#do i really need to suffer through it just to say there's no chance im addicted

[androideql]

Forbidden pill kicked in. Great job everyone.

#android talking #sometimes i do wonder #is it really bad to be dependant on sleeping aids if it's the only way for me to sleep on some days? #or is it justified like a someone who needs to take strong painkillers to function in any capacity is justified? #do i really need to suffer through it just to say there's no chance im addicted #or is it just mental health stigma still telling me that i should be do better without drugs because it's not real and all in my head #it's too late to be thinking about this isnt it #maybe i should really just ask my doctor and make peace that pills for life is likely my best option #ive already suffered too much trying to be straight edge

[embrosegraves]

𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤

Oscar Piastri x Reader “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” “You can’t tell people that we’re engaged like that.”

Reader and Oscar announce their engagement on social media through a hilarious (for them) prank. 

I really hope this turns out okay, I've never done a smau before :D

instagram.com

Liked by yourBff, mickshumacher and 7,274,653 others

youruser We move on… 

view all comments

yourBff that’s it! I’m taking you on a trip far away.  → youruser ily

user wait what user where’s oscar? where’d he go? user haha, i’m scared.  f1wags ‘we move on’ what dOES THAT MEAN f1wags im gonna lose me job 😭😭

Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 6,934,627 others

oscarpiastri Moving on… 

view all comments

landonorris surely start a jpg  → oscarpiastri no

user where is mother? user mother’s not even in the like nooooo user oh no. they have matching captions f1wags istg Oscar if you and mother broke up

logansargeant ayo? → liked by oscarpiastri

imessage

instagram.com

Liked by yourBff, mickshumacher and 7,274,653 others

youruser it’s been emotional

view all comments

landonorris answer my texts  → youruser what texts bro? they’re all literally just “???”

user mother is making music at the cost of not dating oscar 😭😭 f1wags queen are you /j or /srs i NEED to know user no please not like this

logansargeant our boy is sorry, please put him out of his misery → youruser our boy? Far as i’m concerned, we don’t share a boy 

user everyday I am reminded of everything wrong in the world user is no one paying attention to the grid’s comments? → user they’re as desperate as we are for info 😭 → user and logan’s comment? What do you mean you don’t share a boy?!?

Liked by landonorris, NicolePiastri and 6,934,627 others

oscarpiastri A lot of emotions this week 

view all comments

landonorris Oscar please answer my texts  → oscarpiastri the only thing you’ve sent me is ?????

user AGAIN WITH THE MATCHING CAPTIONS f1wags Hahaha Oscar I’m getting really scared now hahahaha user I’ve known not a single day of peace since Y/n’s first post

NicolePiastri what did you do Osc? → user NOT EVEN MAMA PIASTRI KNEW → user noooooooooooooooooooo 

user hey god? I am NOT one of your strongest soldiers user guys neither of them have specified which emotions they’re feeling → user please don’t give me hope → user I’m too far in to believe that they’re happy 😭😭😭

imessage

instagram.com

Liked by youruser, oscarpiastri and 8,428,783 others

NicolePiastri Well this answers my question

view all comments

landonorris ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! → youruser this is so funny to me → oscarpiastri hehehehehehe

user EVERYONE CALLED ME CRAZY BUT I WAS RIGHT f1wags I can sleep easy now :’D user they’re laughing. WE SUFFERED AND THEY’RE LAUGHING

logansargeant okay, without me? rude. → youruser oh please, you would’ve spilt at first chance → logansargeant i don’t like you  

user WARRRRR ISSSS OVERRRRRRRR user everyone say thank you Mama Piastri → user THANK YOU MAMA PIASTRI → user THANK YOU MAMA PIASTRI → youruser Thank you Mum ❤️😁 → oscarpiastri Thank you Mum ❤️ → NicolePiastri You’re welcome kids

AHHHH I hope you enjoyed! first time ever doing a social media au si I'm crossing my fingers that this was good 🤞

Let me know what you think, I might make some more depending on feedback but who knows

#formula 1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #oscar piastri x reader #oscar pastry #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri smau #reader is besties with logan sargeant bc i said so #let me know if you liked this! #i'm so nervous about posting this for some reason #prolly my need to please people lmao

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail last year, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I���ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“...No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.” 

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.” 

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It��s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

[firesnap]

i have a genuine question. i promise i am not at all trying to defend him. ive dropped him entirely, literally deleted everything i had of him and unliked his songs.

ive just been wondering like considering that he has been in therapy, and also considering how if he does take a year off and then comes back, why cant it be redeemable? like cant people change? cant we give them second chances? he is 27. is he just doomed to be an abuser forever?

its just scary and im asking as like a younger person who is in my very early 20s. i know ive made mistakes. i know ive not been a good partner or friend sometimes. (and yes i was also abusive to a past partner...im not proud of it and ive learned from it. i have never ever touched anyone in that way after that. it took awhile but my current relationship isnt toxic and i would never hurt anyone or hit them again yknow?) and it scares me that people keep insinuating that he is irredeemable. like cant abusers change and become better? dont they get second chances? if shelby has grown and healed in 10 months wouldn't it be fair to say the same for wilbur?

im just genuinely asking because based on everything i believe you are older than me and im looking for guidance and just...idk im scared. growing up on the internet has made me so scared of making mistakes and doing anything wrong because when it happens to others i look up to, its always treated as something they'll never be able to change or improve. makes me feel like imma just be a horrible person forever because i made mistakes in the past.

This is a really complicated question that multiple answers can validly fit.

I don't think, personally, that anyone is irredeemable. I think everyone is on a journey of forgiveness and some of us may need more grace than others.

This is tw// abuse even more than the current topic, but my mom was incredibly abusive. We lived in a very rural area and she had a lot of undiagnosed problems and trauma of her own that created a pressure pot of issues. After I was born, she suffered through full on post-partum psychosis that nearly ended about as well as that sentence implies it could have. She was incredibly violent, controlling, and cruel for years. My sister went no-contact with her the second she turned 18. A significant event occurred that eventually spurned her into seeking real treatment that lasted for years. It's still ongoing.

My sister is also still no contact and I support her decision 100%. Those are her wounds and what she needed to do to get peace should be respected. I decided I wanted a relationship with the person who came out of all that work and, even then, it's been hard. I don't know if she's redeemed herself, and my god do we still have bumps in the road, but I support her for trying.

With Wilbur, how he responds to this is going to really impact a lot of things. I mean, I know no matter how he responds I won't be going on whatever journey of redemption and healing he has to go through. I'm tired and I feel hurt enough. I would think, if he wanted to show he was sincere, admitting what happened would be a great sense of closure for a lot of people who put time and energy and faith into this guy for years.

Not every person that causes harm is inherently evil, but there has to be some kind of knowledge that you're aware of the harm you've caused. No one is stuck as anything forever, life is constantly moving, and most people aren't saying his life is just over. You can work on yourself. You can change. And I'm saying that specifically to you, anonymous.

(Saying this, actually, there ARE people who would argue once you've done x you're beyond redemption based entirely on their life experiences as a victim, personal histories and many other factors. Kinda like my sister, that's their choice. And you have to accept that sometimes you fuck up so badly that you will permanently lose some people from your life. But your life isn't over.)

But I do think, regardless of what he says or does about this, his time of controlling a large platform is at an end. He can still do a lot of things in his life after he works on himself -- editing, song producing, directing, writing or whatever -- but being in charge of a large impressionable audience that could enable more destructive behaviors is just not it.

#the current state of things

[gocryaboutitt]

Someones a little sick

back at it guys. same character yknow the shit by now

your point of view;

As im walking around my house fixing up things that were broken or covered in dust, i hear my phone start to ring which results in me letting out an aggravated sigh while picking up the phone.

"Hey sweets" i hear tommy sniffle before the phone gets snatched out of his hands, "Jess, you need to let us in, NOW!" demands mick as im finally allowed to speak. "Hello to you guys too, why do i need to let you in exactly? You idiots will mess up my house", "because we're sick and don't know what to do" argues mick as he begins to cough, "ugh, fine" i say while slamming the phone on the reciever and walking to the front door. While i bask in the feeling of a clean house, i open the door to reveal the four man-babies.

