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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization

Title: Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: G Words: 6078

A/N: This takes place chronologically between chapters 28 and 29.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You went on a date.

You realized that you were in love with Hotch, and your first instinct was to go on a date with someone else.

In all respects, it was a relatively good decision. Hotch was your boss and despite the close relationship you enjoyed with him, any romantic relationship between the two of you was impossible.

Miles Burton was a Senior White House Advisor whom you'd run into during your social obligations as a member of the Women in Service organization who had persistently flirted with you at the Griffiths fundraiser and had made it a point to say hello at the following two events you'd both been in attendance for.

Once you'd come to the fairly life-ruining conclusion that you were head-over-heels in love with Aaron Hotchner, you made sure to actually flirt back the next time you saw Miles Burton. That was how you found yourself on the date that had you questioning ever having harbored an attraction to men - dinner and drinks accompanied by a rendition of the 101 Life Accomplishments of Miles T. Burton.

This was hell.

After dinner, Miles had insisted on driving you home, and you cursed yourself for having taken a cab to dinner in order to avoid the lack of parking options in downtown. For some reason, he'd gotten it into his head that paying for dinner entitled him to having your mouth wrapped around his cock while he was parked in the street overlooking your house. You'd extracted yourself from the situation with as much contained outrage and dignity as you could muster, and having closed the front door, you find yourself leaning against it with only one thought in your head – Aaron Hotchner would never.

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

"Rough night?"

You look over at Derek as he peers at you over his coffee mug, his eyes filling with amusement, no doubt having already taken in your slightly puffy face and the extra large cup of coffee you're carrying. After Miles had driven away - you'd watched from your window just in case - you'd needed a drink, which had turned into two drinks and ultimately falling asleep on the couch. You'd woken up late and having rushed out of the house - sans makeup - had arrived at work just in time. Hotch may no longer be upset at you being five minutes late, but he's still entirely stringent about punctuality and you hate to disappoint him.

"Bad date," you respond, dropping into your chair and whipping out the little compact and concealer from your bag so that no one else sees you looking like this.

Emily perks up at that, walking over to perch herself on your desk, the beginnings of a grin already forming on her face. "You finally went out with Burton?"

You look up at her, slightly shaking your head in disapproval at her glee. She'd warned you against him. Something about bad vibes, but since it hadn't been anything concrete, you'd impulsively gone against it. You should've known better. Emily's gut, when it came to men, was impeccably accurate.

Pursing your lips, you make sure your face no longer bears the telltale marks of having fallen asleep, drunk on your couch, before you look up at her and Derek once more. "He tried to Lewinsky me," you tell them ruefully, a scowl making its way onto your face as Emily unsuccessfully stifles a snort.

Derek's eyebrows rise in question. "It's fine, I'm okay," you assure him, before looking back at Emily. "You were right. He's an arrogant creep."

"I'm sorry," she tells you, scooching up further onto your desk and swiping up your coffee before you could stop her. "Everyday I continue to be attracted to men feels like a waste."

"Tell me about it," you mutter, careful to not allow your eyes to slip up to the landing where his office was.

"Oh come on, we're not all bad."

Both you and Emily turn to Derek with looks that say exactly what you think about that particular statement.

"Geez, tough crowd." He raises his hands in surrender, turning away from you both and back to his screen, no doubt to message Pen and fill her in on everything.

"I'd make a good lesbian."

You look up at Emily, who has a contemplative look on her face as she continues to take sips of your coffee. Your coffee. Your hot, perfectly sweetened and foamy latte.

"You would," you agree with her, reaching out for the cup, which she thankfully hands to you, before her eyes flit up to the landing. You turn and follow her gaze, eyes coming to rest on Hotch.

He's wearing the navy blue suit with the nice red patterned Gucci tie that you'd helped Jack pick out for him on Father's day. He has a folder on his hand and his brow is already furrowed, straining under the weight of the world far too early in the morning. His eyes move from the papers in his hand to all of you looking up at him, muscles tensed and breath held tight.

