#i was possessed while i wrote this

[mossy-opal]

To Lay Beneath

Succubus! Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!!!!! HEAVY SMUT!!!! Heavy Sub and Dom Tones, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Safe Word Usage (we believe in safe sex here)

Did I get really into this and write a 2,800 word fic?.... No. You're seeing things.

Males were rare. They weren’t often produced, and if they were, they were oftentimes seen as… Weak. Usually, males were Incubi, and females were Succubi. For a male to be born a Succubus, it just made things harder on them. Humans were far too inferior to really understand, as humans were often too picky. Unfortunately, that led to many nights Shigaraki went hungry. This often led to him being snippy, and angry, and that made it even harder for him to find someone, anyone, to feed off of…

It was just stupid, being constantly teased by others of his kind, and being constantly rejected by those of a lesser species. It was ridiculous!

Making his way down the street, he moved through the crowds looking for someone who would satisfy him, looking for anyone who seemed just as desperate as he was.

Everything was just so annoying…

He bumped into someone, that just made him hiss.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Dammit, they were pretty too- “Ah, I’m sorry sweetie, I wasn’t looking where I was going..!”

Wait.

What?

Sweetie!?

He could already feel his face flush as he sputtered out an “it’s fine”, and you didn’t make it any better by smiling at him, and gently laughing. What was so funny!?

“You’re pretty cute y’know that? Here, let me make it up to you, let me get you a coffee?”

Your consistent compliments didn’t help him any, “Sure, fine, whatever…”

You were silent for most of the time you two sat together, Tomura was poking at his drink with his straw, and staring at the food you bought him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat it, it just wouldn’t be what he really needed, and it’d probably only make him feel worse.

“What’s your name, cutie?”

He clicked his tongue, “Shigaraki…”

“Got a first name?”

He was silent for a moment, and you took that chance to introduce yourself. You seemed confident, as if you knew what you wanted. He felt like he was a piece of meat, and for some reason, he liked it.

“Well, that first name?”

“Tomura…. Tomura Shigaraki…”

“Thank you! So…”

And thus, you started small talk. You told him a little bit about yourself, he told you some things about himself in return, and at the end of it, you gave him your number.

This was not how he planned his day to go.

But it was better than nothing. He got free coffee, and a hot person's number. This was probably the best day of his life, though he’d never say it aloud. He even got real food at the end of the night, some desperate girl trying to get back at her man after she caught him cheating- He didn’t catch her name, he didn’t care to. All he wanted was her pleasure, her lust, hell even her sadness would feed him for now.

He took as much as he could.

He didn’t get around to texting you until about a day later, sending just his name. He jumped when his phone went off almost immediately.

[Hey! It’s nice to hear from you! Thought I’d never get another date! How does Friday sound? I wanna go see a new movie, and would hate to go alone!]

You had to be kidding.

How should he respond? He’s never made plans like this before- He had no clue how to handle this-

[[Sure.]]

[Awesome! See ya then cutie!]

He hoped some day you’d stop calling him that… Though he doubted it…

•

•

•

He was right. The more you two hung out, the more you used those nicknames for him. The more you two got to know each other, the more flirtatious you got. Hell, you even showed him off to people, telling them you were best friends, and the wedding was in spring… It was like whiplash with you. He didn’t know how to handle it, but at the same time, he felt very different about you.

He couldn’t explain it very well, and he didn’t know if he should. He liked how it made him feel… Full. He would rather die than admit it, but you made him happy. He was less snippy, and you teased him about how he’s warmed up to you, and he denies it, but he knows it’s true.

He likes you a lot more than he’s supposed to like his food.

But you were kind to him, you made him feel special. You spoiled him with nothing but friendship and care, and you never asked for anything in return. Maybe a shoulder to cry on every now and then, but other than that he was just your friend.

Why is it that when he told himself that, his chest hurt…?

Things seemed stagnant at that point… Until one night…

•

•

•

“Tomura…”

He grunted in response, he was playing a game while you were reading, your legs over his thighs.

“Tomura~”

“What..!?”

You giggled, “Tomu-sweetie, I have a question~”

He groaned, “What is it? I’m in the middle of a-”

“Do you like me?”

His grip on the controller tightened, but he stayed silent. His mouth was open and he swiftly shut it. He was happy the lights were off, or else you’d see his face was flushed.

“Tomura, answer me~” He could practically hear your teasing smirk.

“Why?”

“Because it’s rude to keep someone on the edge..” He could hear the pout in your voice.

“No, I don’t like you.” You laughed.

“It’s also rude to lie~”

He paused his game, glaring at you. You had a smile on your face, as if you hadn’t just teased him about how he felt. What was your end game? What did it matter to you?

“What if I do, huh? What, are we gonna stop being friends? I expected it to happen at some point, why not rip the bandaid off now-”

He was silenced when you moved.

You were straddling him.

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to talk again, but you put a finger to his lips.

“Ah ah ah, no. You spoke enough, sweetie. It’s my turn now, okay~?”

He gulped, but nodded. What was even happening right now?

“Good boy… Now, do me a favour and be honest, okay~? Do. You. Like. Me~?”

He shuddered, “Y-yes….”

“See how hard that was? Now, if you couldn’t tell, I like you too…”

“S…. S-so…?”

You chuckled, and if it didn’t send shivers up his spine he’d be even more of a liar.

“I think you know. Follow me.”

You got off of him, and he was quick to get to his feet, almost tripping over the controller cord, his game forgotten on the TV. He watched you walk in front of him, leading him to your room. You led him to the edge of the bed, and sat down. You pat the spot next to you, and he sat, being sure to put his hands in his lap.

“We’re going to go over some rules, okay?”

“O-okay…”

“I want you, Tomura. Do you want me?”

He nodded and you scolded him, “No, I need words.”

“Y-yes, I… I want you…”

He saw you smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Good. Now, red means stop, yellow means slow down, or go slow, and green means go. Does that work for you?”

“U-uh, sure, y-yea… Uhm…”

You got up, taking your shirt off. He averted his eyes. He had to tell you, he had to before this got too serious, he could hurt you-

“Hey, Tomura, what’s wrong?”

You were kneeling in front of him, and the sight took the wind out of his lungs. You were gorgeous…

“I-I’m a Succubus…”

Your eyes widened, and you choked out a laugh, “Ha- w-what..?”

“It’s not a joke, I’m serious, we can’t have sex because I’m a Succubus, I could hurt you or-”

“Tomura-”

“I’m being serious!”

At that exclamation, his horns sprouted from behind his long hair, his tail waved behind him, and his wings spread out. You could even see the change in his teeth, now they looked like fangs. Your eyes widened as you fell back on your ass, landing with a small “oof”. You looked him up and down, and you sighed.

“Tomura I…. That’s… Quite amazing, if you ask me…”

He was shocked you were even still here. “What…? You don’t think I’m dangerous? I could kill you-”

“So why haven’t you?”

He was silenced at that. You… Had a point. You had been kind to him, given him multiple chances to take advantage of you, to kill you and take what he needed from you, and yet he didn’t. If anything, he had been exceptionally nice to you. He didn’t even notice how you took off your pants and underwear, before you straddled him yet again.

“So, still worried you’ll hurt me~?”

He was speechless again, “Because I can make it easy for you, if you’re still worried~”

He blinked, leaning back a bit. “... How…?”

You leaned into him, kissing him gently, making him jump. He kissed back with a push, and you giggled into it, keeping your hands on his shoulders as his tail flicked impatiently. You grind your hips against his, making him shudder into your mouth. He could feel your smirk widen at that.

Pulling back, you sat on him fully, making him whine.

“Oooh, sooo cute… Do me a favour sweetie, take off your clothes, yeah~?”

He shuddered again and let out a small “yes”, as he stripped, he could hear you rustling around near him, probably in your closet-

“Why aren’t you naked yet?”

He jumped a little, his shirt was still on, as were his boxers. “A-ah- I was distracted-”

“Well chop chop cutie, get to it~!”

Your enthusiasm made him turn an even deeper shade of red.

Quickly, he got the rest of his clothes off, now standing fully naked in front of you. He was pale, and from what his kind has told him, he’s not all that appealing. Covered in scars, his wings couldn’t carry him due to holes, he would often scratch at his skin due to the stress of everything, and with your staring it made him want to itch now-

“You’re so pretty… Come here~”

You were sat on your bed, leaning back against your pillows. You opened your arms to him, and he whined as he crawled over your bed to you, leaning in to kiss you himself, slowly. You moaned softly against him, wrapping your arms around him. He was much warmer than you were, but you couldn’t complain.

Separating from him, you pushed him back a bit to adjust yourselves, having him lay beneath you, your pillows and your scent surrounding him. Your hands were all over his body, making him whine and moan as you groped him wherever you wanted. You were so… Gentle with him, as if you could hurt him, treating him as if he was glass. He almost yipped when you spread his ass.

“W-what’re you-”

“Colour?”

His face was bright red, his eyes wide. He’d never- “Tomura baby, I need a colour~”

… Despite his inexperience, your calm demeanour was certainly aiding him. He shuddered as you toyed with his hole, gasping as you played with him. He… He trusted you…

“Y-yellow…”

“You got it sweetie…”

You pulled away from him, grabbing a bottle of lube that was on your bedside table. Slowly, you applied lube to your hand, and to his hole. The coldness of the lube made him jump again, and you shushed him with sweet whispers as you kissed his neck, your fingers gently touching him, before ever so slowly you pushed one finger in. He shuddered a moan at the feeling, moaning more when he felt you moving in and out of him. You kept talking to him, talking him through it, and it made him feel even better.

“A-ah… Mm…. M-mooraa….”

“Hmmm….? What is it baby~?”

“M… M-more… P-please….”

You hummed, “Alright… One more, okay, baby~?”

“Y-yes- please- fuck…”

Slowly, you did as he asked and pushed another finger into him, making him cry out in pleasure, his wings fluttering beneath him as he gripped your arm that held you up. Slowly, you started fingering him more, scissoring him carefully too. You loved how he writhed beneath you, whining and begging you to keep going… It was almost like you were the demon, and you fucking loved it.

“Want another one baby~?”

“Ah-! Y-yea- p-p-please- please more-aah~”

You chuckled darkly, kissing along his jawline. “Coloooouuur~”

“Aaaaha~! Greeeen! Green green p-please plea-aaah~!”

He didn’t have to beg you much more, as you did as he asked, pushing another finger in and fucking him with your hand. You kept kissing his neck, licking and nipping at every bit of exposed skin you could get your teeth on. You moaned, whispering in his ear, “You’re so good for me baby, do you want more than just my fingers~?”

He gave a confused whine at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I have a toy for you baby, but I need a colour before I give it to you~”

You lifted yourself off of him, keeping your hand busy in him while reaching for your strap-on. It wasn’t too big, only about 5 inches from base to tip, but as you pulled it out and Shigaraki laid eyes on it, he couldn’t help but clench around you and whine a bit.

“A-ah- d-do you think that’ll f-fuu-fit..?”

You chuckled again, pulling your fingers out of him slowly, “Sweetie with how I’ve prepped you, I’m sure it will. Not only that, I’ll be using plenty of lube. So-”

“Green.”

He wanted to hit himself for how fucking eager he was- But all you did was smile.

“Okay baby, give me a minute~”

Putting it on carefully, you put some lube on it, gently stroking it before lining it up with him. He whined again, wiggling his hips, his tail wrapping around your waist, trying to pull you closer. You carefully pushed in, making him moan sinfully.

“I want you to relax darling, can you do that for me~?”

“Aaah-y-yeaaah~”

“Good boy~”

Ugh, when you called him that it made him weak. He did as you asked though, breathing carefully as you allowed him plenty of time to adjust. When you were all the way in, he took in a few shaky breaths, allowing himself to get used to you, he wiggled his hips slowly. Gently, you gripped his hips, helping him get some friction so he could get used to it.

“A-agh.. G-green…”

“Hm..? What was that baby~?”

