#well And starvation and dehydration :T

[skyeateyourdonuts]

teaaaaaas tiimee

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Subservient | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Rhys’ reputation in Hewn City is less than stellar, so when an orphanage becomes overwhelmed, he offers to take some in. His plan doesn’t turn out how he expected when he’s instead sent you, an employee there, sent to scope Rhys out before sending children to him. And in true High Lord fashion, he unceremoniously dumps you off on his brothers.

Word Count: ~ 3.4k

Warnings: Abuse, starvation, dehydration, child abuse, bruises, scars, injuries, traumatized reader, orphans, but it ends with some fluff I promise

A/N: thank you so much to anon who sent this req in, it def gave me the inspiration I needed, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

When you first arrived, the first thought that Azriel had was that you were a sorry sight, hair clearly previously having been mangled and just brushed in time, clothes old and worn by others before you, eyes tired and dim as you didn’t even try to take in your surroundings, looking completely out of it, even with the High Lord of Night Court sitting only twenty feet from you, lounging on a throne.

Azriel could pick up the subtlest shift of Rhys’ scent, the slight tinge of worry as he took you in, despite the sensual smirk that remained on his face, and his lazy posture like a cat spread out, stretching.

But they were in Hewn City, and Rhys couldn’t afford to be himself in Hewn City, not yet anyway, not until the next generation of Fae that was less cold and brittle arrived. Which could take centuries, at the least. Even now, with the plan that was unfolding, it wasn’t likely the citizens would see him as anything worth their time or support.

And as he watched you silently trudge up to the throne, giving the barest bow in recognition only when the older Fae elbowed you harshly in your too-thin figure, he wondered why he had even thought this would be a good idea. Sure, Rhys didn’t have the best reputation in the Court of Nightmares, and the citizens were angry after the damage done to their city, and the lives lost.

The orphanage had taken in more children than they could handle, requiring help from citizens who weren’t the most willing to serve.

This left Rhys with an idea, one that everyone else in the Inner Circle had given their support for eventually, albeit begrudgingly. He took two birds with one stone and took in some of the orphans to both raise his reputation and solve the orphanage size problem.

The only issue with it had been that the orphanage, despite its problems, and the obvious displays of uncleanliness, lack of employees, and even some abuse, refused to give Rhys any children, and though the High Lord could just override their order, that wouldn’t help with the issue of his reputation.

And so they’d agreed to send a worker, one that had grown up in the orphanage and lived there still, working full time to help the children. And look how well that had turned out, with this malnourished, beaten female showing up, barely even alive.

Rhys didn’t speak, his eyes, unsmiling, on the male who’d led you here, forcing him to speak first. The tension grew thick.

”Here she is, my Lord.”

He said, voice smooth despite the hint of nerves Azriel could detect under it, and in his body language. He was fidgeting, palms sweaty, scent blocked with some sort of sour spray commonly sold here in Hewn City, but Azriel could pick up the notes of fear in it, the anxiety.

Rhys watched silently, waiting just to watch the man slowly become more afraid, before speaking.

”Very well, then. Azriel, escort her to the House.”

He said with a simple wave of his hand, and despite the surprise that rose in Azriel about the fact that Rhys hadn’t called the man out or exposed him in the slightest for the obvious mistreatment of the woman, he pushed it back down, walking over to you and gingerly picking your frail form up as if it might shatter with the slightest amount of force.

A silent winnow to the House of Wind, the shadows gently exploring you, reporting every little injury they found, the dehydration and starvation evident in your body, not to mention the clear lack of sleep from the dark eye bags you possessed.

”What’s your name?”

He tried to ask it softly, so as not to startle you, like talking to a cornered animal, but you weren't very responsive. He sighed near silently, walking to a table, the House pulling out a chair as he set you down in it. A glass of water appeared on the table, and that was the thing that seemed to make your eyes light up again, even if just a little bit. Maybe just natural instincts to get water after going so long without.

He gently grasped the water, bringing it to your lips as they parted, tilting the cup slightly to let the water flow down into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop eagerly, parched tongue that felt like sandpaper finally getting the hydration it screamed for.

You panted as he pulled the cup away, hand going to grasp it to bring it back, but he shook his head and you realized the cup was empty. The House, seeming to sense your thirstiness, decided to help, and your eyes widened when you saw water magically filling the cup. Azriel watched, a small smile playing on his lips at your awe and surprise.

”The House is sentient,”

He explained, voice low and quiet. Gentle.

”It decides that we need a bit of help, sometimes.”

You brought the cup back to your lips, drinking the liquid all down as your hand shakily held the cup. The House filled it up, and you drank again and repeated it until your stomach felt full of all the water it could hold, and you couldn’t keep anything else down.

“Full?”

The shadowsinger asked, and you nodded hesitantly. He seemed to expect it.

”You’ll eat in the morning. For now..”

He glanced outside, at the darkness that had swept over the sky quickly, before turning back to you.

”I’ll take you to your room.”

It was another silent moment, a walk, as he offered a hand you didn’t take at first, only carefully taking after you tried to stand up and your knees buckled immediately. It was more like his arm around your waist, at this point, with how he was holding half of your weight up. Your eyes grew heavy, even as you gaped at the paintings adorning the walls, the carpet and rich wood beneath your feet, the fancy wallpapers and furniture. Just selling one of those pieces of furniture could pay for probably a decade’s worth of food for the orphanage.

A fancy wooden door came into view with a carved siding and intricate leaf patterns with flowers carved around the handle, it opened for the both of you as he walked in. The bed in the center of the room was rich, but looked comfortable, just the way you liked it with the right pillows, blankets, sheets, and everything. There was a side table and a large closet, as well as another door you assumed led to a bathroom. You could’ve sworn you heard music playing somewhere down the hall.

As you walked in, he remained at the doorway, not going to enter your space without your permission as you leaned against the wall, slowly making your way to the bed until you sat down on the edge of it, still in your dirty clothes.

You were too tired to care.

He turned to leave, hand on the door handle before you spoke.

”Y/N.”

He glanced at you, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, eyes narrowing just a bit.

”My name,”

You clarified, voice raspy and thin, but slowly shedding its rough layer, smoothing over with every word you spoke.

“It’s Y/N.”

He looked at you for a long moment, hazel eyes peering into yours, before he gave a small nod, and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him.

~

That night had been the first time you’d spoken to any of them, and also one of your last nights seeing Azriel. He’d been sent away on a mission, only giving you a brief introduction to his brother Cassian, a big, brutish-looking man with a smirk, who had forced you to eat properly every day and even convinced you to help out with the exercises today.

Thanks to the daily intake of protein and nutrients you got three times a day now, as well as water, your thin figure had filled out nicely, and you were outside, detangled and freshly washed hair tied back into a braid that the red-haired priestess had done for you after watching you struggle with doing it on your own. You’d already forgotten her name. Something that started with G.

Cassian was trying to help you with the daily stretches that his mate, Nesta, had supposedly originally started with. Your body wasn’t as frail as before but was stiff as a board due to the long hours of being forced into a wooden chair, or the days spent bent over tables folding laundry or over counters doing dishes, not to mention all the paperwork for an orphanage…

You weren’t flexible. At all.

“Here, try to move your hand slowly down, even just centimeter by centimeter.”

He was trying to get you to touch your toes, but you only frowned, hand refusing to go past the bottom of your knee as you tried to push it further, your already aching back screaming in protest.

The three other females out were practicing their swordplay, or whatever one would call the weapons they were wielding. You could hear steel on steel clinging from here, even, and you saw how Cassian wanted to join them. How his eyes kept glancing up at them, a hint of longing in them, maybe even a gleam of lust at the thought of seeing his mate sparring.

And you felt bad for holding him back from that, bad enough that you just wanted to get this last stupid stretch over so you could go back inside and quit wasting his time. With a little mental shove, you pushed your hand down further, jerking it down and-

Something hurt. Bad. A slight sound of something popping almost, and a sharp pain in the back of your leg. Years of controlling your expression from the harsh punishments of the older women in the orphanage came back as you forced it into a neutral, fingertips gracing your toe as you slowly shifted back into a standing position.

Cassian must’ve been too focused on the other females to notice your subtle limp, or how all of your weight was focused on one leg. He raised a brow, glancing back at you when he saw you shift up.

“I touched it.”

You said simply, and he grinned, genuine pride in his eyes gleaming so brightly that it hurt flashing as he nodded.

“You’re making good progress, go take a break. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, yeah?”

You gave a nod, and he patted you gently on the back as he jogged past, picking up a sword and launching straight into sparring with Nesta as you managed to get into the House.

Cassian might’ve been a bit oblivious, but the House of Wind was anything but. Immediately, a chair appeared right near the entrance, and a strong sudden wind pushed you into it, a cold cushion appearing right beneath the aching spot in your thigh as you sat down.

The chair began moving, going straight into your room, where you shifted onto the bed, sitting on the edge.

Strangely though, the House didn’t do anything further. Didn’t provide any ice, or anything to compress it with, so you supposed it was up to you. Usually, it provided anything you needed badly.

Shifting up, your hand went to gently explore the back of your thigh, tenderly pushing against your pants to find the spot that was aching so badly, and soon enough, you found it. A sharp pain shot through your nerves as you grunted and flinched at it, hand immediately going away.

You tried to stand up, but your knee on that right thigh completely buckled, and you fell to the floor in a heap, vision swimming.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you loosed a deep breath, frustration blooming through you.

“Need some help?”

A familiar low voice asked, and you opened your eyes, only to see Azriel standing right by one of the windows, head tilted to the side, hazel eyes examining. His shadows whirled around him, some carefully approaching you. You froze under his gaze, eyes widening.

“How long have you been standing there?”

You asked, and he began to approach, long strides making their way to you as he crouched down in front of you. He hummed in thought, lips pursing before he answered.

“Long enough to know you’re hurt. Can I pick you up?”

He questioned, eyes peering into yours, asking for consent. After just picking you straight up that first introduction without asking, he figured he might’ve not made the best impression, and he planned to undo that. Or maybe he was just overthinking this whole thing. Either way, consent is still a good thing to get.

You nodded, glancing down at your leg as you began trying to squirm, but with a single shake of his head, Azriel shut it down. His hands wrapped around you, slowly lifting you up and carefully to avoid your hurt thigh as he took you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet seat.

“Do you know what’s..wrong with it?”

You asked, and he glanced at your right thigh, shadows flitting around him.

“I’d assume a hamstring tear. Hopefully just a partial one.”

You gulped nearly audibly at that. An entire hamstring tear, just from some stupid stretches that you couldn’t get down. You’d bothered this family enough, and to have Azriel, probably fresh from a mission and tired as hell, having to help you with this…it was more than embarrassing as well.

“I’m going to need to…”

He swallowed awkwardly, gesturing to your pants, and you grimaced. He must’ve noticed, because he quickly offered up a solution.

“I can have the shadows do it, they won’t hurt you. Promise.”

You nodded at that, a breathy little-

“Okay,”

-escaping your lips. Azriel turned away as the cool touch of the shadows, at first made you shudder, though you eventually adjusted as they unbuttoned the pants, slowly slipping them off, making sure the material didn’t put any pressure against your injured leg. They also made sure to tug your shirt down to cover your underwear, which you silently thanked them for. You didn’t need the shadowsinger seeing all that.

He eventually turned back around, probably having been signaled by his shadows that they were done. His gaze remained respectful, making sure to never wander as he bent down, glancing up at the bottom of your thigh and frowning to himself, before nodding.

“Torn hamstring. We’ll keep pressure and ice on it while I wait for Madja.”

You blinked.

“We? Also, who’s Madja?”

You asked, brows furrowed in mild confusion.

“Madja is our family healer. She’s been doing it for centuries now, I sent my shadows to contact her the moment I saw you injured. And you aren’t going to be staying all alone while injured. It’s a ‘we’ situation.”

He replied bluntly, somehow still not a rude sort of blunt, though. Your cheeks turned red.

“You didn’t have to do that, it’s not that bad. Really, I could’ve managed-“

He cut you off before you even got the rest of the sentence out.

“You collapsed from the pain while trying to stand up. It was that bad. Despite whatever you experienced while at that orphanage may have led you to believe, you are not subservient, and you are allowed to have problems.”

He said almost sternly, and you sat there, shocked for a moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You said, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, and he gave you a doubtful look, moving to sit down so he wasn’t towering over you, settling on the floor across from where you were sitting.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N. I see the way you clean the dishes off after dinners, help set the table before them, offer to babysit Nyx for Feyre, clean the weapons the Valkyries use in training for them…it’s obvious.”

His hazel eyes met yours yet again, and you tried to swallow that lump down, failing, again.

“It’s hard not to try and help out when I’m just stuck here as some charity case for the High Lord.”

There it was. The truth finally came out.

It felt bad saying it out loud, worse than it sounded in your head, but it got rid of some of the pressure in your chest finally saying it.

The orphans were starving and dehydrated, abused, and here you were, complaining about getting unlimited access to food, water, exercise, and plenty of opportunities those children would’ve gobbled up, opportunities you would’ve gobbled up at their age, had you gotten the chance.

Azriel didn’t look surprised. In fact, he looked like he’d been expecting you to say this eventually.

“It’s just—being stuck here, with all these things, when the children at the orphanage need them more than me, with the food shortages and dehydration, and Mother knows the abuse going on behind the scenes—it just feels wrong.”

He let you talk, watching you rant, while a pack of ice appeared on the floor, given by the House. When you finally managed to calm down, tears still welling in your eyes from frustration and anger, he stood up, hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know.”

He said quietly, and you sniffled, glancing up at him.

“What?”

He hesitated, before answering your question.

“I knew the orphanage wasn’t right. I’ve known for a while. It wasn’t about a charity case, or that’s not why I originally suggested it. I needed a whistleblower to shut it down.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“You want me to…”

“Only if you want to.”

The decision was yours.

Would you keep your mouth shut about the things you’d experienced as a child and employee at the orphanage, where you’d been trapped and abused for years, or would you finally stop being subservient and ignoring your own needs?

~

Nearly six months later, the final court proceedings went through.

It was shut down, and the children all relocated to Velaris’ orphanage funded by Feyre’s earnings from her art studio. After several bruises, scars, deformities, and the obvious malnourishment and illness in most children and employees were pointed out, not to mention some first-hand testimonies led by you, and a handful of other employees and children, it was an open and shut case.

It was a wonder no one had uncovered it earlier.

Almost as if they’d been purposefully ignoring it.

But it was over now, you thought, as you stood in one of the many balconies at the House of Wind, looking at the view over Velaris. A warm presence made itself known as cool shadows began slithering up your arms that were on the railing.

He stood beside you, also taking in the view. His scarred hands, unbound by the usual gloves he wore when getting home from missions, rested on the railing. Your cold hands slowly crept up to his, fingers brushing, both of you holding your breath as your eyes met, and your fingers intertwined slowly, carefully.

Gently, but not because you were fragile, not because Azriel thought you would easily break, he'd already learned that even when you’d been put through trial and tribulation time after time you came out dented, but whole. It was gentle because you both needed a slight reprieve from the world’s chaos and violence. From the horrors that lurked in your mind, prowling and waiting for the right moment to come back up, unwelcome and unwanted.

His wings shifted, one curling around you as he subtly shifted you closer, the limp less pronounced in your sideways step toward him.

Your free hand made its way to his cheek, softly stroking with the pad of your thumb, the barely developed calluses from your training with Cassian a soothing feeling for Azriel. His free hand made to lightly stroke your cheek, letting you take the lead. Giving you a choice.

You leaned in closer, and he bent down slightly, just so you wouldn’t have to rise on your toes to reach his face. Your lips brushed softly against his, a tentative touch, but not unsure as his reaction of kissing you back spurred you on.

And for a moment, both of you intertwined beneath the sky, everything was alright.

[alittle-toosilly]

Welp got really into Mouthwashing so I have some stupid headcanons. Very unorganized and (maybe?) mostly about Curly because I feel like his condition has a lot more depth to it story wise. I say while writing this in the middle of the night.

TW:Medical stuff like catheters, feeding tubes, and saliva ejectors, trauma, disassociation/derealization, exhaustion, PTSD, nightmares, flashbacks, mentions of workplace accidents, severe injuries, implied 🍇 (FUCK YOU JIMMY), vomiting/mentions of vomit, anxiety, stress, making yourself sleep with da fishies, drug use/od, mentions of miscarriage, intoxication and alcohol consumption, hallucinations, starvation/dehydration, the usual stuff to expect from Mouthwashing, Jimmy.

Curly clearly has little to no eyelids anymore, so he has to get eye drops very frequently, including at night. Due to not being able to blink he's also very sensitive to bright lights and his vision is a little more blurry. He also has some corneal swelling. Everyone on the Tulpar rotates through the job of administering these eye drops.

Sometimes the agony of not being able to blink is too much for Curly, so sometimes Anya will turn off all the lights in the room. She's tried to put various fabrics and bandages on his eye as a makeshift eye mask, but it always causes him too much pain.

Anya usually offers to do the task of administering eye drops because she feels terrible for not being able to handle giving him pain meds. It's also an excuse to get away from Jimmy, since she sleeps in the same room as him (Even though she's got her mattress far away from him.) She's lost a lot of sleep because of this and has been on the verge of passing out or has just outright passed out mid day due to exhaustion. It fucks with her memory and general functions big time when it's really bad.

She's been on a 7 board game losing streak with Daisuke from her exhaustion and general stress. Daisuke let her win after she almost broke the table while crying in a fit of frustration. He never told her, but she knows and is very grateful for it.

Curly has a Gastronomy-jenunostomy tube installed. The G port drains stomach fluid for medicine and the J port feeds him. Anya's role of being a nurse makes her have to be the one to feed Curly and clean out said tubes a lot of the time, but sometimes she gets Daisuke to help clean out the tubes whenever Swansea is irritated more than usual so he can let Swansea cool off. Daisuke doesn't really like doing it but he thinks it's also kinda cool.

Curly has an incredibly sensitive stomach now thanks to the injuries he sustained from the crash. He has to get fed the selection of food for any members who could have sensitive stomachs (Provided by Pony Express!) it tastes like it's going bad at best, and makes him want to vomit at worst. He has actually vomited a few times because of this, and the puke had to be sucked out of his mouth with a saliva ejector before he could choke.

Anya has tried to crush up the painkillers and put it in Curly 's food to make administering them easier, but due to the sheer foulness of the food, he could taste the painkillers intensely like he was swallowing them dry and it caused him to feel sick and vomit.

Curly has a catheter and a poorly modified ostomy bag (you usually dispose of these while standing and he can't stand.) for helping him dispose of waste. Anya cleans these out. Nobody else is gonna do it.

Curly is hard of hearing from the sound of the crash and the damages to his ears. He can still hear to an extent, but he can't hear whispering at all or subtle noises like the buzzing of lights or the soft hum of machines.

Since Anya is a nurse, she isn't really well equipped at dealing with all this stuff. It usually goes to trauma center workers, but there aren't any on the Tulpar so....

Daisuke goes to Curly a lot to yap to him so he has company, even if the sight of Curly freaks him out a little. While it's irritating a tiny bit it's a good enough distraction from the pain. He's even memorized facts about different pieces of media to remember when Daisuke yaps to him.

Anya has had one sided conversations with Curly. She forgives him eventually for not taking further action against Jimmy when the chance was there, her reasoning is that it's hard to accept somebody you thought you know would do such a thing (She still considers filling Curly's GJ tube with mouthwash and killing him from time to time out of vengeance, but she doesn't in the end.)

Anya, Daisuke, and Jimmy all pick at their skin at varying levels of intensity. They used to have a shitty, single use small picky pad to share that Anya made but Jimmy fucking picked all the beads out once and now they can't use it for anything except tearing the rubber apart.

Anya flinches or even jumps when she gets touched without wanting or consent. She once fell out of a chair when this happened :(

Daisuke actually has really nice handwriting when he's not rushing and takes great care writing his kanji (if I remember correctly the wiki said he does write kanji) and Swansea secretly marvels at the penmanship.