"Briefing. Now."

It takes only two words from him to get you all scrambling from your desks and rushing upstairs, his tone telling you everything you needed to know.

It was going to be a bad one.

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

Five girls missing, three bodies found. Based on the pattern, it's already a foregone conclusion that the fourth girl was also dead. Not that you'd tell her parents that. Not until there was a body. All of your efforts were concentrated on girl number five.

You've felt the eyes of the entire team on you ever since the third body was found and Caroline Geller, lucky contestant number five, had been taken from the parking lot of a grocery store after work. All five girls were around the same age, pretty, low-risk, and had no connection to the unsub that you'd been able to work out.

You look up from the notes you'd taken while talking to Caroline's friends from work to see Hotch looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he's quick to look away, turning back towards the screen in front of him. You know why they're all concerned. While all of the girls are roughly the same age as you, Caroline Geller looked like you. Same hair color, similar features, comparable build – at first glance one might mistake her for you.

She taught ballet at the local dance school, volunteered at the soup kitchen every week, and had recently gotten engaged to her fiancé, a beautiful and heartbroken man who had planted himself on a bench outside the precinct and refused to leave his post.

You'd been at their home, combed through their life, seen the wedding invitation pinned to the refrigerator, held her pointe shoes in your hands as you looked around at everything left behind.

Your eyes stay fixed on Hotch's back as he continues to assess the screen of suspects and look at the evidence board, as though willing something to fall into place. He seems more affected by this case, this girl's disappearance, more than any other in recent memory. There's this childish, naïve part of you that's hoping against hope that it has something to do with you. Because she reminds him of you. More likely, it's the fact that he's had to walk past her fiancé, every time he's left the precinct. Hotch had been the one to speak with him, and the poor man had broken down into tears right in front of his eyes. It was enough to affect even the coldest of hearts and Hotch hardly fit the bill of a cold-hearted man, despite any misconceptions made based on his reticent exterior. Aaron Hotchner was one of the kindest and most sincere people you've ever met – devout father, responsible team leader. His very aura commanded the sort of respect reserved for those men, the kind of men everyone looked up to and knew they'd never be.

Somehow, he's permeated your entire life without you realizing it. Ever since the two of you had made up, it felt like things were back to normal, even more than before he'd left. You had dinner with them as often as possible. Both him and Jack slept over at least once a week when there wasn't a case going on. The sight of Hotch in pajamas, disappearing into your guest bedroom was becoming a familiar one. It's beyond normal coworkers, beyond a normal friendship – you can finally admit that to yourself.

How it had happened though - how the two of you had allowed it to happen - still remained a mystery. It had been innocuous enough in the beginning. Accompanying Jack and Hotch to the Zoo or the Smithsonian. Relieving Jess when Hotch couldn't get away and she had to go home to her own family. Keeping him company late nights at the office because you hated seeing him be the last one there.

You can feel a lump rise in your throat as your eyes stay on his frame, watching as he points out an additional factor for Reid to consider in his geographic profile. You didn't deserve him. You didn't deserve someone like him, even if he were to give you the time of day.

You've already thought through how it would go if you were to tell him. Blocked out what you'd say and how'd respond. The initial shock of your revelation would catch him off-guard. He'd falter ever so slightly. It would be quickly followed by a professional and kindhearted rejection. You were his subordinate. You were too young. He's sorry if he did or said anything that might have led you on. Of course, he understands if you need some time and space to gather yourself and make your peace with the matter. Of course you'd still see Jack, he'd never deny you his son again. And he wouldn't. He'd stay true to his word.

But you'd never be the same again. You'd never be able to look at him again and feel anything but the sting of that rejection. The confirmation – you weren't good enough. It didn't matter that you'd changed everything. It didn't matter that you'd tried and tried to atone. You weren't good enough. You never would be. Not for that. Not for him. Slowly, you'd start to withdraw. You wouldn't be able to help yourself. It would hurt too much, just being near him. Without meaning to, you'd lose him.

