#I said when they were discussing blaze that if it happened I was going to use it for birthday ads and I meant it!!

[voluptuarian]

Rather near or far away, Wenees everywhere wish you a happy birthday! Many happy returns, Lee Hoseok!! 💖💖💖💖💖

[confused-pyramid]

One Step From Grace | s4

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 19.2k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, abortion mention, implied SA, gun violence, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 4x01, 4x02, 4x03, 4x09, 4x11, 4x16, 4x17, 4x18, 4x23, and 4x26

a/n: Some more tension in the slow burn! I included some more specific episode details in this one, because some of the eps and characters are important to future seasons :') P.S. I love hearing all of your thoughts and comments (it's honestly what makes all of this worth it) so lmk what you think:) Title is from Grace by Rag 'n Bone Man

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"Garcia, is everyone okay?"

You can hear the sound of sirens blazing down the street a few blocks away from you, but you're too far away to make it there in time.

"Oh, thank god, you're alright," she gasps over the phone, her voice thick with tears. "Rossi and Reid called me just now, and Derek's on the line."

He greets you with a frantic urgency. "Hey, Y/N, I'm heading to the explosion site to see what happened."

"Okay, sounds good, keep calling people," you instruct Garcia, before swerving across the lanes and turning at the next intersection.

She calls Emily, who tells you that she's also going to the NYPD's critical incident command posts. When she tries JJ, the call doesn't go through, and then suddenly the line goes quiet.

"Garcia?" you call into the void. "Penelope, are you there? Derek? Emily?" No one responds, and your heart rate spikes again as you pull over in front of the command center and rush inside.

Rossi and Reid envelope you in big hugs when you find them in the main bullpen, and soon after, Emily and JJ join you inside.

"Do we know what happened?" you ask them as you crowd around the city map where Reid pinpointed all the prior crime scenes. "What street was the explosion on?"

Reid opens his mouth to answer, when Emily's phone rings. "Yeah, Garcia, I'm back. JJ's here too."

She listens for a few seconds, before her eyes widen and she glances over at you. Lifting the phone from her ear, she puts it on speaker and says, "Can you repeat all of that?"

"Derek's chasing after the bomber," Penelope says, her breaths coming out in short spurts. "The bomb... it was in Kate's SUV, or under it. Hotch is out there with her."

Your heart stutters and you press your palms against the back of the chair in front of you, leaning over it to get closer to the phone. "Is he okay?" You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. "Are they okay?"

"He seems okay, but she looks really hurt. He hasn't moved her."

You release the breath you didn't realize you were holding and stand up straight, turning around to catch your breath. If something had happened to him...something irreversible...you don't know what you would've done. Especially after the last thing you said to him.

It's not your place to have this discussion.

Screw you.

"Where was Kate's SUV parked?" Rossi asks from behind you as you rub your eyes and turn back to face Emily's phone.

"2 blocks East of Federal Plaza."

***

You keep picturing the security camera feed of his SUV blowing up as you rush into St. Barclay's hospital. The moment Morgan called with the update that Hotch was taking Kate there in an ambulance, you all piled into an SUV and drove straight over.

You know Garcia and Morgan said he was fine, but not all injuries are visible. You're the first person inside, and you rush down the hallways until you spot a nurse in the ER. After you flash your badge, she points you to the curtains behind her.

When you push past them, he's standing up, working on the last few buttons of his shirt. His face is covered with tiny abrasions, and there's a piece of gauze stuck to his right ear.

"Aaron," you whisper, not wanting to startle him. He looks up as he grabs his tie out of the bag they put his clothes in. "Let me do that."

You take the tie from him as he sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment. It's silky against your fingers as you loop it around his neck and slide it under his collar.

"How are you feeling?" you ask him, trying to keep your voice soft.

He dips his chin to meet your eye and he squints as he shakes his head. "I'm fine, but Kate's in surgery. It didn't look good."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, forgetting about any prior gripes you had with her. "I'm sure she'll pull through."

He purses his lips and nods, just as the rest of the team pushes past the curtain. You step back quickly without thinking, and you don't miss the flash of confusion in his eyes before he turns to Morgan for the latest update on the bomber.

You swallow thickly as you look at your feet, letting everyone else walk around you. You don't know why you stepped back. Maybe it's the freshness of his divorce. Maybe it's the way Agent Calvert from the Portland office looked over your shoulder after you told him you weren't ready for dating again.

Whatever it was, you know you hated how it felt.

***

"There's a bomb on the ambulance."

Fear spikes through him as he turns around. "The ambulance which I drove in here." This day has already been longer than any of them expected it to be, but each passing minute seems to bring another surprise.

Rossi shoots him a knowing look that he reflects. "The hospital is their target."

He glances at you and you look back at him, your eyes filled with what he can only guess is fear. His mind flashes back to your interaction earlier, but he pushes it out of his brain as he realizes that they are down a man. "Where did Morgan go?"

Emily turns back. "He went to find the ambulance."

"Alone?" you gape at her, reaching for the gun in your holster.

He figures they only have a few minutes before the cell signal returns, so he grabs his own gun and nods. "Let's head down."

The ambulance is gone when they find the bomber in the parking garage, holding a knife to his throat. Before any of you can approach him, he slits his own throat. He can't help the grimace of disgust that crosses his face as the terrorist falls to the ground.

Once the immediate danger to the hospital is alleviated, everyone starts to relax. The rest of the team stays behind to clear the scene as he sprints up to the seemingly empty surgical ward. He finds the operating room that Kate was supposed to be in, but when he pushes through the doors, all he sees is a few janitors mopping the blood off the floor.

"What happened?" he gasps out. "Where's the surgeon."

A man in a blue scrub cap comes forward and pats his shoulder, a resigned look on his face. "We did all that we could. I'm so sorry."

All of the momentum leaves his body as he releases his breath, his shoulders deflating along with it like a circus balloon. The surgeon leaves the room and he looks down at her blood seeping down the floor drain. He watches as it mixes in with the cleaning fluids, and he can't help but wish that her death could've been less painful.

***

You wait outside the hotel the next morning, your go-bag hanging heavily off your shoulder. When the doctors told Hotch he wasn't cleared to fly yet, you told the NY agent assigned to drive him that you could take over.

"What are you still doing here?"

You turn around to see Hotch walking out of the hotel, the bag in his left hand evening out his gait after the explosion gave him a temporary limp.

You smile, pushing your sunglasses down from your head. "I'm your ride."

His eyes twinkle in the bright sunlight. "You really didn't have to. The flight is much quicker."

"It's okay," you shrug, before grinning. "Besides, I would never pass up an opportunity to annoy you for three hours."

That makes him laugh, before he winces slightly. Got it. No jokes.

He doesn't complain as you take the driver's seat, and that's when it hits you how much pain he must be in. For as long as he's had his license, he has preferred to be the one driving, sometimes even when he's in your car.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, but eventually you need to fill the silence. "I'm really sorry about Kate."

"Thank you," he sighs, his eyes squinting at the sun as you pull onto the highway. "I've known her for a long time." He exhales sharply. "Knew her."

You remember him telling you about a case he worked, years ago, that took him to Scotland Yard. He had sounded almost excited as he recounted the differences in how the British government handled procedure, but he had kept one thing to himself.

"You never told me about her," you say gently, trying to keep the blame out of your voice. You're not angry, you just don't understand why it would have been a secret.

He turns his head to gaze out the window for a few moments, before he looks back at you. "I wasn't sure about how that case would go when I agreed to take a look, but we ended up working really well together. I had spoken to her a few times before, mostly over the phone, but it was our first time meeting in person. We caught the guy we were looking for in just a few days, so before I left, she invited me to join her team for dinner."

You can guess where this is going, but you let him finish, in case you're wrong.

"When she dropped me off at my hotel that night, she made a... suggestive remark that I would've ignored if the implication hadn't been so clear. I shut it down immediately, but I didn't tell Haley when I got back, and I guess I just felt so guilty about it that I couldn't bring myself to tell you either."

Hotch feeling guilty about something. There's a shocker.

You glance over at him with a small smile. "I get it."

The "Welcome to New Jersey" sign flies past as you cross the bridge, and you both sit in comfortable silence as the sun glints off the water and reflects onto the cars around you. You see him looking out the window, and you wonder if he's thinking about Haley again, but then he turns to you with a curious expression. "The unit chief job here is yours if you want it."

Do you want it? You know you like leadership, and you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about the possibility of moving up the ladder at some point, but now that you're confronted with the opportunity, it doesn't feel how you thought it would.

The thought of leaving this team, when they've become your second family, tastes bitter on your tongue. You know you could assume that other teams are like this too, but when you actually try to picture it, it doesn't feel possible.

"You can think about it," he says after a minute, "but not for long. They need a replacement ASAP."

You glance over at him and a realization clicks in your brain. "Wait, they needed your recommendation before offering me the position, didn't they?" You crack a smile. "You tryna get rid of me, boss?"

He laughs, before it turns into a small grimace from the pain. "No, of course I don't want you to leave. I just know you're destined for more than this. You could be doing so much good work, leading your own team."

The sun peeks out from behind the buildings in front of you, and you reach up to pull down the sun visor. "Maybe one day. But not today."

His eyes flit over to meet yours and you share a smile before you turn back to the wide expanse of road ahead of you.

***

You've been watching him all day. He was cleared to fly again, but you saw how pained he looked when the jet took off, and again when they exhumed Cortland's grave. The way he's been flinching back at the slightest sound, and cowering in pain after the louder screeches.

You tighten the strap of your kevlar vest and glance over at him again as he whispers something to the local sheriff on the Angel Maker copycat case. You've cornered the unsub in the latest victim's house, and Morgan got her out before she could be killed, but Emily continues to speak to the unsub through her megaphone, coaxing her out and into custody.

"It's over, Chloe," she says calmly as Morgan deposits the woman into the awaiting ambulance. "We have Faye. You have nowhere to go."

After a few moments, the front door creaks open and everyone lifts their weapons. She looks surprised when she sees the dozens of guns pointing at her, but then she lifts her own and Hotch steps in.

"Chloe, drop the gun."

The sheriff, with much less composure, jabs his weapon forward. "Damn it, lady, drop it!"

She takes a step forward and the sheriff fires, taking her down in one shot. Hotch goes down at the same time, doubling over in pain, his hands going up to cover his ears as he lets out a low groan.

As everyone else goes to Chloe, you rush to him, lifting your hands to press them over his in an attempt to help him hide from the external chatter and noises. "Aaron, it's okay, you're gonna be okay."

His body folds into yours as you wrap your arms around his head, clutching him to you, unable to help. "It's okay, it's okay."

It takes a few seconds for him to relax in your arms, and then a few more for him to remove his hands from his ears and stand up straight again.

"I'm okay," he sighs, his brow still furrowed with tension. "Thank you."

"Of course," you whisper, your chest heaving as the stress slowly seeps from your body. "You're not flying home."

He takes a deep breath before slowly dipping his chin into a nod. "It's a much longer drive. You don't have to accompany me this time."

The corner of your lip quirks up. "What makes you think I was offering?"

"Okay," he chuffs, rolling his eyes. You can still see the image of him doubling over in pain splashed across your eyelids, but you manage to push it out of your mind long enough to return his smile.

***

"Stand!"

You look up from the young girl you were interviewing with Emily and Spencer as Cyrus storms into the room with a gun, his second in command hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Emily asks as she and Nancy Lunde, the state officer you came onto the cult compound with, stand up and approach him.

He squints, scrutinizing each of you. "We just got A very strange phone call from a news reporter. Is there anything you want to tell me, about a raid, maybe?"

You frown, genuine confusion coloring your expression as you shake your head. "We told you, we're child victim interview experts."

He takes another moment to consider your answer before nodding and instructing the man with him to lead you to the tunnels for safety while the raid continues.

You let Spencer, Emily and Nancy go ahead of you as the sounds of gunfire from the back get louder. When you reach the tunnels, they head further in to help the children take cover as Nancy turns back and gives you an earnest look. "I can talk to him."

You're shaking your head before she's done speaking. "No, you can't. It's too dangerous."

You try to grab her arm, but she rushes forward and past the small crowd of children that safely made it out of the school. You run after her as she calls out, "Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them."

She's too close to the window. You reach forward to grab her arm and pull her back but then another round of gunshots fires off and she drops to the ground in front of you. You start to crouch down, out of the line of sight of the window, when a searing pain shoots through your abdomen. You keel over, falling forward into the wall of the chapel as you gasp out in pain.

It doesn't hurt as bad as it probably should, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins won't last forever. You press your hands against the bullet wound that ripped through the side of your abdomen, and try to calm your breathing as fear washes over you. The team knows you three are in here, they'll figure out how to get you all out.

You know the minimal loss scenario by heart, and the BAU was the one who wrote the CIRG playbook, so it's a small comfort to know that you'll be able to predict their moves. You can only hope that they will be able to predict yours just as well.

Another wave of pain shoots through your side and you grit your teeth as the adrenaline starts to wear off. They better hurry.

***

He knows he's emotionally involved. They all are, but if his people aren't the ones leading this negotiation, he won't be able to forgive himself for any outcome that doesn't end with the three of you coming out in one piece.

He's listening in as Dave speaks with Cyrus, and he can't help but notice how cavalier his tone is after his followers were just shot at. He continues to rant about the final battle he has foreseen, until Dave manages to get him back on track.

"Now, the four child services workers..." he says slowly. Hotch can hear the concern coloring his tone even as he tries to act detached.

Cyrus's voice is crisp over the line. "One of them is dead."

His heart jumps to his throat. Your face flashes in his mind and he closes his eyes as he silently begs whoever is out there for it not to be you. Not you, not Prentiss, not Reid. Please.

"Her name was Nancy Lunde."

His breath comes out like a gasp, and Dave turns to him with an equally relieved expression. He's so thankful that the guilt for wishing harm on anyone takes an extra second to take over.

But Cyrus isn't finished talking. "One of the other child service workers was shot during the same raid. Once again, by your people."

He looks up at Dave, waiting for him to ask who it was, but he doesn't have to. The next word out of Cyrus's mouth is your name, and his stomach twists with nausea and anguish even as he assures Dave that your wound has been cleaned and properly dressed.

He turns to look at the compound, as though he could see you if he squinted hard enough. Hold on, he thinks, hoping you can hear him somehow. You've always had a way of reading his mind. Please hold on.

***

You wake up on a small cot, with a woman bent over you. You hiss as she presses down the edge of the bandage on your abdomen, and you bring your chin to your chest to see the current state of your gunshot wound.

You're surprised to see the blood washed off, a clean bandage and gauze left in its place.

"You got lucky," the woman says when she realizes you're awake. "The bullet went all the way through."

"Thank you," you whisper, before turning your head to look around the room. "Where are the people I came in with?"

"I'll take you to them," she nods, reaching her hand out. You take it and let out an involuntary groan as she helps you into a standing position. You try taking a step, but another spike of pain shoots through you, so the woman latches her arm under your shoulder to help you walk.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually you get back to the main chapel, where Emily and Spencer are sitting with the rest of the followers. They turn when the doors open in front of you, and they immediately jump out of their chairs to take over for the woman helping you.

"How are you feeling?" Spencer asks, his eyebrows pinching as he looks at you.

"I'm okay," you assure him, even as your vision blurs from the pain of having to walk so far. "Can we just sit down, though?"

"Of course," Emily nods, helping you sink into a chair. "I'll get you some water."

Spencer sits down next to you when she rushes off, and you don't miss how he keeps glancing down at your stomach.

"It'll be okay, Spence." He meets your eye and you nod again. "We know the playbook. We just have to follow it."

Emily returns with a water bottle that she opens and hands to you, and you chug half of it before setting it down. Hotch, please hurry, you think, wishing he could hear you.

***

The next morning, you wake up to a knock on the front door of the compound. You peel your eyes open and try to sit up, before remembering what happened the night before. Your skin feels wet as you run your fingers against the edge of the gauze, and you look down to see that you're bleeding through the dressings.

"Emily," you whisper, pushing her shoulder gently to shake her awake. "I need you to get the first aid kit again."

You feel more blood drip down your stomach, and your vision turns hazy for a moment, like a confirmation. She walks across the room to get the kit, and you almost forget about the knock on the door, until Cyrus opens it, revealing a stone-faced Rossi.

They shake hands as Emily removes your dressings before tearing open a new packet of gauze and pressing it into your wound.

"The children," Cyrus tells him, gesturing to the crowd. He then points at the three of you. "And our guests."

Rossi meets your eyes for a split second, and you make sure to keep your expression neutral as he nods and turns back to Cyrus. You're glad it's him who came inside, and not Hotch, because even though you want nothing more than to see him right now, you also don't want him to see you like this.

Rossi tries to get him to release the children, but he ends up leaving with nothing more than a promise to send food and supplies.

***

"Prentiss, Reid, and L/N are okay," Dave says as he jogs back to the tent outside. He turns to Hotch then. "She's been shot in the abdomen. They've tried to dress her wound, but she's losing blood."

Shit. He shuts his eyes as he tries to think about what he can do from out here to speed up the playbook.

"I have a signal!" Morgan beckons them over as he lifts a few sets of headphones for them to wear. With the bug Dave left on the compound, at least they have ears on the inside. It's not all he wants, but it's something, at least.

***

"Which one of you is it?"

Cyrus storms into the basement, where Spencer and Emily are sitting next to you as you lay down on the small cot from earlier. After Emily changed your bandages, Spencer managed to convince him to let you rest away from the followers.

"Which one of you is the FBI agent?"

Spencer jumps in before you can react. "Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?"

You haven't had the time or capacity to properly profile this man yet, so you don't know if his evasive tactic will work, but you also know he's smart enough to have thought this through.

Cyrus sighs, almost like he's disappointed. "God will forgive me for what I must do." He steps forward and points his gun at Spencer's head. You gasp, trying to keep a look of confusion on your face as you fight the urge to step in.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer says, stumbling over his words. His eyes are wide with fear, and you can't tell how much of it is real and how much is for show.

Cyrus tuts. "One of you does. Who is it?"

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract him, but then Emily stands up. "Me. It's me."

The moment of relief you feel when he lifts his gun from Spencer's head is gone as soon as he grabs Emily by the hair and drags her to the door. Your legs burn with the desire to leap off the cot and tackle him to the ground, but you can't move as the door shuts behind them.

***

It's almost night fall by the time Emily joins you again. You and Spencer were moved back up to the chapel after Cyrus took her away, and seeing her now, she looks awful.

Splotchy bruises of purple and blue paint her neck and chest, and there's dried blood on her temple and the corner of her mouth.

"Emily," you gasp, trying to control your expression so that Cyrus and his diehard followers don't think you know her as well as you do. You hate the feeling of letting her take the brunt of his punishment and blame, but it won't help to expose yourselves as agents too.

Spencer leans over you to get a better look at her. "Are you okay?"

She nods, flashing him a small smile. "Yeah, it looks worse than it feels." You can't imagine she's seen her reflection today, but you still appreciate her trying to relieve his stress.

Right then, the front door opens again and a shipment of food containers are carried inside. Men lift the boxes and bring them around the room to feed everyone inside, and when they set a box in front of you three, you notice a familiar scrawl of handwriting on top of the to-go container. 3AM. They're coming in at 3AM.

***

When the followers leave to go to bed, Cyrus takes Emily away again to separate her from you and the others. You fight the exhaustion pulling your eyes shut as you sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Spencer has been talking to Cyrus's second in command, trying to convince him that the Bible can be used to manipulate anything, but Cyrus catches on quickly.

You keep glancing at the door, hoping that Emily will find her way back up before 3AM hits, but as each minute ticks by, the idea becomes more futile.

You saw the diehard followers rigging the compound with explosives earlier in the night, and the detonator is clutched in Cyrus's hand like a lifeline. The irony doesn't escape you.

"Something's wrong," the follower reports, his eyes scanning the darkness outside through the window of the chapel.

Cyrus walks over to check, and you use the moment of distraction to lift the edge of your shirt and check your bandages. You're starting to bleed through the gauze again, but it's not bad enough that you need your dressings changed just yet.

When Cyrus realizes that he's been lied to, Spencer tries to distract him by spouting off verses at a rapid pace, but Cyrus just rams the butt of his rifle into his head, sending him to the ground.

"You cannot convert my brothers," Cyrus says before hitting him again. You crawl over to him, ignoring the screaming pain in your side, and clutch his arm for some semblance of comfort. Cyrus looks down at the both of you, his eyes squinting. "No one had to follow. God could have stopped me."

"He just did."

There's a gunshot, and you whip your head around to see Morgan and a young girl racing out of the tunnel before he crouches beside you. "You two alright?"

You nod, reaching your arm up to let him help you into a standing position. "Where's Emily?"

"We got her out of here," he explains, before turning to the girl. "Sweetheart, come with me."

She looks at each of you, her face twisted with panic, before bending down and picking up the detonator from where Cyrus dropped it. Your eyes widen and you yank Spencer in front of you before pushing him down the tunnel. "Run!"

Derek wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding half of your weight as you both sprint down the tunnel after Spencer. You're almost outside when the explosion goes off, pushing you to your knees with a strong gust of air and smoke.

***

He yells out your name as the blast engulfs the compound. His throat feels ragged as he yells out for Reid and Morgan too, but he can't see anything until three figures stand up from the plume of smoke and stumble down the steps.

He rushes up, meeting you halfway as you collapse from Morgan's arms into his. He grabs onto you as your knees buckle, and he manages to pull you towards him before you hit the ground.

He can't breathe as he clutches you to him, trying to be mindful of your wounds. Your breath comes out in gasps that mix in with his own as he sags with relief that you're here, back in his arms, where he can keep you safe.

He pulls back when he sees the paramedics approaching, and it's only then that he finally gets a good look at you. Your skin is gaunt, and his heart thuds loudly in his ears as he sees you wince in pain.

When they load you into an ambulance, his feet finally start working again and he races after you. "I'm coming with you."

You nod as he climbs through the doors and you reach your hand out over the side of the gurney. Your fingers feel cold when he clasps your hand in his, and he syncs his breaths with the sound of the sirens as your eyes fall closed.

***

The first thought that goes through your head when you wake up is that it's too bright. You squint as your eyes peel open, and in the few moments it takes for them to adjust to the light, a chorus of quiet 'she's awake's filter around the hospital room.

"How are you feeling?" JJ asks, stepping closer to stand at your bedside.

"You gave us a real scare, Mama," Penelope adds with a gentle smile.

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat is so dry, no sound comes out. Emily darts forward to grab the cup of water on the counter, and you glance over to see the yellowing bruises on her cheekbones.

After a few sips, you clear your throat and say, "I'm good. How long was I out?"

"Just a day," Derek responds from the foot of your bed, where he's standing with Spencer and Penelope.

Spencer chimes in. "You got out of surgery a few hours ago, and the doctors said you can go home tomorrow morning."

You nod slowly, stretching out your arms and legs to test the limits of your mobility. When you push yourself up into a sitting position, it doesn't hurt as much as it did on the compound.

"Ah, you're awake," Rossi smiles as he joins you all in the hospital room. It's not exactly huge, so everyone has to stand to make room, but it still doesn't escape your notice that someone is missing.

You return Rossi's smile before glancing over at the door, trying to see if he's just outside. Noticing your gaze, Spencer walks forward and takes your hand, giving it a small squeeze. "He's on the phone with your father. I think he got a flight for tomorrow morning."

You exhale slowly and take another sip of water. "Thank you." He nods and moves to release your hand, but you grip it tighter, holding him back. "Seriously, Spence, thank you." You turn to Emily, who is on the other side and her eyes shine, reflecting the tears in yours. "That whole operation sucked, but I'm really glad you two were in there with me."

She lets out a watery laugh and bends down to press an kiss to your temple. "I'm glad you're okay."

When you start fading again, the team leaves with promises to see you back at work in a month, and you close your eyes to get a break from the harsh fluorescent lighting.

***

"Alright," he says into his phone, nodding. "We'll see you in the morning, Mr. L/N. Yes, she's doing a lot better...okay, good, see you soon."

He ends the call and tucks his phone back into his pocket, before walking over to the vending machine at the end of the hall to grab a few of your favorite snacks. He loads up on chips and pop tarts before heading back up the hallway to your room. When he reaches the door, he realizes that the rest of the team has left, so he steps inside quietly and takes a seat in the small plastic chair next to your bed, before gently setting the snacks on your bedside table.

Your eyes are closed and he figures you must have just fallen asleep, so he crosses his arms over his chest and just sits there, watching you. Your face is covered in little scrapes from the explosion, and you still look a bit ashy, but you somehow still do look beautiful. This isn't the first time he has thought this - it was more of a recurrent notion when you were younger - but he can't deny that you're just objectively a beautiful person. But then again, he's not sure if beauty is ever really objective (eye of the beholder and all that), so he pushes the thought aside and turns back to you.

His thoughts are interrupted when his phone chirps with a text message. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checks the name and sees that Haley has arrived at the hospital. He had called her after you went into surgery, knowing that she would kill him if he didn't keep her constantly updated on your condition.

When he finds her at the end of the hall, she pulls him into a quick side hug that's slightly barred by Jack, who is clutching onto her tightly. He can imagine how scary the hospital looks to a three year old boy.

"Hi, bud," he smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before looking at Haley again. "She's sleeping, but I'll take you to her room."

"She's alright, Aaron." Haley is looking at him like she's worried he may break down, and it makes him wonder what his expression looks like right now. Ever since you got out of surgery, he has felt a weight lifted off his chest, but if he really thinks about it, he doesn't know if he feels all that much lighter at all.

But he doesn't want to say any of that out loud. Nodding, he cocks his head at the other end of the hall and leads her to your room, where you are blinking your eyes open again.

"Oh, sweetheart," Haley coos, adjusting Jack on her hip and walking over to your bedside. "I hope we didn't wake you up?"

You shake your head with a smile, but he can tell you're lying. You look exhausted, and he can see you periodically glancing at the light on the ceiling to keep your eyes alert.

"Well, hello," you grin at Jack as you carefully push yourself up into a sitting position. "How's my little Jack-o-lantern doing?"

His mouth twitches and he reaches his arms out as he lets out a loud, "Good!" You reach forward slowly, likely testing the limits of your mobility, and take him from Haley, who hands him off with a concerned look on her face.

"Be careful, baby," she tells Jack, before stepping back and crossing her arms. "Aunt Y/N is a little fragile today."

To his credit, Jack just slumps down into your arms, absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair as you turn to Hotch. "Reid said you called my dad?"

He nods, taking a deep breath. "He'll be here in the morning. I assured him you were just fine, but he wants to stay here for a bit to keep an eye on you."

"That's okay," you shrug, much to his relief. After your last conversation about your father, he wasn't sure where you stood and how far he was allowed to push. "It'll be nice to have some company while I'm off for the next two weeks."

"Two months," he corrects with a stern look.

"One."

"Fine." The only reason he relents so quickly is because he knows how quickly he would be back at work if he was in your position. "But I'm limiting your field work until you're more healed."

You nod after a second. "I'll take it."

Haley huffs out a laugh and looks at him with an expression he remembers from their marriage. Affection with a hint of exasperation.

"Alright, you two," she smiles, reaching for Jack again. His entire fist is tangled in your hair at this point, but you don't seem to mind. "I should get him to bed. It's already past his bedtime."

You nod and hand him back, before letting her envelope you in a warm hug that you settle yourself into. "Love you, Hales. Thanks for coming by."

"Love you too, honey."

***

Haley leaves with Jack, and you slump down in the bed, feeling tired, but no longer sleepy.

"I can head out too," Hotch says quickly, reaching for his coat, "if you want to sleep."

You shake your head, and he drops his arm immediately, as though he was just looking for an excuse to stay. The thought makes you smile and his brow pinches in confusion. What's on your mind?

"I'm just glad I met you." You reach for his hand he takes it, giving it a soft squeeze, before taking a seat in the chair beside you.

"I brought you some snacks from the vending machine," he points out, glancing over at the pile he made on your table. "I got your favorites...at least out of what they had."

You grin, feeling your chest fill with warmth as you take in the assortment. "Sunchips and cinnamon pop tarts. You remembered."

"Of course," he shrugs. "You're the only person I know, other than my three year old son, who still eats pop tarts."

You make a face, swatting your hand at him, but he's just out of reach. "It's not my fault toddlers have great taste."

He chuckles as you tear open one of the packages and break off a piece. The buttery, sweet taste brings you back to your childhood when your mom was still alive. She would wake you up with two brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts before school, the sweet smell enough to drag you out of bed at eight in the morning.

"What are you thinking about?"

You look up with a smile, your gaze wistful as the memory slowly fades away. "My mom, actually. I don't have a ton of memories of her, but sometimes the most random thing will trigger an emotion or a memory that I forgot I had."

He nods, his eyes thoughtful. "Like the taste of pop tarts."

"Exactly." You break off another piece and toss it into your mouth, before setting the package back on the table. "Last week it was the smell of this perfume I found at the back of my dresser. It wasn't even the exact scent she would wear, it just had the same base notes."

Your voice trails off, and he looks at you, giving you a moment before speaking up. "What else do you remember?"

"I remember her funeral," you say without thinking, before realizing that it's not a lie. You know that grief is weird, that people usually remember everything or nothing, but for some reason, the funeral only comes back to you in pieces. Your dad crying silently, Hotch holding your hand, your dress being too small on you. You wore it anyway, because she had picked it out for you at the store a couple of years before. "I remember you holding me up."

His eyes flash with something that resembles amusement and he purses his lips. "I remember feeling the opposite. I knew I was supposed to be there for you, but somehow, it felt like you were the one holding both of us up that day."

You shrug, realizing the details don't mean anything. "All I really needed was for someone to hold onto."

He nods and that's when your mind flashes back to New York last month. "Did you go to Kate's funeral?"

"No," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Her family flew her back to London to have it there, and I couldn't take any time off."

You want to apologize, but before you can open your mouth, he beats you to it. "I'm sorry for how I acted in New York."

You frown, but he just shakes his head. "I don't really know why I was trying so hard to protect her. I guess after the close call with Strauss last year, I was less sympathetic to bureau politics, but I still shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should've been protecting you too."

His words are tinged with self-contempt, and you find yourself wanting to take away his guilt even though you were hurt by how he treated you during that case. But that's how the two of you work. The protective instincts don't go away just because one of you is angry at the other.

You remember prom night all those years ago, when he was so peeved at you for convincing him to ask Haley to the dance, even though they had just started talking. She had freaked out and said no, so he was forced to take another girl who asked him after the fact (of which there were many), while you went with Kyle Martinez, who had been showing interest in you for a while. You knew your feelings for Hotch definitely weren't just platonic anymore, but he was into Haley, and he was also Hotch, so you had pushed it aside and gone to the prom with Kyle.

You had spotted Hotch the moment he walked into the ballroom that the school had turned into a Gatsby-themed prom venue. He commanded everyone's attention, and you certainly weren't immune, but you had your own date, so you ignored your best friend and danced with Kyle.

As the night wore on, he had grown bored and asked you if you wanted to get out of there and go somewhere quiet, but you weren't exactly experienced back then.

"I'm okay," you had whispered, trying to maintain your smile. "I'd rather just stay at the dance."

You can still remember the change in his expression when he saw you glance at Hotch, as though it was just yesterday. "What, are you into him or something? You seriously think he'd fuck you?"

You hadn't been able to help it as tears flooded your eyes, and before you knew it, Hotch was standing in front of you, glaring down your date as he asked if you were okay.

"Everything's fine," Kyle had sneered, trying to get around him. "Butt out of our business, Hotch."

He looked at you again. Do you want me to go?

You shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek, and before you had time to blink, his fist was swinging. There was a horrible thump as his fist collided with Kyle's cheekbone, sending him stumbling backwards from the force of the hit.

You couldn't move as Kyle swung back, trying to shove him down, but he didn't budge. He could take physical aggression better than most guys his age, but that didn't make this okay.

"Hotch, please," you had pleaded as he landed another punch. The sound of your voice must had cut through the fog, because he looked up then, unaware of the bruises on his knuckles. You helped him up, and the two of you watched as his date stormed out of the ballroom.

Presently, you look at him sitting in his chair and crack a small smile. "Do you remember prom night?"

He groans and you laugh lightly, being careful not to tear the stitches in your side.

"You never actually told me what that asshole did to you." His tone is light, but you can hear the genuine question underneath.

"It was so long ago," you shrug after a beat. "I don't even remember."

***

Your dad arrives at the hospital early the next morning right before you're discharged. The papers are quick, and by the time the sun has risen fully, you are being taken to his car in a wheelchair, despite your best efforts to refuse.

"I can walk!"

"I don't care."

"Dad, come on."

He frowns down at you. "I drove up here to be of use to you. Let me be of use."

You huff in frustration as he wheels you beside his car, and you try to get up on your own, but you twist the wrong way. You gasp out in pain as one of your stitches pulls and your dad immediately comes around to assist you.

"I hate your job," he grumbles, taking your arm to help you into the passenger seat. "If I had my way, you'd be working out of an office cubicle."

"I know, Dad," you soothe, turning your head back to smile at him. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, sweetie."

The drive to your house is quick, and he takes your arm again when you get out to help you inside. Once you're laying down on the couch, you insist that you don't need any more concessions, but he doesn't sit down in your armchair until after he has brought you a glass of water and a blanket.

"Dad, I'm fine, really." He doesn't look convinced, so you paste on your brightest smile, and he finally cracks, smiling back at you. "What do you want to do today?" you ask him.

"Wha- do today?" he sputters. "You need to rest, young lady. I'm not letting you leave this couch until you head up for bed tonight."

You can tell he's serious about this, so you sink back into your pillows with a sigh and grab the tv remote. "What do you want to watch then?"

He leans back in his armchair and brings his palm to his face: his thinking expression. "What's on?"

You click on the television, and the first channel it opens up to is playing a rerun of Breaking Bad. Neither of you seem interested in watching it, so you keep flipping through the channels, but after 20 minutes of mindless surfing, you eventually end up back on Breaking Bad.

"We could just play it in the background," you suggest with a shrug, "while we talk."

"Sure," he agrees, placing his hands on each armrest.

Two hours later, your eyes are glued to the television after having watched three episodes.

"We should probably do something else," Dad suggests at the next ad break. "All of this meth production is rotting my brain."

"Yeah," you agree, taking your time to reach for the remote before clicking the tv off and tossing the remote aside. "We can have lunch in the kitchen..."

"Nice try," he chuckles, before standing up. "Aaron is coming by with takeout soon, and you can eat that right from here."

He had been coming by a lot after your movie night a few months ago, and while hanging out with your best friend isn't an anomaly, it does reinforce the reminder that neither of you have anyone to go home to at the end of the night.

It's another half hour by the time he shows up, Thai takeout in hand, and by then you're starving.

"Thanks for bringing food," you say genuinely after your dad lets him inside the house. "I was worried I would have to live off Dad's cooking for a week."

"Very funny," he says with an eye roll. "But yes, thank you, Aaron."

"Of course," Hotch says simply, before handing your dad a fork and napkin. "I'm also hoping to convince Y/N to take more time off."

"Not fair!" you complain, feeling like you're reverting to your high school self with your dad and best friend sitting across from you. "I'm not starting field work for a couple of months. I just want to come in soon to meet the new press liaison."

"Is JJ leaving?" Dad asks as he takes a bite of green curry with rice.

"Just temporarily," Hotch says, reaching for the pad kee mao container. You nod, chiming in, "She's due in a couple of months, so she's gonna start training someone soon to take over while she's gone."

"Is she still with that cop from...where was it again?"

"New Orleans," you answer with a laugh. "Yeah, she and Will are still together."

You can feel the conversation getting dangerously close to (ex) spouses, so you steer your father away from the topic by having him try all of the food Hotch brought. He ends up staying for a couple of hours as he explains some of the more tame cases you've handled to your dad, who actually seems interested in the finer details of each profile.

Eventually, he heads home, with the explanation that he has Jack that night, and you say good night to your dad before heading up for bed. You cover the stitches with plastic the way the doctors instructed you to before taking a fast shower and getting into your bed.

You can hear the sound of your father's quiet snores from the guest room down the hall, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that you're back in your childhood home, sleeping in your pink and purple bedroom after spending the day with your best friend.

***

It takes a lot of convincing, but at the end of the month, your dad drops you off at work before making his drive back home. Emily had called you before the team's plane took off, and you timed it right so that you'd get to the office just as they arrived.

The elevator doors open on your floor, and you hear a loud conversation happening between Morgan and Prentiss just before they spot you from the bullpen.

"Y/N!" Emily grins, rushing forward to give you a hug. "How's the healing process been?"

"I feel a lot better," you tell her with a smile as you pull back and drop your bag next to your desk.