Daisuke posts his kanji written on stick notes around the Tulpar, much to Swansea's faked annoyance and Jimmy's actual annoyance. He doesn't really listen to the haters though and will happily explain their meaning to anyone who would listen.

Out of all the characters, Swansea has the best handwriting due to being a perfectionist when it comes to his work, second is Curly from writing reports and signing stuff over the years, and then Daisuke. Anya has pretty good handwriting too (probably why she was rejected from medical school/j)

Anya can draw very well due to her studying to go to medical school and had drawings of loved ones and landscapes pasted onto the ceiling of her quarters. They all sadly got wrecked in the crash, including a large mural made of multiple pages of a mountain scape with a river and valley. She had a drawing of some hills and a lake she put on the curtain at the foot of Curly's bed so he had something to look at. She had to take it down because Jimmy said it was a "Work hazard" (fuck you Jimmy.)

Due to everyone's photos and memorabilia in their quarters being destroyed, Anya and Daisuke helped draw recreations best they could. Not totally perfect, but good enough.

Anya has intense imposter syndrome, and Jimmy isn't making it at better (Fuck you Jimmy.)

Swansea has mistaken Daisuke for his son and Anya for his wife while drunk on mouthwash, and it was very awkward for everyone.

Swansea once cried for 3 hours while drunk. It was very jarring.

Due to lack of proper nutrition and stress, Anya's child was inevitably going to die anyway. Her overdose was just her finally making a choice for herself (FUCK YOU JIMMY)

Sometimes Anya would hum when working. Curly memorized at least 6 different songs and plays them in his head occasionally.

Daisuke has "drawn" with Curly. And by draw I mean he would ask him if he wanted something/part of a character or landscape drawn, and any wheeze would be taken as a yes.

Swansea has visited Curly, usually just to talk to him. He doesn't really interact with him though, the sight of him reminds him of workplace accidents.

Daisuke once tried to eat from the foam mounds out of desperation and curiosity even though its plastic. It actually tasted kinda good but felt like shit in his mouth so he does not recommend it.

Everyone plays music sometimes on the big screen speakers. Anya likes bossa nova, J pop, Chappel Roan, and metal. (Just a hunch.)

Swansea prefers jazzy stuff and oldies It reminds him of simpler times. (Just a hunch)

Daisuke and Anya bond over their mutual love for metal. He also enjoys dubstep, breakcore, and secretly enjoys orchestra and choir. He doesn't want to share it though because he got called a nerd for it in middle school. He will listen to anything honestly because he's chill like that (Again, just a hunch.)

Jimmy doesn't like music because they end up making it into his hallucinations somehow every time. (Somebody please draw Jimmy suffering while Hot To Go plays or smthn)

Curly doesn't really remember what he likes anymore, but the songs Anya hums are his favorites, and he enjoys some of the songs they play on the big screen if he manages to hear them through the walls.

Everyone has memory and functioning issues due to trauma response and stress, and also instinctively dive for cover or freak out if they hear a loud noise.

There have been multiple times where the crew have all just sat there doing nothing, or have fucked up their tasks because they weren't all too sure if they were real or there or some form of that.

Anya has the worst disassociation and derealization episodes from pre crash trauma (fuck you Jimmy) and the pressure to keep Curly alive .

Daisuke has horrific nightmares, and has woken up screaming in the middle of the night.

Curly ended up learning how to sleep with his eye open since he doesn't have eyelids anymore, and this is the only time he's ever grateful he lost one of his eyes in the crash.

Swansea sometimes gets intense flashbacks and he once almost hurt himself from them while working.

Everyone is very malnourished and on the brink of dehydration, with them having less stamina, headaches, and losing a lot of weight and color.

All of the crew has a vitamin D deficiency at varying levels of severity due to the supplements given to them to compensate for the lack of sunlight being destroyed.

Anya's hair has begun falling out, and so has Daisuke's and Jimmy's. Swansea was already kinda losing his hair.

At least everyone on board has had one fainting spell because of the poor nourishment.

Jimmy has a jar for the Pony Express mascot figurines he has because he canonically gets turned on by horses and he's a fucking disgusting piece of shit. Literally everyone found out and he hasn't been able to live it down.

Lmk if I should add more/make a part two or have an inaccuracy to anything. I need to gauge some characters better so character specific hcs may not be made for a while if I ever make them again.

[thegamingcatmom]

What's your favorite thing about Miranda?

Can be literally anything, from the way she moves to her personality to the way she dresses :)

Personally I love the mix of insane and hot she is. Her red flags are big but red is my favorite color ☺️

How am I meant to decide?? 😭

I mean, the physical aspects are a given - her golden hair, her icy-blue eyes, her full lips, her enormous wings. You name it.

But, more than her appearance, it´s just her way of going about things that´s the biggest red flag and, therefore, sexy af to me. 😭

She doesn´t do things in a sane way. I doubt she even knows what sane entails, lmao. When she´s set her mind to something, she´s fully devoted to it, 110%. She doesn´t give a rat´s ass about the consequences, as long as they don´t interfere with her plans. She couldn´t care less about who gets hurt in the process, as long as it isn´t someone she cares about. She makes an entire village believe she´s some godsend, someone who brings salvation, and then proceeds to give them hell instead.

And don´t get me started on her "false" children, whom she only keeps around to (hopefully) speed up the process of resurrecting Eva. Or Ethan, whom she keeps alive only until he no longer serves any purpose to her. Mia would´ve faced the same fate, no doubt. Or Miri would´ve "forgotten" about her alltogether, leaving her to rot in her cell and eventually die of starvation/dehydration.

As long as you contribute to her goal in some way, you´re safe (for the moment). If not...well- 💀

When Miranda´s set her mind to something, she becomes so obsessed with it that the only way to stop her is to kill her.

(And even then, that woman still refuses to fully perish. That cockroach. 🪳)

That´s the level of unhinged I´m talking about. 🫠

.

.

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Thanks a lot for you ask! 💋

[ranpowriter]

On BSD’s Poe and The Cask of Amontillado — methodical violence

For all that Poe is characterized as soft (and rightfully so) I’ve always thought it was curious how easily he is given to violence, especially as it relates to Ranpo.

For the below analysis of Poe, I will be comparing Poe to the narrator of the Cask of Amontillado, Ranpo to Fortunado, and Poe’s novel to specific part of the catacombs where Fortunado was walled in.

1. The Motive

Poe spent 6 years plotting the murder of a man who beat him in a detective competition, which I’m fairly certain is a reference to the narrator in Cask of Amontillado (abbreviated hence as Cask)

when [Fortunado] ventured upon insult I vowed revenge

Fortunado is the man the narrator kills, and for a similar reason to which Poe wanted to kill Ranpo (humiliation). In fact, this entire first paragraph delves into reasoning that Poe follows in his revenge against Ranpo. Notably:

[A wrong] is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

And Poe makes it very clear to Ranpo that he felt humiliated by Ranpo, and what he felt humiliated by. He tries to make himself felt to Ranpo, and we see this with how he tries to remind the detective of their history.

2. The Identity and Treatment of the Victim

Both Ranpo and Fortunado are:

1. Better than and are arrogant about a skill which the narrator also takes pride in. Ranpo is astonishingly brilliant (moreso than Poe) while Fortunado is someone who “prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine” and the narrow is also “skilful in the Italian vintage”. Ranpo also repeatedly brags about his intelligence/super-deduction and calls other people stupid, just like Fortunado insists that he is the better expert on wine than the other people the narrator brings up, and calls one of them “an ignoramus”.

2. Killed (or attempted to be killed) by in a test of the aforementioned, shared skill. Ranpo is lured into a mystery novel while Fortunado is lured into a cellar to taste wine.

3. People who will be missed, “unlike” the killer. Ranpo is the agency’s pillar while Poe works for the guild which is all “money and violence”. Poe even remarks that he envied Ranpo’s praise, and that he himself cannot stomach the world much. Fortunado was said by the narrator to be “rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed”.

4. “Lucky” people. Poe viewed Ranpo as lucky for being the holder of glory and praise and for being blessed with the super deduction ability, unlike the “disgraced” Poe. Fortunado’s name literally means fortunate.

5. Locked in a place to die where others have already died. As the novel’s murderer, Ranpo likely would’ve been one of if not the last person to die, and when he did he’d have died among corpses, much like Fortunado died in the catacombs.

6. Meant to be slowly killed. Since again, Ranpo(‘s character) would’ve probably outlasted everyone else it’s likely that it would’ve taken a while for him to die, while Fortunado is literally walled into the cellar and presumably died of dehydration/starvation/suffocation/etc. It’s also possible that has Ranpo not figured out the killer, he would’ve died of the same cause (since, who knows if there was food in that novel).

3. Method of Madness — fair and escapable, up to a point

To me, the above similarities that Poe is like the narrator as well. This in mind, and considering canon actions, I do think that Poe is intensely and easily given to violence when moved to be. However, I also think this happens only in regard to Ranpo.

However, I also think he is principled and intentional about this violence. He gives Ranpo a fair chance. He has all the Guild’s resources at his disposal and probably could’ve done more to kill the man of all he wanted to do was kill, but no—he wanted to beat Ranpo at his own game. He wanted to redress the insult he suffered as the narrator of Cask did when he lured Fortunado into a game.

The narrator of Cask of Amontillado invited (did not force, only perhaps poke the ego of) Fortunado gave Fortunado plenty of chances to leave, even offered multiple times to take him back out when he began to cough / show ill health (though depending on interpretation, these may have been done to goad Fortunado into continuing). Similarly, Poe gave Ranpo a challenge (which he willingly took) and every chance to back out before he entered the book.

However, as Fortunado’s desire to prove his skill in wine tasting led him to be walled into the catacombs, Ranpo’s desire for the Guild info led him into the book. From there, both of their situations were escapable (or at least they were meant to be).

Also, if you’re wondering why I think the novel is specifically the part of the catacombs that Fortunado was walled into (and not the trip down to the catacombs itself), just look at this image:

Bricked in, much like Fortunado.

All of this leads me to believe that to Poe, revenge was not about the ends, but the method. The ends had no meaning of the method did not address his revenge appropriately. Poe himself suggests this as well when he mentions that the Guild’s violence bores him. The Guild’s violence is just violence, but Poe’s violence towards Ranpo is methodical, intentional, meaningful, and cruel. This leads me into…

4. Blasé Regard of Violence

Take this scene from the Cask:

“Enough,” he said; “the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.”

“True — true,

And this scene from chapter 32:

It’s a bit subtle, but both killers reference that their victim is going to die. The narrator in Cask says “true” because indeed Fortunado would not die of a cough, but of whatever killed him in the catacombs. And in Poe’s eyes (since he believed he would successfully kill Ranpo), Ranpo would “practically die to secure that info”.

Neither of them feel guilt, or even give a thought about feeling guilt, for what they’re doing.

I also want to note that I don’t think either the narrator in Cask nor Poe necessarily enjoy the inflicting of violence. They just… do it. The violence is not blood or pain to relish in, but the vector of their revenge. When Yosano “dies” in the novel and Ranpo is anguished, Poe does not shout about delighting in Ranpo’s misery, but rather is just glad to have beaten him.

The violence is part of these two killers’ method, and the method does matter to them (more than the outcome, even), but the violence is not the part of the method that matters. It is an avenue through which the method is delivered.

As a closing note, I also leave with you the observation that we only get the name of the narrator of The Cask of Amontillado, Montresor, at the very end of the story (when Fortunado has been almost completely walled in), just as Ranpo only claims to remember Poe after he’s gotten out of the novel.

My personal thoughts on Poe’s relationship to Ranpo (IE, not analysis of Poe and Cask) will be below the cut.

—

Personal RanPoe Thoughts

Poe is a little insane.

I really do like thinking about his desire to take violent revenge on Ranpo without actually caring about the violence part is a super cool thing to explore.

I also, again, think that this disposition to violence is Ranpo-specific; that Poe would not be as violent towards anyone other than Ranpo or unless Ranpo was involved. Ranpo and all his arrogance and brilliance. Ranpo as the loved, praised man he is.

I also do not think Poe wants to hurt Ranpo anymore, just for the record (and again I don’t think it was ever about causing harm, just satisfying his own vengeance), neither do I view him as possessive (I mean, we see him happily cheering for Ranpo’s intellectual prowess being recognized during the Perfect Crime arc).

What I do think is that Poe is willing to do just about anything for Ranpo, and to extremes. We see that he easily bets on Guild secrets away—screwing over the group that pays him an unholy amount of money—in order to have Ranpo’s attention and that he’ll write entire books on Ranpo’s whims (I haven’t counted the number of books Ranpo’s used throughout the manga but it’s not a small number of entire novels written in what I assume was less than a year). And while we haven’t seen Poe be violent again, I do think it’s possible.

This is all to say, if you wanna know where my brain has been today, it’s been thinking up scenes like this:

It was plain to see that Ranpo was made to be loved. His voice was loud, his grins were broad, and no better was there ever a moment to celebrate than when he snatched up his glasses and declared,

“Now, my super-deduction will reveal the truth behind this case!”

To deny Ranpo the right to be loved by the public was to deny who Ranpo was. Poe would have nothing else but the whole of him locked at the forefront of his mind.

I think this interpretation is also neat to think about in regards to the recent arc, but I didn’t have the brain space to write something like that today.

I have more RanPoe thoughts, but those will have to wait until a later post (as this is meant to specifically be focused on Poe, The Cask of Amontillado, and violence). Soon, soon.

To be explored in the future… Ranpo’s and Poe’s relationships to feelings of alienation.

[faerunsbest]

im screaming because out of the fucking blue i had this thought of what if rolan found someone on the way to the grove- like in WORST POSSIBLE TIME HE JUST FINDS THIS THIS WEIRD ASS PERSON WHO ONLY EELS SAFE NEAR HIM and zevlor is just begging to please help, just a little bit

and this person is out their damn mind with terror and he assumes he knows why but it ain't that.

there just this person with eyes for him who swears they've spent lifetimes searching for him. they put their hands on his face and out of nowhere ten million memories goes flying through his head but they're not his but they are and knows it and isn't real?

AND AHHH SOUL MATES WITH MONSTER DKJHFGSDJFYGSJFHGSdj

just think about about it what if those fucking gnolls show up to start some shit but this bitch splits her skin open peeling it off and screaming like that fucking t rex at the end of jurassic park and they're suddenly a FUCKING TITAN CLASS BEAST who will do anything rolan asks of them.

all he asks is please, please help if you can and when they do he feels...guilty.

because h knows they're actively well and truly with every fiber of their being in love with him and he used it...used it. and it doesn't matter what they are because right now he's the monster, hes the ugly thing that took their love and used it for his benefit. and no matter what anyone says he cant stop feeling that way.

rolan tries, he tries so hard to tell them and admit what hes done but theyre delirious with starvation, dehydration blood loss and so much more and he swEars he will make it up to them but fucking HOW

[theneverfadinglands]

Early Draft of Chapter ??

The Dance Of The Torrid Air

[Well, I am posting my WIP snippet. Keep in mind I might change some descriptions later, although I am fairly pleased with it already. I think I won't change much about it, so I decided to post it because it is lying there for a long time. This part of the story is set in the desert Erumorna, Maglor sees a caravan of Sauron's slavers, cooks lizards and sings laments in the sandstorm.]

[EDIT: Well it was needed to rework the timeline, this is probably a snipped of some chapter but a much later one!]

The air was hot, but the black sand was hotter. Maglor was lying on his stomach, hiding behind a dune, with two fresh corpses of lizards beside him. A caravan of slavers was marching through a valley between dunes with their newest catch. The cracking of whips tore through the heavy air, urging the slaves to move faster.

Maglor stayed to watch them, for the people were different from the Men of Harad. Their clothing, tailored and made of blue fabrics, was now dirty and worn out after the long march north. Both women and men alike were clad in jewelry made of bones, though some women wore long veils of beads covering their faces. They wore no shoes to protect from the blistering heat of the sand. No children were with them; the slavers did not spare children, leaving them to die of thirst in the desert.

He switched his attention to the goods the caravan was transporting. The camels, with black and dark brown coats, carried the trophies of big-game hunts, bodily remains of animals Maglor had last seen long ago in Aman: skins of golden fur with small black dots, black and white striped hides, and tusks of ivory. A trade expedition then, not a military one. These goods would be sold at the Havens of Umbar. However, the people from far lands would work for the war machinery of Sauron in forges deep underground, under the whips of their masters.

Maglor knew Erumorna was not kind to anyone, neither Men nor Elves or children, but even She hated the servants of the Enemy. A storm was stirring in the South; soon the black sand would cover their traces, and Maglor hoped it would devour them all, burying their bodies under a dark blanket and lulling them into eternal sleep. It would be a kinder fate.

As the caravan passed and was lost between the dunes, Maglor left his hideout. Elvish legs carried him lightly across the sandy waves, not leaving any traces of his presence, swiftly breaching the narrow valley. The wind, stirring the sand in clouds, was suffocating him. He covered his face with a bright red shawl and walked faster. After a while, he reached his destination: a narrow slit between two rocks, leading into a small cave.

Erumorna has two faces: one of immense heat during the day and the cold of night, and the other hidden deep underground in the lava caves stretched across the sea of dunes. It wasn't safe to travel freely in the caves, not now when the Enemy had risen again to power. Creatures of darkness slowly subjugated the most important paths, driving men and elves alike out of their underground realms.

The cave was lit with shining stones in which Maglor had trapped sunlight. The ceiling was too low for him to stand up comfortably. He crawled to the Watercatcher, a simple device used to collect water from the air. He drank a little bit before he moved to skin the lizards. In the long years, he had learned how to skin the quarry single-handedly. Maglor thought that his brother Celegorm would regard the lizards as poor game. But Celegorm was long dead, along with all his other brothers and father.

He raised his voice and called for fire as he had been taught many years ago by Aulë, when the world was fair. Cooking dinner with a simple song, just like many nights before. Maglor was lucky he was a Noldo, for dehydration and starvation would have long forced a Man to receive the Gift of Eru prematurely. A hardy folk were the elves, surviving only on little. The older they were, the lesser the needs of their bodies. Maglor again and again wondered why he had decided to go on this adventure. Although it had not been his brightest idea, it was far from the worst one either.

The wind and sand were singing in symphony like long-lost lovers, weeping outside the cave. Maglor wrapped himself in a thick blanket and raised his own voice to join the music of Manwë and Erumorna. Strumming a simple melody on a kalimba, which he had traded with the Kinn-lai, he sang. There, in the raging storm, nobody could hear him. He sang a song of distant shores, summoning from memory the white sands of Alqualondë reddened with blood. He sang a lament for Celegorm, a song of forests and beasts, hunts passing. A long night was awaiting.

[gunebuggieswriting]

Whumptober Day Four: Cattle Prod | Shock | "You in there?"

The Danger Written In Your Eyes

[AO3]

Danny Phantom, Danny-Centric, Slavery, Starvation, Dehydration, Murder, Hurt no Comfort, Shocks, Cannibalism, Unreliable Narrator, Blood and Injury, Words: 2997

Danny tiredly lifted the crate, his body begging him to rest. He couldn't though not being allowed to.

The agent watching them must have seen him as he struggled to move though, taking it as a sign to stab him with the cattle prod, or "ghost prod" as they called it.

"Stop being lazy, ghost." She sneered, spitting out the word "ghost" as if it were a disease, watching with disgust as his body shook in pain. He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her that it wasn't "laziness" that was slowing him down, but him growing increasingly worn out from the constant work. They didn't believe him the last time he said it, the idiots thinking that it was impossible for ghosts to get tired, and there was no point in trying to make them see reason.

He hated those shocks. They reminded him of the electricity that ran through him during the incident in the portal, what killed him halfway. It was that day that eventually led him here, to be captured by the GIW and forced into slavery. He grit his teeth and continued moving, blinking away the tears wetting his eyes. He wouldn't cry here, he wouldn't give that satisfaction to these monsters.

He wished he wasn't here, and hoped that somebody would save him soon. That hope was dwindling, having already lost track of the days he was imprisoned here. It's been somewhere close to a month, maybe two, perhaps even longer, and he could feel himself beginning to break.

