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activatebutterflyshield · 5 months

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More of me running my mouth about music as inspiration except this time its just Dear Wormwood

Prelude. Prelude. PRELUDE. This is probably just a music nerd thing but its so perfect. Despite my horrible understanding of music theory, a prelude is usually the first piece of music that is meant to represent the succeeding and usually longer movements in a single work, but they could also stand alone. The Prelude to Dear Wormwood works as both. It starts out quiet before building up with just absolutely amazing wordless vocals and its just so great folks. Its a summary of the whole album in a minute and nine seconds its amazing folks

Okay Bitter Water. The first time I heard this one I thought oh, its a metaphor for alcoholism. Yes, it can be a metaphor for alcoholism, but it is also so much more. In the broader context of Dear Wormwood its an acknowledgement of how bad a relationship is and that the singer, the victim, feels like they can never escape it, but it can be so much more folks. It can be a about a love lost, with the one who lost the love pining and wasting away without their soulmate. Said soulmate could be a part of the griever themself. It can be so much. Its also a banger but thats a given for the whole album. “terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue” is also eternally amazing this whole thing is poetry mates

There Beneath. Calm and flowy and existential kind of but I make a lot of things existential and where were we? But also the line “I saw the morning lead a cavalcade” is bloody amazing. Its such a great and poetic way to describe the breaking dawn, the rising sun, the beginning of a new day and so many other things mates its amazing. Like a veteran adventurer recalling the times when their friends got them out of hard scrapes or something idk

In the Blue Hours of the Morning. It’s a nice waypoint, a chance to catch your breath before the next song which I will go off about but this bit is really just like its title. The time before the cavalcade, when theres still enough light to see by yet its so calm and still and not quite awake yet

Exeunt, which is. It is. Well, exactly what it says on the tin, an exeunt, which is a stage direction for when an actor goes off stage, but its also the most poetry ever. Everyone loves “Fluttering your lashes like ashes and ember” and rightfully so but everything in that song is so bloody strong. “Crocodile eyes I have seen how you hunger”???? “No I cannot trust what you say when youre grieving”????? Like its such a powerful song with all the musicians going ham on the everything and then the lyrics and then the context? Its great its just great

Caesar. A calm follow-up to the headbanger that is Exeunt, but its no less amazing. Im just drowning in symbolism for this one mates. Not only is the morning back and breaking over a palisade but also historical references!?! The backlogs of random anecdotes and stories are tickled awake by the “Look to the sky where the sign will be shown” bit so much like it aint even funny. Its a reference to Constantine the Great, who saw the symbol of the Chi Rho and went on to become roman emperor with it painted on his shields and its so much potential in just three stanzas

This Will End. Fellows this one just hurts. Its so bloody sad and yet such a strangely jaunty tune like the singer has just accepted their sad life and Im always like no! It can get better! You just gotta try a bit! Mates! Im bleeding out!

Pale White Horse. Ohhhhhhhhhh I can get so deep about Pale White Horse but so much of it is about WWI and the Spanish Flu Epidemic and other stuff I do not care to dredge from the depths of my historical brain fluids but its so great as a thing about war and trauma and abuse and so much other stuff just like recognizing someone doing something terrible and that can be either interpreted as oh thats conformation that they were always terrible or oh goodness thats not possible why no why are you like this you are not like this right and there’s no in between. And both hurt!

Where Is Your Rider. Enough metaphors to fill a graveyard (hey Crane Wives fans. Hey. Did you get it? Eh? Idk I thought it was funny) and then some but also oooooh the lines just go so hard sometimes. “But these bones never rested while living / So how can they stand to languish in repose”???????? Like mate youre dead but youre still going to push on and keep on fighting mates it hurts it hurts too much there are too many characters and situations and just stray thoughts I can peg to these two lines alone help

Soldier, Poet, King. Need I say more? Yes, I need to say more. Everyone above and below knows how bloody legendary this song is but take this as a sign to listen to it again. Its just that good. Someone once tired and broken who has found support and is coming back to finish the job they couldnt finish on their own is just oooooooooooooogh mates. Also funny ha ha DND party. Two sides of the same polyhedral dice. Probably a d100 with all the nonsense I can drag out of it at this point.

Dear Wormwood. The album namer. UGH I cannot get enough of this one. Just some of the lines in this one mates. “And in my hour of weakness / You were there to see me fail”???????? “I know who I am now / I know who I wanna be / I wanna be more than / That devil inside of me”??????????????????? Its just so perfect and so amazing and it gives you a warn hug and it punches you in the gut and it helps you up and gives you hot tea and the works mates its just so great

Danse Macabre. One last instrumental. A Danse Macabre was usually a piece of art with people dancing next to skeletons, representing the inevitability of death and the equality in the grave and so many other sad and mopey things but also its just such a fun jig. It really does feel like a bunch of spooky scary skeletons jamming on their graves. And that’s a one liner I never thought Id need to write.

Thus Always to Tyrants. Bloody hell this is the perfect ending song. The singer immediately starting off with “Let me die, let me drown, leave my bones in the ground”, proclaiming themselves free of the worries and pains they started the album with, singing as the blazing sun rises that yes, they are, if not happy now, then at least better now, and that anyone who threatens that will face the new and improved them is just ooooooogh. Mates. If theres one song you need to listen to if you somehow made it to the end of this thingie without also being obsessed with the Oh Hellos, its Thus Always to Tyrants. But please listen to the whole of Dear Wormwood first. It makes the impact so much better.

#me running my mouth #the oh hellos #dear wormwood #i just needed to get out. some. not all. of my thoughts about this bloody legendary album #im gonna do more #probably #theres so much i can say about. uh. most of the songs i listen to regularly #if theres gonna be another one then itll probably be through the deep dark valley #or maybe that one about coyote stories ive already started but that thing is more specific and also sad to read since its about sad stuff #like climate change and capitalism and such #but it will be finished eventually

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optiwashere · 5 months

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So, it's time to meet Karlach, vamp-man, and see a few interesting scenes in the Asheera replay...

Upon first meeting the vampire-that-definitely-doesn't-look-like-a-fucking-vampire, Asheera is pretty much completely ready to boot him for attacking her. However, she remembers her oaths. It's her duty to take in those that need protection, and for her to prefer peace above all else whenever possible. That includes those that attack her if there's a good reason they did so, and especially if they've also got a worm stuck in their gourd.

Then, the party almost immediately meets the one and only.

The bone man. This face about sums up Asheera's reaction to him. She thinks it's a bit bizarre that what looks like a mummy followed them to camp. Surely he's not hiding something else up his weird, dusty sleeves.

Oh, and of course how could I forget! The party takes Wyll to go find this devil he's supposed to hunt. That goes about as expected. Wyll is easily persuaded (and like all of those dialogues have +5 or +10 approval, so he really doesn't want to kill her even though his situation demands it). I think to Asheera this shows that Wyll is exactly who he says he is: she values the high road, she's a paladin of Redemption after all. But this solidifies her trust in him as a real hero.

And when the party goes to deal with the fake paladins asking for Karlach's head... well, they get the jump on the paladin and absolutely, utterly annihilate him.

Not before Karlach gets this banger out though!

Asheera had a little nighttime visitor after this... and let's just say that it actually had the opposite effect to what the little pale boy thought it would. He lucked out when he got roped into a paladin's crew. It's weirdly a part where Asheera can understand him more now.

Now he's someone that needs her. That's a lot easier for her to understand, and especially when it's a monster that needs her help. He very clearly has a lot of weird bullshit simmering under the surface, but she can't quite articulate what it is yet.