“G-green… P-please m-m-move…”

You cooed at him, but didn’t tease him anymore than you had, slowly moving your hips. Your first thrust made him whimper, and the next only fuelled your need to make him cry out for you. As for Tomura, he’d never expect to be in this situation, much less with someone like you. You were well far out of his league, and yet here you were, being intimate with him more than anyone ever had been. No one he had been with had ever taken such care of him, much less fucked him like you did. Your constant thrusting made him arch his back against you, his moaning only getting higher in pitch as he begged you to let him cum.

And you did.

He had never felt more full, fed completely, and he didn’t even do anything to you. You smiled down at him, and you just looked… So happy to see him so fucked out. He was breathing heavily, looking down at himself, seeing the mess he made on his stomach, and he didn’t even touch himself.

“Feeling better, my little demon~?”

He huffed, moaning as you pulled out of him, but he nodded, “Haa… Yeah I’m… Fuck…”

You laughed, moving to the other room, before coming back with a warm wash-cloth, and you started cleaning him up.

“W-wait, you, how do you feel..? I was feeding off of you the whole time I-”

You shushed him, before kissing him deeply.

“I feel fine honey, is that not normal for you…?”

He shook his head, “No, usually if I feed off of someone they die… Since I actually like you, I’d get kinda bummed out if you died…”

You smiled, “Well, maybe that’s the difference. You like me.”

Hearing it said out loud made him blush again, “That’s good, because it’d be real awkward otherwise. I like you too sweetie~”

He blushed even more, “G-good…”

“Oh and by the way, I think your tail is super cute~”

He curled into himself, “Mhmm…”

You crawled up to him, kissing his cheek before laying beside him, pulling him down to you.

“Goodnight~”

“Wait, what about you?”

“Worry about it in the morning, unless you wanna go again~?”

He flushed again, “You’re insatiable…”

“You’re one to talk, demon~”

Tags: @slayersins @shadowsandshapes @dabislittlemouse @dabislittlebeaniebaby @the-milk-anon @shockinglysubmissive @elias-fable @starstruck-flames @daniidil @223princess

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura x y/n #shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki smut #tomura smut #Enjoy you FREAKS #i blacked out through half of this #i was possessed while i wrote this #i hope it's accurate enough #i sure hope it's realistic enough #gosh golly gee i sure hope we took good care of a FICTIONAL DEMON

[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. Charles 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 head 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

[bluebellhairpin]

Oh, Odysseus no. Don't become the monster. Don't deal the blow. Don't become a monster unlike anything they’ve ever known. This life is amazing if you greet it with open arms. No matter what you face you'll be fine if you lead from the heart. Greet the world with open arms. Greet the world with open arms.

#nemos thoughts #song recs #epic the musical #the underworld saga #sorry i got possessed by polities while listening to monster and wrote this

[yournowheregirl]

wildflower by yournowhergirl

pairing: steddie rating: explicit word count: 3k

summary:

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stevie. You said this was an easy walk.” Eddie pants. As Steve looks over his shoulder, it’s clear to see that Eddie is struggling - his face is flushed pink and a few curls have escaped from his bandana headband and are stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“This is easy. See—” Steve stomps his foot on the gravel pathway. “—we’re walking on a path, rather than the forest floor. Ergo, easy.”

“Tell that to my calves.” Eddie mutters.

He puts his hands on his back and groans when he stretches his muscles. Steve’s heard that kind of groan from Eddie before, only then they were in a more horizontal position. His face flushes thinking about it, but he can’t let himself get too carried away. They’ve got a trail to hike.

OR: Steve and Eddie go on a hike.

read on ao3

#steddie #stranger things fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #alice's writing adventures #this is once again a fic i wrote while blacking out and letting the smut fairy possess me #anyway enjoy

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #Dexter Favin #And a drabble-fic under the cut #I ended up writing that the night after I read - I was a bit too inspired while busy so it's a little on the unfocused side haha #I would've cleaned it but I worry it wouldn't make it out of that stage! Please enjoy it for now <3 #This set is mostly periphery ideas - inspired by events rather than directly shown ♪ I suppose the first two kinda count tho #But they're more directly of the little scene I wrote ouò Poor ZEX </3 #And Dex! He's usually so capable! But he's stretching himself so thin ahh it's hard to watch in the best way #Of course he doesn't want to give ''Max'' over to just anyone - anyone at all really - both of their trusts have bottomed out #But how much could he reasonably care for him in that state? When he's still being actively haunted and most importantly - Not Max #He needs helps he needs support he needs to sleep and shower but a second with his eyes off Max and - then what? He'll immolate from fear #It's hard to imagine him crying but pushed to this extreme? To the thought of losing Max utterly and completely? Hhhhh #I do also just love him being possessive even outside of how terrible the situation is - he's always had his glimpses but this situation #Brings out the worst in him <3 In terrible ways #Really his method is just setting ''Max'' up nearby and prompting him over the sound of the shower like that's not nerve-wracking at all #Like he already doesn't answer half the time if that #As for the mini fic I was really interested in Dex's line about indulging ''Max's'' delusions #Apart from the fact that they're not delusions - not that anyone believes him outside of the Institute - what it means to indulge is weird #I saw one example of how to handle delusions that stuck with me - how not to deny them outright while also not reinforcing them #Since it's not actually helpful to be told ''That isn't Really happening to you'' when to you - to ZEX - it really is! How invalidating #And so rather to take the approach of ''I don't see/feel/hear what you are - I can't find any evidence of it myself'' and extrapolating #Dex taking the approach of ''What reality are you experiencing right now?'' and trying to build from there! #Unfortunately ZEX has already been treated like....well like all that - he's not in the mood for games even well-intentioned ones #He /knows/ he's in a human body. He can feel that and see that and understands that. It doesn't change who - what he /is/ #The idea of a completely broken ZEX is so sad to me :( He's so strong and prideful and vivacious - Max really is another him </3 #It's not the same but he was saved from death! To fall into torture... But even despite that I want to see him succeed! As much as he can #Even in that small and shaking way I want to see him be hateful and spiteful - angry. Powerful <3 Fighting ♥

[mpregspn]

cleaned it up a little here

It had been a good day - as good as it gets nowadays, anyway. The ghost terrorizing the small populace of bumfuck, nowhere had been put to rest with little fight (Dean did get slammed into a headstone but after all they've been through, it really seems like nothing) and Sam was alert and clear eyed and present and he had saved Dean's ass and laughed afterwards, flushed pink in the cold and high on adrenaline of a job done right. He hasn't looked this carefree in years (ages, Dean doesn't want to do the math but Sam said three minutes felt like a week and ages, he must've spent ages down there) and having him back should be enough already but Dean missed this, the sound of his little brother's laughter and the smell of gasoline and graveyard dirt. It was a moment so perfect Dean was sure it's gonna be over in a flash but somehow it continued on, Sam easy and relaxed in the car on their way back, bickering about who get the first shower and how he was right that the murders were the doing of the ghost of a local preacher, decades dead, and not a werewolf.

It was early enough still that usually Dean would go out to the local bar, partly to hustle some pool, mostly to get drunk, trying to forget, just for a moment, that his brother is insane (because he didn't protect him, because he let him go to hell and didn't get him out, not soon enough) and that the world is ending for the uptenth time (one of these things is more important than the other and it's not the one that ought to be) but with Sam looking so young, looking his age for once, smiling so widely, not pressing on the wound of his palm and not flinching at something Dean can't see, he could bear to make himself leave. He'd still cracked open a bottle of jack, because it's just a good way to round off a good day, poured himself and Sam one, then another. Sam's tolerance had increased in the years since Dean had gotten him back but since getting his soul back he seems lighter, the burden of Dean's deal and the apocalypse lifted off his shoulders, at least whenever he isn't toremented by the memories of what the devil did to him, and even in these moments he looks heartbreaking young. It didn't take much to get him giggling, flushed pink again but this time with alcohol, which reminded Dean of the first time Sam had gotten drunk, the time they'd broken into John's stash because it had been Dean's sweet sixteen and he'd gotten back home after celebrating with the friends he'd made at the local high school, and Sam had been waiting for him at home with a lecture on underage drinking, and Dean's solution to the problem was to spend the rest of the evening introducing Sammy to the wonders of beer.

Now he's found himself in the same position he'd been in that night a lifetime ago, pulling off Sam's shoes and manhandling him into the bed, tucking him in, brushing his hand through Sam's too long (perfect) hair and letting it linger, taking advantage of the fact that while Sam will probably still remember it in the morning he won't ever bring it up. Then he starts pulling off his own boots and he lets himself hope that this could last, that tomorrow morning they could just go get coffee and find a next not too complicated case that doesn't lead to yet another end of the world, but then, Sam asks -

- Dean, has dad ever, y'know, hurt us? hurt me? - he's loose limbed, burrowing his face into the pillow, and Dean has just reminisced about how they were scared shitless dad's gonna tan their hides when discovers their little bender, but that was just that, just joking, if John had noticed that his stash had gotten lighter he had put it on the account of Dean celebrating with his friends, he probably wouldn't have clasped Dean on the back and given him the keys to the Impala if he'd suspected Dean had gotten his twelve years old brother smashed.

- What do you mean, Sammy?

- You know, back there - he doesn't have to specify. Dean knows what back there means, even though Sam never talks about back there.

- back there, Lucifer, he would, - he still looks loose and open, and Dean would never think a few shots would be enough to get him talking about Lucifer, and if he did, he still wouldn't try to get him talking, because god, he doesn't want to hear this. Despite Sam easy tone, he doesn't think he's gonna like what comes out of his mouth next - He could. Make up scenarios, you know? Sets. Like Gabriel did. It was all empty and he could just, do whatever - His eyes are closed, he's frowning, but the corners of his mouth are still lifted up slightly. They just had such a good day.

- He would go through my memories. Sometimes it would be you - He snorts. Dean doesn't know what's so funny about this. He remembers Sam driving away with his imaginary doppelganger, pointing a gun at his head. He doesn't want to imagine what else his face did to Sam

- And, you know. I can tell the difference, but dad was his favorite, and we went over it so many times, sometimes - it gets mixed up. So I thought, I decidee, I just have to assume it's all bull.

He stops, for the first time seeming to catch on to Dean's silence. But what is he supposed to say to that? Sam had been down there long enough for Lucifer to create fake memories of abuse, god knows just how terrible, and even if he knows they're fake, he still remembers them. What difference does it make that a memory is fake?

He opens the eyes he didn't realize he was screwing shut, tries unsuccessfully to unclench his jaw. Kneels next to Sam's bed. Strokes Sam's long, perfect hair. So soft. Just like when he was still a kid.

- No, Sammy - he swallows - dad loved us. Never did anything like that. You two fought like hell but he wouldn't, he would rather die than hurt you, okay? You get that?

- Thought so. Thought he wouldn't. See, I still got it.

Dean thinks he's not sure what it is that Sam's got but it's most likely not it but he realizes he should be more grateful. He got Sam back and in one piece, even though everybody and their dog said Sam would be a drooling mess. And Sam is drooling, just a little bit, face is smushed into a pillow and mouth slightly open and he's gonna complain in the morning because he hates going to bed, especially drunk, without brushing his teeth.

If it's a good day. Because miraculously, they still get good days. It's just that even on the best of them, Dean can't help but think there's something irrevocably broken about his brother.

He keeps stroking Sam's hair until he drifts off into sleep. Then he finishes off the bottle of jack.

#don't know where this came from. i think i got possessed. put it in the drafts but fuck it #don't know if it's coherent i wrote it in like two hours on my phone while watching x files s6 ep 17 18 19. all bangers #last one had fredric lehne. it's all connected #you mind if i tag this. #spn

[deadlyhuggles6]

Title: Two Months

Words: 11.5K

Rating: T for light swearing

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Pairings: no romantic pairings

Warnings: Minor (okay kinda major, but etho doesn't focus on it much) non consensual body modification in that Etho's body is changing and he Did Not Consent. kidnapping. injury mention, but he's okay. minor body horror specifically around the eyes

Summary:  Etho's the champion of Decked Out. Now that Decked Out 2 is open, he's here to conquer that as well. But Decked Out 2, unbeknown to Etho and its Dungeon Master, has other plans for Etho, and it's not going to let him go now that he's within its walls once more. While racing against the clock to find and save Etho, Tango finds himself falling apart. Can his friends keep him together while saving Etho?