The white walls reflecting the bright florescent lights above burnt his eyes, causing him to have a constant headache. They never fed them or gave them water here, something seen as unnecessary for them, none of them living. Well mostly, he was the only one alive, or half alive. He needed those things, and he could feel his human half withering without them, causing his ghost side to become weak.

He wondered how much longer he could take before he was truly dead, or a walking corpse if his ghost half couldn't die again. He couldn't transform back into a human, the shackles on him prevented him from using any of his powers, but it also forced him to give it ectoplasm to stay charged. Whenever he tried to turn into a human, the rings slowly climbing his body, the cuffs would feel the lack of ectoplasm and shock him. Although his human side did produce ectoplasm, it wasn't nearly as much as his ghost side, and any decrease caused the cuffs to go crazy. It hurt worse than the hot sticks the agents loved to use, so he never tried to transform again.

Not like he really wanted to now. He didn't want to see how terrible his human half looked. How thin his frame would be, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken and empty. He could imagine how much pain he'd be in, only to be drowned out by his exhaustion. He'd probably pass out, if he didn’t fully die right then and there. The thought of it made him shiver. He could already taste death, and it wasn't sweet, he already danced with it before.

He huffed, placing down the crate of ectoplasm powered weapons on top of another crate. He grimaced looking at it, knowing exactly what they were for. He had overheard the guards speaking about how the GIW was finally getting some "well deserved" recognition. That with ghosts becoming more of a problem, they were getting a lot more funding to deal with it. They didn't know that it was because Danny was stuck here and couldn't stop the ghosts, and he didn't bother to tell them. It's not like they'd listen.

With this new amount of funding they were finally able to start up a manufacturing company to make anti-ghost weapons on a whole new scale. They were even discussing whether they should begin selling the weapons to the public. Something that Danny wanted to argue against.

If everybody had weapons against ghosts, the ghosts peacefully roaming wouldn't last very long. Eventually they'd also build up a sort of army, something that the Infinite Realms would take seriously, which could lead to war. A war that the Earth couldn't win. One that'd devastate even the winners, the Infinite Realms holding Earth may collapse from the damage. After that, they'd all cease to exist. It'd be a terrible chain of events, suffering on every side.

They didn't understand that. None of them did, no matter how many times he tried to explain. They'd always scoff and assume Danny was telling them this because he was trying to protect his own species, being a ghost. If only they knew he was trying to protect his own species, being a human.

He couldn't tell them that. He didn't have proof, not being able to change into a human, and they'd never dare to take the shackles keeping him there off. They wouldn't believe a word he said. Even if they did, it'd probably cause them to become more curious with him than to actually listen to his warning. They'd hide him, keeping him under secure government lockdown so they could experiment with him, ignoring the laws they're supposed to enforce.

His life really did suck at the moment, and as his limited time ticked down, he was beginning to become desperate. He couldn't stay here. Not if he wanted to keep what part of him was alive. Not if he wanted to keep the people he cared about safe. Not if he wanted to keep the realm he lived in.

It seemed like he had no other choice.

"Hey! I told you to quit being lazy, you damned gh-!"

Danny didn't allow the woman to finish her sentence, snatching the cattle prod from her hand, stopping her from using it. He didn't hesitate whenever he turned the cattle prod around, shocking her with it instead. He wrapped a hand around her mouth to keep her from screaming. He didn't flinch whenever the electricity ran through him too, already knowing it was coming, watching with blank eyes as the woman thrashed in his hold.

Moments later the woman quit moving entirely, and he didn't when he carelessly tossed her on the ground. The other ghosts around him stared with shocked expressions, and before they could break out of it Danny raised a single finger, silently telling them to be quiet. Few nodded in fear, others still too surprised to do anything but stare. Most ghosts hardly ever take lives, majority knowing from personal experience how it felt whenever life drained from them. He'd never wanted to take a life either, having experienced both death and being brought back, but he didn't have a choice. They didn't give him a choice.

He walked away, hearing how his shackles beep in warning as he strayed from the path designed just for ghosts. He ignored it until he was behind the crates, out of view from the others. He balled up the white sleeve of the jacket he was forced into, stuffing it in his mouth. He took a deep breath from his nose, trying to calm his nerves, before taking the cattle prod and sticking it to the cuff.

His screams were muffled by the sleeve, and his body lurched forward from pain. He kept on though, wanting the shackle off. He'd endure the pain, he had to, he had no other choice.

Electricity always felt worse for him than others. After all, reminding a ghost of their death was always painful, his physically so. Flashes of his time in the portal threatened to surface, but he pushed them back. He couldn't think of that now, couldn't allow himself to be distracted. If he did he'd let go of the stick, and then he'd have to do this all over again.

After what felt like forever, but was most likely less than a minute, the cuffs fell off. The electricity was too much for the cuffs. He immediately threw down the stick, breathing heavily, tears peeking out from the corner of his eyes. His whole body felt numb, and from where his sleeve was raised up a bit he could see how his scars glowed. He roughly pulled the sleeve back down, and leaned against the crates.

That's when he felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion pass through him, bringing panic with it. His body was trying to transform, his ghost half spent now, and he couldn't let that happen. He fought the rings that threatened to climb up his body, his face scrunched from the amount of concentration it took. With him being halfway fried he couldn't think of much, feeling numbed in a way he hoped wouldn't be permanent.

Eventually he won the battle, his ghost half no longer trying to fade. He knew that it wouldn't last long, that he would soon be forced to face his living half, or what remained of it. He groaned, pulling himself to stand. He didn't turn around back to the other ghosts still trapped, or the woman he mercilessly killed and dropped to the floor. This was his chance, so he had no other choice other than to finally leave the place. Something he should have done weeks ago, but was too afraid to do, with too many ghosts he didn't want to leave behind.

He wasn't afraid anymore, he proved that, the stiff corpse on the ground still there. He'd come back for the ghosts, and they'd all burn the place down, or…

They could just burn it now.

His face broke out into a grin, pain and exhaustion forgotten, as he turned back around.

If he truly wasn't afraid he'd take them down now, show the idiots who trapped him and everyone else here that they shouldn't have. They'd regret ever doing so, any peaceful negotiations be damned. He was tired of being the "hero", as much as he was tired of being titled the "villain". He could be both right now, and he'd show them how blurry that line really was.

In the back of his mind, the part of him still stuck in the past, before being captured, begged him to just leave. That one life was already too much, that he shouldn't claim any more. His present self drowned that quiet voice, knowing that he had no other choice. One life wasn't enough anymore.

After that it was much more blurry, stuffing his consciousness deep inside and allowing logical thinking and actions to drive him forward. He couldn't feel anything, his emotions other than anger all an afterthought. This left him as the brutal being that the GIW was forced to fight, a Danny they've never seen before. A more cunning version, no longer held back by fear of harming others. He easily tore through the agency with the help of the other ghosts he freed, even with the many who simply escaped, not wanting to either kill others or possibly be in Danny’s way of doing so, however some felt the same as he did. They knew there was no longer another choice.

The GIW was just as lackluster and stupid as before, and Danny couldn't help but wonder how he got caught in the first place. It must be from how he never truly tried to hurt them. Now that he wasn't holding back, they understood how severely they underestimated him. There was a reason he could keep all other ghosts from destroying the world, and it wasn't because he was weak.

He left the government facility, the warmth of the flames comforting on his cold damp skin. He was soaked in blood, most of it starting to dry, though his footprints remained bloody as he walked further from the building. The ghosts beside him slowly began to disperse, some thanking Danny for saving them, others leaving silently. He didn't talk to any of them, and he blamed the shocks he put himself through earlier for the way he still felt numb.

His mind was still blank as he used what little remaining power he had left to go invisible and lift his body into the air, leaving after all the other ghosts did, no longer feeling responsible for them. He returned home, or what should have been home, but after being gone for so long he felt distant. Perhaps it wasn't the town that didn't feel like home, but the feeling of him no longer belonging there. He did belong there though, so he ignored that possibility.

He tried to make it into his house, to find Jazz and tell her everything that happened so she could help him, but he didn't make it that far. He was flying, until he wasn't, crashing right in front of his house. He barely lifted himself from the ground, resting shakily on his elbows, as he stared at the house in front of him. He reached out with a hand, willing to crawl there if he had to, but his invisibility flickered as well.

He froze, knowing that if his parents saw him as a ghost they wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

He felt sick thinking about that, or maybe it was the fact that his human half was bleeding through his ghost half. It didn't matter, as he knew that his parents were just as bad as the GIW, and he couldn't have that. He just escaped one prison, he couldn't stay in another.

With that thought he knew what he'd have to do. He stood up, no longer having to keep the rings from rising up his body, newfound determination driving him to continue. Ghosts were made of emotions, and if the only thing he felt at the moment was his need to accomplish what had to be done, then his core would respond.

He'd get rid of his parents, then he could truly be home. What other choice did he have? It was because of them that he didn't feel like he could live there.

He let himself fall back into the same mind state he was back at the agency, dragging his body into the house. With silent feet he found himself in his parents room, sleeping soundly. His eye twitched, not understanding how they could be so peaceful when their son was trapped in a government building. He was never allowed to sleep a wink, and yet they probably slept every night.

He'd sleep after this, in a bed of his own.

What happened next he didn't know, he came back to reality with blood dripping from his hands. His face was covered in his parents blood as well, and he didn't want to think about why his stomach no longer ached.

He left the room, staining the carpet beneath him as he walked to Jazz's room. He didn't knock on the door, entering it without the permission he'd usually ask for. His sister would forgive him, too elated by his surprise return.

What he didn't expect was to be shot squarely in the chest by a gun, his sister's eyes widening with shock. He fell back against the door, sliding down to the floor, covering the hole in his body. If he had enough energy his ghost half would have already healed it, but as he was he watched disinterested as it simply bled.

"Danny? Oh God– Danny is that you?" He looked back up to his sister hurriedly rushing to his side. She kneeled down, her hands hovering over his own that were holding the wound on his chest. She gasped, tears falling down her cheeks. "No– Danny I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you, I– I– you were gone for so long."

Danny didn't say anything as her eyes fully took him in, his own eyes void of emotion. "You in there, Danny, are you– are you okay? I know that's a stupid question, considering I just shot you. But you're covered in blood, and I heard screaming– I swear it sounded like Mom and Dad. What happened?"

"It's not my blood." Was all he said in response, moving to stand back up. He couldn't transform back now, he'd need a lot of ectoplasm to fully heal back. He'd visit the Ghost Zone and recover. If he doesn't, he'll turn back into a human and immediately die. His body finally seemed to understand his resistance to turn back, as it didn't bother trying to force him again.

Jazz gently put hands on his shoulders, not allowing him to get up, he didn’t fight against her caring touches. "Don't move too much, you'll strain your injury and only get yourself more hurt. Wait– what do you mean it's not your blood?"

"My blood is green." He answered, as if it should be obvious, raising his hand to show her the toxic green hole in his body. She winced looking at it, her head quickly turning elsewhere, swallowing the bile rising in her throat

She took a deep breath and looked back over, relieved that Danny had covered the wound again. She looked into her little brother's eyes, a shiver going down her spine from the lack of anything in his eyes. What exactly happened to him, to her silly and awkward teen brother, who would be defiant to any "mother henning' she'd do?

She gulped, noticing how around those blank eyes were drying blood, a shade of dark red. She felt dread bubble deep in her stomach. "Danny, who's blood is that?"

She tried to ask him calmly, but her voice cracked at the end, showing her desperation. Desperate to be told anything else than what she was thinking, for her thoughts to be proved wrong.

Danny blinked, and his unusual dull green eyes never looked away from hers. "I had no other choice."

Her blood ran cold, much like the blood on her little brother's body.

[burger-the-ham]

Fine, let's assume that Hamas are cruel heartless schemers who all deserve to die and popped out of the ground with a innate hatred of peace. I'm not learned enough to convince you otherwise, so I suppose it's fair to work with that.

Even so, as a fellow human being, I can tell you for a fact that Israel is still wrong. Over 10,000 children have died in the conflict(https://reliefweb.int/report/occupied-palestinian-territory/statement-killing-gaza-must-stop-child-death-toll-reaches-10000(yes i know, it's from the gazan ministry of health, which I'm sure you'll regard as biased. however, I trust the UN as a fact checker a great deal more then you.)). 10,000 children have been gunned down, maimed or buried and suffocated beneath tons of rubble. These 10,000 children carry no affiliation to this group Israel claims to be hunting. These 10,000 children could not even be mistaken for this group Israel claims to be hunting. Sure, a decent portion came from bombs and other imprecise instruments, but perhaps if these weapons are so imprecise to have caused so many civilian deaths, you shouldn't use them in a civilian area. A third of the total death count of this supposed "war" is guaranteed to be civilians, and the most innocent of them at that.

Then, let's take in account the fact that Israel is starving 2.3 million people for the actions of a total of 10% of the population(https://www.dni.gov/nctc/ftos/hamas_fto.html(Considering that this is a US backed website, and US has been rather stalwart defenders of Israel against the wishes of their voters, I'd deem it unbiased)). 2.3 million people are being starved, dehydrated, driven out of their homes and deprived most if not all medicine, for the actions of ten percent of them. That's even assuming all of that ten percent is in Gaza, which is just outright not true. They both prevent food and supplies from entering Gaza(https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2024/03/un-experts-condemn-flour-massacre-urge-israel-end-campaign-starvation-gaza) and are firing upon anyone who dares to commit the grand atrocity of receiving humanitarian aid meant for them(https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2024/03/un-experts-condemn-flour-massacre-urge-israel-end-campaign-starvation-gaza). Which is also by the way, in no way following a policy of "We try to prevent civilian deaths" considering that there was no reason to suspect any Hamas members were in the crowd and probability wise, there probably wasn't! Doesn't exactly reflect well on how they prevent civilian deaths in general either, considering they were so hasty to make this decision. A UN expert placed the estimate of people in critical danger of starvation of malnutrition at 500,000, and since that is an older estimate, the number is likely higher. That's 500,000 people at risk of near death and living through an experience that will traumatize them for the rest of their lives, assuming they even survive it.

Israel is a best, entirely incompetent and entirely too careless with lives, or at worst, committing perhaps among the worst act of collective punishment seen in the current centenary. This is wrong, and there's no way you can play this is as right. This isn't self defense by any stretch of the imagination.

Also as for my opinions on terror, I don't think it's right and I do sympathize with their victims. I do however think that Israel has committed a variety of actions that they had to have known would radicalize people. Hamas however, is committing violence that won't lead to a successful outcome, a revolt won't work, and I doubt Israel will be scared into their demands considering they have American backing, meaning that it's unlikely they'll get what they want and only killing people in the process. They have still been radicalized to a degree that they feel the need to do something, and likely don't feel safe doing peaceful protests, which is entirely Israel's fault. What their doing however is wrong, and won't bring about what they want.

Still, I'd rather not get hung up with discussions about Hamas, all I want is for the massacres in Gaza to end. Perhaps Israel has a right to defend itself, perhaps not. I'm likely not the most qualified to say, but anyone can plainly see that this is not the response no matter what. Tragedy on this scale, with so few of them even close to guilty, has no place in any conflict, and I hope you can see that. I really do.

Why should prisoners be released in order for innocent children to be set free? Why should a terrorist organization be permitted by the world to receive its demands? It should never be acceptable to hold children hostage — no matter the context.

Article written by Ofri Bibas Levy, Yarden Bibas' sister and Kfir and Ariel's aunt.

[monkiementor]

Hello! I would like to request angst hcs of the ninjas reacting to their s/o falling into the darkness during March of the Oni?? If that's okay!

Oooo, a Ninjago ask !! I'm not good at hcs but I'll try my best !!

Ninjas reacting to you falling into the Oni cloud.

Ninja crew x gn reader [angst]

Jay ⚡

After seeing you disappear into the cloud he was overwhelmed and sad. He wanted to go to you right now but he couldn't, not yet, he needed to figure out a solution first. He was going crazy inside, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. His chest felt heavy and his vision blurred slightly. All he could focus on was the fact that he would never see you again. He had no idea how long he stood there before he snapped out of his thoughts. He had been standing perfectly still in place while all he wanted was to run in there and save you. He shook his head to snap himself out of his daze. He needed to think rationally, he had to. He couldn't risk anything happening to you. And he refused to let that happen.

He clenched his fists tightly before slowly relaxing and letting go. The tension melted away from his muscles, his legs gave out beneath him and he hit the floor with an audible thud. It sounded hollow to him. Jay couldn't remember the last time he cried, he couldn't remember the last time he let himself be vulnerable. He was scared, worried, angry, and frustrated, yes he was scared. But he tried his hardest to hold it all together so that he didn't alarm any of the others who were busy trying to figure out what exactly they were supposed to do next. He had to be strong. For them, and for you.

Kai 🔥

His reaction was a mix of anger and worry, he never thought that you would actually fall into the Oni cloud. That alone scared him. But then again, Kai's always been an emotional person and he's pretty good at hiding his emotions. The fact that he showed such a strong emotion showed just how much he cared for you. It was obvious in the way he looked after you, the way he talked to you. The way he smiled when you two were together. His heart ached thinking about the possibility of losing you. The more you were gone the more angry and impatient Kai got, Nya tried reassuring him that it was okay and that they were going to get you back but he wasn't having any of that.

Nya 🌊

Nya's reaction was different from most people she has come across in her lifetime. She took your disappearance really seriously and she seemed upset by the whole situation. She was devastated and she was determined to find a way to get you back. In her world, there weren't rules. You could have gotten lost out in the woods with no supplies or a lack of water. You could starve to death from dehydration. There was no such thing as being caught in the rainstorms either. You could die of sickness, starvation, or exposure. You could end up as food for the Oni or something equally horrible and terrifying. In one way or another, you could lose yourself completely without someone around. She couldn't live out her whole life doing absolutely nothing and never finding out what happened to you. She wasn't sure she would survive until she found you. She loved you so much she wouldn't be able to let go. If anyone could bring you home safely it was Nya. Even if she had to fight for it, no matter what that meant.

Lloyd 🌱

He was probably the saddest of them all, his eyes welled up with tears when you fell. He didn't want to believe you were gone. He was still trying to process everything. He needed time before he was ready to give up hope. He felt like his entire world was on edge and his mind was full. He kept imagining worst-case scenarios, he couldn't keep the thoughts out of his head. When you fell into the Oni cloud he started getting more and more anxious. He didn't understand why it affected him so strongly and made him want to cry. Maybe it was because he cares about you so much but he doesn't know how to show it. That's why he hasn't shown any outward signs of his feelings towards you. There are many things that make him want to act on his feelings for you. For example, he wants you to feel comfortable around him. He likes it when you call him by his name, especially when you're close to him and he can feel your body pressed against his. He's not used to physical contact since he's had a bad past with Harumiand etc. But he would also do anything he could to get u back, he would do anything possible to ensure your safety. He knows that's selfish and stupid of him but he feels obligated to protect you. That feeling is stronger than any other reason, he doesn't understand it but he needs to protect you. Even if it means giving up.

Zane 🤖

Zane's reaction was similar to the rest of them but he was more careful in hiding his emotions. He hid it well and his face stayed blank. He kept himself composed. He wanted to help you but he didn't want to hurt anyone else. The only time he allowed his sadness to shine through was when Lloyd brought you up. All these emotions and worries ran through his head constantly. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than making sure you were okay. He wanted to be near you to make sure you were alright. He wanted to make sure that the cloud hadn't harmed you. He hated himself for reacting so badly to the situation, it was almost like he didn't care that you fell into the Oni cloud. It felt wrong. He shook off those thoughts as fast as possible. Even though he wanted to be as calm as possible, there was a part of him that was freaking out inside. He could tell he was struggling, keeping his cool and hiding it behind a mask. He couldn't allow himself to panic, he had to stay calm and focus. He would save you, he told himself. And that was exactly what he decided to do, he wasn't going to give up. He had to do something, anything! He had to get you out of there somehow. If it meant sacrificing his life he would gladly do that, just please, don't leave him.