"You look a lot better," she nods, before Derek grabs you and pulls you in for a surprisingly gentle bear hug.

"You look great," he says, grinning at you. "Are you cleared to come back to work?"

"Not field work," you sigh, pushing your hair back behind your ear. "I'm just here to turn in some paperwork and then I'm stuck to my desk for a few more weeks."

Derek takes the files from your hand and tosses them on your desk before throwing an arm around your shoulder. "You should come out and get burgers with Prentiss and me."

"Tempting," you say, "but I just came by to meet-"

"Hey guys," JJ calls out from the hallway. "I want to introduce you to someone."

She walks up to you all with another woman by her side. "This is Agent Jordan Todd. She'll be taking over for me while I'm on maternity leave."

You grin, clasping your hands together in front of you as she smiles sheepishly at all of you. "Agent Jareau's told me so much about you all."

She turns to Emily first. "You must be Agent Prentiss."

"Yes," she smiles, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Spencer walks up at that moment and Agent Todd nods at him. "Hello, Dr. Reid."

He waves back, and she then looks at you. You reach out first to shake her hand and she smiles. "Agent L/N, I presume?" When you nod, she takes your hand. "I heard about the cult incident."

"Yeah," you let out a laugh. "Incident is definitely a word for it."

Derek drops his arm from your shoulder and Jordan turns to him with a cheeky grin that piques your interest. "And Agent Morgan. Nice to see you again."

He nods, not giving anything away. "Nice to see you, too. So, this must be the good news."

"This would be my brownie."

Emily frowns, pointing between the two of then. "Uh, you two have met?"

Derek doesn't turn away from her. "Briefly."

JJ shoots him a look before steering Jordan away to meet the rest of the team, and you and Emily turn to Derek with matching expressions. "What was that about?"

"I met her at a coffee shop this morning," he explains, rubbing a hand over his face. "She knew my name then, and I guess this is how."

"JJ's about to pop," Emily says, glancing at you with a small smirk. "Looks like it's about to get interesting at the BAU."

***

Your first case back in the field takes you to Atlanta, where Vanessa Holden was murdered after going home with a man she met on a night out clubbing. Jordan briefs you all on the details back in the office before you get on the plane.

You're still not used to JJ being gone, and you heard all about Jordan's drive from Hotch when he came by your house with dinner periodically over your bureau-mandated leave, but you don't want to make any judgments before getting to know her yourself.

You sit across from Hotch on the plane, and you don't miss the way his eyes follow each of your movements from the second you sit down. Your bandages are still on, but you've regained almost all of your mobility.

As the jet takes off, you lean forward slightly to adjust the back of your blazer, and his gaze shoots to you, his brow furrowing with concern.

You flash your eyes at him, cutting the tension with a small smirk. I'm fine, I promise.

He squints slightly, scrutinizing your expression for a moment, before letting out an inscrutable sigh and turning back to the case file.

When you land in Atlanta, you start off at the police department with Hotch, Morgan, and Todd, and her continued insistence on being the first to meet with the local officials and debrief them surprises you, given JJ's more subtle nature when working with those who call your team in.

The local police let you know that the Holden family has stopped cooperating with their investigation, but the four of you head over to their home to try and speak with her mother and sister one last time. Jordan gets you in the house by sharing a story about her older sister who passed away, and you find yourself feeling awful about your misjudgment of her, until you notice the look of Hotch's face.

"Did you know that about Jordan?" you ask, trying to understand why he looks so miffed.

"No," he says simply, his brow pinched together, "and neither did she. According to her file, she's an only child."

You flash your eyes at Derek.

The conversation gets you a basic profile of the unsub, based on the cocky way he held himself with Vanessa and the way he was dressed when approaching her at the club, but when the moment you exit her home, Hotch corners Jordan on the driveway.

"The information about Vanessa Holden being the responsible sister," he fumes. "Where did you get that?"

She has the gall not to look ashamed, and you can't decide if you respect her resolve or detest her lack of responsibility. "Some of it was online, and some of it was an educated guess based on birth order."

"A guess."

You practically wince and Derek stares at her, as though trying to hypnotically get her to backtrack.

She looks down then, and he delivers the kicker. "And in the process you lied."

You step forward to insert yourself in the conversation (for what purpose, you don't yet know), but Jordan just stands up straighter, ready to defend herself. "That mother was shut down. I needed to salvage some rapport."

Hotch doesn't back down, and as his brow locks into place, you step back again. "I don't know how you did things in counter-terrorism, but we don't make it a habit to lie to get the job done."

"I got you in the door, didn't I?" she spits out one last time. It's both, you realize. Respect and distaste.

"Not only do you represent the FBI, you represent this team."

He shakes his head, and you cock your head at Derek, gesturing for him to head back to the car. You hear the tail end of their conversation as you yank open the passenger side door.

"From now on, everything goes through me."

Jordan gets saved by the literal bell as his phone rings, and when he steps away to answer it, she comes back to the SUV and gets in the back. "So, how bad did I just screw up?"

Derek heaves out a sigh, looking at her with his characteristic stoicism mixed with compassion. "On a normal scale of one to ten, I'd say a six."

He glances at you and you press your lips together. "But on Hotch's scale...an 11."

She rubs a hand over her face and you turn back to face the front, watching as Hotch paces back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. He doesn't look up until he's back in the SUV.

***

The profile becomes clear when a new victim emerges: an unsub with a possible scar or birthmark above his left eye, who went to a class for pickup artists. After doing some researching with Garcia, Emily returns with a flyer for a man named Viper that makes your stomach twist.

You, Morgan, and Hotch join her at one of his classes later that day, and it takes everything in you not to sneer in disgust as he describes his approach to meeting women.

"This is the jungle, my friends," Viper finishes off, lifting his hands in the air theatrically, "and your prey wants to be caught."

You and Hotch share a look, and he raises his eyebrows as you cringe. What, not a fan?

You shove his shoulder with yours, but it's not hard enough to actually make him budge. Hilarious.

"Will you listen to that language?" Emily whispers from next to you. "He's training serial killers."

"Great," Derek sighs. "We're dealing with a rampant narcissist and misogynist who's turned himself into a snake oil salesman."

Hotch nods. "That's one more thing he has in common with our unsub."

The class ends soon after, and you get the distinct pleasure of meeting Viper in the flesh. When he approaches the four of you, he makes a clear effort to keep eye contact with only the men, likely trying to use his self-prescribed techniques to make you and Emily feel vulnerable. Instead, it just makes you want to laugh in his face.

"So you think this- what did you call him- unsub, took my class?"

He raises his eyebrows at Emily then, in what you can only hope is meant to be a seductive nature, and she practically snorts. Using his clear attraction to her to the team's advantage, she steps forward and takes control of the conversation. By the time she's finished, she has managed to secure his location for later tonight, and get him just flustered enough that a chance meeting later would have him ready to divulge anything she wants to hear.

'Please tell me we are not giving up on that guy." Emily heaves out a breath as you all walk back outside after speaking with Viper. She was just talking to him, but she looks like she's ready to take another shower.

Hotch flashes his eyes with uncharacteristic mirth. "We're just getting started."

***

His eyes keep darting back to the door of the locker room. Prentiss is going undercover at Club Aqua to get more information about the unsub from Viper, and when she suggested that you and Agent Todd join her, he couldn't think of a good enough reason to quash her idea.

He knows he's been hard on Todd. He figured it out on his own, even with your furtive glances from the passenger side of the SUV after leaving the Holden household.

He wishes he could say it all came from a place of protecting bureau leadership, but he knows that isn't completely true. It's been almost two weeks since he last saw Jack, and every time he drops him back at Haley's, that feeling settles back in his gut, like clockwork. The feeling that tells him he's just like his father.

The locker room door flies open and he averts his eyes, trying to maintain some level of subtlety, but it's only Prentiss and Todd. Where are you?

His unspoken question is answered when Prentiss announces that you told them to get started without you. He's still worried that you're not ready for this kind of assignment so early in your return to field work, so, before he can regret it, he stalks forward and pushes open the door.

The regret immediately comes when he sees your bare back, underneath your unzipped dress, on the far end of the locker room.

"Oh, sorry," he blinks, turning his head back. "I didn't realize-"

He moves to shut the door again, but you look over your shoulder and raise your hand, beckoning him inside. "Wait, I could actually use your help."

He steps through the door and crosses over to you, where you turn your back to him after a small glance. "Zip me up?"

The bottom of the zipper is at the small of your back, and he tries to avoid touching you as he pulls it up to the base of your shoulder blades. He isn't able to avoid it completely, and he tries to ignore the heat of your skin as he drops the zipper and nods. "All set."

You turn around and he forgets to step back in time, leaving you only a few inches from him as you glance up with a confused smile. "You okay?"

He nods again, stepping back and clearing his throat. Why is his skin burning? "I should be asking you that. Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm getting the bandages taken off later this week," you tell him, partly misunderstanding his concern. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

That's definitely a lie, but he allows it for now. "That's not all I'm talking about. You haven't been in the field in months. I just worry that I'm tossing you into the deep end on your first day back."

"I'm fine," you insist, reaching out to put your hand on his forearm. "I would have refused the assignment if I didn't think I could handle it."

He's not sure if he believes that either, but in this case, the assignment itself seems odious enough that he can let it slide. "Okay. Are you ready to head out there?"

"Yeah, just one second."

He waits as you pull a thin necklace from your bag and clasp it around your neck. When it's attached, you spin around with a goofy smile. "How do I look?"

"Amazing," he says without thinking. "I mean- you look great, of course."

You just smile at him, before patting his shoulder and walking out the door to meet the Prentiss and Todd at the club. Your hair brushes past him as you leave, and the scent of your perfume lingers in the air behind you, a flowery aroma that persists even when the door swings shut.

***

Emily waves at you when you approach her and Jordan in a crowded part of the club. "Y/N, I'm sure you remember Viper. God's gift to women."

You smile at him sweetly, before glancing at her. "Sure hope he came with a receipt."

"Another friend," Viper says, letting out a weak laugh.

Emily uses this moment of distraction to pounce. "You promised if I met you on your turf, you'd show me something special. So...let's see it."

He starts spouting off some nonsense about chemical signals, and you're about to take Jordan's arm and pull her aside to give Emily some room, when Viper turns to you with a mock-sincere expression. "Does the boss man you're out here, with me?"

You turn back with a frown. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and he practically grins as his bravado grows. "What I do for a living is pretty similar to what you all do. I read people...and from what I could tell during your little ambush of my class earlier, there's something going on between you and the supervisor."

You let out a laugh that feels surprisingly forced as it leaves your throat. "I really can't believe there are people out there who pay you for assessments like that, because you're dead wrong."

He shrugs, looking back at Emily, and you roll your eyes at him before turning away under the guise of giving them some space. When you're out of his line of sight, you let out a breath that was caught in your chest. You know you and Hotch are closer than most friendships are at your age, and you're not unaccustomed to people reading more into it than there is, so you're not sure why Viper's words feel like a fist around your gut.

"Hey, you okay?" You turn back to see Jordan approaching you with a glass of water. "He's really trying everything to get under our skin."

You accept the glass gratefully, and swallow a few gulps, before nodding. "Thank you. I think I just needed some air. I forgot how stuffy these clubs get."

"I hear that." She laughs and you feel your chest loosen with relief that she didn't believe Viper's insinuation. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm almost excited to get back into my work clothes."

You let out a breathy chuckle, before sending her back to keep an eye on Emily as she works on breaking Viper. Later that night, when you get back to the station to meet up with the rest of the team, you excuse yourself early to head to the hotel, and you allow yourself to pretend, just this once, that you weren't avoiding him, and you really were just tired.

***

You're sitting in your car in front of the hospital at seven in the morning, because you didn't want to take any work off just to get your bandages removed. You know this is likely the exact sort of thing the bureau mandates time off for, but a small part of you didn't want anyone knowing you were coming here. Or maybe you just didn't want him to know.

You haven't been trying to avoid him. You may be a little embarrassed by how far under your skin Viper got with his one little comment, but you can't help it. The notion stirred something you don't recognize inside of you and you don't want to take the time to think through it.

You take a deep breath and get out of your car, before walking into the hospital and checking in for your appointment. When you called to secure a time slot, the nurse mentioned that, barring any complications, the appointment shouldn't take more than half an hour.

You're a few minutes early, so you sit in the waiting area, flipping through a fashion magazine from the table next to you. After a minute, you're so engrossed in a page about returning trends that you don't realize he is sitting next to you until he taps the side of your foot with his own.

"Oh shit," you blurt out when you see him, more out of surprise than the shame of being caught. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Garcia saw it in your calendar and told me." You turn to look at him with mock-exasperation, but you're caught off guard by the genuine hurt in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me the appointment was today? I could've driven you."

You open your mouth to come up with an excuse, but all that comes out is, "I don't know." He doesn't look convinced, but the doctor calls your name then and you stand up, pressing your lips together. "Will you come with me?"

He stands up immediately, without another word, and you both follow the doctor into a back room, where she proceeds to remove your bandages and check where you are in the healing process. The wound is closed, and is almost entirely scarred over, but she recommends that you continue to take it easy - a point which you see Hotch take mental note of immediately - and limit excessive physical activity.

"The wound is healing very nicely," the doctor says as you walk back to the front. "Give me a call if anything changes, but as long as you keep applying the salve, there shouldn't be a permanent scar."

You thank her before she heads back to meet with another patient, and Hotch holds the front door open for you as you walk out into the parking lot.

"Thank you for coming," you tell him earnestly, "even though I didn't ask you to. I should've told you."

He exhales through his nose, bumping your shoulder. "Yeah, you should have."

He loops his arm through yours as you step off the curb and you lean your head on his shoulder for a second before unlocking your car. You were stupid to let Viper's words get to you. He's your best friend.

He's your best friend, and you love him.

***

One of the first happy memories at the office in a long time comes in the form of JJ coming in with baby Henry. It feels like a welcome relief to see her face back in the bullpen, and for a few peaceful moments, everything feels like it's back to normal.

You know firsthand how much this job takes from people, and Jordan's absence in the office now doesn't go unnoticed, even with a sweet baby boy here to take your mind off of it.

Is this my fault?

Rossi had tried to talk her down after discovering that the unsub had killed his entire family in their home, seemingly after her press release, but sometimes the words aren't enough.

I'm not sure I can do this job.

There had been so much anguish in her voice as she admitted to Rossi that she wasn't cut out for this line of work, but no part of you judged her for it. A bigger piece of you almost envied her ability to recognize that she was in over her head - that she couldn't keep going like this.

Looking at JJ now though, you feel a sense of hope again, like maybe this job doesn't take everything from you.

"I thought you could use a surprise," she smiles, cradling Henry in her arms under a swath of blankets.

"He's beautiful," you whisper, stepping in closer to get a better look at his little scrunched-up face.

Penelope comes back into the room with a freshly warmed up bottle of milk, and JJ starts to feed him as everyone leans closer in wonder. "I wanted us to have at least one good memory to hold onto in this room."

Before you can react, Derek is pushing past you and Spencer. "Excuse me, kid. Um, JJ, can I..."

He points to the bundle in her arms and she looks at him with a soft grin. "Of course."

She carefully transfers Henry into his arms as all of the women worriedly chime in with reminders and comments on his form.

"You gotta hold his head up."

"Careful, you're smothering him!"

"I got it," Derek chuffs, before rocking Henry in his arms. "Look at that, what's he doing? He's smiling at Derek Morgan."

Penelope and Emily share a look. "Gas."

He shoots them a pointed glare, before grabbing the bottle from Garcia's hand and feeding Henry himself. "Hey, little man."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face as you step back to give them some room. Your shoulder bumps into Hotch as you step around JJ, and you look back at him, noticing the little curve of his lips. "You're smiling."

He glances over at you with an eye roll. "Gas."

***

"What's up, Hotch?"

You roll over and turn your bedside lamp on as you press your cellphone to your ear. The alarm clock beside you says it's just past five in the morning.

"We have a case."

You frown, pushing yourself up. "Wouldn't JJ usually call us to come in?"

"This one's different." His voice sounds slightly muffled and his tone is colored by a familiar tinge of irritation. "Dallas AG called me last night to come down here, and it looks like they may have a serial."

"You went alone?" you ask, trying to blink the grogginess from your eyes as you get out of bed. You are distinctly aware of how many questions you're asking, but your brain is still fuzzy from being woken up.

"Yeah," he says simply, before you hear someone call his name from the other end of the line. "I convinced them to bring the team in as well. Anyway, I have to go, but I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see you-" The line cuts and you sigh, tossing the phone down.

So much for a full night of rest.

***

Spencer briefs all of you on female serial killers on the flight over, and once you land, Hotch is waiting at the hotel. You drop your things off in your room and meet with him, Rossi, and Morgan to head over to the location of the latest crime scene, when another man is murdered.

"Victim was Joseph Fielding," Rossi explains when you enter the office building. "He was CFO here."

"Poisoned?" you clarify.

"And staged," Morgan adds, glancing over the body. This time, the victim was left out in the open, naked and tied up. There's no way the company can keep the media away from this one.

"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"

You turn around to see a man in a fancy suit stalking towards the four of you. You step back to let Hotch get around you, and he approaches the man with a frown. "I'm Hotchner."

"Larry Bartlett," he introduces himself. "I represent Mr. Fielding and Webster Industries."

Hotch angles himself to stand between the man and the body. "This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."

"I spoke to Ellen Daniels," he explains, his eyes glinting with over-confidence. "She said you're a very reasonable man."

You resist the urge to snort as Hotch moves to get the attention of the police officers nearby. "Escort him out, please."

"No, wait! The press is outside, and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?"

This time it's you who frowns. "We're not about to lie for you."

"Don't have to lie," he says, gesturing with his hands as though that will help his case. "Just don't comment."

Hotch looks at him for a moment, before excusing himself and pulling the rest of you aside. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"

Rossi shrugs. "Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake."

You almost smile. "He doesn't need to know that."

Hotch meets your eye for a beat before spinning around and putting his lawyer face back on. "We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails...everything."

***

When Penelope uncovers that the victims have all been withholding child support from their ex-wives, Hotch meets with the city's high-profile corporate lawyers to present the profile. You're not sure how helpful this will be, given that their primary motive is to protect their clients' companies, but it proves useful when one of the lawyers reveals that the unsub may have a penthouse to her name.

The apartment is massive. You walk around the living area, trying to find anything the unsub may have left out, but she has clearly been covering her tracks.

When you don't find anything by the bedroom, you head over to the walk-in closet where Derek and Emily are poking around her jewelry box.

"Hey, Prentiss," Derek suddenly says, lifting up a leather bodysuit and holding it in front of her. "Got a whip?"

Rolling your eyes, you smack the top of his head with the evidence baggy in your hands and walk back out to find Hotch. He's poring over her antique book collection when suddenly the apartment phone starts to ring.

You all argue for a few moments over who should take the call, and Derek quickly alerts Garcia to trap-and-trace it, before it soon goes to voicemail.

"Hi, it's me," the woman's voice says brightly in the voicemail message. "You know what to do." There's a beep, and then her voice comes back, more present this time. "Aaron."

Your eyes snap over to him, but he's still looking at the phone.

"I know you're up there," she continues. "Aaron Hotchner."

He reaches forward and carefully lifts the phone with his gloved hand. He walks over to the window as he presses it to his ear. "I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours."

You bend down and press the speaker button on the main console as he moves across the room.

"I thought I could trust you, Aaron." Her voice is tight over the line, the tiny speakers still enough to amplify the emotion in her voice. She sounds so...disappointed.

"Who says you can't?" he responds slowly, clearly testing the range of her emotion.

"I want to," she says quietly. "I even looked you up online. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings...and for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world."

You remember that presentation. There had been a shooting at an elementary school in Virginia, and the moment the news hit, he had been on the phone, discussing procedures to ensure it wouldn't happen again. You went with him that day that he gave the speech, and you could tell he had been thinking of Jack the entire time he was up there.

Hotch closes his eyes for a beat. "But I've disappointed you, haven't I? Just like all the other men in your life who've walked out on their families."

The line is silent, before: "Did you walk out on your family?"

Hotch looks down for a moment and you fight the urge to walk over and pull him into a hug. "No. My wife left me."

You can feel the team's eyes on you as you keep your expression neutral, your eyes focused on him.

"Do you have kids?"

Your mind flashes to Jack, and your chest feels warm as he nods, before muttering a quick "yes".

The woman speaks up again, her voice stronger yet more emotional. "How often do you see him?"

"I try to see him every week."

She scoffs. "Do you see him every week?" Her question is like a jab, trying to push him into doing or saying something that will prove he's just like the other men in her life.

"No," he admits, glancing back at you. You nod, trying to let him know that you're right here. "I don't get there as often as I want."

"I believe you." Her voice softens and you watch as Hotch's expression turns back to his thinking face. He has an idea.

He lets her talk for a minute, listening in to Garcia's updates on the trap-and-trace, until he chimes in again. "But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?"

You can hear the confusion in her tone. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you wanna show the world all these bad men, and my investigation's just getting in your way."

"No, Aaron," she sighs heavily. "You just want me to disappear, just like they do."

He shakes his head, turning to look out the window. "Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you. You don't know who to trust. Am I right?"

There are tears in her voice as she quietly whispers an acknowledgement.

"Come to me and turn yourself in." He walks back to the living area. "I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear."

His voice is a comfort, and for a brief moment, you think that he could probably convince you to turn yourself in if you had to.

There's a beat of silence, before a small rustling sound. "If we met under different circumstances...I could believe that."

The rustling continues, before her tone changes completely, going from soft and meek to strong and icy. "I won't let you cover this up."

There's a gunshot right before the call cuts out.

***

You follow Hotch and Derek into the hotel room, checking behind you as you aim your gun out in front of you. Once Garcia found Megan Kane's address and client list, everything else fell into place.

The room is empty, except for a gun and a bottle of champagne placed theatrically on the center table.

"Hotch," Derek whispers, pointing out at the balcony, where a figure is laying down on one of the lounge chairs.

His brow furrows and he lifts his hand. "Wait here."

"You sure?" you ask, stepping forward to get a better look.

He nods. "It's over. She knows it."

Derek steps out to call 911, and you watch as Hotch approaches her slowly, tucking his gun into his holster before sitting on the chair beside her.

"Nothing will change," you hear her whisper, her voice overflowing with despair. "They'll just go back to doing whatever they want and they'll keep getting away with it."

He shakes his head. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

The response is almost corny, but his voice is so earnest that you find yourself believing him anyway.

He reaches forward and takes her hand, holding it tightly as her head lolls to the side to look at him. "How could your wife have ever left someone like you?"

He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the sadness permeating off of both of them as he comforts her in her final moments. Haley is one of your good friends, and you know she would've made their marriage work if it was something she could control. This job just isn't that.

Megan lets out a soft sob and you avert your eyes, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. "You're the first man I ever met who didn't let me down. Will you stay with me?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He holds her hand for a long time, and he doesn't stand up until you're certain she's been dead for minutes. The walk back to you is slow, and you can see the extra weight on his shoulders as he trudges across the hotel room.

You open your arms and he all but falls into them, letting you pull him into a tight hug that you can tell is holding him together right now.

"You did good," you whisper as his face presses into your shoulder. "You kept your promise. It's the last thing she wanted, and you gave it to her."

You feel him nod, and a moment later, he stands up, letting his arms drop like deadweights. His hair is slightly disheveled, so you reach up and push the front strands back from his forehead, before resting your hand on his cheek for a quick second. "Let's go home?"

He nods again. "Let's go home."

***

It's snowing. You don't realize it until you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of the Georgetown brownstone where the priest was taken in.

Emily and Derek caught him in the middle of an attempted exorcism, and you didn't arrive with the rest of the team until they were already bringing him out in cuffs. She looks shaken as she leads her friend out of the house and to the ambulance waiting on the street.

Once the paramedics take him from her hands, her body all but deflates, and she exhales deeply, as though releasing the pent-up tension from the day.

"Em," you whisper, approaching her slowly. "Can I drive you home?"

She doesn't look at you at first. Whites flecks of snow dance across your vision and stick to her coat and hair as she stares at the ground. After a moment, she shakes her head. "I'm gonna walk for a while."

Her feet don't move, and you're reminded of a conversation you had years ago, when she comforted you and offered you a quiet place to just be. Gently looping your arm through hers, you ask, "Do you want some company?"

She nods almost immediately, and you let her lead the way as you walk away from the red and blue flashing lights. You can't imagine how tough this case must have been for her, especially because the people she loved were so deeply involved.

The walk is silent, and you look down, watching the patterns the soles of your boots make in the snow. You only stop moving when Emily does, her sudden stillness tugging you back as she stands in front of a small church that she must have seen from down the street.

She lets go of your arm as she turns her face up to the sky, hugging herself in an effort to stay warm or shield herself. Maybe a mix of both.

"You don't have to say anything," you say softly as you turn to face the church as well, your shoulder pressing lightly against hers, "but if you want to, I'm always here to listen."

Emily glances up at the church, her eyes shining in the cold, and presses her lips together as she takes in a shaky breath. "My friend...who died...Matthew. He knew the Bible inside and out, and one day he started to question everything."

You think you know where this is going, but you don't want to interrupt her when she's letting out emotions she has clearly kept inside for years.

"We moved around a lot when I was younger, because of my mom's postings, and when you're 15, it's really hard to get accepted."

She's silent for a few moments and you take the opportunity to fill in the gaps for her, so she doesn't have to say it out loud. "You got pregnant?"

She nods, taking a deep breath. "Matthew wasn't the father. It-it was...something else. But I didn't know what to do. He told me to talk to our priest, but he just said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation."

Your throat tightens with tears and you blink them back, swallowing thickly. "What did you do?"

"Matthew found a doctor." Her arms tighten around her abdomen, and she lets out a small shiver. "He took me there, and he stayed with me. Then, when we got back, he held my hand and walked me into the church." Her voice cracks as she continues. "Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up and we walked to the front pew."

Her arms fall then, and you look up to see the wetness on her cheeks, pink from the cold. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy of...love, and friendship, but then his anger and questioning started." She finally looks at you, and her eyes are wide with grief and anguish. "He saved me, and it's my fault that his life unraveled."

You're shaking your head before she's even finished speaking. "Em, honey, it's not your fault. He was your friend. He loved you, and everything he did for you was his choice. Anything he discovered after that was already within him."

Another tear falls down her cheek and you reach forward to pull her into a hug that she accepts gratefully. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

Her hands clutch the back of your coat as she cries silently into your shoulder, and you don't let go until she finally stops shaking.

***

Hotch is ending a phone call when you step into his office. He sets it down and nods when you step inside, but you can see the lines of tension just in the way he's standing.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, walking inside and standing in front of his desk. "What was that call about?"

He doesn't look up. "Shaunessy died last night."

"Oh, Aaron, I'm so sorry." You squeeze his forearm over the desk, but he still won't look at you. "He was your first boss here at the BAU, right?"

He nods, before clearing his throat and straightening his back. "He was sick. This isn't a surprise, but there's something else we may need to talk about-"

He's interrupted by JJ coming into his office, a case file in hand. "Sorry, but you wanted to know immediately about any unusual Boston homicides?"

You see his jaw twitch as he takes the file from her and flips it open, scanning the first page quickly. JJ glances over at you, a confused expression on her face, but you can only shrug.

He looks up after a minute. "We're going to Boston."

JJ sputters. "Wha-what, but we haven't been invited?"

"We will be." He grabs his coat and sidesteps the two of you, before booking it out of his office. You're hot on his heels as he grabs his briefcase and alerts the team that they need to be ready to leave within the hour.

"What was that about?" Morgan asks, turning to you.

You shrug again. "I have no idea." You turn to the glass doors swinging shut behind him, and rush outside before you can second guess your actions.

"Aaron!" you call out, forcing him to hold the elevator for you. "Tell me what's going on."

He sighs as you step inside, and he sets the briefcase on the floor. "It's the Boston Reaper. He's back."

"The Reaper?" The name sends a shudder through your body. "That was your first case as a profiler, wasn't it?"

He nods, and you wait for him to continue. "He offered Shaunessy a deal that if he shut down the investigation, then he would stop killing."

His words take a moment to register, but then your face falls. "He took the deal. And now that he's dead..."

"The Reaper has started killing again."

***

The next crime scene comes in the form of an older couple, who were killed in their car on the side of the street. When you arrive, you discover that the unsub left behind the previous victim's watch, as well as a note.

You sidle up next to Hotch, bumping your shoulder against his to alert him to your presence. "Looks like he went through her purse. Any idea what he was looking for?"

He's so focused on the letter in his hands that he doesn't respond, so you lean in and read it from beside his shoulder. "The question mark is new."

"It's for us," he says suddenly, dropping his hand and looking at you. "He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had 10 years to save them and that these latest ones are on us."

You frown, trying to scrutinize the lines of tension on his face. "You got all that from one question mark?"

"I may know him better than I've let on."

Your brow furrows and you grab his wrist, bringing his attention back to you. "What does that mean? Aaron?"

"It means that there is a profile on The Reaper."

"You said you were called off before you could make one-"

"We were," he cuts you off, shaking his head. "I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done, but..."

You purse your lips. "But this case stuck with you."

He nods. "I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone."

You can imagine young Hotch, in his first years at the bureau, poring over the case file late into the night, because he couldn't put it away when the unsub was still out there. You realize, all of a sudden, that it reminds you of Gideon.

Looking up at him, you release his wrist, letting your fingers drag on his pulse for a moment before letting go. "We need to hear your profile."

***

After he gives the profile alone, you all head back to the hotel to get some rest before the long days ahead of you. In your heart of hearts, you know that no one will really be sleeping tonight, least of all Hotch, so you go up to his room with him to keep working on the case.

"Can you imagine living with the fear that the man who killed your fiancee, and nearly killed you, is still out there?" Your question is mostly rhetorical, but Hotch still lets out a soft grunt from the bed where he's poring over crime scene photos from the last few victims.

"It explains why Foyet went so underground," he says with a frown. "The multiple residences under different names, always taking the bus...I just wish he had taken us up on moving him to a safe house."

"I think that's actually the one part I do understand," you muse, looking up from the file on your lap. "Part of the reason why I came back from my dad's house so soon after Jeff died was because I needed everything to return to normal. I needed my life back."

He glances up at you then with a slight raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head before looking back down. It's okay. Not now.

He looks like he wants to say something, but then the hotel room phone goes off, piercing the air with a high ringing sound. He gets off the bed and picks it up, answering with a stern, "Hotchner."

He's silent at first, but you only look up when you hear him say, "You've misjudged me. I'm the guy who hunts guys like you...I'll see you soon." He slams the phone down on the receiver, and even though you know exactly what that was, you still need him to say it.

"Hotch, what was that?"

He rubs a hand over his face, pacing back and forth across the small space in front of you.

"Was that him?"

He doesn't respond, instead mumbling something under his breath that you can't make out. You stand up and cross the room, before grabbing his forearms so he's forced to look at you. "Aaron! What did he say?"

His eyes are frantic as he finally meets your eye. "He offered me the same deal...and I didn't take it."

***

"Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun and finished them off with his knife."

The scene inside the bus is horrifying. Blood is dripping from each of the seats, and the words "No Deal", along with a series of numbers, are painted in blood on the windows.

Rossi comes up beside you as you watch Hotch survey the scene, an eerie stillness to his composure. "What's going on with him?"

You glance at him, before turning back to Hotch. "The Reaper called him at his room tonight, offering the deal...and he hung up on him."

Rossi nods, before patting your arm and stepping around you. He nods at Hotch, grabbing his attention away from the scene he hasn't been able to look away from for minutes. "Y/N told me what happened earlier. So, what, you think this is your fault?"

"It is." His voice is shakier than you'd expect based on the resolution in his choice of words.

"Okay," Rossi shrugs, reaching for the gun in his holster. "Here, use mine." Your brow furrows and you step forward, making sure you're nearby in case this gets out of hand. You love Dave, but he can be a bit heavy-handed sometimes.

"You convinced me," he continues, shoving his hand forward. Hotch shakes his head, but he doesn't let up. "No, no, you hung up on him. You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us. We'll get this guy without you."

Hotch closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, they're shining with tears. You realize, with a shock, that you haven't seen him cry in decades. Not since the day after his father's funeral when Sean shut himself in his room for hours, because he truly believed that his brother didn't care about their family.

When he looks at Rossi again, a few tears have fallen down his cheeks. "I had ten years to do something about it."

"Look," he says simply, lowering his gun, "if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, then you go ahead. But that voice in your head, it's not your conscience. It's your ego."

Hotch deflates, and you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his wrist, maintaining a steady connection. He looks at you, and you dip your chin into a tiny nod. It's not always your fault.

He looks back at Dave with a heavy sigh, but he doesn't pull his hand from your grasp. "You can put that away now."

Rossi raises his eyebrows as he tucks the gun away. "You sure?"

Hotch shakes his head, unable to hide his smile, and you let out a little chuckle. "It's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

You and Hotch speak up at the same time. "Which one?"

Rossi shrugs. "All of them."

You laugh, before squeezing Aaron's wrist once more and letting go.

***

George Foyet is the Reaper.

You can't believe it even as the words circle around your brain. The team was able to catch him before he killed Colson, the journalist who wrote a book about him, but the victory still doesn't feel sweet.

I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.

His last words before Derek cuffed him and handed him off to the police. They won't leave your head even as you step off the elevator into the office. Emily and JJ are chatting about some new restaurant in town as they step out ahead of you, and you walk to your desk in a trance, unable to figure out why you aren't able to let out the breath you've been holding since you left for Boston.

Your question is answered when JJ runs back from her office a few minutes later, her phone clutched in her hand and a panicked expression on her face. "Foyet escaped."

***

It takes a while for Derek to get over the Foyet news. He took his badge and credentials when he knocked him out, and even with the replacement he was given, you know the knowledge that Foyet is out there is still irking at him.

Hotch isn't much better. He's been throwing himself into work extra hard, and you're worried he's going to burn out or simply combust if he keeps at it.

This is exactly what Foyet wants, you want to scream. He's trying to get in your heads and mess with your life, without even being here.

But you don't say it.

***

He's been so immersed in work that he doesn't really get to talk to you until a case in Oregon, where an unsub has been killing people by hitting them with his car.

You're grabbing a cup of coffee at the local police station, pouring in an uncharacteristic packet of sugar, when he approaches you, perching on the edge of the counter. "Sugar?"

"I know," you sigh, tossing the empty packet into the trash can next to you. "I just wanted something a little sweeter today."

"Can't argue with that," he says softly, making you smile. It drops almost as fast as it appeared, and he scoots closer as he hands you a wooden stirrer. "How are you holding up?"

This case can't be easy for you, especially knowing how your mom died. You don't talk about it often, but when you do, he can tell it's because you need to let it out. He's the same way with his father, only the feelings he is hiding from are different.

"I'm fine," you say quickly, like it's an automatic response. You both know it's a lie, and you close your eyes for a beat, dropping the stirrer into your cup. "I should be fine, but...I don't know." He follows your gaze over to the open case file across the table, and notices how your eyes hang on the crime scene photos. The car wreckage. The tread marks on the road. "I don't know why this case is affecting me so much. I didn't even see the crash when my mom died."

He reaches forward and closes the file. "Grief works in interesting ways." If there's anything he has the authority to speak on, it's grief. But then again, so do you. He doesn't know if he would've gotten through the aftermath of his father's death without you. Thinking about it now, he doesn't think he's told anyone else the whole truth about his family. "Anything can be a trigger."

"What was your trigger?" you ask suddenly, turning to look at him. "After your dad died?" Your eyes are full of curiosity, and for a moment, he wonders again if you really can read his mind.

He takes a deep breath before answering. "For a while, almost everything was. The smell of his beer, the material of his favorite coat...it all made me so angry."

"I remember," you whisper, setting your coffee down, "but soon after, that changed." You look at him with a small smile. "You met Haley."

His jaw twitches and he realizes that he wasn't even thinking about her. The first person that came to mind when he thought about his healing process was you. Haley was everything to him, but she wasn't built for the life he grew up with. She wouldn't have been able to understand the rage flowing through his body when he thought of his father's death. The anger and hurt he felt, that somehow always transformed to guilt when he went back home for the night.

"Yeah," he says after a moment, accepting your judgment, even if it is a lie. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore, so he diverts back to the original subject. "Your mother was different. She loved you exactly how you deserved to be loved. Even if it hurts sometimes, it's just a reminder that you had something great."

That makes you smile, and he feels warmth fill his chest. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He nods, patting your knee. "It's been known to happen."