"Jess, help me!" screams vince as a runs up to me, while might i add, sniffling "how did you guys even get sick? was it from one of the many groupies, did it finally catch up to ya?" i say while widely grinning, and stepping aside for them to walk in.

"If any of you idiots mess up my place i will make you suffer in silence" i snicker while ushering them to the living room. "Go sit down and tell me what happened".

"Promise you wont laugh," begs nikki "can't make any promises, nikki" i say while walking to the kitchen to make tea "I got sneezed on by a groupie when i was making out with her," him saying this resulted in me letting out a wheeze before regaining my breath. "And the rest of you?", "he went around the studio sneezing into the air!" whines vince as his voice is barely able to keep one pitch. "Mhm, and i reckon it affecting you the most isnt it blondie?"

I chuckle while walking into the living room holding a tray of teas, "Yes! It is! I can't sing without my voice breaking" he groans while taking one of the hot beverages.

"Shut up blondie" whined both tommy and nikki as mick sat there drinking the tea, "atleast you don't have to worry about playing an instrument while youre coughing up a lung" groans tommy. "well this is the last time im taking care of you guys," i say, sighing "i guess you imbeciles are going to want to stay here tonight, right?"

"Can we, please?" asks mick as he finishes the drink, "yeah i guess, since youre my favourite mick, you can take my room" i suggest while softly smiling at him.

"Really? are you sure-", "yes, im sure, mick, go on the beds made and there should be a bin nearby" i stop him mid sentence with a light chuckle. "Thanks, jess" he smiles with a nod and walks up stairs.

I sit down in his seat while the other look at me in disbelief, "How come he gets your room?", "he gets to be so close to you panty draw, and i dont?!" i groan while rolling my eyes "because he's actually tolerable". "I'll be sleeping out here if it makes you guys feel better, god this couch sucks ass" i say with a groan as i get up and lay on the floor. Tommy was the first one to move and took this as his chance to lay his head across my thighs, this was followed by vince laying on the oppsite side of my body but with his head on my stomach, which was later followed by nikki laying across my chest.

"What the fuck do you guys think i am? a pillow?" i sitfle a groan as one of their bodies shift against mine, "a pretty damn comfortable one," grins nikki as he buries his face in my chest.

"so fucken help me, if i get sick from you idiots" i start as im cut off with a sneeze from vince which somehow racks through my body, "awh man im sorry" he sheepishly apologises "im going to kick your guy's ass's" i say while giving up and laying there.

"What ever you say, sweets", "shut up tommy, just go to sleep".

roughly 4:04 am

i woke up to someone snoring, fucked if i know who's, up shoots vince as he runs to where im hoping is the bathroom. I prop my body up against the couch as he comes back into the room looking a bit too pale, "hey blondie, are you alright?" i ask as he sits down beside me "yeah, 'm just tired" yawns vince as he nuzzles into the side of my body, "go back to sleep, vinny, i'll still be your guy's pillow" i whisper while raking my fingers though his hair "Mm, thanks doll" he groans, practicly asleep.

I flick on the tv as i decided i wasnt going to be able to sleep any time soon, as i flip through the channels i decided on The Karate Kid movie.

It was around 8:13 am, and i had resulted in watching any movie that came on, i was silently watching The Breakfast club as i felt nikki and tommy begin to stir. "Morning, guys, sleep well?" i softly ask as they sit up and adjust to the light, "yeah, thanks for being my pillow," snickers nikki as he stands up and walks into the kitchen, "how about you, t-bone?" "mm, it was good thanks sweets" he yawns while shuffling up to me, "how are you feeling?" "like shit" he groans while leaning onto me "its alright,t-bone you'll get better eventually" i smile while raking my fingers through his hair.

"Mm, i hope so." grins nikki as he walks through the door "dude! you took my spot" he whines "be quiet nikki its too early, and blondie here is still asleep, here" i slightly open my legs "even better" he smirks before sinking down in between them "shut up dude, you hogged her boobs all night anyway".

"what the fuck did i just hear?" groans mick as he walked into the living room, "how are you even comfy with them on you, it looks like a doggy pile", "it is mick, i havent moved all night" i sigh while look up at him "you poor thing" chuckles mick as he sits behind me on the couch.

that was fun lmao. i hope you enjoyed it

:)

love you guys

#motley crue x reader #mick mars #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #vince neil x reader #nikki sixx x reader #tommy lee x reader #mick mars x reader

[vhagarlovebot]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write something for aegon along the lines of aemond and reader are married but bc aemond wants to give her space and “spare” her of his company and doesnt wanna scare her bc of his appearance and demeanor they dont talk at all and theyre like strangers, sort of like aemond thinks he’s doing the right thing by leaving her be but in reality she just wants to be loved by her husband and one day aegon finds her sobbing about aemond bc she just wants to be loved by him. Bc shes crying abt his “perfect” brother he feels better abt himself bc hes thinking “my brother isnt the perfect son” and so he decides to befriend her and they kind of bond over the fact that theyre both really lonely in kings landing. Ik this is probably rlly off for his character tbh so if you dont want to do it thats okay! Ik some ppl r really iffy abt writing abt aegon so if thats the case just ignore the ask im sorry to bother! But I love ur writing sm and hope u have a great day~

gwen’s note: i need to say this before writing your req because it is important to me. but i really think aegon, as well as many other characters from hotd, is very complex. however we can’t overlook the awful things he’s done, that’s why i think that the only way of writing him is by trying to understand from where it comes, why he is the way he is, etc. (but not defend him, never defend him for being a rapist) and diverge from his character. hotd writers made it really hard to sympathize with him given that the first scene they gave us of older aegon was THAT scene. and again, i would never defend aegon from what he did, that is inexcusable, it does not matter how much he suffered or how alone he feels, he should have never done that. that is why if i write aegon i would always try to get as close as possible to what i think of this complex character (just as i have been doing with aemond) and always have his feelings and experiences in mind, i will never minimize what he and everyone has been through. and bc in fanfic you can write whatever you want, i’ve been saying that since the beginning. aegon is not a good person but i believe that if they give him a chance, he would definitely try to be better. and i fully believe that aegon has a heart and deep down he cares, we see glimpses of that in the show. so after saying that, if i diverge from what the show has showed us about aegon or what YOU think about him, remember that everyone has their own opinions and if you don’t like them, be respectful and simply block me (this is not directed at you but to everyone in general). hope you enjoy! <3

crying in public was not a good idea, but being under the weirwood tree made you miss home.

“do you feel well?” a man’s voice startles you, and you are quick to wipe the tears still falling from your eyes, trying to pull yourself together before turning around.

you are surprised to see prince aegon standing a few feet away from you, genuine concern on his face.

you want very hard to say yes but you can’t say the words, so you just simply shake your head as more tears start falling from your eyes.

aegon doesn’t know what to do. he never knows what to do when someone cries in front of him, he’s not used to this kind of behavior. he can’t remember a time when someone from his family cried in front of him and he comforted them. or if they comforted him. because that never happened. so he doesn’t know if he should keep walking and leave you alone, or ask what’s happening. however, his legs are moving towards you before he can make a decision.

and you don’t know what to do. should you excuse yourself and run out of there? but your legs don’t move and your eyes can’t leave his face, lilac gaze studying your body, but not in a creepy and sexual way. it’s also the first time you and the prince are alone and you thought when that happened, you would feel uncomfortable, rumors fly fast inside and outside the red keep and prince aegon is the main protagonist in all of them. however you feel strangely calm.

“does this have to do with my brother?” aegon dares to ask. he knows your marriage is not an easy one, mostly because aemond is very cold towards you. he has seen you alone together just a couple of times and in all of them you’ve been looking sad and uncomfortable while his younger brother showed nothing with his expression.

it is sad to know prince aegon knows why you’re sad. does everyone in the red keep notice how unhappy you truly are?

aegon sits beside you, his hands on his lap as you move away making space for him on the little bench.

“i just feel so… alone.” you let your guard down, after all he is the one asking and you so desperately need someone to talk to, anyone, and if that person turns out to be the prince, then so be it.

aegon laughs bitterly, looking to his feet playing with a few leaves that had fallen from the tree. he knows that feeling too well, he has been feeling alone his whole life.