Ao3 link: Two Months - DeadlyHuggles - Hermitcraft SMP [Archive of Our Own]

“And that was the last time we ever saw Etho,” Joe joked.

Tango laughed so hard, and Etho could just barely hear it over the echoing sound of Decked Out 2, “Yeah, see you in December Etho!”

Etho rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s gonna take me two months to-” the heavy nether brick doors closed behind him, cutting him off from his friends until he died or completed the course. Tango had a way to contact them of course, just in case something goes wrong, but otherwise he was all on his own.

Etho took a deep breath and began to run through the icy first level of the dungeon.

The ice was slick under his feet, but he’d prepared for this, and his thick-soled boots handled it pretty easily. He slid quickly over the ice, keeping an eye on the compass in his hand, but doing his best to just look around.

Tango had obviously put a lot of work into this place, the feel was entirely different than that of the original. And he’d know, with how much time he spent down there.

He winced a bit as a lot of sounds all went off right in a row. He recognized a few of them from the tutorials Tango had recorded, but were they supposed to go off like that?

He hit a button on the side of his compass, pinging Tango. Tango was keeping an ear and eye out for weird stuff, he’d know what that was. Still, Etho kept moving quickly, he wanted out of here with his victory as soon as he could.

“Hey Etho, is something wrong already?”

“Just a bunch of noises all at once. Sounded like multiple sound effects. Wanted to make sure nothing was broken.”

“Hmm.” Etho could hear Tango shuffling, probably looking through his schematics, “I think you're good, just some bad luck. A lot of hazards all triggering at once.” his voice turned teasing, “I think it recognizes you, power adjusting for the champion.”

Maybe it was just Etho, but the heartbeat seemed to get just a bit more intense, louder and faster as it pounded along with his heart. Etho did his best to school his reactions but found himself wondering if Tango had maybe poured a bit too much of himself into this place. If it really recognized him… he shook off those thoughts and kept running. This would be fine, living building or not.

He laughed nervously, “of course, of course. I think it’s sending me right into a ravager.”

Tango laughed, then the connection with Tango shut down, and Etho was left all on his own again. He sighed and kept running. He just needed to be fast. He ran around the ravager, and kept exploring, noting the number of closed doorways all around him. Those must have been the hazards that went off, slowly cutting off his options.

Pretty soon he found the artifact spot and offered it his compass. The artifact popped up from the floor, and Etho scooped it up and started to run back to the entrance. He was pretty sure he remembered where the exit was, but there were a few ravagers between it and him.

The heartbeat picked up again, and Etho knew he was running out of time. It thundered in his ears so loudly he didn’t hear the stomping feet of a ravager ahead of him. Luckily, it was down a straight path and he saw it running at him.

Etho looked around quickly for a pillar to loop around. He found one, baited the ravager, and looped around, continuing his run for the exit. He swore he could hear demonic giggles from deeper in the icy tunnel, and looking behind him, he could see two small blue and red vex chasing after him. He hissed, and pushed himself as fast as he could go. He was running out of stamina though; he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

The vex chased him through the winding tunnels, and finally he saw something familiar. He pushed himself through one side of a y split only to slam face first into a block of ice with the vex hot on his trail. This must have been one of the hazards that closed, he’d have to find a new path back to the exit.

Etho pushed himself off the ice and past the vex following. One took a swipe at him, but he dodged it in the nick of time, so close he could feel the icy magic. He ran down the hallway, catching sight of the door, but the short way was blocked off with a fence, and it’d take too long to climb over with two vex on his tail.

He pushed himself faster, jumping around the central pillar as quickly as he could. He almost laughed when he ran through the Decked Out door, a deep relief going through him. He dropped down into the next area and collapsed. He could almost still feel his heart thudding in time with the tunnels, fast and angry. That was. Something. He almost didn’t want to try again. He could be happy with his old champion title, right? He didn’t need a new one.

He radioed Tango, still breathing heavily, “Got through. Take that dungeon master.”

Tango’s laugh was delighted, “Amazing! Shouldn't have expected any less from you Etho! Go ahead and relinquish your artifact and head through the shop, we’ll meet you on the surface when you're done!”

Etho went through the shop before letting the ravager in the hole kill him and return to his spawn in the main area. The others were sitting around his spawn and cheered when he sat up in the bed.

“The champion has returned everyone!” Tango cheered, and the others began to cheer as well.

Etho laughed and tried to ignore the deep ache his chest left from the absence of Decked Out’s heartbeat, “I’m back.”

Etho chilled in his nook for a while, trying to get himself to calm down from the experience. In that time Scar managed to also get a win, and a few more of the Hermits did some runs, with no further successes. Finally, he was feeling bad enough that he just slipped out the front door.

It felt like he was leaving part of himself behind, stuck in the depths.

A few hours later he came back, drawn back like a moth to the flame. He’s probably just being dramatic anyway; Tango wouldn’t let anything happen to him in decked out.

He didn’t see anyone in the normal area, so someone must be doing a run right now. He walked over to the bubble elevator to the waiting room that was under construction when he left. It now looked significantly cozier, all wool and soft moss. You can tell Bdubs had his hands in it.

“Etho! You’re back!” speak of the devil and he will arrive.

Etho’s eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled at Bdubs, glancing around the rest of the room. Looks like everyone else was still around.

Including Tango, who got up to greet Etho, “We didn’t think you’d be back! I thought we’d scared off the champion with that level of bad luck!”

“Aw snap, you guys were thinking of me?” Etho fanned himself teasingly, “yeah, I just needed a break. Now I'm back to make another run.”

Bdubs rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah mhm you're hilarious.”

Tango just laughed, “Now now, you're both pretty. Scar’s running right now Etho, but he should probably-”

All of their communicators went off at once, and by the look on Tango’s face, it was a death message from Scar.

“Looks like the building knows you're here. It’ll be ready for a run pretty soon. I’m sure the others would be happy to let you have the next attempt, that’s Scar’s third attempt.”

Etho nodded and settled in to wait for the castle to be ready for them. He could almost feel this castle pulsing around him. It set him on edge, but he was committed to this now. Decked Out could get as mad at him as it wanted, he became the champion once and he could do it again.

Finally, the dungeon announced that it was once again ready for runs, and Etho dropped down to the entrance, Tango dropping down right behind him.

“All ready?”

Etho nodded, stepped into the entrance, set his spawn, and began his second attempt.

He walked through the dungeon slowly, painfully aware of how fast his stamina drained last time. The compass took him along a familiar path through the left side of the dungeon, but strangely free of ravagers. Maybe people had made the ravagers wander off into more obscure areas of the ice tunnels? He picked a few berries from a nearby sweet berry bush as he walked, tucking them into his inventory for later. As he got further into the dungeon than he had last time, he kept his eye out for treasure, and for any ravagers that might be lurking around corners.

His diligence was rewarded as he walked up a set of stairs, only to run face first into a ravager. He fell backwards, not quite managing to keep his balance as he tried to turn back down the stairs. He fell in a heap at the bottom, but quickly pushed himself up and behind the nearest pillar.

“Oh boy,” he murmured, feeling himself over for injuries.

His left ankle hurt pretty bad, even despite his boots. He must have fallen on it wrong. He ate the few berries he’d managed to grab, hoping to kickstart the healing, but it didn’t seem to take. He was suddenly very glad that Tango had put a necessary respawn into the process of getting out of the dungeon, because this would not be fun to heal from. But he’d have to deal with it for now.

He hobbled to his feet, already dreading having to kite this ravager out of the way. He wanted to get out of here and off this ankle as soon as possible. He looked around a bit more, trying to see if there was another option for getting around. He didn’t exactly find one, but he did find a better place to bait the ravager from, where he wouldn’t have to run up and down the stairs with a ravager on his tail.

The heartbeat of the dungeon was slow but steady in his ears, and his ankle throbbed with each pulse. In and out, that’s all he needed right now.

Which is of course when the dungeon decided to screw with him. A screeching laugh rang in his ears behind him, a sharp grating contrast to the slow heartbeat all around him. He spun around, not quite believing his eyes. Vex. Already.

He fumbled with his compass for a moment before managing to hit the radio button.

“Tango I've got vex on me already and a bad ankle!”

Tango sucked in a breath, and it whistled between his teeth, “Oh no. Oh that’s bad with extra bad sauce. That’s really not supposed to happen Etho, just try to get out of there.”

Etho grunted as he tried to dodge around them but took a slice from the vex as his ankle caused him to stumble.

“Aw man, I hadn’t thought of that,” he sarcastically said. “I don't even have my artifact yet!”

“Just get out of there, I’ll give you an extra frozen shard to make up for this run, but if the dungeon is malfunctioning…”

Tango didn’t finish his statement, but Etho understood. Minigames didn’t tend to go wrong on Hermitcraft, but when they did it could get bad. He tried to focus on getting out, but the vex had encircled him. He dove to the right, through an open door into another section of the map, but it slammed in his face, leaving him trapped with the vex right behind him. He scrambled further right, following the right wall to try to find some exit. The vex backed off a bit, and he gave them a suspicious glance, watching as they floated just on the edge of his vision to the left.

He jumped over an ice river, boots splashing against the far bank, and he slipped into it a bit. He shook off the water and moved into the next room, which had a bunch of different ravines crisscrossing the room. He looked behind him again and didn’t see the vex anymore. He tried to slow his breathing, but the heartbeat was going too fast, he couldn’t get it any slower.

He took the moment to radio Tango again, “Doors are slamming in my face, and the vex aren’t attacking anymore. Think they might be herding me. Don’t know where. In a room full of ravines now, not quite sure how to get to the exit again.”

“Oh no. Oh that's very bad, very bad. Get out of that area, there’s a few holes there that I haven’t-”

The heartbeat in Etho's chest and all around him suddenly turned into a crescendo, loud and clashing, drowning out Tango’s words, and a ravager Etho hadn’t noticed before rammed into him, knocking him down towards the ravine. His body slammed against the icy walls and Etho knew no more.

~

When Etho came to, he had no idea where he was. In fact, he could hardly even see where he was, just the impression of darkness and faintly glowing turquoise. His hands felt below him, and he felt scraps of wool and the strangely spongy texture of skulk. Where could he possibly be with wool and sculk?

And then Etho heard a sound that made him freeze.

The whine of a warden.

Etho’s head swung wildly but he still couldn’t see anything. It was a high-pitched sound, so they probably hadn’t realized he was here, but it sounded so close. It was only a matter of time before one of them sniffed and realized he was here.

He tried to shift, pulling his feet up under him, but even tensing his muscles sent shooting pain through his ankle and up into his leg. It felt like his entire foot had been dipped in lava, each twitch disturbing it more and more. He couldn’t help the quiet grunt of pain that rumbled through his chest and throat without his permission.

All around him there were several rounds of clicking and Etho realized just how screwed he was. Unless warden farms were involved, there usually weren't more than one or maybe two wardens around if you were truly unlucky. This was four- five- maybe six or seven all around him, all alerted to his presence now.

But this knowledge couldn’t stop the psychological reaction to the pain his ankle was in. It had probably swelled up under the boot, both held in still and compressed by the thick layers of leather and fur. He let out a quiet whimper and could feel hot tears spilling down the sides of his face.

Suddenly, the thing he had been leaning against shifted, pulling out from behind him. Etho tried to scramble away, but his ankle pulsed painfully as he tried to put weight on it, and he couldn’t go anywhere. Nowhere but falling to the ground, helpless to the warden that had shifted to be in front of him. Etho could just barely see from the light of the souls within the warden’s chest, and he found himself wishing for a quick death. Maybe if he was lucky, he could even get this break to heal in the respawn, though he was quickly giving up hope seeing how he didn’t know how long he’d been out. 

But instead of attacking him, the warden just leaned in and turned its head to the side and gently knocked one of its antlers against his head. For a moment, sounds amplified around him, and his heartbeat thudded in time with the nest around him, drowning out everything, including the pain from his ankle. And then they broke contact, and Etho was left by himself again. He unconsciously jerked up, following the touch of the warden’s antler and searching for that relief. The warden clicked at him and glowed just a bit brighter. More wardens shifted around him, and a low glow was visible over the entire area. Perhaps the work of a sculk catalyst.