***

You're in the passenger seat next to Derek when you see it. You watch him swerve his SUV into the unsub's truck in real time, but you still don't believe what you're seeing until the cars come to a stop, smoke billowing out of the front.

Derek screeches to a stop and there's glass everywhere as you throw yourself out of the SUV and race towards the collision site.

Aaron is stumbling out of his car when you reach him. There's a gash on his forehead, dripping blood down his face, and another on his arm. He tries to reach for his gun, but you grab his arms, holding him against the SUV.

"Sorry," he mutters through gritted teeth as you reach up to swipe the blood off his forehead before it falls into his eye. Your hand stays on his face as you survey the rest of him for any other wounds that may need your attention.

Once you're certain that he'll be okay, you turn back to him with a glare. "You scared the shit out of me." Your thumb is unconsciously rubbing circles on his jaw as he looks down at you. You are well aware that danger comes with the job description, but he also knows you would kill him if he ever put himself in serious danger, especially when it wasn't necessary. "Don't ever do that again."

He takes a deep breath as you pick a piece of glass out of his hair. When you return to meet his gaze, he reaches out to grab the strap of your vest. "I'm sorry."

You tug each other forward into a hug at seemingly the same time. You don't get the chance to be careful with his wounds as you collide into his chest, but you forget about everything else the moment his arms close around you. He's okay. He's alive.

"You don't get to die on me," you whisper into his collarbone as you tighten your grip around him. "Promise me."

You know it's not fair. You know it's not something he can control, especially with the kinds of people you chase on a daily basis, but it doesn't matter, because he knows you. He knows when you need the facts, and when you need reassurance, so instead of uttering a funny quip or a painful truth, he just says, "I promise."

***

Are you sure it's okay that I'm coming?

You type back a response as soon as you see the message on your phone. Of course. Dave invited you and Jack, and I would love to see you too.

A few minutes later, you get a simple Ok, so you set your phone down on the table and stand up to join the rest of your friends. With summer around the corner, Dave wanted to host a garden party, and after the last few months, you definitely don't mind the respite.

"Come get some more food," he tells you the moment you approach them by the edge of his huge yard. He's standing with Derek, Spencer, and Penelope by a long table adorned with steaming dishes of bread, pasta, and salad.

"I'll explode if I eat any more," you say with a laugh as Spencer stuffs another piece of bread into his mouth. For a small as he looks, he can be a bottomless pit when it comes to good food. "Have you guys seen Hotch?"

"He isn't here yet," Penelope notes as Derek wraps an arm around her. "I'll keep an eye out though."

"Do you think he'll bring Haley and Jack?" Spencer asks as JJ approaches with Henry in her arms.

"I told her to come," you say, tickling the baby's chin with the tip of your finger. "It'll be nice to see everyone together."

As though conjured by their questions, the door to the backyard opens and Jack steps out with Haley and Hotch right behind him.

"You're here!" You walk across the lawn and give her a quick hug, before bending down and lifting Jack into the air. "What's up, Jack-o-lantern? You're so big now."

"Yeah," he giggles, wrapping his arms around your neck. You press a loud kiss to the side of his head and he bursts into a fit of giggles as you tickle his belly with your free hand.

"I'm so glad you made it," Dave says from behind you as he comes over and gives Haley a hug. "We love having you here."

She raises her eyebrow at Hotch, but there's no intention behind it. Divorce seems to have treated them well, reminding them of all of the good that was there before everything else got in the way. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Seriously, thank you," Hotch agrees, before reaching out to take Jack from your arms.

"Any time," Dave says sincerely, before nodding at him. "Come help me grab some more wine from the cellar."

They disappear into the house, and you pull Haley down with you into two of the chairs by the edge of the sprawling yard. "Hotch and Jack are sweet together."

She nods, looking wistfully at the door. "He loves any time he gets with his dad."

"It can't be easy," you say slowly, hoping you aren't breaching a boundary unknown to you. "I've seen firsthand how busy the job has been getting recently. I haven't been home before midnight in over a week."

She's silent for a moment, and you worry that you crossed the line, but then she just smiles. "He's trying so hard...and that's all I can really ask for, isn't it?"

You suppose she's right. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a person who fights as hard as Aaron does to get home to his family at the end of the day.

"You're good for him, you know." You look at her as she crosses one leg over the other. "You always have been."

"You are too."

"I know," she says, before shaking her head. Her expression is warm as she smiles at you. "It's not the same, though. Even when you weren't around, you were in everything he did."

You don't know exactly where she's going with this, and you're acutely aware of the choruses of laughter floating over to you from across the lawn as she reaches out to squeeze your arm. "He loves you."

Your face transforms into what you imagine is a look of confusion. "I love him, too. He's my best friend."

Haley looks at you for a moment, before shaking her head with a nearly inscrutable sigh. "Anyway, thanks for convincing me to come. I'm gonna get some food."

~

Eventually, the sun sets, and the string lights in Dave's backyard turn on, along with the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald and Sam Cooke. He helps Derek and Will push the tables and chairs aside to make room for a dance floor, and soon, Haley is in his arms as they swing along to the lilting tunes filtering out over the yard.

It feels natural, dancing with her like this, but at the same time, he knows it's different now. He holds her firmly as she tilts in his arms, loose from the wine that Dave made sure was pouring all night, and she lets him swing her around the lawn, no care in the world.

Soon, the song changes, and she looks at him with a dreamy smile. "You love this song."

It's a soft tune by Sam Cooke, one he can't remember the name of right now, but he smiles at her as he nods. "I'm glad you're here. You and Jack."

"I missed you all," she says, before cracking a smile. "Mostly just Y/N though."

That makes him laugh, and before he knows it, Dave is walking over, with you on his hand, asking to trade partners for the song. "I haven't gotten to talk to Haley all night."

It's not the best excuse, but Haley doesn't seem to mind at all. "Of course, I'd love to dance."

Dave whisks her away, and Hotch holds a hand out for you, pulling you into another steady swing.

"I love this song," you whisper as the two of you fall into a rhythm. "I Wish You Love."

Right, that's what it's called. His hand settles on your waist as you grip his shoulder, and he can tell you've had a bit of wine too, but only because of the red tint of your cheeks.

"This is nice," you say after a few beats of silence. "We don't get to do this often."

He nods, turning you to make room for Derek and Emily, who are swinging heartily across the yard. "It's nice to see the kids together." He glances over your shoulder to peer at JJ, who has Henry and Jack in each of her arms. She has jumped head first into motherhood, and it suits her.

The song changes to something a little slower, so he steers you to the edge of the dance floor, taking control as your feet glide after him. Maybe you've had a bit more wine than he first assumed.

The thought makes him chuckle and you look at him with a quizzical expression. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, and clasps your hand tighter to hold you to him. He glances over your shoulder again and finds an excuse for his laughter almost immediately. "Garcia is trying to teach Reid how to dance."

You tug his arm immediately, spinning the two of you around so you can see the situation he described, and your face breaks out into a wide grin when you spot them a few paces over. "The poor kid has no coordination."

As you watch them dance, he watches you. The way the string lights glance over your exposed shoulders. The sparkle of your eyes under the waning moonlight. He realizes, not for the first time, how beautiful you are.

He could give himself the usual excuse, that it's just the time of the night, or the single glass of red he drank a few hours ago, but tonight, he lets himself just be there.

You're his best friend, and he loves you. He's here, dancing around the grass with some of his closest companions, and you're with him. For once, he can just be.

***

You can't the pile of shoes out of your head. Derek and Emily were able to find the girl before Lucas Turner killed her, but even after arresting him and getting her back to her mother, the case is still sticking with you.

89 pairs of shoes.

You shake the thought from your head as you get into Hotch's car in the field office parking lot. He insisted on driving you home after seeing the look on your face in the plane, and for once, you didn't argue with him.

"I can't stop thinking about them," you whisper as he pulls out of the lot. "So many lives that are forever changed because of two men."

You saw how Derek reacted when he found the box of muddy shoes. You saw JJ's face after she had to shoot Hightower for murdering the man who experimented on his sister.

"I'm thinking of giving everyone a few days off," he says, glancing over at you. "We all need some time to get away from this job. I'll put the request in tomorrow morning."

You nod, unable to voice your opinion. You feel depleted, without having even witnessed the horrors you know occurred up on that farm.

It takes a second, but eventually you regain the ability to speak. "Do you think it's worth it?" Your voice feels like sandpaper, but the question hurts more than anything else. "This life, I mean."

He mulls it over, and you notice his grip tighten on the steering wheel in front of him. "I think it has to be." Your brow furrows, and you don't know whether you want to scream or cry at how terrible that answer feels right now, but he isn't finished. "We have put too much of ourselves into this job to allow us to forget about all of the good that has come out of it too. If we choose to forget the good, then none of it means anything."

You look at him in wonder, realizing he has voiced exactly what you needed to hear. You're constantly awestruck by how he always seems to know exactly what to say to bring back your sense of purpose.

"You're good at this whole leadership thing," you say softly, cracking a smile when he looks at you. "You help me grow."

He pushes you just hard enough to help you transform into something so much bigger and better than you hoped you could be. His chin dips and he turns back to the road as your neighborhood comes into view. "You help me grow too."

You lean your cheek on your palm as you snuggle further into the seat. "I called Josh Cramer, over at organized crime."

His eyebrows raise with surprise and he glances over at you. "Jeff's old boss? How did that go?"

During your last interaction at the BAU office all those years ago, you weren't ready to see him yet. He still reminded you of the hate and anger and guilt you felt over Jeff's death.

The last few months have been kinder to you, though. It doesn't hurt as much when you think about him.

"It went well," you sigh, looking out the window at the houses passing by. "Even though it'll never really be the same, it felt more like old times, if that makes any sense."

"It does," he says simply, providing you an acknowledgement before letting you fill in the spaces yourself.

You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs, before letting it out again. "He told me a story from before Jeff went undercover. It was just a dumb story about some night his team went out for burgers after wrapping up a case." Your breaths get shallower, but the tears you are expecting don't come. "Apparently, he made the team go to three different burger spots, because he wanted to bring me back curly fries, and none of the places were selling the kind I like."

You clear your throat to dispel the tightness, and when you look back at him, the car has come to a stop in front of your house.

"That sounds like him," Hotch says, smiling at you as you chuckle to yourself.

You nod, closing your eyes for a beat. "I guess I just wanted to say that, yeah, our lives are sometimes changed inalterably, but...it's not always bad. I met him, I loved him...and then I lost him, but I still wouldn't take back any of it."

His eyes crinkle and he looks out the windshield for a brief second. "Me neither."

It's already late, and you don't want to take up any more of his night, so you bid him goodbye and shut your door after making him promise to actually get some rest.

Your front door shuts behind you, and you hear the sound of his car driving off as you exhale heavily. Your house feels big with you here alone, but for once, you revel in the solitude. Finally, a few days of peace and quiet.

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[fintan-pyren]

Sometimes, life is busy. You shouldn't let that stop you from enjoying a good book, but who has the time to read the same words over and over again?

For your enjoyment and convenience, I have removed all duplicate words from the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book.

blurry fractured memories swam through sophie’s mind but she couldn’t piece them together tried opening her eyes and found only darkness something rough pressed against wrists ankles refusing to let move a wave of cold rushed as the horrifying realization dawned was hostage cloth across lips stifled cry for help sedative’s sweet aroma stung nose when inhaled making head spin were they going kill would black swan really destroy their own creation what point project moonlark then everblaze drug lulled toward dreamless oblivion fought back clinging one memory that could shine tiny spot light in thick inky haze pair beautiful aquamarine fitz’s first friend new life ever maybe if hadn’t noticed him day museum none this have happened no knew it’d been too late even white fires already burning curving city filling sky with sticky smoke spark before blaze miss foster mr sweeney’s nasal voice cut blaring music he yanked earbuds out by cords you decided you’re smart pay attention information sophie forced open not wince bright fluorescents reflected off vivid blue walls amplifying throbbing headache hiding sweeney mumbled shrinking under glares now staring classmates pulled shoulder-length blond hair around face wishing hide behind it exactly kind went way avoid why wore dull colors lurked blocked other kids who at least foot taller than survive twelve-year-old high school senior perhaps can explain listening your ipod instead following along held up like evidence crime though probably he’d dragged class natural history balboa park assuming his students be excited about all-day field trip didn’t seem realize unless giant dinosaur replicas came started eating people cared tugged loose eyelash nervous habit stared feet there make understand needed cancel noise hear chatter from dozens tourists echoed fossil-lined splashed cavernous room mental voices real problem scattered disconnected pieces thoughts broadcast straight into brain being hundreds tvs different shows same time sliced consciousness leaving sharp pains wake freak secret burden since fell hit five years old she’d blocking ignoring nothing helped never tell anyone wouldn’t you’ve above lecture don’t give asked pointed enormous orange duckbill center how lambeosaurus differs dinosaurs we’ve studied repressed sigh flashed an image card front display glanced entered photographic recorded every detail recited facts twisted scowl classmates’ grow increasingly sour weren’t fans resident child prodigy called curvebuster finished answer grumbled sounded  know-it-all stalked exhibit next over follow thin separating two rooms block muffled grabbed little relief nice job superfreak garwin chang boy wearing t-shirt said i’m gonna fart sneered shoved past join they’ll write another article child teaches lame-o-saurus still bitter yale had offered full scholarship rejection letter arrived few weeks allowed go parents much pressure young end discussion so attending closer smaller san diego college year fact some annoying reporter newsworthy enough post local paper chooses ivy league complete photo freaked wasn’t strong word more half rules unnecessary front-page articles pretty worst nightmare they’d newspaper complain editor seemed unhappy story run place on arsonist terrorizing trying figure mistake bizarre white-hot flames smelled burnt sugar took priority everything especially unimportant girl most ignore or used caught sight tall dark-haired reading yesterday’s embarrassing black-and-white looked seen particular shade teal smooth sea glass beach glittered flickered expression gaze disappointment decide shrugged leaning closed distance between smile belonged movie screen heart did weird fluttery thing is pointing picture nodded feeling tongue-tied fifteen far cutest talking i thought squinted brown uh yeah sure say reason felt conversation accent british somehow crisper which bothered know are suck words soon left mouth course boys cute made mushy perfect returned told hulking greenish standing albertosaurus all its lizardesque glory me do think that’s it’s absurd

isn’t see saw small t rex: big teeth ridiculously short arms fine laughed i’ll get meet turned leave just classes kindergartners barreled fossil crushing screaming knock step whole realm pain kids’ stinging high-pitched needles many once angry porcupine attacking hands darted rubbing temples ease stabbings skull remembered alone reaction locked forehead pained imagined seconds hushed blood drain mean created plenty racket shrieks squeals giggles plus sixty individual chattering away gasped solved earlier everyone boy’s distinct accented speaking totally completely silent possible whispered widened moved whisper telepath flinched skin itch gave can’t believe backed exit reveal total stranger okay holding sort wild animal calm afraid froze my name’s fitz added stepping name searching sign part joke joking thinking wobbled spent seven find someone else world tilted sideways steady here looking twelve we better question: want air jerked bolted door stumbling shaky legs rhythm sucked breaths ran down stairs burned lungs bits ash flew ignored wanted space strange come shouted picked pace raced courtyard base steps wide fountain grassy knolls sidewalk got inside because poor quality footsteps gaining wait pouring energy sprint fighting urge glance shoulder halfway crosswalk sound screeching tires reminded both ways terrified driver struggling stop car plowed right die second blur swerved missing inches jumped curb sideswiped streetlight heavy steel lantern cracked plummeted instincts hand shot pulling strength somewhere deep gut pushing fingertips force collide falling gripping extension arm dust settled floated feel weighed ton put familiar warned bringing trance shrieked dropped without hurtled watch yanking split crashed ground impact knocked tumbled body broke fall landed chest stretched flurry questions swirling coherent idea sat replaying sense need witnessed miracle tighten panic let’s overwhelmed plan resist street reached intersection north zoo where crowd during firestorm running missed hearing changed terrifying scenarios involved government agents throwing dark vans experiments watched road ready bolt anything suspicious zoo’s massive parking lot relaxed outside milling cars happen witnesses slowed walk breath promise sincere easier opened hesitated supposed am trust won’t considered father sent specific age observe report always talk frowned disappointed himself does means expected threw what’s wrong touched eyelids suddenly selfconscious figured again awe us stopped whoa hang ‘one us’ frowning spotted fanny-pack-wearing within earshot deserted corner ducking green minivan there’s easy we’re human stunned speak hysterical laugh escaped repeated shaking riiiiiight insane trusting kicked stomped telling truth minute last listen plea humans vanished gone reeling leaned argued taking clear set pole minutes ago almost three managed finally saying alien erupted laugher cheeks grew hot also relieved compose elf hung foreign object belong visions tights pointy ears danced giggling expect guess stick wavy spikes rock star good crazy agreed refused serious frodo ring save middle-earth toys hid corners showed oh ought folded slender silver wand intricate carvings etched sides tip round crystal sparkled sunlight magic asking rolled actually pathfinder spun latch top dangerous you’ll faded depends take concentrate matter happens proof prove whisk land curious harm someone’s willed palms sweat fingers laced stupid tingled everywhere scanning warning look scowled bit tongue concentrated racing seriously become those silly girls counted raising facet beam refracted tightened grip forward warm tingling million feathers swelling underneath tickling giggle melted goo keeping oozing blanket warmth wrapped faster blink eye might squeaked stood edge glassy river lined impossibly trees fanning emerald leaves among puffy clouds row castles walt disney throw rocks kingdom golden path led sprawling elaborate domed buildings built brick-size jewels each structure color snowcapped mountains surrounded lush valley crisp cool

cinnamon chocolate sunshine places exist less appear forgotten released realized hard squeezing unable castle towers oddly our capital call eternalia heard shangri-la lost cities you’d stories rarely ridiculous things elves burst quiet gentle breeze brushing soft murmur traffic hammering unspoken very silence rising tiptoes view streets ghost town building towered others stones emeralds banner flying tribunal progress everyone’s watching proceedings council basically royalty holds broken law they’re deal laws well shook wrap cringing question funniest glared funny regained control try cling remaining strands sanity sun casting ray onto leaping hitched ride headed impossible infinite travel haven’t theory relativity stumped dumbest i’ve albert einstein huh dumb argue confident unnerving harder waited feather sensation dryer scattering directions until rubber band later shivering ocean whipping glowed carved moonlight failed passed bring herself true science book read confused observed ‘hey learned smug grin best minds begin comprehend complexities reality elves’ ahead slowest trump proper education shoulders sagged sank four scenery blurred whether tears entire lie nudged hey fault believed taught i’d done works bells chimed large gateway floor-length velvet capes draped tunics emerged followed creatures marching military formation rocky pants muscles prominently flat noses coarse gray pleated folds armadillo goblins signed treaty hating trembling dressed forbidden lumenaria worlds gnomes dwarves ogres trolls mentioning focused motioned farther squatting betrayed ancient councillors intelligent rule planning war ancients violence disappeared forbid any contact devices working defend race famine problems chilled frigid wind licking who’d known must’ve after eventually evolved myths simple yes peeked glowing crucial identity clicked spinning thousand loud clang gate stepped shadows sleek cobalt home jolted mom bus bland boring stole incredible blinding swept smoky fresh surprised recognized plain square houses narrow tree-lined house ask lived coughed handle putting pollutes planet these aren’t normal chemical smells usually wildfires smell barbecue melting cotton candy burn rain arsonists admitted pocket hoping notice dad wants knows neither important meant mystery he’s happy careful please shown today thank act family doesn’t suspect squared courage telepaths special ability rarer ones thirteen six months corrected liking youngest manifest start reverberated scanned positive waking hospital moment forget hooked kinds machines hovering shouting barely separate hold happening group adults haunted worry brows narrowed doing extra private keep wall weak hated bossed answering concerned action worked imagining stretching shadow mine blurted pale process hardest worries live fumbled answers long trouble knees link amazing will tomorrow panicked battered cluttered living phone she’s receiver having reeled daggers calling wandering worried police sorry stammered convincing horrible liar scared mom’s anger concern nervously curly guy realizing lies based freaking walked trolley train teacher guard ugh complained closing adult rubbed wrinkle appeared stressed upset safe stand weirdo understood dangers teased tormented bullied deflate wish trailed close rest sister slipped pin painful tight hug welcome honey dinner ten amy upstairs kitchen unease twist stomach worn linoleum pastel tacky knickknacks ordinary glittering kissed cheek shabby briefcase table how’s soybean wink baby apparently pronouncing thousands times lid simmering pots garlic cream filled handed silverware turn crackin’ scooted plopped usual chair nine role mastered opposite lower average grades popularity sisters wondered definitely powers lowered breathing: inhale exhale repeat care nickname dizzy must lay should eat skipping acting fettuccine night favorite rich sauce sudden nausea tug eyelashes chewed bite swallow fork official thanks great homework sprinted bed hiss shattered marty pounding fluffy cat sitting tail slunk settling lap marty’s purring

confront downstairs settle explained blonde chubby brunette screamed throbbed deeper ripped apart blinked related change lots adopted poked brought e l fudges plate cookies milk getting sick palm fever tired cookie stumbled routine crawled blankets wrapping pillow dreams kissing tucked tradition breathe ella yep elephant stuffed sleep tonight um guys hugged tighter hours labor endured switched birth daughter doubt wondering anymore dreamed keebler perfected recipes liked oreos drown vat fudge woke overrated morning quick shower jeans shirt buttery yellow stripes item closet self-conscious wear gold flecks admit clipped toyed lip gloss snuck check crept yard blinking stuck contained next-door neighbor perch middle lawn forkle rearranging garden tableaux nosy checking effect beady bored hers loved sentences complaining 911 obligated gnome fraction inch gives headaches yapping interrupted ball fur streaked barking spandex jogging shorts chased grabbing dog leash clumsy lunge kneeled stroking wild-eyed panting creature drew growled strained mad sister’s hates displaying several halfmoon wounds bleeding scar suppose willing carry blocks seems winked piercing certainly yelled jogger guy’s louder chaos wonder grab drag should’ve trick react stopping tracks side man straightened height quite intimidating ordered glowered promised snorted grumbling moving explaining whenever appearance waiting incident eyewitnesses frustrating confusing bell rang lurking scream demanded loudly heads bad flashing cocky rush blush unanswered tries creepy snatch slow replayed scene remember growling forkle’s quietly quieter we’ll we’d eyeing suspected impending mischief leap english ditch yesterday strangle pull disappearing fail willingly use telepathy brushed whispering pushed further test tested permission assignment frustrated matters invading offense scrunch nod movement nearby oak drowned could’ve sworn jogger’s campus gestured tree either imagine adjusted shouldn’t anyway who’s committee sidelong heat breaking automatically furious enjoyed caused determines grinned future shield surveyed surroundings metal nearly everglen leading doors absorbs directly likes privacy stressful doubted king kong faint click swung inward striking clearing growing midnight cape fastened clasp diamond-encrusted wings lean vibrant resemblance alden introduced bow curtsy shake greet shy pleasure prominent kidding unusual flush smiled embarrassed fire alden’s injury muttered son shared kidnapping considering such might’ve paranoid has touch rude assure love kidnapper searched reassure kindness agree placed gently jacket ticked indeed fascinating sounding triumphant perfectly specifically nexus forgot covered dug cuff coat clamped bracelet wrist twisting fit snug comfortable accessory single jewel rectangle symbols letters spelled gibberish odd decorate finality safety precaution break particles carried concentration circumstances bare early fools overestimate skills fade cautious answered lose yourself able fully reform pulls forever goose bumps dimple cleared throat prefer reproving send mission collect long-lost guests wiped blooming red pink purple rainbow perfume flowers dizzying testing qualify foxfire paused fungus insulted prestigious academy named represents glow darkened comes ‘fungus’ strongest talent kiss goodbye excuse proud attend accomplishment earliest levels develops abilities continue studies elvin sneak work knowingly chills mixed night’s troubling revelation sickening councillor bronte difficult impress feels upbringing lack disqualify surprises existed miffed votes squat brown-skinned huge tended fairy tale plants slantways shuffled carrying basket twinkling fruit guessing pictured men hats statues servants stare choose safer gardens enjoy privileged taste gnomish produce lunch treat dig slimy tubers slugs hoped menu peeled meadow elegant manor entirely intricately numerous turrets gables rose tower resembled lighthouse braided foyer prism widest hallway fountains spouted streams colored water hall dead-ended encrusted jeweled mosaic

diamond unicorns amethyst spoke wealth squeezed formal dining sheer silk curtains drawing chandelier waterfall shimmering crystals platters fancy goblets figures jewel-encrusted circlets plush thronelike chairs surrounding curtsied necks clasps keys horribly underdressed fabrics except disguise kenric oralie football player toothy princess rosy ringlets met smallest cropped features finger pairs floor laughter squirmed joined pleased shape it’ll transformed noticing autorepeat: scooting oralie’s one’s died yet hurt immortal trace sorrow bodies aging reach adulthood wrinkles belongs yourselves guest uncovered grimace strips glop goop tasted juiciest cheeseburger stuff mashed carnissa root umber leaf tastes chicken animals tone ate toxic waste squirming grimaced vegetarians horror vegetables cheeseburgers tells swallowed mouthful thud discussing openly respond kenric’s jaws dry remembering warnings stay begun eight pass mentioned learn relax bronte’s icy gust common announced jaw flushing chagrined incredulous impenetrable key sentence ‘almost breached guilt conscience sounds infallible thinks likely exceptionally lift weight telekinesis recovering embarrassment shrank goblet accident raised lifting invisible scoffed unimpressed limitations unlike physical confidence clue giving blew pretending imaginary extend sharper worth saucers applauded excellent praise couple glasses determined stronger ounce core empty collective gasp including breathed celebrate cramped strain knocking thunderous collision open-mouthed shock hollered sealed clapped language guys’ enlightened leaped instinctive interesting babbling teasing noisy gripped ‘soybean’ mispronouncing blushed chuckled beside dusting waved insisted sighed suldreen stretch line rare species bird puzzle solve uncomfortable coincidence convince decision barked shoving moonlarks vote otherwise fight favor final fragile lovely empath emotions extended grasped delicate fear confusion sincerity describe azure settles revisited till adjust invoke demand probe planned arranged quinlin busy decipher fun training looks iffy ‘bothered’ dad’s reluctant emptiness exploded choked saving colder implications ditched stall punishment atlantis nowhere patch white-capped waves signs seagulls screech poop hardly continent tide pool triangular slip slick shoes match gown begged status noble members nobility offices empire waist beaded neckline dress costume seeing clothes: tunic embroidery edges pockets sewn sleeves exact size sit boots completed thankfully knowing biana comparison changing subject ledge engineered catastrophe compartment revealing bottles label bottle whirlpool uncorked flung blast whipped faces roar churning ladies suggested worse gulped maelstrom beneath salty sprayed jump push count dignity drowning flailing idiot formed tunnel dipping weaving craziest waterslide starting launched vortex sponge licked toe pack kittens minus kitten sprang cushion smoothed wet incoming rocketed slightly squishy packed sand gleaming metropolis dome beyond soared skyline bathing radiating spires network canals interconnected arched bridges pictures venice modern clean despite bottom underwater muted hum background seashell ear build stores power precisely amount changes plated reflect firelight illuminate sink wandered shops renaissance fair women’s gowns shifted advertised two-for-one specials bottled lightning fast approval spyball applications strolled hybrid chicken-lizard invented main canal hailed carriages floating almond-shaped boat rows high-backed benches elbow-length steered bench reins skimming surface eight-foot-long scorpion deadly pincers reared curled sting eurypterid stroked shiny shell eurypterid’s slice emitting low hissing petted harmless carriage quinlin’s yours fiber mutant insect doom probed gritted pressing hideous sonden’s office thrashed heebie-jeebies commute while secure needs protection file highly classified business district windows tracing bearing names treasury registry interspeciesial services unreadable random strings runes nonsense writing

alphabet clueless chin jumble nah affected gap kid option country tests dropping member broad kelp ornamentation precise read: sonden: chief mentalist cube swiped elbow ping assurances humiliating bypassed receptionist dim damp stone desk dark-skinned chin-length seat ceremony unique understatement squirm handing lick dna unsanitary tiniest hologram center: rotating unearthly breathing prentice sacrificed double helixes sacrifice reasons fears hundred seventy-eight murmured began pacing invaded she’ll greatest keeper older midstep record share trained charge protecting currently hidden karaoke game sing off-key notes clearly eavesdropping strip slid winding stairway climbed oval footage brush projected chill aerial southern california lines circle area images deepened valleys ruled reflections note interrupting communicate waving warn turning overreacting glancing shuddered desperate kidnapper’s threatened easily implied nameless faceless entity quickly threatening authorities would’ve shivered accelerant chemicals leads lighting spilling oil blowing investigate council’s position here: takes visit babysitter decent equally spying steam secrecy existence discovered hoax search updated slight bypassing distracted evillooking matches keepers lagoon glint shimmery dunes lake west shore statue topped hollow iridescent film shimmered loop apparatus resemble bubble lifted clung shrieking levitate forming touching bubble’s rumble coming geyser shoot eleven crash below bobbed where’s scary pure joy popped whisked glaring gates flash strode olive contrast youth shone nerve summoning personal shorter intimidated difference sooner exiled clench fists backward tiergan aware opinion summoned convinced tiergan’s fierce crumbled crossing expert inventory widening whatever foxfire’s newest mentor puppy officially weirding becomes provide retired given persuaded return resentment mixture surprise hone assistance reasonable restrictions pretend opportunity silencing bet terrible mood mumbling mostly irresponsible manage choice benefit stares notify dame alina returning kept bruise meantime session listed remedial schedule lessons dummies correct assumption warmed tuesday brilliant panel everglen’s grounds sessions study student subjects one-on-one nerves one-onone succeed mention level grade relearning self-doubt heavier fragmented disappear explanation aside pleasant dis arguing overstuffed armchairs woman squealed snickered wife della pinched gesturing dear vanishers smiling musical hint della’s beauty tossed pursed heart-shaped parents’ combined gangly troll interceded borrow errands frumpy files requested denied request approve grady edaline case torn radiant parcels strobe unwrapped packages clasped cord neck choker pendant elf-y anytime fund’s activated fund register money standard dollars lusters laughing luster dollar crinkled ew insult afford differently limited seventy eighty makes sad curved window overlooking silvery floor-to-ceiling aquarium wingback facing piled books scrolls anxiety remind stacks newspapers circled crossed news removed drawer theories irritation super stuttered discuss faced solution allow ours they’ve effective immediately too-simple accept kick constant discovery longer unbearable loneliness friends grasping overwhelm areas access severely restricted dead deciding gravestones became vivid: grave tearstained draw suffer struck complicated relocated jobs erase tear obvious believing shutting function erased armchair scrubbed forbade sob occurred risking twenty alert plans clothes sees wiping focus bent unshed horrors cringed buried trembled bouncing busted eavesdrop grounded hugging worrying pouted pettiness bratty obnoxious pain-in-the-butt embrace struggles play daughters mouths senses hook hurry daze rememorize room: dusty available quilt mother tripped furry crouching releasing pathetic meow disk sleeping gas release drugging physically ill backpack slung giggled elizabeth clutching anywhere couch fingered ordering thirty crumpled burying recognize crouched smearing drool snot drugged sobs

overcame jerk washers bags regret bear slept finish hawaiian family’s limp determination taken fourteen cried assured stranglehold haunting gets hope personally oversee relocation flared wrung guardians title selected enthusiasm strangers elwin’s blue-crystaled temptation shiver raked bones orphan conservatory lead backyard security choosing saved ache suffering gift raise ended abandoned wipe elwin physician medical hate doctors brave regular nightmares brief stays struggled dragging direction drop free implying biana’s glare escape punch bathed gigantic glued cushioned cot syringe goes fidget spectacles scientist snapped painless orb flasher manipulate skilled orem vacker show eclipse biggest celebrations traditions damage permanent tensed food chance innocent cells dashing depending orbs squinting lenses stunningly lit dramatic expecting toxins research rifled satchel vials liquids major detox braced medicine syrups nectar unknown fruits tingly drink youth legends enzymes essential health refreshing downed contents gulp drank medicines list follow-up checkup whistled sometimes heated lame stinky stegosaurus shame horrified production wimp doctor phobia jumping needle strap bunch shots allergic how’d concrete nine-one-one unconscious genes kicking trigger bedroom canopied chandeliers room’s gotten deserve ruined chanting mantra shut pajamas tuck asleep belonging alive twenty-five catch breakfast clock shop furniture detoxes materializing clutched ghostly exotic heartbreaker fitted glamorous shopping explosion behold wardrobe outfits extras pick beat-up sparkly casual packing leaked days unpack hungry knotted sadly dampened preserve havenfield exciting jolie deny loss wonderful booming fenced-in pastures spread scrambled versions rehabilitation centers sanctuary protected trap nessie artist endangered gorillas lions mammoths extinct thriving herd woolly colonies saber-toothed tigers slack exists rob qualities provides thrive feeding hunt diet steep cliffs caves flower-lined using ropes lasso lizard neon beast protest drama queen husky male commanded beast’s heave feat twice snaarrll bucked guardian lunged tangled writhed losing balance verdi tyrannosaurus comments meeting jaculus winged serpent feeds support contain bloodsucking snake claws snout tremble lowering fangs glinted slobber motioning glimpse dinosaur-riding chiseled feather-covered james bond robin hood balding relate handsome feathery banged pet rub rex’s stayed docile unblinking separated verdi’s wound plugged slime death rot tuna fish combination kelpie dung bites jar swear edaline’s grady’s wary compared palatial estate mansion standards columns cupola roof entryway central upper floors cascaded ceiling wispy fabric turquoise amber curls similar circles fluff presentable rex picking playing rodeo cowboy nope wash staircase sadness lingered tea mallowmelt insist gooey cake fresh-baked chip soaked ice frosting butterscotch dripping hasty slices served nook grazing linens painted china homesick woken lushberry juice pop possessed conjurer form teleporting objects coolest unfortunately scraggly slurps burps letting friend’s ached grieve fished imparter simply strangled pounded reassuring deafening third star-shaped dangled glittery weaved carpet scent canopy occupied dressing bookshelves brightly volumes bathroom bathtub swimming biting awesome assumed jolie’s tour awkward delicious soupy pizza unpacking wrinkled scrapbook wherever welled remnants dried sixteen sunrise streaks blending mirror darken awake finishing hovered doorway interrupt riser shades clap bruises conjured bowl spoon banana bread tempted impose sloppy handwriting upside symbol corner: bird’s beak tickled babble scare extremely documents cipher moisture particularly believable prescribed drawn eager fidgeting ruffles simplest bought hi kesler groaned island mysterium identical mold vendors spices sweets buzzed crowded sidewalks working-class social rank ‘talent simpler correspondingly unfair born lesser lives type designed village avoiding whispers ruewen pretended different

store crooked nursery rhyme burps: merry apothecary belched maze shelves pills laboratory beakers bubbling burners rainbow-colored lab skinny tousled strawberry periwinkle blob tubes add amarallitine dex tongs vial experiment poured beaker sparked plume dirty gag concoction exclaimed hello ‘hello impersonation sludge eda scrap sheet kesler’s brother-in-law nephew practically monday al freaks dimples burped beanpole hooded cloak vika annoyance handiwork written girl’s bald scalp meanwhile stina ’cause twitched battling sell solutions sasquatch dent bony appendages children throttle hairoids stock week wailed ogre wicked misses responsible friendly rage here’s spat helping customers potent hat flinch useless buy countered retort stina’s oooh slammed fist timkin heks helps situation traditional absolutely brings stuffy nobles happier grinning mess tweak supplies armful worktable sneaky beard dex’s evil mortar pestle teach tingle attempt fifty-seven solo property collapse practiced checked displayed sliver percent chose he’ll hawk mentors monitor weakness expelled pushes transferred exillium swallowing bile mounting attack messy juline riveted gossip interruption interest hilarious bookshelf mounted cover camera summer flipping pages naked mouse suit disneyland dizznee photos honestly movies outlets flipped technology solar powered rifling sir conley’s luck lady galvin highest rate rig calming flooded seventeen gadgets chimes arrive uniform skirt leggings shirt-vest-cape combo laceup jerkin long-sleeved slacks waist-length superhero captain blueberry rescue meaning order demonstrate rid wimpy halcyon mastodons mascot birds storm mastodon ceremonies costumes glad idiots appealing crest triangle heart: scarlet eagle soaring talons chemistry equipment theirs adopting adoption adopt temporary enrollment manticore themselves parties dies span cope calmed orphans wylie whose recover connection blames wylie’s hanging leapmaster 500 lucky authorized 250 tons rotated five-story pyramid sharply angled u stained seventh amphitheater extensive fields grass hopelessly prodigies uniforms building’s finding ducked starts orientation principal reads announcements attendance collar track peal close-up stunning porcelain caramel-colored foremost whoever reekrod weekend mark punished fullest extent threat dangle continued detect ah spotlight hissed viper’s nest ssssssophie hole crawl concludes today’s nearest exception divided wing banners bore midflight halls quad throughout sparkling sapphire chatted doorways lining atrium spectacle creating marked rune locker mirrored lock uses gross faculty picks flavors pepper sneeze croak yelped stench rotten eggs dash diaper muskog wheezy snicker whirled towering mass frizzy cackling hags stalking hairs shave earth serum friday retorted raven swishing behavior phasers ashamed apologize obviously spend detention alexine stinks beet minions kinda frog fumes catching jensi rapid-fire speech talked buckets redder instructed honest ‘human girl’ ‘sophie’ whim elementalism pride backtracked twists turns drops warped wooden session’s zapped ‘zapped’ thunderclap eighteen tray electrocuted quiver conley hitting fluted botched sending tornado tornadoes mastering elements entering foods series stalls court mall recognizable eaten tables cafeteria whom discourage joining verge perceptible message clear: focusing bigger jensi’s acne braces fairly slicked greasy ponytails drooled setting bang c’mon dude unison ‘e’ duh drooly volunteered singed universe daunting exaggerated messing ‘dude’ killing explode cough pixielike rescuing tossing petite balled braids suicide overeager marella mare nicknames obeyed enemies honored pucker licorice lemon fan prettypants rather grumpy brat brother’s dreamy willpower copying sip looped defending dizznees triplets says ‘bad match’ genetically incompatible inferior aunt uncle superstrange celebrities famous vackers superimportant marella’s sympathy grandma heartbroken helpless veins hopeless cases guarantee scooping mammoth shudder awful afternoon feared astronomical