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

Samuel Nolen, age 45, a landscaper who'd worked jobs around each of the women's workplaces in the weeks leading up to their disappearance. He'd been the only common link Garcia had been able to pinpoint and he fit the profile exactly. Older white male, non-threatening demeanor, rotating job that gave him the freedom to watch his victims uninterrupted. Grew up with a single father, mother left the family when he was nine years old and was never heard from again. Garcia had found out that she'd moved out to Vegas and had a relatively successful career as a cabaret dancer.

He was sat in the interrogation room with both Rossi and Reid talking to him while the rest of you watched from the other side. There was something almost gentle about how he held himself, how he shied away from Rossi and leaned more towards Reid, whom he perceived as non-threatening. The guess was that he'd lured in his victims under the guise of needing help, and based on the man in front of you, you could see how some women might fall for it. He seemed nice. If there's one thing this job has taught you, it's that men don't ask for help from women. If a man is asking you for help, run.

Neither Rossi nor Reid were having much success with him. You could all see the twitch in his fingers as they curled around something imaginary. All of the victims had died via strangulation. The hope was that you'd captured him before he'd managed to get back to Caroline and subject her to the same fate.

Derek and JJ had been the ones to pick him up, and as Derek had marched him past you, through the precinct, Samuel's eyes had caught yours and they'd lingered, sending a chill racing down your spine. He might be able to fake it long enough to lure those women to their deaths, but there was no hiding that look in his eyes. The look of a predator.

"I want to talk to the female agent. I'll only talk to her."

It was the first thing he'd said since the interrogation had started half an hour ago. You feel yourself tense, the eyes of the rest of the team on you immediately. None of you needed to ask which agent. From the corner of your eye you look at Hotch beside you. He isn't looking at you, still glaring at the unsub through the mirror, but you can see that his jaw is set tightly.

When Rossi and Reid exit, Rossi immediately looks to you before his eyes go over you and to Hotch. You don't have to turn to see that they're engaged in a wordless debate about the right next move.

You can't help but think of that lovely empty house. The despondent man still seated outside. Those satin shoes that had just been broken in. They deserved to be worn.

"Hotch," you turn to face him, making up your mind as you do. You're going in. You're going to get answers.

He's already looking at you and you can tell that he doesn't like it at all. His forehead is already wrinkled and you can literally see the dissent on his mouth. He's incredibly protective of the team and everyone knows that you're being asked for because you look most like the victim. His ritual has been interrupted and he's going to be eager to resume it. With you as proxy.

"I have to go in," you tell him, before he can say anything to dissuade you from the notion. There was no point in waiting. Every second you waited, your chances of finding Caroline worsened.

His eyes bore into you, silently speaking his every concern into existence. You didn't have to do this, there was always another way. You look so much like her. You look too much like her. If you go in there, he won't see you. He'll see her.

It is a tense minute as you and Hotch look at one another. He's giving you the chance to back out despite knowing that's the last thing you'd do. Finally, a nod comes from him.

"We still have the personal effects that were found in her car?" You're already walking out to the main office as you direct your question to Emily, who is quick to follow you. She guides you to a box of items, among which there's some pieces of clothing. Grabbing the box, you go back to the office overlooking the interrogation room. If he was going to think you were Caroline, then you'd play into it.

Quickly, you shuffle through the clothing in front of you, selecting a well-worn seeming crewneck with her alma mater on it. Slipping your blazer off, you pull the sweater over your head, adjusting so it hung off of you in a manner reminiscent of how Caroline wore it in the photos you'd seen. You shuck off your heels as well, finding a pair of low flats in the box, which you don instead.

Behind you, you can feel the eyes of the team on you as you slowly transform yourself. For the final touch, you take your hair out of your usually prim updo and let it down. Your hair was a little bit longer than Caroline's, but, as you part it down the left side just as she did, you figure it was close enough.