Etho took the new light level to look over himself. From the slight swelling at the laces of his boot, he could tell his foot was definitely swollen. He dreaded the idea of having to take off his boot, knowing how painful it will likely be. He decided to ignore it for now, eyes slowly drifting up his body. His clothes all look surprisingly intact, if a bit dirty from skulk spores. Which was definitely good, it was always terribly cold in the dark areas wardens liked to inhabit. And he was glad that he’d remembered his full gloves, not just the fingerless ones. Who knows how cold he’d be with his fingers-

Etho’s thoughts stuttered to a stop, as though put on pause. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling how they felt, before bringing them close to his face to see.

That wasn’t fabric.

After a moment of rubbing things with his fingers he could pretty safely say that it wasn’t frostbite either, he still had his full sense of touch and they didn’t hurt, which made him feel marginally better about this whole situation, but he was still freaked out. There was no reason for your skin to spontaneously turn black and slightly rubbery in texture.

He pulled off his fingerless gloves, tucking them gently into the pockets on his vest, and pushed up his sleeves. The darkness traveled almost halfway up to his elbows before fading into his pale skin. He touched up his face as well, and felt patches where his face felt odd, especially where his mask didn’t cover.

Etho took a deep breath and winced hard. Oh yeah, he’d never finished going over his body for injuries. His ribs ached when he took a deep breath, and, remembering how hard the ravager had hit him, he wouldn’t be surprised if he fractured something. He took a purposefully regular sized breath and forced himself to ignore his racing thoughts and focus on his next step. He needed to get out of here, and to do that he needed to call someone to help.

He felt around his pocket, hoping desperately that the compass was somewhere in one of his pockets or nearby. He knew it was unlikely, he’d been holding it when he fell, but he could always hope.

He checked his pockets first, his vest then his pants, and then started to scan the ground. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Okay. Calm breaths, his communicator would probably work just fine, it was just a little louder and brighter and might not be able to get through to anyone.

Etho let out a slow breath and summoned his communicator. It turned on the moment it entered his hand.

Etho hissed as bright light flooded the small burrow. It was practically blinding, and it obviously disturbed the wardens as much as it did him. The one that had been chilling next to him groaned loudly and reared away, and several other loud groans went up around him. Etho found himself quite agreeing, and out of instinct slammed the brightness of his communicator against the ground. A moment later he realized that perhaps his only ticket home should not be slammed against the ground of questionable hardness.

He gently lifted part of the screen and desperately turned down the brightness. Even at the lowest brightness it still felt absolutely blinding, but at least he could look at it now. He curled up around it, trying to block as much light as possible from invading the dark space. Thankfully it didn’t look any more damaged than it normally did, just a few cracks in the screen and a familiar chip in the casing.

He felt a bit of hope as he was able to scroll through his comm, first his personal information and- he shuddered, skipping right over his coordinates. It must be broken, there’s no way he was that far down. He just fell through a ravine in the first level, there’s no way he was nearly at bedrock now. Instead, he went straight for his messages.

He had no new messages.

Etho let out a sharp breath but held out hope and clicked onto Tango’s private messages.

Ethoslab: tango help

He watched the icon next to his message circle and load, and something in his chest cracked a little as it greyed out, and a little error symbol popped up next to it.

Ethoslab: please

Even faster this time, the grey came. Etho switched to his messages with Xisuma, messaging so fast that his previous one didn’t even have time to fail.

Ethoslab: help x please

Ethoslab: it hurts so badlt

Ethoslab: pleasse i want to leave

But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing got through. Etho gave up all hopes of dignity and switched to the main channel.

It was deathly still for even a regular day on Hermitcraft, let alone a day like this. The last visible messages were Grian and Bdubs chattering about the game they'd set up in the waiting room, from only a little after he entered the dungeon. No new messages.

Etho was desperate though.

Ethoslab: someone pelase helo

Ethoslab: theres som any wardfens

Ethoslab: my anlke adn ribs are hutrt

Ethoslab: ym coords are so doeep i cantg et out

But one by one, each message greyed out, failing to send. He was well and truly stuck down here, no help was coming. 

So, he’d have to get himself out of here.

He really wanted to get out of here without a respawn. Respawning on old injuries always went badly, especially when you're as old as him. But the longer he waited, the worse whatever remained would be. So, he braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing his muscles for the oncoming pain, turned to the warden behind him, and shouted as loudly as he could.

His voice cracked and crumbled, but it was still loud enough that it should’ve aggroed something. But instead of pain, there was just a round of low groans from all around him, wardens answering his shout in turn. The ones closest to him began to click, and Etho found himself calming despite himself as the clicking picked up, but he forced himself to focus. Why didn’t they aggro on him? Why wasn’t he respawning at home by now?

Suddenly, he felt a gentle tap against the back of his skull, and everything amplified again. His pain faded, head clear of that constant ringing, and at the same time completely full of the heartbeat that filled his chest. He didn’t think it was his heartbeat, but what else could it really be? His entire person pulsed in time with it.

The warden tried to pull away, but Etho pushed back against it, trying not to lose the sensation of everything and the relief it brought him. The warden clicked, whining at him in a way Etho somehow understood to be gentle, understanding. It knew what it was doing. And it leaned back in, bringing him back into the heartbeat.

~

Etho had no idea how long he’d been down here. It could've been weeks for all he knew. He’s had a harder and harder time bringing himself out of the heartbeat. And even when he could, there was nothing he could do here.

His ankle was still swollen and incredibly painful, though he’d kept it in his boot since it was the most supportive thing he had and he had no way to easily get it off. He couldn’t walk on it, let alone tunnel his way out of here. And the wardens wouldn’t fight him. Even when he hit one, it just clicked at him once and pushed him down with one massive paw before tapping him with its antler and putting him back under.

They treated him like a kit, like he was- was a baby warden. Etho didn’t even know if those existed, this grotto didn’t have one and he’d never seen one before but they’ve gotta come from somewhere, right?

It was hard to tell day and night here. His comm was getting harder and harder to turn on, even on its darkest brightness and screen color settings it was painful to look at. Etho had been trying to jury-rig it even dimmer before it got too much to handle entirely, but he wasn’t too optimistic about that possibility anymore. Even the sculk catalyst was getting too bright for him these days.

But he was having better and better luck seeing in the darkness of the burrow. And he didn’t like what he was seeing. The darkness in his hands and face was spreading. It went up his arms, all the way to his shoulders, and the dark patches on his face had been spreading. At some point he’d shed his mask, and the patches of Not Skin had popped up much faster, spreading until he wasn’t sure he had much normal skin left, and it was invading his scalp, curling through his hair, and down his neck. He even went to sleep once and woke up with patches on his stomach. He looked like he was rotting from the inside out.

He was terrified of what would happen when the rot fully covered him.

~

Etho let out a shuddering gasp as he came out of the Heartbeat, head ringing with pain strong enough to make his vision grow dark. It had been- Etho couldn’t even guess anymore. Time was meaningless. The surface world felt more and more like a dream with every passing day. Etho didn’t know how he was still alive, how he hadn’t starved to death yet. He thought it might have something to do with the rot, which he saw glowed a soft blue when the other wardens touched him. He always felt better after they did that, like they were giving him the magic his body craved.

The darkness covered his entire chest now and was crawling down his legs at an alarming pace. He didn’t feel that scared of it anymore, it was hard to feel anything but numb anymore. There was no escape.

His leg had stopped hurting quite as much, but he still had a hard time walking, and his ribs hadn’t hurt since the dark rot rolled over them. Instead, his head had started to ache, pulsing on either side of his skull without rest. It was an agony that not even the other wardens could relieve, no matter how much they tried.

And how they tried.

Etho couldn’t help a cry of pain as a particularly strong wave of pain crashed over him. He heard a familiar groan beside him, the warden who most often took care of him, and large paws scooped him up, before antlers pressed back against his skull, and he disappeared from consciousness once again.

~

Etho felt like he was floating. He felt like body was barely his, like just an outside observer. The pain radiating in his head grounded him and sent him running from his body at the same time. It was hard to stay conscious now, and Etho found his eyes drifting shut only minutes after waking up.

There was a lot of movement all around him, the kind that made Etho want to stay awake, to know what was happening. The grotto didn’t move like this often, content to stay curled in the little burrow. Was something happening, were the hermits coming for him?

Suddenly Etho’s chest was yanked up, legs dangling in the air. He screamed as the sudden movement jostled his ankle and made his head pound.

Big paws adjusted him, pulling up his legs, and he felt himself be carried by a warden. The warden tried to knock their horns together, but Etho pulled away, trying to see what was happening. It was so hard to see with the pounding in his head and chest, but Etho did his best to pay attention. He needed to know if they were coming for him.

There was more movement, and Etho heard digging under the murmur and clicking of the wardens around him. The room suddenly got much smaller and packed with wardens. Etho’s feet and head brushed either side of the stone walls, and Etho suddenly realized what was happening.

They were leaving the area under Decked Out 2.

Etho kicked his feet and shouted loudly, wordless in his desperation to go back. The hermits had to be so close, they must be looking for him! He couldn’t leave before they found him.

He flailed his legs and screamed his head off, throat already feeling torn and painful, and managed to squirm out of the warden’s paws. He dropped to his feet, landing hard on his bad ankle, and tried to run back to the burrow.

It was no use, one of the wardens caught him effortlessly, pressed their antler to his skull, and he knew no more.

~

Etho couldn’t see when he woke up.

He let out a wordless noise. Usually, sound would make someone light up, give him enough light to see by.

But there was nothing.

He made a louder noise and still no light. Instead, answering groans rang up around him.

Suddenly Etho could make out an impression of the mobs all around him. It was fuzzy but he could sense them. There were 7 of them all around him, curled up in this room, which was slightly larger than the burrow they’d been in, with him in the very center. He was slouched against the largest one, the one who watched over him.

The impression started to fade, until Etho let out another questioning noise, and the big warden responded with a short click, before gently knocking its antler down against him, letting him sink in the heartbeat for a moment. It felt so gentle today, but he felt the knock so keenly, even though his skull didn’t-

The warden hadn’t knocked his skull.

The realization came to Etho so suddenly that he pulled himself fully away from the warden, hands flying to his head.

He had antlers.

They weren’t big, barely more than an inch long, but they stuck straight out from his head, already too big to hide under his hair. The world felt so much duller when Etho grabbed them, even the small vibrations Etho hadn’t noticed not being picked up. He let go and found he could get a decent idea of the burrow now that he was actively trying.

Etho wanted to throw up a bit.

He was becoming a warden. There really would be no escape for him.

Tears came to his eyes, shockingly hot against the coldness of his cheeks. He had antlers, and his body was covered in the black rot that was probably just warden’s skin, and now he couldn’t see.

It was too much, Etho broke down sobbing.

One of the wardens took pity on him, gently knocking their antlers together, and Etho knew no more, his spasming heartbeat added to the collective.

~

The antlers weren’t gone when Etho woke up. Etho could feel them, it felt like they’d only grown longer. Grabbing them felt wrong, so he didn’t, letting the vibrations of the grotto around him flow through them freely. It felt weird, not quite sight but something like it. 

Etho wanted to cry, just thinking about the loss of his sight. How would he build again, making those complex interiors he loved so much with messy but congruent block palettes? How would he manage redstone, and its need for big picture perspective, knowing what each line hopper and repeater were meant to do? How would he do anything that made him a hermit?

He hugged his chest tightly, trying to comfort himself, but that only made his feel worse. He could feel the weird texture of his skin through his clothes, could feel how it had trailed over his entire torso. He pushed his shirt up to feel it and couldn’t stop himself from shuddering as he felt a small bit of peach fuzz over warden skin. He might as well be growing fur at this point! He’d already been changed so much; he might as well be made even more unrecognizable!

Etho was edging on hysterics when one of the wardens gave him a questioning click, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t want them to put him back under the heartbeat, forcibly held calm by the overwhelming force of their collective heart rate. He knew they were just doing their best, but he couldn’t lose any more time to this.