“and— and i can’t say anything to him because he doesn’t listen to me. it’s like i’m talking to a wall.” you sob, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

prince aemond is your husband. but he’s also a total stranger too. you barely talk, he almost never looks at you and you haven’t consummate your marriage, something everyone is expecting for you to do. but how are you supposed to do it when he openly shows how much you bother him?

“i’m a burden to him!” you hide behind your palms, tears still falling from your eyes.

aegon feels a little better to know that his brother is stuck in a loveless marriage just like him. they might be very different but neither of them were able to escape from duty.

however, aegon feels something weird growing in his chest, something that doesn’t make him feel that much better. not while knowing that you’re hurting because of his brother.

aegon parts his lips, debating whether or not to say what he has not say to anyone. ever. because open up to someone is not something aegon targaryen has done before, he’s pretty good at hiding his feelings in a bottle of liquor. or a couple.

“i feel alone, too.” aegon looks for the right words but they don’t come to his mind and he feels very vulnerable. “i am a burden to everyone. my family. the servants. my own father doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

what the prince says is no surprise to you. you’ve heard the servants talking about the prince and how they wish to never be in the receiving end of one of his outbursts.

“see?” he says and you lift your gaze, turning to look at him, who is already looking with his lips curved in a small smile. “we have something in common! we’re not entirely alone.”

the kind gesture of prince aegon of trying to make you feel better is not something anyone would do, not in king’s landing at least, much less by saying something so personal. but it makes you smile through your tears.

it is strange, sitting on a bench with aegon targaryen, talking and being vulnerable. this definitely wasn’t on your list this morning when you woke up, but it is something you’re always going to remember.

“now,” aegon says, drawing out a handkerchief and holding it out to you. shyly, you accept it. “i am sure you miss home and i have nothing else to do… so why don’t you tell me everything i need to know about winterfell?”

your heart fills with pride and longing. and as you wipe your tears you start telling him about those cold and happy days of your childhood while prince aegon listens very closely.

#📮 ⌇ my works ​˖⋆࿐ #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen scenarios #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen angst #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

[mamadarama]

I was going through some posts I missed and came across the “tatsumi is mature but still does 19 year old things” and I just wanna say I’ve never been able to put it into words when my friends ask but like. That’s exactly what I love about this game.

We’ve got scandals and drama and weird crypto currencies and convoluted backstories of implied murder or identity theft or military shit or relations to underground gang activity or so SO much more and yet the writers still succeed in reminding you that this is a game full of high schoolers.

Natume was one of the five oddballs and suffered through so much during the war where it affects him to this day, but he also refers to his tech savvy and love of the occult as magic and loves the junior he “adopted” to death. Despite Aira struggling against every odd to become a real idol he still buys merch and looks on the internet to look for content of the ones he likes. Rinne was destined to become the monarch of his homeland but ran away in an attempt to find happiness and acceptance and is an amazing strategist who uses it to take down corruption, but his sense of humor is entirely made up of sex jokes and romantic teasing like Aira being “hiiro’s little girlfriend”. The amount of characters that assign themselves the mom friend role just because. Trickstar. I don’t think I need to explain Trickstar-

Like this game has made me cry so many times and it has its ridiculous moments but it also has its genuine ones while also being the most teenage shit I’ve seen in my life and I feel like so few media can balance those and still have a decent story like that. Sorry for the long ass post I just have so many feelings about this kind of stuff 😭

YEAH this is exactly what i was talking about in a previous ask when i said i have nothing meaningful to add to the enstars cast that isnt a headcanon . its all very well thought out and the interpersonal relationships are nuanced enough to feel realistic but outlandish enough to be interesting .

worldbuilding and character design is one of my special interests and i say this any chance i can get: the most important part of building a character (and a story in general) is realizing the importance of comedic irony and comedy as a whole regardless of genre or tone. it makes characters feel more 3 dimensional and relatable because people arent stagnant and theres multiple facets to any individuals personality (this is also why some of the most popular animes of all time have filler episodes or funny bits that show the characters personalities, every event hits with 3x emotional impact the more you know about the characters as people but that's a different discussion) enstars does a really good job of this . like for example if wataru were to have had a realistic reaction to eichi starting the war it wouldnt be nearly as good of a story. the fact that eichis ridiculous ass backwards plan to get wataru to fall in love with him actually worked is a perfect example of comedy used to make a story more interesting. another thing similar to this is how sometimes its better to not detail something and let characters do things for a mundane reason or even no reason at all . for example subaru hating chiaki just because he annoys him, or shinobu being on the broadcasting team despite his character not being associated with technology otherwise and therefore having no real backstory on why he likes radio stuff. its all really well planned worldbuilding with an insane amount of subtle details , which is why enstars is one of my favorite stories to analyze . the only thing i could possibly want more out of it is hardcore tragedy but thats entirely a personal preference rather than a critique because im a slut for catharsis and i love sad endings , especially ones where characters die . (don't worry im in therapy)

#ask #anon

[exiledelle]

UNDERTALE YELLOW MERCILESS ROUTE SPOILERS

ive seen a couple people here and there be upset over how the route ends, but i want to give my two cents on why i actually really like it

(btw this is not at all me saying people HAVE to enjoy it, or arent allowed to dislike it, just sharing my own take on it)

if youve clicked the read more im going to assume youve played through the merciless route and seen its ending, or dont care about spoilers for it

otherwise what the heck are you doing here

but basically, what ive seen people get upset over a lot, is the fact that clover kills asgore and flowey instantly, takes the human souls, and then just waltzes out of the underground and beyond the players reach (which is my personal take on why resetting goes back to floweys control, and clover forgetting, instead of to when clover unlocks the save ability, is its not clover or flowey resetting, but us. the player IS a distinctly separate entity in ut/dr after all)

but honestly?? what else COULD have happened?? asgore couldnt handle frisk at level ONE. he didnt stand even a FRACTION of a chance against an lv 20 clover, who might i add, has a giant laser beam, a degree of soul magic not even frisk obtains. you COULD argue chara uses soul magic to "kill" our save file at the end of undertales merciless route though, i could see that, but still, clovers laser is a much more direct and obvious show of it. (and just to be safe, before anyone tries to say humans dont have magic, no, thats literally the entire premise of the setting is humans used magic to create the barrier, its just less present in humans than it is in monsters, who are made of the stuff)

and undertale yellows merciless route goes the route of deciding that undertales version already said everything there is to say on the meta aspects and the whole "you can so you need to" mindset, so instead it just calls it what it is: its a power trip. its mindless slaughter for the sake of getting stronger, whether its the player demanding a different ending (like deltarunes coldhearted route(im not calling it snowgrave, but this is entirely personal preference)), or again just wanting to see whatll happen. but either way its to feel strong.

and what happens at the end of that power trip? youve reached level 20. youve surpassed floweys control. you have as much power as you could ever hope to achieve. so, realistically:

whats stopping you from just killing asgore and leaving.

nothing. so you do.

and it leaves you wondering: was the power trip worth it. was the pain and suffering you caused worth it to get such a blatantly, not just non-canon, but ANTI-CANON ending? (EDIT: and i mean this in a positive way, its the same kind of self-reflection over your actions that undertale pulls, just communicated in a more indirect way)

and it being so anti-canon is part of why its such a haunting ending for me.

there really wasnt any other possible way for it to end. lv 20 itself and the way undertale and deltarune characterize that increase in power, in retrospect it feels obvious that it would be anti-canon in a prequel. monster souls are weaker than human souls, even at lv 1. so against a human whos lv 20, and who got there by constantly persisting and trying over and over to get past whatever obstacle is in front of them, and refuses to give up on their conquest, theres nothing anyone can do, and that alone rips the canon of undertale into shreds.

even SANS realizes theres nothing that can actually stop you, not even him, so the best he can hope for is that he puts up enough of a fight to make the player give up and/or reset, same reason his final attack is a turn that never ends.

and having to face that by helplessly watching clover blast an asgore-shaped hole in the story is TERRIFYING to me, in a way i really love the yellow team for doing. idk if its actually intentional or if im reading too much into it, but either way,

#undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilers #elle rambles

[velvetvexations]

i would love to know more about npd, i have suspected my mother has undiagnosed npd for years now. i'm not one to self diagnose at all or to diagnose people with surface level knowledge. i have been doing my research for ages, i am 99% sure she has npd. she is so abusive and awful, i thought all people with npd were like this ngl and now i feel bad because i have been reading ur blog and been looking at actually npd tags on here and trying to understand more. i know not all npd ppl are abusive but they can be. i feel bad even more cuz i think shes evil, and cuz i am sure she has npd i guess i associate everyone else with npd as evil. i'm trying not to now, i guess i was uneducated on the topic. it's hard when u have bad experiences with ppl with npd and bpd etc.

i guess the point of this is to thank you for sharing your thoughts & feelings and showing me a diff side to npd through ur blog.

also wondering if she can ever change. she will never accept she has npd i know that, she's only getting worse and i cant deal with it. i want to cut her off badly. should i? i guess im asking you because you are someone who has it and i just need to understand from someone who has it, i can read all the academic sources in the world but i think it helps to talk to someone real as well. sorry if this is too much or if its triggering, i really don't mean for it to be. i'm just so upset today because she's rehomed my cat and i can't take it anymore.