learning astin whispery complex maps planetarium effortless excelled hour survived approaching dragon hateful invited feelings letters: extinguished stuffing fill animosity deck ‘nice uncanny royal highness bothers remembers talented ‘deck beaming nineteen thursday disaster goal sandwiched colosseum pe vanity near door: sneakers ponytail owned ship slap reply lasted compare redek squish may fool stops idle threats grouped twos tromps manifested fifty-fifty manifesting mysterious remark required variable reign terror ‘everyone’ impressive jolt supervise caton titan god informed channeling supereasy channel parts body: heights speeds normally unimpressive attempts threes bumped defense appetite startled spaceship unremarkable studying superintently snapping scraping probing concept unsettling establish forcing eighty-seven puckered brow assume cheerful scraped intended drained steadying suggest ethics attached meganeura exercise annoy fidgeted cocked wanna buzzing dived vulture-size dragonflies patted freaky-looking bug blown gargantuan proportions creepiest disco balls grown monster enclosure phys ed intense emergency weirdest part: proven trustworthy receive assignments lectured responsibility detecting discover elite avoided mesmer nauseated wow sheesh inflicting curiosity won causes dara lecture: pyramids tidal army hairy hollowing himalayas strangest mumble creeped exile interested dying supertalented fundamental guilty underground eternity ruin fluke churned abandoning illegal washer alter dump brother secluded sorted reminding effort flavored flumes spritzed shove disturbing failing smirked alchemy pupil encouraging cracking melody ominous ingredients trophies gilded items pointy-toed suspiciously midas milky liquid dancing rushing rustle red-brown updo hunter silky decorated patterns swished slightest alkahest universal solvent stored itself dissolves wood flesh taxes substance alchemist wise teaching masters tincture poultice basic serums yellowed box flask jars iron transmuting metals recipe formula labeled instructions fiddled rechecked mistakes plunged whip fizzed rumbled jelly galvin’s exquisite dissolved luxurious damaged salvage welt healing ma’am murder retrieve afterward muttering incompetence flunk sprawled hallways stark ditching keefe gulon disheveled untucked popular belva crush blame 90 certain paid accidentally cue epic alina’s ugly crying treated whiter phobia consisted rooms: treatment beds brewing physician’s paperwork slinky scurried bullhorn demented ferret banshee adorable fellow dramatically wanting seize mmm-hmm acid mimed effects destroyed salve measured whap wash present laughs clarification confirming twenty-one embellished version destruction joked bottling anwen multispeciesial 324 faxon metaphysics complimented requests brown-eye create overnight granted incredibly challenging explosions occurrence unlearn lifetime knowledge levitating rainbows constantly messed highlight skill effortlessly amazed unwanted transmit else’s psychic photograph needing patient plague suspicion snotty maruca i-hate-sophiefoster club reaching growl jealous prettiest bedlam subdue chasing rabbits antlers swinging trunk lump verminion pen boosted mammoth’s trumpeted earthshaking squeal ringing mound timid twig hiiiissssssssssss uncurled rodent bulging hamsters rottweiler-size hamsterzilla trample japanese hamster cooed snaarrrlll impressed chase steer dashed catches fifty stupidest clod mud nailed grooowwwwllll fatal flaw pinned grunted press snarling squeeze verminion’s unlocked assortment spewed whined pile gloves shed trade trudged oversize squirrels rats identify burlap sack quivering snarl steeled shriek batlike heaved wool scratches leg outbuildings carefully organized veterinarian’s laid sterile spreading limbs smeared eyedropper dripped creature’s rewarded squeaky rumbling crackly purr smiles cage barrel soapy chain-sawesque snores vibrating brattail tuber sausage imp guessed six-inch venomous stings snoring vicious describing tame yetis outnumbered conked chipper iggy strand swell

generous hugs touches gestures glistened dubious trails twenty-two sharing congested warthog roommate snuggly sleepless spoil caring ultimate splotching championship sacks cheered sympathetic secretly celebrating partnered naturally teamed splotcher splattered loses winners person wins marks smugly win splotch splat deserved colorful prize contest pardon hopes wonderboy gagging rounds beat opponent knots backing aim ow raw telekinetic flushed compliment disqualifies pumped victory hotter cheering opponents experience duel beginner’s talents mighty competition grumblings battle odds experienced evidently four: sixes trella dempsey paired hopeful muster bested winner fluttered appears competitors betraying butt preference keefe’s chant ladies’ float clenched adrenaline surged audience back-up splotches rebound phenomenon weightless collided simultaneous fate collapsed twenty-three placing compress wincing muscle injured whermiwhahapped worse: laying banshees mortal danger stirred lucid winced stiff glands zinged collected rebounded bounce specialized hammered controls actual mix matched draining practice evenly awfully sidelines wobbling auditorium applause teensy annoyed copied blushing elbowing ribs tie protested declared excused lesson rejoin splotchers acted delivered p congratulations confirm bath lathering bathers soggy instinctively besides creased drive twenty-four meter one-third younger that’d wonderboy’s precious midterms score seventy-five recommend nissa tutoring consider tutor projection gagged flavor yell daily tore prattle chewy caramel peanut butter pouch cracker jack horse mane prattles’ unicorn pins collection examined digital 122 185 number eighty-five super-rare bitterness vaguely compute unexpected development century too-little-too-late branch other’s replaced beeline simultaneously sniff aw stuck-up snob wasted invite humiliate walking ambush capable teeniest details clanged cricket chirped embroidered satin sash wringing exhaled seeming makeovers wrestling polite fortunately braid flutter dirt pitter-patter eh sayin’ shooting quest grateful team jealousy guarded raid questers tagged sentry tabs isolate general nail targets listened softer instantly presence tremendous connected forest thundered vision racked credible crashing bushes partner deceive insists hasn’t secrets toes staying chain apologizing visitors sulking funk snipe wagged there’ve weekly jokes havenfield’s defied exams panicking passing guide narrowing shipped exam brass copper transmutations ideas challenges thwarted spilled gashrooms reek pored frozen cause shattering cheated accomplished cheat ideal dreading twenty-six tri-angular apex streamed pane angle reflection examining confessed forgave neutral violated ethical regulations expulsion suggesting argument ruling obey flourish bother violating reporting stifle closely icily respect authority advises wedding flapped nor pointless cheating tolerated huffed regrets confess serve minimum assigning becoming theme slipping unnoticed what’d gloomy atmosphere desks thumbs-up siren song appreciation art nature clapping earsplittingly shrill whine whale nails chalkboard toddler uncover broadening horizons claiming repentant company brand torture ballroom belva’s sirens dances edwardian claimed valin ponytailed promenade dancers valin’s sweaty chime stars shined brighter spit wickedly slobbery octaves fanned hmm irritated flattered scored points empathy forked smirk ironing holes stack detained increased practicing leaps eyebrow empaths powerful mundane purification vein easiest transmutation lockers traded twenty-seven banging annoyingly caps disqualified chorus groans nonstop cap smurf amalgam telepathic integrity wrote essay betrayal over debate automatic 100 last-minute mentally repeating tips negative vibes stress ethic claim fame skipped skip supportive doubting brag mercifully stalled magenta berries rusty discipline chosen purify ruckleberries fifty-five nasty impurities elderly human’s alchemists methods dive knife pierced berry dribbled pinky haggard glacial quarters

deducted mediocre performance forth whirlwind crack exhausted brutal slamming slumped that’ll public hooks presents spine cards schools hassle babysitters edged obstacle tugging stressing rigid suitable gifts jewelry charms charm twenty-eight unrecognizable streamers shrub toilet-papered tinsel confetti bubbles prizes popping appointment teal-wrapped package uglier hurrying plowing regain literally prying trademark smirks spoken sapphire-encrusted navy-blue intently hairstyle contrasted pristine infamous deflated wilted father’s oily insincerity resigned flame cassius lord performing unremarkably radiated apologies fos er disappointing scores fake critical said: creeps prize-filled prattles dwarf lollipop topple snappy comeback comment loser fails organize overflowing half-empty month misunderstanding shushed slim parcel chiming signaled parent-mentor conferences celebration feast unwrap snatching self ‘dear dance sometime vice president boyfriend rattled reader tease ribbon tapped gadget fingernail speaker thingies coloring dunno disbelief variety edible glosses speckled spider snapper plant fed spiders riddler writes riddle miniature violet thanked showing misty seventy-nine improvement range sensing tomato congratulated comfort sobbing partying included sneer party note: f snap k sugarplums boy-craziness necklace cuffs wristbands vanisher platter customs gelled perfection gym ornate immaculate alvar talks often rumpling fizzleberry wine juggling girlfriends hero beamed piddly quicksnuff emissaries tend conspiracy possibility myself pieced undivided swan’s curve pattern term replied active recently unauthorized investigation frustration twenty-nine alternate spending smelling clues accomplish consumed trapped counting resumed vacation finals received eighty-one eighty-three unacceptable prepared chorused poufy thrown towel drooped oven roasted frosters transmitting charts transmitted peed suffered rested cryokinetics freeze manipulating pyrokinesis mesmers inflictors monitored pyrokinetics inflict fire’s unpredictable truly forbidding pyrokinetic library surely three’s librarian banned archives libraries bust problem: section dire wolves peek promising bins mountain littered haphazardly spaces scan unrolled flip papers helpful lacy dulled childhood: strung lanyards dolls framed bone picture: breathtaking tragedy drinking leftover junk trunks piles unopened bin disturbed murky midterm roll scroll shelf sample starlight moonglade: fireflies flickering stellarscope upside-down spyglass view’s billions wad tag amaranthis memorized fourth lambentine bag spout wider scope knobs cluster dials stiffened lever thumb clinked rubini orroro azulejo cobretola indigeen scratching spectrum rearranged indigo zelenie isolated this’ll bluff scrounging elementine adjusting fidgety hummed shining teared welts frantic thirty-one blackish-purple blisters pot burns sprinkled powder adventure soaking numbs balm miserably regulate temperature palace crown nicer handful roots mutilating blades destroying bashing stubbornness reappeared ointment knelt furrowed fingertip rags longest hottest soapiest griffins discreetly boring-looking firecatching bode bundle solid downright incoherently darkly quintessence fifth element myth truest conditions blow metallic-toned bronze wildly flamed audible unmapped locations merit thirty-two platform thrones remotely procedure involving throne cushions tourmaline sturdy polished dotted onyx heard: clarette velia terik liora emery ramira darek noland zarina flicked mere evacuated three-thousand-year task undisclosed location trial salivating convict straighter dozen marched stationed bodyguards swordlike weapons belts fanfare blasted crowned amateurs seated sapphires shall world’s ungraceful consuming detector fuzzy lying endlessly jell-o hobbled astin’s honesty assigned emery’s argento auriferria pennisi merkariron styggis achromian slower plotting map cowering submit lists convenient judgment frightening hardened remained expressionless mediates telepathically consensus united aspirin unanimous

rise violates actions intentional accountable foster’s involvement addressing agreement millionth wished exchanged dimpling kiddo thirty-three banks sienna bark paintbrushes purfoliage palmae calls pures filter pollution freshest crispest tinge fuzzed hesitation observant instruction lurched sunset farthest councillors’ steadied emerald-encrusted circlet bowed pleasing honor beg refuse descryer response delightfully potential clamoring backfired speaks beginning optional 327 sensed crane sweeping peacock log dream softly regularly useful one-armed fiancé’s projecting vividly replace album dinner’s stroke retracted apology hurting tricks arches replica model thirty-four planted curl plotted page difficulties rivaled protect quieted los angeles hollywood trash conspicuous spider-man batman posed mann’s chinese theatre blended beams issued ‘forgot’ oblivious ourselves stubborn softened unwillingly seeped ‘got of’ ant pavement explore warring hurried consequences captured pleaded mercy prentice’s behalf oversaw shatters society metaphor insurgents rebellion kindest whatever’s decisions encouragement revelations ability-detecting exercises cornered superbusy insistent significant elf-ish onetime played envy tracked master tracking switch spots conspiracies investigating headway ignorance ever: permanently jarred conservation legitimate scientific principle nagging elixir nogginease limbium mineral supposedly resisted bike wheels giddy week’s supply unnaturally syrup absorb nauseating unfastening vest skin’s collapsing allergy dimmed cradling thirty-five fluttered chafed sandpaper wildhaired soothed sensations spectators cleaned vomit upright moaned allergies wits bullhorn’s trite soiled airtight vomiting swollen blotch-free humiliated undershirt noticeably absent dazzling alvar’s raptor disgusting decade spare injected steroids tied budge scolded showers heels crisis ushered deathly tough disasters blankly rests brothy soup elsewhere shadowy comforting yawn snuggled thirty-six squealing hundreds eagle-size pterodactyl somersaulted screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech stability rein speed momentum gained screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech torch pasture dispersed uncannily fried engulfed birdbath sparks jerking possess flareadon fire-resistant replay triggered animal’s cares octave higher killed resting flareadons volcanoes occur gildie strayed ‘flareadon female correcting wade debacle breaks wrestled socks shredded apparent vague emotion animals’ distances qualified lightened results defined iggy’s gildie’s paw tummy reward downy fury paled out-of-breath aura recoiling imperative vital violate risk humiliation fled her: cooperate freezing peered railing partial drifted bars errand thirty-seven mush nights begging blend processing forgetting tearing fluorescent locker: insider’s librarian’s timing shoe absolute librarians plastered sinking confirmed dog-ear chapter everblaze: unstoppable blind thirty-eight paper-strewn something’s ‘everblaze frissyn x stands detailed extinguish overruled excluded unheard indecision warred babies hatch extract unregistered code name: egg cast conventional purpose determine pregnant fertility posing implanted embryo manipulated outstanding retain discovering affects genetic anomaly renegades weapon ‘prodigy illegally forgiving messages suffocating choke word: controlled puppet issue triggers twilight proudly soothe facade crumble table: throaty fix drove wedge messenger delivering seal reseal rampaging limits chaise skimmed bead luminous nonluminous generated lumenite drilled clarify rip grubby paws riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip chunk possession skittered treasure retrieving tattered assess rug glue document accordance canceled thirty-nine heartbeat scrubbing choked-back muffle misery acknowledge gaping owe regardless charade  obeying command churn yeti ricocheted ooooookaaaaaaay slinking acknowledging attempting library-appropriate slothlike triple-check echoing phew scrutiny shrug candleshade overhead clipping playlist jarring numbness bass mature speakers bands sarcastic tune swirled seeping cracks triumphed

tiptoed rustled creaked padding crawling lonely forgive forty cheer stricken envelope headline: claims victims scrawl announcement corridor stark-white gulps sneaking suggestions weigh resolve admirer flood applying replacement heal eased uncertainty brothers recent discoveries recording spy undetected textbook dreaded licensed pathfinders restriction threatens ‘everblaze’ accusation fintan pricked balefire fintan’s requires fuel supported cosmic ‘fire ignite conclusive example surveillance ruining depths former dealing approved overrule objection trusted phantom rebels snatched emissary citizen confidential duly noted digging forty-one partly imprisoned sorting reminders pity tension distant lately preparing prejudice megacrush cave commands successful method unwrapping names: connor kate natalie freeman apply permit huddled thinner echoes evacuee note’s unquenchable abandon supporter afar forty-two stashed drawers ‘you threaten chaperone global dumped significance supplied clothing resistant fly willful punish facets stagger hills screeched tying pried displays seals survival glinting corneas swoop thickest raspy coughs locate singeing shift current overcome coughing inferno ouch thrashing clouded watery beads capped treats paced treating scorched angrier contorted squatted pee severe scalding plunked sticky-sweet healthy grim balled-up yelling homes camped affairs mesmerized desperation launching steal dumping tenderness justified reacts offer unintelligible agreeing concerns forty-three relatively illness actress w-what admitting lifeless freaky dumber connections traitorous resisting grasp peace decency furball storm’s appropriate cliff reveling shard clatter soothing relishing pulverized smithereens boulder violent frightened irrational fallen possibly smothered meaty cloaked swooped sickeningly nostrils sedative cursed rallied scuffle scuttled captor circulation rasped viselike lolled rescued forty-four bonds staging unfortunate complication fog scrambling muddled funerals pendants vise sweetness blackness necessary loomed constricted heaving choking gruff hyperventilating suffocates coated hacking nods croaked relocate stolen grunt syllable drugs mist strapped bound shivers eerie breathy wheeze venom trail gumption predicament footfalls disposed disappearance guts throb ignorant cackle toy reserve widen contorting poison ple clarity struggle overwhelming happiness rocked jostling rescuer foggy occasionally elevator altitude delirium parted flimsy fumbling promises caress weary forty-five searing heightened awareness sensory overload barrage cigarette butts alley surveying hideout interrogation kidnappers scoured alexandre desperately operates anyone’s him: upcoming rounded apologized broom peeking roofs yards landmark eiffel gaped graceful paris france french indian saris currency exchange robbing bank machine atm watches account measures ‘make work’ cameras covering buttons alarm bills robbed technopath froster internet café sandwiches cheese once-living boxy computers navigated web browser googled number-one result pont iii bridge seine lanterns shopkeeper sped excitement decorations horizon lamp nexuses lasts mathematics applied dawn forty-six melder stun evening strolls cloaks leader obscurer bends distortion coil rope goons goon pathways underestimate wire enhanced wishful swirl severing rapid duck whizzed seizure dusted flailed gurgling blank forefinger crescent shaped jagged cowl stumble scarred heft frenzy hatred writhing strengthened pumping pulse heavyset figure’s hideouts options battering crushed nearing tug-of-war lessened allowing glorious drift fading surrendered mind’s imagination funeral weariness overtaking hazy snow labored conscious sparkle freedom sweep forty-seven brightness peaceful wove persisted appeal surge newfound pooled aches splintered clearer enveloped strawberry-blond-haired numbing sedated tingles luxuriating gulping wetness numb shhh sniffled recognizing propped girly seasons faltered proves meaningful floppy snickers emergencies conversations flirting scratch

blasts streaking injuries concentration’s cell half-drained gaunt fleeing canceling flitted nuzzling scratched there’d yawned lights forty-eight covers washed sandor goblin bodyguard inflictor paralysis semiconscious incapacitated dormant trauma latent polyglot languages advance interrogated sandor’s bunny seven-foot-tall buffed-out overtime blindfolded seared monitoring proved arrested custody awaiting deaths tragic innocence error motivate condemning madness reluctance single-handedly now’s crescent-shaped recalled epiphany overweight swells digest explains operative guarding subliminal advantage activate developed who’ll address database detectives arson reigned supreme wisest greater questioned decades measure influential amok globe rejected imprison devastated uprooted supporters initiative resign outspoken recruited activity satisfied handled poorly kidnapped prisoner resolved disposal stamped justice voiced revenge birthday birthdays indefinite spans thirteen-year-old crushes plots rebellions grown-ups understands teenager accepted bargain relented insisting uncertain responding arrange forty-nine pedestal charges bylaws sub-bylaws committed transgressions minor tortured regal express safely accused drafting addressed firmly murmurs debated arguments raging attitude disrespectful rebellious overlooked gratitude however static rulers experiences inappropriate assign ‘already served’ sang admission din bursting provisional basis due aforementioned cannot proceed suggestion issues seats smoothing occasion fancier signaling require records indicate provided remain appreciated despised gladly nicely dipped textbooks someday squash toughest earn deserves murderous successfully fingering justifiably displeasure smirking retake propose alternative state events revealed therefore practical prudent career prospects shifting internal logical volatile qualifies majority erupting directing registered cuddly earned oneon-one immediate tangle concluded gathered twirling nudging trades sidestepped congratulate surviving multiple tribunals swirls diamonds feminine unlatch decides woven triply journey

[sparkly-scales]

That's Mr. Dekarios to you Gale x Tav BG3

That's Mr. Dekarios to You

ObsidianRose96

Summary:

You twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you go to sit in the chair across from him. “Well, Gale- “Ah ah, that’s Mr. Dekarios to you.” He corrects. “Right. Mr. Dekarios. I apologize. It seems I find myself rather distracted when it comes to your class. “Oh? Distracted you say? And what seems to have you so distracted that you’re failing my class?” He gets up out of his chair and moves to stand beside you.   Tav decides to surprise Gale in his study but Gale has other ideas.

Notes:

The bad school girl/professor role play smut. Please enjoy this dumpster fire.

Work Text:

Night has fallen over Water Deep. You lean against the doorway of Gale's study, watching the newly titled professor as he works. He’s focused, meticulously looking down at each individual piece of parchment searching for wrong answers. He’s been grading papers for a couple of hours now, a tedious task that’s even more so when you have as many students as he does. You wonder if he’s ever going to take a break.

“I know you're there.” He says, not even bothering to look up from his current task. “Come in.” You slowly saunter over to his desk. His face is illuminated by light from a nearby brazier, casting hues of yellows and oranges on his fair colored skin. He looks rather handsome like this. You clear your throat in an attempt to get his attention. He lifts up his head from his grading. “Yes my- Oh. Oh my.” His lips tug into a wide grin as his eyes scan your body. You're completely nude as you stand before him, watching as he takes a moment to admire your nudity. Oh the thoughts that are going through his mind right now. He gathers up the stack of papers he’s been sorting through and tucks them away into a vacant drawer. He could get back to grading papers later. Now, he wanted nothing more than to indulge in his lovely, completely naked, wife. But how was he going to go about doing this? He’s quiet for a moment while he thinks and his silence starts to become a little worrying.

“Gale, is everything alright? We don’t have to if-

“Are you here to discuss your current grade, Mrs. Dekarios?” He says, suddenly.

You look at him, a bit confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

He folds his hands together as he keeps his eyes locked on you. Something mischievous flits behind those deep brown orbs of his as he continues.

“Your grade my dear. It seems you’ve been slacking when it comes to my class. You excel in every other subject except the one I happen to teach and your current grade is reflecting that. Why do you think that is?”

Oh? Oh! You see what he’s doing now. You never would have expected your husband to be the type that was into role playing. Everything was always so…vanilla, between the two of you. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy it when the two of you were intimate, this is just so unexpected. But not unwelcome. You twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you go to sit in the chair across from him.

“Well, Gale-

“Ah ah, that’s Mr. Dekarios to you.” He corrects.

“Right. Mr. Dekarios. I apologize. It seems I find myself rather distracted when it comes to your class.

“Oh? Distracted you say? And what seems to have you so distracted that you’re failing my class?” He gets up out of his chair and moves to stand beside you. You can’t help but notice that he’s now wielding a wooden ruler. When did he get that? And what was he planning on doing with it?

“I’m waiting, Mrs. Dekarios. And you’d better have a good explanation.” He says, snapping you back to reality. He lifts your chin with the ruler, forcing you to meet his eyes. They’re blazing with an unspoken desire, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“Well you see, there’s this very handsome classmate of mine who happens to sit in front of me. And I can't help but stare at him during your lectures.” You say. “It’s so hard to focus on what’s being said when he’s right there.”

“Is that so?” He leans down towards your ear, his beard tickling the shell of it as he asks, “Are my lessons that boring to you? “

Your lips tug into a devious grin. You were going to play your role beautifully.

“Oh yes. They’re incredibly boring. So much so that I can’t help but sit there and imagine being fucked by my fellow class mate.”

“Really now? What an interesting revelation.” He grabs your arm and guides you to stand, bending you over his desk. “Mulling over boys while I’m trying to teach you some of the most valuable information you could ever hope to learn? Unbelievable. And here I thought better of you Mrs. Dekarios. I think you need to be taught an entirely different lesson. One on the subject of discipline.”

“Oh, Mr. Dekarios, what could you possibly mean by that?” The ruler comes down onto your bare ass. Hard. You yelp in surprise, turning your head to face Gale. He has a smug look on his face, knowing you weren’t expecting it.

“Gale, did you just spank me?” The ruler comes down on you again, this time much harder.

“That’s Mr. Dekarios to you, young lady.” He says. He brings the ruler down on you again, and again, and again, relishing in the loud , pained cries that graced your lips. He’s relentless, not stopping until your skin is left red hot and stinging. He takes a moment to admire his work, impressed that you were able to withstand the pain for as long as you did. But now it was time to move on to something else. His cock was straining painfully against his trousers, begging to be released. Between the unexpected sight of you sauntering completely naked into his study and your willingness to play into his little fantasy, he found himself desperately needing more.

“You’re such a bad girl.” Say’s Gale, turning you to face him. His voice is different when he says this, dark and sultry, a tone you’ve yet to hear him use with you. It’s delectable and you can feel the insides of your thighs begin to dampen with your own desire. “Do you remember my lesson on how to cast mirror image or were you too busy longing for your classmate's cock to pay attention?”

You shake your head. “I’m going to have to go with the latter.”

“Then allow me to demonstrate.” He says the incantation for mirror image and a perfect copy of himself appears beside him.

“Hello again Mr. Dekarios. How may I be of assistance?”

“I have a very bad student of mine who needs to be disciplined. And I figured you could lend a hand.” He says, gesturing to you.

“Mr. Dekarios, I think you’ve indulged in a bit too much wine this evening. This is our wife, not one of your students.”

Gale leans over to the copy of himself and whispers in its ear. “I know that. I’m trying something new. Something sexual, just play along.”

“Oh. I see. That would explain why she’s naked. What would you like me to do?”

“Undress yourself.” Says Gale as he begins to take his ownclothes off. When he’s finished he sits down in the chair you were previously sitting in and pulls you into his lap. The copy of him gets down on his knees and settles between your legs, spreading them wide.

“My my Mrs. Dekarios. What do we have here?”

“I bet she’s sopping wet, isn’t she?” Asks Gale, moving his hands to grope both of your breasts.

“She is. Her arousal is quite evident. May I?”

“Do whatever you deem necessary.” Gale rolls one of your nipples between his fingers and you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt down your spine all the way down to your throbbing clit. “We need to remind her that she needs to focus on her teacher rather than some boy.”

Gale's copy moves his face towards your cunt and trails his tongue along your seam. This Gale wasn’t real but gods it sure felt like he was. You moan in satisfaction as his tongue slips between your folds, hitting all of your sweet spots as he laps up your decadent juices. He hums happily against you as the real Gale softly kisses your neck, continuing to grope your plush breasts and tease your nipples between his fingers.

“Do you think that boy could do something like this?” He asks. “I doubt he could elicit such beautiful sounds from you.”

You shake your head. “N-no Mr. Dekarios.”

“See? You don’t need some amateur wizard when you can have the master. You’ll pay attention to my lectures from now on, yes?” You nod but that isn’t good enough. He gives your nipple a harsh pinch. “I asked you a question, Mrs. Dekarios. Are you going to pay attention in my class from now on?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll pay attention!”

“Good girl.” You hiss as Gale's counterpart swirls his tongue around your clit. Your body instinctively tires to wriggle away from the overstimulation but the real Gale holds you firmly in place.

“Make her cum for us.” He commands. “I want to hear her howl.”

“As you wish, Mr. Dekarios.” Gale's copy continues to lap at your clit while simultaneously slipping a couple of his fingers inside of you.

“Oh gods! Oh gods yes! Please finger fuck me!” You gasp at the sensation of being filled and devoured at the same time. He fulfils your request and thrusts his fingers in and out of you. The state of your arousal is made evident by the sounds that come from beneath you. Gale groans at the wet, squelching, noise your cunt is making, the lewd sound making his own need become more and more painful as he waits for you to reach your climax. He’s never been left wanting for this long before. Who knew arousal could physically hurt?

“Ah, Ah, I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna c-cum!” Your declaration is like the sweetest music to your husbands ears. Your thighs clench around his mirror images head as you reach your climax, crying out as the feeling of pure unbridled pleasure overtakes you, releasing yourself in your husbands counterparts mouth. The Gale between your legs makes an effort to clean you up, lapping away the wetness that was now dripping down your thighs.

“I’ve longed for the chance to have a taste of our lovely wife. I must say It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Sweet like honey, is she not?”

“More like a rich brandy. But quite delicious all the same.” “

You’ve got good taste sir. Then again, you are me.” Says Gale. “Let’s switch shall we?” He moves you off of his lap and motions for you to get down onto the floor.

“I’m not quite finished with you yet Mrs. Dekarios. I believe I deserve some compensation for your disobedient behavior in my classroom. On your hands and knees.” You obediently do as you’re told. Gale's copy goes to sit in the chair and the real Gale positions himself behind you. You feel his rock hard erection pressing against your entrance. “Open your mouth.” He commands. You see where this is going.

Gale Dekarios, you kinky bastard!

You open, allowing Gale’s mirror image to shove himself into your mouth while your husband grabs you by the hips and slides into you from behind. What a sight to behold! You’re stuck in the middle of a Gale sandwich as you suck on ones cock and the other one fucks you from behind. It feels incredible! The Gale that sits in the chair entangles his fingers in your hair, gripping it as you take his cock in your hand, sliding your mouth up and down the shaft before engulfing him. You feel him shiver as you suck him off. You're such a good girl, making him moan as you pleasure him with your mouth. Could the real Gale feel this too since this was technically him? That’s something you’d have to ask him later on. The Gale behind you, the real Gale, was thrusting into you from behind and he was unusually rough, unyielding as he shoved himself in and out of your tight little cunt. He had never been this rough with you before and by gods it was a welcome change. It hurt a little, yes but the pleasure far outweighed the pain. Fuck, this was amazing and you let him know by the moans that escaped from you. This was going to have to become a more frequent occurrence in your bedroom affairs.

“You’re getting extra credit for this.” His voice is breathy as he says this. “That should bring your grade up to parr.”

“Hells, she deserves to have a passing grade for the rest of the semester.” Says Gale’s copy. "Such a good girl taking us both like this." 

You look up at the mirror image of Gale as you take him deeper in your mouth, worshipping his cock with your tongue. "Yes, that's it. So good. So, so good."  He shudders and grips your hair tighter and you brace yourself for what’s about to come. He spills his seed into your mouth and you swallow every last drop of it, relishing the sweet, salty taste of him. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he moves you off of his cock, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lies back in the chair. The real Gale isn’t quite finished with you yet, rocking himself into your hips as hard and as fast as he can. Gods, he’s so deep inside of you, you can feel his balls slapping the back of your cunt as he keeps up the pace. Your head falls back and your mid section begins to tighten as your walls clench around him. You let out another loud cry as you ride out yet another orgasm, the waves of pleasure overtake you as he thrusts into you a few more times before he himself reaches his climax. The warmth of his seed spreads inside of you as he finally comes to a stop. By the time it’s all done, he’s a sweaty mess resting on top of you. With a wave of his hand Gale dismisses his mirror image, leaving the two of you alone of the floor of the study.

“What was this all about?” You pant.

“What? Did you not enjoy it?” Gale asks.

“No, no, I did. I really really did. This is just…new.” You say.

“I just wanted to try something different. Astarion was telling me about some different ways we could try to spice things up a little bit. And when I saw you standing over my desk completely nude I decided to try one of them.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes. He’s here visiting from Baldur's Gate.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that. Astarion is here? In Water Deep?”

“In our guest bedroom.” Says Gale. “I was going to tell you he was here earlier but you were taking a nap and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Gale Dekarios! I walked right past the guest bedroom butt ass naked coming to your study! Not to mention the door is WIDE OPEN. You could have said something!”

“Don’t worry Darling, I didn’t see anything. But gods you are loud!” Astarion calls out from the guest room.

Your face turns the brightest shade red and Gale just boops you on the nose.

[katakaluptastrophy]

TLT meta post suggestion: explain the biblical significance of Paul to someone who knows jackshit about Christianity?

Paul is what happens when a clever person with establishment clout has a searing moment of metaphysical transformation that allows them to become a real nuisance...

The very TL;DNR version of Paul in Christianity (Bible!Paul, if you will) is that he was once an observant Jew called Saul who was involved in persecuting the early church. But one day, while enthusiastically doing this, he is struck blind by a huge flash of light and hears the voice of Jesus. From that point on he is known as "Paul", becomes an enthusiastic follower of Jesus, and helps to spread the gospel. Specifically, he is referred to as the 'apostle to the gentiles', taking the teachings of Jesus beyond its early Jewish roots to the wider Mediterranean world.

On a basic level, Necro!Paul being 'Paul' is probably a reference to that blazing moment of transformation - Bible!Paul is both continuity and change: the same passion, but expressed very differently. Well-educated, willing to cause trouble, and energised by something beyond the human norm.

But it's their speech to Ianthe where the Biblical stuff really starts to come through. It's worth noting that letters written by Bible!Paul (or 'written by him') account for nearly half of the books of the Christian New Testament and are hugely foundational in Christian theology.

And Necro!Paul's speech to Ianthe is full of Biblical references:

"I know how hard it is for you to kick against the goad," said the new person. "But there are more worlds than this. Come with us. We are the love that is perfected by death - but even death will be no more; death can also die."

That first line, 'kick against the goad', is a direct reference to Paul's 'Road to Damascus' moment where he hears Jesus:

I saw in the way a light from heaven above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me, and them that were in company with me. And when we were all fallen down on the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me in the Hebrew tongue: Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to kick against the goad. And I said: Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord answered: I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. - Acts 26:13-15

To kick against the goad (or, in the slightly more colourful language of the KJV 'kick against the pricks') is to engage in an excercise in futility. It's a reference to an ox goad, a sharp instrument used to steer oxen in farming, which would hurt the animal if it tried to kick against it instead of following where it was being directed.

It's an acknowledgement that Ianthe is doing something that rubs profoundly up against the metaphysical grain, that her own proud self-direction will only hurt her in the end.

'More worlds than this' is a reference to Hamlet, which Dulcie of course also quotes in TUG. (Hamlet rather seems to haunt the question of the River Beyond, but that's not what we're discussing right now...)

'We are the love that is perfected by death' is, I suspect, meant to reference two different Bible verses. The first is:

Put me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy as hard as hell, the lamps thereof are fire and flames. - Song of Solomon 8:6

Despite centuries of the church trying to claim that it's about the spiritual relationship between God and man, the Song of Solomon is now generally accepted to be a sexy poem about sex. So that's an interesting thing for the fusion of Palamedes and Camilla to quote... But perhaps more salient here is what's contrasted to the strength of love and death, which is jealousy and hell. Ianthe is being offered a chance at redemption - which is of course Bible!Paul's whole thing - which she summarily rejects. I'm sure, given NTN ending with Harrow going off to, one assumes, er, harrow hell, that this won't be relevant at all...

The other verse that 'love that is perfected by death' may be referencing is:

In this is the charity of God perfected with us, that we may have confidence in the day of judgment: because as he is, we also are in this world. Fear is not in charity: but perfect charity casteth out fear, because fear hath pain. And he that feareth, is not perfected in charity. Let us therefore love God, because God first hath loved us. If any man say, I love God, and hateth his brother; he is a liar. For he that loveth not his brother, whom he seeth, how can he love God, whom he seeth not? And this commandment we have from God, that he, who loveth God, love also his brother. - 1 John 4:17-21

The quotation in the Douay-Rhiems translation (apparently the preferred translation of lesbian necromancers in space, if Gideon the Ninth is anything to go by) is a little opaque, but 'charity' is an old timey way of translating 'love'. Essentially, this passage says that those who love God and are loved by God do not need to fear the day of judgement, and clarifies a bit about what it means to love God.