Etho couldn’t quite click back at them, the noise came from the softer branches of the antlers, which looked a lot like weird foliage, but seemed to be able to move and swing on command. He hadn’t grown any yet. But he could click with his mouth, and he did his best to imitate their sounds. 

The warden clicked back, then turned away, leaving Etho to his own devices. He sighed and focused on his feet. He needed to get to the surface soon. He needed to get out of the burrow and away from the grotto. And to do that he needed to be able to walk and dig.

Etho clutched his hands together, and wondered if his hands would grow big and strong with tough, curved claws like the other wardens had. As much as he hated the idea of his body changing even more… anything to escape at this point.

~

His antlers grew in quickly, quickly becoming long, curling up at the end. The soft moving bits that felt a bit like branches were also coming in, and Etho found it easy to control them, either to collect more vibrations, or to hit them against each other. Soon Etho was able to click to his heart’s content, though his voice wasn’t quite deep enough to groan and roar like the other wardens did, nor did he have the ability to make a sonic blast. His fur was also coming in long and thick, and Etho was starting to find his vest and turtleneck uncomfortable to wear. He refused to give them up though, refused to give up that bit of humanity.

He didn’t have much of a choice though, as his body began to change more and more. His hands grew claws. At first, he thought his nails were just growing out, without the ability to trim that was normal. But then he tried to tear one short and found it too thick and curved to budge. His fingers also became rougher, a redstoner’s calluses fading away for something closer to pads that he had a hard time feeling through.

At least his ankle had been vastly improving, and while he still limped a bit, he was able to move and get around the new burrow.

Now that he was mobile and could conceivably escape, he was getting restless, and he can tell that his restlessness is affecting the rest of the grotto. He was getting better at understanding them, the heartbeat no longer brought him into that state of nothing, it brought him into a state more like a collective understanding, feelings and knowledge and sustenance traveling from one to another with ease. It scared Etho a bit, how easy it was to understand and lose himself in the collective. What if when he got to the surface, he couldn’t understand them anymore? What if one day he got so lost that he couldn’t come out? That when the hermits found him, he was just another warden to them, and they were just a bunch of vibrations to him?

It was scary, but Etho knew, soon he’d be able to go home. He just had to hope that the hermits were still waiting for him when he got home.

~

Etho knew something was going down when the burrow was pierced by a horrible shriek. He could feel the anger of the other wardens, and it almost swept him away in a wave of rage and discomfort. But he forced himself to stay centered. If this was a shrieker like he thought- shriekers only activated for players. A hermit might be up there, might be able to help him. He’d been looking for an opportunity like this to escape, he just had to stay levelheaded.

He let the rage wash over him and waited. A second shriek came a minute later, only riling up the wardens more. C'mon c'mon c'mon, one of you go up, show him the path to the main chamber. Show him how to get home.

A third shrieker. The anger was almost overwhelming, and even Etho could admit that the sound was absolutely grating on his soul. He calmed himself by imagining which hermit was out there. Maybe it was Beef, good dependable Beef who always knew the best way to draw Etho out of his head, ready to take Etho home and tease him gently about getting kidnapped by a minigame. Maybe it was Bdubs, who didn’t even mean to set off the shrieker but couldn’t help being so loud, come to drag him to bed. Sleeping in a player bed sounded like a dream right now. Maybe it was Xisuma, working relentlessly to save his hermits even when there were no leads. Maybe he’d finally figured out where Etho was from the code and was going to teleport him right out of there and take him home. Maybe- maybe it was Tango. Etho felt sadness well up in him for Tango. Tango, who spent so long working on this minigame, who should’ve been enjoying the hermits’ reactions to his amazing creation but was instead searching tirelessly for the hermit he lost in it.

Etho decided he’d be happy no matter who was out there. He just wanted to go home.

The fourth shrieker. One of the wardens roared, and began to dig up in a specific spot, while the others stayed put. Etho slipped out of the grasp of the grotto and followed closely behind. He’s coming home.

~

 “Doors are slamming in my face, and the vex aren’t attacking anymore. Think they might be herding me. Don’t know where. In a room full of ravines now, not quite sure how to get to the exit again.”

Etho didn’t sound as panicked as he described what was happening in the dungeon, but that only scared Tango more. He didn’t realize the danger he was in. Tango scrambled on his comm, trying to contact Xisuma to give Etho a quick port out of there.

“Oh no. Oh that's very bad, very bad. Get out of that area, there’s a few holes there that I haven’t-” 

There was something like a crash and a shout of pain that cut him, and a series of more crashes before the connection cut off. Tango scrambled to check the main chat, but there was no death message.

-Finished covering.

Tango scrambled, calling Xisuma immediately. The ravines were deep, deep enough to kill at any health, but a few of them had holes in the bottom that led deeper into the dungeon, deeper beyond where the dungeon lay into the deep dark areas below. If Etho didn’t die when he fell- he must have landed somewhere worse.

Tango was deeply attached to Decked Out 2. They weren’t the same but Decked Out 2 had a lot of his emotions and love and hate for things. Including his friends.

He should’ve realized that he was going too far when he told it about Etho, the champion. When he complained and teased and loved Etho where the dungeon could hear him and it responded with curiosity. He should’ve realized that its interest was getting too intense for something that wasn’t ever meant to be alive.

As his comm rang, Tango flew down into the belly of the beast, following the path Etho would’ve fallen.

“Give him back!” he shouted into the belly, radiating anger through the dungeon.

The dungeon growled back, and a blast of cold air came through, nearly knocking Tango out of the air.

“He’s not yours, you can’t have him!”

The dungeon only gave him silence now that it had offered its refusal.

“I’m never going to give you another hermit again. You’re never going to see the light of day.” Tango hissed and landed in the belly under the fourth level.

Xisuma finally answered the call, and before he could even respond, Tango was yelling, “You need to teleport Etho!”

Xisuma sputtered on the other side of the line, “Tango, what?”

“Etho can’t get out and I can't reach him, you need to get him out of there!”

There was silence for a moment, and Tango could faintly hear some clicking from Xisuma’s end of the call. Then the clicking paused, and Xisuma made a concerned noise.

“Tango, what happened?” Xisuma’s voice was serious.

“Did you get him out of there?”

“The system is no longer connecting with his comm or code. Tango, what happened?”

Tango broke down and told him everything.

~

Xisuma helped him rally the hermits to search through the lower levels of Decked Out 2, after shutting off all of the redstone. Tango shut down the entire system, loudly declaring to the dungeon that he’d never turn it back on. He was so angry, he could hardly stand to look at the tunnels of the dungeon, to think about the long hours he had put into all of this and how badly it had been twisted.

The hermits tore through the dungeon with a speed he’d never seen from them before. It was clear everyone was mad about Etho’s disappearance. But there was nothing to be found in the tunnel, and Etho’s comm remained frustratingly out of reach. Finally, people had been forced to take a break. There was nothing more they could do except dig up the entirety of the area under and around decked out, and that couldn’t be done quickly in any way that would be safe for Etho.

Xisuma had privately confided to them that he was scared that Etho hadn’t just been disconnected from his network, but from the network responsible for respawning. If they killed Etho while clearing the area, they might not even know.

Which meant that the hermits, who were already close to the point of running on fumes after 3 weeks straight of searching, would have to dig out those chunks by hand. It would take weeks, maybe even months. So instead, they’d focus on searching the caves, and if that didn’t work, they’d dig it all out. But people had to be patient and take breaks in between cavings.

Xisuma was clear, they weren’t abandoning Etho. But he wasn’t going to let anyone else run themselves to death’s door searching. This was the best compromise to that. Bdubs and Tango were the most resistant to the plans. Tango knew Bdubs hadn’t been sleeping much recently. He was so worried, and Tango couldn’t blame him, finding it hard to sleep himself. The idea of having to go home and rest was unthinkable to the both of them.

Etho’s old home was still in Bdubs’s basement. Tango wondered if it felt as empty as Tango’s starter base did.

Impulse had tried to offer his base, so that Tango didn’t have to go back to the starter area most hermits had abandoned at spawn, but the dwarven fortress felt too close to Decked Out, the blackstone and blue too familiar. He’d already dropped his own visage of the dungeon master, falling into the comfort of red and orange flames and the heat of the world outside. He couldn’t go back to the cold underground.

~

Tango couldn’t stay away from the Dungeon for long though. After 13 months he just-

It was hard to step away from everything he’d worked on.

And that’s how Tango found himself back at his own doorstep, feeling like a stranger in his own house.

He slipped through the massive doors and shivered. His leather vest didn’t keep him warm like the dungeon master’s coat and hood did, but he couldn’t put that back on, couldn’t reclaim possession of this awful place.

“You took him.”

It was a question as much as it was a statement, but there was no answer.

“Are you at least happy with yourself? Happy that you’ve traded him for everything else you could’ve had? They all would have loved you.”

Tango thinks that if the building could’ve purred with satisfaction, it would. He sighed. There really was no use arguing with it, but sometimes he thought that just maybe- maybe it would give him back if it realized.

“When we get Etho back I'm going to let Doc tear you to the ground.”

Decked Out didn’t give him much more as Tango slipped back out of the dungeon, but he got the distinct impression that it was laughing, taunting maybe. When. That really was the big question wasn’t it.

~

They found the entrance to the Deep Dark five weeks and two days after Etho went missing. The entrance to the Deep Dark was pretty small, and a lot closer to bedrock than most Deep Dark pockets were. It was also big. It took another two days to get a team together to search it. In the end, it was him, Xisuma, Zed, and Beef that got to storm the deep dark. Bdubs, who hadn’t been sleeping, got put on mandatory break from searching until his eye bags were smaller than his eyes and he could be around people without hissing at them. Xisuma took his place, hoping he could look for traces of Etho in the code. He said if he could just get a solid hint of Etho he could probably reconnect him to the network.

The deep dark was creepy. Incredibly so. Despite the lore Tango had created for the dungeon, he never actually went down this far to check for the deep dark. He had enough to do, digging out the entire area to bedrock didn’t seem worthwhile. He was cursing himself for it now as they explored. If he’d just taken the few extra weeks and fully cleared the area-

Zed nudged him, leaning in close like he wanted Tango to lean back into him. Tango shook his head and banished the spiral of thoughts. He needed to focus, they needed to save Etho in the here and now, distractions won’t help.

The group did a quick overview of the Deep Dark first, taking out any shriekers so that they wouldn’t trigger a warden, then they split up into pairs and searched the pocket as best they could for any sign of Etho. Zed tugged Tango along towards the upper areas, powerful goat legs and balance helping to propel him up to those dark corners. Tango soon found himself playing bodyguard, as Zed didn’t quite move slow enough for him to follow, but he didn’t move fast enough for the mobs to not take notice of him. Tango took out his bow and got to work shooting down the mob following Zed.

Both of them froze, and tango had to throw his aim to the side to avoid accidentally hitting Zedaph when there was a shout from the ground.

“WE’VE GOT SOMETHING!!!”

A significantly quieter “Oh goodness me,” echoed the shout, so Tango felt safe in an assumption that the shouting was Beef.

He and Zed made a beeline for the other two and found X with his full admin unit out and Beef with his pickaxe out and already breaking some blocks.

“Where are we digging to?” Zed asked, already pulling his pick from his inventory.

“30 blocks down, a little northeast. Terrain generation says there should be a small cave, about the size of a chunk, but we’re down too deep to get an accurate read on if there’s anything living there. About the only other thing I can say is that Etho was definitely there at some point recently.” Before X was even half done explaining, Tango was done beside Beef, digging through the crumbly mixture of stone and skulk.

Between the three of them they quickly broke into a smaller pocket in the rock, full of sculk and patches of wool. After Beef cleared that there were no mobs, they dropped down into the room.

Xisuma planted himself in the center of the room, panels still up, combing through the code for Etho. The other three combed over the room.

The room looked normal, empty and a bit creepy sure, but that’s just how the deep dark was. Tango didn’t realize there was anything more to it until he heard Zed’s strangled gasp. He turned and froze at the sight.

