#and also you have the opportunity to just assign symbols to me and play and fuck around with fancy English and write prayers and stuff

[abyssalpriest]

I should've seen this coming bc I always was interested in religion but like. Lev said OK lmfao we should and are now going to make a religion (for the two of us). We Are. That's your practice now.

And I haven't been this excited in ages

[laoirei-pages]

Last Mission perfectpaired! ♥︎

1. One precious moment with perfect paired

The most valuable experience was when I first discovered that I was a part of the Cherubs. Meeting fellow Cherubs and Safe Guards is one of the moments that will never be forgotten in my mind. I deeply appreciate the moment I realized that I have the right to express myself here, and also to share many things and stories together.

I clearly remember the first time I wrote down what I wanted to convey for perfectpaired’s mission. And yes, I have made peace with what I wrote to the Safe Guards. Thank you for helping me pour out my heart as best as possible, and with that, I have become willing to let go of what I had tied up. Thank you for helping me out of a zone I shouldn't have stayed in.

2. I’m the happiest when I...

I’m the happiest when I have random talk with him from morning until I fall asleep. I’m the happiest when I can get to know him even more deeply, laugh with him, and experience the sides of him I have not known before. I’m the happiest when I can spend time with him, when I can express the words I want to say, and talk about what I want to do today, tomorrow, and the days to come with him. I’m the happiest when I with him.

3. You with your pefect pair.

My wholeheartedly forevermore, IVE.

4. Cherubs who where born at the same month as you! (At least tag one and say something!)

Massive hi to my fellow February mates, @jaehyiuno @Wonjungt @speunghun, jeioingin. We were born in the month known as the month of love. I believe that you, too, are full of love and ready to spread it to your loved ones. I just want to say that I am very happy to meet you and get to know each other. Please stay healthy and stay happy, Abang-abang!

5. Say something to yourself.

You are still growing and learning. Your strengths and flaws make you unique. You are grateful for your own self journey, even the tough parts. You deserve happiness and success. You believe in yourself and will be kind to yourelf. The past doesn’t control you; your future does. You are strong, capable, and enough.

6. One song that you play on repeat.

7. What’s in my bag kalau tiba-tiba diajak ngemall sama Kak Asha dan Kak Nadine?

Aku akan bawa hp (wajib), mini parfume, dan lipbalm. Kenapa nggak bawa dompet? Biar nanti Kak Asha dan Kak Nadine yang belanjain aku. 😋

8. If you have to pick one flower, what would it be? And why?

I pick: rose, stands as a prime example of beauty, passion, and elegance. Its petals, in various colors, open in a stunning display of nature's art. With a scent that is both captivating and memorable, the rose has inspired poets, artists, and lovers for ages. The reason why I pick rose because rose is a symbol of love and admiration, the rose goes beyond gardening, holding deep cultural and emotional meaning. Its lasting popularity shows its unmatched power to evoke strong emotions in people.

The End.

I hereby declare that I have successfully completed all the bingo tasks. The journey of working through this assignment has been incredibly enjoyable and has filled my heart with immense happiness. Each task provided a unique challenge and an opportunity to learn and express myself creatively. I am deeply grateful for this experience, as it allowed me to articulate my thoughts and ideas in ways I hadn't before. Enclosed, you will find the results of my completed bingo tasks. With great excitement and a sense of accomplishment, I am thrilled to shout, "BINGO!"

[alma-draws]

2, 5, 8, and 14 for Morred! :D

2. Drawing from the language of flowers, what flower would symbolize them?

I don't know much about flowers - but if I had to pick a plant, I'd settle on Artemisia absinthium, or the grand wormwood! It's a rather pretty, pale-leafed plant with a sort of silvery shimmer. It is one of the primary ingredients of absinthe, having a strong, bitter flavor.

It also contains a chemical thujone which, in very large quantities, can be neurotoxic and hallucinogenic. Fun!

5. Which body part are they associated with?

For Morred, I'd say hands! His tell quite the story about him - they're delicate but heavily scarred, nicked, discolored, and pitted from years of working with artificing tools and engraver's acid.

Both in the waking world and in dreams, Morred is a craftsman. He builds; he creates... He has clever fingers capable of producing great wonders and great atrocities alike. He's always using them, too - touching things, taking things, fiddling and toying and touching and changing the world around him. You always want to keep an eye on his hands.

8. Which of the seven heavenly virtues are they associated with? Do they embody that virtue or are they trying to learn it?

Hey, Wuff? Hey, Wuff? Hey. WUFF. You know who Morred is, right? We're friends. We talk. We roleplay. You've met the man. You're aware of his deal.

Which is why I know you're just BULLYING ME when you decide to ask the virtue question about Morred.

Sooooooo let's go down the list:

Chastity: No. Morred fucks.

Temperance: I cannot in any good faith assign 'temperance' to the man who ate tattoo ink just to see what it tasted like.

Charity: This is defined by wikipedia as 'the theological virtue by which we love God above all things'. Morred does not love gods. Morred is loudly and proudly outspoken about how much he hates, truly despises gods. Morred would murder a god if given the opportunity. Morred does not embody charity.

Diligence: Actually, this might fit? When Morred wants something, he pursues it with impressive determination. No stone unturned.

Kindness: Morred CAN be kind. He's actually a very useful, helpful person to have around, when he wants to be. It really comes down to whether helping you out is the more interesting thing to do.

Patience: Hah..... No.

Humility: Never.

If we're talking about virtues that Morred embodies now, diligence is the best I can do. If we're talking about virtues that Morred has the potential to embody, my answer would be kindness.

I hope this satisfies you.

14. Regardless of whether or not they wield any, what kind of weapon do you associate them with?

This is tricky, given that Morred rarely carries a weapon; he tries to talk his way out of every situation, and when that fails, he uses magic. But if I HAD to choose...

I'd place Morred with a rapier: a very elegant fencing foil with flowery curlicues in the handguard and an obnoxious ruby on the pommel. He wields it with a flourish, all the drama of the stage; he dances back and forth with his opponent, here a feint, there a clever thrust. He keeps them on their toes. He makes it a sport, a game, and a wildly fun one at that - and as they play along, focused on the tip of his sword, enthralled, determined to win, he shanks them with the knife he was hiding in his other hand.

Don't play games with Morred.

[mizulekitten]

What I find interesting about Hue Cheng (is a lot of things) is that his one major "flaw," the one thing he couldn't make perfect for Xie Lian was a result of class dynamics and developmental milestones.

Hue Cheng can't write.

And it's not his fault. While what we see and hear of Xianle is a place of art and prestige and culture... That's through Xie Lian's eyes, a privleged, sheltered prince (which I could write a lot more on that and how it affects his on off relationship with Mu Qing). The man literally hadn't shown his face to the people before 17 and that was on accident. Anyways -- we also know from Mu Qing and visiting his mom that there are a lot of orphans, and that Mu Qing lives in poverty that even being a servant to a prince doesn't help.

All of this to say, Xianle had class problems. It wasn't perfect for people long before the war, the rich just didn't care because they didn't see it.

Now take Hu Cheng. Abused physically and emotionally by peers and, likely, family. Even if he was from a wealthier house not stuck in poverty, his fortune and fate would have fucked him over regardless. How does this affect writing? There's a reason we don't let little kids tattoo themselves with things they write. There's a reason I had to spend a good ten minutes connecting the dots to read the first graders' assignments I was asked to help with. Writing isnt something we're born able to do. It takes a lot of fine motor control that is only learned through practice practice practice.

That practice isnt going to come unless you have a teacher, school system, or parents who are passionate about writing and calligraphy. Otherwise the scribbles you make will never evolve into sort of letters or symbols, those symbols will never become legible, never become prestine. Xie Lian had that. He had teachers on top of parents who wanted him to write. He was making scribbles, that teachers guided into letters. Hue Cheng, whether left or right handed, did not have that.

And when he did start to "perfect" himself and his skills, who was going to teach him? Better question: who was going to have the patience and knowledge to say "your writing is going to suck for awhile because your body isn't as apt to change as you were when you were younger. Fine motor skills will take time to develop. It'll be bad for awhile, but you can learn it." Who's going to say that to a now SUPREME ghost king?

Until Xie Lian he had no opportunity to learn. It's cute to see them laughing about it (Hue Cheng really doesn't seem to mind with how happy it makes Xie Lian) but it's fascinating to me how muh class and privileged play into this story.

[inkdemonapologist]

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

REMEMBER BACK WHEN WE GOT INVITED TO A MASQUERADE??? And we figured out the masquerade guests are definitely the sacrifice meant to summon their eldritch deity and that the party will probably be the location of the final ritual? ANYWAY WE’RE CRASHING THE PARTY, which means we need costumes.

The party is Alice in Wonderland themed; Sammy hasn’t read the book but got kin-assigned the March Hare by Joey, so naturally i’ve been doing nothing but drawing this loser in a dapper rabbit costume for an entire week

---

Anyway have a little smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 11

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] Sammy just has no magical powers. [Jack] YET. [Sammy] Yet. Correct. ...He doesn't want any. [GM] Half of him doesn't want any. [Sammy] That's... accurate, yeah. Half of him ALSO wants the OTHER half of him to stop having magical powers. [Jack] No Magical Girl transformation? [GM] *laughing* Is that what that is? [Jack] I'd watch a magical anime where the main character drugs themself and then becomes a weird... religious... madman! [Sammy] That does sound compelling! Maybe you should see if you can find a franchise that contains that element, and then become a big fan of it and draw a bunch of fanart for some reason. [Jack] Yeah, I dunno, I mean... it's so tiring getting into new media, I need to get a friend who will drag me into it. [Henry] And then you guys can start a roleplaying game with it and drag me into it! [GM] There's an idea! [Jack] Yeah! Someone should get on that! [GM] And if there was such a theoretical game... people might have to figure... what they're doing when they wake up!

[Sammy] We were put in a situation before where we were told that the only thing we could do was kill the host, but we found a way around it last time, [Peter] What way was that? [Sammy] Complicated.

[GM] Henry is the first to notice the apparent cultist, camping out, looking tired, trying to spot you guys. [Henry] Uh, Henry is just going to tap Sammy on the arm and point him out. [Jack] Bros! You've got to unionise! Look at these working conditions! [GM] Maybe one of these days you won't spot them, right? Hope springs eternal!

[GM] Okay, you can make an intimidate! [Sammy] Okay! *rolls* FIFTEEN IS -- this is the only thing Sammy's good at now -- fifteen is a hard success!

[Jack] I'm proud of him! [Sammy] Someone has to be.

[GM] Allison chats with everyone, and gets you into the costume room! Everyone seems relatively friendly! [Sammy] Except Sammy. Sammy doesn't seem friendly.

[Joey] My idea was, Joey would be Mad Hatter -- [Sammy] Because he needs a hat, [Joey] --Yeah, so he can have a hat -- I was thinking Sammy could be the March Hare, Jack could be White Rabbit, and then Henry could be the Dormouse, [Sammy] Yes! And then the Haiti boys are all the Mad Teaparty, which is great, because the Mad Teaparty is canonically trapped in a time loop. [Sammy] Because we tHOUGHT ABOUT THIS TOO MUCH,

[Jack] Kin-assign Pete! [GM] He's content to wear anything that looks like it fits him, as long as people aren't trying to push a co-ordinated effort. [Joey] (Pete can be Caterpillar,) [Jack] Catter-pete-lar [Sammy] Oh my goodness. Completely unnecessary. [Jack] This is a pun that Jack might make, out loud, to Pete [GM] Pete laughs, despite himself! [Sammy] I feel like, Jack would make this pun, and then Jack would be SO pleased with himself that Pete would laugh, because Jack was so happy about it. [Jack] Yeah that sounds canon. ....It IS canon!!

[Jack] You can like, actually pretend to be people who decided to come to this party to enjoy it, and not just steal and/or murder!

[Henry] I want someone on the help, because I feel like we would have more control if we had someone on the inside, [Henry] And Henry does have a very forgettable face, apparently!!

[Joey] What are the staff wearing? Target red shirt, khaki pants? [Sammy] Perfect! Everyone will fall for it! Based on my experience wearing red shirts into Target!

[GM] I guess this does mean Joey misses an opportunity to dress up Henry. [Joey] *excited gasp* Wait, wait, [GM] What? [Joey] Sorry, this has nothing to do with anything that's happening right now in the roleplay, but I just suddenly realised that (1) when Henry got married, was Joey his best man, and (2) did Joey get to pick out his tuxedo for him [Henry] UHHHH... I feel like, Henry usually defaults to Joey for outfits and stuff, but he would hesitate a bit to ask his best friend who has an obvious crush on him to help dress for his heteronormative wedding!

[Joey] There probably is at least one of the wedding photos where Joey is insistent on standing very next to Henry -- while Henry's next to Linda! -- but, [GM] ...but also, Joey is here, [Joey] But also Joey is here. [Sammy] ...absolute disaster of a man... [GM] But the tuxedos look good! [Joey] Yes. Henry was properly fitted.

[Sammy] I don't want a full-- I don't want a freakin' fursuit, because-- [Henry] (FNAF in the distance)

[Sammy] But I feel like, since both White Rabbit and March Hare are, like, dapper rabbits, they could do something like, yeah, splicer mask and also a hat. [Jack] I mean, Jack's not opposed; Jack likes hats. [Sammy] Jack absolutely should have a hat, I agree. [Jack] He's getting so many hats! So many hats, and so many boyfriends, [GM] He can't be stopped! [Jack] >:3c He shouldn't be stopped.

[GM] I'm still just stuck on the phrase "Dapper Rabbits."

[GM] If Joey and Allison are talking further away, I guess it's moot. Though Allison did see Prophet Sammy! He changed in her room. [Sammy] Well, nobody explained him to her. Sammy just showed up the next day and hoped that we wouldn't talk about it, and then we didn't! It was great. [Jack] Sammy's over here, hoping that Allison is distracted by Joey so that none of this conversation is being listened to, [Jack] MEANWHILE, smash cut to the other side of the room, where Joey is explaining SillySam,

[Joey] A lot of Joey's lack of giving information was to keep her out of it, and not paint a target on her back... but now? She has a target on her back, so... Sure! You can also sacrifice yourself, for the greater good!

[Sammy] I'm sure someone in this party will thank Allison. It won't be me. But I'm sure someone will.

[Henry] Henry's already smearing his blood on people, he's gonna agree to whatever at this point.

[Sammy] DEFINITELY not a cult, now hold still while we put this guy's weird glowing blood on you, it's fine. [Jack] Welcome to the flock!

[GM] What does this mean for Prophet Sammy's sacrificeability rating on Henry, though? Now he's potentially long-term useful... [Sammy] I mean... [Jack] The Prophet isn't here so he doesn't need to know about this! [Sammy] ...I feel like, if something has greater value, then it's an even more impressive sacrifice. That's why you sacrifice an unblemished sheep, traditionally. If it's not a blemish-- [Sammy] Like, that's most of what he was worried about, like, “does this make you not fit for sacrifice.” But if it's actually a really cool thing, ...!

[Sammy] Sammy's nervous. [Jack] Jack is also nervous. [Henry] Henry is also nervous! [Jack] Oh, that's always a good sign, [Joey] Joey's going to be confident! [Henry] ...Of course he is. [Joey] Someone has to be! [Jack]...is he "Confident" or "Confident (Fast Talk)"? [Joey] YES. That last one. [Sammy] *muttering* That's the best we got, unfortunately.

[Sammy] If Jack or Henry express nervousness, Sammy agrees with them. If Pete is nervous, then Sammy will very aggressively say that Joey knows what he's doing.

[Sammy] Allison, don't use a spell to bind people's souls together in order to avoid crunch,,, [GM] You never know when something might be handy! [Sammy] I mean, [GM] Waste not want not!

[Henry] Does Henry have to draw in blood on himself...? [GM] No, Henry has a lot of his own blood on his person.

[GM] Aw, man, Bendy should've commented on the rabbit outfits! I'm sure he'd find that hilarious. [Joey] ...why...? [GM] WHY? It's just objectively funny! No additional reason is needed!!

[Joey] Joey will go through his notes, and confer with Henry and Bendy on, okay, shall we try this, and see if we can help Bendy as well? [Henry] Henry is down to try! [GM] Bendy is worried about Henry overexerting himself. [Henry] ...Henry is down to try!

[Jack] Worst case, Jack looks at the symbol, and then he can be seeing-eye rabbit for the rest of the group!

[GM] Norman wonders what the plan is! [Henry] Bold of you to assume,

[Sammy] We're having such a good sleepover! We did a weird blood ritual, and we're braiding each other's hair~ [Joey] Having a fashion show, [Sammy] Yeah! We went out and got clothes, [Jack] Can't believe Joey called a boy, [Sammy] Gotta ask Joey about the boy he likes... wait, no, don't do that. [Jack] I'd say it's time to play seven minutes in heaven, but I think we, we did that early. [Sammy] WE DIDN'T DO A VERY GOOD JOB,

[GM] Norman wants to see how this plays out. [Joey] Okay, well, try not to get sacrificed, then, [GM] He laughs, and thanks you for the advice! [Sammy] *Hypnos Hadesgame voice* "Try not to get sacrificed, okay?"

[Henry] Allison is very helpful, and not weird at all!

[Joey] We already have the banjo case full of ritual circles, and Joey would rather have the emergency circles than Sammy carrying around bOTTLES OF INK. [Sammy] WHY, WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT THAT TO BE HAPPENING? WHAT WOULD BE THE PROBLEM WITH THAT,

[GM] Make a sanity check! [Jack] Wait, what's happening? [Sammy] Joey was trying to think too hard.

[GM] Sammy does manage to catch that there's a little-- next to the kitchen, when you go into the place where they're serving food, there's a sign that says "Sheep Shop" over it. And there's a person wearing a sheep mask, handing out food. [Sammy] OKAY, THAT'S FINE,,, I don't feel like Sammy has actually read Through The Looking Glass, so I don't know if he knows why this is happening. I think he's just concerned. [GM] Excellent. Ideal response.