There are two things that are important.

The first is that this is from 1 John. There are five Biblical texts associated with St John: the Gospel of John, the Book of Revelation, and three Epistles (letters). Revelation is John's vision of the end of the world - and if you're wondering whether it's relevant that The Locked Tomb features a guy called John who ends the world, yes, it is - but the Epistles were written right at the end of his life. And 1 John has two themes that might be relevant to The Locked Tomb: the first is the question of what it means to love god (spoiler: the answer is not 'dinner and a movie'), and the second is whether your actions matter.

The second thing that might be relevant here is that just before this in 1 John 4, there is a warning about not heeding false prophets. Specifically, it warns about the antichrist. You know, the thing Necro!John says he was repeatedly accused of being? The point is that love - love properly understood - can protect you from the wiles of the antichrist. Probably not a relevant theme as we head off into the 'you have not yet begun to witness the horrors of love' book where people are presumably facing down a pretender god...

The final part of Paul's speech to Ianthe - 'death will be no more' - is also Johannine: this time from Revelation:

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes: and death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow shall be any more, for the former things are passed away. - Revelation 21:4

This comes from a section where the Biblical John watches as the old world is destroyed and the new Jerusalem descends from Heaven. Death and sorrow are ended, and the righteous will rule with God. The sinful have a less fun time of it, involving fire and brimstone and 'the second death'. If that sounds familiar, it's because Necro!John cribbed that particular bit when making up his shoddy Space Catholicism (TM). (The implications of this really deserves a much longer treatment, so watch this space...)

One of the nice things about Tamsyn Muir's Biblical parallels is they're not generally exact. But it's perhaps relevant to note that amongst Bible!Paul's rather dramatic adventures are quite a few instances of casting demons out of people, starting at least one riot, shipwreck, and an "Incident at Antioch". Also...it's probably not relevant that the writings of St Paul were the turning point in the conversion of St Augustine...specifically a section about how the end of the world is nigh so you'd better get your act together...

All in all, Paul is...a very niche joke about Plato, hopefully not a joke about Dune, and mostly very, very apocalyptic. A new beginning at the end of the world! An offer of redemption to those swimming against the current! A warning to false gods! A sign that the end is nigh! All of which suggests Alecto the Ninth is going to be a wild ride (as if we didn't know that already).

[yerion]

for tonight.

an album is in the works for yoongi. just when stress could corrupt the rest of his mind void of inspiration, he decides to find you—the ex of bts’ main rapper.

pairing : idol!yoongi, exboyfriend!yoongi x f-reader. genres : mainly fluff.

content : yoongi takes you to his studio to prove that this isn’t just a fever dream, but his second confession.

word count : 2,7k.

“hello?” rubbing your eyes, you whimper in fatigue as you press your phone against your ear. “um,” your eyes open at the silence. “please leave a voicemail if this is anything important—”

“it’s me.”

you swallow once at the familiarity; it feels like you’re swallowing a hundred needles, or splinters—or maybe even nails.

“sorry for the random call in the middle of the night.”

it’s him.

you remember breaking up with your first boyfriend—min yoongi. 

to others, he’s known as suga or agust d. 

there’s no end if anyone was to discuss his successes, yet someone like you happened to be his girlfriend behind the scenes.

you were desperate to forget about him—and efforts never tend to disappoint, so it’s only normal for yours to pay off as well.

it’s been years.

“were you asleep?” yoongi asks vaguely. back then, discerning his emotions was as easy as falling asleep in his arms. now you can’t actually tell if he’s apologetic, or maybe feeling guilty—there’s a chance he could be feeling as paranoid as you right now.

then again, why would he?

“why did you call?” you finally muster the will to ask. it only cost you a few painful swallows and a couple of shallow breaths.

and it’s dead quiet again.

“why are we breaking up?”

it was dead quiet then too.

you exhale shakily as you clench your blanket in your fists.

you’re in dire of a distraction—you didn’t know you still had any space in your heart to be hurt after being scratched countless times.

you can’t believe this is real—this blazing pain you can’t compare with anything else. 

why does pain like this still exist, and why is it related to yoongi again?

“i don’t know.” he just says.

he doesn’t even understand how fatal those words are to you; three simple words—three common words that possess the sick power to break you.

it’s every asshole’s evacuation and escape route. in the past, yoongi was anything but that, however time warps anyone.

“i’m hanging up if that’s all you have to say.”

“remember when you said to call when things get really hard?”

is he going through something?

last time you glanced at the internet and its headlines, you read that he’s preparing for a solo release before enlisting into the army.

that does sound like a harsh time for him, but you feel like he’s been through much worse—taking possible disbandment discussions as one, his early debut days as two, and his pre-debut shoulder injury and the story behind it as three.

“what’s wrong?” you can’t help to ask, you follow your heart more than your head—you always have; you haven’t changed.

“i…”

“did you have a drink?” you guess, only because he’s never the type to falter.

“i had a few shots of whiskey,” he confesses huskily. “it usually helps, but tonight it’s not doing shit.” you can hear his empty, hoarse laugh after indulging you into his new reality.

it’s as if you’re sobering, you slowly lift yourself up from your mattress. hair brushes past your dewy face and wetted lips, and you bring your knees close to your chest to stay seated under the slice of moonlight, eager to hear your ex-boyfriend’s rare struggle.

“how about you?” yoongi asks like he used to. “how have you been?”

“fine,” you answer. “me not calling you ever since and begging for another chance says everything.”

“i guess you’re right.” his hollow laugh reverberates in your ear. “i know it’s fucked coming from me, but i…” he breathes out loud, “—wanted to ask you a favour.”

“why?” you pry quietly. “what do i have and you don’t?” you ask with bitterness on the tip of your tongue. you’re no superstar and you’re no millionaire like him—you’re just you—the average you.

“want to find out?”

from there, all you hear is white noise. though yoongi kept the audio quite blank before, you couldn’t hear any background noise until now. there’s constant crackles and sounds that resemble the howling of the wind.

by sweeping open the curtain beside you, the drip of moonlight seeping through your room enlarges.

now you see the moon as whole in the starry sky alongside leaves rustling in sync with the noise from your phone.

“are you outside?” 

“uh…” yoongi wonders huskily. he used to tousle his own hair while pondering aloud. “do you still live in the same house?” he inquires cautiously.

immediately, you crawl closer to your window, hurriedly smacking your palm against the glass to peer straight down from the third floor of your apartment.

your eyes brim with anticipation as they bounce everywhere—the flickering streetlights, the dimmed garden, the dormant cars parked outside, the swaying trees.

“are you here?” your breath trembles as you try to extinguish the glimmer of hope within. considering his status, everything he does on his own is like playing with spitting flames, although he’s human just like you.

“yeah,” he replies softly. “do you want to talk?”

“yeah,” you answer identically. “i’ll be down in a second.”

“alright.”

he always left you to hang up, and today wasn’t any different.

for a moment, you stare at your phone screen lit up with a new, unregistered number and the ongoing time beneath.

you’re inevitably on a delay because of how surreal everything is, but you manage to disconnect the call promptly in order to face him for the first time in years. 

this is your ex—your ex, min yoongi, is downstairs—a ramble and an echo of your own words play inside your head while you storm out of your apartment to rush into the elevator.

because of how ungodly the hour is, there isn’t a single soul out in the lobby. secrecy is on your side today, and you know for a fact yoongi will be appreciative of it.

with breaths that you can’t even collect, you chew on your lip as the elevator dings on the ground floor.

the lobby is cold—insanely cold—the cold pierces through your skin, desperate to cling onto your heat. even so, the automatic doors slide open at the sense of your urgency, and your head turns in accordance to the voices of your heart—where is he? is he really here?

and you see him—he looks nothing like the yoongi you saw in your torturous and repetitive dreams back then.

yoongi has his eyes set to the ground as he absentmindedly roams around the front of your apartment. his pale skin infused with moonlight glows unlike his attire—he always liked his blacks. 

“yoongi,” you involuntarily call out in an unexpectant soft decibel. you want to be louder, but the squeeze of your heart restricts you from doing so. 

yoongi stops mid-motion to flick his head up at the sound of your velvety voice. “it really has been a while.” he laughs once in absurdity. “thanks for coming out.”

you only stepped out of your own home, but he’s the one who travelled beyond thirty minutes to see you.

“what brings you here at this time?” exhaling slowly, you hug your own bare arms to keep yourself warm. 

yoongi averts your gaze by turning his head to sigh loudly. “it’s just me thinking for myself again.” he looks out, “you know how i am when it comes to my priorities.”

“did you argue with one of the boys?” you frown. “is something not working out?” 

“the memories of you in my head were starting to fade,” he says. “i couldn’t sit around and let that happen.” 

“we broke up.”

at that, yoongi takes his approach to walk closer. he’s intentional with his steps, keeping it slow amidst the chilliness which should be attacking him as much as it’s bothering you. “i know.” he answers deeply, still leaving gaps for you to fill.

“you’re going to be seen with me,” you dismiss heartlessly as you survey your surroundings worriedly before returning his stare. 

yoongi drops his head again to exhale in thought. then, he wordlessly slides his zip up hoodie off of his shoulders to drape it around your smaller body. his eyes glide over your collarbones, but he’s quick to hide your skin by bringing each end of the hoodie together.

you raise your brow. “seriously?”

“is that all i made you think of?” yoongi cuts in. “i knew i was a shitty boyfriend, but, wow, it never gets old.” his hand drops in defeat as he laughs under his breath.

“forget it,” you bite the inner flesh of your cheek, grasping yoongi’s hoodie to tear it off. “we—no, you said you had a favour for me?”

yoongi reaches out to seize your hand, stopping you from escaping his scent and warmth. he’s rather blunt for someone who’s no longer with you anymore, nor is he even hesitant or cautious when touching you. “yeah, i do.” he then answers casually after retreating. “i have somewhere to take you.”

you don’t know how the hell you made it here; you don’t know why you’re seated here without any sort of resistance in yoongi’s studio—listening to nothing but the obnoxious ticking noises in the room.

it’s undeniably a distracting sound, so you wonder how yoongi works under it—or should you say above, considering how high he is up in the world?

“you got rid of your old speakers.” you mention as you start to realise everything in this room is unrecognisable to you.

yoongi falls lazily onto his chair, accustomed to this mundane routine of his. “which ones?”

“never mind,” you mutter in embarrassment. “it’s been years, and electronics get replaced all the time—” laughing awkwardly, you grip onto the edge of the couch. “—don’t they?”

yoongi’s breath tumbles into a nostalgic laughter. “just be yourself.” 

pursing your lips uncomfortably at his familiarity towards you, your thighs tense as you remain quietly seated on his couch beside the rest of his equipment and multiple monitors projecting a music production software. “are you working on new music?” you ask out of awkwardness.

“yeah,” yoongi turns to face the main monitor. “my last album before i enlist.”

you try to swallow the gulp stuck on your throat. “when is it coming out?”

yoongi sucks in a breath as he sits back on the headrest, gazing at the ceiling thoughtlessly. “good question.” before you can open your mouth to inquire, he smiles knowingly and interrupts, “come see this,” he tilts his head in the direction of his workspace.

curious, you lift your weight off of his couch to trudge over to hover beside yoongi. your stare descends to the notebook covered in rushed, indecipherable handwriting.

“can you tell?” 

by all means at his words, you squint, trying to decrypt the meaning behind his ideas formed in scribbles. “not really?” your voice projects with uncertainty. 

yoongi cracks into a short, breathy laugh. “even after so many years with me.” he drags out a croaky yet deep ‘hm’ before confessing in a mutter, “it’s about you—listen, i know it doesn’t look like it, but… uh, fuck.”

you couldn’t help but to chuckle at him stressing. “yeah, okay.” you roll your eyes playfully, “sure it is.”

at your reply, yoongi wordlessly clicks through a few prompts on his computer. “and this.”

by rocking forward from where you stand, you instantly recognise the meaning behind the folders shown on the monitor. there’s four folders named after you—in your initials. 

“they’re all for the album i’m working on.”

you turn to face yoongi blankly, faces now close from your slouch. “what if i told you i had a boyfriend?” you were meant to say boldly, however yoongi’s timeless pink lips take you aback.

“you wouldn’t have come out if you did.”

the confidence in his voice makes you freeze momentarily. the time he’s spent with you is definitely not a delusion. it’s no surprise he knows you well. “true.” you forfeit.

“so…” yoongi trails off huskily. “is it too late for us to start over again?”

did you hear correctly?

your heart comes to a brake; one with an aggressive skid. “are you being serious?” you ask breathily. 

he nods once. “damn serious.”

you push yourself back a little, knees still bent. “i… didn’t think a day like this would come.”

“you have an unforgettable face and voice.” yoongi exhales, “i really tried.”

“thank you for not trying hard enough.” stifling your chuckle and retaining your helpless smile, you reach out to tenderly clasp his shoulders. “i think i would’ve gone crazy if you did.”

yoongi elicits laughter. “crazier than when you’re hungry?”

you attempt to shake his shoulders. “i really considered becoming your fan to justify my liking towards you.” 

“even if every song of mine was based on you?” he genuinely asks. “you wouldn’t last a day being in the audience.”

“come on,” you roll your eyes.

“so stay as my girlfriend.” yoongi confesses. “i’ll treat you right—better, this time.”

you couldn’t deny the anxiety pooling in your stomach at his suggestion. after all, he’s a superstar—most fitted to be up high, sparkling like the twinkling stars in the night.

and what are you?

how will you shine beside him?

won’t you just drag him down?

no.

that’s not true.

you’re you—you’re sure you shine in your own way.

that’s the reason behind why everyone exists today.

you let a smile consume your lips as you nod. “i’ll trust you.” you muse, “like how i did long ago.”

yoongi ascends from his seat and stands on his feet, causing you to stumble back instinctively. “except this time i won’t disappoint you.” he watches you turn silent at his promise. “i have more than enough time to love you now.”

shaking your head, your smile widens. “you’re sounding a lot like someone who’s been an idol for over ten years.” 

yoongi tightens his lips as he shrugs his shoulders like he normally does. “well, that’s the truth.” he answers huskily. “i’m growing old.”

“we are growing old.”

“hopefully together.”

you grimace jokingly. “you’ve gotten awfully sweeter.”

“it’s about time i try some romance.” yoongi tilts his head to the side invitingly before spreading open his arms for you to clearly jump into. it fuels a wave of nostalgia to flood into your mind.

you cross your arms teasingly, dismissing him for a moment. “in a company full of beautiful people dancing and singing everywhere they go, there’s no way you had zero interest after me.” 

“just get in here.” he flicks his head towards himself and his arms.

raising one brow, you stare at him defeatedly. “you have a lot of storytelling to do.” 

“and you talk too much,” yoongi says bluntly, however it’s just his way of speech. “you should know how impatient i am.”

“yeah, yeah.”

at that, yoongi loops his arms around you. with the force of his arms, causing you to subtly thud against his chest. an arm of his snakes behind your head, allowing his hand to rest against the softness of your uncombed bed hair.

taken aback,  half of your face buries comfortably into the side of his neck and his left shoulder. 

he still feels the same.

he still smells the same.

“thank you.” he mutters softly into your ear, holding you tightly against himself to refrain you from flipping and turning to observe his expression. “i had no hope for today, but—” he inhales sharply. “—never mind.”

you manage to leave a distance between yourself and yoongi to peer up at his face. “hey,” you whisper cautiously when you see the seriousness written over his façade. he blinks slowly, lips shut and quiet. “it’s not like we ended terribly.” extending your hand, you cup his heated cheek.

perhaps yoongi is guilty, he keeps himself isolated from the idea of elucidating. 

“superstar, i’m honoured to see you look so unsure of me.”

he finally breaks into a croaky scoff. “don’t call me that.”

you quickly swoop forward to steal a kiss from his lips, immediately feeling red upon tearing away. “i’m just stating a fact.”

“i’ll be good to you.” he promises the moment you drift from his lips. 

“you better.” 

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 89... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

OH MY GOSH, WHAT A GREAT CHAPTER!! 😆 (And a funny one as well!! 😂)

This chapter has probably become a new favorite of mine, so let's talk about it...!! 😄

Today's chapter follows one of my favorite characters in the series...

MY BOY, YURI BRIAR...!!! 😆

And he's been reflecting on the events of the previous arc, disappointed that he couldn't stop Twilight... Officer Scarface tells Yuri to stop sulking over it because at least he was able to injure Twilight, so now the SSS is looking for anyone with bullet wounds in their right arms (which means that Twilight has to be EXTRA CAREFUL not to slip up in anyway... 😩)

As Yuri and Officer Scarface are just going about their day, Chole (happy to see her again 😆) is about to interrogate a man with a gun shot wound in his right arm... And, um...:

THEY DIDN'T EVEN HESITATE!! DAMN...!!🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂

But Scarface tells Yuri to just go ahead and assist Chole with the interrogation, which goes as you'd expect from Yuri when he does his job... 😅

THAT FACE ALONE IS ONE OF THE MANY REASONS I WOULD NOT WANT TO MESS WITH YURI (or the the Briar siblings in general...!! 😵)

Anyway, after interrogating that guy, Yuri and Chole go to investigate the address that Yuri scared out of him... And on their way there, find out that Chole and Yuri WENT TO SCHOOL TOGETHER!! 😆

If doesn't full more fire for Chloroform (the Yuri x Chole ship name that saw from @tare-anime 😁) to be even more of a thing, then I don't know what will...!! 👌😌

As they drive to their destination, Yuri can sense Yor (and by sense, I mean smell 😅) walking by and immediately ducks down. Chole questions why he did that since they aren't even wearing their uniforms and could've just told Yor that they were dating...!! 😏 But Yuri declined that idea because he still wants to do whatever he can to help Yor like what she did for him... And then, Chole says something that I agree with:

I don't know when or how, but I hope that Yuri will one day leave the SSS (like how I hope that Yor and Loid leave their jobs or just retire someday) and hopefully find happiness...! 😊

Moving on from that, they find the place that they were looking for and Yuri rushes in guns a blazing and does some questionable fighting techniques in the process...:

Yuri, I-- H-How did you do that...? 👏😂

After using his Street Fighter-esque Yor Fu, one of the guys there tries to sneak attack Yuri, but then...

...CHOLE COMES IN WITH THE ELBOW AND SHUTS THAT SHIT DOWN...!!! 😆

And then she...

...SLAPS THE SHIT OUT YURI (TWICE...)

...And gives him some advice...!!

I loved what Chole says to Yuri about how he could die on the job and what that would do to Yor it that ever happened (and that exact thought was most likely what was going through Twilight's head during Mission 83... 🥲) Chole is most definitely a keeper and a real one...!! 👌😤

Lastly, after a long day Yuri is training at his place when Yor comes to visit and brings him some food...!! 🤗 As Yuri scarfs down the food Yor brought, he thinks to himself about what Chole said:

But before the chapter ends, Yor tells him that Loid is the one that made the food that she brought over, Yuri spits it out and starts thinking of other ways to get rid of Loid!! 🤣

And that was Mission 89, I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!! 😆 I'm glad that we got another Yuri focused chapter after all this time (Mission 41 being the first Yuri lead chapter) and got to see more of Chole!! 😁 Yuri never fails to make me laugh and this chapter was no exception (heck, even Scarface had me laughing at beginning of this chapter!! 🤣)

As usual, I'm excited for the next chapter and wonder what's gonna happen next...!! 😄 But if I had to pick one thing that I'm looking forward to see in future, it'll have to be seeing my little weird dude finally growing as a person...!! 😊 (And grow to like Loid, eventually...!! 😌)

That's pretty much all I gotta say about this chapter, so until the next Mission... Take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! SEE YA!! 👋😄

[everlastlady]

𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

✰ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! My little heroes, villains, and civilians. Another Miguel O 'Hara post. If you enjoyed this story then my request box is open. You can support me by blazing, commenting, hearts, or reblogging. Don't forget to eat, drink water, and take your medicine. Also support your local fan fiction writers! If you want to be on the Miguel tag list then let me know. Also I wrote this because I suffer from seizures so this is a comfort story and hopefully it comforts those who suffer from seizures.

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: (Name) suffers from seizures and their lovely boyfriend Miguel does his best to help their partner. He cares for (Name) and wants to make sure they are always safe. Always keeping an eye on them and having Lyla watched them while he's gone, he is always prepared when you have a seizure.

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

♡ Miguel met you at a coffee shop, the two of you ordered the same drink which striked up a conversation. The two discussed which coffees you both loved and hated. Miguel loved the little laugh you did here and there. Something about you made him smile. Miguel listened to you talk about your favorite bands and singers. Your favorite colors and how you enjoy a nice book while it rains. Miguel had to go but you two exchanged numbers.

♡ The two of you would text every night. Miguel would lay in bed in his blue and red boxers while texting you, letting out chuckles at the funny gifs and memes you would send. Lyla would have to remind him to sleep and then have to wake him up in the morning because he was over sleeping. You and Miguel never stopped texting, always telling each other about your day, venting to each other, or sometimes phone calls.

♡ But one day you didn't text Miguel and that worried him. You never miss a texting session with him. Maybe you were busy and he was just overreacting. So he went to bed that night but the next morning no calls or text none of those funny cat memes you sent him. He hoped that he didn't do anything to upset you. So he called your number but no answer, this made Miguel panic. So he had Lyla track your location by using your phone number.

♡ " Oh, you aren't going to like this Miguel, (Name) is in the hospital... " Lyla said looking worried. Just the word hospital made Miguel rush out the door as Lyla gave him the location of the hospital. Miguel went to the front desk he had to lie and say that he was your husband and has been worried about you. Miguel was told your hospital room and went there. Miguel saw you laying in the bed and watching TV, you saw Miguel in your doorway and sat up surprised. " Miguel? " You spoke in a tired tone.

♡ " Mi querida, estaba preocupado, what happened? " Miguel sat on your bed and took your hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. You bite your lip and sighed, guess it was time to tell him and you hoped that he wouldn't see you differently. " I had a real bad seizure at work I had falling when grabbing something for a customer and hit my head, had another seizure on the way here... " You looked away as Miguel's brown eyes widened. " Why didn't you tell me that you have seizures!? " He placed his hand on your cheek. You explained to Miguel that you didn't want him to look at you different as some disease or a fragile flower. " (Name), I know about seizures and I know that what you have isn't a disease and even though you have seizures I won't treat as some fragile flower, I'll watch you closely, protect, and check on you but I won't treat you like some fragile little flower. I care about you, I was scared and worried. " Miguel hugged you.

♡ Miguel sat with you as the two of you talked. You told Miguel that you had been having seizures since you were a kid how people made fun of you growing up and treated your condition like a virus that could spread or how some people treated you like a fragile flower. You told him about the medicine you took and what triggered you seizures, and how you relaxed after having one. Miguel made a mental note of everything. He wanted to be there for you. After you were released from the hospital Miguel took you home. He liked your cozy apartment it really reflected your personality.

♡ Miguel stayed around since he wanted to make sure you were okay, so he stood outside your bathroom while you took a shower and when you were getting dressed. He cooked a nice meal for you. He even did some house work, normally you didn't really want someone doing these things for you especially after having a seizure but Miguel doing it made you smile, so you laid in bed eating while Miguel cleaned your living room and kitchen.

♡ After a while Miguel laid in the bed with you as the two of you watched a movie on Netflix. Miguel didn't mind that you cuddled up to him since you were his best friend. Miguel would look down to see your eyes on the TV enjoying the movie. Sometimes Miguel would rest his arm on your leg or hip. Which his touches made you blush. The two of you would shift into different positions and soon you had your head on his chest and Miguel had his arms wrapped around you. Miguel looked down at you but this time your eyes weren't on the film but were on him. The two of you stared at each other for a couple of seconds before kissing.

♡ " Te amo " Miguel mumbles against your soft lips. The two of you pulled apart and smiled. Miguel held you close, this felt right and he didn't want to let you go so he asked you out on a date which you accepted. Miguel wanted this date to be perfect so he spent days trying to plan it, even asked Jess and Peter for help; which Jess and Peter were surprised that big scary Miguel found someone but they were glad to see him happy and not work himself to death or bury his emotions so they helped even Hobie was going to play a part.

♡ The date was today and right now, you looked in the mirror and admired the outfit you choose for the date and hoped Miguel liked it. Speaking of Miguel when he arrived to pick you up, he brought you flowers and a basket of your favorite snacks. Miguel took you on a rooftop date, he made your favorite meal and dessert. The fairy lights were beautiful. " I hope you love it my luz. " Miguel kissed your cheek and pulled out your chair. He pushed in your seat. You looked over to see a tall man dressed in black ripped jeans and a band t-shirt. He was playing a sweet melody on his guitar. " That's Hobie, he's a uh co-worker and is doing a favor by playing for us. " Miguel said as he pours you a glass of your favorite beverage.

✰ The date went as planned. You and Miguel talked, ate, danced, and shared a few kisses. Jess and Peter watched from a far and took care of any crime so that Miguel wouldn't have to leave or have the date ruined. You didn't know he was Spiderman and he was scared to tell you. He didn't want you scared or see him differently. After the date, Miguel took you home and you laid in bed giggling and feeling all sorts of emotions. Miguel himself was happy the date went well. Lyla herself teased Miguel all night.

✰ Eventually you moved in Miguel which made him happy because he could make sure that you whenever you had a seizure him or Lyla was around. Though whenever he talked about Lyla, he would explain that it just a security system so you never saw Lyla. Miguel would pick up your medicine or remind you to take it every morning and night. He would keep your stress levels low and whenever he was away at the society, he had Lyla keep him update on your health levels and track every pill you took.

✰ Part 2: (Name) finds out Miguel is Spiderman?

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (9/11)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

Hope you're ready for things to get spicy 🌶️🌶️ Also if you notice the chapter count going up, no you don't 👀

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

“You said what to his highness?”

Elain covered her face with her hands, unable to endure the expression on Vassa’s face. “Was it truly that bad?”

Peeking through her fingers, Elain noticed Vassa was too quick to shake her head, waving her hands as she said, “No! No, princess, not at all.” The laughter in her voice was scarcely reassuring. “I admit it was more direct than most ladies would dare—“

There was an odd sort of approval in how Vassa was grinning at her. As if she found Elain’s behavior delightful—either because it was amusing to watch her lady flounder so spectacularly at the art of seduction, like her misfortune was the comedy of a riveting piece of theatre, or because Vassa genuinely appreciated the courage it had taken.

Ignoring Elain’s mortified groan, Vassa soothed, “It’s a perfectly ordinary thing for a wife to ask her husband. And it’s good that you will be consummating the marriage.” With a slight glance towards the door, wary that the guards posted outside might be able to hear, Vassa leaned closer. “Though Lucien is careful about who he employs, servants talk. I was worried it would only be a short time before the King discovered that Lucien was not visiting your quarters.”

What would the King have done if he discovered such a thing? Elain decided it was something to worry about later. Lucien would be visiting her quarters, which was a much more pressing issue.

“Are you… knowledgeable about the act?” Vassa straightened a bit, nervous the way any lady might become at such a question and the implications of its answer. Vassa nodded, and Elain took that to mean that Vassa trusted her a great deal. Face heating, Elain practically begged, “Is there anything I should know?”

This was something Elain never would have discussed with anyone besides Nesta. If Vassa hadn’t witnessed Elain part ways with Lucien after dinner, Elain would never have brought it up. But as it were, Vassa took one look at Lucien’s expression and hardly waited until they were in the privacy of Elain’s bedchamber before she demanded to know what happened. Yet—now that they were talking about it, and Vassa had been the one to broach the subject, Elain felt relieved to have an outlet for the jumble of nervous thoughts that had been tangling a knot in her stomach since dinner.

Do you understand how a woman finds herself with child?

Yes. No. Not really.

Elain thought she had a sense of it, based on what Nesta had explained and what she had done with her True Love the night before her wedding. But that evening had been reserved solely for pleasure. Elain was not certain if those acts, the kissing and touching and tasting, also needed to occur during childmaking.

Would it be passionless and methodical, like Nesta had described? A clinical insertion into her body, not meant to be enjoyed, simply endured? She couldn’t imagine Lucien deliberately making anything painful for her, but perhaps that was merely the nature of the act. Her True Love had alluded to pleasure, but they had been interrupted before there had been any penetration.

Vassa hid a smile as she stood up from the sofa. The tight curls of her hair bounced with the motion, blurring like the soft, flickering tips of flame in the hearth. “Lucien has taken lovers over the years,” she said offhandedly. Elain resisted the urge to demand who—when—as Vassa continued, “From the rumors, they’ve never had anything to complain about. I trust as his wife, he’d take extra care to ensure you are enjoying yourself.”

“So it can be pleasurable?”

The word came out strained. Elain cleared her throat, concentrating on the fire and not the way Vassa was rummaging through her collection of nightwear for the most sheer, provocative negligee she could find.

“It certainly can be,” she hummed. “And I trust his majesty will do his best to ensure that it is. Especially once he sees you in this.”

Vassa held up a pearl-colored nightgown. Elain knew, having held that nightgown to her chest the first time she’d discovered it, that it fell much closer to her hips than her knees. She would have believed it was made for a child if the lacy bodice wasn’t designed to fit the breasts and curves of an adult woman.

A knock at the door severed Elain from her musings of what was considered appropriate attire for childmaking. The knock was gentle, though Elain felt it pierce through the door, flying straight into her chest where she could feel each rap against her sternum. There was no more time left to decide what to wear.

With a sly smile, Vassa laid the gown on the bed. “I’ll leave this here and let his majesty know you need a few minutes. Please change at your leisure and take some time to collect yourself.”

Elain nodded. She would express her gratitude to Vassa later, when she wasn’t worried she would stumble over the words. The door opened then shut, followed by a murmur of voices—Vassa’s feminine hum and one much lower, filling her with heat from just the indiscernible rumble. It was far too distracting to think of Lucien waiting on the other side of that door. Was he nervous, too? Maybe he was pacing like she was, while she tried to convince herself to cross the bedroom floor and actually dress herself in that tiny slip of clothing.

Elain shut her eyes, thinking momentarily of her sisters and the advice that they would lend. Nesta, cool and methodical, reminding Elain that the longer she delayed, the more severe her anxiety would become. Feyre, with a gleam in her eyes, goading Elain to try his patience. Test how long he was willing to wait. If she locked the door, would she find him asleep in the hall in the morning?

She elected to take the middle ground, as perhaps she always would—ever the balance between her eldest and youngest sisters. Elain embraced a little of each of them: Nesta’s iron will, steadying her footsteps as they carried Elain toward the bed; Feyre’s boldness, convincing her not to trade the nightgown for something more sensible. And then, there was the small voice in the back of her mind, whispering to her, you want this.

That was something that was uniquely hers. Her own heart, and its capacity for honesty. For knowing itself. She was nervous, but also certain that every beaconing beat of her heart guided her toward this. Towards Lucien.

The nightgown that Vassa selected opened at the front, allowing Elain to easily slide her arms into each side. She needed to tie the sides of the gown together using the thin, satin ribbons, which would have been a tedious process even if her hands weren’t trembling.

By the time she was done, Elain needed to stop in the bathing room to hurriedly wipe the sweat off her palms—and dab her skin with some floral-scented water—before she decided she was ready to present herself to Lucien.

When she opened the heavy mahogany door, she caught him mid-step through pacing the hallway. Thankfully, there was no one else in the hall to see how she was dressed, which also meant there was no one to witness Lucien coming to a complete standstill at the sight of her.

“Elain.”

He sounded stunned, though this was her room, and he had been explicitly waiting for her.

“Lucien.”

She may have sounded a bit stunned, too. That this was happening at all when he’d been so clear about his intentions and desires in this marriage, in such opposition to her own.

His mouth had dropped open, like he intended to say more, and was searching for the correct words. Elain glanced warily down the hall, uncertain if he had explicitly requested privacy or if she needed to be concerned that someone could round the corner at any moment.

She opened the door wider. “I don’t suppose you intend to stand out here all night?” she asked lightly. “I do hope I make better company than the corridor.”

“If it were anyone else, I would point out that the floors are polished well enough to see my reflection. And what company is better than my own?”

Elain offered him a small smile just for his attempt at lightening the simmering tension between them. “Anyone else, but not me?”

His eyes swept her over. “How could I deny that you are much finer company? “

Though the words were complimentary, his gaze lingered like he was refraining from speaking the full extent of his mind. Elain coached herself not to fidget beneath his scrutiny, even as her mind ran circles around how his expression shifted and how his mechanical eye spun and refocused.

Ordinarily, Elain likened her husband’s attention to a warm blanket. Elain always felt warmer, more settled, when Lucien’s eyes were upon her. She supposed it was no different now, except that singular blanket had been replaced by a hundred, a thousand. Now, her skin was uncomfortably hot as the weight settled over her, smothering her alongside the guesswork of whether her husband enjoyed what he saw.

Reading her expression, Lucien asked softly, “Are you certain you want to do this tonight?”

Was it with hope that he asked? Or dread?

Elain snagged the side of her nightgown, rubbing her thumb over the fabric. Was it possible that the negligee was too provocative? The last thing Elain wanted was to dampen his opinion of her, and now she wondered if her forwardness was working against that goal.

Fearing that she was rapidly losing her nerve, Elain nodded. Once. Twice. She crumpled the fabric into her fist and added, “I’m certain, Lucien… So long as you are.”

It sounded far more like a question than she had hoped.

Lucien took two long strides towards her. She should have retreated into the room to give him the proper space to enter, but her feet were cemented to the threshold, overburdened by all of those many, many blankets. His hand closed over the hand picking nervously at her nightgown, gently prying it away from the material. Elain held still, hardly breathing, as she allowed him to raise her hand to the left side of his chest and press her palm flat.

“Do you feel how fast my heart’s beating?” He whispered.

Indeed, she could feel it rising to her fingers, thundering like the water droplets that used to fall against the clay roofing tiles outside her bedroom window in Carterhaugh. She used to crack her window open on nights when it rained, willing to risk the water blowing inside if it meant she could inhale the scent.

That was how it felt to be standing so close to Lucien. Their hearts, the pattering rain. Her shortening breath, the tumultuous wind. And his smell, the woodsmoke and cinnamon, so unlike the moistened earth but invigorating in the same way. The same girl who used to perch at the windowsill now begged her to lean closer, to let the storm inside.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened, pulling against the soft linen of his shirt. “Does that mean you’re nervous?”

His hand, resting over her own, departed to grasp her chin. His heartbeat still thrummed beneath her fingers, echoed like thunder between her ears. He tilted her face up, pulling her focus away from his chest. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “Yes. But I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

With a hand at her hip, he gently walked her back. One step, then another, until they were far enough inside to shut the door. With those smoldering gold and russet eyes staring at her, Elain knew that Lucien was no gentle patter of warm spring rain. No—his touch at her hip was searing. He’d never be a cooling kiss against her skin, a breath of fresh air.

Lucien was something else entirely, a force she had never been prepared to seek out. Rain could cleanse and restore, but fire—fire devoured. Consumed. Razed, so something new could emerge from the ashes. The girl who used to welcome rainstorms wanted to know what would happen if she welcomed this, too.

She searched his eyes, steadying herself to weather the blazing fire within them. “What happens now?”

“Now,” he leaned closer until their lips were a breath apart, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Elain already felt dizzy. “That’s all?”

“No,” he said with a small smile. “But that’s how childmaking typically starts. Unless you prefer I refrain—”

“No,” she interrupted, fisting his shirt in an effort to close the rest of the distance between them. She could feel his breath dancing across her lower lip, and she could not stand the thought of spending another day not kissing her own husband. “No, Lucien, please—”

He kissed her before she could continue begging him to do so.

Kissed her, less like he was obliging her and more like some control within him had finally snapped. Lucien gathered her against his body, leaning so she was completely enveloped in his large frame as his hand slid into her hair and his lips parted over hers.

This was not at all like the kiss she had imagined. When Elain suggested having a child, she anticipated Lucien would comply solely out of duty. That his kisses would be slow and a tad rigid, delicate as the fragile line they balanced in introducing such intimacy into their otherwise platonic marriage.

She gasped under the urgency of his lips, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into her open mouth. Lucien groaned—a throaty, gratified sound that vibrated against her lips. He wanted this, she realized with a touch of wonder. Wanted her. That was all the encouragement she needed to grab at his shirt, yanking him closer with the same desperation he was using to touch her everywhere he could—her shoulders, her sides, her hips, her rear.