Also, Karlach gets another banger line in this scene. This is probably the moment when Asheera starts to really like Karlach. In another world, Karlach...

But seriously, this is the exact ideal Asheera tries to live up to with her oaths.

So around here is where my fic canon diverges from the game. In "It Is the Wound She Gave Me" the druid grove is raided kinda in the middle of the night while the party is sleeping at the grove. A lot of folks are taken, including Shadowheart and Asheera. So now's the part where my slight canon divergence is going to have some pointed commentary for each scene!

Because whew did I forget how easy it is to get Shadowheart's approval up lmao. I wasn't even picking options that I know give the highest approval! There's a couple in there that I know she disapproved of, it's just so easy to get her past that first threshold if you break her out of the pod in the nautiloid.

I could go on and on about how that shows how under all the indoctrination she's constantly searching for an excuse to break out, but that's so... thematic. How under the surface, she just wants to find something that has purpose. How she thinks that's the cult she's been indoctrinated into, but how maybe some of those tenets she's memorized and regurgitated to appease her Mother Superior were just that — regurgitations. False beliefs she tells herself she wants to have so that everything she's endured is for some purpose.

I digress.

Given the canon divergence here between the game and my fics, getting to this date feels so fast. It's just a night between the two of them here, drinking and chatting, but I forgot how rapid-fire the romances could be lol. No wonder I elongated the fic timelines.

I think Asheera is grateful here to see what she hopes is the real Shadowheart. Not the one that's hiding behind a dozen masks, which is funny given that Shadowheart has yet to admit a certain divine proclivity at this point. Even so, it's nice. it's a crack in that shell that Asheera's beginning to see makes up almost everything about Shadowheart. Asheera might be a bit of an idealist at times and that can blind her to all sorts of cues she should have picked up on (for instance, turning her back on vampire boy when they first met) but she can read Shadowheart's reticence for what it is. It's a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and a tinge of embarrassment (you can even tadpole her to see that last one, but Asheera doesn't use the tadpoles after the first time it feels like "something was taken from her" earlier that day).

While chatting, Asheera shares a detail of her life that Shadowheart can relate to extremely well.

I do wish the game would let you explore that half-orc, biracial experience a bit more. I'm a biracial person that feels completely alien to both sides of my family tree, so this line hit me out of nowhere the first time I played. I insist that Asheera is not a self-insert, but sometimes the details line up incredibly well like this lol.

After goading Shadowheart to share a little bit about herself, the night ends with both women looking up at the stars. Asheera turns to Shadowheart and notices she's waiting for something.

What's a paladin to do but take hold and charge headlong into the fray?

#oc: asheera #asheera replay posts #the first three (four?) posts are from one play session but actually writing out my thoughts takes some Time #After the next post I'll be covering a lot of things in a single post - the next one covers Shadowheart's Sharran confession #and there is SO much to talk about w/r/t Asheera and her oath there #the only thing that needs more is the Gauntlet #(don't tell anyone but part of the reason I did this is so when I get to the Gauntlet in the replay I can solidify Asheera's thoughts on it

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mondaymelon · 7 months

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heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy melon :) so about that little ask game of yours,,,,,,, 2, 14, 16, 27, and 31!!

i will ignore your previous transgressions for the pure sake of silly

silly ask game!!!!

2. lighter or matches?

i am a stupid little person and thus my fingers fail to cooperate with my very few coherent thoughts and for some reason when i like yk drag the match over the little strip thats supposed to light the fire it just. doesnt. light??? like back all the way in the elementary days we went to like this camp and i could not for the love of me start a goddamn fire and then i got marshmallow stuck in my hair because someone fucking flung it and the half-melted thing catapulted instelf onto my poor locks ... :( ...my past haunts me. that, and also lighters are more aesthetic and sillier to draw so. lighters. mmm

14. do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

id love to be all dreamy and misty eyed and be all "yes, its my favorite thing in the world" well smiling absentmindedly facing the pale light shining through the window with my chin resting on my palms but i could only say that if i went outside long enough to smell the wet dirt lmoa.

( yes, yes i do. and the name for it like petrichor or smth is so pretty too... although my love for freshly cut wood, printer paper, and those brown paper towels triumphs all. )

16. can you drive?

haha. no. lmao. because ive been putting it off for the sillies. that, and my family dont have another car since its my brothers till he gets shipped to college next year <33 besides hes basically my personal chauffeur anyways <- lie he does not put up with my shit nearly that well

BUT YOU BET WHEN THE DAY COMES WHERE I HOP INTO THAT VEHICLE CRANK THE KEYS AND DRIVE OUT INTO THE OPEN, BEAUTIFUL WORLD THAT ILL CRASH STRAIGHT INTO A TELEPHONE SERVICE POLE ANd BE BLOWN UP IN A SHOWER OF GLOWING SPARKS !!!

27. about how many hours of sleep did you get?

haha anyways next question

31. what kind of music keeps you grounded?

uhmmm hrmmm i like to listen to really fast paced (BREAKCORE ML <333) or very layered music where theres just a lot going on because for some silly reason it quells my thoughts that are a little too silly. if it does not fit my very specific and petty requirements i usually take multiple songs. and yk. just. play em at the same time. at max volume? i think the max ive done is 8 or so? believe me animal ( specifically amane milgram cover )+ god-ish + loli god requiem + meme (MIKOTO AND JOHN... i offer you my beating, bloodied heart <33) + im your treasure box (beware, she moans a bit., and the mv is a lil... m) + ussewa + judas (NOT the lady gaga ver) are actual bangers when you play em all at once with each one at like x1.25 playback speeeeed

... wait hold on just one moment. lemme do something rq

ah. okay maybe just one more for good mesaure haha

maybe... this... means something. yea no lol lmao what am i on about

#★ ˎˊ˗ melonrambles!#★ ˎˊ˗ inbox... mooties!!#⋆˙⟡♡ᝰ.ᐟ - yui (lets sweetly ignore the symptoms <3)!!

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the-octic-scribe · 3 months

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So im reading pale fire, its compleatly unhinged and gorgeous, and I think I "get" like 40% or the commentary.

Pale fire itself, the poem, is an absolute banger

"I am the shadow of the waxwing slain,

By the false Azure of the windowpane"

What a banger of an opening like God damm

#pale fire

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infraaa · 2 years

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The blood turns… pure and warm…

…Who will take the vial on this night?

Twisted Wonderland - SFW Matchup (Golden Star)

Commissioned to @chaotic-mercury — thank you for your purchase!

»»» Idia Shroud

Let’s get something out the way: Idia doesn’t like people. He doesn’t like socializing even to save his life and often doesn’t leave his own bedroom if he can help it, leaving poor Ortho to try and lead him out. Like a dog sniffing out food, Ortho gives him nerd stuff to try and get him out of his room so he can get at least an ounce of sunlight on his paper pale skin.

The only instance where you two would probably meet is in class together, or if you’re a part of the board gaming club, there’s another opportunity. You both radiate the same energy, despite you being a slight ambivert. The fact that you shorthand sometimes when you can’t think of the proper word is a banger for him, and it rings a bell in his head that you could be cool. So he takes a small chance on you, pessimistically analyzing you like a third party protagonist.

He sees that you have social anxiety, just like him, and poor self esteem, kind of like him. If you manage to befriend him, and you come in from classes looking down or feeling bad about a test you took, Idia will more than happily try to indulge you whilst gaming or coding. Since you like to learn, if you take an interest on any of these things, and if you persuade him enough, he may introduce you to some of his favorite games or some basic coding techniques to start, like working with JavaScript or writing simple commands.