[GM] And Joey has NEVER seen the symbol EVER because he's incredible at not looking at creepy symbols! Which you wouldn't expect. [Sammy] I'm sure Joey will put this in his autobiography.

[Jack] :/ No Hashtag Gay Rights at this party,

[GM] Seems to be another party-goer; in fact, you recognise the voice! [Joey] Ohhh. Kyle -- I don't know his actual name, but -- [Sammy] (Dennis!) [GM] (Yes, that's-) [Joey] -- Kyle.

[Henry] Henry is going to try to sneak up on Moonlight while he's distracted! [GM] OH! ...Okay! He's very distracted, Sammy just screamed! [excited noises from everyone beCAUSE NO ONE EXPECTED THIS] [GM] You successfully sneak up behind him! [Henry] I'm going to grab the staff! [GM] Make a Brawl check, with advantage! [Sammy] (He has SO many limbs that don't work my dude, you got this,) [Henry] That's a success! [GM] You snatch it! [Henry] I RUN!!!

[Joey] We're just both escorting Jack, now. [Sammy] Would you say Jack is late, for a very important date? [Jack] Well YEAH, his Face Removal was scheduled like 2 dreams ago!!

[GM] He'd have to roll for it, to see if it felt familiar to his trip to Carcosa. [Jack] Extreme success! [GM] Then he would pick up that familiar feeling! [Jack] Oh, nice and homey at this party! Really nice. Nostalgic! It's been a while. [Sammy] Hm, [Jack] Maybe he should go play the piano, for old time's sake! [Sammy] NO

[imagineyourworld]

Congrats on the 100! That's fantastic! :) I was wondering if you could do prompt 2 with BB era Echo, please?

Hi,

Thank you so much <3!

I hope you'll like it.

Love, Charlie

-------

Echo x Genderneutral!Reader

Warnings: None

2. Friends to Lovers

-------

So far you didn't regret your decision to leave Kamino with the Bad Batch and Omega, but every now and then you questioned it a bit. Though whenever you were in one of those moods, as you liked to call it, there was Echo. Even just looking at him, hearing his voice or, even better, his laugh, in the distance helped you realize that you had in fact made the right choice. Before you left you had been a medic on Kamino, often assigned to Clone Force 99. That's how you met Echo, shortly after he joined the group, and how the two of you became close. After his rescue he had to spend a lot more time in the med bay than his brothers and you quickly came to the realization that he wasn't too fond of the droids that usually took care of the smaller injuries, which is why you made an effort to be there for him the second he entered the cold and sterile environment. To say that Echo instantly warmed up to you would be a lie, but once he did it was like the two of you had been friends forever. He told you everything, not only classified facts about the missions he went on with the others or the habits and characteristics of each member of the Bad Batch, but also about his other brothers. Fives, Rex, Jesse, soon you felt as if you knew them as well. His voice grew fond when he spoke of them, and you couldn't help but feel for him when he told you about everything he and his brothers had been through. In retrospect you should have known that you were in love with him way earlier, but the realization only hit you when he stormed into your small room, asking you to run away with him. You knew the right thing to do would be to alert the Kaminoans, the Empire, any sort of authority figure and to lock Echo in your room until they arrived. But the way he held out his hand, his human hand, for you to take and the hopeful look in his eyes made you throw your few belongings in an old backpack and follow him to the Marauder. Since then you've been through ups and downs, and the only constant in your new life was Echo. Echo, who had grown from your favourite patient, to your friend, to your best friend and now the man you were hopelessly in love with, something that Omega, with her childlike curiosity and emotional intelligence, seemed to have picked up on. "Why don't you ask him out?", Omega asked you, a question she seemed to have every now and then. "Because I don't know if he likes me", you told her. With a sigh that was just a bit louder than intentioned you closed the drawer of medical supplies you had just been sorting through. "Of course he likes you, he's your best friend", the girl replied. You now leaned against the drawer and looked at her. In the short time you had been travelling together it seemed as if she had grown already, you'd have to buy her some new clothes the next time you stopped somewhere. "I know he likes me, but I don't know if he likes me like I like him." You jumped as a new voice entered the conversation. "If you're talking about romantic feelings, I'm certain Echo has those for you", Tech told you matter of factly. Omega shot you an I told you so look, which made you roll your eyes. You liked every member of your small group, you really did, but did they have to get involved in this? "You really should just talk to him", Tech added before he left, a bacta patch in his hand.

-------

Talk to him, echoed in your mind all day. Easier said than done, but you knew that the more time you spend with Echo, the more inevitable it became. Maybe this was your opportunity. The two of you were out on a supply run, alone. The planet was small, but peaceful and you had time for a conversation. "Hey, Echo", you started, not even knowing what you were going to say next. "Mhm," he replied while shifting through a stack of second hand shirts. "I... You... You're my best friend, right?", you stuttered. You could see him nod absentmindedly from where you stood behind him. "Do you think Omega would like this?", he suddenly asked, turning around holding a cozy looking grey jumper with a black skull, not unlike the Batch's symbol, in the center of it. Your eyes went from Echo to the jumper and back to the clone. So much for a confession. But maybe it was a good thing, maybe you shouldn't tell him in a market, surrounded by so many other people. After all, telling your best friend that you were in love with him was supposed to be a private affair. "I'm sure she'll love it." A small smile made its way to Echo's face. You knew he didn't have much to give, not in the way of credits or material things at least, so he valued every small gift he could give. You still had a shiny rock in your backpack, which Echo had brought back for you just a few days after you met because its colour reminded him of the colour of your eyes. Looking back at it you should have known that you would eventually fall in love with that man right that moment. Or when he had returned, bloody and beaten with a malfunctioning right leg, but instead of focusing on his injuries the only thing on his mind had been to give you the necklace you now wore every day. It was simple, a silver chain with a star at the end, but it was the most valuable thing you possessed. "I still have a few credits to spare, would you like anything?", Echo asked after he paid for the jumper. You shook your head. While there are things you would want, you knew that you couldn't, shouldn't, ask for them right now. And you also knew that asking Echo to buy something for himself instead would lead nowhere, you'd tried often enough. "How about we get something to eat instead? I saw this cute little bakery on our way into town." Echo agreed and just a few minutes later the two of you walked out of the bakery, each with something called a star explosion in hand, as well as four more in your pockets for the others. "I understand the star part, but why explosion?", you asked as you looked down at the star shaped treat in your hands. Your eyes went to Echo, who had just taken his first bite and now looked at you in wonder. "Ochet", he mumbled, trying to chew and speak at the same time. You couldn't help but laugh. Most of the time Echo was serious, sometimes bordering on stern, but every now and then there was a hint of the man he might have been before his entire world went to shit, a humorous and lively side of him came to light. "Chocolate", he said again, this time with an empty mouth, but a bit of creamy nougat clinging to his bottom lip. Your laughter died down, but the smile remained. You knew that Echo loved chocolate, and rarely ever got to eat it. "A treat as sweet as you, it seems", you said, half joking and half serious. Echo didn't reply, he just looked at you in a way he's never looked at you before. Colour was rising to his pale cheeks, a sure sign that he didn't quite know what to say to that. "You think I'm sweet?", he finally asked. Now blood was rising to your cheeks as well. Maybe now was the time to confess. You had left the town behind, now walking along a flowery meadow, some might say this was the perfect opportunity. "I do." You decided not to say anything else for the moment, waiting for Echo's reaction. He smiled at you. A smile that was so sweet and genuine it warmed your heart. "I think you're sweet as well." Your heartbeat started to quicken at his words. Could this be it? The moment of truth? The point of no return? "Yeah?", you

asked, deciding in the last moment to delay your confession a bit longer. "Yeah", Echo confirmed. He looked at you and then at the star explosion in your hand. "In fact, I think you're a lot sweeter than chocolate." There was humour, but also sincerity in his voice. The hopeful part of yourself had a feeling where this was going to go, so you played along. "I think your heart is warmer than the jumper you bought for Omega." Echo laughed as he looked around, clearly trying to come up with something else. "I think you smell better than all the flowers in the galaxy combined", he told you, his eyes flitting between you and a flower on the edge of the path you were walking. Within a few quick seconds he had bent down and picked it for you, securing it behind your ear. "Good one", you told him with a smile. "I think... I think you're hotter than the twin suns on Tatooine." You knew this was a bolder statement than the ones before, but judging by the look on Echo's face he didn't mind at all. Instead he brushed the pad of his thumb along your jawline. It was only then that you noticed that not only had the two of you slowed down, you had stopped walking all together, now standing alone in the middle of the meadow with the setting sun in the distance. "I think you're more beautiful than the first ray of sunlight after a long night", he said, his voice now close to a whisper. This is is, the voice in your head told you. You took a deep breath, leaned into his soft touch and looked him deep in the eyes before you finally confessed. "I think I love you more than anyone else in the galaxy." For a moment Echo didn't say anything and you began to fear that you had ruined everything, this moment, your friendship, your future with the Bad Batch. But then a smile broke out on his face, brighter and happier than any you had seen before. "I know I love you more than anyone else in the galaxy, cyar'ika." Now it was your turn to smile. You leaned a bit closer, closing the last few centimeters between the two of you, and brushed your nose lightly against his. "Good, because I know too." "Yeah?" "Yeah." It only took that little word for Echo gently press his lips against yours. That first kiss was short and sweet and perfect. As was the second one. Only when your lips met for the third time did it turn a bit hungrier, more pressing. Echo opened his mouth to allow you to take the last hint of chocolate remaining on his tongue. Now that you've tasted both you could confirm that Echo was in fact a lot sweeter than any chocolate in the galaxy. "We should get back to the others", you whispered against his lips after yet another kiss. "I know", Echo mumbled, his lips now pressing soft kisses on your jawline. "But they can wait a few minutes, I've waited way longer for this, for you." Who were you to deny him? After all, you had waited for this moment just as long as he had.

-------

I don't know what it is about Echo that always makes me want to write the softest fluff for him, but he deserves the world after everything he's been through (as well as lots of chocolate and kisses)

[emmys-grimoire]

Lesson 52 analysis + 53 predictions

Turning this into a routine thing now! They’re fun to write and they’re popular (moreso than my actual commentary posts lmao).

Y’all like my ramblings.

Things guessed correctly from prior lesson

The House of Lamentation was an illusion produced by the fairies

The arc culminated in the completion of the Trial of Patience (star received via Simeon)

The illusion did a number on Simeon's feelings as well due to his fondness for Lucifer and the brothers

They shoved Mammon and Luke off to the side and plopped them back in only after the Satan/Simeon arc was complete. There was no arc for Luke. To be fair, though, they did get more content than I expected even so.

Things guessed wrong

The banshee didn't show up at all. It was a red herring.

There was no significance to the geranium found in the mysterious book

Our adventure also completed the Trial of Generosity. (I incorrectly attributed this to Diavolo, who actually gave us the Star of Gratitude)

Still ???

Whether or not there is some kind of transfer of memories/experiences going on between the brothers' past selves and present selves due to our meddling in time. We've confirmed that past angel Beelzebub has turned into a glutton in between the time we last saw him and now, but we haven't confirmed if it *is* our meddling that has induced that. Currently, no change has manifested in the present brothers, nor has the timeline of events seemed to have significantly changed.

Whether or not present Lucifer becoming more "angelic" in season 2, in lieu of past angel Lucifer's growing doubt, will be a significant plot point. The parallels are getting stronger, though. (This is elaborated on further down)

It feels like 50/50? I’ll probably keep a list like this going for future analysis/prediction posts just so I can keep track of how right/mistaken I am throughout the playthrough. Might help me make less mistakes in my analysis!

As a general rule I try not to meander too far off into symbolism or out-of-game lore because what I write begins to sound like this:

And this is an otome game that is light on writing and plot. Nine times out of ten, it’s not going to be that deep. So I work with the details given and the plot points shown and try to draw connections within the framework of the story, in an attempt to try to deduce where the devs are taking the plot. Unfortunately for me, the devs like red herrings, and red herrings are designed to mislead you. With me, they are quite successful! I’d like to get better at spotting them.

The book was consequential -- it’s used to imprison Satan later -- but that’s the end of it’s meaning. Maybe the Bible verse had something to do with it, too -- those were some weird ass numbers to just throw in the title -- but maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. 

But enough of that, onwards! We have a lot of points to go over that may be interesting to note, right or not.

Satan the Memory Thief

Back in 50-B we learn that it was Michael who taught the brothers the stories behind the human world constellations. 

When we’re tossed back in time-dreamland (?) again, it is Satan who takes the opportunity to teach the brothers the human world constellations. The room had just been remodeled: Michael hasn’t had the opportunity to give them tours yet. Lucifer mosied into the room so he and the brothers can get the first glimpse.

Sooo if in a future lesson we ask them about where they learned the constellations in the present timeline and they say “oh a guy named Sully, who suspiciously looked just like Satan, taught us!” then we know our meddling is having significant consequences.

It IS worth noting that unlike the prior dream sequence, Satan and Simeon remember what they just went through. This particular time-dream could very well just be an illusion meant to give Satan/Simeon some kind of emotional resolution and nothing else. This is kind of why I hate that they’re bring time travel back into the story: it makes stuff like this confusing and borderline inconsistent. Some sequences may have effects and others may not. 

The chat between Lucifer and Simeon could also be consequential.

“Do you *really* mean that?”

There is a parallel at play here!

After you wake up after dozing off, you go off to find Lucifer and Simeon conversing in a forest clearing, evidently unaware that you’re eavesdropping on them. Simeon says although he knows it is just an illusion, that he was glad to see angel Lucy once more. Angel Lucy is predictably confused, and reassures Simeon that they’ll remain like this forever.

Simeon, of course, knows better. He tells Lucifer that he knows he’s been meeting with Diavolo and he’s having doubts about his place in the Celestial Realm -- and if things really will remain the same. Lucy is caught off guard, and starts to explain with some clear hesitation... and of course we pass out before we could hear his answer.

There’s creepy loud heartbeats when it fades out. Normally I associate them with tense, pivotal decisions -- but it could also just be related to us waking up and returning to reality.

If Simeon ends up being wrong -- and there will be real world consequences to this conversation -- they could be very significant consequences. We’re not sure if the conversation continues for a bit longer after we pass out, but Simeon already woke up before we come to.

Obviously the brothers still fell (they’re still demons in the present), but I wouldn’t underestimate the potential of a butterfly effect changing the circumstances of the Great Celestial War. I kind of hope they don’t do that, though, because they haven’t even begun to explain the present details of that event. We know only the broad strokes. Suddenly changing them to make the resolution between the demons and angels more smooth will feel really forced.

And that parallel I mentioned: Diavolo expresses similar worries and doubt in Lucifer’s conviction in season 2.

I have no doubt Lucifer actually means what he says to Diavolo, unlike his dialogue with Simeon, but Diavolo is aware of just how far Lucifer will go for the sake of his family -- and he’s probably #2 on the priority list, when push comes to shove. Lucifer forsaking the Celestial Realm for Lilith was the thing that brought him to Diavolo in the first place.

Of course, this lesson has Simeon suggesting that Diavolo’s influence on Lucifer was significant prior to all that unfolding, and it may have eventually happened regardless. It was only a matter of when, not how.

Still, Lucifer be writing checks he may not be able to cash. We also get this foreboding warning from Barbatos in Season 2:

As I’ve said before, the inevitable conflict the story was hinting to at this point doesn’t happen in Season 2. Lucifer isn’t forced to make a choice like this. The Night Dagger didn’t demand it.

I’ve also expressed my belief that Season 2 and Season 3 were likely written back-to-back due to the small window of time between their releases, so I believe details overlooked in Season 2 may suddenly become more relevant in Season 3.

It’s worth remembering Diavolo’s growing feelings for MC -- and Lucifer’s inner conflict about it -- were hinted at early in Season 2, as well. It doesn’t really get going until the conclusion of Season 2, leading into Season 3.

Do I have any clue of what this is actually leading up to? Not at all! If it mirrors Season 2′s format, though, it’ll suddenly come to a head in the last 3-5 lessons. I remember feeling equally clueless then, and Season 2 had a lot more foreshadowing...

... a lot of which actually didn’t pan out! But it might now. 

Guardian Angels

Another smaller, but interesting detail. Guardian Angels are indeed a thing.

I think they’re gonna become a thing soon. The devs very sneakily changed a small detail in Season 2, suggesting they might have realized that it may interfere with their plans for later seasons. 

Old version.

New version.

I’m thinking they may have decided giving Michael guardianship of an entire swath of the population was cheating, and they may be individualizing the role of Guardian Angels.

Which leads me to who I think Michael’s chosen human squeeze is:

My man has been scoping him out long before we came around.

It makes sense, too. We know Michael gave his Ring of Wisdom to Solomon, which seems to have kickstarted his career as a demon-pacting sorcerer (though he clearly was a sorcerer before this).

This is a very powerful item, described as the Ring of Light’s counterpart, that would be very useful for a high-ranking angel to possess. I don’t think Michael would fork it over to just anyone, particularly when we remember how he felt compelled to interrogate us via dream hi-jack before the Ring of Light fully came into our possession.

Solomon also makes Michael angst in a way a well-meaning but misbehaving child would make their parent angst:

Solomon also really doesn’t seem to regard Michael like some distant, all-powerful alien being who could smite him out of existence.

Contrast this with how he responds when he’s forced to hang out with Diavolo for a day (he gets more comfortable, but he initially wants to punt the responsibility back to Lucifer ASAP).

And he knows a surprising amount of small details about the guy:

I think Solomon is a significant part of Michael’s long-term plans, but he may not even be fully aware of how. Or he is, and they’re in some kind of mutually beneficial agreement -- possibly related to cross-realm peace -- that we simply haven’t been made aware of yet.

Personally, I think Simeon should be made MC’s ‘official’ Guardian Angel if they’re gonna be a thing with official mechanics behind them. I know Michael is supposed to be the Big Cheese and ridiculously hot, so it may make sense to have him linked to the MC of an otome game because they’re super special too, but Michael may already have Solomon. He shouldn’t get to hog everything. It’s not like assigning Simeon to do job would really inconvenience him, either: MC is Solomon’s apprentice. He can easily work with the arrangement.