Eventually, he must have tired of leaning over because he lowered his hands to hoist her up, carrying her weight beneath her thighs so that their hips were level. Elain threw her arms over his shoulders, pressing her palms into his upper back to keep their bodies flush. She was the one who had to lean over now if she wanted to continue kissing him. But Lucien broke away to trail open-mouth kisses down her throat and across her neckline, his lips firm and sweet and lingering at each place he stopped.

Her head fell back, and she arched her body into him, winding her legs around his waist. It felt like she’d had several glasses of wine at dinner, warming and loosening her body, though in reality, she had been too nervous to eat or drink much of anything. Maybe that’s why her head was spinning, from the lack of supper and not from the intoxicating feeling of his lips and tongue.

His tongue. Gods, his tongue. He flicked it teasingly over her pulse, and she wondered if he could feel her heart flutter beneath. It was pounding in her throat, leaping like the flame that spread over her skin, pooling heat at her center until she felt drunk and reckless with desire. Elain could feel that he had hardened in his trousers, and his erection was pressing so deliciously between her thighs. She remembered the relief she’d felt, grinding against her True Love when she’d been perched in his lap, and she knew all it would take was a small roll of her hips—

“Gods, Elain,” Lucien gasped, breaking away from where he’d latched his mouth to her throat. She did it again and felt his fingers tighten where they were secured beneath her upper thighs. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against her sternum as he took several shallow breaths. His lips tickled, moving softly against her nightgown, like he was whispering a prayer too quiet for her to hear.

Then he lifted his head, and her mouth went utterly dry at the look in his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, glazed as he sent her a playful grin before placing his next kiss directly over one of the nipples poking through her nightgown. She cried out as his tongue laved over the silk, his teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm, to send her hips moving against his again. And again.

He swore. “Keep that up, and I fear we won’t be having a baby anytime soon.”

Elain stilled her hips. Her brows merged together, trying to decipher his meaning. There was something she wasn’t quite understanding about the mechanics if grinding against him would impede their ability to conceive. Was he trying to say that he didn’t enjoy the feeling?

Her husband laughed and shook his head, chasing away her worries with another open-mouthed kiss, this one slower and less frantic than the others. It warmed her body in a different way, and like thread spun to gold, all at once her lust became more refined, ravaging through her body under a different name.

Love, she thought.

This was what the novelists meant when they spoke of it. A golden light was growing in her chest, and she didn’t know when she had felt the first spark of it. Maybe on their wedding day, when they had first laid eyes on one another in that garden. Or maybe it was later, when he had stayed at her bedside for days, devotedly nursing her back to health. Whenever it had started, as he kissed her then, so sweetly she could almost trace it to an affection beyond primal desire, she could feel the light expanding in her chest until there was no denying it.

She was in love with her husband.

And now she would need to endure this intimacy with him, this lifetime with him, knowing he did not feel the same.

-

Lucien was going to die from his wanting.

Elain was so soft. Her skin flushed all the loveliest shades of pink while she gasped against him like music. Her hips would surely drive him to madness, but only if the little noises she was making didn’t achieve it first.

His wife. His beautiful wife. Nothing felt so right as being able to finally hold her like this, to touch and kiss her and—gods, feel how wet she was becoming against his trousers. Even if she had only asked for this because she ultimately wanted a child, there was no denying that she was enjoying herself. And he had scarcely even begun the honor of pleasuring her.

“Elain,” he said again.

He couldn’t help saying it, her name like a drug, or perhaps a symptom of one. Her lips were the more likely culprit, drawing him in again and again in the makings of a lifelong addiction. How did other men stand it, he wondered? He’d hardly been able to tolerate four days without her, and that was before she’d invited him to his bedroom. Now, he was convinced no one could ever draw him out of this room again, let alone convince him to leave the palace.

He groaned as he walked them blindly towards the bed, unable to pull his mouth away to properly watch where he stepped. He’d wanted to kiss her again ever since their wedding day, when his teary-eyed, reluctant bride had unexpectedly deepened their kiss at the ceremony. Elain had made the same quiet moan in the back of her throat that she was making now, and he never wanted her to stop making that sound. He was such a fool back then, deciding to go through with their arrangement, thinking there was a world where he could possibly live a life separate from hers and be fulfilled.

True love be damned.

His knees hit the edge of the bed, and he lowered her slowly upon it. He leaned over, bracing one hand above her head. The other trailed curiously over the ribbons that tied her nightgown in place. How fitting that she was wrapped in bows like a gift. He appreciated the ceremony of being able to unwrap her, this beautiful present that fate had delivered to him, his wife. Lucien could hardly believe that he was married to someone like her.

With near-reverent diligence, he tugged at that first bow at the top of her nightgown, promising to himself as the ribbon came loose that this would be the first of many days where he would do everything in his power to make his wife happy.

And perhaps, one day, she would love him back as desperately as he loved her.

Elain’s lips were kiss-bruised, and he had to resist sucking her lower lip into his mouth when he watched her bite it gently. “What comes next?” she whispered.

The ribbon came free, and the top of her nightgown fell open, exposing her collarbone. He ducked to press his lips along the delicate line, murmuring against her skin, “Now, Elain, I’m going to kiss down every inch of your body.”

His fingers snagged the next ribbon. Pulled.

“I’m going to make you come on my tongue. Then my fingers.”

Did she even know what that meant? She made a soft sound in the back of her throat as though in agreement, and he glanced up at her face to measure her reaction. Those big, brown eyes had gone so wide.

“And then…”

“And then?” she asked, so breathless that he needed to take a moment to reign himself in, remember why he was there in the first place.

Lucien swallowed before speaking, though he was well aware there was nothing he could do to prevent the roughness in his voice. “Then, I have the honor of fucking a baby into my wife.”

He saw—and felt—the way her body trembled. Was the word ringing through her, too? Baby. His wife wanted a baby. With him. With anyone, he supposed, but it would be their child. Her beautiful features mixed with some combination of his own. Lucien had been so convinced he had no interest in having any heirs. He’d felt no motivation to continue the Vanserra line, but now it was Elain’s line, too.

One day, this palace would be filled with the sounds of scampering feet, darting past with what he hoped would be heads of honey-brown hair, mischievous brown eyes. He hoped they’d smile like Elain, genuine and unrestrained and so utterly beautiful it made his chest ache. She would be radiant as a mother. And he hoped he would see that smile more. Every day, every hour.

He kept that thought in mind as he slowly climbed down her body, untying ribbon after ribbon. She arched her back as he nipped and kissed the tops of her breasts, noting with satisfaction that there were splotches of heat blooming across her chest. If that didn’t give away how flustered his wife was becoming under his attention, then it was evidenced by how she shifted, almost shyly, as he parted the nightgown wide enough to reveal her breasts.

Mother save him. She was breathtaking.

Lucien thought she ought to know how beautiful she was, but he didn’t know how to explain it to her without being crude. Her breasts fit perfectly into his hands, enticingly soft and smooth. He felt a dangerous temptation to leave them mottled with love bites, but for now he would be gentle. Let her adjust to having her body touched—worshiped. And maybe one day, she’d be comfortable enough to leave bruises on his skin, too.

She gasped as his mouth closed around one of her peaked nipples. He savored the sound, letting it sink through his body as his tongue laved against the delicate tip. He pulled away when she started to squirm, though part of him was enticed by the idea of teasing her all night just to discover what sort of creature emerged. Would she keep being so sweet and pliant, or would that wicked temper finally come out to play?

“Elain,” he said, more like a groan as he entertained the idea of his wife unabashedly taking what she wanted. Holding him down while she rode his face, his cock, his stomach— “Cauldron, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she whispered in a voice so much breathier than her usual way of speaking.

“Precisely.” He pushed up from her chest and took hold of her hand, guiding it hesitantly to the bulge in his trousers so she could feel how hard he was. Even the gentle friction of her curious hand through the thick fabric had him clenching his stomach and reminding himself to breathe. His words were practically gravel. “You’ve done nothing but lay there as pretty as you are, and I am already devotedly at your feet. What power you wield without trying. I am helpless, so thoroughly bewitched—”

“Are you accusing me of magic?”

Lucien laughed, hearing the strain in her voice and recalling the horror she’d expressed when discovering he could use magic. “Never, lady.” He moved down, letting her arm fall back to the bed as he leaned to kiss her again, his mouth lavishing the soft plush of her stomach, the curve of her hip. “Mind you, if this is a spell of your doing, I’m quite happily enthralled.”

“No spells,” she said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“No?” He paused at the edge of the bed, nestled between her exquisite thighs, and offered her a devilish smile as he slipped the last few ribbons free, leaving her nightgown completely open. “Wearing something like that, I’d wager you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I-I—” her face was becoming nearly as red as his hair, though she didn’t move to cover herself. “I didn’t pick it out.”

A very distant, far-away part of his mind made a note to give Vassa a raise. Or an admonishment. It was unclear if the scrap of white lace had been chosen to torture or delight him, and he was too fixated on the pretty sight of the small wet patch dampening the fabric to care much about who selected it or why.

“Then pick one out for me next time,” he said. “Or better yet, pick out what you would like to wear.”

“Next time?”

Gods, did she think a baby would take after one night together? Later, he would explain to her how it worked, and hoped to convince her to let them try this every night so he might have an excuse to never leave her bed.

For now, with single-minded focus, Lucien began tracing his lips down the elegant slant of Elain’s hipbone to the seam of her underthings. Her hips bucked in what he marked as nervousness, and he gently pressed a hand on her lower abdomen to keep her still. He dared a gentle kiss atop the growing wetness at her center, relishing in the gasp that tore from her lips.

What had he been saying again?

It didn’t matter. He went in for another kiss, opening his mouth to lick her through the fabric. It was difficult to tell who he was teasing more by not simply ripping the thing down her legs and putting his mouth on her in earnest.

“Will—” she cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Will we be doing this next time, too?”

Lucien would gladly do this every time, childmaking or not. He’d love nothing more than to spend every morning between his wife’s legs.

“Is that what you want?” His fingers hooked over the hem of the delicate lace. A savage part of him wanted to rip it clean off. But Elain was raised a lady, and he didn’t want to frighten her, so he slid the wet fabric politely down her legs.

“Lucien,” she whispered.

Gods. Fuck. The low light of the gas lamp glistened against her arousal, dripping from her swollen, pink cunt. It had spread onto her thighs, and he took the opportunity to swipe two fingers over the slickness there.

She watched, her lips parted in shock, as he immediately brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking as though they were coated in honey.

It was the hunger in her eyes, more so than her pleasant taste, that caused him to groan. His entire body was aching, particularly in his trousers, which were becoming far too tight.

“I asked you a question,” he said, lowering his face slowly towards that pink little bud at the apex of her thighs. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Elain? My wife wants me to lick her pretty cunt? You say the word, and it’s done. Anytime, anywhere”

Her thighs started closing, but he caught them, pushed them wider.

“Don’t be crude,” she said, more huffy, a bit demanding.

Lucien hid a smile. There it was, the making of that temper. “I mean it,” he said, intentionally ghosting his breath against her wet skin. She squirmed a bit, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from fidgeting, too, thrusting his hips into the open, empty air. She had no idea how much she was torturing him, doing nothing but laying there so sweetly. “I don’t care where we are, what we’re doing. I’ll bend you over my desk. Or sneak beneath your skirts in the garden.”

“People might see us.”

He laughed. “Even better.”

His pride stirred at the way her hips shifted, trying to push closer to his mouth. She knew, he thought with a trace of allure. She knew it would feel good, which caused him to wonder precisely what experience Elain had with pleasure.

Did she touch herself at night?

Another time, he’d ask her. Might even beg her to show him.

Now, he offered her an obliging flick of his tongue, ever so soft. She whimpered.

Pulling away, he added, “Most princes brag about their wealth and accolades. Let me brag about how beautiful my wife looks coming on my tongue.”

“You haven’t made me come yet.”

Oh?

He offered a slow grin. “Forgive me, then. For getting ahead of myself.”

Without further preamble, he ducked his head to press a filthy, open-mouth kiss to her cunt. Her fingers immediately clawed at the sheets, and he barely had half a mind to grab her hand, placing it in his hair instead. He wanted to feel everything he was doing to her, wanted his scalp to sting with her pleasure.

A soft upwards lick against her clit had her breath hitching, her back arching, and he repeated that motion again and again, listening intently to every sound she made. He could get lost in the sensation of her—the way she tasted, and moaned, and ever-so-shyly began grinding her hips—for eternity.

He didn’t mind that it was messy. That the legs she tightened around his head were still slick with her arousal, smearing it against his cheeks. He wanted to be covered in her. And when her body began to tremor around him, he gently pushed her thighs wider, spreading them so he could chase her orgasm with steady, encouraging strokes of his tongue. His groans were lost in the way his face was buried in cunt, but hers—hers were perfectly clear, exhilarating.

“Lucien,” she gasped.

Yes, he thought, shutting his eyes. She was panting it now, her fingers tugging at his hair, pulling it from their neat leather tie. He didn’t care so long as she kept saying his name like that.

“Lucien, Lucien—”

Every instinct in him was chanting, Yes. Yes. Tell me who’s making you feel this way. Tell me who you belong to, who belongs to you.

“Please.”

Elain’s body contracted, and she gave a small cry as she shuddered around him. He continued working his tongue against her, even as she started twitching, pushing at his head.

“Lucien, please.”

He pulled his lips away just long enough to say, “I told you what would be happening next.”

Her response was disjointed, a broken combination of panting and pleading, though for more or less, he couldn’t quite decipher. When his finger dipped at her entrance, she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and he paused.

“If you want to stop now, Elain, I can come back—”

“No,” she said, yanking him forward by his hair. He grunted, and her grip softened. “Sorry. I mean please. Please keep going. If you want to.”

If he wants to. He could have laughed at how greatly his wife misunderstood his desires. Instead, he lowered her legs from his shoulders and drew away.

Elain made a sound of complaint, but it died in her throat as she watched him lift his body over her much smaller frame.

“Three things,” he said, stopping intermittently in his ascent to leave kisses anywhere that caught his eye. Her hip, her stomach, her collarbone. “Firstly, sorry has no place in this bedroom. In fact, I implore you to dispel that word from your lexicon. As a princess—as my wife,” he corrected. “It is your right to demand what you need. To take it, especially from me.”

She blinked like she was listening to the murmurings of a madman. Maybe she was.

“Secondly.” He leaned down for a kiss, hoping she wouldn’t be put off by the arousal coating his lips and chin. Part of him wanted her to notice it, to recognize how badly her body had been craving his touch. She kissed him back ardently, but he broke for air before he could forget the words lashing at his mind. He needed to say them lest she spend another second questioning whether he desired her. “It is safe to assume I will always want you, Elain. It is a burning, living thing in my chest, this wanting. I have been unable to douse it since the moment I met you. I expect it will drive me to madness one day.”

Elain’s lips parted like she intended to say something, but he cut her off before he could lose his nerve, afraid that she would remind him that he was here to fulfill an obligation, not for sentiment.

On the tail of a long exhale, he said, “Finally—”

Elain, who must have had enough of his talking, began tearing at the buttons of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, though it was clear enough.

“Taking what I want, like you said.” She was making quick work of it, too, half his shirt already unbuttoned and now hanging off his shoulders. He didn’t miss how her eyes raked over his now exposed chest. He hoped she finished undressing him quickly so she could explore with her hands instead.

Half choked, he said, “And what do you want?”

“You already know.”

Right. Right. Yes. Elain wanted a baby. And though there were other things he wished his wife desired from him outside of procreation, he could still oblige her. Happily.

He let her push his shirt to the floor before he urged her back down to the bed, once again slipping a hand between her legs.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, gliding his fingers teasingly through her arousal.

“I want to have a baby,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. Her fingers had long fisted into the coverlets.

He couldn’t resist asking, “A baby with who?”

“You.”

There it was. The word that would drive his undoing.

“That’s right,” he said. He slowly slid a finger inside her, watching her expression carefully for any sign of discomfort. She was tight, which he had anticipated, and he took his time in letting her adjust to the sensation. It helped that she was already so gods damned wet. From him. From what he had done to her.

A soft sigh parted her lips. He took that as permission to add a second finger, gently stretching her as he began to move them. All the while, he watched her face, her eyes fluttered shut as she focused on how he pleasured her. He relished in her noises—sharp, ragged breaths and soft whimpers. Her flush climbed all the way to her temples, and with her tangled hair splayed out behind her, he was reminded for a moment of how she’d looked at the peak of her fever.

And then, another memory tumbled through his mind, unbidden.

I feel… Flushed. Like I have a fever.

Feverish for me, hmm?

His rhythm faltered. Perhaps he’d made a noise, because Elain’s eyes snapped open, and her brows merged.

“What’s wrong?”

Have I done something wrong?

Thick, oily betrayal oozed into his veins. He didn’t want to be thinking of another woman. Not now. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, especially now? With his wife’s arousal still fresh on his tongue?

His True Love had tasted just as sweet. Not too long ago, he’d ducked between her legs and sworn then that he’d never touch another so ardently. But that was before Elain. And before his True Love had, for whatever reason, decided not to meet him in the Carterhaugh Gardens. He’d sworn her off for good, he reminded himself.

Elain was his wife. His future. And he knew with certainty that he did love her. Loved her with every ounce of his splintered, unfaithful heart.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, praying she would blame the strain in his voice on lust. “Nothing has ever been more right, in fact.”

Deciding she was prepared as she’d ever be, Lucien went back on his promise to make her come on his fingers. Just as he’d gone back on his promise to have no relationship with his wife. And back on his promise—

Lucien used the excuse of removing his trousers to pull away from Elain, taking his time with the laces as he attempted to collect himself. He couldn’t unravel like this. He owed it to Elain to be present in this moment.

Despite the memories plaguing him, Lucien knew he didn’t regret his choice, not for one second. Elain was the woman he loved. That was all he wanted to focus on.

It helped that she’d sat up to watch him undress. Her eyes were damn-near predatory as his clothes dropped to the floor, and his erection sprang proudly into the open space.

She bit her lip, glancing shyly between his legs. “I didn’t… realize it was so big.”

Lucien knew it was ridiculous to feel pleased with her reaction when she had no other male to compare him to, but he was flooded with satisfaction regardless. It helped to ground him, remembering that this was likely the first time Elain had seen a man fully naked. And from the way her eyes darkened, he thought she enjoyed what she saw.

“It won’t be painful,” he promised. “We’ll can go slo—”

“I trust you.”

She held his eyes, surprisingly steadfast. Just as she had been that first day he encountered her in the garden of her family’s manor, when she had said in all of her steel civility that she pitied his future wife. He hadn’t been able to look away from her since.

He’d been promised someone meek. Docile. Beautiful.

They’d gotten one of those things correct, he supposed. But as he stepped towards her, met with every ounce of those burning, molten brown eyes, he thought about how many things they’d gotten wrong. His bemusing, indignant, wonderful wife. No one on this earth could match her for honesty, nor the fierceness of her compassion.

Though, if he had to pick a trait they’d gotten the most wrong, it was her courage. To be married against her will, to be moved to a different kingdom, and to face it all—face him—with so much grace and patience and openness. She was perhaps the bravest person he’d ever known.

Even now, she was not hiding anything from him. Lucien could tell that she was nervous. When his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he placed his hand on her upper thigh, he could feel that she was trembling. But she smiled, like she always did, in the face of all of the uncertainty of what came next. She opened her arms to him.

Nothing had ever felt so right, so predestined as falling into that embrace.

He knew in his bones that regardless of what any magic butterfly had to say for it, Elain was the woman his soul called to. She was his. And he was hers. Nothing had ever felt more simple, more certain, than that.

There was so much he wanted to say to her. One day, perhaps, he would be brave enough to tell her the whole truth. For now, it was enough to savor the feeling of her warm, soft skin pressed flush against his as he settled his body between her legs. He ran his hand along the curve of her waist, her hip, before he stopped at her mid-thigh. He lifted, and that was all the encouragement Elain needed to hook her legs around his waist.

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, well aware that the reverence dripping in his voice practically said what he was too much of a coward to speak aloud—I love you.

Maybe she heard the affection in his voice, or saw it plainly in his eyes, because she gave a soft, contented sigh. Like this all felt perfectly right to her, too. He kissed her at the same moment he entered her, as slow and deliberate as the descent of his hips.

She was tight. It wasn’t helped by the way her body tensed around him, and he cooed softly into this kiss, stilling his hips to give her a moment to adjust. He slipped a hand between their bodies so he could gently rub her clit. Eventually, she relaxed and signaled him to keep going with a small tug on his hair.

It took several shallow, slow thrusts to work himself comfortably inside her. He paused once their hips were flush, this time because he needed to adjust, to catch his breath and reign back his urge to drive his hips forward. He was teetering on the edge of a wild desire that begged for him to take, to give, to fuck her senselessly until a child took.

Their kisses became more urgent, more demanding.

Elain broke away to mumble, “More.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It feels good,” she said, moving her hips against him. Lucien fought a groan. “It feels… right.”

“Yeah?” Lucien was hardly paying attention to what he was saying. All he could picture was Elain, hands resting on her pregnant stomach while she beamed at him with all of the love he felt writhing in his chest.

Slowly, he began rolling his hips. “And this is what you want, hmm? My pretty wife wants a baby?”

Her entire body clenched at the question, nearly punching the air out of Lucien’s lungs. His next thrust was a bit harder than it should have been, but Elain only gave a small, encouraging cry in response.

“I’ll give you a baby, Elain,” he grunted, snapping his hips for each lovely sound that she made. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Lucien,” she whispered. The pitch in her voice crested and fell in rhythm with his hips. He thought his name had never sounded better.

And he laughed, completely delirious. “You already have that.”

Elain nodded, like she was agreeing, or maybe just encouraging him to keep moving. She was now raising her hips to meet his, and he rewarded her the effort by rolling his thumb against her clit. Mostly because he wanted to hear the warbled, high-pitched moan that sent her mouth into the prettiest ‘O’ shape.

He’d do filthy things to those lips another day. For now, he just admired her, the way she came undone beneath his touch, how her fingers gripped his hair so tightly that his scalp would likely be sore tomorrow. He hoped it would. He wanted any evidence he could retain of this moment.

“L-Lucien,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “I feel—”

“I know,” he said. She was tightening around him, and he knew she must be close, “I know, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Are you going to come for me?”

Her nodding became frantic, and he leaned in for a kiss, needing to be wrapped around her in every conceivable way. He could feel his own release building, tightening like a golden band coiling around his spine, his ribs, his chest. For a moment, as he kissed her, he swore he could feel it thudding. Like a pulse. A shared heartbeat. A string, being pulled from one end.

Then Elain shattered beneath him, crying her release against his mouth. He thought she might have bit his lip, but he didn’t care because she was so maddeningly tight around him. He continued his pace, fucking her through her release as the tension began cresting inside him, and only a moment later, he followed, spilling his release inside her.

He stilled. For a moment, it was all shallow breathing, coming down from their ecstasies. Her grip on his hair loosened, though he wished she would continue holding on. He never wanted to unwrap himself from her, though he supposed this was the part where they said goodnight.

Lucien brushed any stray locks of hair away from her flushed, damp face. She was smiling at him, a bit bashful, though her eyes were shining.

“How did that feel?”

“Amazing,” she said, her chest still rising and falling unevenly beneath his own. Her face fell slightly, and she asked, “What happens now?”

He was still inside her, though softening rapidly. Lucien considered making up some lie, a fiction about how staying the night would improve their chances of conceiving. But he’d vowed he would be honest, so he begrudgingly pulled out and resisted the urge to watch his release spill from her, or worse yet push it back in with his fingers.

But if he was completely honest with himself, he hoped she wouldn’t get pregnant for a while yet. He wanted a long, happy trial of lovemaking.

“First, I’ll help you get cleaned up. And then…” He shrugged. “That’s up to you, I suppose.”

Elain pursed her lips, eying his naked form, then the discarded clothing on the floor. “It’s a long way to the Eastern Wing,” she said. “And I think I ripped some of those buttons when I undressed you.”

He grinned. “Then perhaps, for the sake of propriety, I should stay the night until a servant can bring me a change of clothes.”

“That would be the honorable thing to do,” she said with a decided nod.

Holding in a laugh, Lucien decided he would count himself lucky that she wanted him to spend the night. And perhaps, if he felt like testing his luck, he would see if she wanted to try to make a baby again in the morning.

“I’ll go grab a wet cloth,” he said, kissing her forehead before he regrettably retreated from the comfort of her arms, across the wooden floorboards to the cool, tiled bathing room.

He strode to the sink and opened the small cabinet beneath the porcelain basin in search of a soft handcloth. It was filled with an assortment of toiletries. Tonics and oils for the bath, soaps and spare candles, and, at last, a neat stack of clean washcloths. Beside them was a fabric drawstring bag that he might have otherwise ignored if not for a strange tug he felt in his chest. Lucien lifted the bag, finding it strangely featherweight despite its full appearance.

Curious, Lucien tugged the bag loose to peek inside.

It was as if the cool touch of the ceramic tiles seeped into his skin, turning his entire body to rigid stone. He blinked, hoping he might find this was some strange, post-sex haze of his mind. But the bag’s contents remained unchanged, no matter how long he stared.

Butterfly wings.

[stuckybarton]

Heads Under Water III

Summary: When you bit more than you could chew. Character: K'uk'ulkan/Namor x Atlantean Descendant! Filipino! Female Reader. Word Count: 1,387 Chapter Warnings: Asshole K'uk'ulkan(?).

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Join the Library (no longer do taglist you can just turn on notif here)

Part III

“You had brought an outsider into this agreement?!”

The last thing you would have ever expected was for someone—someone you didn’t even know, to have this much fury directed right at you. But here you were. For once you found yourself leaning closer to Agent Ross, in fear of what the man with wings on his feet would do to you.

Having been working for the Avengers and for Tony Stark for a great amount of time, you should have gotten used to other beings aside from Humans, but with the blue man that was built like a brick wall wielding a spear, you still had your fears for the unknown.

“She is the best engineer in the world.” It was Shuri that now spoke, fighting for your cause at this point. “She can create repairs for your structure without even the use of Vibranium or complicated machineries.”

“I will not have another colonizer stepping foot in my kingdom.” The man spat only now coming to look at you.

You blinked meeting the blazing brown eyes of the man. Only now did you have a good look at him, adorned in what you assumed would be Vibranium and jade jewelry. But in your inspection of the man, you’ve only now realized what he had called you. A colonizer. You scoffed freely at the title—yeah, if only he knew what your people have been through for hundreds of years.

“Do you think this is a laughing matter, Colonizador.”

“Last time I checked, it was my people that were colonized for three hundred and thirty-three years.” You found the courage to point out ignoring Agent Ross’ warning to not say anything against the man and his people.

“You have tongue.”

“And you have the audacity.”

At the sight of the two spears now pointed at your neck, you were left frozen in place. You’ve made a mistake that much you can realize at this point, but dying was the last thing you would have expected to happen right now.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t have them slit your throat where you stand.”

“Namor, this doesn’t have to escalate to this, Y/N is here to help.” It was Shuri that spoke as she attempts to cover for you. Her body now coming to cover you and as far away from the spears as possible.

“I’m the only one capable of making sure that ridiculously small pathway to your home will be fixed without ruining the reinforcements.” You bluffed, you and Shuri have only been talking about the structure in passing yesterday, you were genuinely uncertain about what exactly was wrong.

“She’s right.” It was now Queen Ramonda that spoke ending the threats given your way. “I would not have allowed her into my country if she was not to be trusted with this kinds of projects.”

Momentarily, you felt relieved by her words. But you were uncertain what it would implicate you in this moment.

You had watched the spears being lowered and the ease of everyone in the room finally come for everyone to see. Turning your gaze towards the Agent, he looked just a stressed as you were in this very moment. But it was evident that he was ready to fight if it meant that things didn’t go into more chaos.

“She is under your jurisdiction, one wrong move on her end means our agreement is done.” The man, Namor, had finally relented. His gaze still burning as he was looking at you. “Disrespect me again and I will cut your tongue.”

You said nothing, fearing that another word from you would be your last. Physically biting your tongue at this point, you were not one to allow a man to disrespect you the way the man did—you didn’t allow anyone to do so, not even Tony would be brave enough to do so, but this one time. You held your tongue from saying anything that could hurt you.

Watching them all continue on with their discussion of things you truly didn’t have any idea about, you found yourself looking at Agent Ross for answers but he seemed just as lost as you were with everything going on in this moment. Eventually, the three had made their departure—not without once again looking at you in warning and you were not practically glued to Agent Ross at this point because of the genuine fear you had for them.

The first genuine sigh of relief had escaped your lips as soon as they left and the doors echoed shut and your attention now focused on the sheepish Shuri.

“It seems I have a lot of explaining to do.” She began.

“I think I’ve dealt with worse with Stark.” You reassured but you genuinely didn’t believe so at the moment.

~

Early on in your career, you have learn every single individual has an ulterior motive as small or as grand it could be. Shuri and the people of Wakanda seemed to also have their ulterior motive for you being in their country in more than just an excursion it may seem.

“So—he’s like the King of Atlantis?” You found yourself asking Shuri the moment she had finished with her story about the man’s arrival in their country demanding the capture of a scientist and an alliance.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. Atlantis isn’t real.” Shuri grinned. “But for the sake of analogy, you could say he’s something like that.”

You nodded only now remembering the rather numerous number of water damage in some parts of their home and even in Shuri’s lab.

“Your research on water-resistance would be a great help to us, and that mini repair aid you have could be a good tool to help the people of Talokan.”

You blinked cursing yourself for making those devices public of use to restore the aftermath of Thanos’ attack on New York all those years ago. Now you’re dragging yourself into another mess that you weren’t even sure you’re willing to aid in—especially with your life being on the line because of it.

“I can’t personally check the damages, Shuri. I’m not equipped to go to the waters in my state.”

“We as well as Namor have the equipment to allow us to breathe underwater if the need arises.” She continued on to convince you.

“Shuri—I am not personally capable of going in the waters.” You reiterated. Hoping you wouldn’t need to tell her your biggest fear to her especially at a time like this.

“Is there anything the matter?”

“Let’s just say I don’t enjoy being in the waters.” You said sheepishly at this point.

“Have you tried going to therapy, Doctor?” She inquired, a smile on her lips at the irony of your situation and with your best known studies.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Stark.” You teased right back. But you sighed as the curiosity got the better of you—wanting to know more about whatever was deep in the waters. “Can you give me a few days to think about it? I just want to make sure what I’m going to place myself into wouldn’t place me in hot waters with the UN all over again.”

“They will not be involved. But please, take all the time you need. All that we could ask if for you not to tell anyone—not even your boss about the existence of Talokan.”

“You don’t need to ask me twice about that part.” You chuckled knowing the potential danger it might have if Tony catches wind of it and the overbearing precaution he might make if the need arises. “Can your AI give me a few learning materials on Mayan language?” You asked.

“We have a translator if the language barrier becomes an issue.”

“I just want to even the playing fields.” You pointed out, God knows what they might say behind your backs if you do accept this arrangement.

“We’ll have it sent to your database in the evening.” Shuri relents. “But for now, would you like to see the blueprint of the tunnel to their home?”

“Do I have a choice?” You snort already letting Shuri open the array of different holograms of the pathways and what ventures you were to be pulled from all over again.

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 10)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 9

Warnings: none, just ani fluff, a padawan braid touch tehe

Summary: You reunite with Anakin and Master Obi-Wan for a very important meeting of the Galactic Senate

Word Count: 3.6k

"Anakin. Come in, Anakin." Anakin inhaled quickly, looking around him, roused by these familiar words, words he usually heard when there was trouble near.

       "Stars, Anakin, what in blazes is happening in your head," Obi-Wan asked. It was a rhetorical question, Anakin knew, and he remembered where he was, remembered that he was not in any danger, though he had lost himself in thought. Obi-Wan sat next to him in the back of the transport, a large open-air speeder that was zooming across Coruscant. The pilot had been sent to retrieve Anakin and his Master from the landing pad. They'd just returned, and already, they had been summoned to attend a meeting of the senate by the Chancellor himself.

       "All Jedi," Anakin asked, trying to remember how to move his tongue, "have been summoned to this meeting?"

       "All Jedi currently on world, yes," Obi-Wan said, watching his usually very confident apprentice stumbling over his words. "And their Padawans." Obi-Wan gave Anakin a knowing look.

       "Why?" In truth, Anakin didn't much care why the Jedi had been summoned to the political arena on this particular day. Focusing on the practical, however, was helping him to get ahold of himself, and not lose control of his hands.

       "I've told you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his tone half-exasperated, half-concerned. "I believe the Senate is about to propose an unprecedented solution to the rogue acts of violence being commitment by these so-called 'separatists'."

       "An army," Anakin repeated his Master's words, from earlier, when they had been discussing their own most recent mission. Still, Anakin struggled to focus on such an important conversation. Anakin and Obi-Wan had been back to Coruscant only twice in the last two years. Both of their return trips had been brief, and both times, you had been off world with your Master, serving the Republic from afar. Anakin knew the growing separatist movement was to blame for keeping the Jedi so busy, knew that the political situation had gone from bad to worse within the last few years, the foundations of the Republic, and thus the Jedi Order, cracking under the weight of trying to serve so many star systems. Still, Anakin couldn't think about the Republic, or the senate, or even the Chancellor. He could only think of you. The thought of seeing you again, today, after so much time had passed, was causing Anakin's limbs to go numb, his lips to struggle over words, his mind turning in circles.

       "This will be an important meeting, my young Padawan," Obi-Wan said, clearly reading Anakin's mood. "You'd do well to keep your head."

       "Yes, Master," Anakin managed. Normally he'd quip back at Obi-Wan. His Master was growing more critical as Anakin got older, and Anakin was tired of it. Today, however, he didn't have room to feel frustration over Obi-Wan's criticisms. Anakin's emotional system was full; it was overflowing.

       Anakin absent-mindedly tried to pat down his hair, though it was short, and it usually looked the same no matter what he did. He wished he could have been given the chance to visit the refresher, or at the very least the chance to change out of the same clothes he'd been wearing for days, his tunic that had not been washed. These were the realities of being on assignment, and Anakin did not usually mind roughing it, but today, of all days? Did he have to appear before you without even water to splash on his face? Anakin casually gave his shoulder a sniff, patting down his hair again.

       "I'm sure she will be very happy to see us," Obi-Wan said, turning to face Anakin fully as the speeder made its way to the senate building. Anakin could tell that Obi-Wan was trying to reassure him, but the words lit a fire inside of Anakin. How would you react to seeing him again, after so long? He'd tried so hard with you, tried to get you to stop viewing him as only a rival, tried to get you to see all of his best qualities. Before your separation, you had slowly begun to trust him, to open up to him, to view him as a friend...but now? Anakin was terrified you would have closed your feelings to him completely, or worse, that you would have forgotten about him, that you would regard him as a part of your distant past. What if you had found someone else to spar with? What if you had begun to open your heart to someone else? Had you thought about him at all in the last two years? There was no way of knowing.

       "It's been two years, Master," Anakin said, his fear overtaking the misery he had unintentionally infused into this statement. Anakin folded his hands in his lap, but this was a mistake—the clammy coldness he felt in his stomach seemed to transfer to his palms, which were slick with sweat.

       "All the more reason for a happy reunion," Obi-Wan replied, giving Anakin a deliberate smirk.

"It's impossible," you said flatly, refusing to concede. "There's no way the senate would even suggest—"

       "You're being naïve," Eha told you. Her voice was calm, but firm. You walked with her toward the dome-shaped senate building. "I don't think there's a limit to what the senate might do, if the senators felt the Republic itself—and therefore, the source of their salaries—was threatened."

       "A military creation act? On the floor of the Galactic Senate," you stated, incredulous. "There hasn't been a military operation of that scale since—"

       Since you didn't know when. Maybe Eha was right, and you were just being an optimist. But what she was suggesting was preposterous—the Jedi would never agree to such a wildly violent solution to a problem that could surely be solved through diplomacy. For some reason, as you walked closer to the senate building, you felt a coldness run through your body. You wrapped your cloak around yourself, looking around in confusion. It was not a cold day.

       "Y/N," Master Yuma called, walking up to you with a brilliant smile on her face. "They're back. Obi-Wan and Anakin have returned from Carlac."