Turning finally to face the unsub, you take your first breath as Caroline Geller.

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

Aaron watches, fists bunched tightly together, thumb itching to move, to do something that would accomplish something larger simply watching and waiting.

They all knew what you were doing - playing up the similarities between yourself and the victim to draw out whatever it was about these women that played to the unsub's compulsions. Prey on his weaknesses just as he'd preyed on them. It was a good tactic – one he could feel forming in your head as you'd searched through the evidence box in search of props for your scene.

You're good in the field, there's no doubt about it. But here, in the interrogation room, that's where you really shine. It was one of the hardest taught skills and it was the one that you had outperformed in beyond imagination from the very start. Your methods unpredictable and out of the box, but highly effective. Out of them all, you were always the best at getting inside the heads of the unsubs and finding that one little thing that made them break.

He's seen it before countless times now, been witness to each spoken word, well placed emphasis, timely pause. The interrogation room was a stage and you were always the star.

It had been the topic of some conversation between himself and Rossi – how you'd managed to convince some of the toughest unsubs to crack under the pressure of your presence. Aaron, personally, chalked it up to your childhood and upbringing. When your entire life was a performance, you know how to play your role.

Now, as he watches you, he sees how you've managed to mimic the mannerisms of Caroline Geller from the home videos you'd seen of her – the slight tilt of the head, the fiddling with the ends of your hair. Your voice has shifted as well, a slightly higher and happier pitch, more like what one might expect of a dance teacher with students in primary school. You've done your homework on this one, that one is easily clear. However, it's the slight pause you have as the Unsub addresses you as Caroline, the nearly imperceptible tension in your shoulders as the Unsub mocks Caroline's desolate fiancé whom Aaron hadn't the heart to look at. This one had gotten to you, and you wouldn't be able to deny it. Not to him.

At long last, you get what you're searching for. The docks by the east river.

The answer came at a price – twenty five long minutes with just you and the Unsub as he poked and prodded at your psyche just as you did to him.

The confirmation from Garcia, of a heat signature at the given location, comes within the minute and Aaron is quick to rap his knuckles against the glass, signaling your curtain call.

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

You can't save them all. That's the one lesson every new agent learns at their own pace.

You can't save them all.

She'd suffocated before you could get to her. You'd been too late.

JJ hadn't let you see Caroline's body, dragging you back and away from the dock containers when Derek had emerged with a somber face, slowly shaking his head.

Your gun feels heavy in your hand, and it is only out of sheer rote habit that you manage to disarm and reholster the weapon. JJ stands with you as the flurry of people begin to process the scene, lit only by the red and blue flashing lights of the police cars.

You'd failed. You'd been too slow to extract the location, too slow to get there. You'd been too damn slow.

You've lost victims before. Everyone has. But you lived in this girl. You'd worn her clothes, her shoes, taken her name. You'd walked like her, changed your voice to mimic hers. It was as though, by pretending to be her, you'd taken in a part of her that now yearned to reunite with the rest of its whole, but it wasn't able to. So now a piece of Caroline Geller rattled inside of you, sobbing and crying out for the rest of itself.

Hotch and Emily finally emerge and you follow JJ to join them as Hotch assigns everyone their roles. One of the policemen interjects and informs him that Caroline's fiancé had insisted on coming along and was now waiting with a deputy by the barricades. You see Hotch nod, his eyes briefly moving towards the direction of the barricade, before refocusing on the team and instructing Reid to assist with the evidence logging.

As everyone starts to disperse, you can feel a lead ball drop into the pit of your stomach, knowing that Hotch now had the task of informing the fiancé that Caroline Geller was dead.

"Hotch," you begin, his name coming out full and heavy, sitting in your mouth like warm air.

He halts at your voice, turning back towards you. He'd already given you your assignment, so he has to be wondering what you could possibly have to say to him.