Luke may feel left out but he’s a kid so...

Seven Brothers Constellation

We learn there’s a constellation representing the brothers in the Celestial Realm. Everyone there knows the legend, but Luke doesn’t know what the three stars ‘watching over them’ represent. 

He, Mammon, and Satan begin to theorize and Satan suggests they may represent the three realms. The other two like the idea, and Mammon insists the ‘human’ star represents MC. 

He’s probably right, but I’m willing to take it a step further: it represents MC, Diavolo, and Michael. The three “guardians” of their respective realms, and the brothers. Season 3 has been repeatedly beating us over the head with how much Michael still cares for the brothers and his relevance to their upbringing, and likely their future.

It bears repeating: Diavolo and Michael are aiming towards the same goal, though their visions of what peace and harmony looks like may be very different.

Solomon could also qualify as a self-appointed guardian, but I think he lacks the connection to the brothers MC obviously has.

Still, he has the same resolve, and he’s not leaving the story any time soon.

Predictions

I sniff out even the smallest Michael details because he’s clearly the key to whatever is gonna blow up.

This might give us some insight on how the initial dealings with him may unfold:

It’s hard to deduce just what this actually means. Either Michael tends to overthink things that just aren’t that deep (can empathize) and that in itself leads to needless complications, or he’s apt to misread situations and as a result gives poor advice. Or a combination of both.

My initial read on him makes me think that he thinks the best of humans/angels but the worst of demons. He is very, very complimentary towards MC as soon as they start answering his questions.

Am I now? Really?

It could just be the game making characters butter up the MC to make the game more enjoyable for the player of a self-insert character, but dude we just met.

When you tell him you did what you did out of love for Lucifer:

That’s a very telling pause/ellipsis. It’s like his brain momentarily short-circuits and he needs to regain his composure before he continues, and he still doesn’t sound entirely sure of what you just said lol

He also just outright admits he initially thought you must be wicked just because the brothers liked you, and this is a guy who is still fond of them himself. I think he’s having a very hard time with it.

So the inevitable bumps in the roads ahead with him will likely be a result of this, and/or his dad being an asshole. Neither he or Diavolo are actually in charge of the realms they’re overseeing -- they’re both de facto leaders -- so maybe the parents will suddenly barge in and try to knock over their sand castles for whatever reason. It is kind of weird that the exchange program has been agreed to in the first place, particularly on the Celestial Realm’s part.

Regardless, I have no clue what the next arc will be. I know we still have three trials left, but they could combine two again to leave more room for the actual storyline to progress. The climax is going to be the last trial of our sorcerer’s exam, or something happening afterwards. Not sure which one I’m willing to bet on yet: I remember Simeon’s play and the silly Blood Moon contest in Season 2 were what kept use preoccupied for Season 2 until SUDDENLY LUCIFER GETS AMNESIA AND THE WORLD IS IN DANGER AND WE HAVE TO STAB HIM TO SAVE EVERYONE. But they did heavily foreshadow that in the very beginning lol. They just didn’t fill in the blanks until much later.

I wonder what the trial of chastity is gonna be like and how hard we’ll actually fail and the game will need to overcompensate for that

[grimmradiance]

Close to Me: How the Hollow Knight's Fighting Style Reflects Their Trauma (and the Radiance's as well)

So I've been trying to actually beat the Radiance, which means I've been fighting the Hollow Knight. A lot, as a matter of fact, since I'm beans at this game sometimes. I've also been thinking about @lost-kinn's meta about how fighting styles are how Vessels, especially the Little Knight, communicate.

In trying to apply this to the Hollow Knight, I've been coming to some very interesting conclusions, especially taken in context of...Everything Else in the lore, and Everything Else implicated in this by the psychology of it.

There's a lot to cover here, and it tracks through a LOT of different places, including trauma psychology, the relationship between chronic stress and lifespan health, and shape symbolism. Two warnings first:

One: this essay is gonna get heavy. It includes fine-grained discussion of the Hollow Knight's trauma, including discussions of the real-life machanics of psychological abuse, as well as the Extremely Concerning Implications of them harming themself during their boss fight. please read with caution and when you're in a safe emotional place to do so.

Two: This post is not a place for justifying the Pale King. If you read this essay in its entirety and still want to do that, please make your own post; my relationship to the Hollow Knight themself is deeply rooted in my own experiences, so in the context of this discussion I can't promise I won't take it personally.

With that out of the way, let's talk trauma and fighting styles:

We know that the Hollow Knight is trained to be a paragon of fighting skill, through the Pure Vessel fight, and this gives us a fantastic way to compare what they were like before they were made Government Assigned Radiance Jail, and after. Or, in other words, we're given the perfect opportunity to see what the Radiance is doing (i.e. context effects), and what Hollow is (i.e. what we can conclude is reliably consistent as a part of them). Listed here, for reference:

Hollow's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Radiant Shade Soul, which launches a volley of Infection blobs in arcs

A Radiant Desolate Dive, which produces pillars of entwined Void and Light at random intervals

The Infection bursting out of them in random arcs, covering a significant amount of the aerial space of the arena

The Radiance ragdolling their body around trying to hit the Knight

Contact damage from them stabbing themself and falling over atop you

The Pure Vessel's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Pure Shade Soul, which launches a volley of nails in straight lines

A Pure Desolate Dive, which produces nails at specific intervals

A Pure Focus, which causes circular explosions across most of the aerial space in the arena

Lashing out with a Void Arm (word choice intentional)

I've highlighted attacks from each battle that are different, since those are our points of interest here. In addition, both the Pure Vessel and Hollow are exceedingly fond of teleport-spamming in a way that is usually reserved for a specific group of bosses.

Another very important distinction between these two fights: the Pure Vessel doesn't scream. Well, they certainly try to, but no sound comes out. No voice to cry suffering, after all. All of these points have a lot to go into, so let's address them one at a time.

All That Remains: Theoretical Background On The Significance Of Constants

Making comparisons across time is important specifically because humans (and human-like bugs) change. Most personality traits aren't set in stone--they exist as an interaction of someone's internal tendencies, their experiences, and their environment. Speaking of those last two points, not all experiences and environments are created equally. Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs for short) are known to have lifelong implications for a child's health, both physically and mentally. These are events that are so stressful or stressful for so long that they exceed a child's ability to cope and become toxic stress (yes, that's the term in the literature, because it actively damages your organs). They compound, as well--the stress of one ACE makes it harder for a child to cope with another, especially if they overlap.

Some examples of ACEs? Being exposed to physical danger or the threat of physical danger, deprivation of normal social relationships with peers of a similar age, being forcibly seperated from family members, witnessing a loved one being hurt or killed, chronic illness in oneself or a family member, neglect of a child's emotional needs....

Poor fucking Holly. It's a miracle they didn't disintegrate under the pressure. The only other option is that they bent and adapted under that much stress--in other words, most of their personality has been forcibly reshaped by what they've gone through. Anyone who has up-close experience with parentification or complex child abuse already knows: this was by design. I'm not saying the intent was to traumatize the Pure Vessel past several points of no return, but the intent definitely was to reshape their personality for the purpose of being The Vessel. We only see them (the Pure Vessel) in battle after this process is mostly or entirely complete, but we do see them a few times beforehand. I'd like to draw attention to the Path of Pain cutscene right now.

I've seen people talking about the look the Vessel and the King share as a sign that TPK really does love his child. That might be true, but it's definitely not relevant when it comes to how abuse works. This is, in fact, exactly how the cycle of abuse uses affection as a tool. Long periods of abuse or neglect, smoothed over by small periods of affection that placate the survivor? That's textbook love bombing, the kind that forms stubborn trauma bonds and facilitates unhealthy dependency. Forgive me for not giving the Higher Being of knowledge and prescience the benefit of the doubt on that one. (/s)

Team Cherry knows about the importance of parallels and dissonance. There's a reason the music in the second phase of the Hollow Knight fight plays in the Path of Pain. There's a reason it cuts out the moment the battle with the Kingsmoulds is over, instead of at the room transition. There's a reason it doesn't cut out in the Black Egg. Actually, there's two potential reasons, which could also coexist: either little Hollow trusts the Pale King to keep them safe, even after the borderline torture that they were just subjected to, or big Hollow is so hypervigilant that they're in full functioning-through-trauma mode even while they're at death's door.

If you don't see how much the Pale King scarred his child at this point, I'm not sure we were playing the same game.

Walking the Straight Line: How the Pale King's Teachings Show In the Pure Vessel

The Pale King loves order and control. Everything about the White Palace and every decision we see him make implies this. Everything is spotless white walls and well-maintained gardens; the only signs of disorder are hidden away, either in his workshop or in The Pit™. This also reflects in the Pure Vessel's title--pure as in holy, but also pure as in without flaw. Considering the Nailsmith's emotional state after completing the Pure Nail, TPK's fate with his Perfect Controlled Kingdom, and the Godmaster ending as a whole, attaining perfection is not a good thing in any sense.

We know the Hollow Knight isn't perfect--that's the whole catalyst for the plot. But considering their upbringing and their fighting style as the Pure Vessel, their imperfections absolutely kill them emotionally. I'll spare the lecture on how perfectionism affects neurodivergent kids even more severely than neurotypical kids, if only to keep this post to a reasonable length (look up "twice-exceptional children" if you'd like to know the theory I'm glossing over in more depth). But, in essence, the deck is doubly stacked against them--they have a higher goal to reach, and far more obsctacles in their path, including their own emotional scars.

I've already discussed how Hollow isn't meant for this kind of stress in a physical sense in other posts. They're not prepared for it emotionally, either--the Pale King wants perfection, and they can't even stand up straight (every spoonie in the audience already knows how exhausting people's obsession with Standing Up Straight is). There's another page on their stack of emotional baggage, even BEFORE you consider that the Pure Vessel knows their perfection is what bought them a ticket out of the Abyss.

Bringing Teleportation To A Sword Fight: Where The Pure Vessel Reveals Their Fears

How else are they going to cope with that need for perfection, that need to prove themselves worthy of the reason their life was spared, by being flawless in any way they can? Being a mechanical, flawless fighter puts so much pressure on them, both literally (repetitive strain injuries fucking HURT) and figuratively--if you're predictable, the only sure way to win is to mop the floor with your opponents before they figure you out. Hell, that's the way most people play their first run of Hollow Knight, by throwing themselves at the bosses over and over until they figure out the patterns. That strategy is inherently going to fail against an opponent that's, say, an immortal higher being.

There's no way that the Vessel didn't figure this out, and yet none of their TPV specific attacks are positioned randomly--the nails are always evenly spaced, and the Focus explosions are always in a specific height region of the screen. That's clinging to survival strategies even when they become maladaptive in its purest form.

Another dip into psychological theory: let's talk about disorganized attachment. Attachment styles describe how someone's relationships to their main caregiver(s) influence their understanding on relationships in general. Disorganized attachment is a result of an upbringing of inherently unstable parent-child relationships, where there's no way of a child predicting whether an adult is going to be delighted to see them, ambivalent, upset, or otherwise. If my parent woke up some days saying "all right my child, time for the Infinite Buzzsaws Obstacle Course," I'd be the same way. In adulthood this manifests as an inability to form a stable sense of self-concept as well as concepts of others. Mission accomplished, TPK, there's no will to break if you broke it yourself.

This is where the fighting styles as communication comes in--Hollow needs to keep Ghost at a distance to fight, but also wants to be closer to their sibling (the only being who has a chance of understanding what they've been through), BUT also has a trauma-rooted fear of attaching to people, as their experiences with attachment are inherently unpredictable and dangerous. Hence, both the teleportation that doesn't seem to match their fighting style any more reliably than "aim at the thing attacking you" and the second attack unique to the Pure Vessel--they're quite literally lashing out in pain to push people away. There's a reason that attack is so reminiscent of the Thorns of Agony.

Of note is that Holly does seem to teleport like the bugs of the Soul Sanctum do (favoring the edges of a screen, rather than going wherever like Dream Warriors do), which makes sense--they're the most obvious answer to the question "how did they learn how to teleport, anyways?" However, Sanctum bugs have abilities designed to capitalize on this, like homing spells and slashes from above. I can only assume this means that someone saw Holly's proficiency with the nail and assumed it translated to other forms of combat, and didn't feel the need to give them at least a bit of a primer on how to make the best use of it. There's another tally for the Hollow Knight as an autism metaphor.

Trauma Bonds: How the Radiance Speaks Through Hollow

Now, we're back to the Black Egg, and two people stuck in the same sinking ship. The thing that makes this hurt so badly is that Holly and the Radiance are at complete cross purposes here, and yet they both want the same thing:

They both want out, no matter the cost. For the Radiance, this means forsaking the pacifistic nature of the moths and nuking Ghost personally.

For Hollow, this means forsaking the way they were raised and everything that was bludgeoned into their personality: the only way out is to fail, give up control, and trust that Ghost will do what needs to be done.

Imagine how much pain they're in to actually go for it. Going against a literal lifetime of conditioning is something that takes the average person years to even consider, let alone go through with. It's a form of learned helplessness--if you try to break free and fall, again and again, it actively discourages further attempts. Breaking through learned helplessness is an interesting process, because it generally involves re-establishing a sense of control by recalling previous events where the person was able to change their situation.

Which, as far as we know of, are nothing but traumatic memories for Hollow. It's very unlikely that they'd break through it on their own, but we know they have by the time we see the second phase of their fight. This is them at their most desperate: the same music as the Path of Pain, the way they let, or can't stop, the Radiance throw their body around, the way they actively try to let the Radiance out by stabbing themself.

You'd think that giving up and learned helplessness are inherently compatible, but when giving up both goes against your core personality, and involves your active participation, they're in direct opposition. So either Holly was able to process all their trauma by themself (which I doubt, judging by how much effort the player has to go through to even see Ghost's and Hollow's traumatic memories), or someone gave them a nudge or three in that direction.

Considering that there's been someone living in Holly's head who has a vested interest in them Not Doing Their Duty, I think we know who. And the thing is, I think we watch Hollow have this breakthrough during their battle. Imagine for the first time in decades, at least, you can move. You're in pain from being in the same position, probably hallucinating from sensory deprivation, with an infection sucking at what strength your body has left. And there's this little creature who looks ready to fight you, who seems to have let you go for that exact purpose.

And you look down, and both you and the Radiance recognize them from a place rooted deeper than consciousness, in the murky depths of trauma. You see the other Vessel who just as easily could have been you, and who looks so much stronger for not being you, for being an imperfect, willful creature. And the Radiance sees history threatening to repeat itself, another one of the Wyrm's cursed children seeking to lock her away once more.

What else do you do when you're triggered? You scream, and you go on instinct, and you retreat into your head. Those first blows, with the epic music? That's the Vessel the Pale King forged, the fighting machine that will endure unimaginable stress because it knows no other way. What snaps you back out of dissociation? Usually, either the passage of the triggering stimulus, or an even more relevant stimulus (severe pain from getting beaten up by a nail, for example).

The tragedy is this: we know this isn't a triumph. I think most of us went into that fight the first time, knowing we'd be putting the Hollow Knight out of their misery. The music turns tragic, Hollow screams, and then we see the Radiance and Hollow themself break through: the Radiance trying to fight Ghost directly with the resources she has, and Hollow trying to help her along.

For what it's worth, Hollow even had the right idea, when it came to letting themself rest while helping Ghost stop the madness their father started--they were just digging for the Radiance in the wrong place. The dynamic between the Radiance and the Hollow Knight is something I could write on for pages and pages, but this has gone on for long enough. Tune in next time, where I'll presumably talk about this same topic but in reverse with regards to the Radiance.

[listentothelittlebird]

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller. 

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had. 

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck. 

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never. 

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

-

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. 

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right. 

-

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope. 

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code. 

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this? 

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

-

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing. 

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device. 

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close. 

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood. 

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest. 

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp. 

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed. 

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager. 

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice. 

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply. 

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

[ectogeo-art]

omg i want to hear about romulan embassy siskarak

WIP ask meme

Omg, yes, thank you for asking, I’m so excited about this one!!!! :D The fic idea appeared to me fully formed as soon as I saw this post by @the-last-dillards about how in a scene cut from “The Wire”, Sisko mentions that he and Curzon were at an embassy on Romulus when Sisko was about Julian's age, and dillards speculated that it would be funny if Sisko and Curzon happened to be there at the same time as Garak was on Romulus posing as a gardener. Most everyone else who saw that post was like "lmao Curzon/Garak <3" and while that is extremely funny too, the Sisko/Garak implications are soooo much more interesting to me personally.

I think Sisko would be an interesting parallel-but-not-quite to Julian. I feel like young Sisko would be similarly bright and passionate and idealistic, which we KNOW is a type Garak is attracted to, but unlike Julian, Sisko would NOT put up with Garak’s bullshit mindgames, he would NOT find Garak inherently charming.

And then there’s Garak, still young, on top of his game, feeling confident and powerful and indestructible (but ultimately just Tain’s pawn... he’s been indoctrinated to love Cardassia unconditionally and hasn’t really had that challenged in any way yet).

They would both find each other extremely grating. Sisko embodies everything Garak hates about the Federation, so Garak would want to take him down a peg, make him sink to Garak’s level. Sisko would be infuriated by Garak’s duplicitous and condescending nature, but maybe Garak also keeps saying things that are juuuust provocative enough that Sisko can’t seem to help arguing back against his points (and Sisko really doesn’t get how that’s somehow turning both of them on...).

So that’s the gist why I’m obsessed with the potential for this pairing during pre-canon in general. Now onto the fic itself! Juuuust in case I never get around to actually writing this, here’s my detailed plan for the romulan embassy siskarak fic:

Sisko and Curzon are on assignment at the Federation embassy on Romulus. The Federation embassy is holding an open house next week. Sisko offers to help cook the food for the event, because he has an idea to incorporate ingredients from other cultures into his jambalaya recipe to Symbolize how cultural exchange can lead to amazing new technological advances and/or art and/or political alliances (or idk, whatever overwrought metaphor an excited young Sisko decides is galaxy brain levels of diplomacy). Curzon's just like “hell yeah, sounds great, kid! go for it!”