He likes the fact you’re patient, since it takes a number to try and open him up. He’s like a walnut, needing to be close to people and hard to crack. One could say he’s demiromantic too! I’m respect, and basic social mimicry, he allows you time to come out of your coffin as well. He may see you reading manga and he’ll make one of those cute ass otaku noises and jump in on the manga train and talk you down on his favorite manga and anime. He’s a 90’s guy— inuyasha, sailor moon, the classics. However he’ll gladly indulge in newer content if you recommend it to him.

Now, since you also self deprecate, Idia does the same thing, but when he sees you do this his big brother light goes off and he’ll say “mm-mm, nope.” He doesn’t want to influence you to not take care of yourself. If he seems to care, he’s the type to put people before himself, ignoring himself in the process. He’s selfless to your needs, especially if you’re sick, and his trauma with Ortho and that natural big brother instinct he has will surely quell your distress.

You’re small. Good for the huggin’! Good for the cuddlin’! Good for the cute lol’s and rofl’s while watching a good anime move and drinking something warm with sweets sitting at your side under a warm blanket. But watch it— Idia is like a natural heater. His body is very warm, and can heat you up very quickly. (We wonder why… head full of fire perhaps? Human furnace? Human fireplace?) So if you get a little too hot, tell him. He’ll sadly understand. He often likes to pull his hair up when you all cuddle or get close anyways as to cool you off a little bit and give you some relief.

You’ve been traveling? He’s wanted to travel, he just doesn’t know if he could handle the societal pressure of being in an unknown environment. He’d ask if you’ve been to Asia, Japan, Korea, the countries where his fave music comes from, and he may ask you if you know respective languages. He himself like many of us, doesn’t know these languages, so he uses subtitles if they’re available or watches translations, so if you could teach him, he’d be a singing angel. This way, he could know what his favorite K-Pop groups are saying and he won’t have to look like an idiot.

Your sarcasm and cynic are gold to him because he’s also the same way. He’ll often throw out these quips that may unintentionally piss people off because he’s not in the mood. Like he may give you one of his sweatshirts and someone may be like, not knowing it’s not yours, “did you seriously get that sweatshirt like four sizes bigger?” To which you say something like “oh yeah, I like sweatshirts that look like dresses on me. No I didn’t get this sweatshirt it’s not even mine.” And Idia’s eating the shit up like breakfast. Sometimes he’ll team up with you on the sarcasm if he’s feeling up to it, if he’s feeling a little more brazen than normal. Call you both Team Rocket.

If things actually manage to get romantic however, you will have to A, initiate the relationship, and B, rear end and “mama bear” his ass. Basically be the protective one to get his rear in gear. Once he gets the hang of his bearings, the roles will switch and he will be more protective. You just gotta teach him what to do, or at least try to. He’s not good at the whole relationship thing. The only things he’s learned about relationships and women are through otome games he’s played. Those Ikemen ones. Remember— baby steps.

He’s not a fighter. He’s not going to go out of his way to fight someone who tears you down, he’s easily gonna get his ass beat. So what does he do? He cyberattacks. Ruthlessly. Almost like a soldier 76 kinda attacking. Or an anonymous threat going around magicam. Once you see your bullies likes staring at their phones in disbelief and people talking badly about them, you gotta know that Idia is protecting you. He may not have street smarts or social skills, but he has a reputation as Ignihyde’s dorm head. You’d think people would actually respect him for that and they do, combined with the fact that he is an upperclassman. So he’s kinda at the top of the food chain. Trust me, he’s a completely different person online because he’s not stressing about what to say and do every three seconds.

Not really into art but will give it a shot. He may step out of his shell to take you to a museum you wanna go to. Maybe to an art event perhaps? He’ll want to see what you’re into and see if maybe he’ll like it so you’ll have more in common. However this is like him taking a leap of faith. He won’t step out of his comfort zone ever if he doesn’t have to. But if it makes you happy, what is there to lose? Ortho may encourage the hell out of him to get out and have fun. It’s good for you and it may relax your always working brain.

But even if you all don’t click like that, you all would still make good friends. Call him the James to your Jessie, the Brock to your Misty, the Ash to your Pikachu! A pea in a pod and a seed in a watermelon. Whether comrades or partners, Idia is that one chicken nugget you gotta spare. You can’t eat it. You gotta appreciate it first. Now, before you go, just know that no matter what game you lose, or no matter what anime leaves you on a cliff hanger, he’ll always be there to get some ihop later. And to close, I’ll leave you with a note of my own… がんばれ！

#infrawrites #infradelivers #twisted wonderland commissions #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst idia #idia shroud twst #idia shroud #twst ignihyde #ignihyde #idia x reader #idia x mc #twst matchup #matchups #twst commissions #x reader #twst x reader

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tiredassmage · 1 year

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imbalance

‘Tyr can have a Moment. As a treat.’ Aka, I wrote an entirely different fic because I had a revelation about what would have been a banger line to include in something already written and now I need to fit it in somewhere sknsklfnsdf.

(One day this man might snap like a glowstick entirely, but until then, the very, very, very close call on Quesh. So close you could almost say I robbed him.)

Cipher Nine makes an unscheduled stop on Quesh searching for answers. He’s told more graceful lies, but when friends look like foes and foes may be friends, you take what you can get. Cautiously.

Rating: T // Canon-typical violence.

“Do not follow me.” Cipher Nine nearly growled the words without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “Stay with the ship. Kaliyo’s handling security. And keep an eye on Doctor Lokin. I still don’t trust him.”

“Agent-” Vector tried again with a frown. They’d been circling around this since Nine had initiated their docking run with Quesh’s orbital station.

“What part of my instructions were unclear?” Nine rounded on them with a fire burning in his pale eyes, accentuated by the sharp draw of his brow, parallelled lines of the grim frown set across his lips.

Something twitched down Vector’s spine, but he refrained from flinching. Nine had been irritable since Taris. Maybe Kaliyo didn’t notice, or didn’t care to notice, but he was also restless. The younglings worried.

They reported increased pacing. Trouble focusing. Uncharacteristic.

They doubted Djannis was completely oblivious and, despite her gruff attitude, a part of them still dared to believe she wasn’t completely careless, but Nine had always been efficient in deflecting her barbed jabs.

“We are not looking for trouble, agent,” Vector said carefully. Their eyes narrowed slightly as they watched him. They wondered if he agreed. They did not mistrust his judgement, but Nine played by the rules of engagement just as much as he edged their boundaries. Their presence here on Quesh seemed to be further into the latter than they were accustomed to.

Intelligence had not directly authorized their presence here and Nine had not extensively discussed their reasons before landing. They had simply set course and had been told to stay out of trouble.

Nine held his gaze for a long moment in silence before he sighed. The mask flickered. One hand reached up to his temple. An increasingly common tic as of late. “There’s always trouble, Vector.”

The Joiner’s frown deepened. “Which is why we ask again to accompany you,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”

Nine shook his head. “No, Vector. This is one thing I must do alone.”

Stubborn. Vector inhaled deeply to exhale slowly. “Very well, agent,” they relented. “Just… take care of yourself. We will await your return.”

He could not shake the worry twining through him as he watched Nine disembark. Idly, they entertained a youngling that appeared from beneath his sleeve.

They hoped they were wrong to worry, no matter that he had found he would, regardless of assurances. Even in their relatively shorter time together, they had made more enemies than Vector could count - some far more nebulous and undefined than others.

As of the moment, some of them could have even looked like friends. Human betrayal was such a delicate, devious mess.

x-x-x-x-x-

Quesh wasn’t going to be making any vacationing lists anytime soon and that was well without the spat between the Empire and the Republic over whatever toxic fad currently had the galaxy’s throat.