People with NPD can most definitely be abusive and you have nothing to feel bad about. Most people who obsessively hate narcissists are not even themselves actual victims of people with NPD. The fact that you so heavily suspect your abusive mother is but are still this open to learning more and empathizing is a beautiful thing.

Undiagnosed NPD is well and truly a bitch. If your mother does have NPD, she's certainly suffering on some level as well, but that doesn't excuse the way she treats you. Whether or not she can change is...difficult to say. I discovered I have NPD when I was a teenager and there were a lot of particular things about me and my life and my worldview that made me adapt exceptionally well to it. To go past middle-age with it being undiagnosed, that's very, very difficult. My own mother was an abusive narc and no matter how I tried it always felt impossible, literally, bleakly impossible, to get her to understand anything from my point of view or to treat me more fairly.

Ultimately, though, it doesn't really matter if she can or can't. You don't owe her that generosity. She's treating you awfully no matter the reason, and if you want to sever that relationship, do it. You don't need that in your life and it's her loss.

When my mother died, I was let down that I didn't get the chance to leave and tell her I never wanted to see her again like I'd looked forward to doing for years. I wasn't sad that she died but I was sad that I wasn't sad, that our relationship had gotten that bad. If I had left at your age I may still never wanted to see her again but would have at least had a much better opinion of her to look back on, because it only got exponentially worse as the years marched on. You aren't your mother's therapist. You come first.

#actually npd

[soshaaaa]

35 LESSON SPOILERS!

This post is full of Sosha's pain and sufferings, so here is some cute song to compensate it.

GOING THROUGH 35 LESSON WHILE BEING LUCIFER HATER IS LITERALLY THE MOST UNCOMFORTABLE AND SCARY THING EVER😭

I mean, we had a lessons that was focused on other brothers but.. Other ones were pretty chill, and as a Belfie disliker, I didn't wanted to throw my phone in the window during his lessons, they were interesting. The horniness and romance was closer to the end of 2nd lesson of each arc. Gor example, when Asmo trapped us in the castle, it was like, end of middle part of his arc. And Beel doesn't had almost anything. Levi was pretty lovey-dovey because of MC almost dying, but it was pretty cool. BUT HERE...

Like, it's 1st lesson out of 2 and IT'S ALREADY EXTRA HORNY AND ROMANCEBLE?! AND YOU CAN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING ABOUT THAT?!

This lesson is literally my nightmare 😭

I mean, it must've been a good thing for Luci simps, like i liked Asmo lesson but.. As a Luci's #1 hater, this shit is unbearable

I really hate when devs don't let MC choose anything, AND THIS LESSON IS THE PEAK OF IT 😭

SOSHA ROASTING LUCI BELOW, LUCI FANS WARNING

I dOnT wAnT tO

ASMO, ASMO, PLEASE, MY DEAR BOY ASMO, PLEASE

UM.. NO?!? I absolutely hate how MC didn't even had A CHANCE to say that "I don't really want to". I mean, ok, story needs Luci to go with them, but.. In situations like that game gives at least something like "Um, fine, if i have to..". But here.. NAW, STORY JUST IGNORES THE FACT THAT YOU MAY NOT LIKE LICU.

Im looking forward to you getting crushed by a train. You don't even deserve me to place my video on pause while you are talking bro.

Naw, i prefer some demon to eat me, that to get close to you, red flag.

Ok~ Then I will just cut off and burn this hand later.

Bro.. like.. I mean, getting an outfit for your partner is cute but.. If you keep in mind that i never chose a single LuciSimp option and literally have the lowest intimacy level with him.. THIS IS UNCOMFORTABLE, NOT ROMANTIC??? Ok, probably I'm exaggerating, but it sounds like "Well, your outfits are shit, so i gave you this costumes so you will not disgrace me. Thats probably will be the only appropriate clothing in your wardrobe, so wear it."

Naw bitch, i want to wear MY OWN FUCKIN CLOTHES. Ok, im definitely exaggerating, but its still annoying. Nightbringer is like "in this game you will have a choice!" and literally ignores your choices.

...DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN WHY I AM ANGRY?! of course, of course, he is probably in his puberty and is consumed by his pride but IT DOESN'T MAKE IT LESS ANNOYING😭

"Naw bitch, it tastes like shit, i think that Solomon's cooking is 3000 times tastier than this piece of shit."

-Sosha, didn't even took a bite of it

You are perfectly know which option i will choose..

And funny thing that won't even react if you will say that you were depressed. That's sad. And yes, pride, all that stuff, but still. Its so fucking hard to go through (not in a good way).

#obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me shall we date #om! shall we date #om lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me lucifer #Luci hater #i fucking hate this #Spotify

[yutaabyss]

Helloooo I’ve recently found your blog and I wanted to try making a request :D maybe you could write some cute fluffy sexy times with jaemin? Maybe an stablished relationship on a Saturday night with giggles and playful naughty touches and a lot of boobie worship if that’s okay 🙏

thank you for requesting!! i really hope you like what i wrote for you and pls feel free to request again!

requested/ “can we stop playing?”

characters: jaemin x female!reader

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: nipple play, unprotected sex

author’s note: im glad someone finally requested a soft jaemin moment 

“My baby!” Jaemin barged through the front door, almost tackling you to the floor as he engulfed you in a hug. He had just gotten back from visiting his family for a week but for the both of you, it felt more like a year apart. “I missed you so much,” you nuzzled your head into his chest. “I missed you more my baby,” he pulled back to look at your face. “Hmm, I missed your lips too,” he broke out in a smile as you got shy. “Jaemin, stop,” you always got nervous when he flirted. It didn’t matter how long you’d been together, his constant teasing always sent butterflies soaring through your tummy. “What? Just saying,” he pinched your cheek gently before moving to put his bags in your room. “So, what’s the plan for our Saturday night extravaganza,” he emphasized the last word, making you chuckle. “Can we just watch a drama and cuddle?” you asked sweetly. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask,” he joked with you, interlocking your fingers as he walked back to the living room. 

The both of you got comfortable on the sofa as you started watching a drama. Jaemin’s hand ran up and down your thigh under the warm blanket. At first, it wasn’t anything different than normal; most times you were with Jaemin he always had a hand on you, but his hand kept creeping higher and higher until he finally stopped right at before your center. “Na Jaemin, what are you doing?” you looked over at him, his eyes glued to the tv screen. “Hmm?” he looked at you innocently. “Your hand,” you gestured toward where it lay on your leg, moving the blanket back. “Need it higher?” he walked his fingers to the fabric of your shorts. “Jaemin!” you grabbed his hand. “What?” a smile grew on his soft face. “You’re a little pervert,” you smiled back at him. Jaemin gasped, hand slapping over his heart, “I can’t believe you think that way about me Y/N,” he couldn’t contain his smile. “Drama queen,” you scuffed at him. Suddenly, he jumped on you, pushing you onto your back, fingers going to tickle your sides. “Na Jaemin!” you tried moving away from him, gasping for air as you laughed hard. “Stop it you brat,” you pushed at his hands. “Huh? What was that?” he refused to let up so easy. “Please,” you could hardly get the words out. “Say ‘Jaemin is not a pervert’,” you grabbed onto his hands, to no avail, “but then I’d be a liar,” you reasoned. His hands stopped for a moment, “then suffer the consequences,” his attack began again. “Wait!” you yelled frantically. “Nope, you had your chance,” he laughed along with you. You squirmed more, Jaemin shifting with your every move, eventually falling off the cushions. “Fuck,” you squelled as you slid down on the floor. “Baby, I’m sorry,” Jaemin laughed harder as you lay on the ground. “You should have just said what I told you,” he helped you off the floor. “Shut up,” you shoved him gently once you got up. He wrapped you in his arms, lifting you slightly off the floor so your face was closer to his own. “Never,” he kissed your nose. Your eyes gleamed as your looked into his deep brown orbs, “what?” his smirk sent warmth through your body. “Wanna take a shower with me?” Na Jaemin would never miss this opportunity.