       You froze. You couldn't help it—you felt as if your insides had fallen out of you, and you were left standing here, an empty shell, nothing inside you but empty space. You felt Master Yuma intuit all of this in your Force presence, and you worked to push her out. You'd learned this skill of blocking others from sensing you through the Force only recently, but you were mastering it quickly. If you continued to practice, soon others—even Master Yuma—would only be able to intuit your emotions, your presence itself, when you allowed them to. Blocking her out with the Force took some effort, but you succeeded, though you knew it was somewhat futile. Master Yuma knew you so well, and interpreted your movements and gestures so easily, she didn't really need the Force to be able to understand what was going on in your mind. Still, you would rather keep your emotions to yourself, especially when it came to Anakin.

       "Oh," you responded, rather stupidly. Master Yuma gave you a supportive grip on the arm. It had been two full years since the last time you'd seen Anakin, when the two of you had returned from Hoth. In those two years, your abilities had grown beyond even your own expectations. It didn't matter that you had missed Anakin's presence, didn't matter that your stomach turned into a thousand winged insects when you heard his name. You were so close to your goal of knighthood, and you would not let anything get in the way of it. I cannot lose focus, you told yourself. I will not lose focus.

       You knew you must be kind to Anakin, but keep your distance, firm in your commitment to your ideals and to the Jedi Order. It was likely that his feelings had changed, in the last two years, you reminded yourself. Your stomach churned at the thought. It had been a long time, and he was a teenage boy, though not for much longer. Anakin was 19. In the time he'd been gone, he had become a man. Surely he'd gotten over those particular emotional impressions you'd been so used to reading in his presence. It will make things easier, you told yourself, trying to banish the misery that you felt at recognizing how likely it was, that Anakin felt differently than he had two years ago. Anakin was your old friend. Nothing more.

       You waited with Master Yuma and Eha at the entrance to the senate building. Master Yuma was excited to see her old friend, and her face showed it. Eha was watching you, but you kept your face impassive, a small, polite smile on your lips. You greeted other Jedi as they entered, nodding to them professionally. As you were speaking to Master Plo, you felt a rift in the air. It was as if a hole had been ripped through the Force, so intense was the shift in the current that you felt. You took a deep breath.

       "Obi-Wan," Master Yuma said warmly, embracing the Jedi Master with open arms. Behind their hugging figures you saw him, peering at you, his face forming a small smile, his posture demure.

Your breath left your body. Anakin looked different. He was so...tall. He towered over Obi-Wan. His face was tanned, and he was no longer the skinny 17-year-old he had been. His muscles had filled out to match his height. He looked as if he'd spent these last two years doing manual labor in a sunny climate. The effect was...quite nice.

       "Hello," Anakin said, walking over to stand in front of you, mirroring your polite smile, his eyes twinkling. His presence in the Force could not have been in more contrast to his diffident posture—it was as if energy were exploding out of him, light, joy, fear, excitement. He could have powered half the stars in the sky, with his presence, so powerful was the emotional current you felt coming from your friend.

       "Hi," you said, your voice cracking slightly. You cleared your throat. I will not, you repeated in your head, lose focus.

       "I missed you," Anakin said, his smile faltering, the blue of his eyes standing out even more than usual against his tanned skin. Crap. Focus, you thought, looking into the blue, losing your train of thought. Did he always have to be so forthright?

       "What, were there no good sparring partners in the Outer Rim?" you asked, sarcasm coloring your voice. You always found it miraculous, how well you were able to hide your emotions. It was a skill you desperately needed, right now, and you thanked the stars you sounded somewhat normal. Anakin laughed.

       "No," Anakin replied, his smile growing wider. "Not unless you count pirates."

       "Only if they're good with a saber," you countered. Anakin's smile was contagious.

       "Not so much," Anakin admitted. "Truthfully, there wasn't much company on Carlac." He stepped closer to you, his eyes betraying a hint of anxiety. "What about you? Did you...find any good sparring partners, while I was gone?" A nervousness had slipped into Anakin's casual tone. You intuited the meaning behind his question easily, and your heart flipped.

       "None as good as you," you admitted. The honesty was worth seeing Anakin's face break into a complete and utter joy. He was beaming. It was dazzling. You smiled back, that little voice inside yourself yelling to you in warning. "It is a shame," you continued matter-of-factly, "that there wasn't anyone on Carlac to tell you how ridiculous your tan looks." You raised your eyebrows and enunciated the words, the hint of a sardonic smile gracing your lips.

       "Ridiculous?" Anakin asked, his mouth opening in mock offense, his eyes playful. "What do you mean, ridiculous?" Anakin reached his hand out, touching your Padawan braid between his fingers gently, his features forming a mischievous look. He stood over you, moving his fingers slowly down your braid, and you looked up into his eyes. You got lost in this exchange for just a moment.

       "Hi, Anakin," Eha said from over your shoulder, and Anakin's smile fell slightly, looking at her as if he suddenly had realized she was there.

       "Oh, hi, Eha," Anakin said awkwardly, taking a step away from you, dropping your braid.   

       "Good to see you, Y/N," Obi-Wan said, grasping your arm affectionately. "It's been too long."

       "It has, Master Obi-Wan," you said, smiling at him.

       "I hear you have been advancing quickly," Obi-Wan said, smiling back at you, his eyes sparkling with pride. You looked down, biting your lip.

       "Only because of Master Yuma's patience," you said, looking to your Master.

       "I'm sure Y/N will get to show you some of her new skills," Master Yuma said, putting a comforting hand behind your back. "Right now, however, we're expected in the senate chambers."

       Eha squeezed your hand, giving you a significant look before running off to find her Master. You and Anakin followed your Masters through the hallway, making your way to the balcony from which you would view the proceedings. For some reason, though, when you came to the lift, Master Obi-Wan pressed down instead of up.

       "Where are we—?" you started to ask.

       "The Chancellor has requested an audience," Obi-Wan said quietly, as if this was of no concern. "It won't take long." You crinkled your eyebrows, looking to Master Yuma. She shrugged. The lift moved downward, with you, Anakin, Master Obi-Wan, and Master Yuma standing awkwardly close together. The whole of the lift was filled with an incredible happiness. You felt as if this elation could lift you off the ground, so thick it was in the air. You blushed. Did Anakin really have to project his feelings so very loudly? You knew Master Yuma was reading the current in the air as easily as you were, and you guessed that Master Obi-Wan was also very aware of Anakin's feelings, and the reason behind them. Anakin might as well be shouting aloud, singing his emotions for everyone to hear. It was horribly embarrassing, but at the same time, you couldn't help but melt into the joy in the air, feeling it yourself. You worked to keep your Force block in place, worked to keep everyone out of your own head. You didn't want anyone else to feel your own sense of excitement at this reunion. You kept it small, hidden, folded into the very depths of yourself.

       The doors to the lift opened, and you followed your Master through a small hallway into a chamber. You recognized the podium in the center of this chamber as the one that the Supreme Chancellor inhabited during senate meetings, though it was usually high up, in the center of the large arena full of senators. You realized that you were, now, underneath that large arena, in a sort of staging area.

       "Master Kenobi," a warm voice greeted, and you turned to see the Chancellor himself walking toward the group of you, his arms outstretched in welcome. "How wonderful to see you back on Coruscant."

       "We're glad to be back, Chancellor Palpatine," Obi-Wan greeted, shaking the politician's hand.  

       "And Anakin, goodness, you're growing into quite the young man," the Chancellor said, turning to Anakin, "and quite the Jedi, so I hear." Anakin smiled humbly at the Chancellor. It was odd—the Chancellor greeted Anakin as if they were old friends. You felt Anakin's lingering feelings from your reunion in the air, and felt in Master Obi-Wan a sense of apprehension. Whether this apprehension was due to greeting the Chancellor, or because of the meeting about to take place, you didn't know. You saw Master Yuma bow to the Chancellor, and you followed suit.

       "Ah, and Master Yuma as well," the Chancellor said, grasping her hand. "Lovely to see you again."

       "And you, Chancellor Palpatine. You look well." Master Yuma's tone was polite and reverential.

       "This must be your Padawan, the star pupil I have heard so much about," Chancellor Palpatine said, turning to you, and you swallowed. The Chancellor himself had heard about you?

       "It's an honor to meet you, Chancellor," you said politely, nodding to him. You felt out through the Force, trying to gauge the man in front of you, but for some reason, you felt nothing emanating from his presence, no emotions at all. It wasn't that uncommon, you reasoned, for you to meet someone whom you had trouble reading. These people were usually the unemotional type—since your Force abilities relied on the emotions of others, people who were less inclined to emotion, who were more practical, were not as easy for you to read. Still, even with those people, you usually felt a hint of something in their presence, even if it was faint. From the Chancellor you felt nothing at all. This puzzled you.

       "I'm afraid I've called you here under less than ideal circumstances," the Chancellor said to Obi-Wan, heading back in the direction of his podium, where two assistants waited.

       "I figured it wouldn't be good news," Obi-Wan said honestly. "The situation in the Outer Rim, as you know, has deteriorated under separatist influence."

       "This is precisely what I would like to discuss," Chancellor Palpatine replied, turning to sit on his podium as the group of Jedi stood around him. "Today, a collection of senators will propose a military creation act. Though I predict this proposal will not lead to a successful vote, it is my fear that these senators might be in danger following their act of bravery today."

       "You don't believe there is a chance this act will be successful?" Master Obi-Wan asked, stroking his beard, looking deep in thought. You felt his unease grow in the Force.

       "It seems highly unlikely," Chancellor Palpatine countered. "The number of senators who I believe will create a strong opposition...well, it will take some time to glean the reality of the situation. During that time, it is my desire that the senators who are behind this proposal be personally protected."

       "You are requesting a Jedi presence, while this political issue is being resolved?" Master Yuma asked thoughtfully.

       "It would give me peace of mind," the Chancellor said softly, "to know that these separatists could not impact or sway the opinions of other senators, through violence."

       "We will be happy to oblige your request, Chancellor." Obi-Wan turned to Master Yuma. "Though of course we must discuss this with the council."

       "Certainly. And of course, Master Yuma and her Padawan should join you, if you are to act as security in the senate apartments," the Chancellor said, looking briefly between you and Anakin. "I personally would feel more at ease, knowing that your talented Padawans are in on the protection efforts."

       "Of course," Obi-Wan said, glancing from you and back to Anakin.

       "Well, I must take my leave, as I am needed elsewhere," Chancellor Palpatine said, his tone turning more professional. This was your cue to leave.

"Protection is a job for local security, not Jedi," Anakin whispered to Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed. The four of you sat in the balcony amidst the other Jedi, viewing the senate proceedings below.

       "Hush, Anakin, not now. I need to listen," Obi-Wan said, watching as Senator Onaconda Farr began to speak. You felt Anakin's discomfort through the Force, a small drop in the vast sea of his Force presence, which was still completely overwhelmed by elation, a giddiness that was distracting you from the meeting unfolding below. You turned to Master Yuma.

       "Was Chancellor Palpatine ever a Jedi?" you asked, your confusion reading on your face.

       "What?" Master Yuma asked, her eyes still on the senator. "No," she whispered, looking back at you. "Why?"

       "I don't know...no reason, I guess," you responded quietly, deep in thought. You supposed being unemotional might be a useful personality trait for a politician. Still, something about the Chancellor confused you, as if he were multiple conflicting things.  

       "Do you really think the Republic might create a military?" you whispered in Anakin's ear, your heart beating quickly, for a variety of reasons.

       "I don't know," Anakin responded, turning to you, his face very close to yours. You could feel his breath on your face. "Why shouldn't the Republic have a military? It would make it so that we could more easily solve problems."

       "Yes, but solve problems through violence," you whispered in reply, distracted from Anakin's face momentarily by the absurdity of his words. He was still gazing at you, and you felt his thoughts go in the opposite direction from violence. His emotional current had not changed much since you had first greeted each other, and it had not lessened in its intensity.

       "It is good to see you," Anakin whispered, his emotions spilling out of his blue eyes. You inhaled, holding your breath. "I didn't know if I would ever see you, again...it's been so long..."

       "I know," you told him shortly, in a whisper, and these words seemed to elicit a response from him, his eyes widening.

       "If the council approves the Chancellor's request," Anakin whispered slowly, looking back to the center of the senate arena, "then we'll be working with each other, again." His eyes shined with happiness at these words.

       "Yeah," you scoffed, "protecting militant-leaning senators." You too looked down at the arena.       

       "Together," Anakin whispered, looking back at you. You didn't need to turn back to look at him. You felt the intensity of his Force presence. You repeated your mantra to yourself in your head, but it didn't matter. The focus you had perfected over these last few years was cracking so easily under the pressure of Anakin's gaze. You worked the air in and out of your lungs. You didn't know what was to come in the future, but you knew one thing: you were in big trouble.

************************************************************************

Chapter 11 is up now!!

divider credit to @racingairplanes

taglist: @iyoogi @cluelessgurl @layazul @annadastra @graciexmarvel @galaxiasy @organasith @indigoblues1207 @outoftheregular @katsukiswrld @prettyboyrryy @jellydodger @wildflower57 @lydiamartinslover @em-asian @heavenseraph @iloveinej @leapofblank @sahverah @elsyyie @usuallyunlikelyfox @jadeonce @papadragun @dopejellyfishfury @stxrrielle @lilianashomaresparza @prettylittlecarstairs @deadunicorn159

[solidaritytek]

Entirely Random but could you please write about Tango being protective over Jimmy? I Imagine Netherborn/Blaze hybrids being protective in general but more so about romantic partners and their family! I also see Jimmy as a Canary/Avian hybrid so perhaps a player accidentally hurt one of his wings which set Tango off? If you don't like Canary Jimmy that's fine and you can just do Tango being protective in some other form! ^ ^

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy this! I made it Bandit!Tango and Sheriff!Jimmy, I hope that's okay <3

Link to AO3~

Warnings: Violence, Blood and Injury, Biting, Burns

Hands Off

Tango had a bad feeling. As soon as Jimmy told him that the townsfolk had organized a meeting to discuss some issues with him, Tango felt like something was off. He’d expressed discomfort with Jimmy going but had been reassured it would be okay. Jimmy didn’t believe his citizens would do anything, even if Tango was convinced they would.

He’d tagged along, staying back a few feet. As much as Jimmy insisted he’d be okay going alone, Tango wouldn’t allow it. He’d agreed to stay back, stick to the sidelines, and not step in unless absolutely necessary. It didn’t sit right with him, but he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t get involved unless something terrible happened.

Tango scowled as he leaned against a building, eyes flicking from person to person as Jimmy approached the crowd. The people were mumbling something, but he couldn’t understand the words from where he was.

“Alright, would someone like to tell me what these issues are?” Jimmy asked, with a kind smile as he looked around at everyone.

A man stepped forward, and Tango recognized him as the bartender from the saloon. His stomach sank, and he had to resist the urge to growl, his tail lashing behind him.

“I think you know what this is about, Sheriff.” The man snapped, crossing his arms.

Jimmy blinked in surprise at the hostile tone. “I assure you, I have no idea what’s happening here.”

“You and that damn bandit is what’s going on!” A woman yelled from behind the bartender.

“You think we haven’t noticed the two of you?” Another man asked, his voice laced with disgust.

Steeling his expression, Jimmy shook his head. “Of course not. But my personal relations are nobody’s business but my own.”

The bartender scoffed. “So you’d choose a known criminal over your town?”

“Who said anythin’ about choosin’?” Jimmy asked, confusion clear in his voice.

The woman who spoke earlier stepped forward. “We are. We don’t want no sheriff who’s willin’ to let a damn criminal hang around.”

“And just what are you asking of me?”

“Give us your badge, sir. Now.” The bartender demanded, holding out his hand.

Jimmy shook his head and took a step back. “No! I will not be threatened into quittin’! I love this town, and I won’t tolerate this.”

“Give us the badge or we’ll take it.” The woman growled, stepping forward. 

Tango let out a growl of his own, fists clenched by his sides. If they laid a single finger on Jimmy, he wouldn’t hesitate to break every finger on their hands.

“We’re not askin’, Jim.” The bartender sighed. “Give us the badge now. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“I won’t!” Jimmy scoffed. “You’re bein’ ridiculous!”

Sighing, the bartender nodded to two men beside him. “Grab it.”

One of the men stepped forward and snatched the badge from Jimmy’s vest, tearing the fabric in the process. Jimmy reached out to try and grab it back, but his wrist was grabbed before he could. “Let me go.” He demanded.

Before the man holding his wrist could respond, Jimmy was shoved from behind. Stumbling, he caught him and looked back, eyes widening when he realized he was surrounded. Someone else shoved him from the side, causing him to bump into the person beside him. 

He mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ before he was shoved again. 

Tango could feel his claws digging into his palms the longer he watched. He wanted to step in, to save Jimmy from this terrible situation, but he’d promised. Jimmy could handle himself; he knew that. But he also knew that Jimmy would never hurt the people he cared about, even if they hurt him.

Everything moved in slow motion as Tango watched someone reach out and grab a handful of feathers from one of Jimmy’s wings. The dread settled in his stomach as the man gripped tighter and pulled, yellow feathers snapping and tearing from the force. The sound that escaped Jimmy’s throat at the action caused Tango’s entire restraint to snap instantly.

Before Tango realized what he was doing, he was on top of the man, teeth embedded in the wrist of the hand gripping the bloody feathers. A pained screech escaped the man as Tango bit down harder, mouth filling with blood. He could barely hear the people around him screaming as he gripped the man's shoulder and tore an entire chunk out of his arm.

He spit the chunk out of his mouth and stood up, growling at everyone staring at him. His eyes landed on Jimmy, holding his wing close to him, blood dripping from the fresh wound. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Tango growled, hair and tail flaming brightly. The crowd slowly backed up as he continued to glare at them. “I won’t repeat myself!”

Someone stepped forward, and Tango’s attention immediately snapped to them, making them freeze in place. Without hesitation, his tail lashed out and wrapped around their wrist, the fire burning their skin. The scream that reached his ears made him smile. Finally, finally, he was making these people suffer the way they deserved.

Unwrapping his tail, they fell to the ground, holding their wrist close to their chest. “Anybody else?” He asked, a bored tone to his voice. A few people shook their heads and ran. 

Straightening up, Tango walked over to where Jimmy was sitting on the ground. Holding out a hand, he smiled down at him. Jimmy looked at it for a second before grabbing it and pulling himself to his feet.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, love,” Tango said, wrapping an arm around Jimmy and leading him away from the terrified crowd. “I don’t think they’ll be botherin’ us anymore.” He could hear voices behind him as they walked but paid them no mind.

Once they reached Jimmy’s house, Tango led him to the washroom. Helping him sit on the toilet, Tango began looking through the cabinets until he found the first aid kit. As he pulled out the bandages and alcohol to treat Jimmy’s wound, he heard him take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy mumbled, eyes on the floor.

“For what?” Tango asked, gently coaxing him to look up with a hand on his cheek. “You did nothing wrong.”

“You knew something would happen, but I didn’t listen.”

“It’s not your fault you want to trust people, Jimmy.”

“But-”

“No. I won’t accept any apologies from you. They were out of line.” Tango kissed his forehead before turning back to the counter. He grabbed a cloth and poured the alcohol over it. “This might sting a bit,” he warned, grabbing an uninjured part of Jimmy’s wing and gently wiping the wound.

Jimmy hissed at the feeling but resisted the urge to pull away.

“I know, honey. I’ll try to be quick.” Jimmy nodded, shoving his hand into his mouth to stifle the pained noises coming out.

Tango tried to be as gentle as he could, but there was only so much he could do while still ensuring he cleaned the wound properly. Once satisfied that it was clean enough, he tossed the cloth into the sink and reached for the bandages. He wrapped the bandages around Jimmy’s wing, trying not to jostle it too much. He placed a few soft kisses around the wound as soon as he finished.

Jimmy visibly relaxed once Tango released his wing. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Tango smiled, placing his hands on Jimmy’s cheeks and kissing his forehead.

Wrapping his arms around Tango’s waist, Jimmy pulled him close and rested his head against his chest. “I love you.” Tango chuckled and wrapped his arms around Jimmy’s shoulders, careful not to bump his wing. 

“I love you too, Jimmy.”

“Does that offer still stand?” Jimmy asked. “To leave together?”

“Of course. Just say the word, and we’ll go.”

Jimmy pulled back and looked up at him, eyes full of sadness and pain. “I want to.”

Tango pressed another kiss to his forehead. “Then we will.” Jimmy smiled and pulled him down, kissing him softly.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

[wingedblooms]

The Ancients

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of service,” Mort sniffed. “If you want an instant answer, you should find yourself a seer or an oracle.” 

Celaena slowed her pacing. “You think if I read this to someone with the gift of clairvoyance, they might be able to … see some different meaning that I’m missing?”

“Perhaps. Though as far as I know, when magic vanished, those with the gift of Sight lost it, too.” 

“Yes, but you’re still here.” 

“So?” Celaena looked at the stone ceiling as if she could see through it, all the way to the ground above. 

“So perhaps other ancient beings might retain some of their gifts, too.” (com)

In acowar, we learn that Elain is a seer and in the Maasverse, seer seems to be a broad term associated with the gift of Sight. Sarah sometimes uses seer interchangeably with oracle, as we see below. 

It was a useless gift, she’d decided as a child. It couldn’t do much at all beyond blinding people, as she’d done to her father’s men when they came after her and her mother and Randall, as had happened to the Oracle when the seer peered into her future and beheld only her blazing light, as she’d done to those asp-hole smugglers. (hoeab)

An oracle appears to be a type of seer; at the very least, they have similar gifts of clairvoyance. Oracles were believed to be messengers, or conduits, for gods. We see indications of this in the scene where Hunt visits the oracle sphinx in hoeab. While we don’t know the full extent of Elain’s gifts, her abilities are referred to as oracular, and she shares parallels with both oracles and mystics in the Maasverse. 

In fact, her gifts seem like they could rival the ancient beings Aelin referenced in the first quote. She tracks down Baba Yellowlegs—an Ancient—to help her unravel a mystery, and introduces us to another important method of Sight they cherish: witch mirrors.

Witch mirrors

If Yellowlegs truly was a witch, then perhaps she had the gift of Sight.

“Come to look into the mirrors?” she said, smoke spilling from her withered lips. “Done running from fate at last?” (com)

In the gloom, the caravan stretched on much wider and longer than should have been possible. A winding path had been made between the mirrors, leading into the dark—a path that Yellowlegs was now treading, as if there were anywhere to go inside this strange place.

[…]

As she strode through the forest of mirrors, her reflection shifted everywhere. In one she appeared short and fat, in another tall and impossibly thin. In another she stood upside down, and in yet another she walked sideways. It was enough to give her a headache. (com)

First, I would be remiss if I didn't point out the fact that Aelin links witches to the gift of Sight, just like in Midgard. Second, Yellowlegs’ caravan is unusual because its materials (the stones in the oven and wood in the walls) come from the ruins of the Crochan city. Combined with witch mirrors, it creates an otherworldly illusion that disorients Aelin and makes it difficult to escape Yellowlegs’ clutches. 

Later, we learn from Manon that witch mirrors can be used to see, communicate, or amplify power:  

“You can see the future, past, present. You can speak between mirrors, if someone possesses the sister-glass. And then there are the rare silvers—whose forging demands something vital from the maker.” Manon’s voice dropped low. Dorian wondered if even among the Blackbeaks, these tales had only been whispered at their campfires. “Other mirrors amplify and hold blasts of raw power, to be unleashed if the mirror is aimed at something.” (eos)

She and Aelin even enter a witch mirror to view a memory, and like I’ve discussed before, this experience might mimic Elain’s murky realm. 

Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but…a form nonetheless.

Manon’s teeth and nails glinted in the dim light as she surveyed the swirling gray mists. “What is this place?” The mirror had transported them to…wherever this was. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, witch.” Had time stopped beyond the mists?

[…]

The eddying fog darkened, and Manon and Aelin stepped close together, back to back. Pure night swept around them—blinding them.

Then—a murky, dim light ahead. No, not ahead. Approaching them. Manon’s bony shoulder dug into her own as they pressed tighter together, an impenetrable wall. 

But the light rippled and expanded, figures within it appearing. Solidifying. 

Aelin knew three things as the light and color enveloped them and became tangible: They were not seen, or heard, or scented by those before them. 

And this was the past. A thousand years ago, to be exact. (eos) 

@offtorivendell and I suspect there may also be witch mirrors in Prythian: 

“My sister had a collection of mirrors in her black castle,” the Carver said. We halted once more. “She admired herself day and night in those mirrors, gloating over her youth and beauty. There was one mirror—the Ouroboros, she called it. It was old even when we were young. A window to the world. All could be seen, all could be told through its dark surface. Keir possesses it—an heirloom of his household. Bring it to me. That is my price. The Ouroboros, and I am yours to wield. If you can find a way to free me.” A hateful smile. (acowar)

Stryga, which is awfully close to the word for witch (striga, strega, shtriga, etc.), used her mirrors to spy on the world. It’s possible that her black castle was Hewn City, a place of rotting darkness that is home to wicked heirlooms much like her extensive collection in the cottage. Are Stryga and her magical mirrors also somehow connected to Maeve and the Valg? And if her heirlooms are also Mor’s family heirlooms, does that mean they are distantly related to Stryga and the Valg, and therefore connected to witches? Wounds associated with the Valg are described as rotted darkness (tod), making me truly wonder about the Court of Nightmares and those who inhabit and rule it now. 

In tog, Maeve—a dark queen and world-walker like Stryga—confirms that mirrors can be used to spy, travel, and kill. She says she taught the witches how to use their enchanted mirrors. If Stryga is connected to the Valg, did she see her outward beauty in the mirror, or the displeasing form beneath (to use Maeve’s own words), no matter how many beautiful maidens she hunted and devoured? Could that unpleasant form look like the Valg princess we see in tog? 

Its true form…It was as horrific as she’d imagined. 

Smoke swirled and coiled about it, revealing glimpses of gangly limbs and talons, mostly hairless gray, slick skin, and unnaturally large dark eyes that raged as she looked upon it. [...] It hissed, revealing pointed, fish-sharp teeth. Your world shall fall. As the others have done. As all others will. (tod)

That would certainly drive someone like Stryga, who is obsessed with youth and beauty, insane. And it would make so much more sense that her true form–the rotted core of the Valg–would be capable of corrupting an enchanted mirror as scholars claim.  

Save for the Weaver in the Wood—who certainly seemed insane enough, perhaps thanks to the mirror she’d so dearly loved. Or perhaps whatever evil lurked in her had tainted the mirror, too. Some of the philosophers had suggested as much, though they hadn’t known her name—only that a dark queen had once possessed it, cherished it. Spied on the world with it—and used it to hunt down beautiful young maidens to keep her eternally young. (acowar)

Much like Baba Yellowlegs, Stryga had a habit of devouring beautiful maidens and, once confined to the Middle, lured unsuspecting beings to her cottage. @offtorivendell has wondered if the Ouroboros will make a reappearance and if so, it might make the most sense in Elain’s story. It is interesting that Clotho helped Feyre find books on the Ouroboros and is the last known person in possession of Elain’s glass amulet. I do think this amulet could be connected to witch mirrors, even if only as a symbolic hint of things to come. The phrase secret, lovely beauty is repeated, suggesting a link—or sister-glass, if you will—between two females with hidden depths (more on this in The sense chanted and Groundings). 

The Ancients 

In addition to sharing information about witch mirrors, Manon confirms that some witches—like Baba Yellowlegs—have the gift of Sight. 

Aelin murmured, “Nameless is my price.” Aedion opened his mouth, no doubt to ask what had snagged her interest, but Aelin frowned at Manon. “Can your kind see the future? See it as an oracle can?”

“Some,” Manon admitted. “The Bluebloods claim to.”

“Can other Clans?”

“They say that for the Ancients, past and present and future bleed together.” (eos)

The Blackbeak and Blueblood Matrons are also referred to as Ancients. Together, the Matrons represent the Three-Faced Goddess: Crone (Yellowlegs), Mother (Blackbeak), and Maiden (Blueblood). This goddess supposedly gave the witches their iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away.

Legend had it that all witches had been gifted by the Three-Faced Goddess with iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away. The iron crown, supposedly, was proof that the magic in the Blueblood line ran so strong that their leader needed more—needed iron and pain—to keep her tethered in this realm. 

Nonsense. Especially when magic had been gone these past ten years. But Manon had heard rumors of the rituals the Bluebloods did in their forests and caves, rituals in which pain was the gateway to magic, to opening their senses. Oracles, mystics, zealots. (hof)

Nesta and Elain—who were Made in the Cauldron (which may be connected to the Three-Faced Goddess, as one of them is called Mother)—have iron mental gates. They also both wore iron bracelets and Elain has an iron engagement ring somewhere in her trove of jewelry. Elain, the obvious choice for the Maiden aspect, also wore a blue cloak during the witch accusation in Windhaven and seems to possess the most powerful Sight. Is it possible that time bleeds together in her murky realm like it does for the Ancients, and she might need even more iron, or something else, to remain tethered to Prythian? 

“An Ancient,” Dorian mused, then murmured to Manon, “Baba Yellowlegs.” 

They all turned to him. But Manon’s fingers brushed against her collarbone—where the necklace of Aelin’s scars from Yellowlegs still ringed her neck in stark white. 

“This winter, she was at your castle,” Manon said to him. “Working as a fortune-teller.”

Manon stared the general down. “Yellowlegs was a fortune-teller—a powerful oracle. I bet she knew who the queen was the moment she saw her. And saw things she planned to sell to the highest bidder.” Dorian tried not to flinch at the memory. Aelin had butchered Yellowlegs when she’d threatened to sell his secrets. Aelin had never implied a threat against her own. Manon continued, “Yellowlegs wouldn’t have told the queen anything outright, only in veiled terms. So it’d drive the girl mad when she figured it out.” (eos) 

Does Elain also know a person’s secrets on sight like Baba Yellowlegs? Is that why she was the only one who suspected Feyre’s pregnancy, and why she hasn’t yet met a character with a secret beneath her pretty face? 

A Cauldron-blessed seer, could she even be the Eye of the Goddess incarnate, a divine guardian, as I suggested in Herbs she planted? 

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her.” It was Aelin’s turn to shake her head. The others didn’t so much as blink.

“That is an Ironteeth symbol. Blueblood prophets have it tattooed over their hearts. And those who won valor in battle, when we lived in the Wastes … they were once given those. To mark our glory—our being Goddess-blessed." (eos)

What if, like a Blueblood prophet, Elain is given a bargain tattoo of the Eye of the Goddess on her heart? (Please, Sarah.) Or perhaps its floral equivalent in Prythian: a layered rose that blooms with three colors when exposed to light, revealing the heart of Darkness within? A mark of the Goddess…

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came. […] I dared a step toward it. And what I beheld in those ruins of the Cauldron … It was a void. But also not a void—a growth. (acowar)

to complement the eye of the beast in her love interest’s siphon? 

I watched the light shift inside the sapphire Siphon instead, as if it were the great eye of some half-slumbering beast from a frozen wasteland. (acomaf)

or her mate’s magical eye?  

“This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others…can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” (acowar)

Only Time, or the wind, will tell what form the future might take. 

Next: Song of the wind, or how Elain might travel like a witch. 

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

[foundtherightwords]

The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 5

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.  

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: awkward sex, discussion of self-harm

Chapter word count: 4.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Dawn and Emerald

It was late, and the tube was packed with weary people coming back from their evening shifts. Esme felt sorry for them, for how downtrodden they looked, and was almost embarrassed for how happy she was. The return journey seemed longer than the journey to the allotment, but it was probably because she was so eager to get off, and so was Billy.

She leaned on his shoulder, her hand in his, their fingers all tangled up. Now and again, she would raise her head, and he leaned down to meet her halfway. Their lips brushed briefly. She wanted to pull him to her and feel his mouth over hers again, but their carriage was nearly full, and she didn't feel brave enough for a public make-out session yet, so she had to satisfy herself with those fleeting touches. Even then, they still made her feel absurdly giddy, like a teenager having her first crush. Not that I know what that's like. When I was a teenager, I was too busy making sure Sibby, Tiff, and Sam ate and bathed and did their homework.

When they reached their station, Billy pulled her back and asked quietly, "Are we going to your place, or mine?"

A thrill went through Esme. Is this really happening? She remembered having to Google "how many dates before you have sex" while going out with Neil, and being so confused because the results were so wildly different. Never would she dream, in a million years, that she would be going home with a guy at the end of their first date. OK, first official date, but still.

As she pondered his question, however, that thrill faded somewhat in the face of practicalities. "Mine is probably better," she said. "Not that there's anything wrong with your flat," she quickly added. "It's just... Angua's not allowed there."

"That's OK. I've always wanted to see where you live." He took her hand again, and they all but ran to her flat.

The moment the door shut behind them, Billy drew her to him, picking up where they'd left off, but Esme couldn't seem to rediscover the excitement she'd felt first in the greenhouse and then on the tube. Her insecurities were rearing their heads, reminding her of a million ways in which she was inadequate, in which this might turn out as disappointing as their botched first date. She extricated her lips from Billy's, muttering, "I thought you wanted to see the flat."

"Later." He peeled her jacket off, then his own.

"I have to give Angua some water—"

But Angua would not be used as an excuse. The moment Esme let her off the leash, the little dog trotted to her water bowl, which was already full, lapped up some water, and settled into her bed with a contented sigh and a sideway glance at them, as if to say, "That's it for me tonight. You crazy kids get on with it." Esme laughed helplessly and let Billy pull her back into his arms.

This could work, she told herself. This will work.

At least, it never felt this way with her exes. Sex with Marco was awkward and fumbling, both of them being too young and inexperienced to really know how to work with each other. Her casual dates were just that, casual. Neil was... adequate, but certainly he's never been such a blazing heat against her, nor has he ever slammed her into a wall so hard she could feel her spine tingling, while in search of the bedroom door.

"Um, Billy, that's the broom cupboard."

He buried his face in her neck, laughing. "Right. Sorry."

She steered him toward the bedroom. He reached for the light switch by the door, but she put out a hand to stop him. "Do you mind if we keep the lights off?" she said. That was how she had always done it, letting the dark hide her shyness and her imperfections, her too-small breasts, her flabby stomach, the weird stretch marks from puberty that never went away. It had annoyed Neil, who preferred to see what he was doing, to no end, but it'd annoyed him even more when she seized up under a bright light, so he'd let it slide.

There was still some light coming in through the window from the street, enough for her to see Billy frown briefly, but he shrugged, amenable as always. "Sure."

They found their way to the bed, and the rest of their clothes, whatever that hadn't been discarded already all over her living room and kitchen floors, came off. Esme ducked under the cover. A second later, Billy joined her, his hot body pressing down on her, his mouth dropping scorching little kisses down her neck, her shoulder, her breast, his callused fingertips running down her sides, rough yet gentle at the same time, sending trembles all over her. His frenzy, so different from his usual shy self, caught her off-guard.

"Have you been with—have you been with lots of girls before?" Esme asked.

"Does it matter?" he said, his voice muffled as he trailed his lips over her skin.

"No. I'm just wondering."

"There was one or two... but not like this. Not like you." His lips were on her again, and she realized she didn't mind it, didn't mind letting him sweep her away in a whirlwind of desire, of excitement, of things unknown but intoxicating. Her hips started to move under him.

But then Billy paused. She could feel his arms quivering as he held his body poised over her.

"Hold on... I think—I think we should slow down," he panted in her ear.

"I thought you said we would be at it all night," she whispered back with a giggle, rolling her hips more deliberately, rhythmically, pressing herself into his hand.

"More reason for—slowing down then—"

"But I don't want to slow down." She reached out, searching for him, guiding him to her.

Suddenly he wrenched away from her with a moan, and she felt something hot and sticky splash across her belly and thighs.

Billy dropped his head.

"Shit," he mumbled into her shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

For what felt like an eternity, Esme could only lie there, motionless, while Billy said sorry again and again, his hands digging into her arms, his breath hot on her skin. Then she found herself thinking, as if her mind was somewhere outside of her body, And I just washed the sheets too.

The thought reminded her of practical matters. She shifted her hips, but Billy was pinning her in place. "I need to get up," she said.

He bolted up. "Sorry, yeah, sure..."

She gingerly lifted the duvet, sat up, and got out of bed.

"D'you need me to get you a towel or—"

"No," she replied, more sharply than she intended. "Just... no. It's fine."

She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water did little good for her jumbled thoughts. Is it possible to die from embarrassment? Because she wanted to curl up inside herself and die, right now. Was it her fault? Had she pushed him too strongly? He had asked her to slow down, and she hadn't listened. It was their first date all over again. No, it was even worse, because she'd been so nervous about their first date that the disappointing end had been almost a relief, and at least she could blame Billy's hypomania for that. But this? After their first kiss, and all that passion, all the expectation... this was crushing.