In Zed’s hands was a plain black face mask, with one of the ear straps completely broken off. It had to be Etho’s, he never went anywhere without it.

The rest of the search went by in a blur after they found Etho’s mask. Xisuma confirmed that it was definitely Etho’s, and he’d been wearing it within the last week. There was nothing else to be found in the room, nothing but traces of code. Etho had been in there just a day or two ago. There was no trace of where he went.

Tango forced himself to stay calm until he got home, not wanting to hurt his friends with his rage. His hair was already flickering, going from simple golden blonde to a glowing orange. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to set something on fire.

Even if he was careful- he’d just prefer his friend not be there to see it.

He was so angry!

They were so close!

If they hadn’t waited Etho would be home!

Tango only barely made it to the hard rock of spawn before the rest of his body followed his hair and burst into flames. He’s glad he didn’t make it all the way home, his house had too much wood for this level of rage.

Tango didn’t know how long he spent in that burning anger. At some point he must have fallen to his knees, because when he became aware of himself once more the first thing he became aware of was rapidly cooling stone under his knees and legs.

The second thing he became aware of were soft murmured words, “-okay, we’re gonna get you inside buddy, here just lean on me, let Impulse take care of you.”

He became aware of several things in short succession after that. Warm arms, wrapping around him in a comforting embrace, slowly lifting him up from the ground. The sensation of his head flames slowly extinguishing, dying back past even his normal levels. And cold, biting rain, beating down on his body, driving the warmth of his anger from the entire anger. In the wake of it, Tango felt nothing.

A wall of warmth hit him, not quite as strong as the actual wall of warmth that was holding him, but it felt hollow. He felt hollow. He remained limp in Impulse’s arms, letting him carry him wherever he wanted. It was so cold…

Some traitorous part of him thought of the way his skin froze in the lower layers of Decked Out 2, how cold Etho must be all alone down there. This could only be a portion of what Etho had suffered through at the hands of his creation.

Large, callused hands held his face and Impulse’s voice called out for him, so reluctantly Tango let his eyes flutter open. And there he was, Impulse, soaked to the bone from the rain but still smiling the moment he saw Tango. 

“There you are. When Zed said you stormed off after the raid and never came back, I didn't think I’d find you sittin’ all alone in the rain, man. You’ll extinguish yourself like that.” Impulse was gentle, even with the implied admonishments.

Tango groaned, not feeling up to speaking after the highs and lows of a rage, and turned his head, rubbing his cheek against Impulse’s palm. His skin caught a bit against the dry and cracking edges of his calluses and the heat that gathered in them was almost burning with the temperature difference from outside, but Tango only pushed against him harder. Impulse chuckled but didn’t pull away.

“Oh Tangs,” If Tango was a just more present maybe he could’ve interpreted Impulse’s tone a little better, but for now he was just focusing on how good the warmth felt, “one of these days you're going to remember that you're not alone before we get to this point.”

Their foreheads met and Tango could feel the imp horns jutting out of Impulse’s head. It was familiar and comforting, exactly what he needed right now.

“We’ll get him back buddy. I promise.”

~

It took another two weeks for them to find another lead on Etho. Xisuma had gotten some good information from the traces of Etho’s code he found below the deep dark, but it took a while to parse which direction he was taken in.

But they finally had something, and Tango refused to hesitate.

This time, with more definitive proof, an entire gaggle of hermits showed up. Bdubs was finally back, Beef was here again, False and Gem had both offered their combat skills in case they ran into a warden, and Impulse had refused to leave Tango alone, so he was coming as well.

And Xisuma was coming so that when they got Etho he could make sure he stayed safe.

The lead led them almost ten chunks beyond Decked Out’s borders, to another Deep Dark biome. But it was bigger this time, with an entire ancient city sprawling through it. This was going to take forever to go through, and Tango found himself wishing that they had brought more hermits along, to get through this faster.

False was the first one to make a plan, sitting in the tunnel entrance before the shriekers made it hard to communicate. She split them off into pairs to remove shriekers, leaving Xisuma on his own to try to find Etho. If a warden got summoned, they’d run back here and focus on bowing the warden down.

Tango didn’t know who set off the first shrieker, but the sound of Impulse cursing under his breath was stuck in his head, only barely audible under the echoing shriek. It played on echo in his head for the next minute, ringing in his ears as they searched, until a sculk tentacle took advantage of his distraction and wrapped around his leg, yanking him down off the path of wool they’d been laying down. He landed hard enough for it to send sound shooting off into the distance. A few seconds later, a shrieker went off further in front of them. Impulse sighed, but didn’t say a word, just pulling him back onto the path. They managed to get rid of that shrieker and one other that was nearby without another issue.

The third shriek came from somewhere to the east of them, closer this time. Had it been this hard to avoid the shriekers the last time he raided the deep dark? Maybe there was a reason Xisuma had tried to keep the number of hermits so low.

The clicking of wardens beneath was loud enough to hear now, foreboding and long. Just one more and the warden would emerge, and this searching would get a whole lot more complicated.

Tango watched his steps carefully. Cmon, they had to do this now, they had to get to Etho before he was taken away again. They couldn’t afford a warden right now, Tango wouldn’t let Etho slip through his fingers again!

But, as had been made extremely clear through this entire ordeal, Tango wasn’t the one in control. The fourth shrieker went off somewhere behind them and the sound of roaring and cracking earth followed it.

“Oh jeez," Impulse’s voice was strained from the stress, but he grabbed Tango’s hand and scrambled backwards, his little imp wings flaring to facilitate the fast turn, “Okay- Okay we need to get back to the others. Come on buddy, we need to hurry.”

Tango dug the heels of his boots in, “We aren’t done with this area, he could still be here.”

Impulse looked ready to growl at him, “Or he could be anywhere else. We told the others we’d come back to help fight the warden.”

“They can handle themselves; they’ll all be together. He’s alone.” This was the loudest either of them had gotten since entering the deep dark, and Tango did his best to keep his voice at a hiss instead of getting louder. The wardens were active now, they didn’t need another warden running around.

And then suddenly Impulse was close, practically on top of Tango, “He’s not alone. We’re looking for him. We’ve always been looking for him. But we need to stick to the plan, Xisuma probably knows where he is at this point, or at least a direction to look.”

Tango glared at Impulse, and was ready to pull back, when suddenly Impulse’s thick arms wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his side. Tango let out the start of a shriek, before digging his claws into Impulse’s arms, kicking and fighting to get loose.

Impulse didn’t even flinch, even though Tango could feel that he was taking damage. Instead, he turned, carrying Tango back to the others.

“You act like you're handling this alone.” Impulse muttered, “you aren’t the only one who cares about him, the only one looking for him. We’re a team Tangs, don’t push us away.”

Tango hissed at him, but obediently went limp as they got closer to the main area, not wanting to risk triggering anything else. He kept his eyes trained out into the darkness, the familiar pulsing of the darkness effect kicking in as they got closer to the main area and the warden. He could hear voices up ahead, but the darkness came in to totally blind him for a second, keeping him from actually seeing anything. Impulse’s steady gait kept them safe on the wool path though, not straying even though Tango knew he must have been as blind as Tango was. Voices got closer and the glow of a normal torch came into view, cutting through the darkness. The others.

Tango wiggled in Impulse’s grasp, trying to get down before they got to the others, but impulse didn’t budge. The darkness started filtering away as they approached the others and Tango could see that everyone had already made it before them. No darkness pulsed back in, so they must have made it out of range.

Thankfully Impulse dropped him once they made it to the little hole in the wall, and tango took a moment to glare at him before turning back to the others.

“Alright, who summoned the warden?” Impulse teased and even Tango had to laugh as everyone suddenly pointed a finger at Xisuma, who only glared at them.

“It caught Gem and False’s scent, so it’s a bit further away from us right now, but it’s still really close. You’re lucky, I thought for sure you’d get cut off.” Xisuma said.

“We nearly didn’t,” Impulse said, setting one of his hands on Tango’s shoulder, “the darkness got close enough that I thought we were goners for sure. 20 blocks of leeway is not a comfortable distance from a warden, even if we were only in range for a few seconds.”

The others gave some commiserating sounds of distress. The darkness effect was scary just for the blindness, but the implication of closeness that came with it was almost worse.

Craaack

The sudden sound of stone and sculk splitting to another warden cut off further conversation. They all turned to stare at each other. There couldn’t be another warden, not unless something was out there to summon it and sculk had a hard time activating for anything but players. But all of them were already present. The only player who would be anywhere close…

Bdubs came to the realization first, shooting out of their bolt hole like a bullet out of a gun, and Tango wasn’t far behind him.

“ETHO!” he shouted, not caring about the wardens in the frenzy. This was the closest they'd been to Etho in weeks, he wasn’t giving this up. “ETHO WE’RE HERE, WHERE ARE YOU?”

There was nothing but a distant roar, and Tango immediately turned towards it. The second warden would’ve spawned near Etho, so that would give them a good starting point. Unfortunately, that put them directly in the path of the first path, which had wandered closer to the bolt area in search of them. Darkness began to pulse across his vision, to prove the proximity.

In front of him, Bdubs skittered around the edge of the warden’s range, jumping from one wool block to the next, surprisingly graceful for a man of his diminished stature. Tango decided on a more direct path, he didn’t think he could make those jumps, not with the darkness.

‘Just like avoiding an iron golem,’ Tango thought, ‘just a lot bigger and stronger.’

He jumped around the warden’s waving arms, sliding around a hit, just close enough to feel it brush past his netherite armor. Darkness pulsed across his vision again, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He had to get out of range, and he’d be safe to find Etho. In a straight shot a player could easily outrun just about any mob, even the warden. He just needed to get that straight shot first.

Tango pushed his strides just a bit longer, throwing himself out of range as much as he could while staying on his feet, and kept running once his feet hit wool. Behind him the warden roared at the lost prey.

He kept running, soon getting to the central area where Xisuma had been. His eyes caught on the faint glow of a shrieker just beyond the boundaries of the area. That must have been what got him. Now where was Etho?

Tango wasn’t paying attention to where he was running as he scanned his surroundings for Etho or the warden he summoned. So, he didn’t see when Bdubs came to a dead stop right in front of him. They collided like a car crash and only Bdubs’s strong core kept them from falling to the ground.

“What the h-!” Bdubs’s arm flailed up and he slapped his hand over Tango’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. His other hand came up to point across the main plaza area.

Tango looked directly ahead, and the first thing he saw was a teal glow, tall and dark. His brain immediately caught onto the threat, a warden.

Great! Wonderful! That must be Etho’s warden! Why are they stopping?

It took a moment for his brain to see what else Bdubs had seen. The longer he focused in on the warden, the more things seemed off. For some reason there was green.

Tango blinked. There couldn’t be green. Nothing was green in the deep dark, nothing but players. Definitely not a warden.

Tango pulled away from Bdubs and crept closer to the mysterious warden. It was shorter than most wardens, thinner too. It was the standard deep navy blue of a warden, covered in lighter pulsating spots, but there was a lone shock of white on its head. Its back was turned, and it was sniffing the air, but its antler things were smaller than the other warden’s antlers.

The most damning evidence though, was the source of the green. It was hung over the warden’s torso, almost pierced through by the rough white growths on it’s arms. Like they had grown while the warden was wearing it.

Tango came to a horrible realization.

“Etho?”

The warden’s head turned, and Tango was frozen as their eyes locked. Or. Should’ve locked.

Because while he was staring straight at Etho, and he was looking in the direction of his eyes, Etho had no eyes to stare into. Navy and white swirled hair draped long over his face, but Tango could catch glimpses, there was nothing underneath. Only hair and his wide, empty mouth.

“Taaaaannggo?” Etho’s voice was cracked and deeper than Tango remembered, likely from disuse and- everything that happened to him.

Tango stumbled forward, but with the confirmation Bdubs was even faster. He launched himself past Tango, scrambling over the rough terrain to get to Etho. Tango followed a moment later at a slightly more cautious speed.

“ETHO!” Bdubs’s shouting was shrill but warranted as he threw himself into Etho’s arms. Etho stiffened at the sudden noise and touch but relaxed into Bdubs’s arms.