So Ensign Sisko (or whatever his rank is at that point idk) asks around at the other embassies nearby for ingredients native to their homeworlds. They give him some recommendations, but he’d have to replicate or import the ingredients. But then he gets to the Cardassian embassy and they have this beeeeautiful garden, overflowing with native Cardassian produce. Sisko asks the gardener there (Garak) if he can possibly use some of the vegetables for his jambalaya of interplanetary diplomacy.

Garak is instantly annoyed by how performative and insipid Sisko’s project is... but Garak knows he has to play nice and hand over the vegetables. He also knows how much he doesn't want sisko rendering these vegetables he's been diligently tending into tasteless inedible garbage that an unrefined Federation or Romulan palate couldn’t possibly even appreciate... So he smiles politely, and offers to show him the proper way to cook it. Tonight. In Sisko’s quarters.

Garak internally justifies this unnecessary dinner date by deciding that it will be a good opportunity to scope out the inside of the Federation embassy. And so what if he’s also getting a little riled up thinking about all the delicious arguments he might have with this headstrong and attractive Starfleet officer? So what if he kind of wants to figure out what he has to say in order break Sisko’s composure? What he can say that would make Sisko, despite his self-satisfied demeanor of peace and acceptance and understanding, angrily slam Garak into the wall hard enough to trigger the pleasurable rush of the implant...?

Meanwhile back in sisko POV... Sisko gladly accepts, actually quite eager to learn more about cooking, and a little curious about this strange Cardassian gardener who seems a little bit interested in him. (He’s not annoyed by Garak yet, because all he’s seen is his mask, his poker face.) Curzon’s taught Sisko everything about diplomacy and how to be a Starfleet officer and how to be a person, and sisko looks up to him in a bit of an unhealthy way. Sisko knows that the easiest way to impress Curzon is to score with an alien. Sisko’s maybe a little curious to see if that’s what Garak is interested in, so that Sisko will have something to brag about with Curzon.

[sidenote: idk where Jennifer is in this timeline (but also the canon timeline of when Curzon and Sisko were off on adventures that included banging twin alien chicks and getting falling-down-drunk together seems inconsistent with the canon timeline of when Sisko and Jennifer met lolll)... anyway, maybe bennifer are on a break bc of the long-distance while he’s on Romulus, and/or bc she maybe doesn’t particularly like the influence Curzon has had on him and they very recently got in a fight about it.]

Okay, so now it’s that night in Sisko’s quarters. For now let’s just gloss right over the (presumably horny as hell) scene about the chopping and stewing and seasoning of the vegetables—during which the arguments (and resulting tensions) between them build and build, from little things like vegetable chopping techniques to the fundamental paradigms of their worldviews and senses of morality—and let’s fast forward directly into the middle of their fight about whether the federation sucks more than the cardassian empire: Garak out of nowhere just starts undoing his shirt while saying something inflammatory questioning the federation’s true commitment to cultural exchange... Garak basically implies that Sisko is a hypocrite who has been arguing for ideals he doesn’t believe in if he doesn’t want to bang Garak RIGHT NOW...

And then they bang, And it’s a mess, and they HATE each other, and it’s really hot. Or at least, that’s the idea. ( @delicatetrashstranger volunteered to help write the E-rated part, for which I am very grateful, lol.) In the end, the weird space jambalaya burns while they are going at it, and everything is ruined and smells terrible, and Sisko doesn’t even WANT to brag about this one to Curzon, because he is not proud of how he let Garak get under his skin. Garak maybe experiences A Consequence of some kind that makes him realize he can’t recklessly throw himself at Federation hotties (like... maybe something Sisko says makes him question a Truth he was certain of, or maybe this fling has jeopardized his assassination plans somehow, or maybe there is a close call where he almost reveals something personal about himself, or almost accidentally leaves behind his underwear, which is where he keeps some of his sci fi Spy Gadgets, lol idk).

The end!

Hope you’ve enjoyed this summary of my fic... I hope I actually write it one day XD (If anyone feels inspired by any aspect of this and wants to run with it, PLEASE DO! Also, if, like me, you desperately Need this fic to exist, feel free to let me know that you’re excited about it! My brain is all garashir all the time, so any WIP that’s not garashir sometimes needs to be helped along by external motivation lol.)

[unmaskedagain]

You had a Friend in Me

           I’M BACK!! Oh god its been two weeks since I posted a story. I missed you guys like crazy. Hopefully you like my newest piece. I went a... Unique direction. Enjoy!

 She didn’t stumble, fall, and break like they expected her to. There was no big meltdown or confrontation. No apologies. Or promises to do better. No, when nearly everyone in class made it clear they weren’t friends with Marinette anymore; nothing happened. They had accused her of being mean to Lila and a bully as the reasons they couldn’t be friends anymore and had expected the girl to defend herself at the very least.

           Marinette just shrugged, and that was it.

           Even when they asked her to resign from being class president, she easily stood up and said she quit.

           Most of the class, Alya, in particular wanted to be angry at her lack of reaction; shout and scream at the bluenette for seeming not to care about the severance of their friendships. But how could they?

           They knew it was their choice. They were mature enough to know that everyone reacted differently to things. And yelling at Marinette for not being emotional enough at the fact that they weren’t friends anymore just showed their own immaturity. And that would be like telling Marinette she won; and that wasn’t worth it.

           Besides, It was only September, they were sure Marinette would come crawling back to them soon.

…

…

           Marinette never did.

…

           On the outside, it didn’t look like much had changed with the class. While the class weren’t friends with Marinette, they still chose to be cordial. They still did assigned group projects with. Everyone doing their part. However, no one went out of their way to speak with the Bluenette. And she did the same and seemed content.

           Despite appearances, things had definitely changed in class. And it didn’t take long for everyone to realize it.

           The first was Alix’s birthday. Everyone had been so excited. Birthdays were always the best for Bustier’s class. The entire classroom would be decorated. There would be cake and balloons; a wonderful and thoughtful perfectly wrapped present.

           However, when the kids arrived that morning, it was too the same ordinary classroom as the day before.

           It was disappointing to say the least. The kids scrambled to try to throw something, anything together before Alix arrived. However, it was too late. Alix arrived not long after them, and seeing the smile fall from her face broke their hearts.

           No one knew what to say. Or how to explain why nothing was decorated. Why there was no cake and or gift. They sat awkwardly at their desks.

           It was only after Marinette arrived, just a few minutes before the bell rang, that they all got their answer.

           Marinette. Marinette had been the class president. The class president was responsible for any class birthday, trip, or fundraiser. She had always gone above and beyond. Unlike, Chloe, the previous class president, who only ever put in their bare minimum (and she made Sabrina do that); a cupcake, a balloon tied to their desk, and a card signed by the entire class.

           Marinette had been their friend so she always made sure to do her very best to celebrate. But she wasn’t class president anymore. And she wasn’t their friend. She wasn’t obligated to do anything.

           So she didn’t.

           And while the class had been meaning to, they never got around to electing a new class president to replace the one their forced out of office.

           It burned a little.

           Particularly, when the class realized they were hard pressed to find volunteer to assume the role. No one had that much time on their hands. No one wanted to be responsible for anything going wrong. Or not living up to expectations.

           Friend or not, they could admit Marinette was a hard act to follow.

           Unfortunately, to prevent Chloe from taking the job again, Alya was forced to step up.

           It didn’t take long to realize that planning for fundraisers and dances and parties was equivalent to the work of seven people. She didn’t know how Marinette handled it so well.

           School trips, once amazing and carefully planned to the last detail, now were boring and hastily put together; the best one was a trip to the museum, mostly because they got to have ice cream after.

           Fresh baked sweets on big tests days were gone too. It had become a tradition that on days of major, study hard and cram for weeks prior, tests that treats were brought in the morning. It lightened the tension of the day, and just made everyone feel better.

           The morning of a huge math test that had caused a few kids to hyperventilate the day before and of; delicious goods were nowhere to be found.

           When the bell rang, Kim had quickly asked Bustier where the food was.

           To which the teacher replied, “Marinette always asked me if she could bring them in for her friends.”

           And that was all they needed to know.

           It sucked but it was something they could live without.

           Favors were the next thing they realized were gone.

           Before whenever they needed something; they would automatically go to Marinette for help. A babysitter, sweets, costumes, dresses, set design.

           Alya and Nino found themselves spending their date nights watching their young siblings together. Most of their friends refused to babysit. And the few that were willing were far too busy.

           Mylene found that the school play’s custom designed costumes were a thing of the past. So were the artfully decorated set designs.

           Alix had to make her own banners. So did Kim.

           Rose couldn’t just run to Marinette when she need a new fabulous dress. Marinette had always made it clear that she was willing to help out a friend whenever they asked her about costs.

           Then the favors they never realized they even got were gone.

           Discounts at the bakery were only for friends and family. Unfortunately that also meant the discount for their families were gone as well.

           Ladybug suddenly stopped giving Alya interviews. And when Alya asked why, the hero said she only did it because the reporter was Marinette’s friend. It hurt the Ladyblog badly.

           Someone coming to defend them whenever Chloe threw a tantrum and managing to calm the blond down. Even Alya found she wasn’t as much of match as thought, when the spoiled rotten girl was on rampage.

           This effect class morale dramatically. And it wasn’t before long that the class shifted to what it was like before Alya or Adrien came to school, with Chloe trying to declare dominance every other second. But this time, the other students were cowed like they used to be. No, they had seen Marinette standing up for herself and them for years. If she could do it, so could they. Sadly, they weren’t enough. With just the right amount of effort, Chloe could intimidate anyone.

           Adrien who was soon confused about why the friend safe haven had suddenly turned hostile

           Marinette just shook her head. Chloe asked (ordered) Marinette to come to her penthouse one October morning. The blonde had realized the dynamic in class had changed dramatically and wanted to seize the opportunity with an iron first; and she knew she couldn’t do that if Dupain-Cheng was still her number one enemy.

Chloe proceeded to lay down an offer of truce. Chloe and Marinette would leave each other alone, would stay out of each other’s way, and didn’t interfere with anything the other did unless it was school related so they absolutely had to. There would be no threats, stealing, lies, or intimidation from Chloe towards Marinette. In return, Marinette would let Chloe do her thing without trying to defend or save anyone.

As long as both did that, there would be peace.

Marinette agreed.

Thus Chloe’s reign for her symbolic iron throne began. The queen bee had no illusions of who was who. Marinette was a Stark. Chloe: a Lannister.  But Chloe was a smart lion. She had no problems letting the North be independent away from the rest of the kingdom. Chloe’s kingdom.

And much like show, there was no win or lose. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground. And Chloe would win.

Lila was the first to feel to the effects. Chloe refused to have competition for Queen Bee. And the Italian girl became took Marinette’s place as her new number one target.

Lila soon learned that dealing with Marinette was one thing, dealing with Chloe was a whole different animal.  While Marinette fought for peace, Chloe was more than willing to rage war. And unlike Marinette, Chloe didn’t care what anyone thought about her. Lila could scream to the world about how much of a bully Chloe was but what did it matter. Everyone in class knew that already.

She couldn’t threaten Chloe like she did Marinette. In fact, the Chloe regularly threatened her. In front of the other students, and Bustier.

She couldn’t try to get Chloe expelled as Damocles was quick to bend to the blonde’s will.

Chloe regularly “Accidently” tripped Lila, ruined her homework, stole any projects she had, destroyed her phone one time, verbally ripped her to shreds in front of everyone and even worse in private. Chloe would play mean and outright nasty pranks that would leave Lila in tears. More than a few sets of clothes were destroyed. To make everything worse, the blond brat routinely made her look like a fool in front of Adrien. She even got her mother to mock the Agreste brand about their use of a lackluster model to the point where Gabriel fired her.

Nearly everything Lila had accused Marinette of doing, she found herself actually having to face from Chloe. Who would’ve thought the bluenette was doing her a favor by being all moral and self-righteous that it would draw the attention of the evil that was Chloe Bourgeois.

The truce happened one grey October Morning, Chloe officially ruled the class again by November. Lila was seriously considering changing schools.

No one had the time to fawn over her. And she certainly didn’t have time to amaze anyone with her stories. No she was too busy fending off Chloe’s attacks. And wondering why the brat kept referring to her as a Tyrell. Or Alya and Nino as Karstarks. And the rest of the class as Freys’.

One by one, each student realized they had lost something else. Something they actually really missed.

When the class picture was taken, Juleka had been just late and no one realized it. Rose had comforted her again. But no one was able to get the photographer to take another picture. At the end of the day, Juleka still felt really bad about it and had to fight the urge to call Marinette that night. Marinette was always willing to just listen no matter the time.

And it wasn’t long where the other students found themselves in similar situations that all ended with them really wanting to talk to Marinette.

Alya after a fight with her sister.

Rose after Prince Ali wrote to her that he would be ending communication.

Nino after a gig went terribly.

Kim after he lost one of his games.

Alix after she broke her watch…. Again.

Mylene after a fight with Ivan.

Ivan after he failed a math test.

Nathaniel after Marc decided to end their partnership.

Sure, they went to their other friends for comfort. But Marinette was different. When one of them went to any of the other students with a problem; it felt just like that. Them complaining about their problems and the others doing their best to cheer them up and offer solutions. At the end, they still felt like they were on their own; like it was still just their problem. With Marinette…

She always made them feel like they were on the same team. She cared like they were her problems too. And wasn’t going to stop until they were fixed. Marinette was someone they could just talk to without judgement or getting harsh opinions; no criticism. With her, they never felt like they were being judged; even when pointed out that it might, in fact, be their own fault.

They missed Marinette when they afraid or nervous. She’d always manage to calm them down, assure them, be their biggest supporter if need be. And her just being them made them feel better; like they stood more of a chance. She take their mind of things, get them to relax, smile, and by the time whatever it was that made them so terrified came up, they had already completely forgotten why they were anxious.

The strangest part was they even missed her when things were happy as well.

           When anything good happened, one of their first instincts was to call Marinette; scream their excitement. And listen to Marinette scream back just as happy as they were, despite that she was in no way affected.

           No; on the outside the class hadn’t changed much. Everyone still did their own thing. Homework was done. Tests were dealt with. Sure class trips weren’t as wonderful as they used to be. Birthdays only with store bought cupcakes and maybe some balloons. Everyone who started out as friends were still friends by the end of the years. It was just like anyone other class in the world.

…

           Except they were never like all other classes. They had always felt like they were special. Most kids hadn’t looked forward to school day but the students of Bustier’s class had. There had always been something new and wonderful to talk about; some adventure to go on. Now there was nothing. There was still life in the classroom; still laughter and fun. But it was like something took the spark that made it come alive.

           And it was hard to pretend otherwise.

           And they couldn’t really figure out why.

           One or Two (Rose and Nino) could admit, whenever they found themselves alone with their thoughts in class and looked around, that were was a hollowness to the classroom that had never existed before. It didn’t make sense. Everyone (minus Chloe) was still friendly with one another. They all still cared about each other. They were all still really good friends. Good but not as good as they used to be.

…

           They’d never be as good as they used to be again.

…

           The class for their end of year party had gone to the pool. They all had a blast. On their way home, they walked by the park and heard music and laughter. It didn’t take long to realize that there was a party happening.

“Happy Birthday, Marinette!” Caught their attention.

           From where they stood, just outside the party, the students and ex friends of Marinette could make out other students from different classes from their school.

           Aurore the creator of the new blog BugOut. There was Marc, Claude, Mireille, Ondine, Bridgette, the Ice King that was Felix Culpa, and a bunch of other students they never knew Marinette was friends with. Even Luka was there.

“I didn’t know it was Marinette’s birthday,” Adrien frowned.

           So did Alya. Mostly because it was her job to remember as class president. Partly because it was the first time she ever forgot her former (best) friend’s birthday. “It wasn’t on the list,” She gave a weak excuse.

“It looks like fun,” Juleka whispered.

           And it did. There was a live band, a feast of food, people laughing and dancing; it all looked so… Alive.

           Alix stuffed her hands in her pockets. Her throat clenched at the sight of the laughing bluenette who didn’t look like she had a care in the world. “Who knew Marinette had so many friends?”

           Nino glanced down, “She looks happy.”

           And Marinette did.

           She looked like the happiest girl in the world.

           But she always did.

           Even after they ended their friendships with her.

           It didn’t seem to both the bluenette. She kept being her positive and cheerful self, except they couldn’t bask in her sunlight anymore.

           They watched when Luka got on their makeshift stage with his guitar, “Marinette you are the most special person I’ve ever met. You’re kind, sweet, and way too thoughtful for your own good. Which is why we all wanted you to know…” he started playing his guitar. A familiar tune filled the air, all the party goers starts to sings.

“You've got a friend in me

You've got a friend in me

When the road looks rough ahead

And you're miles and miles

From your nice warm bed

You just remember what your old pal said

Boy, you've got a friend in me

Yeah, you've got a friend in me”

           The song left a bad taste of Irony on their tongues.

           They thought they had left Marinette behind, somehow it had ended up being the opposite.

…

           They felt like forgotten toys.

[denimbex1986]

...“You grow up with these stories [about the American Dream], and then you go, okay, but now what?” Sebastian Stan asked upon reflecting on the messages of the show. “Where does that take us now? Sometimes [those stories] feel like weights around your ankles as you’re walking forwards into the future.”

...Stan wouldn’t change anything about his character nor does he believe Bucky should be Captain America. He is ultimately grateful to Marvel for giving him his real big break with the character, and credits his MCU debut with opening many subsequent professional doors for him.

“At the time I was just excited to have a job,” Stan said. “I didn’t think it was going to lead to me playing this character for 10 years, or that it’d be such a big part of my life.”

...One question from the event’s audience even inquired about a comment Mackie once made about Stan���s preference for socializing with his plants over other people. 