Cole 🪨

He had seen this coming from the start, he knew that you would fall into the cloud today, but he didn't think it would actually happen. His reaction was just about as shocking as everyone else's in the room, even more because of his own reaction. He couldn't believe what he was seeing; it was like a scene from some movie where the main character falls into a lake during a forest fire or something. It was too unreal. He would do anything in his willpower to get you back. He doesn't care if that means he has to go up against some giant Oni to get you. He'd do it no matter how painful it might be or even impossible. All he wanted to do was make sure you were safe. He did tear up a bit when you fell in, the others tried their best to cheer him up but it was difficult. They all understood that there was nothing they could do.

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

Like I said, I'm not very good at hcs but I tried. ""

[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

Bent by Matchbox 20 here

This is a stand-alone and does not go with a series.

Content Warnings: smut, oral, m&f recieving, penetration, cursing, crime and a case in which the reader is a member of the BAU and has been trapped in a cellar, so kidnapping, being restrained, mentions of blood, starvation and dehydration, the beginning of the fic is kind of dark. Reader briefly panicking. Rescue fic. but it has a happy ending. Slow burn kinda. Please tell me if I missed anything

Word count: 10.4k

"No, Hotch. We're with her now, she's okay," you were far from okay, but you were trying to hold it together for the sake of your team. You'd been in the darkness for longer than you could remember; the days or hours had felt like years trapped in that tiny room. He'd given you water and what had passed for food, but the days had blurred together.

"Where is he?" Your voice was cracking, but you managed to choke out the words, looking to Derek for an answer.

"He's coming, mama. He's right up the stairs," your eyes frantically scanned the steps, waiting for him to come down. You were glued to the floor, not literally, but despite the sweet ring of freedom, you couldn't muster the strength to pull yourself out of the floor. You heard the panicked steps of your unit chief hurrying down the flight of stairs and he'd finally came into view. His eyes scanned over you as he stalked towards you, JJ and Morgan moving out of his way as he leaned down to check on you.

"Come here. I've got you."

Those five words were all you needed to hear to crumple into him, his arms scooping you up to carry you bridal style out of the basement. The sun was so bright it hurt your eyes as he carried you to the ambulance, climbing in the back with you as they dealt with the gash on your head and gave you a general check up to see what the damage was.

"She's dehydrated and this needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged, but she should be okay," the EMT told Hotch, who sat with you the entire time they got you hooked up to the proper monitors. You couldn't even look at him because you weren't sure if there was anything you could say that could explain to him what had taken place over the period of time you'd been separated from your team.

"I know it probably seems like a blur right now, but I need you to tell me what you remember before they take you to the hospital."

Other than the last few moments, you struggled to recall anything useful. Not with such a sore throat and a splitting migraine. You tried to remember the day that you'd been taken; you knew you split up, Hotch went one way and you'd gone another, but it didn't explain how you'd managed to become trapped and held hostage by a psychopath.

"T-there was a man in the barn," the barn was where you'd split up, Hotch went to check the house and you stayed put, examining what looked like human remains when something put you out cold.

"And do you remember how he got you here?"

Flashes of memories flooded back; you'd been on your back in a van, traveling on a bumpy road for what seemed like hours.

"He had a van. Tied me up," you held up your wrists for him to see, rope burns and scrapes from the fiber still fresh on your skin. Hotch winced, holding out his hand for you to hold as the EMT began to clean your wounds.

"You've been gone for three days. We thought— I thought I'd lost you," you saw the unmistakable tears welling in his eyes; he'd blamed himself. You knew this whole time he would, even though there was no way of knowing he was lurking around in the barn, waiting to get one of you alone. It could have easily been him instead. You had been a victim of opportunity, and it could've happened to either of you.

"Three days? That's it?" Your heart began to race at the lost time, panic consuming you. You felt as trapped in the ambulance as you did in that room, frantically pulling the sensors from your skin to escape the confines of the vehicle. Hotch grabbed ahold of you before you could hurt yourself, stopping your flailing limbs and holding you in his lap, shushing you and rubbing your back, trying to get you to calm down.

"You're okay. I won't leave you again," he promised, his hand securely in yours as you rode to the emergency room. He had to wait outside of your room while they did some tests and you answered a series of uncomfortable questions, but as soon as they were finished, he was at your side, his eyes rimmed red from exhaustion.

"You'll get to leave soon," he said as he shut the door behind him, taking a tentative step forward as he took you in. You'd yet to see a mirror, so you could only imagine how you looked.

"I don't want to be alone," you felt pathetic, but after days of being alone, it was the last thing you wanted.

"My next suggestion was going to be that you come home with me," he sat at the end of your bed, staring down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap. You could feel the guilt consuming him from your spot on the bed, so you reached for his hand, letting his clasp yours up tightly.

"This isn't your fault, Aaron," you rarely used his first name, but you wanted him to know you were serious. Nothing either of you could have done would've changed the outcome. Peter Ray was a man on a mission, and he wasn't going to stop until he had one of you.

"I shouldn't have left you alone," he countered, his voice shaky as he looked up at you. You'd never seen him so upset.

"We cleared the barn together. Neither of us could've known he was in there. I'm telling you, this isn't your fault. I'm alive, and that's because you were smart enough to know Peter would have a secluded secondary location close to the water," you argued, the machine monitoring your blood pressure beeping rapidly until you slowed your breathing and calmed down.

"But it took me three days to figure out where. I'm not going to pretend to know what happened to you down there, but I will apologize, because I couldn't do more to stop it."

"If you hold onto this, it'll ruin you." His grip on your hand tightened because he knew you were right. You wanted him to forgive himself, because you knew he'd let it eat at him until it destroyed him inside.

"At least let me make it right."

Once you were discharged from the hospital, the first stop you made was at your apartment. Your strength still hadn't fully returned to your legs, so you were wobbly, holding onto his arm for stability as you stepped inside and took a look around. The walls felt smaller than usual, closing in on you quicker than you could gather your belongings in a duffel bag, making sure to grab a toothbrush and all of your shower stuff so you could wash off the grime of the last couple of days. Once you made it back to the living room, Hotch took your bag, so you locked your door behind you and dreaded the day you'd have to return alone.

The next stop was for food. Hotch let you choose, so there were two to go boxes from your favorite restaurant in a bag at your feet as he navigated you through the city and to his house. The ride had been mostly quiet, but comfortable. Hotch knew you didn't feel like talking, so he left you alone. You were thankful for that."

"Did he confess?"

"Derek took his confession shortly after we found you," his eyes never left the road but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. You assumed it was because Peter Ray had told Derek everything, and now the rest of the team had to figure out a way to face you everyday.

"I knew you'd find me, Hotch. I wasn't worried," you said finally, watching carefully as he glanced over at you. You were pulling into his driveway already, the garage door opening automatically as he pulled up to it.

"You don't have to be fine. I know you're strong, but you don't have to be, not right now."

You pushed the door open, grabbing the food as he followed behind you to make sure you didn't lose your footing. He seemed upset, and so you kept your mouth shut to keep from agitating him further. He got you seated at the table and you ate in silence, his eyes refusing to meet yours for the entire duration of your meal. It wasn't until you put your fork down that he spoke.

"Are you tired?" You shook your head, sleep was the furthest thing from your mind. You were terrified to close your eyes.

"We'll get you cleaned up and find something to watch, okay?" His tone was calm, soothing even. He carried your bag to the bathroom and helped you adjust the water to your liking before he left you alone, closing the door behind him. You peeled off your clothes and climbed into the shower, watching as the horrors of the past few days washed down the drain forever; your scars would heal, and you'd be okay eventually. You let the steady stream work out the tense feeling in your muscles, but you were still buzzing with energy, on edge. You found him as quickly as you could after you'd gotten dressed, seated on the couch with a glass of whiskey poured.

"Feel better?" You nodded, sitting on the opposite end. He poured you a glass too, his fingertips brushing yours as he handed you the cup. You let the harsh liquid burn all the way down, wincing slightly at the bitter taste.

"You said you knew I'd find you," he stared into his glass, ignoring the television, his voice low and deep.

"I did."

"How were you so sure?"

You shrugged. Truthfully, you didn't know. You just knew that if anyone was going to find you, it would be Hotch. You were certain that he'd be the one to put the pieces together and find you at Peter's childhood home.

"I knew the same way I know you've got my back every time we step into the field. I just knew. And here I am. I know you're worried, and I know you blame yourself. I'm alive, Hotch. That's all because of you. You can either sit here and keep feeling like you failed because I got hurt, or you can be happy that I'm alive, because frankly, I was petrified that I'd never get to see you again," you had pondered all of your regrets while trapped in that room, and not sharing your feeling for your Unit Chief had been the biggest. You'd told yourself that if you made it out alive, you wouldn't keep how you felt a secret anymore. You weren't sure when you'd tell him, only that you would.

"I was so afraid that I wouldn't make it to you in time. I kept replaying our last conversation in my head. You were right about Peter and I didn't listen," you had tried to tell Hotch that victim number 3 fit the profile, but he'd been convincing to everyone except for you. He was the only male victim, and he shared nothing in common with the others. You'd immediately became suspicious because there was something about Peter that didn't sit right with you.

You'd convinced Hotch to talk to him a second time, which is how you'd ended up back at Peter's house in the first place. He made you come along so he could prove to you that he was right. Unfortunately, he couldn't have been more wrong. You'd argued the whole way there about how you were new, and your profiling skills weren't as in tune as the rest of the teams. You'd argued that he didn't want to listen to you because of the same fact; you were new, fresh.

Even after two years of busting your ass for the BAU, he still saw you as someone who hadn't been around as long as everyone else. That day especially, he'd made you feel like an outsider. It had started in the morning, when he singled you out about being too naïve; it was innocent enough, you'd been in the conference room and despite having vastly similar taste in movies and music, he still didn't take your interests seriously. Then he'd called you naïve. It had hurt your feelings more than anything, because you'd been so honed in on getting his attention and he had nothing nice to say. Derek had been there, and defended you as much as he could, but no one would speak out too much against Hotch.

And then there was the awkward car ride to the precinct. You sat in the back with Reid, Hotch and Morgan up front. Morgan asked you a simple question about the case, directly to you since you held the case file in your hands. Hotch had told him any questions he had shouldn't be directed towards you, but rather him, because he was in charge. It had caught you off guard simply because he never had an issue with you answering questions before. You let it go, once again, so your mood had been foul the day Peter had snatched you up. You knew Hotch was angry with you from the get go, so you tried your best to avoid him all day, until the topic of Peter Ray was addressed.

"That doesn't matter now," your voice quivered, because the last thing you wanted to do was argue with the man that you were secretly in love with over whether or not you were right or wrong. All that had mattered to you was him staying by your side through it all. He was at your side in an instant, bringing his arms around your waist. You returned the hug, letting his arms pull you into his lap as he held you close. You were relieved that it was finally over; you had won. You came out alive, and you were going to be okay eventually.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen," his hand gently brushed your hair back, his face buried in your shoulder. You would've stayed there for the rest of the night if he let you.

"Stop apologizing. Just let me be happy to be with you. I missed you, Hotch."

He chuckled into your neck, pulling back to look at you.

"I missed you. I'm glad you're here."

For a moment, he held you and all of your problems seemed to disappear. Things felt almost normal for a brief second with his arms tucked snugly around you.

"I'm glad you brought me with you. I don't know that I want to be alone," truthfully you were scared, mortified of being alone in the dark, even for a minute.

"You can stay as long as you want to. My bed will fit the both of us," he assured you, trying to coax you into getting some sleep. You let him lead you to the bedroom but asked that he keep the door open and the hallway light on, which he didn't mind at all. He let you choose your side of the bed and climb under the covers and then he climbed in after, leaving enough space between the two of you that your bodies weren't touching.

"Will you come closer?" You felt pathetic asking, but he rolled on his side and tossed his arm over you, blindly feeling for your hand in the darkness. Once he had it, his fingers laced through yours, letting you know he'd be there as long as you needed him.

"You're alright. I promise. I'm not going to let anything happen to you," you knew he'd never let anything hurt you again if he had the power to stop it. You laid in the darkness and tried to stay calm with Aaron holding you tight, but your breathing was ragged and your nerves were more on edge than ever.

"Come here," he patted his chest and invited you to lay on top of him, which was more comfortable than you wanted to admit. His large frame kept you secure, and your face was buried in his neck, your legs straddled over him. You were finally able to relax some thanks to the steady rhythm of his breathing and his hands rubbing your back, and soon enough you were asleep, but plagued by the worst nightmares you'd ever experienced.

"Hotch, this isn't funny anymore!"

You'd gotten split up from the rest of the group, turned around in this giant house. No one was answering through their earpiece, which meant you'd lost all communication with your team. You were blind with no backup, and you had an eerie feeling.

"Come on, Hotch! Morgan? Anyone? Sound off," you crept around the main floor, your gun at the ready. The house was dreadfully quiet, the same way it had been at the barn. There was static in your earpiece and you could hear the broken words of your Unit Chief coming through loud as day.

"Get...there...outside," you turned around and did one more sweep of the house, about to step over the threshold of the house when someone whistled from behind you.

Peter Ray.

You knew if they didn't need his confession, a bullet would have already been in him, but he simply stared you down, his head tilting methodically to the side as he studied you.

"Get down on the ground," you took a cautious step forward when you saw he didn't have a weapon, your gun trained on his chest. He stood still, unblinking, unmoving.

"I didn't need a weapon to destroy you," it was as if he was crawling around in your brain, using all of your thoughts against you.

"You didn't destroy me. I'm right here," the ligature marks on your wrists seemed to constrict you despite your bindings being off. You started to panic as Peter took a step forward.

"You may be physically present, yes. But mentally, you're far, far away with me. No one can help you here," you tried to back up but the door behind you slammed shut, and Peter rushed forward, giving you just enough time to dodge him and run for the back door. You could see Hotch waiting for you through the glass, pounding on the door from the outside for you to let him in. You tried to open it and it wouldn't budge, so you backed away so Hotch could try to knock out the glass.

"I told you, no one can help you here."

You could feel the tears, hot and wet on your face as Hotch shook you awake.

"You had a nightmare. You were screaming. You're alright now, I've got you." You hadn't moved from your spot on his chest. You were unsure of how he'd gotten any sleep with you draped over top of him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't apologize. I brought you with me because I knew it would happen and I wanted to be here when it did," he'd known all along that eventually your mind would go back to that dark place, and he was trying like hell to keep it from being any worse than it had to.

"I think I need to see him. Peter. Does he know I'm alive?"

Hotch shook his head. No one had told him. You knew he wouldn't be keen on the idea, but you agreed to let him be with you the entire time.

"You want to go now?"

You shrugged. You'd wait until the morning, but you doubted you would get any sleep until you confronted the man that was invading your peace.

"Come on, then. We'll go."

Hotch let you control the radio as you made your way to the local police station where Peter was being held until his trial. It was nearly 4 am, and everything was quiet, even inside the precinct.

"This is Officer Ruben, he made the arrest," Hotch introduced you and explained briefly what the circumstances were, and the Officer gave you ten minutes to talk to him, if he would agree to it. You waited impatiently for Ruben to talk to Peter, but eventually, he led you and Hotch to a windowless room, where Peter was already waiting for you.

"You're kidding! I had no clue you survived!" Peter was surprised to see you as you sat down across from him, your hands folded neatly on the table. He was a scrawny man, with a single tuft of blonde hair patched across the top of his head. His large rimmed glasses made his big, bright eyes more menacing than you'd initially remembered. You recalled him feeding you at some point, but you weren't sure how he'd given you anything. You didn't remember seeing his face the entire time you'd been in his cellar. You remembered the heat; you felt like you were suffocating for hours on end, and your voice still hadn't returned to normal from being without water so long.

"You fed me, why are you so surprised?"

Hotch stood a good distance behind you, his jaw set tightly and his lips pulled in a tight line across his face.

"Fed you? I don't think you're remembering correctly."

You thought back to your time in the cellar. You remembered being fed, but you had been dehydrated when they found you, so it made sense that you'd imagined it all after days without food or water. You couldn't have possibly known reality from hallucinations after being in the dark, in the sweltering heat for three days. Granted, it was nearing the end of summer, with the nights getting chillier, but the days had been almost unbearable.

"You—what?"

"I kept you in the same conditions as the other 4. You were the only one who made it. That isn't coincidence."

You sat back and observed him, crossing your arms over your shoulders. Hotch had promised not to say a word, but you could tell it was killing him to keep his mouth shut. He knew more details than you as far as his confession went; you had no clue what all he'd admitted to and that was the scariest part.

"It was a test of Will. 3 days of no elemental exposure. No human contact. No food or water. The others broke long before you, but you... You passed the test. And by about 8 hours longer. Almost 4 days, Agent. That's impressive. Must've had something to stay alive for."

You were sick to your stomach at the cruelty he possessed. You wondered what made him choose you. You didn't fit the victimology at all. He had targeted widows and newly divorced women before; you were neither of those things.

"Why me? I'm not your type."

His eyebrows cocked and his head turned to the side just as it had in your nightmare, making your skin crawl. You didn't let it show, you simply waited for his explanation.

"I saw a greatness in you far beyond your colleague behind you. He's the widow, but you're the real fearless one, isn't that right? You'd take a bullet for him with no hesitation. Same for the rest of your team. I didn't see you, but I heard you. You said their names like a prayer for the entire last day. It was endearing, really. The girl with no family finding a family of her own to give her strength. You should write a book, dedicate it to me," you knew he was trying to get a reaction from you, and it wasn't going to work. You'd learned from Rossi and Hotch that if you started talking, you gave him the power.

"The only thing dedicated to you is a super max cell," you shot back, earning a chuckle from him in response. He leaned forward, his shackled hands folded neatly on the table.

"But my experiment was successful. You, my ultimate creation. You will live on, stronger, braver, more powerful than before. Don't you see? I've done you a favor," he rationalized, and he was right. He'd done you a huge favor.

"Your right. You got yourself caught. You did all of us a favor. Let me tell you something, Peter. I'm brave because I've seen hell and I won. If you know that I have no family, then you must know that you aren't the first man I've survived," he nodded, his eyes meeting yours for a second, because it was the one thing you had in common. The tragic backstory you shared with him was what had drawn him to you in the first place. You were him, but stronger, because you weren't a monster.

"As I said, your bravery was admirable. But now, you're mighty. Even more so than your fearless leader."

Your ten minutes was halfway up. He was truly happy that you had survived. It didn't make any sense to you. You could only stare back at him comparing you to Hotch; he'd never convince you that Hotch wasn't the bravest man alive, and the most incredible man that you knew. He was trying to get a reaction from him, and Aaron wasn't biting.

"I did what I had to do," you said simply, because in your eyes, it was survival, not bravery.

"You survived and you conquered. You save lives, Agent. But I know what I did to you— to your mind. The real test of survival started when you came out of that cellar. How much can one woman handle before she bends so far she breaks?"

He was only trying to get inside of your head. He couldn't hurt you anymore. The nightmares would come, but when you woke up, he would be gone. You were sane enough to know that. When they did come, Hotch would be there. You were sure of it. Even months from now, you knew you could call him and he'd make everything alright again.

"The difference between you and I, other than the obvious, is that nothing can break me, Peter. You broke easily, any abused child has the likelihood of becoming an abuser. You saw the cycle in every foster home, every mother that should have loved you, they hurt you, Peter. You couldn't stand to see a weak woman, and you viewed all the women you killed as weak. They weren't weak, Peter. You are. You couldn't even face us; you had to subdue us from the shadows. That's a coward. You couldn't even face me. Do you know why, Peter? Because you can hurt my body, and you can crush my spirit, but you cannot break me."

That really pissed him off, which meant you'd done what you'd came to accomplish. You had been right about him all along. He was nothing but a weak man who gained validation from hurting women at their most vulnerable. He was more than a coward; he was pathetic.

The tables turned however, when he directed his attention towards Hotch.

"Has she told you yet? She swore she'd tell you if she made it out alive, those were her exact words."

You could feel his gaze on you, but he didn't entertain Peter's question, which immediately made him burst into hysterical laughter.

"Who's the coward now, agent? You can survive in deplorable conditions, but you can't talk about your feelings?"

You felt choked up, but you didn't give him the satisfaction of an actual response.