You ran down the hallway as Jaemin followed after you. Before you could turn around, Jaemin snatched you into his chest. His lips attacked the sides of your face and neck, “Jaemin,” you laughed “come on,” you placed your hands over his clasped ones thet lay across your stomach. “Okay, okay,” he whined, his lips forming into a pretty smile. 

“Don’t try anything,” you looked at him sternly. You lifted your shirt over your head; Jaemin’s eyes scanned over the expanse of your chest, soaking in the sight of your nipples, biting back the urge to definitley try something. “You’re so pretty,” you looked back over at him, butterflies erupting inside, “thank you.” “Can I help you with those?” he nodded toward your sweatpants. “I think I can manage,” you looked at him knowingly as you slid the fabric down your legs. Jaemin’s stare was practically burning into you as he watched you undress completely. He was so busy analyzing your every move he’d forgotten to take any of his clothes off. You started the water, waiting for it to heat up, “so, are you going to shower in your clothes tonight?” He laughed at you, “right,” his hands worked to take all his clothes off. 

The water was warm, steam filling up the small bathroom and fogging all the glass. “I can’t stop staring at you,” he hummed as he pulled you back into him. “I’ve noticed,” you giggled, reaching for the soap. “Let me help you,” his voice was deep right next to your ear. “Fine,” you finally gave in to his antics. Jaemin massaged soap into your skin, starting at your shoulders and working down your back - moving your hair to your other shoulder as he went along. One hand rested on your hip as the other got lost filling your soft, warm skin under it. “Can I rinse yet?” your voice came out quieter then you intended. “Yeah,” he removed his hands so you could turn around, your back toward the water now. He repeated his earlier actions on the front of your body, your eyes following the way his hands rubbed the creamy substance on your stomach and breasts. “Jaemin,” you called his name. “Hmm,” he was distracted by the way his hands looked on your body. “That’s a lot of soap,” you smiled at him as he came to a realization that it indeed was a lot of soap. “Sorry,” he laughed. “Let me help you with that,” he playfully splashed water all over you, some of it going in your face. “You brat,” you gasped. Jaemin just smiled, your expression too cute for him to react any differently, “oops.” 

It was almost midnight by the time you both got done showering, the house dark as you walked to your room. “Now what?” Jaemin stepped up behind you again, his front pressed into your back, fingers grazing your shoulder. “Hmm, what do you want to do?” you fell further into his gentle touch. He chuckled, lips kissing your cheek as he hugged you from behind. “Let’s cuddle,” he whispered in your ear. You climbed under the blankers, moving into his warm side so he could wrap you in his arms again. You gazed into his welcoming eyes as he cradled you in his chest. “I love you Jaemin,” your eyes sparkled under the warm lights of the room. “I love you too baby,” he kissed your forehead. The moment was sweet, Jaemin’s fingers dancing up your side until they went under your oversized tshirt. He flattened his hand, caressing your freshly clean skin in soothing motions. It was comforting, you hardly noticed when his hand met your boob. Jaemin pinched your nipple, a moan falling from your lips as your pressed into him, “Jaemin,” you whined at him. “What?” he played innocent. “Can we stop playing?” you were over the playfulness of the night. He just smiled, shifting his body over yours as he pulled your shirt over your head. He kissed down your throat, sucking and biting marks into your flesh as he went along. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, eyes closing in bliss when his lips met your perked nipples. His tongue swirled around each bud teasingly before he sucked one into his mouth, his hand gripping you and pushing you into his face. “I could do this all night baby,” he moved to the other boob. He licked strips up and down over your buds, flicking his tongue over them, then moving to sucking on the skin of your breasts, the cold air hit your now wet nipples. He reached his hand up to play with your other boob, pinching your nipple as he slipped the other back into his mouth. Your legs fell open, his body laying down inbetween them. You pressed your legs against his sides and pulled his head up from your chest. “Jaemin, please fuck me,” your eyes were heavy. 

Jaemin sat up to rid his body of his clothes and then remove your shorts. He rubbed your legs before he pushed them open, leaving open mouth kisses up your thighs. “I missed every part of you,” his voice made your back arch subtly, the deepness of it making you wetter. He came back up to your face, his lips tempting you further, your tongue swiping over your own as you waited for him to kiss you. “Everything about you is so pretty,” his eyes glued to your lips as he spoke. You rest your hand on his cheek, “I love you.” Jaemin leaned in, nipping your bottom lip softly, licking over the reddened skin. “Jaemin just kiss me,” you whined at his teasing. Jaemin just laughed, moving his lips against yours in slow motions, lips parting with yours. His naked hips dropped into yours. “Shit,” he whispered. He ran his hand over your hip, moving to your leg so he could move it open more. With his other hand, he guided his hardened dick over your wetness, running in it up and down your folds before putting it in. His fingers pressed hard into your hips, leaving one to hold your hand instead. Your clasped hands rest next to your head on the pillow. He thrust gently into you, you both stared into eachothers eyes as he did it a little harder. “Jaemin,” you gasped out. “That’s it baby,” he cooed at you as he started a constant pace. You could feel every inch of him deep inside of you, your walls clenching around him. “Touch me,” you guided his hand that rest in yours toward your clit. He visibly swallowed, trying to gain some form of composure. Everything you did made him twitch in you. His long fingers rubbed circles on your clit, making you moan out. “Right there Jaemin.” His abs clenched as he focused on not cumming yet. “Feels good baby?” he practically moaned every word. “S-so good,” your legs wrapped around his waist. He thrust a little faster as he neared his end, “almost there baby.” “Jaem-” your words stopped as he hit your gspot over and over again causing you to cum on his cock. “Fuck,” he pulled out, covering your stomach in his cum. Your pussy throbbed, the way his face contorted as he released making you weak. He kissed the sides of your lips lovingly before getting up to get something to clean you up with. 

Jaemin welcomed you back into his arms, pulling the sheets over your bodies. “Goodnight baby,” he said quietly. “Goodnight Jaemin.” 

#requested #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #na jaemin smut #jaemin smut #nct jaemin smut #na jaemin #jaemin #nct jaemin

[fxllingout]

cait! cait! do you read op fanfics? cause i need some recommendations i don’t really have any preferences romantic, platonic, ship, non-ship, all fine by me i guess the only thing would be no heavy angst i can’t handle that - op anon

i do read op fics! ive read a bit of everything so im gonna rec a bit of everything that i really love to reread

Older Brother's Duties (and also i recommend reading the second fic in the series as well but the first is my favourite of the two). au where luffy is the older sibling and ace just joined the whitebeard pirates and luffy comes to check up on him. i find it very cute (gen fic)

Who We Were Meant to Be, au where luffy joined the marines for reasons and now ace is about to be executed and im not gonna say more because even though me telling you the plot wouldn't really spoil anything cause it's obvious i think you should just experience it all for the first time with no huge primer on it (gen fic)

Watashitachi wa Roger kaizoku desu (we still stand proud), au where the remaining roger pirates come to save their captain's son from execution, also heavy on the shanks and buggy friendship and their not so good past with their former crew members (like in terms of the au not canon stuff) (gen fic)