“Our relationship is this,” Stan said in response. “Remember when you were very young and someone from your neighborhood would knock on your door and ask your mom ‘can you play?’ Anthony Mackie is very upset that I won’t hang out with him because he’s [this] exhausting on a regular basis.”

...He shared about his own challenges maintaining a strong sense of self while also endeavoring as an actor to understand all the complex interiority of his assigned role. Compounding this struggle are the expectations of an actor’s fans to maintain the fictions onto which they cling so tightly.

“It can be difficult when the reality catches up to the fantasy of what [fans] project, what we see,” Stan said. “We tend to forget about the people behind these characters.”

... “One of the reasons I’ve always valued staying in New York is I never understood the [entertainment] business [of Los Angeles] entirely, and I never really wanted to,” Stan reflected. “I think Hollywood just goes towards what they think they need to do at the moment — it’s not a good compass. Living in New York has always grounded me.”

...Stan shared that America has always been a symbol of opportunity for him. Stan grew up in communist Romania, and his parents struggled to find their way out of the country to search for a better life.

“It was by many circumstances along with real hard work that this is where I ended up,” he remarked. “I always credit my mom with that resilience.”

...In response to a question about how his Romanian identity has changed as he’s advanced in his career, he said “It’s an ongoing relationship. I’ve been more connected to Romania in the last five years than I have ever before, but it was a journey.”

...From historical icons to superheroes, Stan’s characters have taught him that when it comes to taking on a role, an actor must be adaptable and relentlessly bold.

“There’s no textbook to it,” he said. “Every project is its own animal. My number one thing is if it really terrifies me then that’s the way to go.”

...When asked about rejection, something everyone goes through, Stan’s reply was that it is a tool that can drive you. There’s some equilibrium needed to be maintained, of course, between the negative feelings stirred by criticism and the positive feelings to be resilient in the face of that criticism.

“If one of them is overpowering the other, then it’s going to be difficult,” Stan said.

To conclude the evening, a student asked which of his characters would get into and/or attend Stanford. His response:

“None of them. They don’t seem to be that bright — I haven’t played that character yet.”

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Title: Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~11K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You'd just arrived at the airport when you got the call from Clyde informing you that there was a terror alert across the EU and flights were being grounded. He'd coordinate agents on the ground but there wasn't much you could do from the States, so you were off the hook until things got figured out.

Great, now what? *------------* Aaron walked towards the plane with the rest of the team, with Reid already spouting facts around unsubs who preferred to shoot their victims from a distance rather than up close. He climbs up the steps and turning, is greeted by you, seated in your usual chair. "Hey, what're you doing here?" He walks up towards you, the rest of the team following close behind, equally surprised to see you. "EU terror alert," you explain while he stashes his luggage away, nodding hello to everyone else. "Clyde said I'm free for the time being and I was already at the airport. Garcia read me in." "Well, it'll be good to have you, kid." Rossi takes a seat in the aisle across from you guys. "Seems like an all hands on deck sort of situation." Everyone settles in and you can't help but notice the small smile that seems to linger on Aaron ever since he saw you. The two of you had only had the past three days together and throughout that, you'd had a soccer match for Jack, a birthday party for one of his friends, and you'd spent Saturday night with the girls; needless to say, it had been tough to get time together for just the two of you. "Was Jack okay?" you ask, turning to Aaron after everyone had finished talking through some of the case details and started to build a preliminary profile on the Unsub. Aaron nods, but your question catches JJ's attention, who looks to you with her eyebrows raised, the puzzled expression on her face imploring you to explain. You're unable to help the smirk that plays at your lips as you do. "We had a - um - staff meeting this morning that Jack wasn't invited to. He wasn't too happy that the door was locked," you explain, biting your lip and barely stifling your giggles. "A staff meeting?" Emily raises her eyebrows at you and you can just imagine the dirty thoughts running through her mind along with the Wow Y/N only soccer moms call getting railed a staff meeting. You meet Aaron's eye and you can see the soft blush to his cheeks that only you would notice. "I simultaneously regret and appreciate my choice of words there," you murmur to him as he shakes his head in amused disapproval. Derek barks out a laugh in reaction to Emily. "Uh huh. Was it a successful meeting?" he asks, wagging his eyebrows at you, toeing the line at ribbing Aaron as well. "I think both parties were pleased with the outcome. At least according to my notes." You turned to look at Aaron, mirth flitting into your gaze. "Would you concur?" He has a small smirk on his face mirroring yours, no doubt thinking back to the fifteen minutes the two of you had caught together before you had to get ready to leave for the airport - once against the aforementioned locked bedroom door and a second in the shower, before you begged him to relent, otherwise you'd be late. He'd been intent on a third. "Some good points were made. However, we might have to do a follow up to ensure we're still aligned," he drawls, getting far too much enjoyment out of the effect his words and low voice would have on you. You lose it at that, unable to keep a straight face. Follow up indeed. "Gross. I feel like I just watched my parents flirting." JJ groans, pushing up from her seat to go rummage around for snacks in the back. She was due anytime now and would be gone on maternity leave starting the following week. She was already mostly out of the field, staying in the precinct and managing the team from there. You knew, that as a result of that, Aaron was actually out in the field a lot more because he trusted JJ to handle the emotions and politics of local officials far better than anyone else. "Morgan, could you check if we're stocked on the M4 ammunition?" Aaron switches gears towards preparing for the landing, a quick brush of his hand to your thigh in promise that there would indeed be a follow up to this morning's activities. Derek nods and gets up, checking on the rifles stock that was brought along. With an Unsub like this, the team would need to be equally equipped to handle any situations that might arise, especially in a sprawling Texas city where guns were aplenty. "Guys," Spencer pipes up, "I don't think I'm actually allowed to use those." He glances around at the rest of the team apprehensively, as Derek and Aaron share a calculated look at his admission. "You're not," they both tell him almost simultaneously, drawing a snort from both you and Emily while Rossi merely smiles and shakes his head, turning his head back to his notes. Reid looks offended and turns on you at that. "Are you certified to shoot those?" His tone implied that he highly doubted you. "I've been shooting since I was six years old," you inform him, a superior look on your face. "I actually set the Academy record for most weapons certifications earned by a trainee." Aaron presses his lips together to keep from smiling while Emily shakes her head with a laugh at you goading Reid. "I didn't know six year olds were allowed to handle guns." "If you're rich in Connecticut, you can do pretty much anything. Just look at the Kennedys." "Touché."

Spencer grumbles to himself a bit more, slouching into his chair. It was his one weak point and he was getting better at it, really. On pretty much everything else, you're sure he'd have you beat.

You turn towards the research you'd been conducting on your own case with Clyde, in your downtime. Things were starting to fit together in an unexpected manner, and you'd had to bend a few rules to start putting all the different pieces in, but you were finally making some headway. It would definitely be faster and easier if you could enlist Garcia's help or bounce ideas off of Aaron, but your hands were unfortunately tied due to the high level of clearance you'd had to obtain to work this case in the first place.

Aaron watches as your head is bent in concentration, his own focus flickering away from the case ahead. You'd only been home for three days but you'd mentioned that your assignment at last had an end in sight. He's hopeful that that means things will be calming down - the two of you would be around one another more again. While Jack had so far done a good job of keeping the secret, he also gave his father a very telling, excited look anytime he saw you, and Aaron could often see Jack's eyes going to your hand where he hoped a ring would soon sit.

*------------*

All of the bodies thus far had been found at the grounds of various places of worship around the city - a few Churches, a Temple, and a Mosque. It would appear most of the actual killings had happened at a different location and the bodies were then moved and left to be found the next morning by unsuspecting worshippers, children, and groundskeepers. The Unsub was an equal opportunity killer - no discrimination in the religious leanings of his victims.

So far the victimology was all over the board - a college student, a local politician, a priest, a housewife, and a video game developer were the five victims so far. It read like the beginnings of a bad joke. A rabbi, a priest, and a horse walk into a bar…

The Unsub had left the bodies of each victim at their chosen place of worship. That, in itself, felt highly personal so there was a chance that the Unsub personally knew each of their victims. This was supported by the methodology - killing the victims from afar was easier on this particular Unsub's constitution.

The team had been spitballing; attempting to establish a connection between the victims. Reid and JJ were working on the geographic profile. Well, Spencer was at least. JJ kept having to leave to go to the restroom every five minutes. In that moment, you definitely did not envy pregnant women. Bearing children wrecked one's body.

The obvious religious themes were all in scope. The theory at the forefront was that each of the victims was being punished for a perceived sin, and Garcia was doing a deeper dive into their finances and online history while the rest of you got to know the families and the victims personally to wrangle out the truth. This was the most difficult part usually - even if someone was an awful person whilst alive, most people became reluctant to speak ill of the dead.

Trusting JJ to handle the centralized headquarters that the team had set up, Aaron left with you to do one set of the interviews. He wanted to speak to the parishioners of the church where the priest had been found, his body jutting out of the confessional booth. You both noted that it was on the opposite side from where the priests would typically sit, symbolically speaking to the fact that the Unsub considered the priest to be a sinner.

"I mean, he's a priest in a Catholic church," you said as the two of you walked up the pathway to the entrance. "The obvious definitely comes to mind."

Aaron agrees with a grimace. Father Patrick had led a youth group and had been doing so for the past decade. There was a high chance the Unsub could be a current or prior victim of sexual assault at his hands. He could also be someone whom a potential victim had confided in, so your suspect list was pretty wide open for the time being.

As suspected, every conversation you had - with church docents and members alike - was highly complimentary to Father Patrick. He was good with the children, kind to the female staff, had a fairly middle ground interpretation of the Bible; an all-around pillar of the community.

"Hopefully Morgan and Prentiss have better luck."

You nod, buckling in your seatbelt and commandeering the music, electing to actually play the White Album for once, drawing a smile from Aaron. He pulls out of the parking space and heads back towards the precinct. You smile to yourself as Aaron's deep voice croons along to Dear Prudence, his fingers tapping along to the beat against the steering wheel while you look out the window at the twilight Texas sky.

*------------*

"So, the girl, Rachel - total know-it-all, not unlike someone else we know…"

Reid glares at Emily as she trails off with a smirk. Her and Derek had gone to do another set of the interviews at the local university and had talked to classmates and professors to learn more about the first victim.

"We all have our suspicions about Father Patrick, but nothing conclusive there. The Councilwoman was taking bribes to block the legislation around the city's free internet policy per Garcia's research. That leaves Mrs. Abad and Ryan Cohen, the designer. We can't tell what their secret might've been, besides some high balances on a credit card for Mrs. Abad."

The team nods at Hotch, confirming his summary of the case so far.

"JJ and I have narrowed down the field to three epicenters across the city." You're surprised that Spencer gave JJ any credit at all for the work they'd done together. JJ had confided in you upon your return, that she'd told Spencer she was going to the bathroom and had instead taken a twenty minute power nap in a supply closet. Her maternity leave could not start soon enough, and you're glad that she's handling this pregnancy in a much more relaxed manner than the first, allowing herself the time off properly.

"Based on the current cadence, we could have another victim in the next couple of days." Rossi looks around the room grimly. You're all well aware that the window to catch the Unsub before another victim materializes is closing quickly. It also usually tends to speed up once the team arrives on the scene. Makes Unsubs nervous. Eager to finish the job faster.

"Would you say Councilwoman Crane was guilty of the sin of greed?" Derek's brow is furrowed, the beginnings of a concrete thought evident in his question.

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Pride for the first victim, Rachel."

You agree again, but this time the rest of them are also following along.

"Seven Deadly Sins," Spencer surmises from Derek's trail of crumbs.

"What are all of them?" Emily asks, looking between Derek and Spencer.

Derek shifts from one foot to the other. "Pride, Greed," he lists off, counting with his thumb and index finger.

"Lust, Envy," Aaron supplies, tacking on to the end of Derek's sentence and prompting him to continue the count.

"Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth," Spencer finishes, turning to write them all down in order on the whiteboard.

The team was finally making some headway.

You stand towards the back of the room looking at the victim board, arms crossed across your chest, leaning against the back wall. "So, let's assume its Lust for Father Patrick. The excessive shopping could be indicative of Envy from Mrs. Abad. You guys did say she lived in a posh neighborhood. Keeping Up With the Joneses lifestyle."

"That leaves Gluttony for Cohen. Kid was pudgy." Rossi had been the one to visit the Medical Examiner, so you all trusted his assessment there.

"They're all in order. Could it be that simple?" Aaron questions, leaned forward in his chair, looking at the board with each of the victims' names listed next to one of the sins.

You contemplate his question as does everyone else. Could it be that simple? An Unsub working down the list of deadly sins, picking out victims that aligned with each one. It would stand to reason, given the working profile - you'd all decided that the Unsub must have an Orthodox religious upbringing, in a militant household.

"Occam's Razor," you answer finally, meeting his eyes, a grim set to your face. This meant there were at least two more victims planned. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

*------------*

In the past couple of days, the team had narrowed down the scope of the case, having realized that the Unsub had met all of the victims through various volunteer activities. The working theory was that the Unsub had deemed the victims to all be hypocrites - claiming to be doing charitable works while sinning on the side.

Garcia had cross-referenced volunteer activities between the various places of worship and had come up with charities that all of them supported throughout the city. From there she'd catalogued registered volunteers across all of them, against activities each of the victims attended, however hadn't been able to narrow it down enough.

So, here you were manning the precinct late at night with Aaron, Derek, and Emily. The team was taking it in shifts to see if any missing persons calls came in, with victims fitting into either of the final two remaining sins - Wrath and Sloth. Unfortunately, there were simply far too many options for you to be able to determine who might become the unwitting victim in this Unsub's crusade.

It was calm and quiet, only the whirring of the fan and ambient sounds of the printer filling the silence. The four of you had already eaten and were all nursing hot cups of coffee in order to stay awake in the otherwise empty station. Public statements had been made and hotlines set up in case anyone could provide even a hint as to who the Unsub might be.

Emily was slouched over at the table, her arms cradling her head as another yawn escaped her. Bleary eyed, she looks at you and you weren't much better off, only barely keeping your eyes open, tilting back in your own chair in order to simulate the feeling of tipping over; effectively scaring yourself into staying awake. Derek was seated in front of the laptop, with Garcia on video. The two of them had been playing some game, however it appeared that she'd tired of it, being nearly two hours of a time difference ahead of the rest of you. So now, Derek was just watching her snooze, head bent down to her desk.

You look at Aaron, reading the notes Reid had left behind in order to try and make some sense of everything - uncover something that had slipped through the cracks. His brow is furrowed, head bent in concentration. He'd shed the jacket a while ago and despite the time of year, the Texan climate had forced him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing delicious swathes of forearm for your perusal. His hands - so large compared to your own, the veins prominent as he flips a page, muscle tensing and flexing as he does. You have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. It was the sleep deprivation. It was getting to you. Yeah, that's it. Not your big, strong boyfriend looking all serious and focused and handsome as he tries to hunt down a serial killer. Nope. Not at all…

You stand up suddenly as your chair tips forward, all four legs finally hitting the ground with a soft crash, cushioned by the carpeted flooring. Loud enough, however, to get Aaron's attention, as he turns to look up at you, the Are you alright? plain to read in his eyes.

"Need fresh air. Gonna go take a walk around the block or something," you explain, shaking your head of the cobwebs that had formed over the course of the past two hours, as the night had slipped into what could better be classified as early morning.

Aaron sets the papers down and turns to Morgan, indicating that he was going to join you. If you thought he was letting you go out alone, at this hour, with a killer on the loose, you were certifiable.

He watches as you slip on your blazer but he doesn't bother with his own. It would be quick and it wasn't too cold anymore. He follows you through the precinct and out the front doors, down the steps, matching your shorter pace easily - he's used to it by now.

"You sure you're alright?" he asks, once the two of you have reached the street. You merely hum tiredly and nod, so he grabs your hand in his, and walks in step with you, turning the corner past the precinct.

It is a little colder outside than it was inside, but his larger hand encompasses yours entirely, making you feel like a child swathed in his warm embrace. The cool air filters through your nostrils, reinvigorating your mind, giving it the jumpstart needed to function once more.

The two of you don't talk as you walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, him walking on the outside as he always does. Only the streetlamps are on, little pockets of light between stretches of darkness. Your mind is at peace. You aren't thinking about this case or your other one. You aren't thinking about any responsibilities and obligations. No worries. Just silent. It's so rare for your mind to be quiet that you relish in it. Allow yourself to bathe in the soundless symphony occupying the chasm in your brain.

As you approach the final turn that will lead you back to the entrance of the station, you find yourself watching Aaron again. He'd been so patient with the entire case with Interpol, despite it taking a toll on him. He'd been pulling double duty - doing all the things he does while also subbing in for everything you're unable to do at home. Him and Jack had sent you a cooking video of the two of them last time you'd been away, as Jack bossed Aaron around in the kitchen and helped him make your chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale at school. You'd sent Aaron detailed instructions, as he'd have to be the one to help Jack brown the butter and ensure he didn't burn himself. You knew he must have been frustrated with the extremely particular list of ingredients you'd sent him, down to the brand of salt flakes (the pièce de résistance of the entire experience)  that got sprinkled on top. Yet, he'd tackled it all with aplomb, not complaining to you even once. Jack had confided in you afterwards that Aaron had had to go to three different stores because the salt flakes were a rare item and not every branch of the nicer grocery store carried them. He'd done it though, and Jack had told you they'd turned out exactly like yours. Even Emily had texted you to validate this, asking if you'd come back without telling her when Aaron had brought a batch in for the team the following day.

Aaron feels a tug on his hand right before the turn. You'd stopped and his hand was still holding yours, forcing him to stop as well. You're stood in the shadows, right between two patches of light, your face immersed in darkness, and before he can say anything, he's lightly pushed against the brick wall exterior of the police station building. He lands with a soft oomph. You lean up against him, pressing yourself along the length of him and going up on your toes - utilizing the entirety of your ballet training - your lips meeting his in a heated kiss. He groans into your mouth, hands wrapping around your hips on instinct alone, tongue tracing your bottom lip before gently nipping at it, taking advantage of your resulting gasp to make his way into your mouth, licking every part of you available to him. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him and turns to hold you against the wall instead, pressing into the inviting warm juncture of your thighs.