"I can talk about whatever I want, whenever I want, because I'm not going to spend 23 hours a day in a cell alone."

You were done with him, standing from the table with a jolt, nodding to Hotch that you were ready to go.

"I hope you tell him, Agent! I'd hate to know my fearless creation was plagued by stage fright at her most powerful," he called out, but you shrugged him off, thanking Officer Ruben for letting you speak to him on such short notice.

"That's the most he's talked since he's been here," Ruben told you, but you were sure he'd sing like a bird at his triumph for years to come. You'd survived him, sure. But now you had to survive the aftermath of becoming his success story. Hotch led you to the car, the tension thick in the air surrounding the two of you. You knew you'd have to have a conversation with him at some point; explain yourself. But it was 6 am, and you didn't feel like staying up half the morning explaining why you felt things for him.

He was easy to fall for, but hard to gain affection from. The last 12 hours had been a drastic shift from his normal stern, authoritative behavior. He'd been soft and comforting with you, and he hadn't thought for a second about it. You wondered what sort of secrets he held about you behind those big brown eyes, and if they were anything similar to yours. It wasn't entirely impossible; you knew no normal man would treat you the way that he had just because he was your boss.

"What sounds good for breakfast?"

He was planning to stay up with you, because every nerve ending you had was buzzing with energy. You felt like a live wire, flickering with anxiety at how you were feeling.

"You pick. I picked dinner," you reminded him, so he took off, taking a right before pulling into a small 24/7 diner off the main road.

"I'll grab it to go and we can take it to the house," he offered, and that sounded like a good enough plan to you. You waited in the car, pondering how you were going to tell Hotch about your feelings for him. You'd gotten close once before on the jet, everyone else had been asleep and he was slumped over on your shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth opened slightly. You weren't thinking when you darted your hand out to gently brush his face, but his eyes had fluttered open, and he leaned into your touch before drifting back to sleep. You'd almost told him when he woke up, but the words had gotten stuck in your throat.

He was everything you wanted, and you had been so close. He was letting you sleep on top of him, holding you and consoling you through the most delicate time you'd faced so far with the BAU. It had started to rain when he raced back to the car, shaking the droplets from his hair as he handed the food to you.

"Don't worry, I got pancakes instead of waffles," a smirk teased the corners of his lips, because you'd gotten into a debate earlier in the week about how pancakes were far better. He disagreed, but he'd remembered it well enough to be able to order your favorite foods, and that was a special kind of care to you.

"You're the best," he made a soft humming sound before pulling out, slowing down slightly because of the weather. You'd gotten caught in the morning rush hour, traffic everywhere as you were nearly at a complete stop in the middle of the highway.

"Did talking to Peter make you feel any better?" You knew it was coming, so you braced yourself for impact.

"Yes and no. I hate that he feels like he won somehow."

"But he didn't. His end game is prison. You could be my successor, if you really wanted it. That's where I see your future heading."

"I don't want that. I'm not so sure I want to think about the BAU for a week or so."

"I know. That happens. But when you're ready, I'll be here for you."

He had experienced this sort of thing; facing an unsub head to head more than once; but his trauma had been devastating. You knew he understood what you were feeling and why, and that's why he was the best person for you to be around during your recovery. You both knew it. Otherwise he would've sent you with JJ, or Penelope. But he knew you'd need him over the course of the next couple of days.

"Thank you for taking me. I know you're probably exhausted."

"Well we aren't doing anything today, so I figured we could take a nap later," a nap sounded like a good idea now that you were starting to relax some.

"I haven't taken an actual nap in ages. Not in a bed," you admitted, and you knew he felt the same. Your naps usually consisted of a few hours worth of rest on a bumpy jet.

"Me either. It'll be nice," you pulled into the garage and followed him inside. You sat at the table and had breakfast with him, lost in a fantasy that was consuming your every thought. You could get used to sharing quiet, quaint meals with him like this, and sharing a bed with him. Despite the tangled way you'd slept, you'd been more comfortable on his chest than you ever felt in your own bed. You fought with your feelings, because eventually you'd have to get around to telling him. He'd get curious, or it would come up in conversation and you'd be blindsided, so you wanted to have the upper hand and make sure he knew before it had the chance to get awkward. You were just waiting for the right moment to tell him how you felt.

Secretly, you hoped he beat you to it. You hoped you shared a knowing glance and all would be revealed the way it should be, but you knew better than to delve into that unrealistic scenario for more than a second.

You'd been starving, scarfing down your breakfast in no time. He was happy to see you eating, occasionally smiling at you from his spot across the table.

"You know, Peter was right about you. You're fearless. Not a lot of people could confront him the way you did," he said softly, trying to lift your spirits some. It was working, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"I wasn't going to be able to sleep until I did."

"I know. How are you feeling now? Up for a movie, maybe?" You nodded, excusing yourself to change back into your pajamas so you could be comfy. You met him in his bedroom, his slacks replaced by a pair of black pajama pants and his white shirt clung to his skin as he spread out the blanket and made the bed for you to climb into. He'd made a pile of pillows at the head of the bed and instructed you to get comfortable, popping in Footloose as he climbed in the bed with you. He scooted close, you were hip to hip with him, leaning into him, your head on his shoulder. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around you, making sure you were tightly tucked into him as the movie started.

"I enjoy getting to do this stuff with you," he said carefully, opening his palm so you could place your hand in his. It was more intimate now than before because his tone was different; his tone had changed drastically anyway because he wanted you to feel safer, so his voice had been softer, sweet.

"Me too. It makes me wish we could do it all the time." You had a moment of bravery, anxiously waiting to hear his reply.

"We don't get a lot of free time, but I wouldn't mind spending mine just like this. With you," his voice was steady as he took the reigns, telling you how he felt before you had the chance. You knew he'd instigated it for a reason; he was dying to know what you had to say.

"About what Peter said, when he'd asked if I told you yet..."

"You don't have to say anything, Y/n. You can tell me when you're ready," he assured you, but you shook your head.

"I'm ready now, Hotch. He was right. I am afraid of telling you how I feel about you. But I promised myself I would if I made it out alive. I'm crazy about you, Hotch. Everything about you draws me in. I can't get enough of you."

His eyes raked over you slowly, lingering on your lips. You gripped his hand tighter, afraid he may suddenly reject you or that you'd said the wrong thing. His fingers tugged at your chin to lift your face, his brown eyes boring into yours.

"Can't get enough of me, huh?" The undeniable smile on his face told you all you needed to know; he felt the same.

"I tried to fight it for so long but I don't want to fight it anymore," you closed the gap between you, accepting his urgent mouth and feverish kiss as he gently cupped your face, his tongue slipping inside of your mouth to taste you.

"No reason to fight it. You know, I made the same promise to myself: I'd tell you when I found you. You being gone made me realize how much I need you around."

You were elated to hear him say what you'd been thinking for months now. Things were looking up, and you had each other now. There were still obvious kinks to work through, but you belonged to him as long as he would have you.

"You're so tense, sweetheart. Let me help you," you gave him a small nod as he lifted your shirt above your head, careful to be gentle of your bandage. You knew he'd be easy with you, take care of you the way you needed him to.

"So beautiful. Look at you. I can't believe I actually have you here," his mouth peppered kisses on your chest, sucking tender love marks onto the swell of your breast. His hands unclasped your bra and his tongue attached to your nipples, taking turns swirling them around in his mouth, a low groan coming from his chest as he learned your body. Your hips grinding against his for friction, earning a hiss in response from him.

"Oh baby, so needy. Does it feel good, riding my thigh like this?" You could only nod, lost in the feeling that it gave you. It was erotic in the most innocent of ways, but still so naughty at the same time. His hands helped guide your hips across his thigh, your panties rubbing perfectly against your center to help aid some of the ache you felt.

"I need you so badly," you squeaked, your arms wrapped around his neck. He laid you down on the pile of pillows, admiring you, letting his hands explore your skin. You felt like he actually saw you, more than just on the surface. He saw through you, and he was the antidote for fixing you because he knew what it took to do so.

"You're perfect for me," his sweet words melted you like butter, you were in a trance, under his spell. You let him strip your lower half down as he left a trail of kisses from your lips to your thighs, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. You watched as he crawled between your legs, spreading them slightly. His massive hands massaged your thighs as he spread them, kissing upwards your center.

"You look so good between my legs," you purred, watching with your mouth agape as he licked a stripe up you before allowing his tongue to settle on your clit.

"You taste so good baby," the pet name had rolled off his tongue so easily it sounded as if it was made for you. He peered up at you, batting his lashes before he sucked your clit between his teeth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. You did little to muffle the moan that escaped, instead you arched your back and let him mark you up as his own. Surely there would never be another hand to touch you the way he had, you were almost certain you'd never be able to replace the way he made you feel, even if you spent the rest of your life trying.

You were close, whimpering his name and wiggling against the sheets until you were held down in place by him, his arms keeping your waist steady so he could continue giving you the pleasure you so desperately needed. You came hard, shuddering and moaning shamelessly, his own sweet sounds driving you on the brink of insanity at how he would sound once you were sinking down onto him. You couldn't stop watching him; he just looked so good working so hard to bring you over the edge. His pupils were completely blown out in a lust driven frenzy, and his tongue flicked rapidly against you, making your legs shake.

"I want you all for myself," you said selfishly, running your fingers through his hair as he gazed up at you.

"I'm all yours, sweetheart. I'm always going to take care of you, in every way." You knew he would, because that's the kind of man he was; true to his word, loyal. You trusted him completely, which is why you weren't the first bit shy being exposed like this in front of him. You hadn't felt the need to be shy with him, because he knew you better than anyone else.

His tongue never stopped, but his fingers teased your slit, his fingers coated in your arousal as they pumped in and out of you, slowly at first, curling upward into your sweet spot. You begged him for more, his fingers speeding up inside of you. It felt like heaven as you slumped into the pillows and let him fuck you with his fingers, his mouth glued to you. He didn't try to hide his excitement when you came again, grinning cheeky from ear to ear up at you.

"What's got you so happy, Hotchner?" His smile was contagious as he crawled up your body, meeting your mouth with his. You'd never get used to the feeling of kissing him, how his mouth felt, how he tasted. You were addicted in every sense of the word.

"You. Everything about you. You're astounding to me, you know that?" His hand slipped between your thighs to drag them apart as he hovered over you, his cock throbbing through his pants. You reached out and palmed him through his pajamas, watching his brows pull tightly together at your touch.

"I was just thinking the same thing about you," you shot back, tugging his pants past his hips. Once he was in his boxers, you traded places with him, instructing him to lay down so you could climb on top of him. You freed him from the confines of his underwear, taking his member in your hand before you leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock, his mouth agape as he watched you. You took him into your mouth, flattening your tongue against him so you could put him in your throat. His hands latched onto your hair and guided you up and down his length at a slow pace so he could enjoy the warmth your mouth offered. He sighed deeply, content as you choked on his dick.

"You have no idea how good your mouth feels," this only caused you to take him further into your mouth, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as his dick found it's way into your throat. He let out a deep, low moan, sputtering thick ribbons of cum into your mouth as he found his release. You let his dick fall from your mouth, your breathing ragged as you rested your head on his thigh, trying to catch your breath.

"C'mere," his hand patted your arm as he pulled you towards the pillows, the two of you exhausted from your late night and early morning. He tucked the covers in at your side and let you fall asleep, and by the time you woke, it was dark outside. He'd turned the television on, trapped by your head resting on his arm. He hadn't dared to move for fear of waking you up. You rubbed your eyes, trying to blink away the drowsiness as you got adjusted to the dark. You cuddled into his side, not ready to move just yet. He kissed your forehead and you gave him his arm back so he could stretch it out. For a moment, you just laid there watching whatever he'd picked on the tv; you weren't sure but it looked like something on the Discovery Channel.

"I haven't been up long," he said softly, letting you roll into him, tossing your leg over his waist.

"You're so warm," you nuzzled into his neck, kissing him lightly. It was going to be hard to go back to your own bed after sharing his; you were already used to how easy it was to fall asleep next to him.

"You're a tiny furnace," he chuckled, patting your back so you'd climb onto him. He waited until you were wrapped around him to sit up, instructing you to stay still so he could carry you to the kitchen. Of course he wanted to carry you around; you were the perfect size, you fit so well in his arms, and he acted as if you weighed nothing, the way he so effortlessly toted you around. He sat you on the counter, still trapped between your legs.

"We need to find you something to eat. You haven't eaten since this morning," you were well aware thanks to the grumbling in your stomach, and you'd never argue with food. You watched him float about the kitchen as he made you a snack; he couldn't wipe that smile from his gorgeous face.

However when he sat your snack down and carried you at the table, he looked sadder than you had ever seen him.

"I need to apologize for the day Peter took you. I gave you hell all day long, and you deserve to know that it's because I was battling with my feelings for you too. I thought I could keep you at a distance and I couldn't, and so I took it out on you. I was arrogant about Peter because I just knew you were wrong, and my arrogance got you taken. I didn't even try to hear you out so we could gather more information. You picked up on things that a room full of people much older and experienced than you, didn't even catch."

You stared blankly at him for a moment, struggling with what to say. You'd never blame him, but he couldn't stop blaming himself.

"Stop apologizing. You saved my life, Hotch. The rest is irrelevant to me."

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together between his legs.

"I just needed you to know that I'm sorry. I feel awful about that entire day. If I would've just listened to you—"

"We can't change it, Aaron. I wish we could, but we can't. Just promise me next time you'll at least hear me out," he nodded, his hand darting out to cup your face.

"I promise."

He pushed your plate towards you while he made coffee, pouring the two of you a cup once you'd finished eating. You followed him to the living room, joining him on the couch. He already had a movie in the DVD player, so you curled in next to him, cradled by his warmth.

"I'm wide awake and still drinking coffee," he muttered, chuckling to himself, and it seemed like you had more in common than you thought.

"I do the same thing. I drink it from daytime to dark most days, whether I need it or not."

"Trust me, I know. You drink an obscene amount of it when we're on a case," he joked, but it was true. It was caffeine in its most precious form.

"You drink every cup I bring you, so I don't want to hear it," you shot back, leaning into him once he was through with his cup and had sat it back down.

"You know, Morgan was the one that pointed out the fact that you only bring me coffee in the mornings," he peered down at you, and you knew your cheeks were flushed. You could feel the heat radiating on your face.

"Looking back, I wasn't so subtle," you had been at first, but shortly after you decided that he was in your brain at all times whether you liked it or not, you started going out of your way for him. Staying late to finish reports, helping him when he needed to get caught up on work. You two stayed the latest in the office most nights, and a lot of it was because you were trying to lighten his load.

"You were, because I had no idea. Not until the day after Peter took you. Morgan and I talked and I realized I needed to come clean when we found you because it's a lot to carry around," you knew that feeling all too well; you'd been dancing the same routine for months now around your feelings for him.

"My biggest fear was that I wasn't going to make it to be able to tell you. I should've said something sooner," you told him, watching as he silently lifted his arm, beckoning you into his lap without a word. You crawled on top of him, letting your fingers memorize the way his arms felt under your touch, and how he shivered when you put your arms behind his neck and played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You don't have to be afraid of anything anymore. I promise you that," you knew it was true; he'd never let anything hurt you again, and you knew that for a fact.

"I know. When do you think I can come back to work?"

"You aren't serious? I'd like to see you take at least a month off," your eyes went wide. What were you possibly supposed to do with a month off of work? Especially if he was still planning on going back? You couldn't just sit idle and watch them continue without you.

"A month is excessive," you said simply, earning an eye roll from him in response.

"A month is me giving in and giving you your way. If it were up to me, I'd say at least 6 weeks."

There was no way you'd make it 6 weeks without going insane. A few weeks was bearable; 6 weeks was pushing it beyond that.

"A month it is. I won't even complain, just don't keep me out 6 weeks. Please," you could already feel the growing boredom from 4 weeks you'd be required to be absent.

"I'd keep you out forever if I could. Keep you safe here, where I didn't have to worry about you ever again," you knew he was just trying to ease his own worries; he'd never actually ask you to leave. He wouldn't do it, and you knew he'd never expect you to either.

"And then I'd do nothing but worry about you," you'd worry the entire time you were on the sidelines; he'd leave and you'd be a wreck until he arrived home in once piece.

"Not having you around for a month is going to be strange. Will you let me see you when I'm home?"

"Is that a real question?" You'd be around anytime he was available for you, no hesitation. Now that you had him, you wanted him around as much as possible.

"I just want to be able to come home and feel normal with you. The last 24 hours has felt more routine to me than the last 3 years alone. Being with you is easy," you didn't know how to explain to him that you'd felt the exact same way. Walking into his arms was like walking home.

"Then stick around for a while," your lips met his and the fire ignited; if it wasn't burning before, it was an inferno now. His mouth melted against yours, the both of you a heavy panting mess in no time. His hands slipped beneath the shirt you were wearing before tugging it off gently, and then he took off his own, his skin hit against yours. There was something sexy about being pressed against him, feeling his skin beneath your own. It was your physical reminder that he was here; you had fought hard and won, and your prize was a life with Aaron. Peter would rot in prison, and the two of you would thrive together; you could feel it in every fiber of your being.

"You know, I can physically feel myself falling in love with you already," his mouth was hot against yours, his fingers toying with your nipples. You could feel how hard he was already, his dick throbbing against your thighs as you rocked back and forth on him, making him moan into your mouth. You were eagerly anticipating how he would feel, the sounds he would make once he was inside of you. You'd been dreaming of him for months and he was a mess beneath you, his hair disheveled from your wandering hands, his eyes growing darker by the second.

"Then keep me. I know it'll be hard but I promise it'll be worth it," he nodded, taking a breath to look up at you.

"You're worth it."

His hands met your thighs as he stood up, bringing you along with him. You planted wet, hot kisses on his neck, his chest, raking your nails along his back and shoulders as he carried you to the bedroom, gently laying you sideways on the bed. Your feet hung off the edge, but it put you in a perfect position for him to climb between your legs, parting them to stand between them.  He scanned your body hungrily, pulling your panties and pajama pants off in one swift motion to fall to the floor. He quite literally fell to his knees in front of you, planting soft kisses along your thighs and hips, making you prop up on your elbows to watch him.

The twinkle in his eyes was mesmerizing as he teased your slick center with his fingers, coating his fingers with your arousal. You hissed when his fingers slipped inside of you and began to curl in an upwards motion, making your head fall back against the pillows.

“I want to feel you,” he was shrugging down his pants, stroking his length in his hand while he gazed down at you, just as starstruck as the first time he had you naked. You let your legs go limp against the mattress as he lined up with you, his breathing already ragged and he wasn’t even inside of you yet. You held your breath as he slid inside of you, letting him stretch and fill you in a way that you never thought possible.

“Look at me,” you met his eyes, watching his pupils dilate as he started to thrust into you, slowly, rolling his hips to meet your thighs. It took a few strokes for him to bottom out inside of you; he shuddered when you clenched tightly around him, hooking his arms under your knees to pull you forward, to the edge of the bed.

“I hope you stay forever,” his hand reached for yours as he fucked you so slowly, so gently, it was enough to have every single sense buzzing like a live wire. You were focused on his waist, the steady rotation of his hips, and the way they rolled against you to bring you more pleasure than you’d ever known.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shot back, gripping his hand tightly in yours. He leaned forward, kissing you like you were the cure for all of his problems. His tongue pushed past your teeth, massaging against yours lightly as you tried to suppress a moan, but at his current angle, he was deeper in you than you thought possible, the sound of his flesh smacking against yours echoing throughout his bedroom. He slowly lifted your legs, bringing them up to his chest, holding them tightly together.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” as far as you were concerned, it was more than enough, him folding you up like a pretzel so he could have his way with you. You watched in awe as he made love to you; that’s the only way you could describe it. You could feel everything at once, from his words penetrating your heart and soul to his body, pressed up against yours in the most sensual way. You felt like nothing would ever compare to now, with him holding your legs up and his dick pulsing inside of you.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” as soon as the words left your mouth, you found your release, moaning his name and grabbing his hips to make sure he didn’t fucking stop. You were on cloud nine, your orgasm still rattling your body as his pace quickened, just a fraction, but enough to have your head spinning, and your mouth slightly agape as you writhed against the smooth fabric of his comforter. You wanted him forever; there was no other way to say it. You knew without him in your life, you’d spend your days unfulfilled, unsatisfied unless you belonged solely to Aaron Hotchner, and you were determined to keep him around for as long as you could have him. You’d happily spend the rest of your life tucked beneath him, learning what his body liked and what he desired; you wanted to give him pleasure in every form imaginable. You would’ve done anything for him, and it was evident by the way his eyes never left yours that he felt the same.