“Beeeeduus.” Etho’s voice collapsed into a crackling drone, but Tango nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, Bdubs, and Tango, and Xisuma and Beef and others are around here too. We’re going to get you out of here Etho, you’re going to be okay.” Tango said and watched with mild horror as one of Etho’s antlers swung towards him as he talked.

“Beeeefeers?”

Tango nodded, and then hummed in acknowledgment when that got nothing from Etho, “Yeah, yeah Beef’s with us too. So, this is going excellent. They’re being slow, but everyone’s waiting back home for you Etho. Xisuma’s gonna be here soon and he’ll get us all back home.”

“Home.”

It was the most normal sounding word Etho had spoken thus far, and Tango couldn’t help but laugh with relief. “Yeah. Home. Just a little longer Etho.”

~

The two months Etho were gone were the worst, most stressful months of Tango’s life. The two months after he was found were- honestly still pretty stressful, but significantly better.

Xisuma’s fears had been right, Etho had been disconnected from the respawn network, which was Terror of the Fying variety. But after a bit of bug testing and some consultation off world for the coding, he got everything fixed and Etho was now very safe from any more threats.

The wardenification wasn’t so easily fixed. A good scrub and some messing around with the code got rid of most of the staining, though his hair remained pretty stubbornly navy. He wore it long now, without bothering to tie it up. It was striking enough that it made it hard to focus on where Etho’s eyes were supposed to be.

They were just gone. The scar that had crossed over his left eye was still there, but now it continued across the empty expanse of skin over his eye sockets. Etho couldn’t see how unsettling it was, but it was clear someone had let it slip, because he seemed pretty ashamed of it at times.

Xisuma had been contacting people off world for Etho. Both people familiar with warden and hybrid code, and people who specialized in orientation and movement, for blind people. Because that’s what Etho was. Permanently. Etho didn’t seem too bugged by it, mostly just joked about not needing much help with the orientation part, just make a noise and he could orient himself perfectly fine, but Beef had said he was worried about how Etho was getting used to his cane. He was easily overwhelmed by the repeating tap tap tap it made as he used it, and they had yet to find an option that muffled the sound to a good level for him and still let him hear it vibrate against different surfaces.

At least Etho seemed to be liking his Antlers. Apparently, they'd been the last thing to grow in, within the last two weeks of his capture. Tango wanted to feel bad that they couldn’t stop it but honestly all he could feel was relief that the next stage hadn’t started. Etho’s situation wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t totally unique either. Tango had done his research when they got Etho back and it, it was bad. Bad with extra badness. After the antlers grow out to a usable length, the chest opens up and the soul emerges, at which point playerhood is unrecoverable. Even a week longer and they would’ve lost Etho forever.

But they did make it on time. And Tango just had to focus on that. They all survived.

Etho was home.

#etho #ethoslab #fanfiction #do2 #decked out 2 #hermitcraft #tango #tangotek #impulsesv #i seriously didn't mean to be as long as it was #this fanfic is dedicated to whoever wrote the “has a desire to possess him” tags #this is your fault #also to my long suffering partner who betad this in three separate sections while i was still writing it #do2 is kindaaaa .... about etho #its definitely not a good guy here #tango is quite mad at it #come say hi to me on ao3! #this is my 50th fic there!

[theevilcactus]

Would any Fear Street (1994) characters survive Dracula?

Inspired by @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula, but not wanting to overload their ask box any more than it already is (especially with characters they probably don’t know), I decided to analyze some of the Fear Street characters’ chances myself.

Deena:

Deena would say something rude and snarky to Dracula on the first night, and she’d be dead within two days. She wouldn’t accept the crucifix in the beginning either, but it wouldn’t matter, because she wouldn’t even make it to the point where she would need it. If, somehow, she manages to avoid pissing him off to the extent that he immediately kills her, she still dies because (when she eventually figures out how much danger she’s in) she tries to confront him directly instead of making a secret escape attempt. She’s got guts, but not a lot of patience, so she wouldn’t be willing to play the politeness game with Dracula, and it would cost her.

Josh:

Josh would be the first to figure out that Dracula is a vampire. He would accept the crucifix (although probably not wear it) out of politeness, and it would come in handy later when he puts the pieces together about vampirism and has a handy crucifix in his bag to help him out. If it was just Josh v Dracula, he could probably make it. He would explore when told not to, of course, because his curiosity about supernatural happenings is insatiable. However, he would be successfully lured and eaten by the girlies, and even if he somehow managed to get past that part, I just don’t think he has the physicality needed for the eventual escape.

Sam:

Out of everybody from 1994, I think Sam has the best chance of making it. She’s relatively friendly and polite (unlike a lot of other characters in that movie, who are just dicks) so she wouldn’t anger Dracula to the point of murder. As seen in the movie, she’s perfectly capable of playing nice with people she doesn’t actually like that much (see: her comp-het relationship with asshole Peter) so I think she could successfully be polite enough to Dracula that he keeps her around for a while before he’s ready to kill her, like Jonathan in Dracula canon.

She’d have been polite enough to accept the crucifix, and probably to actually wear it, so she’s good on that front. She’s smart enough to figure out what’s going on, or at least the bare bones of it, even if she doesn’t know all the details. She might be tempted by the brides, but I think that scene would go similarly to canon, where Dracula swoops in to save her and then she avoids the girlies from that point forward.

In fact, I think most of her time in Dracula’s castle goes the same as Jonathan’s. Maybe not the specific details, but the broad strokes would be the same. The only question is, would she have the physicality to scale the walls in that final escape? She’s a cheerleader, so we know she’s reasonably fit, but we’ve never seen her trying to climb. I think it could go either way. I’d give Sam a 40% chance of surviving, which is still far better than anyone else from that movie.

Kate and/or Simon: Kate refuses the crucifix, Simon accepts it but loses it somewhere along the way. Neither is polite or deferential enough for Dracula to decide to play the long game. He goes for a little nibble sometime, discovers the wonders of hard drugs from their bloodstream, and has himself a feast.

#take all of this with a grain of salt since i haven't read dracula since the first round of dracula daily lmao and it's all a bit fuzzy #a far more accurate role for Sam would be taking the place of Mina #or mayyyybe a version of lucy who manages to survive? but mostly mina #because she does literally get possessed and then rescued/cured by her love interest's murder of the main villain #so like. mina coded fr #but yeah the others would be dead for sure. sam at least has a chance. #i wrote most of this while half asleep so if it doesn't make sense or i'm remembering the plot of the book wrong or something let me know

[speromint]

"Your mom would be fuckin' proud, man."

And Ashe feels himself falling. His body moves on its own, now-clawed hands pushing up from the ground. He wants to turn and look back at his friends, wants to see one last glimpse of them, but his head only manages to twitch to the side for a moment.

His mouth opens and speaks in a voice that is not his own.

Ashe can feel his consciousness fading, smothered by the Trickster's will. He's kicking and thrashing, but he can't stop himself from sinking down into the depths of his mind.

His consciousness fades out, and Ashe drowns.

There's a ringing in his ears. Every inch of his body aches fiercely and his bones feel impossibly heavy, like any sort of movement would be a herculean task.

His head is against something jagged and hard, and through the pain Ashe feels something warm and wet sliding down his back. Most of the pain radiates from there.

"Ashe!"

The familiarity of that voice causes Ashe's eyes to open halfway. His vision is blurred, but he'd know that vibrant red hair anywhere.

"D'kota?" His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, like it's made of cotton.

"Ashe, holy shit!" Dakota instantly goes to hug him, but Ashe's pained groan as he's lifted off the rubble deters him.

Someone comes to kneel down next to him. He hears more than sees his father.

"Ashe, kid, jesus-" There's a metal-covered hand on his shoulder, and Ashe weakly turns his head to see him.

He's so different than Ashe remembers. His hair has gotten longer, and he's grown a short, greying beard. His vision clears for a moment, and there's an expression on his face Ashe hasn't seen in years.

"'m I... dead?" he slurs.

"No, kid, no you're alright. You'll be alright. Just- just try and stay awake, okay? Doctor'll be here any minute now."

He tries to nod, but he doesn't have the strength. He thinks he rasps out an "okay", but he's fading in and out of semi-conciousness and it's hard to tell.

"A-? -she! -on't fall asle-! As-!"

There are flashes. Someone is lifting him up. There's something over his mouth. Wheels screeching. A constant beeping.

Ashe finally comes back to consciousness sometime later. Beside him is the source of the beeping noise- a heart monitor. It picks up as the fog in Ashe's head begins to clear.

His back aches badly, but the pain isn't nearly as intense as earlier. He's in a small, standard hospital room, wearing a deeply uncomfortable medical gown. He's not wearing his binder, but something is wrapped securely around his chest and back as well.

Something in the back of his mind is distressed at the lack of mobility, and he instinctively tries to flex muscles he does not have.

Right, the wings. That's what the bandages are for, then.

He hasn't used his body in nearly a year, now, and he feels terribly weak whenever he moves. He can barely bring himself to sit up properly, much less move his legs. Most of his movement this past year was probably relegated to his arms and wings, letting his legs fall out of use.

The feeling of having little control over his own body again sends him into a bit of an instictive panic, only amplified by his very recent possession.

"Ashe- calm down, kid, you're alright, you're safe."

His father looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept since their fight with Overlord. He can see heavy bags under his one uncovered eye, and he looks so much older.

Mark Winters had been a fairly young father. Young enough to stick out in a crowd filled with the parents of his classmates. Now, though, his dark blonde hair was streaked with white, and his face wrinkled with worry lines. At least, the human side of it did. Ashe wasn't sure there would be any signs of aging in the spatterings of deep green scales across his body.

"My- my legs-" He gasped out, looking down at them through the blankets. "I- I can't-!"

"I know, kid, I know." Mark reached out to him, but stopped halfway. "You're gonna have to get used to using 'em again. Doctor said there's a lotta atrophy goin' on."

This didn't help much, but Mark kept his voice calm and even as he continued, "you'll be alright, Ashe, I'll help you through it." This time, his father's hand did rest on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

"How long was I gone for?"

Mark sucked in a breath, hesitant. "Just over a year, now. It's January 8th."

Ashe looked down at his hands as he processed this. There's so, so much he wants to say, to ask, but instead what comes out is, "I'm eighteen, now."

"I know."

A beat of silence. Something drips onto his hand and Ashe is suddenly aware of the hot tears rolling down his face. He's missed so much. An entire year of his life, gone.

"I know, kid," Mark gently pulls him in for a hug. Ashe can't remember the last time he'd done so. "I know."

#prime defenders #jrwi #ashe jrwi #ashe winters #dakota cole #mark wavelength #mark winters #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi wavelength #wrote most of this a while back. I wanted to share my personal headcanon that post-possession Ashe goes into a brief coma #and has to use a wheelchair. then crutches. then a cane #as he tries to get used to his body again #but it sorta got away from me #I haven't written much in YEARS and you can absolutely tell #characterization is probably a bit off here. sorry. it's nearly 3am

[werevvolfboyfriend]

Looks like wolf boy wants to get bit huh?

-⚰️

im a simple man, i love to bite and get bitten

#clover.txt #clover.ask #i think you should also know the spirit of batman possessed me while i was answering this and i wrote bat instead of man

[whatiswhump]

Max, the Science Experiment

“You’re not well, we are here to help you get better.”

They had taken him years ago. A few days after his thirteenth birthday.

The uniform they had first put him in hung massive on his frame. They pretended like he wasn’t a kid, wasn’t even a human. He used to be timid, the quiet one at the back of class. Through tears and screams he learned to fight back. He learned to bear the sensation of a taser and the humiliation of punishment.

For so many years, he was spoken to like he wasn’t even there, an object or animal.

They told him he was sick. He agreed.

If he hadn’t been before, they made him sick, they turned him into something feral. For eight years he had been kept in the white room, taken out only for medical treatment and torture, usually the same thing. He hadn’t read anything other than the odd glance at a medical chart in that time. Hadn’t had a real conversation, hadn’t seen the sun. Although sometimes they put him under some kind of lamp for vitamin D.