"What brought this on?" he hums, moving from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You shiver at his efforts, a flip in your stomach as you feel the edge of his teeth, followed by the soft bite at the bend of your neck. Unable to answer him, lost in the feeling of his lips and teeth against your skin, your hands mussing through his hair, softly pulling and drawing vibrated groans from him.

At the absence of an answer, he pauses, looking up until he has your full attention, meeting your darkened eyes contrasting against your bashful expression. Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours. "I love you," you muster with some concentration, soft and blissful, pulling his face back down to meet your sweetly puckered lips once more, drawing him into the cacophonous sea of feeling along with you.

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room that Derek and Emily were sat in, Emily has stood up, leaning flat against the back wall. Derek has moved as well, taking residence in your old chair, leaning backwards much the same way you had.

"What about you guys?" he asks as you and Aaron enter.

You avoid Emily's knowing look. "What about us?"

"This whole thing - case - heaven and hell. You believe in it?"

"I went the agnostic route," Emily adds, stretching and arching her back like a cat. "If it exists, great. If not, no skin off my back."

Derek looks at the two of you expectantly.

Aaron nods quickly, returning to his old seat, feeling a lot lighter than before. He'd grown up Catholic - heaven and hell were ever-present concepts in his home.

You shrug, grabbing your lukewarm cup of coffee and dropping onto the couch. Your family had been more religious for the sake of appearances and connections rather than any true faith-inspired feelings.

Derek chuckles lightly. "Okay, so if they do exist," he says, turning back to Emily who had sunk down to the floor, seated with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Where you think you're headed?"

"Let me guess, you think you're going to heaven," Emily taunts, a mocking grin on her face.

"I do good, I am good," Derek replies assuredly. "Everything else is up to God. Right, Hotch?"

Aaron breathes out half a laugh along with a raise of his brows, which was about as much agreement Derek could hope for there.

"What about you Princess?"

You look at him, slight roll of your eyes to the ceiling. "Pretty sure patricide rules me out for a ticket to heaven," you respond, your words coated with sardonic dismissal.

Heaven. Hell. What did it even matter when you're dead?

It was a good thing that you hadn't looked at Aaron at that, because if you had, you would've noticed an entirely odd expression on his face at your words - he decides to pin his thoughts for a conversation at a later time. Once the case was wrapped up.

*------------*

"Anything you know could help us identify your husband's killer. Were you able to get a good look at him?"

JJ and Derek are running the interrogation on the latest victim's wife while the rest of the team watches from the other room. The body had been found at the edges of yet another church's grounds, marking it as the sixth victim. However, this time, a witness had emerged. The Unsub had taken Dylan Rogers from his front yard at gunpoint and Ashley Rogers, his wife, had seen it all happen from the living room before calling it in to the precinct.

"She seems tense - her shoulders have been hunched this entire time. Her facial expressions have varied from somber to haunted almost." Reid shifts closer as he profiles Mrs. Rogers, studying her body language.

"Morgan said it seemed like he might have hit her. He saw some bruising when she went to the house to pick her up," Prentiss adds, her voice grave.

Aaron acknowledges both Reid and Prentiss with a nod, his eyes fixed on the interaction taking place in the other room.

"Would fit into the umbrella of Wrath." Rossi mused from beside Aaron. All of you continue to watch while JJ brings in a sketch artist to help Mrs. Rogers construct a likeness of the Unsub.

"It must be killing her - if it's true. Having to help find his killer. Imagine the number of times she must've dreamt of hurting him in the same way he hurt her." All of you turn from Emily back to Mrs. Rogers, thinking on her statement.

"She could've left," Reid reasoned distractedly, his expression casually appraising Mrs. Rogers still for any signs that she might be concealing anything.

You find yourself bristling at that, and you've spoken out before you could stop yourself. "You know, it's funny how whenever we see cases like this. Cases where a man continuously beat up his partner, that's the question on everyone's lips. Why didn't she leave? Why did she stay?"

Reid turns to you, his mouth open and ready to contradict you or apologize, you're unsure, but you continue. "We never ask, why didn't he stop?"

Emily snorts from beside you, her lips pressed tightly together as you both watch Mrs. Rogers working with the sketch artist. She turns to Spencer after a look at you. "Because we accept men as monsters. That is their natural state. Those of them that didn't give in to it - we exalt them. We call them good men. Better men. Because they didn't beat us and hurt us and watch us bleed."

There's a tense silence but this is a sentiment that none of them are unfamiliar with. Reid should've known better.

You see Spencer shift uncomfortably, obviously apologetic for his earlier statement. You shake your head slightly and offer him a small smile, reassuring him that he's alright. This kind of stuff, just hits closer to home for some of you.

Your eyes meet Aaron's and he's looking at you with the question in his eyes that you'd expected as soon as you'd opened your mouth. You shake your head at him too, before turning your gaze back to the front.

Aaron watches you for a beat more, his eyes trained to the side of your face, your unwavering eyes set upon Ashley Rogers and your words swimming in his mind. His eyes had asked the question that he already knew the answer to unfortunately. Yet another reason for him to despise Matthew van Doren's entire existence.

"You know, there was a time I thought he was the love of my life." You all can hear Mrs. Rogers talking to JJ as the sketch artist wraps up. "We had that love - that wake up Sunday morning with pancakes and lose yourself in each other under white sheets kind of love. I don't know when it all went wrong."

*------------*

With the aid of Mrs. Rogers' description, Garcia was able to run a digitally enhanced version of the sketch against all known volunteers who had been at most of the events attended by each of the victims in the weeks prior to their deaths. After that, apprehending the Unsub was just a matter of tying together the identified man to each of the victims directly.

The team was able to prevent the final murder, and while that was of little solace to everyone, there was a tiny part of you that felt happy for Ashley Rogers in all of it. Sometimes the exit route we need arrives in the most unexpected of manners, and it is on us to recognize it and seize it for ourselves. You really hoped that Ashley would claim a new and better destiny for herself.

Since it was late, Aaron was unable to get the jet to fly back the same night, so the team was huddled into a corner of the hotel lounge with drinks in hand. While you're thrilled that you were able to prevent the final victim from being taken, this wasn't the best case the team had worked. You can see it in everyone's eyes, the way they hold their drinks, the hushed whispers contemplating if there was something that would've pointed to him sooner.

You feel bad that you aren't even really thinking about this case anymore. Your mind is preoccupied by the contents of the file you've left upstairs in the hotel room. You nod along to Emily and Derek's conversation, glass of wine held languidly in hand while you mentally collate the work you'd done so far. You know you're contributing nothing to the current conversation, and mercifully both of them have left you to your thoughts. Knowing there's not much chance of you being able to distract yourself tonight, you stand and bid good night to them before walking over to Aaron and Rossi, seated over a chessboard with Reid. They were playing two against one and Reid was still the favored choice to win.

"I'm going to head upstairs." You lean in and whisper softly to Aaron so as to not disrupt the game.

He turns his head to look up, brow furrowed ever so much. It wasn't like you to turn in early when there was a chance to socialize with the team. "I can come with." He grabs his drink as though to finish it, but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder.

"It's alright. Stay." You brush a kiss against his temple before nodding good night to the rest of them, intent on making some progress once you reached the room.

By the time Aaron gets upstairs, it is much later. Reid had won but Rossi had insisted on a rematch. Rossi just wanted to see Reid beat just once, however Aaron was wise to not bring attention to the fact that you've never played him. He knows that Reid has asked you, but you've made up excuses to not play. He'd always wondered about that, and having seen the chessboard in the New York apartment had made him realize that there was actually a good chance that you could beat Reid if you wanted to. Reid was a genius. That fact couldn't be denied. He knew everything about everything. You were different from that. Reid was driven by his pure drive for knowledge - that desire to understand the world around him better. You learned with more purpose, intention - with the need to add knowledge and skills to your toolkit, ready to whip out and be unleashed upon your opponents.

He enters the room just to see you exiting the bathroom, a robe wrapped around your body. He can't help but sigh internally at the sight. His soft, fluffy, perfect little personal teddy bear. He couldn't wait to just crawl into bed, already fearing that you'd be on another flight out the following day.

You acknowledge his presence with a smile, while toweling your hair dry.

"Who won?" There's a crooked smile on your face as you watch him take off his jacket and tie. As if you didn't already know who would win.

"Reid. Rossi wants another rematch on the plane." He shakes his head, walking further into the room. Closer to you.

You laugh softly as Aaron reaches you, looking exhausted from the long week and yet, he seems alright. All in all, this case hadn't been absolutely terrible. "Hasn't he learned his lesson by now?"

"He's a glutton for punishment." He steps forward, grabbing the towel from you and prompting you to turn around as he takes over drying your hair with soft tussles, allowing the cloth to absorb water all the way from root to end.

You hum at his actions, letting yourself to be lulled into the peaceful, floaty state that you always enter whenever he plays with your hair. It just felt too good.

"You should just give in and play him sometime." He knows he's pulling at that little thread there, curious as to how you'll react at him having deduced something you hadn't told him upfront.

You merely chuckle softly, seemingly unsurprised that he'd worked that out for himself. His profiling skills no longer surprise you much, especially when it comes to yourself. He could read you like none other. "We wouldn't want Spencer to cry, now would we?"

Aaron bites his lip, preventing a smile threatening to sneak out at that. It was nice knowing he'd been right about that. He'd have to make you play him at least. He needed to see how good you were for himself.

You turn around, halting his actions. You'd gotten a call from Clyde when you'd gotten upstairs and you were already set to fly out tomorrow on a red eye. You'd booked the ticket, making the necessary upgrades on your own dime.

"Tomorrow?" he guessed, noting the expression on your face when you looked up at him, drawing yourself up on your toes and wrapping your arms  around his neck, the towel slipping from his hands and onto the floor between your feet.

You nod with a sigh, before coaxing him down, and he's quick to meet your lips with his own, knowing the two of now only have tonight. Tomorrow would be spent on the plane and then you'd have to fly out before he'd get even another hour alone with you. His hands instinctively find your waist, drawing you in flush against him. He deepens the kiss when one of your hands moves from his neck to cup his cheeks, thumb brushing over the peaking stubble around his jaw. You hate leaving like this. You can't wait for it to be over. For there to be no more goodbyes layering his touch and yours.

Aaron hugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully, the plush robe giving him far more to grab on to. Your lips against his, moving softly, insistently. You break away, struggling to be on your toes for much longer, so he moves, pushing you up onto the desk and coming to stand between your legs as your lips find their place once more against his, this time hands working at the buttons to his shirt as well.

"Wanted to talk to you about something." He breaks away, allowing you to pepper kisses down his jaw and the column of his neck. If the two of you only had today, he didn't want to risk forgetting and having the issue go stale before bringing it up again. He can feel your mouth, sucking, teeth lightly grazing the skin at his collarbone, undoubtedly leaving marks for him to admire afterwards when you were gone. At your hum, he continues relying on your ability to multitask. "Did you mean it, when you said you aren't going to heaven?"

You pause, looking up at him curiously and being reminded of the question Derek had asked. You hadn't realized it had affected Aaron, and yet thinking back on it, of course it had. Your answer had been entirely flippant. He was so serious when it came to things like this. "Yes. I did." Your voice is measured as you answer him, eyeing him carefully to watch his reaction. Even still, his hands have managed past the tie on your robe and his hands are caressing the bare skin of your sides, drawing a soft sigh from your mouth at the sensation. "By any definition of heaven and God and the Bible, murder isn't exactly condoned."

Had this been a few months ago, Aaron knew that this would have been an entirely different conversation. He could appreciate how entirely blunt you're able to be about how you've framed this for yourself. He might not agree with it, but he can appreciate the honesty. "Bible also says an eye for an eye." He raises an eyebrow at you, indicating that he wasn't about to let this go. Not when it came to the matter of your immortal soul. This mattered to him.

A gasp escapes you as his hands travel up your sides more deliberately, causing shivers against your sensitive skin at the feel of his roughly calloused fingers skimming, exploring, claiming. That's what his touch always felt like. A claim.

You try to focus as you think of a response, hands resuming unbuttoning his shirt and undoing the buckle to his belt. You can see he's already hard and as your fingers ghost over the bulge, he exhales sharply, eyes focused on your hands.

Realizing he wasn't getting an answer from you immediately, he helps you out by undoing the button and lowering the zipper on his pants, taking them off as you watch. You're a little confused by the conversation taking place, but you also knew this going into a relationship with Aaron. Like it or not, he was religious. Your family simply hadn't been much. It wasn't the same religious orthodoxy that Aaron had grown up with, at the very least. He wasn't by any means stringent about it, but some beliefs were innate. Good people go to heaven. Bad people go to hell. As far as he was concerned, you were a good person.

"Heaven and hell - I didn't grow up with that. But that whole eye for an eye thing, I don't think that really applies when it comes to taking a life." You help him slip the shirt off of his shoulders as you speak, the material slipping and falling to the ground as well. Aaron actually undoes the tie to your robe this time, pushing the material off of you almost roughly, eager to expose skin that he couldn't wait to taste. His hands move up to cup your breasts, kneading the flesh - the air in the room and his attentions causing your nipples to pucker, teasing him. He's unable to resist bending down and taking one into his mouth, gently sucking as his fingers tweak the other into submission as well, drawing a keening sound from deep within you, distracting you from your train of thought as you're drenched in the warmth of his touch.

You're entirely bare before him as his mouth moves to the other nipple, hands traveling down, grazing over your stomach and down your thighs, causing them to tremble. He pushes your legs apart, letting go of the nipple, his mouth returning to yours with a renewed fervor. His fingers pick up the evidence of your arousal around them, and he caresses your folds, before entering you with two fingers, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing over it as his fingers scissor inside you, locating the spot that has you arching your back, moans escaping you into his mouth.

Aaron releases your mouth so that he can watch you. Your hands scramble for purchase, bunching into the robe beneath you that soaks up your juices as he continues to work you up. Higher and higher. Your breath panting, breasts thrust up as you can feel the orgasm threatening to overtake your body. It only takes another circular motion of his thumb and the ask to Let go by him, for you to go crashing under the waves, your walls pulsing around his fingers. He watches you fall apart, your arms going up to hug against your breasts as you arch and shake and moan for him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he continues his machinations against your sensitive bud, intent on drawing it out. He loves to just watch you like this. Begging him to keep going, your breathy voice urging him on, your gorgeous face, mouth falling open - all for him. His beautiful little princess, entirely at his mercy.

He kisses you again as you come down, your earlier conversation entirely wiped from your mind. But not his. Never his. Aaron could focus and keep track of things in amazing order. He hated that you thought you weren't destined for heaven. It shouldn't matter - such an abstract concept and who even knew, really. But in the off chance it did, he didn't want you to think you'd be excluded. You couldn't be.

Your jelly arms and legs wrap around him and he's already worked down his boxers, revealing his thick, hard cock, eager to be buried inside you. He gathers you up in his arms, pulling you to the edge of the desk, before lifting you up and moving the two of you to the bed, managing to drop you onto it sideways, before quickly climbing on top.

You move your hands to card through his hair, watching him, his lovely brown eyes looking down at you, causing a flurry of emotion in your stomach. He leans down and slots his lips against yours once more, allowing you to get lost in the feel of him. You release him with a gasp, finding it difficult to take in air, and he allows you to breathe as he moves and presses a kiss to your shoulder, entering you in one quick thrust. "Genesis 9:5 says, for your lifeblood, I will surely demand an accounting."

What? You couldn't believe him. He was quoting the fucking Bible while buried in you to the hilt.

"Aaron - "

You're cut off as he moves out, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit, distractingly. Perfectly. Fuck.

He enters you again, harshly, his cock finding that spot inside you as he does. His voice deep and guttural, a groan falling from his mouth as he invades you fully once more. "From each man, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man."

He was still doing it. How could he even remember to quote the Bible right then?! You couldn't even remember your own name.

You don't have the words as Aaron continues, pumping into you, his hand finding your clit to help you reach your peak faster. Neither one of you would last long. You're already a trembling, shuddering mess beneath him, back arched up, feet planted against the mattress for support, your hands traveling and touching any skin of his they could reach.

You can feel his breath hot against your ear, the weight of him on top of you as he ruts his hips against yours, and you can tell he's close. So very close. His hips stutter as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling softly, just enough. "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed." He was intent on fucking the verse into you. You release a broken cry at the feel of him. At his words. The passionate, gravely quality of his voice. He finishes with a loud groan, spilling into you, his ministrations against your clit paying off, propelling you towards the precipice as well. Your walls squeeze his cock, pulsing, clenching at the feel of his release inside you. He groans again, dropping on top of you, his hand going down and wrapping your thigh around him, pushing himself further into you still.

He lays on you for a moment longer, the only sound in the room being your breath and thudding hearts, beating in sync.

You're entirely drowned in ecstasy, even as you try to grasp onto the threads of the conversation the two of you had been having. You run your fingers through his soft hair, brushing back the sweat from his forehead, not minding the weight of him on you. He was crushing you entirely and you wouldn't exchange that for anything. No death could be better. Sweeter.

He rolls off of you after a few more moments, dropping next to you on his back, his legs dangling off the side of the bed.

You breathe deeply, before flipping over to lay on your back. You can feel the evidence of both of your releases inside you, but you can't be too bothered to care right then. Your hazy mind has managed to remember the conversation, and you turn your head, tucking your arms underneath to support it as you watch Aaron. He's laid on his back, one arm under his head, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, slowly settling into a steady state.

"If I wasn't going to hell for the patricide already, I'm definitely going to hell now for finding that far too hot." Your voice comes out low and whiny, a near whisper being all you could manage.

Aaron releases a breath of a laugh before he turns to settle on his side, drawing his legs up, moving closer so he's right beside you. So you can feel his skin against yours.