It was as if you were tethered to him by an invisible string, letting him hold the balance of your life in his hands. You knew he’d always protect you, keep you safe. You weren’t worried in the slightest about giving your heart to him; he already had it. You knew it was safe with him, and that you felt closer to him than anyone from your past. You had always belonged to him, but now that it was requited, there was nothing stopping you from diving headfirst into loving him.

His sweet kisses were driving you mad, against your jaw, and right below your ear, his mouth sucked softly at your tender skin, leaving his mark on you in the best ways. You were close again, and you could tell he was getting close too. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and you’d never seen him so peaceful. He looked completely at ease, letting all of his worries melt away each time he slid into you. You felt the euphoria wash over you within seconds, gripping his arms tightly as you found your release. It was mind-bending even now how you didn’t have to say a word, and he already knew what your body needed.

You could feel him sputtering into you as he leaned forward to capture you in a kiss, panting and breathless against you. For a moment he was still inside of you, leaned over on top of you, giving you the loving you so desperately craved from him. He kissed you hard on the mouth, brushing your hair back from your face so he could get a good look at you. You felt weightless; you could’ve sank into the bed and stayed there for the rest of the night.

“I can’t believe I finally have you,” it was him that broke the silence, his head on your chest as he slid out of you, sighing heavily when he did so.

“Believe it, because now you won’t ever get rid of me,” you giggled, earning a low chuckle from him in response.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you laugh. It’s one of the best sounds in the world.”

He stood up and grabbed a towel, cleaning you off as you sat up, but not for long. He was pulling up his pants and crawling into the bed, pulling you towards the pillows. He sat up against the headboard, letting you sit between his legs, propped up against him. His arms were warm around you, warm enough to nearly pull you into slumber.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you. This bed won’t feel the same without you in it,” his words rumbled through you, making your stomach fill with butterflies immediately. Tre truth was, if you didn’t have to leave, you wouldn’t. You had found your solace in him, and as long as he was around, you wanted to be there too.

“I’ll be around whenever you’re free,” you assured him, his light chuckle enough to have you wrapping your arms around his torso, kissing the sensitive skin of his neck and chest.

“You can stay here whenever you want, you know. While I’m gone, and you’re out of work. You could always just stay here,” his hand was rubbing your back, which was on the fast track to putting you to sleep.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do. You can stay whenever you want. I’ll show you tomorrow where I keep the spare key,” he scooted down to lay next to you, kissing you lightly before you both took turns yawning. You were both exhausted, and his bed seemed like the perfect spot to settle in for the night. He was already pulling the covers over your legs, tucking it in at your side before he rolled over to cuddle you. He kissed your cheek in the darkness, and you turned to meet him lips instead. He hummed lightly, his leg tossed lazily over yours, his breathing already starting to slow. The troubled memories from the last few days seemed miles away now, you compartmentalized them in the back of your mind, so you only had room for Aaron there. You had survived and now you would get to live your happily ever after, all with your favorite person by your side.

[love-and-monsters]

Nuclear Spring pt. 1

GN reader X F harpy X M sea monster, 7,256 words.

Trigger warning: depictions of a nuclear apocalypse, radiation sickness, death, bodily injury, starvation, etc. 

It is the end of your world. Everything is over. You are going to die. Until a window to another world opens and you stumble into a strange land where humans are a myth and magic is a law of physics. 

You know you will die even before you crawl through the portal. You know there is nothing left that can be done to save you. Death comes, implacable. It doesn’t matter if you find help. They could give you water, food, medicine. And you know, regardless, that you will die in a matter of weeks.

You did find help. About a week and a half back. A medical camp, made out of the ruins of a gymnasium. They gave you a black hair tie, to wear around your wrist. A marker, they said. To determine how much medical attention people needed.

You knew what black meant. A morbid fascination with natural disasters meant you’d looked into FEMA guides and instructions before the end. Black: Soon to die. Do not waste medical attention.

So many people had them.

You left. There was nothing for you there. At best, they could extend your life in increments. Give you morsels of food, drips of water, when there was some to spare or when someone was feeling unusually compassionate. Give you a place to shelter in so the elements didn’t kill you.

It had just seemed so stupid.

You had been there and you had seen how many had those black bands. How many others were injured, screaming in agony because there was no anesthetic left, and infections needed to be carved out with knives. How doctors, wan and exhausted and staggering between patients, dumped rubbing alcohol on burns and stitched wounds with dulled needles and threads salvaged from clothing. How the pile of bodies outside grew and grew with each hour because nobody was burying them anymore. How soldiers with guns watched the clean water and food supplies, and how many bodies on that pile were from starving people who rushed the guards, desperate for something to eat, and were shot dead.

Death throes, you’d thought as you watched two people scramble for a hunk of bread. It fell in the dirt and one finally managed to shove the other one down. The one still standing snagged the bread and ate it in two quick bites, then bent to the ground and put their mouth to the dirt. It took you a moment to realize they were trying to eat the fallen crumbs.

The one who’d fallen remained in the dirt. Alive, for now. You could see their sides moving as they breathed. But they wouldn’t rise again. The fight had stolen the last of their strength. They would die where they lay and maybe someone would drag their body over to the corpse pile. Or maybe someone would eat them. Maybe even the person who shoved them down.

You watched the skirmish and all you could think was how ridiculous it was. The man who had won the bread, how long would he live? Days? Weeks? Maybe a month? Scrambling and fighting for tiny scraps of edible food until he was lying on the ground as well, too weak to move.

The doctors were even more ridiculous. You watched as they bent over patients, stitching and sawing and bandaging. Most of them were going to die anyway- if the infection was cleared, if their burns healed, if they managed to claw themselves back to health- then what? Then they could starve or dehydrate or die of radiation sickness or get eaten by starving animals or humans or freeze or inhale smoke or any one of the other myriad ways to die. There was no life, not for anyone. The world was over, irradiated and sick and in the last convulsions of death. No hope. Only waiting to die.

So, you left. You didn’t have a place you wanted to go when you did. You just wanted to go anywhere else.

And then, the portal.

It looks like a paper-thin rip in the world. The area around it shimmers gently, like heat rising off pavement. The shimmers grow in intensity around it until they hit the edge of the rip and beyond that-

It’s green.

The color is saturated enough to almost hurt your eyes. You haven’t seen green like that in… two weeks? It’s hard to tell time anymore. The sky is so thickly blanketed in debris that it’s dim by day and black at night. You don’t remember what phase the moon is. You don’t remember the last time you looked at the moon. You wish you looked more often.

Everything looks gray or brown or black, or some combination thereof. The air is smog-filled; in the worst areas, it’s impossible to breathe. Sometimes, in the distance, you can see fires, still burning, even weeks after the attack. There are no more fires where you are. Maybe because this areas was just far out of the blast radius enough to avoid the wall of fire. Maybe there’s just  nothing left to burn. The grass is gone, the only buildings still standing (in a loose definition of the word) are brick or stone, and the few remaining trees are blackened and leafless.

But beyond the rip, it’s green.

There are trees, swaying in a gentle wind. Moss and grass and even flowers grow in scattered patches along the ground. Yellow beams of sunlight dapple through the soft, green leaves that fill the sky. And beyond those leaves, you can see the perfect, crystalline blue of a clear sky.

You stare. It’s beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Your chest hurts from looking at it.

The rip is a few feet wide and twice as tall. There’s a point where it intersects with the ground, where blasted heath become lush greenery. A person could fit through it.

You stagger toward it.

It’s not real. A hallucination, most likely. But you don’t care. If you can just touch it…

The air grows warmer as soon as you step through the rip. Sunlight heats your skin. The air smells, not of smoke and burning and death, but of a nice summer’s day. You collapse and the grass tickles your forearms when you catch yourself. Something rustles through the trees above you. A bird gives a warning call. Nearby, there’s the sound of running water.

Your legs won’t carry you anymore, so you crawl, dragging yourself with your forearms. Just over the hill you’d found yourself upon, there’s a river.

You half-crawl, half-fall toward it. Your arms are too weak to stop you from falling partially into the river, but you don’t care. You plunge your face into the water and drink.

There’s grit in it, from where you’ve stirred up the riverbed, but it’s sweet and clean compared to the near-mud you’ve been drinking for days. You swallow several mouthfuls before your body convulses and you’re retching it back up.

You fall over sideways, barely propping yourself up so your face stays out of the water. Your limbs are weirdly heavy. It hurts to move. Your vision blurs. For a moment, everything goes dark, and you panic, before you realize your eyes had simply fallen shut without your noticing. You peel them back open and stare at the ground. There’s a flower sprouting a few feet from your face. It’s purple.

This is death, you realize. You’re dying, right now. Your body is too sick and too weak to go on any further. You cannot escape it.

At least, you think as you focus your eyes back on the flower, I am dying somewhere beautiful.

Something loud splashes nearby, but you don’t even have the energy to feel startled. You stare at the flower until your vision goes dark.

You don’t quite pass out, but you aren’t entirely conscious, either. It feels more like you’re in that dreamy, semi-conscious state that happens right before you fall asleep. Sometimes, you’re aware of motion, of someone touching you. There’s even a brief time where a swooping sensation in your stomach makes it seem like you’re flying. When you come closest to waking, you can hear voices.

There’s no way to tell how long you’re asleep for. Sometimes, you are conscious enough to register that you’re in some kind of bed before slipping back into sleep. Sometimes your dreams mix with reality. You keep hearing the whooping of early warning sirens, but you can’t get up, you can’t move your legs, you can’t get to the shelter in time. Sometimes, your screaming is loud enough that you can hear it over the sirens as everything burns and burns and burns…

At one point, you feel a hand stroking your head. It’s the most pleasant touch you’ve felt in weeks. The tiniest scrap of comfort. You cling to it, even as the world burns and chokes and dies.

Time is slippery and weird, but it feels like you’re in that half-waking nightmare for ages before you return to true consciousness. When you open your eyes, you’re staring at a ceiling. A normal ceiling. A beam of yellow sunlight slants across it. You let your head fall to one side, tracking the sunlight until you find its source. A window.

There’s a garden outside the window. It’s not very big, but you can see rows of greenery. There are even a few poles sticking out of the ground for some of them to climb. Beyond that, there are several trees, the start of a forest. The sky is mostly dark blue, but it’s turning pink-red at the edges in the light of the rising sun.

You watch the sun as it lifts from behind the horizon. It stings your eyes a little. You stare anyway. It’s beautiful.

Somewhere behind you, a door opens and footsteps enter the room. You can hear the person breathing, muttering to themselves, shuffling objects around. You don’t turn to look at them. They’re unlikely to hurt you, given that they’re likely the one who saved your life, but your caution is bone-deep.

The other person in the room shuffles around for a bit. You can hear them walking back and forth. They let out a heavy sigh and the footsteps start to approach you. “All right. Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

Before you can register what’s happening, the person has taken hold of your face and turned it toward them. Your open eyes meet theirs and they recoil in surprise. “Oh!”

The surprise is mutual. Clearly, they were not expecting you to be awake. You, for your part, were not expecting them to look anything like they do.

Their skin is blue. A deep, sapphire blue. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve somehow stumbled across some very dedicated cosplayers. But no- beside all the other reasons that couldn’t be true, it doesn’t look like a cosplay. Their skin has too much natural variation. You can see little imperfections and darker spots along their face, the purplish tinge to their lips and even the inside of their mouth, and when they lift their hands, you can see the lighter blue on their palms. There’s no evidence of dye or powder. That’s just their skin color.

Their hair is colored as well. It could be dye, though given that their skin seems to be natural, you suspect it isn’t. It’s a deep indigo color, tugged into a loose ponytail. Emerging from just behind their hairline is the most convincing evidence that this is not a cosplay: a set of horns, curving back over their head.

“It’s all right,” they say. Their voice is hushed, gentle. They offer a smile, making lines stand out at the corners of their eyes. They look about middle aged, maybe older. “Can you understand me?”

You hesitate, then nod. Their expression relaxes a little. “Good. Can you speak?”

You open your mouth and the first breath you pull in triggers a coughing fit. It hurts your chest and every time you inhale, it makes the stinging sensation worse. Your chest convulses and you dry-heave once before you manage to stop the coughing. Cramps run along the muscles of your chest. Your throat is so dry that swallowing is difficult.

“One moment.” The person rises and hurries off. Moments later, they return holding a dripping cloth. “Here. Open a little.” They tap your cheek until you open your mouth. As soon as your jaw parts, they slip the cloth past your lips and push your mouth shut again.

Cool water drips down your throat. It’s clean and cool and it nearly hurts how good it is. You suck eagerly, sputtering a bit when the water catches in your throat. The person tugs the cloth out of your mouth before you can bite down to stop them.

“You can have some more in a bit. Though I’m glad I tried with the cloth first- you definitely would have choked if you had been drinking from a cup.” The person reaches around you to adjust the cloths stacked behind your head. They handle you as easily as a ragdoll, repositioning you until you’re sitting upright. You’re embarrassingly weak; without being propped up, your abdominal muscles can’t hold your sitting position. It takes effort to even prevent your chin from resting on your chest.

“It’s good you’re awake.” The person gets up and paces across the room, rifling through the cabinets for something. “I was beginning to worry. You were in quite bad shape when we found you. Very weak. I can’t imagine what could have left you that way. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You file away that ‘we found you’ for later reference, but something more pressing occurs to you. Your clothes are gone. Your bag. You’ve even been scrubbed clean. You were covered in dirt and grime and, most likely, radioactive debris.

If they’ve kept your things anywhere nearby- if they’ve been handling them- these people have brought you here to nurse you back to health and the dust and dirt you’ve brought to them will poison them as surely as it poisoned you.

Unfortunately, your voice cracks like glass when you try to speak and you bend double in a coughing fit.

“It’s all right.” The person hurries back over to you and pats your back. “You’re all right. Breathe.” It takes a few coughs to dislodge the muck of disuse, but as soon as you can manage the words, you start sputtering.

“Radi- radiation! Bad- need to-” You dissolve into another coughing fit.

The person stares at you. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“Radiation!” you sputter out again. The person frowns and shakes their head.

“I’m not sure I understand. Radiating? Radiating… pain? Are you hurt somewhere?”

“No!” The word doesn’t even seem to process to them. Do they not know what you’re talking about? Maybe they don’t. The coughs seizing your chest become more violent as they’re joined with sobs. You’ve brought contamination and they don’t even know what you’re talking about.

Half-panicked, you try to get up, but the person easily maneuvers you back into bed. “It’s all right. Calm down. You’re safe.” You attempt to fight past them, but you might as well be a kitten. “I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but you’re safe now, you don’t need to panic-”

“Dondii!” A door slams open hard enough to impact the wall behind it. “What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

You turn, distracted and a little startled. Across the room is a door you didn’t notice before that leads to the outside. A woman is standing in the doorway, her wings tense and bristling.

Her wings. You have to stare at them for a few minutes before your brain fully processes that they’re really present. They’re deep brown with some kind of white patterning on the bottom, sprouting from her shoulders like an angel. There’s a lot of musculature built up around them- even from a distance, you can see the lines of muscles along her shoulders and the side of her ribcage. She’s rather short, though, maybe around five foot one, barely. Her skin is a pretty shade of dark brown, her hair twisted into rows of braids that have been coiled into a bun.

You’re not sure if a winged human or a blue-skinned, horned person is weirder, but it’s all pretty surreal. At least enough that you stop struggling.

“I’m all right,” the blue person says. “Something’s just upset our guest- not sure what it is. It’s okay. Just relax.”

They try to push you back into the bed, but you resist. You need to communicate in a clearer way. “Bag,” you say. The word still rasps in your chest, but it’s clear enough. “Clothes.”

The blue person’s eyes light up. “Oh, the things they arrived with. You want them?”

“No!” The word comes out so sharply that you start coughing again. You struggle to catch your breath for a bit. “No- get rid- get rid of-”

“Get rid of it?” the winged woman guesses.

“Yes!” You suck in some air and cough a few more times. The woman lifts her wings slightly in a sort of shrug.

“I can burn it, I suppose,” she says.

“Don’t burn,” you choke. “Bury- away from anything-”

The winged woman gives you a strange look. “Why do we need to bury it?”

“Perhaps whatever made them sick is in it,” the blue person suggests. They’re surprisingly amiable about you bringing a toxic compound to their house. You nod vigorously. “Use gloves when handling it, then. And bury them as well.”

The winged woman nods and vanishes from the doorway. You slump back against your bed. If they touched it to get it off you, they were already exposed to radiation. Maybe it was a low enough dose that it won’t hurt them. Hopefully by burying it, the radiation will fade before anything else gets hurt.

Hopefully. You’re not sure.

It’s about at this point that the obvious finally occurs to you: you’re not dead. Clearly you were aware of not being dead since you’ve woken up, but now it’s really hitting you. You’re not dead.

That’s not right.

You’re not exactly a radiation expert, but you know that people don’t survive radiation sickness. That’s why they gave you the black band- the one that is, you notice, still on your wrist. If you’re already visibly sick, there’s not much they can do. You should be either dead or about ready to die.

But you’re not. You are, in fact, remarkably healthy. Well, not THAT healthy. You feel pathetically weak and there’s that weird malaise in your body, like you feel when you’re on the tail end of the flu. But you were quite literally dying when you blacked out. You’re pretty sure you should feel worse.

So… how in the fuck?

You don’t cure radiation sickness. Even if they, somehow, miraculously, stopped you from dying from dehydration and starvation and whatever else, you shouldn’t be feeling okay now. You should be internally bleeding and semi-conscious at best. How are you okay?

“If you’re able to talk, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” the blue person says. They sit down and you notice, for the first time, that they have a long, thin tail tucked in dark blue hair, just like the stuff on their head. Wild.

Maybe you’re dead, you consider. Maybe you did die and this is the afterlife. Somehow. The blue person could be a demon, and the winged woman did look a lot like an angel. On the other hand, you feel pretty awful, which seems kind of unfair if you’re already dead. Shouldn’t you at least be free from the constraints of a mortal body or whatever?

“Are you up to answering a few things?” the blue person says. You focus your attention back on them. They’re picking up a jug of water and pouring its contents into a shallow bowl. Slowly, you nod. “Good.” They adjust you so you’re in a mostly-sitting position and carefully tilt a little water toward your mouth.

It’s so incredibly good. You instinctively try to gulp it, but after a few sips, the blue person removes the water. You whine piteously. “If you drink it all at once, you’ll get sick again,” they say. “We’ll go slow.” The cradle the bowl in their lap and focus their gaze on your face.

“I’ll try to keep the questions simple,” they say. “What’s your name?”

You tell them. Their expression shifts a little, like they’re surprised, but trying not to show it. “Interesting. Where are you from?”

That’s… harder to answer. Given the context, they’re almost certainly not going to know the names of Earth countries. Should you tell the truth? Say you don’t remember? Do humans even exist here? You’re at a significant disadvantage here, not knowing even the basics of the world. If you bluff and get it wrong, you’re going to be caught very easily, and that might make them suspicious. On the other hand, the truth sounds completely ludicrous.

You’re so busy thinking that you don’t realize a full minute has gone by until the blue person delicately coughs. “If you’re unwilling to tell me, you don’t have to.” You give a tiny nod. “All right.” They pause, then sigh. “This is indelicate, but. What are you?”

Okay. They do not know what humans are here. Good to know. It doesn’t really clear up what you can tell them, though. Can you tell them you’re human? They’re not going to know what that means. Do they have elves? Can you tell them you’re an elf with rounded ears or something?

The person is still watching you, waiting. You take a risk. “Human.”