You look up at him. It's just you, him, and Emily left now, as she waits for you to help her with processing paperwork on the unsub that Hotch had tasked you both with. "I – ," you falter as you meet his eyes, and you can barely see a hint of him behind them. He'd already donned his mask to go face the fiancé.

"I'm sorry," you manage quickly, jaw tight and heart clenching at the awfulness of the job that he now has to do. The job he always has to do.

The only acknowledgement you receive that he had even heard what you said over the din of the police and ambulance sirens, was the barest of wrinkling to his forehead. The ever so slight slippage of the mask during which you thought you might get to catch a glimpse of him, but he catches it far too quickly and keeps it in place. As if it never happened. Not even nodding, he turns away and walks towards the barricade.

It's a miserable few hours for Emily afterwards, you're sure, as you monotonously follow her back to the police station and begin the task of coordinating with the local office to handle the case and subsequent prosecution.

Emily likes to talk while the two of you work together. Rarely ever do the two of you work without talking, however she seems to pick up on your mood fairly well and the two of you quietly go through all of the required processes.

"You know what your problem is?"

You look up at Emily, who had finally broken the silence, her sharp voice cutting through the small storage room that the two of you inhabited, gathering all of the files that would need to be sent off to the local office.

You swallow, bracing yourself for the worst. At your slight nod, she proceeds, her voice a calm fury like you'd never seen before. "Even after everything you've done, after everything you had to go through, you seem to harbor this delusion that you're not supposed to be here."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. Apologizing to Hotch. You think you don't belong here. That you aren't good enough. You think that girl dying today was your fault."

You scoff, shaking your head. "It was my fault," you retort, grabbing the box you'd just finished packing and making your way to the door before you're blocked by Emily, preventing your escape.

"No, it wasn't. The only person responsible for that girl's death is the guy who's going to rot in prison for the rest of his miserable, fucked up life."

You sigh, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other. "If I'd gotten – "

"You can't save everyone," she interrupts, barreling onwards. "We're going to try. We're going to try our best every single time. But we can't save everyone. None of us can. Not you, not me, not even Hotch. But that doesn't make it your fault."

Emily stares down at you, reaching out and grabbing the heavy box out of your hands and setting it down on the floor by your feet. You look away, up at the ceiling, tears pricking at your eyes, causing them to burn. Your chest feels tight and you take a shuddered breath. The lure of wanting to believe her was so very strong, struck against the waves of dissonance it posed in your head.

Emily softens her voice, reaching out towards you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she easily pulls you into her chest. "Hotch isn't blaming you. He doesn't think you have anything to be sorry for."

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

The plane ride back was a somber affair, everyone on the team off on their own. Spencer was reading a new book whose title had caught your interest, Rossi was tucked away in a corner with his eyes closed but you're not sure if he's actually asleep. Both Emily and JJ were sitting close together, quietly sharing a bag of Cheetos while JJ worked on her presentation to Henry's class for Career Day and Emily bided the time alternating between reading the trashy romance she'd found left behind in her hotel room and staring out the window. Derek sat across from you with his headphones on, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. Across the way, you can see Hotch diligently working on his report for the case, the only sound emanating from his faint taps against the keyboard.

Emily's words still play in your head, now competing with that churning voice that you'd had in your head for the past few weeks – you would never be good enough for the likes of Aaron Hotchner. Her words were starting to put some minute cracks in the foundation of that particular statement, and you had no idea what to make of that.

You hear the tapping of the keyboard stop momentarily and watch as Hotch turns up to look at you, your eyes meeting for a long second, before he breaks his gaze, returning back to the screen in front of him. From your seat, you can barely make out a slight crinkling of his forehead as his hands hover above the keyboard, as though faltering in typing out his next words. You have to guess that he's arrived at the part of his statement around the interrogation. You turn away, following Emily's lead and staring out your own window, while unbeknownst to you, his eyes can't help but return to you countless times more.

It felt as though you'd thought of very little besides Hotch, since that day that your mother had visited. She'd left in the wake of one of the few times you'd seen him lose his cool with someone, and having it be done on your behalf, in your defense, had somehow unveiled this entirely ridiculous truth that you'd tried in vain to deny.