You reach out, your hand cupping his face and he leans in all too willingly, kissing you softly, completely. As he pulls back, you can feel his eyes examining you - searching. Trying to figure out what exactly it is that had you so thoroughly convinced that you didn't belong in heaven. Because he knows you and while at the time killing your father had been awful, he knew that you believed it had been right. Otherwise you wouldn't have done it.

"Can we accept the premise that killing your father isn't a dealbreaker?" he asks cautiously, his hand reaches out, settling into the curve of your waist, fingers curling into the skin. "What is it really?"

You blink, moving into his embrace, hands fidgeting slightly. You're nervous and you're sure he can tell. However, you know you need to tell him. Tell someone. If anyone should know, it's him. You lick your lips and sigh, looking up into his darkened eyes. "You've met my father. If you had to profile him, how would you do it?" Your voice is quiet, timid, unsure.

Your question is met by some apprehension. Aaron isn't certain, however he hesitantly answers you. "Control freak. Narcissist with a God complex."

You nod at his blunt assessment. "Did you ever wonder why my father - why he let me get away with so much?"

He hadn't.

"I broke off an exceptionally advantageous engagement. He did nothing. I cashed out my trust fund and ran away - slutting it up - " He flinches. " - on the cover of every trashy editorial. Crickets. I joined the FBI and he tried to take me out for dinner. Does he seem like the kind of man that tolerates that kind of insubordination?"

Aaron realizes that he should've thought about these questions. He should've thought to protect you from this back then. It was a miss. Especially after finding out what he had about Julian's death. And yet, there had never been anything in your father's interactions with you to suggest that he would do anything to truly harm you. Despite your fear of him.

"Do you remember what you wrote - in my recommendation letter to McKinney?" you murmured, your face right against his. If he moved a millimeter closer you'd be able to feel your nose against his.

Aaron watches you, his brow furrowing, wondering where exactly this was headed. He nods. He remembers. Your skin under his hands is starting to develop goosebumps. Without a word, he grabs you, shifting and maneuvering so that the two of you are laid together, heads at the headboard finally. He pulls at the blankets, draping them over you both and draws you back against him.

You place a quick kiss to his chest in thanks, fingers brushing over the scars that have persisted. Over time, he's become a lot more comfortable having his shirt off around you. It's still not something he will do in public, but around you, he feels comfortable enough. After all, you'd seen them back when they had been much worse.

He nods at you to continue. He has a need to know now. He has to know.

"The night that Matthew proposed to me, Julian and I got into a huge fight," you confess, legs tangling with his as your fingers trace the mapping of lines down his chest and stomach. "He revealed to me that my father - that the proposal was orchestrated. That it was part of some deal between our fathers. That - ." Your voice breaks and Aaron is quick to run his hands soothingly down your back, whispering soft encouragement in your ears, his lips following your hairline. You sniffle and continue on. "He told me that our father gave me away. Without asking. Without talking to me about it. He sold me."

It's Aaron who is lost for words this time. Out of all things, this - this he could not possibly have prepared for. All things considered, you're holding up remarkably, while his mind reels, putting everything he knows about Matthew into context with this new piece of information. He's struck by a tornado of anger towards your father. How dare that man - that awful, cruel man, treat you like property? To be traded and sold at his whims as if you weren't a fully fledged human being of your own.

You find yourself rubbing your hands up and down Aaron's arms, knowing that he must be processing everything all at once. You've had nearly a decade to deal with it and it still feels overwhelming at times.

"I didn't want to believe it, but it made sense."

Aaron opens his mouth to speak - to say something helpful but no words come. You shake your head, reassuring him that it was alright. He needn't say anything.

"So, I woke him up. We talked. I told him I wasn't about to waste my life - being the perfect daughter and the perfect wife. I couldn't."

He nods. He expected nothing less. You weren't some trophy wife.

"Matthew didn't want me to work after we got married. But I wanted something to work towards. Something that would be mine.  It wasn't fair that just because Dominic was the eldest son - that he would get it all. Everything. The entire empire. It was the one thing Matthew could never deny me. He wouldn't have dared."

Aaron's eyes widen as the realization begins to sink in. He takes in your gaze - blazing with renewed fire and fury at the situation you'd been in. The fervor within to escape, be your own person within the confines of the life you were in.

"My father - he fought me on it. Because the thing is, sons inherit the earth. Sons and not daughters." You take a deep breath, watching Aaron who appears to have followed along marvelously, because you can tell that he knows exactly what you're trying to say now.

"I showed him, however -- " You nod your head shakily "-- how I had built connections with all the right people. How I was smarter, would work harder, be better than anyone else he could possibly hope for to fill his shoes."

"You'd take over." His voice is low and the words feel reluctant on his tongue. Resigned despite the truth of them.

You nod. There it was - it was finally out there. Your worst secret that no one else had ever known. This secret had gone to the grave with your father. You hadn't even told John, knowing how disappointed he would've been in you - especially so soon after Julian's passing.

Aaron looks at you, taking in the guilt behind your eyes, the fear at revealing this to him. He knows too, that you're right. That if you had applied yourself to that, even half as well as you did to your job, you would've done it brutally well.

"That's why you think you aren't going to heaven," he concludes, his hands still rubbing up and down your back. He can feel your heart beating rapidly against his chest. It wasn't killing your father. It was this. "Sweetheart, you didn't do it, though. You didn't."

"I would've," you argue. "If Uncle Robert hadn't told me, even with Julian dead, I would've. I signed up for all of it Aaron. He trained me. He groomed me. Those things that you wrote in your letter to McKinney - all about how I'm adept at reading people. Because I can manipulate anyone into doing anything I want. He taught me how to do that. That I have an aptitude for navigating politically nuanced situations - because he showed me how to get close to the people that really matter. That I am exceptional at tactical planning - because from that day onwards, he planned out my entire life. And I let him. I helped him. Everything I did, anyone I spoke to, was all part of it. Part of his plans. So when I left, he wasn't ready to let go. He wasn't ready to waste his investment in me." The words leave you like a storm - evidence in the case you'd been building against yourself, carved from marble and sitting heavy against your heart for the past decade. You hated how much of him you saw in yourself.

You're breathing really hard and there are tears clinging to your lashes as Aaron continues to hold you, pulling you in even closer, if that were possible. He couldn't even imagine how long you'd carried this with you. Nearly a decade of guilt and for what? For something you hadn't even carried through with.

"You didn't actually do it," he repeats himself, brushing his lips against your forehead, knowing that right then that's what you need. All the reassurance that he doesn't see you any differently. That he never could. Especially not for this.

"Aaron, I would've been someone the Bureau goes after. Someone you'd have gone after. But the difference is, I would've never been caught."

Again, he knows you're right. Aaron isn't even surprised really at your entire confession - it stood to reason that you'd want the keys to the kingdom. From what he knew of you and your siblings, you really would be the person who was most capable, despite the dubious nature of the job. He's not naïve enough to think you couldn't have done it if you wanted to. You would've been exceptional at it. But you didn't. Given the chance today, you wouldn't. For him, that's what mattered.

He brushes the hair out of your face tenderly, sweeping away all the wisps and baby hairs, holding your face in his hands. "You need to forgive yourself, Y/N. You need to realize that there is a difference between signing up for something and actually doing it. What you actually did, that's what matters. Regardless of the circumstances. That's what truly happened."

You're quiet, so he holds you. He can feel the tears trickling down your face, onto his chest as you bury your head into him once more.

It was an upheaval, telling him all of this. It's Aaron - and despite everything awful that you've revealed just then, he's being kind, compassionate, and understanding. You just told him that you'd essentially signed up to do every evil job known to mankind and he was comforting you. Making sure that you wouldn't beat yourself up. That you forgave yourself. He didn't even - it was as if it didn't even matter to him. How could it not, though? How could it not claw at him, being tangled up with someone he knows to be entrenched in evil?

"You are a good person, Y/N. A wonderful person. This - this one thing doesn't define you. Being good is a series of decisions and choices in that direction. One thing doesn't derail it entirely. That's what amends are for. What forgiveness is for. To show us that no matter what, we always have a chance." Aaron could only hope that you saw yourself the way he saw you. As someone who tried to be good. As someone who was good, through trying alone.

You want to believe him. You do. It sounds peaceful. But how do you know if you've made enough amends? How do you know if you've done enough?

He knows you're struggling to believe him. He wants to convince you, paint it into your skin, emblazon it onto your soul in a manner so unmistakable that you'd never question it again. You're a good person. He needs you to believe it. Desperately.

Aaron tilts your face up by your chin, his lips meeting yours intensely. "You are a wonderfully good person, Y/N" His whisper falls against your lips, forcing you to swallow in his words. Breathe them in. Taste them. Let them settle into your stomach.

He places another kiss to the turn of your neck, tongue peaking out to lick at mark he'd left earlier, soothing over it. "You're a hero. You save people." He will make you believe it.

You watch in awe as he shifts, placing another kiss to the swell of your breasts. "You take such good care of me and Jack." He will make you believe that you're the good he sees in life. Through all the horrors he sees day in and day out, he looks to you and he sees goodness and purity, laughter and joy.

You can feel the tears welling up again in your eyes, for an entirely different reason as you watch him. Watch this man, make his way down the length of your body, reminding you that you conquer monsters for a living. Remind you that you took down your father and in turn prevented him from doing more evil. Impress upon you the importance of everything you've accomplished since then - all the people you've saved, all the happiness you've brought, all the people you've loved.

You can't help but press yourself to him. Closer to him. Because his touch is the forgiveness you can never seem to give yourself. His touch is pure. His touch is good. It is divinity itself. Maybe if he touched you enough, it could make up for it all. Letting his essence cover up everything that came before.

Aaron draws up on his haunches, having just kissed your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You taste like what he imagines sunshine might taste like. He moves you up with him, into his lap and waits until you've met his mouth of your own volition, before pulling you down onto his cock, seating you fully against him.

You can taste yourself on his lips. You can feel him inside you so entirely, consumingly, fully. He clutches onto you, the drag of him inside you so powerful and potent, the bubbling euphoria encasing you. Your arms curl around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, as his wrap around your hips, helping you ride his cock exquisitely. Vastly, painstakingly slow.

Aaron watches you in his lap, taking him in - his. Mine. Mine. Mine. A chant on repeat in his brain as your wet, velvety walls grip him like a vice. Your beautiful pink lips parted ever so slightly, eyes half lidded. In his lap, against his body, taking his cock. This - this was goodness. You were the source of all pleasure, delight, and happiness that he feels. If that is not goodness, then what is? If the God he calls God didn't recognize you as such, then what kind of God was he? Because he would gladly worship at your altar instead, if need be.

His hands grip you excruciatingly tight against him, unwilling to leave even the semblance of room between the two of you. It was as though he began where you ended and you ended where he began. "I don't care if you believe you're going to heaven or not," he declares, watching you take him. "I'm going to believe it enough for the both of us."

Before you can say anything in response, he draws your attention downwards, forcing you to watch. Watch as he exits you, wet and shiny, drenched in your arousal. Watch as he brings you back down, entering you immeasurably slowly and causing you to clench and flutter around him. His.

You look back up, meeting his warm brown eyes, shining with love and compassion and the utmost respect. Everything that made you fall in love with this man. You watch as he pushes into you, moves you just so - so as to perfectly hit that spot inside you. You tilt your head back on a moan, your body shuddering and your back arching once more, pushing you closer and closer against him. When you return to face him, he looks at you. His eyes fixed on you. That look on his face, was nothing short of reverent.  

You come achingly fast, teeth sinking into his shoulder as you shudder around him, taking in his release. He continues through it, pushing his cum back into you in the process, keeping it there, mingling with both of your earlier release.

You're entirely weak as you sit in the cradle of his arms, balancing on his thighs. Your mind is far away and present at once. Present only in him - his touch, his feel, his lips, his words - surrounding you thoroughly.

You are both unhurried in your movements as you clean up together, no need or desire to speak further, content in the silence of one another.

Aaron cleans up the bed, making sure there are fresh sheets, as he watches your tired body put on the small slip you'd left out earlier. Your hair was wet again and he grabs a fresh towel, drying it once more as you lean against him, unable to stand on your own for much longer, your body still sore. He can see the marks he'd left behind blooming and he takes extra care as he urges you towards the freshly made bed. You slip in to your side as he lifts the duvet, quickly climbing in beside you and tucking the two of you into the covers - swaddling your body against his own. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring his love against them, the echo of his words reverberating against them. You fall asleep first, entirely spent, physically and emotionally. With any luck you'll enter a deep, dreamless sleep. He can hear your steady and even breaths paralleled with the slow rise and fall of your chest, persuading him to join you in slumber.

Even if you didn't go to heaven - if for some God forsaken reason you were denied entrance - he'd willingly, gladly, go to hell with you.

With that final thought, he gives in to the call of your warmth and the sound of your breaths, allowing himself to be drawn into sleep beside you.

[americiumam]

i’m here to ask you about the scarlet letter art symbolism 👀👀 it’s sooo good omg amazing work

WAAAAAAAA thank you!!! im so glad you like it im super proud of it!! 🥰🥰 ty for asking bc im genuinely soo proud of the symbolism in this one!! i put a lot of effort into it :] i’ll leave my rant under the cut to refrain from clogging the dash, but thank u for giving me this opportunity to talk about this😭 if anyone is confused or just wants to see the piece, it’s linked under the cut as well!!

ok so i’ll be explain both my research process and the symbolism here!! i did a lot of work with thumbnails and different references, and to design the clothes i used a mix of renditions of the characters that already exist (including an image of hester from an 1888 copy of the book, which i own!!), historical fashion cites / archives, and other portraiture from or depicting the time period!! both hester and arthur are only vaguely described in terms of detail (with hester having a bit more physical description), so i did my best to keep them as accurate as possible (hester having slightly softer features than are typical of the time, and arthur looking. vaguely unwell and sickly) 🥰 i also had a reference board of styles, taking inspiration from different playing / tarot card designs and the art nouveau style (just bc i like it :] )

around the boarder (as pointed out by @jzmn8r in the tags!! ♥️) are thorny rose bushes, which are a symbol i took from the roses by the jail & grave yard! the figurehead of the winged skull (also pointed out in the tags by my beloved friend @cafffine 😌) is actually a common symbol that i found in my research on puritan headstones! im not sure where it originated from, but it is depicted in a lot of puritan graves, and since death and the graveyard are both important parts of the novel, i thought it would work well! the Ace of hearts in the corners matches the scarlet letter on hester’s chest, and i was rlly proud of how i incorporated the heart :]

moving on to my favorite bit: the pearls!! also pointed out by @/jsmn8r, the string of pearls represents how hester and arthur are connected through their daughter, pearl! on hester’s half, the pearls are drawn taught around the back of her neck, like a chain, but they don’t wrap around her throat. the way she is holding them shows her autonomy a little bit, how she is able to be in control of her life despite being a victim of circumstances. she’s chained, but she’s safe.

in contrast, arthur’s pearls are wrapped around his hand–the same hand he’s using to hold the knife. they’re tangled just like he is tangled in the lie he’s perpetuating, and the pearls, while loose, hang all the way around his neck like a noose. he is entirely in control of his situation, but it’s going to kill him, no matter what choice he makes.

the strings on hester can represent a lot of things, but i like especially how they show how she took the scarlet letter and made it her own, eventually using her great skill to sustain herself and her child. she is also caught up in the consequences of her actions and her lie (like arthur) but she has, despite her situation, managed to take care of herself.

the red threads also balance nicely with the red on arthur’s knife! i wanted to depict him cutting the A into his chest, but i left his clothes spotless, as a nod to how he was perceived by the townsfolk despite his guilt. he’s also holding (what was meant to be 😭) a bible in his other hand, but he’s noticeably looking away in fear, up towards the heavens.

aaaand i think that’s it! if you made it this far, im sending u love and kisses and this picture of my friend’s dog. thank you for reading and letting me rant about my art — i hope you liked it as much as i liked making it!! 💕💕

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Fifteen: Fuck It

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,770

RATING: MATURE

MASTERLIST

~

The awkwardness toned down after a while. There wasn’t much more you could be embarrassed about now that you’d been sleeping in the same bed together for days. What was strange was the fact that it was Christmas Eve and neither of you really knew what to do.

“Should we celebrate?” he asked finally after a few episodes of the strange true crime show on VHS — it was called Felon’s Brains and Spencer hated it, but there wasn’t any cable this far out and there were fifteen seasons of it on tape.

“I’m not sure.” Christmas hasn't always been a happy holiday for you. That coupled with the fact that you were hiding from a killer, what was there to celebrate?

Looking over at Spencer sitting next to you on the couch, his face contorted as he thought hard. There’s something to celebrate.

“When was the last time you ate?” While he was skinny in the first place, his shirts seemed to be falling a little looser lately.

It was a good question judging by the way he had trouble remembering.

“I’m not sure. A few days ago.”

You would be surprised, but there hadn’t really been many opportunities for either of you to eat. You’d grabbed an apple just before you left the hotel but that was pretty much the only food you’d had in a while.

“We should have a feast,” you said excitedly, your stomach grumbling at the thought. Spencer also looked relieved, probably more at the idea of keeping busy.

“Okay! I’m not all that sure what’s in the pantry.”

The yield was minuscule, but you could make the best of it. Surprisingly, there was an old pasta maker with a stiff crank, but it would work well enough. There was flour, eggs, olive oil, all the ingredients to make pasta from scratch.

However, when presented with this idea, Spencer blistered.

“I’ve said this before, I’m, uh, not exactly a chef.”

You smiled gently at him, gathering the ingredients.

“Me either. But pasta from scratch is like the one meal I can make. And there’s some canned vegetables in the pantry. You can prepare those.”

He seemed daunted by the idea, but moved to the cabinet and took out several cans.

So you did your best making the pasta (perhaps adding a bit too much flour) and soon the meal was ready.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” you said nervously, watching him swallow the first bite of pasta.

“This is amazing!” he dug in, savoring it. “How did you learn to make this?”

Pleased, you took a bite yourself. It did taste really good. But so did Spencer’s vegetables.

“I learned from my old . . . roommate.”