The person lifts their eyebrows a little bit. “Hm.” You can’t tell if they believe you or not. “Interesting. I’ve never heard of humans before.” They fold their arms over their chest. “How did you get here?”

That’s a very good question. You wish you had an answer for them. When you say nothing, they give a small sigh. “You’re not certain of that either?” You shake your head. “Hm.” They are silent for a few moments. “I’m glad you ended up near us at the very least. You were in terrible shape when Aether found you. If he hadn’t managed to alert Seersha and they hadn’t gotten you here as fast as possible, you wouldn’t have made it.”

“How did you heal me?” Your voice grates against your throat as you speak.

“Ah, it was a simple healing spell. Despite the damage, it was quite easy to reverse. Although it was fairly extensive, and your dehydration and malnourishment will take longer to fully recover.”

You process that for a few minutes. A healing spell. Well, that explains why you’re not dead. Probably. You’re not totally convinced you’re not hallucinating or in the afterlife or something.

“The thing’s buried!” The front door opens again, this time less aggressively. The woman takes a couple steps into the room. “I put in one of those little metal healing kits and buried it in the field. No one goes there.”

You’re not one hundred percent sure if it’s going to cause some kind of ecological disaster or not, but it’s better than nothing. The winged woman looks at you curiously. You stare back. Those wings are sort of shifting a little, the feathers twitching. She scratches at one absently, readjusting some of the feathers. It’s incredible to watch- you’ve seen pretty good CGI in movies, but this time it’s real and right in front of you and very much something no technology could replicate.

Your staring is disturbed by motion from behind her. There’s someone else peeking around the doorway. They’re quite tall, which makes the fact that they’re clearly trying to hide behind the short, winged woman very funny. It’s hard to see them, but you can make out that they have grayish-blue skin, hair that flows from sky-blue to radiant orange, and a long tail with similarly-colored fins. For a moment, you catch sight of their face, but they see you first and duck back out of sight.

“Thank you,” the blue person says. “And I see you found Aether.”

“I told him the stranger was awake and he wanted to come see them.” The winged woman glances behind her. “Not that he’s doing much looking right now.”

The man behind her makes a motion like he is both trying to get a better look at you and retreat further behind her in the same moment. It resolves itself into sort of a jerky wiggle.

“This is my daughter,” the blue person says, gesturing to the winged woman. “Seersha.”

The winged woman waves. “I’m the one who hauled your ass back here. You were in pretty rough shape. Wasn’t even sure if Dondii could save you.” She strides toward you. The man behind her freezes, glances to the door like he’s considering running for it, then he skitters after her. Up close, his efforts to duck behind Seersha fail even more, and he settles for just standing behind her, peering down at you with pitch black eyes.

Seersha leans close to you. Her eyes are heterochromatic, you notice. One is light brown, while the other is a sort of deep gold. The effect is subtle enough that you can only really see it up close. “Aether thought you were some kind of harpy with your wings cut off, but you’re not, are you?”

“Harpies have far more musculature around their chests and shoulders to support their wings,” the blue person says. “And if their wings had been cut off, there would be some extensive scarring. Regardless, I believe you called yourself a human?”

“Human?” The shy man, probably Aether, straightens up. “Really? But that’s not-” He cuts himself off and ducks down a little, like he’s trying to scrunch down behind Seersha again.

“You’ve heard of humans?” the blue person says.

“Er. In the old library, back home. But I’ve never seen one. Or thought they were real.” His tail swishes back and forth, fins flicking against the floor. “The books don’t say anything about how they get here, though. Or anything else, really. Just that people have seen them before.” He seems to realize how much he’s been talking and goes quiet again, lips pressed together.

You open your mouth to speak, but a wave of dizziness hits you so hard you feel like you’ve been smacked over the head. You slump back into bed, losing the little muscle tension you were able to maintain. Your eyes fall half-shut and it’s a struggle to get them open again.

“That would be about their limit,” the blue person says. They’re already standing, a stern, focused look crossing their face. Both Seersha and Aether are staring at you with alarm.

“Are they okay?” Seersha asks. Her wings are up and bristling and you can see exactly her muscular her shoulders are to support them. It’s taking up a surprising amount of space in your mind, considering your situation. Aether just looks anxious.

“Healing spells can be incredibly exhausting, and they have several passive ones working now. They’ve simply reached their limit.” The blue person waves their arms toward the other two. “Shoo. I need to work.”

You make an effort to keep your eyes open, but it’s a bit like trying to stop a car already doing fifty- you just kind of get steamrolled. The world swims, dims, and finally goes dark.

Your wakings after that are sporadic and mostly short-lived. Usually, the blue person is there- Trest is their name, you learn- but sometimes Seersha is there in their stead.

“Dondii had to go out for a bit,” she says when you manage to stay awake long enough to actually ask. ‘Dondii,’ you’ve gathered, is more or less their gender-neutral equivalent of ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad.’ “They’ll be back soon.”

“They’re your parent,” you mumble, trying to make some kind of conversation. Your head’s been so muddled that it’s hard to really focus on anything, but you’re also bored out of your mind and desperate to take your mind off the shit that comes up whenever you’re not occupied.

“Adoptive parent, technically. Mom married them…” Seersha pauses, mentally adding up numbers. “Like, seventeen years ago? I was only five, so I really only remember the wedding a little. But yeah, they’ve been my parent since I was little.”

She does not ask about your family. That’s good. You have been very deliberately not thinking about it, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it up for.

The front door opens. You turn your head just in time to see Aether making his way in. It’s the first time you’ve seen him not trying to hide behind Seersha- he’s very long and willowy, as befits a water-based creature. Little fins sprout along his arms and probably along his legs and back, though he’s wearing loose clothes that don’t show those areas.

He makes it a full five steps into the house before he notices you’re awake and freezes. “Oh,” he says. His voice manages to go up two octaves on a one-syllable word. “You’re awake.”

You haven’t been able to get a read on him so far, at least in part because he’s not been around very much. He’s either shy or anxious that you’re apparently a member of a mythical species, or something else entirely. He seems comfortable around Seersha, at least.

“Don’t be so freaked out,” Seersha says. “They’re hardly going to attack.” Aether carefully steps closer to your bed. He is still watching you like you’re going to jump at him. “Sorry. His parents drilled the fear of assassins into his head since he was a hatchling. He’s skittish around new people.”

Aether’s face flushes a little, but he doesn’t say anything else. He crouches next to Seersha’s chair and she reached down to stroke his head. “He’s the one who found you, by the way,” she says.

“Thank you,” you say. Aether ducks his head a little bit.

“Mm.” He glances away. “Seersha was the one who carried you back here, though.”

“You helped,” Seersha says. She looks at you for a moment, hesitating, then says, “so what happened to you?”

“Er.” You pick at the blankets. Somehow, you’ve lost a couple of your fingernails. For some reason, your brain focuses on that. You don’t want to think about it. You turn to stare out the window. Seeing the greenery soothes your mind.

“Maybe they don’t want to talk about it,” Aether says. “They were really in bad shape when I found them. Whatever they went through…” He trails off, shrinking down like he wants to merge himself with the floor. Seersha frowns, but she doesn’t say anything else. You take a deep breath and force words from your lips.

“Nuclear war.” Both of them look at you like they’re surprised you’re even speaking. You clear your throat. “There was a war. A really awful war. Everyone died.”

Seersha puts a hand on my arm. Her fingernails scratch lightly in a comforting manner. “I’m sorry you lost your people.”

“Not just my people. Everything. Everyone. All the people. The animals. The plants. Everything was gone. There was no world left.” The words come from you are trance-like. They don’t shake. There’s no emotion. Seersha and Aether stare at you with slowly-widening eyes. “I don’t know how I got here. There was just a… I don’t know what to call it. A tear, I guess. And it led here.” You snuffle. Your eyes sting terribly and there’s a lump in your throat, but you suddenly can’t stop talking. “I didn’t think I was going to live. I just wanted to die somewhere that wasn’t dying with me.”

“Well,” Seersha says after a few minutes of silence. “Shit.”

“How could that even happen?” Aether looks like he’s either about to be sick or pass out. “There are wars, but they’re never- They can’t be that big.” He looks between you and Seersha, like he wants one of you to say that you were joking. Neither of you speak. “It’s not- How could a battle be big enough to kill everything?”

You shake your head. “Nuclear war.” Both of them look blank. “It’s… hard to explain. It’s like… massive bombs. They can wipe out cities. And then there’s the radiation- it’s like poison. And it spreads and that can kill anyone who wasn’t caught in the blast. And it sends so much debris into the sky that it blocks out the sun, like permanent cloud cover. Crops die, animals die, everything dies.”

Aether stares for a moment, then scrambles to his feet and all but flees the room. The front door slams behind him, but not before you catch the tail end of a sob.

Seersha blinks after him for a moment, then she stands as well. “I should go get him. He’s always been kind of a softie.” She hurries after him. The door opens and closes once more, and you are alone in the house.

It only takes a minute more before you start to cry.

You sleep most days, out of sheer exhaustion. Initially, your dreams were fevered, twisting and nonsensical, but terrifying. Eventually, as you recovered, you didn’t dream at all. Apparently, your brain was too tired to even come up with anything. Or you were too tired to remember it.

You could tell when you were really starting to get better because the nightmares were back.

They were always variations on the same theme- a blasted, broken Earth, sometimes enveloped in flames, always sick and dying. Sometimes you’re wandering in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes you’re crawling across piles of bodies, your hands sinking into their flesh. Often, they were in strangely good shape. The insects and worms that helped start decomposition had died of radiation before the people.

In all the dreams, you walked, stumbled, crawled toward a shimmering rip in the fabric of reality. It’s green, clear, beautiful. You drag your limbs, force your screaming muscles to continue. No matter how far you crawl through the choking air, no matter how fast you move, the tear is always just out of your reach.

When you wake up, the sunlight filtering through the windows seems unreal. You have to wait for several minutes before you’re convinced it won’t vanish.

It takes ages to convince Trest to let you go outside. “You’re not supposed to be stressing your body. It’s not conducive to healing.”

“Aw, let ‘em go outside,” Seersha says. She’s sprawled across a chair, flipping through one of the thickly-bound books Aether brought. “How’s sitting in the indoors any different than sitting out there?”

Trest looks at you like you’re going to start doing sprints the second they take their eyes off you. “I’m trying to ensure that you don’t overstress yourself. It’s been a week and a half and you’re still only awake for a few hours out of the day.”

Seersha lowers the book. “Dondii, you need a break anyway. I’ll be there anyway. I can keep an eye out.”

Trest runs their fingers through their hair. “Twenty minutes,” they say, finally. “And stay in the garden. And I’m going to disinfect you when you come back in. I don’t want to risk you catching anything.”

You wrinkle your nose. The disinfecting is a spell immediately followed by a dousing in some kind of weird, stinging substance. It makes your skin tingle like you’ve scrubbed it raw for hours.

“Cool.” Seersha hops out of the chair and walks over to you. “Ready to get up?”

Walking remains a bit of an ordeal for you, though you’re grateful that you can walk at all. For the first five days after you arrived, you might as well not have had legs. As it is, you can only walk with the help of a crutch.

Seersha half lifts you out of bed and props you up until you can get your legs under you. She’s impressively strong, though it’s probably not terribly difficult for her to maneuver you- you’ve lost quite a bit of weight. The crutch you have is made out of study wood, aggressively sanded until its surface is completely smooth.

You brace the crutch under your armpit and Seersha tugged your other arm over her back. You can feel the muscles of her shoulders and wings ripple as she takes your weight. Together, you make your way outside.

The sun is high in the sky, sending warm light down through patches of white, fluffy clouds. You tilt your head back to look at it. The light’s not as painful as you remember it being- you can look at it for a while without any pain in your eyes.

The garden is much more impressive than the sun, though. It’s rich and green with splashes of color from fruits or flowers. The smell of rich earth and growing things soothes something in your soul, though it also makes your eyes sting.

Seersha guides you over to the pile of pillows and books that have been haphazardly arranged on the ground for you. You’d thought it was weird leaving them in the outside, in case it suddenly decided to storm, but she’d just looked at you weirdly when you’d mentioned it.

“Rain’s not scheduled for another week,” she said. “We’ll bring it inside before then.”

Just as you are settling down on the pillows. Aether trots out of the woods. He is wearing several bangles and some of the tightest fitting clothes you have ever seen. Seersha takes one look at him and bursts into laughter.

“Shut up.” Aether’s fins droop on either side of his head and his tail drags on the ground. “It’s not that funny!”

“I can see your nipples!” Seersha says, collapsing backward in giggles. Aether jerks his hands up to cover his chest. Beneath his blue skin, you can see red rushing to his cheeks.

“I didn’t pick the outfit!” He snags a pillow and sits so it’s clutched firmly in front of his chest. He glances at you cautiously, but he relaxes when he sees that you’re not laughing. “It’s ceremonial.”

“The ceremonial titties,” Seersha chuckles from her sprawled-out position on the ground. Aether buries his face in the pillow.

“Stop! I hate this outfit enough already!”

“Why are you wearing it?” you ask. Aether groans.

“My sibling is getting inaugurated in three days, so there’s a whole bunch of ceremonial stuff I have to do. These outfits are traditional,” he says, plucking uncomfortably at the material.

“Inaugurated?” you repeat.

“Aether’s a lordling. Kind of like a noble or something. Their sibling’s going to be the ruler of the colony for the next…” Seersha squints her eyes. “Six years?”

“Six years,” Aether agrees. “Which means about six years of needing to wear these stuffy ceremonial clothes.”

“I’m sorry,” you offer. Aether gives a tiny smile.

“At least someone’s sympathetic.” He glares at Seersha, who shrugs.

“I have to wear armor half the time. I’m not going to be overly sympathetic when you have to wear tight clothes.”

“Armor?” you ask. Seersha nods.

“I’m technically his security detail when he comes up onto land,” she says, nudging Aether with her elbow. “So, when he needs to travel somewhere, we go together.” She rolls over so she’s looking more directly at Aether. “Speaking of. If your sibling just got inaugurated, we’re going to have to go on a diplomatic trek for a while. You’re supposed to represent your family to the land-folk.”

Aether freezes for a moment, then flings himself backward onto the ground. “Nooo! I forgot! Depths take me, I hate diplomacy tours! Why can’t Mells just write letters?”

“I’m sure both of us would prefer that, but you’re supposed to do the formal introduction, make connections, be a liaison for your sibling.” Aether groans. “It won’t be that bad. You haven’t been to some of the cities on the circuit before. It’s a vacation.”

“What’s a diplomacy tour?” you ask.

“When a new leader gets sworn in, their aids or family or something goes to all the local governments and introduces the new regime. Usually, you spend about a week in each capitol city. It’s a formal thing, but because Aether’s next in line for his family, he gets that task.” Seersha nudges him again. “He hates it because he’s terrible at talking to people.”

“You aren’t that much better,” Aether mumbles, rolling over so he can bury his face into a pillow.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to talk. I just have to stand there and stop assassination attempts.” Seersha leans over so her elbow is resting on his back. Aether shifts, trying to dislodge her, but she stays firm, laughing all the while. Eventually, he all but pounces on her, bowling her over. His tail comes up and smacks you squarely in the chest, knocking you over and the air out of your chest.

“Ah!” Aether scrambles toward you and, before you can really process what happened, he’s sitting you back up. “I’m so sorry, are you all right? Should I get Trest? Nothing’s hurt?” His hand patted frantically along your sides, fingers tickling gently at your skin. You feel rather hot all over.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you say, though you don’t try to stop him from touching you. Seersha sits up and scoots closer, giving you a quicker once-over.

“Yeah, you’re fine,” she agrees. “But if you start feeling bad, we can get you back inside. No need to push yourself.”

You nod, but you’re thinking about something else. “When are you going on the tour?”

“Couple of weeks, probably?” Seersha looks at Aether for confirmation. He nods. “Yeah, enough time to get the diplomatic stuff together. Then we’ll head out.”

You hesitate for a moment. “Can I come?”

There’s a long pause. Seersha and Aether look at each other. “Uh. You want to come?” Seersha says eventually.

“I really don’t know that much about this world,” you say. “It seems like a good way to learn.” You don’t mention that you would also be lonely if they go away for some unspecified length of time.

“Is that a good idea?” Aether asks. “You’re still recovering. If you get sick or hurt…” He looks stricken at the thought.

“I’ve been through worse,” you say. “I’ll be all right.” Aether does not look comforted by that.

“Well,” Seersha says thoughtfully, “a third person would be nice. Aether can’t always practice his diplomat skills on me. And I’m terrible at correcting his speeches and stuff.” She shrugs. “We can ask Dondii. If they say you’re recovered enough, then I wouldn’t be opposed to having you come. Good learning experience and all that.”

“I don’t not want you to come,” Aether protests. “I just don’t want you to be hurt.”

You pat his shoulder. “I’m okay, really. Trust me. I need to start learning about things here eventually.”

Seersha spreads her wings so they’re folded around both your shoulders. “Then we’ve got two weeks to get ready.” She promptly tugs you both down as she falls backward, her arms settling around you. “And part of that means resting up.”

The sunlight is warm and you can feel Aether’s fins on your leg and Seersha’s feathers on your back. Everything smells like life and peace. Your eyes sting with tears and something in your chest swells and swells until you think it might burst. It hurts. But it’s a strangely good feeling nonetheless.

Want part two? Find it here.

[majimemegoro]

kinda tired of how yakuza characters all have like the same boring body just with slight tweaks in proportions so here are some body & eating/exercise headcanons for a few characters.

kiryu is probably the closest in my head to how he looks in canon, with the caveat that when he gets ‘out of shape’ in between games, he does actually lose some muscle tone. when hes in his most muscled form during the stressful main events of each game, he really does look LikeThatTM, but he doesn’t really do it on purpose. he just... drinks too many energy drinks and not enough water. kiryu youre dehydrated please take care of yourself kiryu please. also he eats stupid nonsense but somehow still has a hollywood-style body. his arms are SO good. has forgotten to eat vegetables for a whole month before. he has several gunshot-wound scars and also scars from the torture and the abdominal stabbings. [if anyone wants to go through the history and make a ‘map’ of the places on kiryu’s body where he would have scars, that would be amazing. i plan to do it myself but probaly wont have time for a few years.]

nishiki is a bit vain about his body. so hes the Health Conscious One [canon, y0 intro scene]. he doesnt diet exactly and hes always happy to eat a huge delicious meal while out on the town, but on his own he tries to make really balanced meals and stuff. his exercise regimen is second only to his haircare routine. he follows it strictly, but it’s nothing too intense. like kiryu, he’s pretty naturally good at being muscly and toned. hes never as bulky as kiryu though.

nishida is a small guy. stronger than he looks, but not shredded at all, hes just a normal pretty strong guy. loses weight in times of higher stress than usual (i.e. 100000 instead of 10000 stress, which is nishida’s daily level). tattoo is a Buddha and lotus flowers.

majima really freaking cares what he looks like. hes starved-shredded and hed do it on purpose if he had to, he wants to look ripped. he eats like garbage [canon, kiwami smile burger majima everywhere event] or just forgets to eat even though hes hungry. really disorganized and a mess but he looks good??? I guess????? hes passed out before possibly from eating only staminams for two weeks straight malnutrition, but it’s hard to say for sure what the cause was because he also... doesnt.. sleep. his joints are in surprisingly good shape, but his knees always crack when he stands up from his lil crouches. long legs. most impressive body part is probably his thighs and shredded abs. his butt is “the great plains”

its been said before but akiyama has. dad bod.

saejima eats a lot [canon, y5 gourmet substory with the girl] and exercises a lot, and gains weight really easily, muscle and fat. so hes super super bulky and well muscled, but not that shredded. like he often has visible abs but theyre meaty abs, not shrink-wrapped abs. he doesnt care what he looks like, but he wants to be  s t r o n g e. he doesn’t really like western food, and he refuses to even try smile burger. will pretty much eat anything else. despite his iconic eyebrow scar he doesnt really scar easily, most of his wounds heal without leaving too much of a mark. his boobies are one of the seven wonders of the world. also one of the few characters with a bodacious butt.

okudera is quite small, especially compared to the giant-size protagonists. maybe like 5′6″? he’s also one of those people who naturally doesnt get that hungry, and combined with his experience of starvation while dealing with trauma & guilt, the guy never eats enough. still in good shape from trekking all over the mountain day & night, skinny but really compact and sinewy. hes also mega scarred up [canon for his face]. not tattooed. his joints are in phenomenal shape for someone of his age and disregard for his personal wellbeing. gets sick pretty easily though.

kashiwagi. hes muscular but never shrink-wrapped like kiryu sometimes gets, but he has broad shoulders and a naturally snatched waist. his torso still looks like that no matter how many cold noodles he stress-eats. doesnt care at all what he looks like but people find it hard to believe because if they see him shirtless they think he has to be a narcissist (bc theyre jealous). has a really big tattoo (im thinkin full sleeves, etc) but idk what its of. actually only has a few scars aside from the facial scar.

please add your own, on new characters or where your headcanon on these characters differs from mine! i’d love to hear !!