Then she realized she's been focusing too much on herself. If this was such a blow to her, then how mortified Billy must be feeling. Oh God, what if he's left? Wrapping a towel around herself, she ran into the bedroom. No, he was still there, sitting at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. The despondent hunch of his shoulders sent a twinge through her heart.

"Saved you some hot water," she said, much more softly than before, and dug out a clean towel from her cupboard.

He looked at her, then at the towel in confusion. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't mad at him. He took the towel, mouthed "Thank you", and darted into the bathroom.

While waiting for him, Esme put on her pajamas and turned on the nightlight. Billy reemerged a few minutes later, the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Listen, Esme, I'm really sorry about—" he began.

Esme was about to interrupt and tell him there was nothing to apologize for, when she caught a glimpse of his chest. There was a large mass of scars right under his collarbone, above his sternum. This was the first time he appeared without a top in front of her, so she'd never seen them before. When they were in bed together, she had been too focused on his mouth and his hands and everything else to notice the bumps under her fingers. But now they were there, unmistakable, and there appeared to be a particular shape to them...

She turned on the big light so she could examine the scars more clearly. Billy saw her eyes widen and attempted to cover himself with his hand, unwittingly repeating the nose-to-chest tic that she now recognized always surfaced whenever he was stressed or upset. But the gesture wasn't enough to cover the scars. She had seen. The scars were in the shape of a horse. No, not just a horse. The Horse. The Uffington White Horse.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Billy reluctantly dropped his hand. "... I did it."

She stared at him in horror. "What?!"

"A few years ago, I had a... psychotic break. It was bad. I cut myself. I don't remember why. I don't even remember doing it. I just... had to."

Tears welled up in Esme's eyes, blurring the shape of the Horse. Now she knew why he had fled at the sight of her necklace. What happened to him on that hill that haunted him so? She couldn't envision what horrors he'd been through, what pain he'd endured. She was only aware of the aching gulf between them, filled with those unknown things. How could she ever hope to cross that gulf and reach him?

"Please don't cry." He lifted his hand as if to wipe away her tears, but it seemed he couldn't bring himself to cross the gulf either. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Esme shook her head. "You're not making me cry," she said. "I'm crying for you. There's a difference."

"How?"

"When someone made you cry, that's because they're hurting you. When you cry for someone, that's because you love them." She didn't know where those words came from. They sounded like something in one of her mum's sappy books.

Billy gazed at her for a long moment. "Does that mean you love me?" eventually he asked.

She paused, not knowing how to answer. Instead, she reached out to touch the scars, lightly brushing her fingertips over them. And then, because touching was not enough, she leaned down and kissed them.

Billy sucked in a breath. "Esme, I can't—" But she kept the kiss tender, not sensuous, and a second later, she straightened up. He was looking at her, his lips quivering with things unsaid, his eyes sparkling with tears, looking so vulnerable that she took him in her arms, rocking his head on her shoulder. "It's all right," she murmured soothingly. "We don't have to do anything if you're not ready. Just stay with me. If you want to," she remembered to add.

He did want to stay. Soon they were nestled next to each other in bed, her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. Esme again rethought her idea of a first date. This is nice too, she decided, as she fell asleep to the sound of his soft snores, feeling his breath on her hair.

***

It must be quite early—the window was still dark, though there was a grayish quality to the darkness that told her morning was close—but something had woken her up. Then Esme realized it was Billy, lying on his back next to her, groaning and thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. She knew better than to try and wake him up in this state, so she rolled him to his side instead. As she did so, Billy's eyes popped open, huge and haunted, looking at her without seeing her. "Dawn?" he said.

She didn't know whether he was asking for someone named Dawn or whether he thought she was Dawn or whether he was asking if it was dawn, but now was not the time to ask. "Shh, it's OK," she whispered. "You're having a nightmare." His eyes closed then, and he slipped quietly back to sleep.

However, sleep eluded Esme, whose head was filled with questions about the mysterious Dawn. Of course, she had no illusion that Billy had never been with anyone before—he had told her as much. And it did not matter anyway. But if this Dawn meant so much to him that he called out for her in his sleep, she'd want to know.

The next morning, over breakfast, she asked, keeping her voice nonchalant, "Who's Dawn?"

Billy looked up from his toast. "Where'd you hear that name?"

"You had a nightmare and called me Dawn."

"Did I?" His fingers tapped the jar of strawberry preserve, a ghost of his tic. "God, I haven't thought of her in years."

"Who is she?" Esme repeated, a touch impatiently now.

"She's my—um, my brother's wife. Well, ex-wife."

"Your brother?"

"Jimmy."

Presumably, this was the same Jimmy that frightened young Billy with tales of the dog-meat curry. Another puzzle piece fell into place.

"I used to stay with them sometimes, when my dad—when I first came to London," Billy continued. "She's a lot older than Jimmy, I think, and Jimmy's a lot older than me, so she's more like an aunt. But she was kind to me. I used to have these nightmares about—" Again, there was a pause, and a correction—"nightmares like you wouldn't believe, and she would calm me down. But Jimmy got angry with me for telling her about the Horse. So I left to share a flat with some mates, and then Dawn and Jimmy split up. I never saw her again." There was a wistful note in his voice. "She's the closest thing to a mum I ever had."

"Where's Jimmy now?" Esme asked.

"Prison," Billy replied, and said no more.

How silly of her, to feel jealous of Dawn! There was another stab of pain in Esme's heart, not just for Billy, but also because with each of his reveals, the gulf between the two of them seemed to be gaping a little wider. How could she be there for him, when he spoke of things she could never imagine, no matter how many books and articles and studies she read? How could she support him when she didn't know what he was going through? She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, an inadequate gesture compared to his pain. He smiled at her, but even that smile could not drive away the fear that one day, all her tears and kisses and touches would not be enough.

But Esme tried to ignore that fear and continued seeing Billy. She no longer fretted about what to do for their dates. They still met every Saturday to walk the dogs at the rescue center. When they didn't have the late shifts, he would come to her flat for dinner and stay the night. During her lunch breaks, Esme would bike down to Asda or the woodworking studio so they could have lunch together on the river bank. She discovered her love for flea markets again while scouring them for things to brighten up Billy's flat, and Billy would sometimes accompany her as well—much like herself, he didn't mind crowds as long as he didn't have to interact with them. But most of the time they just stayed home, cooking and eating and reading and going to bed together.

They had yet to try having sex again, though Esme had gone to her doctor to refill her birth control prescription and to make sure everything was good to go. Sometimes, when Billy spent the night, she would wake with his hand on her breast and the hard ridge of his arousal behind her, but then he would also wake, go crimson, and turn away or even jump out of bed. If she hinted that they might have another go at it, he would try to deflect, and it turned into the most awkward back-and-forth of "We don't have to if you don't want to" and "If you don't mind that I don't want to". In the end, Esme decided to just drop it. It made Billy uncomfortable, and she, in turn, would feel bad about making him uncomfortable, so why put more pressure on both of them? Of course, if the timing was right... but she never did have good timing. So she just learned to take things as they come and not to think too much of the future.

She also learned that it was OK to ask a lot of questions, and to talk, and to listen. Billy had good days and bad days, and she learned not to take his bad days personally. If anything, the bad days helped her to treasure the good days even more, made every moment they spent together even more precious, and gave special meanings to the simplest of things, like falling asleep next to him and waking up, knowing he was still there.

***

That Sunday, the flea market in Camden was quieter than usual. The colder weather might have something to do with it, but Esme didn't mind as she linked arms with Billy and strolled through the stalls, stopping at whatever caught their eyes. Seeing a table full of used books, they both navigated toward it without a word, and grinned at each other when they noticed their synchronized steps.

A crate of brightly-covered children's books stood in front of the table. To Esme's horror, she recognized them. A box containing similar books was currently gathering dust in her storage shed. With a glance at Billy, who was digging through the stacks next to her, she tried to nudge the crate out of the way, but her movement only drew Billy's attention. He saw the author's name. "Ivy Pendergast... Hey, she has the same last name as yours! This isn't your mum, is it?"

Of course, she had told him that her mum was a writer and illustrator of children's books, as well as other basic facts—her dad was a glass artist, she grew up in Kent, and she had three younger siblings, Sybil, Tiffany, and Sam. Billy had raised an eyebrow at that and said, "They really do like Discworld, don't they?" (they had been reading the books together—well, rereading for Esme—and Billy was really getting into the City Watch, because, as he said, he liked stories about crime-solving), and Esme had nodded in mock weariness. But there were still things she hadn't told him, and now she silently cursed her dad for not having a more common last name, and her mum for taking that last name when they married, despite all her feminist ideals. I could lie. But he's bound to find out sooner or later. Better get this over with.

"That is my mum, actually," she mumbled.

Billy flipped through the content of the crate with interest. "Emerald Saves a Grasshopper," he read out loud. "Emerald Saves a Lizard. Emerald Saves a Fox."

Esme closed her eyes, praying that he wouldn't put two and two together. After all, not a lot of people know Esme is short for Esmeralda, and even fewer know Esmeralda means Emerald in Spanish.

But apparently Billy was one of those people. "Emerald?" he said. "Esmeralda? It's you, isn't it?"

Esme nodded, smiling to hide her pained expression. "She started writing them when I was about three. They were all quite simple at first, but then she ran out of animals, and now it's Emerald Saves a Lesser-Spotted Blue Tit and Emerald Saves a Mantis Shrimp and God knows what else. It'll be Emerald Saves an Amoeba next, probably."

He grinned. "So she just saves animals?"

"It's for kids age 5 and under, Billy, they don't need a plot. She saves other things too, but they're not as popular as the animal ones... What are you doing?"

He was buying them. He was actually buying the books. God help me.

"You don't have to buy them, you know," she quickly said. "I probably still have a few boxes of them in the shed if you want. Signed, too."

"You should keep those. They'll be worth something in the future, right?"

"I doubt it. She's signed so many of them that the unsigned ones might be worth more."

Billy grinned again. After he'd paid for the books, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me that your mum's books were based on you?"

Esme just shrugged. The truth was that, by the time she started school, they were no longer based on her. What she didn't tell Billy was that before growing up in Kent, she had grown up in a lot of other places as well, with the five of them—Sam hadn't been born at that point—crammed into one tiny camper van. It was the best day of her life when her dad decided to become a glass artist and realized you couldn't set up a kiln in a camper van. Nor did she tell him that her parents were always too busy with their creative endeavors to actually parent, and it fell to her, as the eldest, to give her younger siblings some sort of routine and structure in their day-to-day life. While Emerald was saving all sorts of cute animals and having adventures, Esme had to save her siblings from getting into scraps and falling behind in their classes. She grew to hate those books.

She didn't tell Billy any of it because she realized, compared to his nightmarish childhood, hers was practically idyllic. She knew how terrible it would sound if she complained to him that she'd had to take care of her siblings growing up, when he'd grown up motherless, beaten by his father, and abandoned by his brother. And so she kept silent.

At the same time, she would love for her family to meet Billy. They all disapproved of Neil, but she knew they would adore Billy. And he would adore them, provided that they didn't stress him out too much. She only hoped her relationship with Billy had reached a point when it was appropriate to introduce him to her family (why isn't there a guide to such things?)

"What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked one night while they were in bed, Feet of Clay propped up on her knees. Christmas was still a few weeks away, but knowing Billy (and herself), she thought she'd give themselves time to mentally prepare.

"Nothing, probably. Last year Jacob invited me to his house, but this year he's going to visit his daughter in Australia. You?"

"I have to work on Christmas Day."

"Bummer."

"I don't mind. Christmas is always a busy time. People don't pay as much attention to their pets, and they can get into all sorts of things. Someone has to hold the fort."

"I'll come by and keep you company."

"Ugh, stop being so stinking sweet, will you?" She leaned down and gave him a peck on the lips. Then, in a carefully casual manner, she said, "I'm going down to Kent to see my parents on Boxing Day though. Would you like to come with me?"

Billy sat up to face her. "You really mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Do they... what did you—I mean, how much did you tell them about me?"

"Not much, just that I'm seeing someone." She looked into his eyes. "Do you want me to tell them about your condition?"

He reached for her hand, clasping it tightly as if to stop his nervous tic, to anchor himself. "Would they... object, if they know?" he asked in a small voice.

"No," she said firmly. "And even if they did, it wouldn't matter to me." She lifted his hand and kissed his calluses. Billy's eyes softened. He tugged her forward until she landed on his lips.

"How did I get so lucky?" he whispered against her mouth.

But Esme had other things on her mind. "I have to warn you though, my parents are kind of... unconventional." She almost laughed at the understatement.

"I've gathered as much."

"No, honestly. For one thing, they don't celebrate Christmas."

"Are they Jewish or—"

"No, they just think it's too commercialized. When I was growing up, they would just give us presents whenever they felt like it. Only when my sisters and I moved away that they accepted that Christmas was one of the few times we could all get together, so they reluctantly agree to host it, but they still won't do any of the traditional things though. It's daft."

"I think it's cute."

"It may have been cute when we were kids, but not when we started going to school," Esme said with a humorless laugh. "Imagine having to explain to your classmates that you had no Christmas presents because your parents didn't feel like it."

"At least you had presents," Billy said quietly, and shame burned Esme's face. She was doing the very thing she had vowed not to do—complain about her parents in front of Billy. She kissed him again to distract from the offense.

"I'm just telling you so you won't have to worry about bringing presents or anything."

"OK, I won't." He kissed her back. "You can tell them about me. I don't mind."

Chapter 6

A/N: The detail about Billy carving the Horse into his chest was taken from the show. It didn't happen in the book, as far as I remember.

Taglist: @quinnypixie, @accidentalslag, @etherealglimmer

[noodyl-blasstal]

If you’re taking prompts from that list, how about 24 for taakitz?

Thank you so much Anon, this one was fun!

“Stop bringing me tea, or I’ll fall in love with you and that’s a threat.” From this prompt list (still accepting, although cannot promise a speedy turnabout!)

___________________

Finding a flatmate to replace Lup was never going to be an easy task. Taako had known once they finally started dating that it wouldn’t be long until she moved in with Barry. The relief of no longer having to deal with their increasingly more ridiculous pining wasn’t quite eclipsed by the anxiety of upcoming change, but it was a close run thing.

By the end of the first month Lup had spent nearly every night at Barry’s place. Taako was grateful, really grateful, (they had a whole lot of missed time to make up for and he didn’t want to be sharing a wall with them while they did,) but he couldn’t afford this place alone. Lup offered to just keep paying rent, but it wasn’t fair to let her when she was barely there and her stuff had mostly all migrated.

The logical option was a friend-of-a-friend. Magnus knew someone called Carey from his gym who was looking for a place. It wasn’t the same as living with Lup, but it was nice. They chatted, he took pity on her and added actual flavour to her meal prep, and then out of nowhere she decided to confess her years-long crush to Killian. A month later she gave her notice.

Next up was Avi. Lup and Barry knew him from work. He’d barely stepped foot in the flat before he got up the courage to tell Johann he didn’t want to be just friends. Taako told him how pleased he was through gritted teeth.

Sloane came to him through Merle. He’d assured Taako that although she had a massive crush on someone it’d never work out because they were a police officer and Sloane wasn’t likely to actually date a “fed”. Taako had received the wedding invitation four months after she moved out.

After a very reasonable temper tantrum, a brief discussion about cleansing the flat’s energy because clearly Lup had left some “weird romance vibes”, and banning any of his friends from suggesting another replacement. Taako got Lup to help him write an ad, chucked it up online, and he chose Sazed… like an idiot.

The next ad was a lot more specific.

Flatmate wanted who isn’t going to set one foot in the place, get up the confidence to tell their crush they love them, and then leave within the month. If you could also not try to attempted-murder me that would be great. P.S. It’s a two bed, part furnished, £420 a month (blaze it). 

Kravitz was the only person to apply.

Hi Taako. I’m new to town and don’t know anyone here, so haven’t got any crushes to confess. I’ve also never murdered anyone before, so hopefully that helps reassure you. Your place is in a great area and I'd love to move in. I don’t smoke or have any pets, and I’m happy to pay a full month up front plus deposit.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Kravitz.

He followed up nearly immediately with a second email.

I just realised that a murderer would probably also say that they hadn’t murdered anyone. I can send references about not being a murderer if needed. Thank you, 

Kravitz.

When he moved in, he said Taako’s changeable shifts were “good actually” because he could practice his instruments while Taako was at work “without worrying about disturbing him”. Of course it didn’t bother him if Taako came home late, he “knew Taako’s job was important”. Considerate bastard. Kravitz had also suggested the shared roommate calendar, Taako could put his shifts in so Kravitz knew when he would be out and not worry if he wasn’t home. Taako wasn’t entirely sure why he would be worrying, but Kravitz hadn’t confessed his undying love to anyone yet, so Taako could deal with a calendar. It was actually helpful because Kravitz put his shit in too. At least Taako knew when he’d have the house to himself. 

The first time Kravitz made tea must have been an accident, Taako was sure of it, he happened to walk into the flat as Kravitz was making a cup and Krav offered him one too. Taako was tired, it had been A Day, they’d been slammed and he’d barely had a moment to grab food or slug down water between orders. So yes, actually, a cup of tea sounded delightful. Kravitz was still in his fancy boy get up from his orchestra bullshit, and Taako couldn’t confirm or deny if a hot boy serving him tea in a beautifully cut suit was exactly what he needed to feel better.

It didn’t stop there though, suddenly, every night they were both in Krav had a cup of tea waiting for him when he got home. It was nice, was the thing, because it wasn’t just the tea. It was tea and a conversation. Kravitz would lean on the counter in one of his nice soft jumpers with his sleeves rolled up and his ridiculous cello-case-carrying forearms out and just pay attention to Taako. He would ask questions about Taako’s day like he actually cared. Worse, he’d remember stuff Taako had talked about before and follow up on it. Then he’d tell Taako stuff about his day and trick Taako into caring about it and asking him questions too. It was unreasonable behaviour, is what it was.

Taako couldn’t let this keep happening. It had gone from nights he was on shift to just every fucking night. Krav would come knock on his door, or, more recently, pause whatever show they were binge watching together, and ask if he wanted a brew. Wanted a brew. Taako should be bullying him for doing weird slang, not finding it charming. He should be talking up the benefits of that sweet sweet bean-juice, not getting Merle’s advice on different mint plants so he could make Kravitz a new blend for Candlenights. He definitely shouldn’t be looking forward to tea time and having weird swoopy stomach feelings when he thought about it.

He tried to say no once. He did. But Kravitz looked like a puppy he’d kicked, and something terrible twisted in his guts, so he immediately lied and said actually he’d meant to say yes ha-ha-isn’t-it-funny-when-you-misspeak. Seeing Krav’s sad face split into a grin had lit something inside him that he’d desperately been trying and failing to put out since. He’d tried skipping nights, and he’d tried remembering how great coffee was, he’d tried making the tea himself because maybe Krav’s weird spell only worked when Krav boiled it, but nothing changed. In fact, it got worse. He missed Kravitz on the nights he skipped. He’d text Krav while he was out with Merle and Magnus because he actually wanted to know how Kravitz’s day went, and what they’d played at orchestra, and if he’d nailed the bit he’d been struggling with... Maybe it wasn’t the tea? No. That was stupid. It was definitely the tea.

Taako had been glancing at the clock for a good 40 minutes, any time now there’d be a knock on his door. He didn’t want to be in his room, he wanted to be out there with Kravitz watching Antiques Roadtrip and thinking up overly complex hauntings for all of the objects the presenters bought; but he couldn’t be because Kravitz had broken him with fucking tea. If he made him a cup tonight that was it, he was going to be an absolute gonner. Taako had talked to Lup about it and she’d confirmed what he’d been worried about. Taako had a crush on Kravitz, he’d had a crush on Kravitz for a while, and if Kravtiz made him another cup of tea he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it. But right now, he knew what was happening, he was alert, and aware, and ready. Kravitz couldn’t trick him, he was too smart for that. He could fix this. 

The best option was probably just to go get a pint of water, make a completely casual comment about how warm it was - despite the fact they lived in a flat which was consistently freezing and they both knew it - and then scuttle away. Perfect plan. No cup of tea, and no falling in love with anyone. Taako strode down the hall and into the kitchen to grab his drink, intending to stop by the lounge on the way back.

“Oh, Taako! I was just about to come and see if you wanted any tea.” Krav looked genuinely pleased to see him. What a dick. 

Kravitz filled the kettle and looked expectantly at him.

“I’m…er… I’m really hot?” Taako didn’t entirely mean it as a question, but it definitely wasn’t a statement.

“Taako, you do realise you’re wearing a turtleneck, a jumper, and a blanket cape right now? Are you sure you don’t want to take a layer off? Are you sick?” Kravitz had the absolute indecency to look worried about him, like Taako was the one being unreasonable right now.

“I’m not sick!” Taako said, more of an edge than intended in his voice.

“Okay, is something else wrong? Do you want some water instead?” Kravitz still looked concerned, and apparently now the tea thing was leaking into other beverages because the thought of Kravitz getting him a glass of water to look after him was actually really nice, which was definitely fully and completely insane. He had to stop this.

“Kravitz, Krav, Kraverino, Kravanchini, my guy, you have to stop making me tea.” There. He’d done it.

Kravitz looked at him questioningly, then grabbed the lid from the side of the sink, placed it on the kettle, and set it on the stove. “Why?” He asked, simply.

“Because I’m gonna fall in love with you.” Taako snapped. Kravitz did not look as concerned as he was supposed to look right now. Fine, Taako could spell it out. “That’s a threat. I’ll do it!” There, at least now he’d fucking stop, and Taako could go back to being all spiky edges and iron insides, no more of this having feelings lark. He didn’t want to feel all goopy inside; he didn’t want his stomach to do flips when he saw Krav’s stupid handsome face; and he didn’t want to enjoy it when their hands brushed as Kravitz handed over his mug. Taako was good out here and he didn’t need anyone fucking it up, least of all his dork of a flatmate with his shared calendars and his non-caffinated beverages. The threat of having a whole Taako as his problem should do the job nicely. Nobody wanted Taako full time - that’s why everyone kept falling in love to get away from him… or trying to murder him.

Kravitz looked him dead in the eye, grinned, fucking grinned and clicked the hob to life under the kettle. “I’ll make the buttermint you like.” 

Taako was going to fall in love with Kravitz so hard he wouldn’t know what hit him. That’d show him.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Blood and sand - Chapter Twelve

No one Luke had ever met was like Oscar.

He was patient. He listened, and taught by example (“I’d never ask you to do a thing I wouldn’t do myself”). They spent hours training, practicing on one another (“I trust you, son”) until Luke started to really understand how this worked.

The hand that healed could harm. It made him wonder, deep down, how often people caused harm when they could heal, instead.

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

----------

Chapter Twelve: The Priest

Dennis took it like his due, staggering back and laughing.

Oscar sighed. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It was!” Arthur had flipped right into feral mode. “It fucking was. How dare you drag him into this?”

“Into this?” said Dennis, grinning, his face already swelling. “He’s already in! All-in, by choice, or did you forget?”

“Gentlemen,” said this Oscar evenly. “I’ll have to ask you to take your rivalry elsewhere. The young man and I have many things to discuss, and my mistress wants me home by new moon.”

“The favor was a man?” said Luke, baffled.

“Can ye give me a hand here, kiddo?” said Dennis, pointing at his face.

“Don’t you even talk to him after doing this, you scum,” Arthur growled.

“Gentlemen.” Oscar spoke sternly, with a tight, familiar authority that automatically made Luke pull his shoulders back and duck his head. “No.”

Dennis evoked an expression Arthur had never seen there before, though he had seen it somewhere, and recently—a sneer, smug and cruel. Dennis never looked like that. He smiled sweetly when he gutted people.

Arthur looked ready to cry or scream or do something very rash. “How can you say that?”

“I’ve made my peace with what happened,” Oscar said. “And I’ve tried to help you do the same.”

“You went with her.” Arthur’s eyes were wide and blazing. “How could you? After everything we did to free you and Marie.”

“Not all sheep are friendly,” Oscar said. “They still need a shepherd.”

Arthur turned away and clenched his fists, then looked at Dennis. “This isn’t over.”

“Good!” said the Butcher. “Was getting kind of feelsy in here.”

It was getting what?

Arthur shook his head and looked at Luke. “Are you all right?”

He wasn’t really used to being asked that. “I’m fine?” he said.

“Son,” said this Oscar. “Are you the healer he says you to be?”

Oh. “I can heal, sir.”

“He’s very magical.” Arthur sounded threatening. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” said Oscar. “Just around the ring.”

“You know where it goes?” said Luke.

“It isn’t my first time in this place,” said Oscar, and just started walking.

Luke glanced back once.

“Go on,” said Arthur, grim as an executioner. “Oscar won’t screw you over.”

The Butcher winked.

Okay, that was just creepy. Luke hurried after Oscar. What else was he going to do?

#

“Quite a bit of drama back there,” Oscar finally said after they’d walked a full third of the arena and Luke never spoke up.

Luke still didn’t want to speak up. “It was. Do you know why?”

Oscar nodded. “I do. I suppose you want to know, too, hm?”

It didn’t sound condescending. “Yes, I would.” Luke raised his chin.

“Well, it shouldn’t take too long to explain,” said Oscar, hand in his pocket. “There was a… wolf, of sorts, in my flock.” He paused. “No, I should be plain. There was a part of a god, sliced and suffering, hiding in my congregation. It would possess people, and feast on their terrible dreams. Quite cruel, even if unintentional.”

Luke stared up at him. “Part… part of a god?”

“Arthur and I confronted it,” said Oscar, tone mild, eyes ahead. “He’d gotten it to trust him, and it had given him a small stone to… well. Find another body for itself. In the end, there was only one ethical way to do that.”

Luke stared at him. “What did you do?”

“I took the stone,” said Oscar. “Arthur couldn’t keep it. He already had enough crosses to bear.”

This couldn’t be the other part of Hastur, walked right up to him. “Is… do you know… what god it’s from?”

“I do,” said Oscar carefully. “But she isn’t here.”

She. Luke’s brow knit. “Do gods get cut up a lot?”

“I only know of two,” said Oscar. “Hastur and Lilith.”

The names meant nothing to Luke. “Why is Arthur angry about all this?”

Oscar winced. “Because he went to great lengths to separate it from me and give it back to its owner. He, Mister Collins, and I got into something of a scrape in upstate New York, and they had a device… ah, it didn’t end particularly well, but at least those who died did not do so alone.” Oscar looked distant for a moment, dwelling. “The device separated me from that piece. Arthur returned the piece to its original self, and then thought I was no longer part of the world that includes such things as fragile, mortal gods. He was wrong. She is in need of help that none will give because they fear her, and I took up that burden. We all make choices, son; the best choices are the ones you can live with, never mind what anyone else says about them being right and wrong.”

There was a lot to process here. “So the… the goddess owns you?”

“In a way,” said Oscar, “not that any of us are truly owned by anyone but the one true God.”

True god? In the Dreamlands? Luke glanced over.

His expression must have been something, because Oscar laughed gently. “There’s only one I count as a true God.”

If there was only one, and he was currently sat in a stained glass tower, smearing into the air and ordering people to fight to the death for distraction, then they were all fucked. “But I've seen other gods,” said Luke. “And you’re… owned by one? And you had a piece of one in you.”

“The God I actually worship is my shepherd,” said Oscar. “Lilith—as relatively powerful as she is—is my sheep. She is not without sin; she does not know everything. She is, in fact, finite. And more importantly, she is still hurting. Being without part of herself for so long left her unwell. She needs help, son.”

Luke knew something about wanting to help a messed-up god. “And that makes Arthur angry?” he said, still trying to understand.

“She has done wicked things, and that’s what angers him,” said Oscar. “But so have we all, young or old—and she, like all, young or old, can still be redeemed.”

The phrase clicked home. “So you’re trying to save her.”

“She can be saved,” he said, grim, looking ahead, “and she will be, before breath leaves my mortal form. Arthur is a good man, and can be compassionate, but this isn’t what he wanted for me. He doesn’t understand I’ve found my purpose—the entire reason I exist.”

That resonated. That fell right along the lines he’d already been pondering. “Why did Dennis bring you here?”

“Because I have a little bit of…” He hesitated. “They call it magic. God gives us all strange gifts and chances to use them. My gift is I can save lives through healing.”

Luke gasped. So all of this was a healer thing. It felt like a gear clicking into place. “So can I! I can heal, too!”

Oscar smiled. “I’ve been told.” Then the smile faded. “Yet if you’re here, you also need to take lives. Yes?”

Oh. In all this weirdness, Luke had honestly forgotten. The reminder turned his stomach. “Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes, it is necessary,” Oscar said very softly. “Never easy. The stain of it is terrible, but sometimes, son, allowing wickedness to continue is worse than violating that commandment. So. I am here to help you do that without cruelty, without excess force, and in a way that helps you grow stronger. All right?”

Oh, this was complicated. “Yes, sir.”

Oscar nodded. “Game face on, son. Here’s what we’re going to be doing.”

#

No one Luke had ever met was like Oscar.

He was patient. He listened, and taught by example (“I’d never ask you to do a thing I wouldn’t do myself”). They spent hours training, practicing on one another (“I trust you, son”) until Luke started to really understand how this worked.

The hand that healed could harm. It made him wonder, deep down, how often people caused harm when they could heal, instead.

By the second day, Luke had thoroughly imprinted.

Everything was a teaching opportunity to Oscar, and Luke soaked it up. Oscar, it turned out, looked at everyone all the time as if they always required help, and it was in the process of observing this behavior that Luke came to a realization: the buzzing he’d felt all his life, annoying and constant, sometimes too distracting, sometimes louder than people spoke, was his passive knack.

People’s bodies were always doing things, even when healthy. It was like being aware of the hum from lights, or the constant noise from the brand-new refrigerator Phoebe's husband had brought home. It was like the traffic by the bridge, or the wind in the higher parts of San Fran. Unending sounds he hadn’t been aware of, but had felt; and now that he knew what it was, he could handle it better—even push it back a bit.

That helped. A lot. It was easier to look people in the eye when they talked; it was easier to fall asleep. It was just easier, and now that he knew what to listen for, he grew more aware of good normal sounds, of good healthy sounds. Conscious awareness of a thing he’d felt his whole life refined that thing like baby-handwriting transforming to calligraphy.

Oscar helped in battles starting that night. There, he did Arthur’s healing—showing Luke how to do it on the fly, in action, how to truly pinpoint what was wrong, and avoid pouring too much of himself in when just a drop would do.

It was excellent. It was phenomenal. Now, if only Luke could get the three adults in his life to get the fuck along.

#

Meals were awkward as hell. Arthur was mad, and Oscar kept soothing him, and Dennis kept coming by and being weird.

The Butcher (Luke couldn’t think Dennis right now) just hung around, wouldn’t go away, and kept making comments at Arthur that made no sense.

“Lookin’ pretty good there. Only a dozen new scars,” said the Butcher.

“Fuck you,” said Arthur.

“He won’t be moved by that mouth, no matter how pretty,” said the Butcher.

“Go to hell,” said Arthur.

So that was obviously going nowhere.

Even the way the Butcher announced battles changed. Instead of simply saying what battle and how, he’d say stuff like, “This’ll be one hell of a roller coaster!” In his voice. With his accent. But still…

It wasn’t him. Luke couldn’t find the words to explain it. The arena clearly recognized him. All the other fighters continued deference and training. If Luke tried to say it, he would sound insane. Yes, this man is not the same man and he’s hidden it so well that even a god’s semi-aware arena is fooled and only I know the truth. Sure.

Meanwhile, Arthur taught Luke how to throw a punch. “No,like this,” he explained, turning slowly so Luke could see the twist. “What’s really doing it isn’t your hand at all. It’s your whole body, pivoted like this; it’s coming from your hips, and hurled in their faces. We know what it’s like to have things hurled in our faces, don’t we?” And that last was directed at Oscar.

Oscar, who just smiled, refusing to take the bait. “Go on, son,” he said. “Try not to be afraid of pain; I know it is terrible, but it’s also reparable.”

Luke pulled back and punched again. The dummy swung, creaking.

“Good!” said Arthur after a moment, oddly delayed as a lot of his statements were. “Very good. Try again.”

Luke studied his sore, reddened knuckles. “Should I heal them after every hit?”

Oscar shook his head. “No. Get used to functioning through pain, and used to conserving your magic, too. When the time comes to properly heal something, you’ll want to be ready.”

That part was weird. Oscar constantly cautioned him against using it all up, and while Luke understood—he’d made that mistake with the King in Yellow, after all—it really seemed to him that Oscar was too… conservative with it. There was a lot of magic still in him when Oscar called it done; but maybe he was right. Maybe it was better to have a healthy reserve, instead of just a trickle.

Luke kept his middle cot; above him, Oscar snored when asleep, and sighed when awake. Below him, Arthur complained. Awake or asleep mattered not.

Once, Luke caught them talking quietly. “We can still get you out,” Arthur whispered at who knew what time in the morning. “I can word the wish, or we can find another spell.”

“No,” said Oscar, again, again, again. “She’s my purpose, Arthur—the entire reason I’ve lived the life I have, and how I will both redeem and reap my choices. She needs me.”

“She uses you.”

“Needs me, Arthur.”

A pause. “I know,” Arthur snapped, and not to Oscar that time.

Oscar sighed. “Rest well, Arthur.”

“Fool,” Arthur muttered, and it might have been to anyone at all.

#

It came to a head three days later.

The Butcher stood in the ring, training warriors (none of whom seemed happy to be dealing with this new Dennis, who broke bones a lot more than he used to), facing off against a monstrous, three-headed thing with eighteen thousand eyes and horns all along its body. It charged.

The Butcher laughed. He threw his head back, arms out, chest open, and closed his eyes.

The thing crashed into him, slammed, piercing with a thousand horns, sending blood and gore flying, and the Butcher should not have been able to laugh after that, but he did as the monster kept going and rammed into the far arena wall.

The laughter stopped.

Luke cried out, running into the ring.

The monster stepped back.

The Butcher was gone. There wasn’t so much as a hair.

There were no answers, and that was all anybody talked about for the next two hours.

#

At dinner, Dennis came back.

Just walked right into the dining area, scowling, and stormed up to their table. He had dust all over him, and his nose was sunburned. He stared at Oscar like he’d seen a ghost.

“Can I help you, Mister Collins?” said Oscar, who meant it.

“What the fuck?” said Arthur. “What happened out there today? Where did you go?”

Dennis stared at Arthur for a moment. “I rode through the desert. What are you talking about?” He leaned on the table, right in Oscar’s face. “And how in hell are you here?”

So now everyone was staring, looking confused.

“Are you okay?” said Luke, who had some questions.

“No, lad, I’m not.” Dennis leaned closer. “You’re here, Priest. You ought not be. How in fuck are you here?”

Oscar looked puzzled. “Son, you brought me here yourself.”

Dennis’ eyes went absolutely huge. He said nothing. For a moment, he looked crazy. Then the intensity slid away, and so did his gaze, and he only looked lost. “Got to check a few things,” he muttered, and walked away.

“So he’s fine?” said Arthur as though offended. “He’s just fine?”

“I don’t know if I’d say fine, with that kind of memory loss,” said Oscar.

Luke sat, trembling, and did not say what he was thinking.

Though it had only been a few days, he was getting used to the hum of people’s bodies. They were unique, identifiable, like fingerprints or voices. That hum—the hum of the man who had just walked up to them—did not not belong to the same Dennis who’d brought Oscar here. It was different.

Luke knew what this meant, even though he didn’t know how it could be so. Someone had pretended to be the Butcher and brought Oscar here under false pretenses. Someone pretended to be the Butcher for just long enough to get Oscar established in this place. Then that some someone had just fucked off with ridiculous drama, leaving no explanation.

For no reason Luke could pinpoint, his mind went back to the weirdo who’d sent him here, back in Celephaïs. Maybe it was the smirk.

“His blood pressure was elevated,” said Oscar. “Did you notice?”

“Yes, sir,” said Luke, who had.

“Fucking freak,” said Arthur to no one, and no further answers were to be found.

#

The Games resumed, and Dennis stayed Dennis. He was himself, if grouchier, and constantly watching Oscar for signs of treachery.

Arthur couldn’t get Oscar to leave. At least he was less mad; the two men talked about things like New York and “the farm,” and they talked quietly about their past, and the laughed, sometimes sharing a whiskey, and that was not too bad.

Healing was easier than ever as Luke learned how. He understood Oscar’s talk about purpose; without question, healing was Luke’s.

And one day after Dennis returned, Luke made a choice: healers, he decided, were shepherds like Oscar said.

It was time to visit the damaged god all of this chaos was for and see if he could help.

[chapter thirteen] [masterpost]