Shanties for the Weary Voyager okay so this is a series not a singular fic but i have to rec the whole series cause god damn. shanks/makino fics, the first few in the series all follow the main story and then after that are au's of the og fanfic or are one shots connected to the og fanfic. overall summary is it's just shanks and makino falling in love when he first is in foosha and then her waiting for him to come back after he has to leave and then them living happily ever after. first fic in the series is all fade to black but a lot of the ones after are explicit, like straight smut just to warn you so yeah big nsfw warning on this one

You, Drowning Between My Arms usosan fic, interesting concept where sanji keeps reliving the day after he turned down usopp's confession and is trying to fix it EXCEPT it's told from usopp's pov which i really enjoyed it. its like. kinda angsty obviously cause usopp got turned down and sanji is suffering cause he's trying to fix it but it's not heavy heart breaking angst

the demon perched upon the sun zosan pokemon au, another interesting concept, as the fic is told through an oc character. their goal is to beat the pokemon world champion but the world champion, zoro, has disappeared from society so they have to become the world champion and then find zoro where ever the fuck he is to reach their ultimate goal. sanji tags along on oc's quest. you meet the other strawhats every so often. so really its just zosan from outsider pov but done really really well imo. again, kinda angsty, but not heavy i promise

the thing that remains lawlu fic, its just law falling in love with luffy over the course of them meeting until wano. really, thats it. well written. nsfw stuff, though i believe its only right near the end and its not plot relevant so you can skip if you want (iirc i havent reread it in a bit). the rest of the series it's in i also enjoy, though the sanji/katakuri ones are just straight smut so. yeah lmao

Wine and Dine and... Guns? zolusan (is that their correct ship name????) mafia/gang au, the strawhats (excluding sanji) are a gang, and due to certain actions sanji has to join them. nothing much else to say

A Split Thread zolu fic, luffy and zoro get sent back in time after their journey and have a chance to make everything right. zoro goes off on his own to kill blackbeard while luffy gathers the crew. i also quite enjoy the sequel that is zoro's pov

and yeah thats all of them i hope you enjoy !!!!!!!

#i promise when i say angst i mean like temporary heart break like its not heavy angst i promise #but yeah i really do hope you enjoy at least one of these #they are most of the ones i have bookmarked so unless you want straight 4some smut or shittily written fics that i somehow enjoy #this is all i can recommend for now #cait.ask #op anon #save

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

tagged by @postwarlevi!!! i wanted to reblog but it got long so i'm making a new thread 😅

this is so cute 🥺🥺 any chance to talk about katvi i'll take it (✿◡‿◡)

1. who is the better cook?

him for sure, although neither of us are too big of a fan of cooking. i think he just tolerates it more than i do, although i do think there are some recipes he legitimately enjoys

2. who takes longer showers?

me. idk if its the adhd but i tend to forget how much time i spend in there and before i know it, he has to poke his head into the bathroom as a passive aggressive way of telling me that i stole all the hot water 😭

3. who is more organized?

him for sure. a point of contention with us is that i'm way too messy and it drives him through the roof. some boundaries had to be established and while it still makes him grumpy sometimes, he respects my space

4. who generally spends more money?

neither? technically me because if i get fixated on something, i'll tend to impulse shop but usually limit it to small-ish things or wait until they're on sale! he likes buying specialty teas and coffees and sometimes those can get kinda pricey, so i think we roughly break even

5. who likes sleeping in more?

hmm. i think this is difficult to answer because we both suffer from pretty bad insomnia. i think if it's who ends up sleeping in for longer, it's me. i'm the type that'll take like 4-5 hours to fall asleep but i can stay asleep once the sun rises (which is incredibly annoying) his insomnia is the type where he can get shut-eye for like 20 minutes at a time, which usually translates to him getting out of bed as soon as the sun starts to rise regardless of if he slept or not

6. who is the better driver?

im a passenger princess (✿◡‿◡) but also because driving gives me anxiety because i've gotten into accidents before, so he just does it for me, so it's levi for sure

7. who is the most stubborn?

hard to say. i think me. he usually gives in first because he gets way too irritated and is just like "whatever".

8. who is the most romantic?

neither 👁️👄👁️ at least not in the traditional sense. maybe me because i'm a sucker for romantic sunset walks (✿◡‿◡) but also him because sometimes he'll leave cute little notes around the house for me and it makes me melt (i have a little collection of them :3)

9. who is more laid back?

me. i think he's overall more extra or particular than i am. and this isn't in regards to him needing clean spaces. that's fine. i'm talking about the extra amount of work he constantly puts into every little thing, especially when it comes to house projects or even picking out toys for the cats. whereas i'm just kinda like...as long as it's not doing harm, convenience is king

10. who is more likely to ask for directions?

me. and it's a silly reason. like yes, i'm directionally confused a lot but i think levi would want to just. wander around and hope we get unlost and i'm not interested in doing that.

11. who is the blanket hog?

also me 😅 i get very fitful when my insomnia acts up, which usually translates into me wanting to hug something (why, you ask? no idea), whether it's him, a pillow, my plushie, or (in most cases), the blanket.

12. who is more likely to lose their phone?

him. he's technologically confused, which translates him to just not really using his phone unless he has to. it also means he's shit at answering texts on time >:(

13. who initiated the first kiss?

him because i was too shy 😅 i still thought it was some kind of joke as to why he was even interested in me, so i never really made a move.

14. who fell in love first?

hard to say. probably me since i was crushing on him forever, but he was the one that reached out and started stuff soooooo who knows

15. who planned the honeymoon?

him, mostly? he decided what we wanted to do. he was very extra about it, wanting to make it worth our money and get like the maximum amount of r&r with the least amount of stress, which i lowkey appreciated sm 😭 i was the one that did all the booking and reservations tho lol

#: @romantichomicide95 @luvjiro @leviismybby @jayteacups @lucysarah-c @whoami-72 @sixpennydame @wyvernslovecake @stygianoir @einnyl @nube55 @svftackerman @roseofdarknessblog @bita-bita @averysmolbear @youre-ackermine @thevelria @crazychaoticizzy @littlerequiem @notgoodforlife @bloompompom @ackermendick @sad-darksoul + anyone who wants to join! if you don't partake in self-shipping, then please ignore! ＜（＾－＾）＞

#tag games #selfship #katvi

[brandnewhuman]

The lack of fics where the reader leaves Michael is so annoying. ☹️ I also want him to suffer! And the fics that we do have is : Reader leaving Michael but Michael finds them and kills/kidnaps them. I don’t want that, I want him to go crazy and regret treating his s/o like shit. Like, why can’t we have a happy ending for once?? Don’t get me wrong, fics with Michael killing/ kidnapping his s/o are so good, but I just need one fic where the reader successfully leaves Michael and lives a new and better life while Michael is heartbroken. Some of the fics make me feel so unsatisfied. I just feel like Michael should suffer more, that’s all. I love him but I feel like he’d be such a bastard.

The shape effect

☆STARRING☆

☆Michael Myers☆

CONTENT:

Tw: canon violence, Michael myers being michael, mentions of murder, toxic relationship, angst, description of panic attack

A/N: you have honestly brought this upon yourself IM NOT SORRY. YOU ASKED IT I SHALL DELIVER. Not as good as I wanted it to be but at least it's something. I know it wasn't really a request but Im a people pleaser, what can i say. Enjoy it babe

If you think hard about how everything started to feel so wrong and painful you couldn't pinpoint an exact moment you were sure started this brutal downfall. What draws you to the conclusion that what's happening it's just the consequence of your blind stupidity.

I mean, one has to be pretty stupid to let evil himself live in your house. And if you told anyone they would all tell you that you're a fool for believing this thing could actually work. And they will be right in saying this because almost everyone who ends up in Michael's path dies, why should they think he could be capable of anything other than harm. 

But you couldn't find it in yourself to see him as evil as everyone thought of him, even if it meant living in your delusional bubble. Because everytime you look at him you can only see good memories, maybe not real but good nonetheless. You honestly are starting to have a blur in your mind between what it is really like you see it and what's not. 

You see what feels like a lifetime worth of memories and things that had made Michael look ten times more human in your eyes. You see his pain and the things he has been through too and that's the part that is making this so hard, cause you know that once it's done you'll be part of the people who have given up on him. 

But you have to do it, cause otherwise you'll end up hating him like everyone else does. 