Routine, surprise inspection. Tyr’s eyes narrowed slightly as his head dropped a hair further, avoiding direct eye contact with any Imperial personnel in the area. Cipher status cleared his landing, but, much like Hutta, he doubted the veil would hold up well under an even half-decent inspection. It’d make the cover up more difficult, at the very least. The less people that knew he was here or “why,” the better.

This was a gamble. It tasted as vile as the stinging air against his eyes. A hand in his pocket held fast to the list of increasingly revolting chemicals. Something itched, tweaked at the back of his mind, or maybe the front, or perhaps it slithered down his spine, twining between the muscle and bone, draining slow like a poison.

Maybe it did all of this.

He struggled to trap the urge to grind his teeth together. If only it was as easy to trap a thought as it was to pin a traitor beneath the heel of his boot.

The cursed blessing of a Cipher had always been the ability to skim through the waters of Imperial life as a ghost - enough authority in squared shoulders and a determined, steady stride to warn anyone within range of the vibroknife doubtlessly concealed somewhere on his person and the silent threat that there wouldn’t be enough people left to ask questions - meaningful ones, at any rate, yet with enough anonymity that most didn’t think to question another face in the crowd.

The facility wasn’t far. The lack of outer security should have been disturbing - or was it lucky, perhaps? Nine’s eyes scanned the stark walls silently as he moved forward. With something this close to the guarded chest of Intelligence, physical guards weren’t his concern.

His eyes closed a moment as he hitched in stride. He could have come up with a better lie about his presence here. Reported inspection might circle back to Intelligence.

Gears grinding, halting, catching, that drain of poison dripping down the back of his neck and lacing his blood again.

Would you tell a soul even if they hadn’t lodged it in your throat? Would you trust them?

He exhaled through his nose. He could lie again. Improvisation. Basic rule of operations.

“Administrator Kroius.” The sharpness carried nicely in this hollowed hell of a place. Nine affixed an almost too-pleasant smile as he settled with a threatening patience into parade rest and pinned the scientist in his sights. “You were told to expect me.”

“Yes, yes, the intelligence operative.” Scan the room. A glitch in the system. Interference on the holo display. Nine’s eyes surveyed quickly as the Anomid gruffly joined him, carelessly sidestepping bodies and leaving a droid behind at the counter. “You’d think for all we’ve done for you people, you could at least afford a courtesy warning.”

Nine’s eyes locked back on target. “Am I inconveniencing you, Administrator?” Fingertips played against his gloved palm.

Eyes widened. Nine’s smile twitched slightly further across his lips. “N-no, no, of course not,” Kroius stammered.

“Then you have the compounds I’ve requested?” Nine produced the list from his pocket - just in case the reminder was necessary.

“Shortly, shortly!” Kroius snapped his fingers at the astromech. “Oh-seven, fetch! Now!” Clawed hands steepled. “I’m sure you’ll find everything satisfactory, agent. We’ve long shared a mutually beneficial relationship with Intelligence.” His eyes were anywhere but the operative.

“You’re holding out on me, Administrator.” Nine’s voice dropped lower with the threatening hiss of a viper. “Spit. It. Out.”

“It’s just… the Dimalium Six,” Kroius said. One clawed hand toyed along the edges of his vocoder. “We’re… out. The Republic confiscated that particular chemical mine some time ago and their security is-”

“Not a problem,” Nine said. “Tell me what you know - everything. Maps of the area, what kind of security?”

The Anomid huffed. “You’ve seen their forces? Snipers? Battle drones?” The agent's gaze didn’t waver, so Kroius huffed again. “Of course, why would it matter to me?” He shook his head. If he’d been capable, Tyr imagined he might be rolling his eyes.

The Administrator prattled for a time - some half-caught comment about appreciation that would have made a Sith eager to crush throats. An itch. An insatiable one. The hum and weight of a vibroblade twirled in his hand, balance shifting over the wrist, or the heated barrel of a blaster, humming from the inescapable march of a plasma bolt.

The chemical supplier. He was involved. He deserves the punishment. A snarl twitched delightedly at the edge of his control.

“Operative?” Kroius cocked his head.

Nine blinked and inhaled, held the breath for a moment. He hadn’t moved and his fingers had stilled their warning song against his palm. A Cipher was never unarmed.

Scan the room again. No surveillance. Just a whisper of his passing. Spilled chemicals and a single blaster shot. No evidence. No loose ends.

The truth of those files in the low light of blacked out Intelligence Headquarters was burned against his eyes. Castellan Restraints. Considered and approved for limited use. Thought irreversible. Thirty days to six months.

Codeword-

It was a simple matter to draw the pistol, in his hand before he’d even blinked, pulled and pressed against the sick bastard’s head squarely between the eyes. The droid beeped and whirred something in alarm, but Tyr’s eyes were glaring down that barrel.

“Agent, I-”

“How many?!” This wasn’t where he was going to get answers. Inopportune location. Inappropriate subject with presumably limited knowledge.

His eyes narrowed and he nearly scoffed. Presumed. As if he’d make that mistake.

He doubled down on the stance, stepping closer as the administrator shrank back from the pressure.

“Answer me, you scum,” he growled. He pressed harder on the blaster. It’d be satisfying if it left an imprint. Evidence that could be burned away in the explosion, if necessary. They’d struggle to find a corpse. “How. Many? How many operatives?!”

“Agent, I don’t understand-”

“Liar!” He hugged the trigger tighter. It’d be so easy. His breath baited in his lungs like a pack of jackals singing to the death throes of fallen prey. “You deal in these chemicals, Administrator, and I’ll be damned if you don’t know a whiff about their uses!”

“Hallucinogenics, loss or alterations of memory, I-” the Administrator stuttered under his blaster. “It’s all well within Intelligence’s demands, I swear!”

Intelligence. All of the air left his lungs in one go. His grip slacked around the blaster and the pressure eased. Tyr looked farther than the end of the barrel and slowly backed off, drawing Nine’s sights off a potential target.

Maybe a justifiable one.

He closed his eyes tightly again and one hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It was a shot that’d burn fine the whole way down, maybe even ride like a high for a couple hours before inescapable reality wormed its way back in: he was playing with fire with a half-baked plan more akin to a wild acolyte’s prayer to a half-rotted echo of a once powerful Dark Lord than a bloody strategy.

Witnesses or no, there would be questions. What was he doing on Quesh in the first place? What was his involvement? Was there any correlation between the deep cover Cipher operative appearing to a highly secretive Intelligence ally and a massive explosion of unstable chemical compounds?

Fuck. When was the last time he’d slept?

“Who-?!” Administrator Kroius flapped his arms, apparently having relocated his misplaced indignation. “Who do you think you are coming in here like this?! ‘Routine’ inspection? Why, I never-”

“You will not speak a word about this. To anyone.” Nine fixed a withering glare on the scientist. “You wouldn’t want me to make another unscheduled, unannounced visit, would you, Administrator Kroius?”

Kroius took a hesitant step back as the Cipher rounded on him, squared him up in his sights again.

Nine’s eyes narrowed. “Good man.” And an exhausting act. Nine holstered his blaster. “Now, as for the Dimalium Six.”

“You’re a crazy one,” Kroius muttered. “You’re still going after that?”

“And you won’t lay hands on it again, understood?”

“What?”

“Not another drop - not for Imperial Intelligence, not to anyone, not from you.” Kroius raised one clawed hand, but remained silent in Nine’s penetrating stare. “Don’t worry about them. Remember what I am, Administrator.” He stalked languidly towards his prey, letting a step or two drag for emphasis.