His body had changed and he grew into the uniform, horrible humiliating changes also occurred. Studied and recorded by the doctors. He used to wonder if he would ever escape but he doesn’t let himself have those kind of thoughts anymore.

The same way he doesn’t think about his past life, his mom, his dad or his little sister. A few years in he realized he couldn’t hang on to that fantasy anymore. He sometimes wondered if that life had ever happened at all. Or maybe he made it up? It was too… too different to exist in the same world that this life did.

But one day something changed.

Someone addressed him by name.

“Max Groenfield?”

He looked up from where he had absently been staring at the ceiling. He normally didn’t acknowledge when the lock and door clicked open, whatever the staff wanted, they would make known. It didn’t matter whether he was ready for them, if he cowered or fought. He did still like to fight. It kept things interesting. So when this man entered, and uttered his name, his real name, not his number, a jolt, a horrible horrible feeling stuck through him. It made him feel sick.

He glared at the man, trying to mask the raw sensation he was feeling.

“Max Groenfield, yes?”

Max furrowed his brow, who was this new man, and why, why was he asking this? He sat up and his spine prickled. 

“They told me you could talk.”

Something akin to anger sparked in him. Who was this man and why had he come in without a guard, was he stupid enough to come in unescorted? Max didn’t even think he was carrying the remote to his control collar.

“I can speak,” He growled back at last.

The man smirked, sizing him up. What was he going to do to him?

The man moved in and closed the door behind him.

“You’re an interesting case, Max. I’ve studied your files for the last few weeks.”

Max unwrapped his legs from beneath him, on edge, ready to be hurt. But also confused. It was unsettling to be spoken to.

“Do you know why I am here?”

No one ever asked him anything other than where it hurt and how much.

The man stepped closer until he was only a few inches away.

“I am going to ask again and I expect you to answer me, do you know why I am here?”

Max shook his head.

“I am your new handler. I know in the past you’ve had a more hands-off approach but I’d like to change that.”

He reached out and took his chin. Max flinched but his grip was strong, “You put a staff member in the medical bay last month. That was very naughty of you.”

The man moved his head so he could examine his face more clearly, “I know they punished you… like they always do, but like I said, I think you could benefit from a different kind of approach.”

At the mention of punishment, Max pulled back more roughly. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried to already rip this man to pieces.

But before he could even make a move to, in one quick motion, the man took his other hand out of his pocket and swiftly jabbed something into the side of Max’s thigh. Sedation was nothing new, he waited for unconsciousness to take over, but then it was different. Instead of passing out, his vision became a little blurry and he suddenly felt very tired. He fell into the man’s chest and felt the man steady him and hold him there.

“Shhhh- that’s it, that’s a good boy.”

It felt very very wrong.

“I just injected you with a new serum we’ve been working on. Makes you more… pliable. How do you feel?”

Max could only let out a confused groan.

The man laughed and combed through his hair with his fingers once, “That’s what I thought, you’re not so tough as you’d like to be are you little guy?”

Max remained arrested where he was in minor horror. It was one thing to be shocked into oblivion, it was another thing to be handled like this. 

“I think you’re going to make a terrific pet for me… and be of actual use to the doctors like this.”

The man moved back but still kept both hands on his shoulders, a smug sense of ownership in his expression as he took in Max, “Now that you’ve calmed, let’s go for a little walk to my office.”

The man guided him up and he clumsily stood, his grip was tight and even through the drug he could feel the pain of his fingers digging into him as he directed him out of his cell and through corridors. 

“Today, I just want you to get used to me, so we’re gonna take it easy, you can sit on the ground while I do paperwork.”

Max stumbled along in dull horror. He wasn’t surprised to be controlled, that was nothing new. But the manner in which this man was treating him? Taking him to his office, calling him by his name… it was a too much… overwhelming.

“You’re crying, interesting. I didn’t expect that.”

They were in his office now, he had been in offices before, usually restrained.

“Sh, it’s alright, this is a lot isn’t it?” The hands were back around him, he was being made to lean into his chest.

“You are going to be very interesting…”

#max #max groenfield #a new oc #Im sorry to say i wrote this a long time ago and i have no guarrantees of working on it for a while because Ive had horrible writers block #while going through treatment this year #but i like him and wanted to share him #science experiment #possessive whumper #intimate whumper #he is no longer a child #so no active minor whump!!! #i am not a fan

[fwuitgummyy]

I wish there was more instances of Zizel being blatantly more antagonistic, but I think her detached way of viewing the characters in the story very interesting

She bets on Claire's happiness not because she's someone who she cares about on an emotional level, but because she's fascinated with her misfortune. She wants to see an outcome where she wins because it would be against the script written for her. Zizel is fascinated with humans, acts out being a human herself, and tries to mold the story based off her own misguided understandings. Unlike Wilardo, she holds no sentimental feelings towards people. She follows her own whims based on how much they entertain her.

So while she does show a level of understanding towards human struggles, there is no respect for it. She's like the reader in a way. Because her feelings only amount to wanting to see a nicely wrapped up ending after a great struggle. She's detached, she doesn't need to grow or apply herself in the narrative, she can sit back and watch them all struggle on their own. She's just a witness to the story unfolding.

#witch's heart #i wrote this on my twt but ill delete after a short while #and not to say she doesnt grow in some capacity at all #because she certainly does #but its within her nature. she loves claire. adores her even. but she loves her because she loves her struggle. its as rogue said but zizel #has a pretty twisted taste. rogue directly supports noel and cares about him that is unlike her nature #rogue is a gaudy demon who loves her possessions while zizel is more like an analytical type

[thatharringrovehoe]

Brain said no writing today so I'm punishing it by hyperfixating on Canva.

Dishonored AU with Outsider Steve ❤️

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #Dishonored AU #i wrote a blurb for this a while back #and i never stopped thinking about it #it's also like #my FAVORITE game #Dishonored #Outsider Steve #He's very protective of Billy #Me? Turning Steve into an ethereal abomination that's super possessive of Billy? #More likely than you think #Neil suffers in this one y'all and I'm living for it #that hoe writes #eventually. #i hope

[cutemothman]

writing lucy gray is super fun but it's also really challenging because "goodbye, lucy gray, we hardly knew you" is so TRUE.

we only see her through snow's eyes and he proves time and time again to be an unreliable narrator and besides surface level stuff, there really isn't much shown about her actual feelings and motivations. only what snow perceives of her.

i stand pretty firmly on the side of snow didn't really love her (he might have thought it was love, but it was really just obsession/possession) but i was thinking about lucy gray's feelings toward him and honestly, it can be read either way.

that being said, i do love how it's left ambiguous. was she just going along with him in order to survive? partially, i think, yes. especially at first. but i do think she had genuine feelings for him, even if they were tied to this trauma bond they shared. i do think she loved him until he proved that he couldn't be trusted.

#anyway suzanne collins can i have your email so we can discuss this at length? #i think it's more tragic to think that she truly loved him while he only wanted to possess her #and her slow realization of that fact is heartbreaking #when a person you think the world of disappoints you #because when i think of the song she wrote for him i'm like there is no way it was all for show #tbosas #chrissy.txt

[k-itsmaywriting]

limelight (Ayalumi)

Relationships: Kamisato Ayaka/Lumine Tags: High School!AU, Impromptu Hair Cutting, Fluff Words: 963 Summary: Lumine tells Ayaka she’d look cute with a bob, and Ayaka runs downstairs to get her the kitchen scissors

-----

 “Ayaka, don’t laugh, I’ll cut it off wrong!”

 But Ayaka just can’t stop. Her shoulders shake as she leans forward, face in her hands as she giggles into them, remembering the sound of the kitchen scissors behind her head and the thought of them cutting across the length of her hair. Her tummy is starting to hurt. Or are they butterflies?  

 Lumine is laughing too. Her fingers tremble where they gently hold Ayaka’s hair between them. And where Ayaka looks at the two of them in her vanity mirror, her other hand holds the scissors high and away from her while she rocks about in her chair.

“I can’t,” Ayaka wheezes. “I’m just too excited! I’ve never had my hair so short.”

Read the rest on AO3

#genshin impact #kamisato ayaka #lumine #genshin impact ayaka #genshin impact lumine #ayalumi #it's not a ship oneshot from me unless i'm posting it at 1am #icb i wrote most of this in like an hour #while i was possessed by the yearning spirit of Closer by RM #str8 up blacked out with that song on loop and suddenly this was done #anyway pls enjoy me getting weirdly deep about girls' hair and social expectations and identity or smth

[technicalthinker]

I haven't even rewatched Rogue One yet but I realise I am still so incredibly emotionally compromised by the ending, specifically the ending Cassian and Jyn scenes. Seeing gifs, bits of it in edits or just thinking about it gets to me and god I rly need to rant about it and explore why (under the cut bc it got long lmao, warning for rogue one spoilers obv if you haven't seen it)

This breakdown is mostly from memory so I've prob misremembered details that is gonna ruin me on a rewatch.

Like ofc we have all the baggage of the entire movie, their conflict and the way they've connected in the background. But I think it's how in the end they're both battered and bruised. They're worn down, struggled to reach this point, and at the end Cassian managed to get up there to save Jyn with his last strength. It is all just scrambling for a win, giving it all they got to just do this one thing (the way everyone on their team has sacrificed themselves to get them here really just enforces that)

And then the moment in the elevator is just... not a word said but it gets me because it's so vulnerable. Both these characters have hard exteriors that they project to the world but in that moment they just look at each other with so much emotion and love. Cassians look especially is just so tired and yet love and admiration for Jyn. The performances here rly are.. it hits me. It's also physically intimate but in a way that just feels calm, soft, like they're resting. And it hits the feeling of, the realisation that exists between the characters from here on out "oh maybe we could've been something-".

and then out on the beach, they're proud. "do you think anybody's listening?". and the thing is, we know SOMEONE IS LISTENING. they did win. this isn't a tragedy of them trying and still failing, they've completed their mission. and they don't know it, but we do, they've saved the galaxy. because they decided to hope and love and do the right thing.

But the tragedy is that they're not going to make it. The fight is over. They're not going to survive this, but there is no fight left to take. They've done enough fighting, so for them to in the end face something so unavoidable is almost peaceful you know? The fact that they get to face the end together is beautiful, but that they have to die at all is so damn unfair. The comfort they share, the support, and god I think Diego Luna summed it up pretty well in the clip that "that hug represents everything that could have been but didn’t happen" ( x ). And so it is sad to mourn what they're losing, that they don't get to live in the galaxy they've saved. They don't get to see the end of the rebellion.

So in the end there's sadness between them as well, sadness and fear of the end, but they hold each other and find comfort in the other. Both emotional, but also as a reminder that they did win this together. Once again, the performances and the shots and everything is just beautiful. It is soft, intimate and the last closeups of their faces as they just hold the other will be stuck in my brain forever.

So in summary, I think the reason why it gets to me, that I'm feeling when typing this out, is that there is this blend of so many different emotions happening in this one sequence. This is also why I've been struggling with grasping it, because there's so much at the same time that captures different things from the human experience.

The vulnerability they dare to share with each other, the pride of winning, the fact that instead of doubt they embrace the hope of their rebellion! But then the sadness and sorrow of what could've been, fear of what to come, but also the comfort of having each other, having shared this experience and saved the galaxy. It is both that we feel what the characters are experiencing, but for the viewers that know they're faith isn't misplaces, that light will prevail, that someone is listening, that really just hits it home for me.

#i started tearing up in the car omw to a dog training event bc i listened to music and thought about THEM #like ive been looking around a bit in the rebelcaptain tag and i like lost my mind basically bc i got so sad about them :)))) #so god i rly need to get my feelings out and dissect WHY #star wars blogging #amanda rambles #im also getting my period very soon so i know thats DEFINITELY adding to my emotions but GODDAMNIT #IM GOING THROUGH IT!! #the cassian emotions have just gotten worse diego luna you madman your emotional performance haunts me every day #i barely read through this i was just possessed and wrote this out while crying a bit #i think the big blend of emotions i describe here comes back in andor and is why andor slaps #like the fact that an emotional scene usually has like. 3+ emotions associated with it.