You had to go, you had to get away as far as possible for him. You feel just…so tired of fighting and crying, of feeling the most alone you have ever been when you're with the person who's supposed to be the love of your life. The more you'll stay the more you realise that most of the things that make you happy about Michael come from your mind and your need to feel he somehow cares, you have to leave before the realisation eats at everything nice your mind has created. Even if you're aware he's the one who makes you feel miserable, you prefer to be the bad guy in your head instead of him, instead of having to see that you have wasted all this time chasing a fantasy. Those excuses of happy memories were all you had, all the "nice" moments were the only thing you didn't want to give up. 

You could live with him not caring anymore or not caring enough but you couldn't just accept he didn't care at all. There was nothing more you wanted from Michael than a sign of him loving you if not as much at least a little bit, you have given him all the chances to show it and he just couldn't. 

That's the worst part, you couldn't even be mad at him and keep fighting and screaming while crying about how much he was hurting you cause he couldn't do anything about it. You were the one who fell in love, you were the one who let themselves be overwhelmed by an unrequited love. 

Maybe there was a time where he could've changed, where there was still some of the Michael you wished to have but you had to accept that you were simply too late. You have come into his life too late, what you see it's just all that remains of the person he was before. He's a conglomerate of too many mistakes, too many "too late" and countless days of being told what he is. 

Your love was simply not enough anymore or maybe it has never been and you couldn't keep living like you being the one in love for the both of you, could make anything better. 

Maybe your mind was telling you to do it for the wrong reasons, but it was screaming at you to just leave before your love for him ends up withering your whole being. 

You planned everything so thoughtfully not even Michael himself would be able to find you. If it was someone else you wouldn't make all this effort to leave but Michael was different from anyone else. He could always seem to tell when someone was trying to trick him or do something, he always knew everything about everyone. If you want to leave and he doesn't then you're most certainly never going to leave. That's why you had to make sure everything was right. You just hoped that by the time he finds out you're far enough,reassuring yourself that even if it's not the case he surely won't be upset for too long. You just wanted to stop feeling like you're not enough and free him from having to pretend he cares while simultaneously staying alive. Is it so bad to want for yourself someone less rough? More kind? Someone who didn't need to be "fixed" or teaches basic human emotions while keeping yourself from becoming like him too? 

For Michael It will. When he'll come home the first thing he looks out for is you, not to ask you to do something for him or anything but just because you're the first person he has to wait for him and the first he can come back to when he feels alone. When he'll see you're not around he might not think much about it at first, maybe you just went to buy something or you're having a longer shift at work. There's a little whisper inside him, though, telling that something doesn't feel quite right as he heads to the kitchen and sits at the table to wait for you. 

In case you were wondering, he waited much longer than anyone could ever wait, after all he's a very resilient person. He would always wait for you even if he had to wait two eternities. 

Now he's not stupid, deep down he knows that you're not going back since he hasn't tried to go out looking foe you. He just feels that maybe if he waits enough you'll somehow know and you'll be back. 

That's the half of him that still thinks like the 6 years old Michael, the one that waited entire years for his family to come back and for the people around him to really help him. And there's the other half that isn't surprised anymore, that was actually wondering how much longer you would stay.

He is so scared of even moving or breathing to deeply cause to him if he stays still enough he can't pretend that this is not happening 

How tragic it is to know perfectly well how bad  you are in someone but not being capable of letting go. He once thought the only thing able to torment him was the bottomless pit of darkness inside him demanding more and more violence and consuming literally everything inside him but he was wrong. It wasn't until he met you and he learned how it feels to care for someone, that he knew what was real torture. Being trapped in a body and a mind that are broken, that would never function the way you like and will never give the one you love what they need. No matter the effort, his touch will never be gentle or kind, his emotions will never work the way they should, his voice will never come out to say anything, much less something nice. You were all he had, you were the only one who took care of him and loved him as if he was a real human being worthy of such attention. Loomis had mentioned it from time to time, how his energy and overall him as a  whole consumed and ate away other people's vital energy.He used to compare it to a some sort of cancer, when you find out what it is and what is doing is always too late.

The thing is, he is trapped with himself as much as everyone else is. He doesn't get a way out, he doesn't get to justify himself and certainly doesn't get to be understood. You did that though, you made him feel understood and loved and heard, you made him feel like he wasn't entirely wrong at being angry at the world. 

You have been very smart at leaving before he could stop you cause knowing himself he wouldn't have allowed that. He finds himself aware of the fact that he wouldn't have cared about your happiness if that meant he got to keep you by his side. But deep down he didn't want to be a cancer for you too, he knows you're right about leaving. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, doesn't mean that a hot stream of tears can't be running down his cheeks inside the mask and falling onto his hands making him realise his crying. He has cried very few times and never this much. This feeling inside him..he just can't stand it. It's getting more and more overwhelming as the hours pass by and in his chest there's an oppressive feeling of not getting enough air. His head is spinning so fast he falls from the chair gripping his chest as if that was going to stop the brutal pounding of his heart inside trying to get out of his mouth. His always steady hands are now shaking as he takes off the mask for the first time in years, he wasn't even sure there was a face under that mask anymore, he doesn't even know how or when he had become more the boogeyman and less michael. He actively feels like he is dying, and he has suffered countless near death experiences so he should know how dying feels. It's like everything that has happened has come down on him only now and it's trying to tear him apart from inside. He waits and waits for the moment in which his lungs stop gasping for air and his heart stops fighting to keep the heartbeats going, but it never comes. He's stuck in that almost dying over and over again. 

The thought of how happy you would be to finally see his face crosses his mind and for you he would be faceless for life, he would let anyone see right through what scares him the most just to have an opportunity to make you come back, to keep you near. 

But he can't, like some stupid romantic story cliché he wants to change when it's too late. 

He holds his head between his hands and tries so hard to stop the loudness inside his mind, he feels so dizzy he could throw up. He can't take it anymore, the shape himself feels defeated and it's now even praying for god to make it stop. He tries so hard to just push everything away but it's like he can feel himself getting sicker and sicker, like the pain is spreading inside him just to rip apart his body to get out. 

He just doesn't know how to make it right and how to tell you, he just doesn't know and now you're gone because of it. It's like every mile you get away from him he feels it in pain. 

As days pass by it doesn't get any better, if anything it gets worse. He has thought about stopping going back to your house and just getting away from anything that reminds him of you but everytime he takes a step towards the opposite direction his mind flashes him with images of you coming back and not finding him. He knows it won't happen but knowing it doesn't mean accepting it. 

He keeps lying on your side of the bed, trying to imagine hard enough that you're there. Keep caressing your clothes but not too much so he can save your scent for a little bit longer. He holds onto everything and anything that can make him feel close to you, even if it's painful he needs it. He needs to at least know you were there once, that you really existed before disappearing. 

The void you have left behind it's eating him alive and the ones paying for it are his victims. He has searched for you, has tried everything but in the end you seemed to have outsmarted him because he had to give up. 

For any other person, this type of pain would certainly end up fading and just become a distant memory of a nasty break up but for Michael? He can't forget. 

His body and his mind, his essence if you will, latches onto every little thing that makes him feel alive. He will live with the pain of not having you near for the rest of his life. 