Kroius had the good sense to stay put. A hound was usually given to the thrill of a chase.

“I… didn’t catch your moniker, operative.”

“Cipher.” Nine turned without so much as a dismissive glance to the astromech and collected the rest of what he’d come for. “That’s all you need to know, Administrator. Try not to let it keep you up at night. Bad for health, I understand.”

“O-of course, Cipher. I-”

Nine’s narrowed eyes pierced him over his shoulder as he stuttered.

“It’s not really my decision to make, Cipher, but-!” He raised a clawed hand to stave off the fiery spark ready to ignite in the agent’s eyes again. “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to comply.”

“See that you do.”

Cipher Nine left with his head held high even as it ached sickeningly, twisting a poisoned blade in his heart.

One shot could have ended all of this.

Coward.

How many more agents were going to pay the price because he hadn’t pulled the damn trigger?

You've changed nothing. The cost of maintaining cover, biting back the bile that rose in his throat - a good agent even when no direct command had been inescapably issued to worm its way through him, to hollow out whatever remained that wasn't utterly Cipher Nine. Pride of Imperial Intelligence.

Right. Pride. As if it wasn't the root of this whole damn cancerous mess.

Nine shook his head in a vain and fruitless attempt to clear it. There was still the chemical mines, a job to finish. It may yet be enough - however temporary - to cut the beast at the source.

#swtor #imperial agent #swtor fanfic #ch: tyr #vector's full-time job is trying to keep tyr from snapping tbh #he's great at it when he lets vector actually do it askfnldksfnld #i have half an urge to keep picking at this but i already squinted at it in a daze at like 6:30 this morning so if i don't #give it up now it may gather dust in google docs and i refuse to let that gremlin win lol #dot words

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horizon-verizon · 1 year

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The Flea proved to have no mercy. Garth the Harelip was dragged before him and beheaded, along with twenty other knights still loyal to the queen, amongst them Ser Harmon of the Reeds, the Iron-Banger, who had been one of the Seven Who Rode. Nor was the mistress of whisperers, Lady Mysaria of Lys, spared on account of her sex. Taken whilst attempting to flee, the White Worm was whipped naked through the city, from the Red Keep to the Gate of the Gods. If she were still alive by the time they reached the gate, Ser Perkin promised, she would be spared and allowed to go. She made it only half that distance, dying on the cobblestones with hardly a patch of her pale white skin left upon her back.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 523-524

#mysaria #fire and blood quotes #asoiaf quotes #rhaenyra overthrown #perkin the flea #hedge knights asoiaf #Fire and Blood #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #mistress of whispers #master of whispers #mysaria's death

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apoptoses · 1 year

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“You and @desertfangs have been the only ones to make any comment on that fic at all and it feels so awful” okay first of all HOW??? It’s honestly shocking to me because it’s... perfect? Literally doesn’t get any better than this, Devil’s Minion-wise. It has all the components that make their relationship so complex, fascinating, and fun. With top tier writing at that. And absolutely mind blowing smut. Their interactions feel lifted right off the text, so like... what else do y’all want?!! And even kink-wise I don’t feel like it’s too extreme or anything tbh, Angle of Incidence felt a lot more experimental to me for instance (my dyslexic ass thought it was Angel of Indecency for the longest time and it somehow worked??? lmao). Anyhow this is officially a PSA from DA to the good people of tumblr.com/AO3: don’t be a fucking prude and read this, your experience in this fandom will be better for it (nothing wrong with being a prude btw, but being an Armand/Daniel fan and not tolerating even the mildest of kinks is... certaintly a choice). I hope this doesn’t discourage you from posting! Know that there are tons of people who love everything you put out there. Banger after banger, every single time 🥹

“His backlog of films is just so fucking perfect and his looks are incredible and ugh! I just love picturing him as Daniel”, just saw your post and dear god it’s doing things to me. Specially eyeing that one with Madchen Amick because the Devil’s Minion vibes are off the fucking charts. Madchen with her pale face and reddish hair and feline features... oh I’ll be looking into it.

“are you a succession fan? haha Is this a kendall roy reference?” lmao it’s ALWAYS Succession reference babes, I’m absolutely insufferable about it. Sundays are just not the same anymore, LIFE is not the same 🤧

“They're part of him, they're a symbol of the walls he has up and the defense mechanisms he hides behind, so any time I have him remove them around Daniel he's being the most honest.” Exactly! And the fact that he allows himself to be completely bare in front of another creature (human or not) is a huge thing for him. Daniel is so doomed yet so lucky, and I get the feeling he knows it, even if he can’t fully explain why at this point.

My cats!!! Light of my life, fire of my loins. No pictures available atm sadly as I’m in class rn but one of them is named after VC’s Pandora and she’s the baddest bitch in the game, just like her namesake xoxo DA ❤️❤️

I have no idea! Angle of Incidence was so extreme, I thought if people enjoyed that then nothing I wrote could put them off but fate as it flows is just flopping in terms of audience response. I feel like I've done something wrong but I don't know what.

VC tends to be a surprisingly tame fandom but if people have read my other stuff and liked it...idk I really have no clue. My confidence is really off now, I have to admit. I have two completed things on deck and the idea of posting them is now excruciating lol But I deeply appreciate your encouragement.

The Madchen Amick movie is wild because if you blur your vision a little and ignore her boobs she even LOOKS Armand-y at times. It's a good one for visuals of them together but if you want him with the most Molloy-vibes action-wise I'd say you gotta watch Sex Lies and Videotape and Crash. They're both perfect erotic weirdo movies, I could scream about them for days.

You love Armand/Daniel AND Succession, you're perfect DA lmao Please respond asap with which Succession character is your favorite, I need to know. My life is so empty without Tom Wambsgans filling my Sunday nights, for real.

Pandora 🥹 I don't even know her and I love her already!

#apoptoses answers #dungeon anon

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parkerbombshell · 1 year

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pukicho · 3 years

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Hey Puki! Music recommendations? Fave artists? I’m in dire need of new music

Okay I went overboard with this, WAY overboard, here's a fucking bunch of songs I like in lots of genres, with a number rating attributed to each, enjoy, Jesus:

Electronic:

Pale Blue dot - Ross from Friends (8)

This Old House is All I have - Against all Logic (9)

I Bite Through It - Oneohtrix Point Never (9)

Jeanie - Bon Iver and Jim-E stack (7)

You're Too Precious - James Blake (8)

Long Road Home - Oneohtrix Point Never (9)

Str8 Outta Mumbai - Jai Paul (8)

Gosh - Jamie XX (10)

Open Eye Signal - Jon Hopkins (10)

Kin - Tourist (10)

I'm God - Imogen Heap, Clams Casino (8)

Acoustic/folk/Lounge:

FTA - Whitney (9)

Third of May - Fleet Foxes (10)

Should Have Known Better - Sufjan Stevens (9)

Ti-De - Kokoroko (8)

Hikari to Mizu - Toshifumi Hinata (8)

Adeline - Alt-J (10)

So We Won't Forget - Khruangbin (9)

Swim and Sleep (Like a Shark) - Unknown Mortal Orchestra (9)

Pais Nublaod - Helado Negro (8)

Alt/Alt Rock/Rock:

Part III - Crumb (7)

Satan - DD Dumbo (9)

Alabaster - All Them Witches (8)

Gallipoli - Beirut (9)

Man Of Oil - Animal Collective (9)

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Crumbling Castle (10)

Burn The Witch - Radiohead (10)

When You Die - MGMT (10)