You tried to play off the slip. Hopefully, he’d go along with it.

“Cool! Well, it’s delicious. Thank you.”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, sending a spark through you and you grinned back at him.

“You know, this isn’t a bad Christmas Eve.”

He nodded, glancing from the meal to the window to you. Startled at the sudden eye-contact, you looked away, no doubt a blush spreading to your cheeks.

Spencer cleared his throat; he did that a lot.

“Ahem, did you know that Christmas is just the evolution of a popular holiday in the Roman Empire that celebrated the winter solstice as a symbol of the resurgence of the sun, the casting away of winter and—“

“While it does drive me crazy when you ramble, in a very good way, maybe we could talk about something a bit more personal?”

He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or relieved.

“Sure. Like what?”

“Hmm. What was your favorite Christmas?”

A bright smile lit up his face.

“The Christmas after my tenth birthday. My dad dressed up like Santa and we went and saw reindeer in Baskin’s park. I got to ride one. My mom was so scared the whole time. She kept thinking I was going to fall off, even though my dad was right next to me the whole time. That was really the last family time we had. He left the next year.”

His smile turned to a frown.

To change the subject, you took the plates to the sink, then sat on the couch, patting the place next to you. Spencer stood and ambled over, plopping down next to you, attempting to smile. Your positions were similar to how they’d been in the bookstore, all those nights ago. Strange how close you’d grown after such little time.

“What about you? What was your favorite Christmas?” he asked.

You took one look at him, wearing a thick burgundy sweater that looked far too scratchy to be comfortable, woolen mismatched socks, and regular jeans, his head tipped back on the couch and staring at you so sweetly, awaiting your response.

“This one.”

You had whispered it so quietly you would have been sure he didn’t hear it . . . if not for the sharp intake of breath next to you.

Quickly moving past that, you said, “I’m not sure. I’ve never really had super special Christmases. I mean presents and stuff is great, but none really stand out. Well, stand out in a positive light.”

He chewed on that for a minute.

“Then what’s been your worst Christmas?”

You shot him a look, “I’m not sure you wanna hear about that.”

“I do! Here,” he scooched closer, picking up your legs and swinging them into his lap, surprising you with the closeness of the gesture, “I’ll go first. My worst Christmas was the year after my dad left. I didn’t get any presents because he wasn’t there and my mom was admitted.”

“Admitted?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“She, um, she has Schizophrenia. She lives in a mental facility.”

It was such a personal confession, you weren’t sure what to say. He told you something extremely private! That’s good! Right? No. If anything it just blurred the lines of your relationship further. Was he telling you to indulge you, make you feel more comfortable with him knowing so many personal things about you, or did he actually want to share that part of himself with you? Either way, you needed to acknowledge it.

“I’m here, Spencer.”

He looked at you in surprise.

“Most people say they’re sorry when I tell them that.”

Shit. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no,” his eyes were full of curiosity and wonderment. “I’m actually grateful. It’s weird when people apologize because there’s really no right response. I can say, ‘it’s okay’, which is a lie; ‘thank you’, even though I’m not really thankful; or I can ignore it which is just mean. An apology creates an unconscious obligation.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, digesting the words.

“I promise never to apologize to you,” you said, smiling.

He smiled back, chuckling softly. “I promise, too.”

“My worst Christmas was last year.” He adjusted his position so he could look at you better. “I had just started my Linguistics PhD so my schedule was constantly full. At the time I was living with my ex-boyfriend, Matthew. He, um, had problems with me being gone so frequently; he always wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. So when I surprised him by coming home early on Christmas Eve, I thought he’d be pleased. Turns out there was a reason he was so obsessed with my schedule. He didn’t want me coming home to someone else in our bed.

“I remember when I walked in and saw them together how sad I was. But even more so, I was relieved. Looking back on it, I was just looking for an excuse to get out of that relationship.” You looked off in thought. “Huh. I’d never really thought about that.”

His hands were slowly patting your legs, sliding up and down your clothed shin. It seemed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

“I’m here for you.”

He had said it as a comfort, as a substitute for ‘I’m sorry’, but you couldn’t help taking it as though he was saying he was there for you and he always would be, unlike your ex. Spencer seemed to realize this, his hands freezing on your leg. 

But he kept stroking after a moment, and said, “I never liked the name Matthew. So pretentious.”

You laughed lightly, reaching out for his hand, clasping it in yours and running your thumb along the back. 

“Spencer. How is this going to end?”

When the FBI had first talked to you, Morgan had assured you that the stalker wasn’t trying to kill you. But then why were they being so protective of you? 

He waited a moment before answering, holding your hand tightly.

“The model of a stalker killer deciding to rehearse his fantasy multiple times with possible intent to have you complete the final scenario concludes itself with one of two possibilities. The more likely being the stalker will kill himself.”

“What’s the other possibility?”

Embers from the fire snapped and crackled in the heavy silence.

“He’ll kill the object of his desire.” 

Although you had kind of put together the fact that there was more to the danger you were in, it still came as a shock to have it confirmed.

“Have you had cases like this before?”

He paused, biting his lip.

“Yes.”

“And how do they end?”

“The ones we win, the victim goes through therapy, the stalker goes to prison, and eventually we move on. It never goes away, but it gets better.”

You nodded seriously.

“What about the ones you lose?”

As the logs in the fire snapped again, a lightbulb burned out, making a loud popping noise above your head and shrouding the room in darkness.

Spencer stood on the couch, adjusting the bulb.

“Sorry, I guess there’s not the best electricity out here.”

“Well, there’s a generator out front. It’s probably just the lightbulb.”

“No, these lightbulbs were changed recently. Are you sure you saw a generator?”

You nodded.

“Then it must be the circuitry.”

He unscrewed the bulb and sat back down, setting it on the end table. The only light in the room came from the fire. It cast a golden glow over his sharp features, drawing your attention to the cut of his jaw and the plumpness of his lips. The firelight in his eyes as he stared sparked something inside you; a sort of sudden urgency.

You sat up, moving closer to him on the couch. His hazel eyes glowed in the soft light of the room. 

Slowly, you brought your hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek. His lips parted and his eyes grew dark, glancing down at your lips.

The threat of death was just around the corner, closer than you’d thought. You loved Spencer and you needed him to know before . . .

“Y/N. . . .”

It was barely a whisper but you felt it in every part of your body.

Letting the feeling wash over you, you picked up his hand, placing it on your cheek and melting into the touch.

Spencer stroked your cheek, thumb brushing against your lips. You parted them, staring at him as you mouthed his thumb. 

He suddenly pulled back, balling his hands into fists and trying to catch his breath.

“Listen, there’s this thing called ‘transference’ it’s when—“

“Spencer, I like you.” Well, that was one way to shut him up. 

At his shocked expression, you quickly burst into a ramble. “Not because you’re protecting me, I've thought hard about this. I can protect myself, I'm not helpless. That being said, everything about you makes me want to be with you. The fact you love reading, knowing all sorts of random facts, you love memorizing lists, the way you raise your eyebrows when you’re shocked like you’re doing now. I want you, not the idea of you. I want you.” You said the last part with such conviction you thought you’d explode.

Meanwhile, Spencer was speechless.

Testing the waters, you leaned in as slowly as you could, giving him the opportunity to stop you if he wanted. 

When your mouths were millimeters apart, neither of you moving, just breathing heavily, you said, “You don’t want this?”

“Drink,” and the second he said it, your lips met harshly with tongue and teeth clacking together. It was desperate, urgent the way you pulled him on top of you, laying back on the couch. His hands were everywhere at once, running through your hair, snaking around your waist, brushing against your neck. 

Breaking the kiss to pull his sweater over his head, you marveled at his bare chest. It was different than you’d pictured. Not muscular per se, but not nearly as scrawny. It was perfect. He was perfect.

He hesitated at your gaze, so you pulled him back down, ravishing his mouth and scraping your nails down him back, leaving a trail of white marks.

But, ever the hero, he pulled back, shaking his head softly.

“Wait, wait . . .”

The absence of his mouth was unbearable, but you would respect his boundaries. Although you knew now that if anything, it was his job interfering with his feelings for you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He just couldn’t have you.

The thought was too much, you looked away from him, still hovering above you. When, after a moment, he still hadn’t moved, you looked at him, surprised to see an extremely pained expression on his face.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing. For him, that seemed to be the last straw for he sighed and leaned back down muttering, “Fuck it,” and kissing you harder than ever before.

It was the first time he’d cursed in front of you. Moaning against his mouth, you could feel his fingers brush against the skin of your sides. You gasped at the contact and he started to pull back, but you pulled him closer, nipping his lips and letting your legs fall open, closing any gap between you.

He grunted softly and inadvertently thrust against you in just the right spot, causing you to thread your fingers through his hair and pull. 

The yank made him gasp and his hips jerked unconsciously against yours.

“D-do that again,” he whispered between kisses. 

Delighted, you did, hard, your other hand desperately trying to unbuckle his belt. He occupied himself with kissing up and down your neck, occasionally biting and subsequently soothing with licks.

You finally got his belt undone, throwing it to the floor as he pulled your shirt over your head. He pulled back for a moment, admiring you. Your bra wasn’t all that special, just a plain tan one, but Spencer looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Tired of the space between you, you pulled him back, kissing him deeply and moving his hand to your breast. The moment he was given permission, his hand slipped underneath, kneading gently.

As you popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his legs, he found the clasp of your bra and snapped it, probably breaking something in the process. Now your chest was bare, Spencer’s hands moving all over your body, soaking up every inch possible. You gently reached down and felt his hard length, both of you moaning at the contact. He thrust into your hand, desperate for more.

But you had to stop him, you pulled him back, hands moving to gently grasp his cheeks, holding his face inches from yours.

He seemed alarmed by the shift, stopping all movement and staring into your eyes.

In that moment, with him on top of you, looking at you with such care, such caution, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world and he’d do anything you asked in an instant, you realized you needed to tell him. If you kept it in any longer you’d burst.

He knew what you were going to say the moment before you said it.

“I love you.”

The two of you held eye contact for a moment, the only sound in the room your breath. Then, his expression softened and he opened his mouth to speak.

But before he could say anything, there was a loud THWACK and he fell forward onto you, unconscious. Behind him, standing above you, was a dark figure holding a blunt object.

Terror rushed through you, chilling the marrow in your bones. But before you could so much as scream, the figure lifted the object and brought it down on your head, hard.

Everything went dark.

~

notes: I am so sorry.

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @lesbian-emilyprentiss @andiebeaword @itsmoony @cielo1984 @baby-i-am-fireproof @mendesminimuffin @fukyouthink @addie5264 @gretaamyk @sercyan @expressiodeppresio @matthewreid

[tanzmitmirsblog]

Life is a Pandora's box and the hope within Prometheus

  Is mythology merely a collection of fascinating legends, or does it have a purpose? Mythology is concerned with both the past and the present. It illuminates the path. Mythology explains how emotion may take control of a person. We can clearly perceive that the greatest enemies of humanity are passion, ambition, hatred, selfishness, and greed. A myth is an image with which we try to make sense of the world,” says Alan Watts. Beyond your imagination, these stories tell us that "the limits of life are beyond what you only know, learn from your past and guide your future." I can hear this whisper. "Myth and nature are the two great garments of the world; nature is the vibrant green garment that covers the planet, and myth is the multidimensional, multi-coloured fabric that constantly covers human culture."(Michael Meade) We can understand the meaningful expression of these words of Michael Meade more easily by expanding our knowledge pool. Nature is a gift given to the world, and man is the other gift that completes the world. He can contain every colour in his soul and turn the world into a work of art, or he can object to other colours and choose only black and go towards the depths of darkness. I would like to tell you about mythological stories that have inspired me. Mythology's brightest stars are Pandora's box and the Prometheus legend.     According to a legend, Zeus created Pandora, the first woman on Earth, as a punishment for humanity. This punishment for humanity was devastating and unkind like the great flood of Noah. When humanity forgot about its creators or ignored the gods, the gods were reminding themselves of such punishments. Zeus gave Pandora a box that she should never have opened. This box symbolized the personality of women. There was so much evil in the box, such as malice, hatred, anger, murder, and greed. If the box was opened, these evils would spread to the earth, and Pandora's curiosity prevailed and she opened the box. All evil has spread and swept the world. The great disaster was now within humanity. The box, which Zeus knowingly gave to a woman's curiosity in this story, was a great scourge for humanity. Besides all these evils in the box, there was only one good thing for humanity and that was hope. Mankind has never abandoned hope, and hope has been his only consolation. Instead of blaming Pandora, who opened the box, one should consider Zeus, who sent her for this purpose. For poor Pandora to succumb to her curiosity was the most unlikely thing that could happen to a mortal, but Zeus, who knew this, also knew what would destroy the human race, if you ask me, Zeus survived these evils and his jealousy became his most dangerous weapon. In this regard, Zeus, who continued this ugly reign like Cronus, who ate his sons so that his father would not heir to the throne and his power would not decrease, always succumbed to his feelings. Pandora's curiosity was an invisible mistake compared to what Zeus had done. "Hope? Hope is the last evil!" says Nietzsche. The fact that the last thing humanity clings to is hope, which actually informs them that it is the greatest evil done to them, but without hope, there would be no real reason for people to hold on. Of course, the thing that hurts the most is the disappointment caused by the lack of hope, but no matter how tired one gets, it is also important to be able to fight with the last hope left in one's hands and rely on that hope. Therefore hope, which Zeus saw as a huge bad power, was actually a light for humanity.      It would not be enough just to blame Pandora. For Zeus, his main target was Prometheus. Prometheus had been punished many years ago, by setting fire to humanity and making it higher than God. Zeus tied Prometheus to the hard rock at the foot of the Caucasus Mountains by force and violence with unshakable and unbreakable chains. Prometheus had helped Zeus in the battle with the titans, and this favour was quickly forgotten. Zeus' vengeance was enough to make him forget this great goodness. Zeus had insolence, arrogance, egocentric coarseness of human nature. He could have killed Prometheus instead of chaining him, but Zeus couldn't because he had an interest. There was a prophecy told to him. One day a boy would be born and take his throne from him. and only Prometheus knew who the boy's mother was. Zeus sent Hermes to find out this secret, but Prometheus resisted and did not tell the secret, despite all the torture, albeit in chains. showed that there can be a solution if there is willpower. At that moment, the god of gods left Zeus helpless. Prometheus was released generations later. Chiron was ready to die for Prometheus. Hercules slew the eagle and unchained Prometheus from the rock. We realize that even the enmity does not last forever when Zeus says that now this punishment may be enough and will set him free. Prometheus is the strongest character in this story, he is the symbol of justice and he represents never surrender, no matter how much pressure, no matter how to torture. While Prometheus was being held captive in chains, a beautiful and mysterious girl would visit him. This girl's name was IO. They would chat with Prometheus and talk about Zeus. Zeus falls in love with this girl and this love does not escape Hera's eyes. Suspecting Zeus, Hera assigns her servant Argus, who has 100 eyes, to keep him comfortable and control him. Knowing that his lies are useless, Zeus is watched by Argus even while he sleeps. Desperate Zeus turns her into a poor ugly starving animal to get close to her love. However, Argus still does not stop watching him. Finally, Zeus commissions his son Hermes, the messenger of the gods, to kill Argus. Hermes played sweetly upon a pipe of reeds. Argus was pleased at the sound and called to the musician to come nearer. Hermes made some of the hundred eyes sleepy, but some were always awake. Finally, Hermes killed him. If you believe that poor IO has been saved, you are mistaken about Hera's rage and envy. Hera sent a gad-fly to plague her, which stung her to madness. When IO told this to Prometheus, he tried to comfort her. She ran along the seas and lands. This part of the sea was called Bosporus. As she reached the Nile, Zeus would restore her to her earlier human form. She would bear a son called Epophus. IO’s descendant would be Hercules who was the one of the greatest heroes. Prometheus helped them. Hercules helped Prometheus at the same time, he gave Prometheus’ freedom. The good are rewarded. We realize that the evil characters aren't always the heroes, and that the good guys will return one day.     Gods and goddesses are another shape of humanity of current. They used their power to destroy somethings like big cities. Even today power wars have not finished. Someone who feels powerful wants to be mightier. Human or gods is trying to force somebody to abdicate. We are aware that a desire is worth more than a drop of blood. We see that neither hostility nor friendship last forever. Zeus who was the god of gods and Prometheus who was the saviour of man were the best friends, but Prometheus’ giving fire to humanity as a gift and knowing a prophecy about Zeus turned this friendship into enmity. At the present time, good friendships can become enmity for any reason. In past, Zeus left Prometheus in despair. Jealousy, the main concept that never changes in both present and past, played a role in almost every event. Jealousy creates slyness as a snake and cunning as a wolf. Today, every person who is jealous definitely brings evil things whatever happens. We have learned from Hera how jealousy is dangerous when it is combined with power. She used her power whenever Zeus fell in love with another woman. Beautiful Psyche’s sisters have showed that jealousy is disease and it spreads as fast as fire. They came her home and jealousy wrapped them like a fire. When Pandora opened the box, so many evil things showed up, but at the same time hope approved itself. People never abandon to hope. We are still aware that everything which is bad has a solution and we can defeat anything if there is hope. Hope is really the cure for everything. Just believing is enough to overcome most things. The eyes in the hearts should always remain open. Living as if a person would never die gives rise to endless desires. Today, many people have these desires; however, you can restrain your desire and everything is in your hands. You can abuse this opportunity and you can also use to good things. If a person is defeated by her or his anger and ambition, this short life swallows her or him. Mythology enables us to see what the truth or wrong is, the truth or evil is, and deceptions or deaths are. It helps us to know people who are captured all emotions. It shows that history always repeats and cruelty does not change in both past and present. Fate always overcomes everything. This never change in past or present. History leads to understand what truth is and what wrong is. This bridge always provides to understand the relationship between powerful and powerless. We are actor in own stage. We should play the best play for life. We should stay alive. It does not matter how it will be because we are not permanent in this life.

-Tanzmitmirsblog