#slasher fandom #slashers #slasher community #slasher fanfiction #horror movies #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #michael myers #slasher imagines #slasher #og michael myers #peepaw michael myers #rz michael myers #peepaw myers #halloween #michael myers x reader

[claudiathegremlin]

okay, i need to spit this out to someone

and i refuse to make a youtube video for it so im just gonna write a whole essay to my small amount of tumblr followers on prince arctic and also im waiting for my friend to wake up so i need to do something RIGHT NOW so uh

lets start with the reasons that could've played a part in how he acted

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀

so, arctic's family wasnt that great, we've all gathered that. his mother was just horrid honestly, and we have no idea how his father was (or if he even had one). diamond could've been better, and im sure the way she treated him and the things she expected of him were a definite cause, albeit not a full one. another cause was definitely his animus magic, but also cant really be the main cause, even though it was probably a major one. (heres a brief note on animus magic, atleast, my theory on it that is- animus magic isnt the full cause of dragons going insane, its how they view it, use it,how often they use it, and other things going on in their life. lets say we have an animus dragon, a funky little sandwing that for the purposes of this sidenote, will be called funkmaster. funkmaster isnt too concerned about their soul, has been through alot, and uses his magic to cause suffering to small animals quite frequently. funkmaster has gone insane because he uses his magic poorly, isnt concerned about his soul, and uses his magic to be a bastard. funkmaster is the negative result of animus magic. whereas, lets say we have a cute little adorable seawing named tappytoes. tappytoes cares about his soul, has still been through some stuff, but has a positive outlook still, and uses his magic only when he needs to, and only for good things. tappytoes is not a maniac. sidenote over) i do genuinely believe that yes, he did at one point love his family (even darkstalker, albeit not as long as the others), and he did genuinely wish he was a better father, but he had been too far gone for that to have lasted long.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩

now, while it is sort of difficult to figure out where everything started to go down hill, i do believe it was shortly after darkstalker and whiteout were hatched. he knew darkstalker had inheritted his animus magic, and assuming he knew that nightwings have powers from being born under the full moons, he also knew of the power he possessed. now, this wasnt the breaking point entirely. arctic now had the pressure of being a father, (which, yk, who knows if he even got to know his) and had probably used his animus magic a few times after foeslayer got him out of the ice kingdom. i have no concrete idea on what these times could've been, but possibly some things for foeslayer. even if they werent horrid things, and he cared about his soul, other factors also played into the animus causes of the insanity. by this time it was already too late, and he just snapped. he fully had lost himself from that point forward, and there was no going back anymore. the only point where i really think there was maybe a chance he hadnt completely gone over the fence was when he was bringing whiteout to the ice kingdom to get accepted back into their society and to get foeslayer back (i think?? its been a while since my last reread, i had to stop myself from rereading it because it just made me sad), which mayyy have been him just wanting to go back to how everything was before he had a family but could have also just been him wanting foeslayer back because he did actually still love her. anywho these are just my thoughts, there are probably a bunch of inaccuracies, im tired, and i dont feel like rereading the entire book just to make a tumblr post, have fun and dont die

#hashtag i am tired #send help #wings of fire #please dont kill me for anything that doesent make sense or is innacurate im tired #wof #wings of fire arctic #wings of fire prince arctic #prince arctic #prince arctic wof #arctic wof

[clumsyexpression]

❛ it’s my fault, isn’t it? ❜

Have been on a marine kick lately and i dunno i really love these guys

Aokiji ✭ X Drake Fluff? x Reader

"It’s my fault, isn’t it?"

A lazy eye peered from underneath the padded sleeping mask as you slinked behind the closing door to the office with a sigh. There was no way anyone could sleep through a verbal eruption by Akainu, and those in particular tended to rouse the sleeping Aokiji whenever it occured. Apparently the sound of Akainu’s voice would trickle in and foul his dreams.

“No sir,  I should have been a little more punctual with my deliveries.”

It’s one thing to get chewed out by a superior officer, but a tad bit different when you receive the brunt end of the anger of a superior officer, in front of other superior officers, and then have said yelling superior officer be Akainu. Kizaru always appeared to be unbothered and Fleet Admiral Sengoku wasn’t fazed either whenever it happened, but still.

It’s not fun being screamed at.

You exhaled as the laxness that permeated the room was somewhat contagious. All of the tension that may have followed you from Akainu’s presence melted as soon as you found yourself with Aokiji. He had that effect on you, you found, and was very glad that you didn’t have to report to any of the other admirals often – namely Akainu.

“Hmm, I think you’re doing a fine job. Enough with all that serious stuff,” Aokiji yawned as he finally sat up for what may have been the first time today. A peek at the clock revealed that it was already past 16:00 hours.

Even though it wasn’t entirely your fault, a rush of anxiety bombarded once more as you realized that the end-day reports needed to be turned in and based on the lack of files (not) sitting on the desk, you didn’t even have an hour to amass what you needed for Akainu’s impending diatribe.

Why bother?

“Well, if I’m late, it looks bad on you, and if things aren’t done in a timely manner, not only does the department suffer but it’s a bad look on the marines as a whole and even though-”

Your running thoughts were cut short as a casual kiss had sealed your verbal runoff. You couldn’t quite tell if it was just you and the flash of heat that flushed your body or if it was because he always ran a little more on the cooler side, but just as before, the day’s worries and concerns melted away – draining away the longer he held your lips with his.

Blasé as ever, Aokiji pulled away with a content hum and continued on with the next task for the evening’s itinerary.

“My my, that’s enough work for the day - time for an evening stroll,” Aokiji declared as he grabbed the keys to lock up his office for the day – seemingly oblivious to the frazzled mess of a you he’s leaving behind in the middle of the room.

But as you noted before, the nonchalance that exuded from this man was exceptional – was he going to pretend that didn’t just happen?

“W-wha, s-sooo…” you attempt to scrap together a sentence while poorly suppressing how flustered you felt. “Y-you consider that work? That was on the schedule?”

“Not at all. What is that saying, how’s it go – if you love what you do, it’s not considered work?” Aokiji attempted to recall however it went, but gave up with a shrug and held the door open for you to pass first.

“Something like that.”

a/n: sorry if this sounds familiar, im working on different scenarios but dang it this is the best way I can imagine it orz

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

"It’s my fault, isn’t it?"

Drake muttered under his breath, allowing only you to hear, but all eyes and attention were on the both of you as everyone awaited to see what he was going to do.

“And there’s 99% chance that you will not follow through,” Basil affirmed with a flip of a card, poorly suppressing the smirk that crept across his face from the lack of action.

Sometimes the job called for silly shenanigans, and this was one of those times.

Between Basil’s ridiculous predictions and an already suspicious Who’s-Who, he had no other choice but to give in for the sake of his mission.

That always comes first – his mission - but between the two of you and the closer you seem to get, it was becoming harder and harder to tell what the main focus was.

He didn’t mean for you to be roped into this.

Not at your expense.

Playing your role of the barkeep that the Tobi Roppo is known to frequent, you could only idly stand by and fulfill their requests. Not that you minded this one. This one was actually interesting. The building excitement wasn’t just an act, either. You really wanted to see where this would go.

“This is childish. I don’t have to time for this.” Drake crossed his arms and turned to leave - agitated by the immaturity of the game and the group of participants. And also to hide the blooming rosiness that started to inch its way up his neck and bloom onto his face.

He hated going out drinking or partying with the Tobbi Roppo. They were always boisterous and belligerent and such a hassle to blend in with. But -  as per the mission briefing - it was his job to stay in line and under the radar, which meant if he had to play the not-blow-my-cover-as-a-marine-spin-the-bottle with the gang, he would do it.

“Sounds like something a spy would say, If I ever heard one.” Who’s-Who jeered, already banking on Basil’s 99% chance of him not going through with it.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Because its you.” You admitted through a barely audible whisper, earning a deepening flush from the covert marine as his eyes could no longer meet yours, for whatever reason.

“Hmmph. Your days are marked. ‘Definitely no way that you’re gonna-”

The motion of his hands seemed to smudge time to a mere trickle as gloved hands became a vice grip to your face – eyes shut, lips locked, and securing the bet that was against him. Something about the kiss felt like it weighed more onto something else than the bet – between how deep and genuine it felt as opposed to a quick peck that was originally warranted. Sharing the heat from his body thanks to the kissing exchange, you fanned your face as an attempt to cool off while Drake delivered a derisive glare towards his cohorts – as if it didn’t take all of his being to not faint right then and there as per their taunting.

“Whoa shit, didn’t think he would do it..”

“….whatever.”

Losing interest in the lost bet, Who’s-Who turned to leave while Basil lingered by with cards in hand, seemingly interested in keeping the game going.

Basil smirked as he flipped a card down and sent another leering dare as his jeer met Drake.

“99% chance you won’t do it again.”

Unfortunately, that held true as you held the shell of a man in your arms, his soul finishing its escape from his body at the mere thought of kissing you again.

#corazon was supposed to be here too but ill do something separate for him i guess #trying to figure out how to write for these guys properly orz #one piece #one piece x reader #aokiji #kuzan #x drake #kuzan x reader #aokiji x reader #x drake x reader #pink thread of fate