Could Heaven Ever Be Like This - Idris Muhammad (9)

Tossing Tears - Twin Peaks (7)

In Birdsong - Everything Everything (10)

EDM Bangers:

Tondo - Disclosure (9)

Airglow Fires - Lone (8)

The Difference - Flume, Toro y Moi (9)

Parallels - Balck Sun Empire, IMANU (9)

I Follow Rivers - The Magician Remix - Wounded Rhymes (8)

Marea (We've lost Dancing) - Fred Again (9)

Supersonic - Skrillex (8)

We've Got To Try - The Chemical Brothers (9)

Weird shit:

Fantasma (For Jasmine) - vessel (9)

If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead - James Blake (9)

Eye In The Wall - Perfume Genius (8)

Fear of the unknown and The Blazing Sun - Colin Stetson (9)

Dusk Tempi - Eluvium (8)

Rivers of Sand - Fennesz (8)

Falaise - Floating Points (10)

The people - Photay (9)

Okay I'm tired of doing this now enjoy

#Long post #music #this will keep u preoccupied

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mercyisms · 2 years

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hello do you have any book recs? we share similar taste and i would love to know what your picks are

oh!! what a fun question. i think i am fairly eclectic with my books (a whole mess), however, some very contemporary novels [etc] i've enjoyed recently are:

lote by shola von reinhold: which was a rec from @cristabel-oct that really has not left my mind since reading it. basically every other contemporary book that's trying to do stuff with gender or obsession (or even a sort of 'fandom') has paled in comparison to lote imo. the parody of art/academic culture is also v satisfying!!

piranesi by susanna clarke: possibly another one everyone else has heard of but, like! it's great stuff! i read it all in one sitting and it made me feel electrified and excited about books again (in the same way tlt has). so much voice + a engrossing, contained world. (a very obvious pair to borges' house of asterion, which is mb the best three page short story?)

megan whalen turner's entire queen's thief series: the first book is a breezier heist geared towards younger readers and yes the fourth book is the weakest but every other one is like so good. do you like eye and hand trauma! i think this series is my most natural rec for anyone who likes tlt (probably you have already read it!). i think it is some of the most clever plotwork and just a fully rendered world of nation-states and compelling actors throughout that always feel at motion. love when a schemey shady guy loves an incredibly cool, composed woman, what can i say?

also in the realm of 'big name' contemporary fiction, i am very energized by karen russell's writing in general? i've only read her short story collections but like. what a fun, expansive mind. she struggles with endings most, but i am usually in love with her prose decisions and the sheer level of weird, bizarre joy. her short story about presidents of the united states of america reincarnated as horses should not be one of the best stories of all time but, like, maybe it is?

i was also a big fan of hassan blasim's surreal the corpse exhibition and other stories of iraq. again, this feels cliche but words like 'visceral,' 'incisive' and 'playful' would not be out of place as descriptors. as much as it's about war, a lot of it is also a very macabre sort of borges. my favourite story is the one abt people who can just make knives appear and disappear. top tier power. reaching slightly farther back (although not much) fire and hemlock by diana wynne jones has no business being that much of a banger, david wojnarowicz's close to the knives is something i read for when i want to be jolted Awake by prose, we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson is a masterpiece, and changeling by joy williams lives in that same luxurious/creepy register. the prime of miss jean brodie still absolutely kills on a prose level. & revisiting borges was one of the best things i did last year! as quick hits, in addition to the karen russell short story above, ling ma's los angeles is very fun, as is anthony veasna so's maly, maly, maly (you'll need paris review access boo hiss), and ottessa moshfegh's (of rest and relaxation fame) novella mcglue is about gay pirates?? i feel like most of these are very obvious recs, but they are the first that come to mind! give me your recs, anon. making this little list made me feel like i really do not read enough. but those are probably too many of my personal faves and idk Recent Formative Texts.

#i didn't really dip into like classics but things i want to revisit this year include villette & the master and margarita #bulgakov's 'the white guard' has been sitting next to my best for ages and ages as has jean genet's 'prisoner of love' a #and anna banti's 'artemisia'#if you like tlt then an emily carroll graphic novel is probably a great way to spend an afternoon?? creepy and gay??#asks #anonymous

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whump-town · 2 years

Text

Burning House

I’ve wanted to write Hotchniss for weeks and then Harry Styles released that motherfucking banger “As It Was” and I ended up here… I couldn’t tell you, honestly, how that happened. I have no good Hotchniss thoughts :( I want to write about them though and this is as close as I got

Fire. There was something about the way Aaron said it, the wind shifting and throwing a face full of smoke right into him. Fire. He chokes on the word. They know there’s something more to him than what they see. Experiences and fears that he won’t speak of. Emily couldn’t wrap her head around why he chose to answer this one question so bluntly, so… He just answered it. No mind games. No trickery. No grunt. Derek looked over at him, feet kicked up on his desk – “Hotch, worst way to die?” And Hotch hadn’t even looked up from his coffee. He stopped walking, frozen for just the quickest half-second before clearing his throat. Fire. And he walked away. He glances at Dave, catching Emily’s eye on the way around. Keep walking. Fire.

That was just a week ago and maybe that’s entirely the reason Hotch never speaks. Words have so much power and Hotch’s speaking into existence is his worst fear.

Death by fire.

“Go.” Emily looks back to the door, the flames are crawling higher up the wall. “Emily.” She was Prentiss just ten minutes ago. His voice is much stronger then, “you sure about this, Prentiss?” He wanted to go in guns blazing, no back-up. They didn’t have time. They still don’t. But she nodded, and smirked. Dave said it would get them killed. They’re an inexplicably good team but they’re stupid together. Brave. And that kind of bravery, the comfortable kind, is what gets you killed. She thought they’d go out together. Rapid gunfire and Derek’s angry voice over their radios telling them just to hold out for a minute longer. Death by fire has far less glory. The oxygen in the room is rapidly being eaten away. The flames inched closer, making her skin itch and burn.

His breathing is laborious and quick.

“I’m not leaving you.” She just doesn't know what to do. Leaving is nowhere near an option. “So shut up about it.”

Gun blazing, no back-up. That’s how they’ve always done it and she knows the team will be here any moment but they’ll be outside. Out in the yard and in their SUVs watching parts of the house fall in around them. Unable to help. Not dumb enough to think they could be of any help also running into the burning house. The team is just outside that wall, she knows, but right now it’s just her and Hotch.

And a fucking wall.

“Emily.”

She presses her palms into her eyes and pushes until she sees bursts of color. He says her name again and this time she can’t help it. “What!” She turns to him finally and her anger is stalled. He’s grown pale so quickly, face colorless as he lays pinned to the ground. Pale and sweaty, she can see how damp his skin is. How he’s baking just laying there, unable to step away from the flames inching closer to his bare skin.

“Don’t watch.” It’s a plea. Her mind grasps the sound of his voice, and plays his words over and over in her mind in an agonizing fashion. Don’t watch. He grimaces, turning his head away to pull his hand away from a hot sheet of metal. The other is pinned beneath him, twisted and horribly broken. “Please,” he repeats, “don't watch.” It’ll be quick. Fourth-degree burns don’t even hurt – there are no pain receptors left. He’ll pass out before he gets there and it’ll be so quick. Just… five or six minutes maybe, he has a good pain tolerance and the flames will hit his legs first. They’re working their way under the wall sitting across his chest. His legs will burn first and the flames will move up. His breathing is already bad, there’s something wrong with his left side. It hurts to breathe. So, just five minutes. Five minutes and it’ll be over.

She shakes her head. No, no she won’t leave him alone. He’s her partner.