You were in love with Aaron Hotchner.

You had no idea what to do with that.

Dating other people hadn't worked out so well.

Trying to simply get over it had been an exercise in vain.

You've run miles in your own head, trying to make sense of it. The question begged itself – why Aaron Hotchner? If you merely wanted a husband and kids, you've no doubt you could have that with anyone you got along with well enough.

Your mind had briefly flitted back to that final date you'd had with Cedric Kensington. It had been highly promising, you'd finally felt it heading in a definite direction and you could see it. You could see yourself being with Cedric, marrying him, having children with him if you were so inclined. Had you not gotten the call from Garcia, informing you that Foyet was back on the grid, who knows what could have happened. Maybe you could've had that with Cedric. Having that perfect life with someone else was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

You'd thought of John. How it had never been the right time when it came to the two of you. Then finally, when you could conceive being something real with him, you'd faltered. You couldn't go through with it. It hadn't been the right time to choose him. It hadn’t been the right time to choose anyone but yourself.

It had taken you some time but you think you've finally come to the right conclusion of why it was Hotch and no one else – the possibility of losing him was terrifying. Even when the two of you had been on the outs, you hadn't been able to leave, staying anchored to him despite being furious with him. Seeing him had been torture. Not seeing him had been so much worse, and you couldn't bring yourself to endure that again.

Given the absolute fact of the matter – you being in love with Hotch - there were really only two paths forward that you could see. Ignore it and hope it goes away, or tell him and pray you didn't lose him in the process.

The Pro/Con list to that second option had begun, unbidden, the week prior. Your mind going rogue and dreaming up ridiculous and absurd scenarios of you confessing your truth to him.

Pro: You're absolutely, unshakably, madly in love with him.

Con: There's a fairly good chance that he does not and will never reciprocate those feelings.

Pro: Aaron Hotchner was loyal to you. You had always felt he was, but your conversation a few weeks back had cemented that. He would do anything to help you, no matter what.

Con: He's twelve years older than you and has a kid.

Pro: You love his kid.

Con: Between the two of you, your past trauma could be its own wing in the Library of Congress.

Pro: You're both good at getting the other person to talk.

Con: You work together and workplace romances are frowned upon. He was your supervisor, and dating him would no doubt lead to rumors and malicious gossip, which would follow you the rest of your career at the Bureau. It could tarnish you entirely and it could also hurt him.

Con: You would not be alright if the two of you didn't work out. You know that you weren't even together, but the idea of ending things with Hotch, after knowing what it was to have him – that would break you entirely.

Con: He was going to say no, so it was all a moot point.

Towards the end, you'd run out of items for the Pros to balance out each Con, and as of now, the Cons were definitely in the lead.

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

The two of you are once again the last two people in the office. Emily had been the last to leave, leaving her book from the plane on your desk, having already put sticky note bookmarks in all the right spots. She'd winked as she left, encouraging you to skip the rest of the book and skip straight to the good stuff. You had to smile at her attempts to cheer you up. Some friends bought you a drink. Emily Prentiss curated sex scenes that she thought you'd enjoy reading.

You glance up and see that Hotch's door is shut, the orange blush emanating through the glass windows, alluding to the fact that he'd given up on using the overhead lights. They were too bright for him and gave him headaches, so despite the strain on his eyes, he preferred to read by the glow of his desk lamp. With Jack away at sleepaway camp for Cub Scouts for the week, he's unlikely to leave early.

You grab your finished report and head up the stairs to his door, stopping and knocking before hearing his permission to enter. As you open the door, your eyes go immediately to his desk, however he's not seated behind it. Instead, you're greeted by a most unfamiliar sight.

Aaron Hotchner is seated on the brown leather couch in his office, a glass of amber liquid in his hands. You don't think you've ever seen Hotch not working in his office. Sure, he'll take a break here and there when you interrupt, but the image of him outright sitting on the couch, not a report in sight, was entirely foreign to you.

