little while, and you wondered how large your bill must be getting with each press of split lips to the top of your head and bloodied knuckles tracing the curve of your flushed cheeks. You never asked for something of his to remember him by until the night you finally spoke, your body completely in his lap as he held you, your fingertips brushing over fresh bruises spreading over his bare chest.

‘I might not be able to afford you at this rate,’ you murmured, and when he breathed out a laugh it didn’t feel like he was acting anymore.

‘I do the jobs that interest me for free, you know,’ he whispered into your ear, hand coming up to run over your jaw until you couldn’t help but look up at him. ‘That was just the first time, though.’

‘What about now?’ Something inside of you told you to be afraid as you looked into brown eyes so dark they almost looked black, the red and purple painting his eyebrow to his cheek warning you of the danger, but you weren’t afraid, you never had been.

He didn’t answer you, his mouth finding yours as colours shone through cheap curtains and shrouded you both in a halo of store neons and street lights.

That was months ago, his latest text reading, ‘There are darknesses in life and there are lights; you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.’ Bram Stoker, tonight, Dracula. You screenshotted it as you did with all his quotes, it saved to your phone with all the others before deleting the now useless chat and unlocking the latch over your window. He arrived less than an hour later, the smell of cheap takeout making him smirk as he looked at the feast laid out for him. ‘Hello again, little rabbit,’ he said into your neck as he wrapped his arms around you, his gloves already removed so he could feel you against his hot skin.

‘Hello, Murdoc,’ you greeted him back, his canines grazing over your skin and warning you of the danger as they always did before he noticed the frame you’d placed by your TV, front and center in the gap between the device and the edge of the stand they rested on. He let go of you and walked over to it, lifting it up and laughing genuinely at the sight of himself in your bed, a secretly stolen photo you’d taken when he’d fallen asleep in your arms.

‘You really are interesting,’ he mused as he put it back, still shrouded in darkness as he turned on his heel to face you, the sight so familiar as he filled up every last empty space inside of you.

Maybe he really had been able to make your loneliness disappear that first night, but he’d have to figure that one out himself as you pressed yourself against his chest and kissed him.

He smiled against your upturned lips like he already knew.

#Ray's Readers #Ray's Requests #david dastmalchian #murdoc macgyver #murdoc x reader #not me promising to do more comfort than hurt next time I got the prompt and then getting Murdoc of all people for it lol let's gooooo #I was stumped for so long on the title for this one I almost went with lyrics again #surprised this one didn't end up longer cause that opening grabbed me by the throat and I realized I REALLY wanted to write more for him #I will call him beautiful in every single fic I write I'm legally required to and I can't help it either way

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