“Emily,” he pants her name. His eyes widen a little and he tries to sit up, grunting in pain.

She crawls over to him and grabs his free hand. “What? What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, faces pinched in pain as he tries to work through the pain. He holds his breath.

“Aaron,” his first name feels so funny to say but he’s dying and he deserves to hear his real name. To be comforted and not left alone to die in agony all by himself just because he thinks he’s strong enough. “Breath,” she puts her hand on his head. Moves back his sweaty bangs and feels his cold skin. This house is literally burning around them and he’s cold to the touch.

“Leave,” he gasps, squeezing her hand as tight as he can. It’s a weak grasp. “Leave, Emily. Get out of here.” He doesn’t let go of her hand though. “You can – You can lead them back,” he wheezes. “Want to–” He coughs, turning his head as he whimpers. His ribs are in agony, the coughing doesn’t help. “–want you to leave,” he rasps. “Please.”

The back of her throat hurts, and the smoke is getting to her. Even dying, pinned, and looking down the scope of impending death, he’s in charge. Maybe not really. He’s not really in charge right now but time is slipping away. She’s going to start succumbing to the smoke. Right now she can clear her throat, and fight the urge to cough but in a few more minutes? By the time the flames get to him, she won’t be able to leave. She’ll die too. She’ll have to hear him die. Listen to his screams and watch him try and fight futility to get away from the agonizing pain. And then he’ll die. And she will too.

“You don’t have to be brave,” his voice is weak, nothing above a whisper. The fire crackles and pops loudly. It’s getting closer. A tear slips from the corner of his eye and falls back into his hair. “You’re just being stupid. Get out of here.” He lets go of her hand with one final squeeze. She holds on. “Emily,” his voice hitches, and more tears fall back into his hair. “Emily please.”

She squeezes his hand, minutes are gone. She’s got a second. Now. She has to decide now. “Okay.” She’s in tears. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, Hotchner.” She brushes his hair back again, and presses her forehead to his. “Guns blazing, remember?” He smiles, he’s breathing too quickly. Short, pained breaths. She lays his hand gently on his chest. “I’ll be back,” she says. “We’ll come back for you.”

As soon as he thinks she’s out of earshot he starts coughing, it pauses her step. They’re weak, wet coughs and they stop suddenly. He doesn’t fall silent, he gets louder. Hotch screams. It starts low, even alone he tries to stifle his pained sounds. He sucks in a labored breath, silent for a terrifying moment, and then he’s loud. A purely, agonized scream. Emily has to leave him. It’s against everything she knows. She turns her back to him and keeps going.

Her knees buckle as she steps out into the cold, clean air. Derek sees her first and yells her name as he pushes past EMTs and firemen. He picks her up off the ground and she doesn’t realize it until her head is spinning, her eyes fluttering back open. “Aaron,” she rasps. She tries to sit up but her stomach knots itself up and her throat feels too tight. She feels immediately sick as Derek stands, her body draped across his arms. “Derek,” she tries to push herself away but can’t. “No, no we have to go back.” He holds her a little tighter and stops her from throwing herself out of his arms. “Derek, we have to go back. He’s still in there!” She groans, wincing as he heads closer to the flashing lights. Her head feels like it’s going to explode. “He’s still in there, Derek.” She shouts when she realizes where he’s going, hitting his shoulder as hard as she can. It’s nothing. The blows are weak. “No! No!” She throws herself away from him as Derek puts her on the stretcher. “He’s still in there!”

Derek catches her wrists and holds them down on the stretcher. “Emily, firefighters are in–”

“Fuck you!” She bucks up off the stretcher, screaming as an EMT to her left pulls out a syringe. “He’s still in there! He’s alive!” Her screams turn into sobs, no one’s listening. They’re just going to leave him to die. To burn to death. “Derek, please,” she whines as the syringe enters her arm, cold and sharp. “He’s alone,” she whispers, “he’s gonna die alone.”

The drugs work so fast, her mouth dries out and she blinks her eyes hard and slow. “Derek,” her fingers are cold and tight around his wrist. “Derek, please, go get him.” She shouldn’t have left him alone. She shouldn’t have left him alone to die. Surrounded by fire. Left him to die alone and afraid and in pain. “He’s scared.” Derek moves her hand so he can hold it, and puts her palm on her hair. “He’s my friend,” she whispers, fretfully turning her head. Her arm is getting heavy, her body succumbing to the sedatives. An EMT places a mask over her face and Derek holds it in place. “He’s–” her eyes shut. “He’s scared.”

Derek moves with the stretcher and keeps holding her hand. “They’ll get him,” he promises. Alive or dead. They’ll get him.

She sleeps through the worst of it – through almost all of it. The sedatives wear off in a few hours but her lungs are weak from smoke inhalation, they almost lose her too. It’s too much to handle. Dave is beside himself. It was just a fucking joke, he meant just to tease them. Where one goes the other follows and those words have never been more true. He signs his name on so many forms, gives his consent to do whatever the doctors think will save them. She’s intubated for two days and for forty-eight hours Dave stares blankly at the tube protruding from her mouth. They extubate, randomly, at two in the morning and Dave is right there at her side. She’s not aware but he doesn’t want her to be alone.

Aaron is in the burn unit, alive by some miracle. Barely holding on. Dave thinks the way to save him is to save her. They’re connected. It makes sense to him and all the logic is thrust at him because she’s Aaron’s proxy and Aaron is her’s and since neither can speak for the other… that power goes to him. Twenty minutes after they extubate her, they ask him to step into the hall. “The damage sustained to Agent Hotchner’s left leg–” fourth-degree burns. Dave’s never seen anything like that in his life. They want to amputate and hand him the pen. “We’ll save as much as we can.” Bilateral. At the knee is their guess but his left leg is in really bad shape. His right hand is already a mess of pins, the function undoubtedly impaired by the nature of its break. Now they’re going to amputate his legs.

“Dave?”

He sits up, glasses discarded in a heartbeat. Thrown atop his book. “Hey, kid.” He picks her hand up in his, and brushes his thumb along her knuckles. It aches, her hand hurts where the IV sits tucked under her skin. “How you holding up?”

She looks around the empty, dark room. “He’s dead.” It’s not even a question, she’s so certain.

“No,” Dave breathes, too quickly, not assured enough. He sits down on the corner of her bed, gets closer. Holds the side of her face in his hand, smiles despite himself. He’s just relieved to have her back. Eyes open. Breathing on her own. “No, he’s in surgery.”

Her breath quickens, they’d told Dave to keep her calm but this he has no control over. “No?”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb, hopes to placate her before the nurses come in and kick him out. “No.”

“I want to see him.” She’s choking on tears, her throat raw and angry but she has demands to make. Things she wants.

Dave shakes his head, “no.” They won’t allow that. Derek has been with Aaron nonstop since he was brought in. He goes through this clean room and wears a yellow drape over his clothes. Scrubs his hands dry. He’s still not allowed to touch. A fucking cold could kill Aaron at this point.

“Dave–”

“You were barely alive,” Dave cuts her off. “A day ago, you were intubated and I thought–” He loves the two of them so much, somehow for some reason. They’re stupid and reckless and act like they’re always trying to prove something. “I thought you were going to die.” He sighs, smirking as she tries to fight even without the words. They’re on the tip of her tongue, a careful argument that’s struggling its way up. “Aaron’s–” he has to be careful with his words. Knocking at death’s door will have her out of this bed in an instant. “He’s in surgery. They’re not going to let you in there.”

He’s just a foolish old man for thinking that would hold her back.