It feels as though you're intruding. Like you’ve stumbled upon something entirely private, because Hotch doesn’t strike you as the kind of guy that makes a habit out of drinking in his office by himself.

You could imagine this was something he did with Rossi on occasion, the two of them sharing a drink after a rough case or catching up and reminiscing about the so-called good old days, before the team had a plane on call.

"You can set that on the desk," he tells you, his voice deeper, made warm by the liquor. He doesn't look up from his glass, eyes fixed on something in the far off distance.

Unsure how to react to the sight in front of you, you quickly make your way across his office, setting your file on top of the already tall stack at the edge of his desk.

Turning around, you quickly walk back towards the door, eager to not bother him any longer than absolutely necessary. When you get to the door, you hesitate, turning back to face him. Before you can stop yourself, you can feel the words tumbling out of you. "Hotch, are you alright?"

He looks up in your direction, his expression entirely unreadable. He nods slowly, and you can see a deep sigh work its way through him, before he finally meets your eyes.

"It was a rough case. Telling the families isn't something I'll ever get used to, I think."

You nod sympathetically. It wasn't fair that it always fell on him.

"I'll be fine, though. Just need to be alone after some of them."

You nod again, not trusting yourself to say much. As you turn to leave, taking his words as your cue, he speaks again.

"You can stay."

You turn back, your head tilting in some confusion as you meet his eyes once more. He looks at you for a second longer, before reaching over to the side table and grabbing a second glass. He pours from the bottle of good scotch that Rossi had given him last Christmas while you watch him.

Proffering the glass in your direction, he beckons you forward. "You're easy to be alone with."

Somehow, in a slight daze, you manage to walk back towards the couch, reaching out and grasping the heavy crystal glass in your hand. He motions for you to join him and you sink into your usual spot, tucking your legs underneath yourself.

His eyes stay on you as you settle in and take a sip of the scotch, feeling it burn your lips, the tip of your tongue, before blooming into a subtle smoky sweetness in your mouth, settling into your stomach like dying embers.

"Are you alright?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You try not to squirm under his inspecting gaze, unable to offer much beyond a shrug. "I will be."

It's quiet for a moment as he continues to look at you and you distract yourself with a stray thread in the cushion stitching.

You hear him clear his throat, shifting slightly on the couch so that his leg bends at the knee as he turns his body to face you, arm stretched out on the back of the couch, fingers grazing the top of your shoulder. "You did everything you could."

You feel that heavy tug in your stomach, unable to look at him, knowing that your face would betray you entirely.

He says your name, soft on his lips, gentle with every part of you. He waits until you look up at him, meeting his brown eyes that held the warmth of an everlasting hearth.

"You did."

You nod slowly, because who were you to disagree with him. Because if Aaron Hotchner said you did everything you could, then maybe it was true.

Not much more is said that night, as the two of you sit side by side.

Pro: You could be alone with Aaron Hotchner.

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ninjabelle · 3 years

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Berserk meta: future hill of swords type scenes, predictions and wishes.

Ok so as all my great berserk meta starts this is a direct reply to @bthump 's reply to me being a poorly concealed anon in this post.

I like to think in rules of 3 when it comes to Great Moments in Media so if we take hill of swords as the first major griffguts scene post eclipse then there will be another 2 at least before the end of the manga.

I agree with bthump that if they meet a second time Guts would absolutely get lost in his rage and despair over Griffith, not forgetting his urge to kill so much as forcing it to consume him so he's able to attack efficiently. In true Guts fashion molding his emotions and feelings in what they should be instead of what they are. In an ideal version of the story Griff accepts this with a sad sense of finality because he too is a master of pretending over acknowledging. BUT then just as they're really going at it an outside threat shows up, a player 3 if you will and Guts is so comsumed by the beast he sees nothing but Griffith and completely misses player 3 going for his throat so Griff- as Femto with his superhuman reflexes and world-bendy-magic bs entirely on instinct places himself right between Guts and the threat, getting impaled or at least badly wounded in the process. I mean, he's Femto so he won't die but there's BLOOD so Guts, shocked immediately out of dark mode stops fighting, drops his sword and goes to Griff's side before he even registers he's doing it.