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

May I ask for yandere Punz alphabet? 🙋🏾‍♀️

Author's note- Of course Love! (I don't remember if I proof read this or not)

Warnings- Gaslighting, Murder, Dehumanizing someone, Starvation, Dehydration, Greed, Drowning, Physical Abuse, Cults Mentioned (Eggpire), Lack of freedom and No freedom of speech.

Yandere Punz Alphabet

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Punz isn't the most affectionate guy out there, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like cuddles and stuff.

Punz main form of showing affection is gift giving, giving various gifts such as jewelry and clothing.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Since Punz is a Mercenary, he knows how to get rid of evidence quite well, so if he were to kill someone, nothing of their will be found, not even the body.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Punz wouldn't really mock you, but he'd definitely tease you about how easy it was and how you should've learned how to fight.

Punz would give your space since getting a new home takes time to get use to, so Punz will respect your space for at least 2 months, and if you're not use to it by then, too bad!

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Killing people, and forcing you spend time with the Egg, and maybe even forcing you to join the Eggpire if you're not immune to the Egg.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Punz let's his guard down when he's around you, because he knows how easy he can take advantage of you, so he doesn't need to worry if you hurt him, cause he would just say he didn't feel a thing.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it hilarious, this man is a lover of chaos, so you fighting him like this makes him love you even more, but sooner or later he'll just get bored and give you a punishment.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Yeah it's a game to him, reminds him of when he and the Dream Team would play manhunt, so he'll just treat it as such. He'll most likely find you in a day or 2, but if the egg helps than within a few hours.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You pissed Punz off, and by pissed I mean pissed. Punz dragged you by your hair and held a knife to your throat, slowly digging it into your neck, and in front of you is one of your family members or friend, who is tied to a table.

Punz would tell you to kill them as he digs the knife into your neck as it begins to bleed, and he'll also say the sooner you kill them the less damage your neck will have.

And if you don't kill them, Punz would yell, insult and Gaslighting you into doing it, seeing you stab the body of your loved one over, and over and over again, until they stop moving. You crying while blood is all over your hands, shirt and face, and not to mention you can barely make a sound due to your throat. Punz would call you a good doll before sitting you down and patching up your neck, in the same room as the dead body.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind or/with their darling?

To live in a mansion and be fucking rich, while causing chaos within the server.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

If Punz is jealous by someone he doesn't know/care about, it's on sight, he's killing them with no second thoughts.

Now if it was one of his friends (Ex: Dream), then he'll tell them to back off.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Punz is pretty chill around his Darling, but he will threaten and hurt them if they misbehave.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Punz would most likely flirt with you and invite you to Manhunt games, and maybe even give you things you like.

Punz would also send you letters and be kinda romantic.

Punz would basically be a simp.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

I mean, it really depends, because Punz can and will hurt you, but he's also pretty chill and respects some of your privacy.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Depends on what you did.

If you pissed him off by misbehaving or annoying him, he'll most likely put you on a collar and a leash, tie you to a pole in a pitch black basement and keep you there with no food and water for a few days.

If you escaped, HAH, enjoy going insane for the next few hours cause he's hunting you down. And once he gets you back he'll probably stick your head underwater and drown you, and after he would force you to say things like you love him and you'll never leave him.

If you were to insult or disrespect the Egg, this man would either A- Take one of your canon lives, or B- Beat you until you can barely move, and then starving you for 2 weeks.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Freedom, Freedom of wearing what you want, being humanized and the freedom to think for yourself

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Punz is pretty patient with his Darling, but, depending on what it is he could lose it rather quickly.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If his Darling dies, Punz would beg the Egg to bring them back, and if the Egg can't bring them back he'll visit your grave everyday and leave gifts for you, and and he'd keep some of your items so you would always be with him.

You already know what happens if you escape.

Bold of you to assume you can leave Punz by saying you don't want to date him anymore.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

I don't think he'll feel bad, yeah he may be upset because you don't want to be with him, but that doesn't make him regret what he did.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Possibly the greed for more.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

If you scream because of him, Punz would tell you to shut up. But if it's because of someone else, he would demand every piece of info about that person.

If you cry (Not punishment related) he'd comfort you and give you some of your favorite snacksl

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He'll treat you more like a pet than a person.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

The fact that Punz can be a simp sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes this man's lovesickness is too much to contain.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Only if necessary.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

When Punz is in simp mode he will worship you and do whatever you want, if it makes you happy he'll do it.

If he's just normal Punz then he wants you to worship him, like a good puppy.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

3-4 years.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

His main goal is to break you and then morph you into his perfect pet.

[blackypanther9]

Part 3 - Explanation and 'He who doesn't want to be named'

WARNING!: Slapping, argument, mention of torture, mention of weapons, Mentions of starvation, mentions of dehydration, mentions of sleeplessness, mentions of blood AND MORE !! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

Rosa and Andres, two of Bruno’s rats, left Bruno and ran over to the sad, smoking Heiko.

“Rosa, Andres ! Come back !”, Bruno whisper yelled.

They didn’t listen and soon were at Heiko’s feet. They squeaked and as Heiko looked down he yelped.

“Please someone tell me they are nice and tame !”, Heiko yelled.

“They are ! They are Tío Bruno’s !”, Antonio yelled.

Heiko relaxed at that and then knelt down.

“Now what are you doing here and why aren’t you with your friend ?”

One ran up his leg and cuddled into his shoulder and neck. Heiko chuckled. The other nuzzled his hand and even licked it softly.

“Alright, you two are cute.”, Heiko said softly and smiled.

They squeaked again and Heiko chuckled again. He took his cigarette out and tapped off the ash into a hole in the dirt, then stuffed it back into his mouth and sat down on the floor. The two rats cuddled with him and soon Diego and Lucia joined in too and cuddled him.

“Oi, Bruno ?!”, Heiko called.

“Y-yes ?”, he answered.

“Good job with these rats. They are nice, clean and very social. Where I come from rats rather bite you and hate you for life. They are adorable.”

Bruno smiled and had a small blush on his cheeks.

“T-thanks…”

Heiko smiled.

‘So he is a shy one then. Brave enough for his family, but very shy if it is about him and his things… Cute.’, was all Heiko thought.

‘You DO know that I can hear you~?’, Vincent popped into his mind.

‘VINCE !!! GET OUTTA MY MIND YOU PERVERT !!!’

‘Nah, I think I’ll stay~’

‘WHY YOU LITTLE-?!’

“So…how did you end up here and who did all of this to you ?”, Luisa asked.

Heiko threw Vincent a dirty glare as he came back to them and he heard him snort. Vincent smirked back at him.

“I’ll kill you later…”, Heiko told him.

“Continue to dream that, kid.”, Vincent chuckled out.

Then Heiko cleared his throat and turned to the Madrigals again, Bruno’s rats still on Heiko, snuggling him.

“To shorten the long story… A mad scientist is after us. He wants to experiment on us and torture us until we die. We don’t know how he found us, we don’t know why he is after us and we escaped from him 3 weeks ago. He called more help by the military and they chased us and once surprised us. They shot at us, bombed us and tried everything to get us to stop fleeing. Since then we were like this and searched for a place to hide, recover and heal.”

“Not to sound dumb…what is a military ?”, Pepa asked.

Heiko stared at them in utter shock. The rest of his family did the same and Vincent broke out into laughter.

“THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT A MILITARY IS !!! AHAHAHAHA !!!”

Heiko stepped harshly on Vincent’s foot, making him yelp.

“A military is a group with a lot of people, trained to kill you. Let us say if someone wants to take over a village, the military comes in that said village and destroys everything, takes over it and kills the people that refuse to submit their loyalty to them. They come with everything. Guns, Bombs, grenades, tanks, trucks and way more. And I promise you, this sh…oot is not good.”, Heiko said.

He wanted to say ‘shit’, but the boy of the Madrigals didn’t have to hear it.

“What are all these things ?”, Bruno asked a bit unsure.

“Well guns are things that shoot metal things at you. These metal things are called bullets. If that hits you..well let us just say…it will hurt badly. If it his your bones, it can even go through it and destroy you. It flies too fast for you to avoid it and if it hits one of your organs, then it will mean game over for you.”, William explained.

The Madrigals looked horrified, besides Antonio, because he was partly too young to understand.

“Bombs are things that can be set somewhere and then when you shoot at them, they explode. There are also bombs with a timer on them, these are called ‘Time bombs’. They explode and can rip you to shreds. I think we don’t need to tell you that you won’t live after that anymore.”, Michael explained the next.

“Grenades are almost like bombs. You pull something out of it and as soon as you throw it and it hits ground, it will explode and destroy everything in its way.”, Vincent said.

“Tanks are big things. Let us just say they have a pipe and shot out of it at everything they want. They are very hard to destroy and if that thing rolls over you, you are mush. And trucks are things where more people are inside it and more weapons and ammo.”, Heiko finished shortly.

The Madrigals stared at them in horror, besides Tonito, because he is too small to understand.

“How did you survive this…”, Alma said in utter shock.

“Well we had a little birdy who warned us as good as he could. He said he belonged here a long time ago.”, Chris said.

Michael slapped the back of his little Brother’s head, smiling innocently.

“OW !”, Chris yelled and rubbed the back of his head, glaring at Michael.

“What the heck was that for ?!”

“He didn’t want to be mentioned.”, Michael said.

Chris’ eyes widened in realization.

“Oh… Oops…”

“But no one was ever banned from Encanto and no one every left either…”, Bruno said in thoughts.

Heiko waved it off.

“Aah, forget about it ! He didn’t want to be mentioned anyways !”

Then Heiko looked over Bruno’s shoulder and something. As the rest turned around, there was nothing, but Heiko clearly saw something. Suddenly he snapped out of it.

“Welp ! It was nice meeting you, but, uh, we have to leave now !”, Heiko said nervously.

“What ? Where will you go ?”, Mirabel asked.

“Uhhh….We search a place to stay. And we thought we will build our own home somewhere around here.”, Heiko said.

 “Nonsense ! You can live with us, until we build you a house to live in, in the village !”, Alma insisted.

“You don’t want us there. We are very good with here.”, Heiko protested.

“But I wanna go there !”, Elizabeth yelled at Heiko.

Heiko took a deep breath and looked at Elizabeth.

“And I want you to go back where you ended up first and rot. Did I get what I wanted ? No ! So shut up ! Your Brothers, uncle and Father agreed with me to stay here ! So your opinion doesn’t matter !”

Elizabeth turned to her Father with big eyes.

“Daddy ?”

“Elizabeth Afton ! No ! Stop manipulating Father for your own gain !”, Michael yelled at her angry.

“SHUT UP ! I HATE YOU AND I WILL ALWAYS HATE YOU !!! YOU ARE NOT MY BROTHER !!!”, Elizabeth yelled.

Heiko became very angered as he saw Michael look sadder and sadder. He hid it well, but Heiko could see the hurt in his eyes.

SLAP !

Elizabeth was in utter shock and then started to cry. Heiko slapped the back of her head harshly and she was on the floor.

“You take everything back that you said to your older Brother and APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW ! Or I will let your Father know what YOU DID !”, Heiko threatened her.

“Heiko !”, William yelled in anger.

“SHUT UP OLD MAN !!!”, Heiko screamed at him.

William instantly shut his trap.

The Madrigals just stared at them in utter shock. But Heiko was right this time, Elizabeth deserved that slap. Bruno looked anywhere but at them, flinching when Heiko raised his voice full of rage and hatred.

Vincent stalked over to Heiko and hugged him softly.

“Shhh…Calm down… You are scaring our helpers. Mostly the guy you have the hots for.”, Vincent whispered.

Heiko took deep breaths in and out, calming down. He stared at Elizabeth in hatred.

“I wish I left you in that lab of this madman… Then I wouldn’t have to be outraged every time.”, he said with so much hatred, that even Vincent widened his eyes in utter shock.

Then he turned to William.

“And you are really too scared and stupid, to raise that spoiled brat. It is great that she is your only daughter, but for demon’s sake, put a leash on her and a muzzle on her disgraceful mouth, if you can’t raise her with respect and discipline.”

William looked down, not saying a word.

“Your own kids hate each other and you sit there and pat your daughter’s head, like she isn’t making anyone hate the other. She told Chris that Michael never regretted the accident, even though he deeply did. She told Michael that you never loved him, even after you realized all the mistakes you did. She told me that you never accepted me as a Son, that I was only your slave in the house, deserve to be kicked by everyone in the family and she told me that Vincent made my life miserable, even though he never did. Do you really want to let all this continue ?”

He looked at Heiko in shock.

“Sh…she did that ?”

“Wow. You really are dumb.”, Heiko laughed loudly.

Vincent looked at his Brother and nodded.

“She did all of that.”, he said then.

Soon Heiko calmed down and was dead silent.

“I hate this damn family…”, he whispered out.

William, Chris and Elizabeth looked at Heiko in utter shock, while Michael and Vincent looked at him with sadness.

Before Vincent could react, Heiko shook him off and went away, this time, no one could see him, too far away.

“Heiko !”, Vincent yelled in worry.

He didn’t respond. Vincent sighed and then glared at Elizabeth and William.

“Are you both happy now ? Did you finally achieve your goals ?!”

“I didn’t know he would react like this !”, Elizabeth tried to defend herself.

“Because you are the dumbest person on earth ! Ever heard about feelings ?! Ever heard of responsibility ?! All you every did since we reunited was trying to tear the family apart again and you got us always into a lot of trouble ! Now tell me, ARE YOU FUCKING PROUD OF YOURSELF NOW ?!”

“Vincent, calm down… Your sanity…”, William tried to warn him.

“WHO CARES ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW ?! YOU MADE HEIKO HATE THIS FAMILY !!! ARE YOU FUCKING PROUD OF YOURSELVES NOW ?! I AM GLAD, OLIVER AFTON NUMBER TWO AND CLARA AFTON NUMBER TWO !!!”

Michael went over to Vincent and hugged him tightly.

“Calm down. Losing every little sense right now won’t help us either, Uncle.”

Vincent took deep breaths with tears in his eyes.

“Heiko went through enough pain and misery. Yes, he never talked about anything, but did you tell him about OUR Father ? Did you never see all the pain and fear he has in his eyes ? He saw more than enough, went through enough and still you two pretend like he is the problem and the monster. You know how clumsy he can be, William. He just practically left this family because of you two ! What if he ends up hurt again ?! He risked his LIMBS for US to escape ! And you thank him like this ?!”, Vincent yelled.

At that point William was crying in guilt and shame and Elizabeth looked away, crying in utter shame.

Suddenly loud squeaks were heard and Antonio grabbed Bruno’s hand.

“Tío (Uncle) Bruno ! Heiko passed out and hit his head on a sharp rock !”, he told him and he and Tonito ran to the place where Heiko was.

The rest was running behind them in worry and panic. Soon they reached the place Heiko was at.

“What happened ?!”, Alma asked.

The rats squeaked.

“They say that Heiko was tumbling around feeling dizzy, he lost his footing passed out and then hit his head pretty hard on a sharp rock.”, Antonio informed them.

“He must be very exhausted. We were all the time awake, never sleeping, nor resting. The only break we took was when we were here already, on a hill and even then, we all were allowed to rest, but Heiko searched for a place for us to hide at. He never took a break, he didn’t eat or drink at all and he never took a eye of sleep for over 3 weeks.”, Michael said.

“I can’t imagine how sleepy he must be… No wonder that his temper is so short too. Little to no sleep, can make you quite aggressive.”, Bruno said quietly.

“Mostly he multitasked. He kept his eyes and ears sharp, tended to his wounds and the rest of us, made sure we are fine by eating and drinking on our way and if one of us fell behind he carried them for a while. Mostly it was me or Chris, but still. If you combine all of that and multiply it with 3 weeks…”, Vincent stopped there.

“He should have been so tired that he almost dies, a week ago…”, Alma said.

None of the Madrigals could imagine how much and far Heiko pushed himself.

“He never wanted to risk that we will be in danger or trouble. He was scared that if he passed out…we would be back at the lab. We were all very tired, but Heiko with his injuries was probably the most tired of us and he kept pushing and pressuring himself. I guess the emotional meltdown now also added to his tiredness and the thought that you were nice and not a threat to us, even helped us heal, must have given him a peaceful mind to let go for just a second.”, Vincent concluded.

Michael was beside Heiko in the meantime and bandaged his head. It looked worse than it was, but because he is unable to eat right now, he has to at least have his wound bandaged.

MASTERLIST HERE !

[whumpthisway]

April is the Cruellest Month

T. S. Eliot whump prompts

-- from The Waste Land

 A/N: Hi! I know this is very short notice, so I made this really for myself and because I had fun with it. But if anyone ends up having a go at it, please do tag me so I can see!! 

All of the prompts are from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land poem, listed in the order that they appear in the poem, which you can read in full here! The whump tropes after the quotations are only suggestions, so feel free to interpret the poem any way you want, including less literally!

There are also three alternative prompts at the bottoms, in case any of the first thirty aren’t of interest/are a squick for you. Anyway, I hope this is of some interest to someone! :)

~

1.       The dead tree gives no shelter - Environmental whump | Abandoned

2.       I will show you fear in a handful of dust - Poisoning | Magical whump

3.       I could not speak, and my eyes failed - Sensory deprivation | Choking

4.       I was neither living nor dead - Unconsciousness | Coma

5.       I knew nothing - Amnesia | Possession

6.       I am forbidden to see - Darkness | Blinded

7.       Fear death by water - Waterboarding | Drowning

8.       Stay with me - Caretaker | Restraints

9.       Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. - Begging | Gagged

10.   "What is that noise?" - Paranoia | Crying

11.   Her strange synthetic perfumes… troubled, confused/ And drowned the sense in odours - Drugged | Sensory flashback

12.   “You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing?” - Brainwashing | Interrogation

13.   “Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?" - Taunting | Dissociation

14.   He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you - Rejection | Scars

15.   I sat down and wept - Hopelessness | Relief

16.   White bodies naked on the low damp ground - Murder | Nightmares

17.   Exploring hands encounter no defense - Intimate whump | Possessive

18.   His vanity requires no response/ And makes a welcome of indifference - Obsession | Delusional

19.   "Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over" - Rescue | Resigned whumpee

20.   He wept. He promised 'a new start.' - False promises | Forgiveness

21.   The broken fingernails of dirty hands - Prisoner | Runaway

22.   The agony in stony places/ The shouting and the crying - Buried alive | Dungeon

23.   We who were living are now dying - Sickness | Starvation

24.   One cannot stop or think - Denial | Survivor

25.   Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand - Drought | Lost

26.   Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit -Slavery | Tied up

27.   Sullen faces sneer and snarl - Circus exhibit | Prisoner of war

28.   Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop/ But there is no water - Dehydration | Fainting

29.   Who is that on the other side of you? - Recaptured | Ambush

30.   Blood shaking my heart - Panic attack | Bleeding out

Alternatives:

1.       The awful daring of a moment's surrender - Obedience | Trust

2.       We think of the key, each in his prison - Escape | Multiple whumpees

3.       Your heart would have responded…beating obedient to controlling hands - Manipulation | Devotion