It takes her until lunch. Spencer sits with her while Dave takes the middle ground of meeting with Derek. He promises to bring them both back something, not from the cafeteria. He assumes the promise of hearing about Aaron’s current state will sedate the burning hunger she has to get to him herself. And hearing it from Derek kills two birds with one stone – they amend whatever was broken by this whole shitshow and she remains bedridden safely right where she is. He’s, of course, counting his eggs before they hatch. He should know better.

Spencer caves upon her third request for “anything but this shit” to drink. She hates grape juice and the apple juice burns her throat. “Please, Spencer–” she’s completely manipulating the power she knows she has over him. He’s upset and agonizing over what’s happened, all he wants is for someone to tell him what to do. He caves. He knows he’s not supposed to but she’s so damn convincing.

“Okay, okay,” he already knows he’s going to get in trouble. “Do you want a coke?” He knows she does and he smiles, he can’t help himself, as he leaves to go grant her this simple request. He can’t be gone for more than five minutes but he comes back to her empty bed. He calls Dave first but no one answers and no one answers when he calls Derek either so he just sits down on the edge of the bed, awkwardly waiting for someone to come back. He can’t imagine where she’s run off to or that she simply won’t just come back on her. Dave comes back only a minute later, with two sandwiches and one rice krispy treat.

Aaron isn’t taken back to the burn unit after the surgery. Amputating what they can from his legs alleviates the majority of the burns that need to be monitored, so he rests in the intensive care unit. Here there is less torture, even if he can’t really remember what the last two days have held everything hurts. They keep him intubated – his body attempting to recover from a bilateral amputation will be exhausting and his heart is already having a hard time keeping his body oxygenated. He’s only vaguely present even with all of the sedatives have been lifted.

He had a conversation with Derek this morning. He can’t remember the details just fuzzy feelings. The deja-vu of going over information he’s certain he knew at some point but now doesn’t. And he thinks he saw Dave, for only a moment. He has only the memory of opening his eyes and Dave being there. No idea what he said.

“Hotch?”

A nurse had just come in, shaking his shoulder until he opened his eyes so she could ask him questions. His heart stopped in the ambulance and this was the first real chance they were getting at making sure that downtime didn’t cause brain damage. Too many pen lights – follow the light with your eyes. Too many instructions. Too many words. It all turns out to be nerve-wracking for him. He knows these tests and he’s not awake enough, not able to think clearly enough to know if he’s failing miserably.

“Come on you lazy ass–” The skin on his bicep is pinched and he grunts, peeling his aching eyes open to find Emily smirking back at him. “Do not give me that look, if you’d answered the first ten times I said your name I wouldn’t have pinched you.” She leans over onto the table they’ve moved over his hips, it does a good job of keeping his legs out of his line of sight. She pushes a pen into his stiff fingers and lifts his wrist so the paper can sit underneath. “They tell you what happened?” That I left you? She wonders if they told him the real truth. If he remembers it the same way she does.

He nods – all he remembers is her sweaty forehead against his, their parting words. Everything from there is blank. He wakes up pinned to the ground. Emily promises to come back. The hazy memory of pain – his skin feels like walking in the freezing wind but like pressing his hand into the stove burner. Then here.

“I’m sorry I left you.” He attempts to speak, frowning and fighting with the tube down his throat. He ends up turning his head, pressing the tube all weird in his throat with movements he shouldn’t be making. She had to leave him. They’d both be dead. He wouldn’t let her die, she has to understand that. Emily sits up, a little too quickly, but she pushes down on his shoulder. She’s afraid to hurt him and more afraid he’s going to hurt himself getting all worked up. “Stop, for fuck sake. I take it back, I’m – I’m not sorry.”

He makes one more final discomforted grunt, this time just because he’s worked himself up. For the first time, he can feel the band wrapped around his thigh. The sudden cliff of tight sharp agony. Pain isn’t just at the back of his mind, it’s rocking hot and heavy across his legs. Agony. His nerves feel like they’re on fire – ones that aren’t even there, he can feel them where his toes should be.

She sees the change and she follows his gaze down to his leg. “Does…” she glances back up at him but can’t finish the thought. The pen starts scratching across the paper and she leans close to see what he’s writing. “Your handwriting is atrocious,” she lifts his hand away, holds his wrist with as little contact as possible. “Liar.” In his chicken scratch, he’s managed to write little, he’s answered her question without her having to ask it. She can’t help her satisfied smirk.

They were worried about brain damage but she’s certain now he’s at least mostly intact. Part of him is still there. He’d be better off if the part of his brain that makes him lie about stupid shit like how much pain he’s in was oxygen deprived but, whatever, no brain damage is a good thing. Still…

She didn’t have to ask if his legs hurt for him to know what she was going to ask. It’s not that grand but it’s something – it’s everything because she left him to die in a burning building a few days ago. She thought he was dead.

He searches for the paper but misses it.

“Here,” she moves his hand back to the paper. “Try to write legibly this time.”

He scowls at her which isn’t half as effective as he thinks it is.

She flattens his hand when she starts to realize what he’s writing. “I am fine,” her tone is flat, he doesn’t believe her. “I am, stop looking at me like that.” He looks at her for a few more seconds, squints. She rolls her eyes and sees that stupid thoughtfulness in the pinched-up part of skin between his eyebrows. “You’re so annoying,” she sighs. She tries to put to words exactly what it is she should and shouldn’t say. “I broke… two ribs? Little smoke inhalation. I’m fine. You’re the one with–” they look back to his legs.

He smirks around the tube and moves his hand back down on the paper.

“You–” she tries to maintain annoyance but she smirks. “Isn’t it a little too soon for those jokes?” It’s an intense jumble of letters that he’s managed to write but it’s all context clues. He must be something really strong to joking right now – no legs?

He smirks – he has to be on something really strong. He only smiles like that when she over pours the red wine (and she always over pours).

“Emily Marie Prentiss.”

She freezes, doesn’t look behind her even though she knows who’s standing in the doorway. “Uh-oh,” she whispers, “busted.” She smiles at Dave, “hey old pal.”

Dave crosses his arms, “you’re hurt. You need to stay in bed.”

Hotch squeezes her hand, she glares at him – fortunately, he’s not going to say anything with a tube down his throat so for once he’s the easiest to deal with. What’s he going to do? Not gonna chase her down and he’s not gonna rat her out. This is the best.

“My ribs hurt,” she answers shortly. “That’s it. My breathing is fine. I got all the way down here on my own!”

She’s like dealing with a teenager, a very angsty and aggravating teenager.

Hotch squeezes her hand again and she cuts him off with a harsh frown, “shut up.” She turns back to Dave, “I’m fine.” He doesn’t believe her. She’s preparing another comment when a nurse walks in.

“You all aren’t supposed to be in here.”

No amount of arguing wins Dave or Derek a moment longer in the room.

Emily holds up her wrist when the nurse starts to come for her. “I’m hurt,” she says, pointing at the white wristband. “Feeling really dizzy. Can I have some juice?” As the nurse steps out, Emily turns back to Hotch, smirking. “You think I can convince them to bring me a bed up here?”

Hotch frowns – it’s the Hotch version of rolling his eyes.

“Five bucks,” she bets. He frowns and after a moment pulses his hand four times. “Twenty!?” she asks incredulously. “You are brain-damaged.” The nurse comes back in, juice in hand. “Twenties a deal,” she whispers, turning back to smile at the nurse. “Thank you so much.”

He loses twenty bucks.

At seven o’clock they wheel her back into his room – their room, he just hasn’t realized he’s been moved between floors. She’s smiling like a mad man.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi

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