Now something like this accomplishes 2 things: one, Guts sees Griffith isn't as free as he claims to be and does not actually want him to die and two, Griff sees the naked concern in Guts' eyes mirroring the hundreds of ways Guts had always looked at him and the penny just drops, that maybe he was wrong about Guts' resentment of him all along.

Of course this is still Berserk so they won't be given an opportunity to discuss this because with both of them distracted by their internal revelations player 3 goes ham and they beautifully team up like old times to defeat it. THIS even more than them realising the others feelings is something I neeeeeed for a future griffguts scene. Them fighting together just one more time. Body instincts overriding all the emotional responses, them back to back like before with everything that's happened between them not forgotten but just- put aside for a brief moment to defeat a common enemy or whatever.

I just want to see their internal monologues as they're depending on the other again out of necessity complete with the acknowledgment that both of them have MISSED THIS, no matter how much they wish they didn't.

As for the 3rd time they should meet, I gotta say that in my eyes that's also the entire climax of the story, the very ending so it'll be their last time together.

I love how bthump sees them falling together to their deaths, with Griff coming willingly where he could have otherwise chosen to live if Guts died.

But that's not an option, not when Griffith knows that Guts accepted him and cares for him still. No matter the dream or achieving that utopia I firmly believe he couldn't bear Guts going somewhere he can't follow again, so dying together is the only option. Griffith wouldn't even hesitate.

My perfect ending is very similar, except tragically I always see Guts being unable to stop fighting. Be it because of fate, or the beast of darkness or just not knowing what to do with himself if he were to stop and chose a different path. This, in sad contrast to Griff who I think if he fully awknowledged his own heart would drop everything he was doing, deeming it meaningless now that he's finally being true to himself. But at the same time realizing that he and Guts can't turn back time or change the destiny they've set in motion, keeping up with Berserk's themes.

So they fight brutally and Guts can't stop but deep down wants Griffith to stop him and this goes on for a painful while until Griff drops out of his Femto skin and lets Guts run him through with his sword.

Guts realizes Griffith's not blocking his blow too late and suddenly they're face to face and Griff is cupping his face like when they first met, and Guts does the same to him with shaking fingers. Now you're mine, now I'm yours. They sink to the ground, Griff goes out smiling and Guts stays there holding him, choosing to succumb to his wounds.

ROLL CREDITS!

Honestly though any ending where they wilfully choose to die together works, I just enjoy the thought of Griffith getting a big hole through his chest as a visual metaphor, which is why in my ideal versions he's always getting stabbed. As for Guts, I want him to stop fighting and settle down and be happy, sure, but within the story that just doesn't work for me. It's in his bones, it's who he is. He would only ever stop in my book if there was no longer any reason to. Which always comes back to Griffith since he's his reason, no matter how you look at it. Guts fought for him before, for his attention, then for his vengeance and regret and finally because there's nothing else left for them and that's how it should end. And it's a sad end, but I very secretly hc that Griff as Femto can absolutely fuck with timelines so who knows, they might get a second chance to do it right at some point!

Anyway those are my thoughts, I have a million more, many with Casca getting sick of both their shit and just triggering a behelit to kill them and everyone else as collateral, but that strays off topic lol.

If anyone has more cool significant griffguts scene predictions or ideas let's hear em!

Ninja out~

#berserk meta #berserk #griffguts #griff literally having a big hole in his heart no matter what i come up with is just so funny to me #like i couldn't be subtle if my life depended on it lmaooo

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pinkkunt-imagines · 4 years

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How would guts, casca, and Griffith react to their s/o being a stripper???👉👈😣

Enjoy! A bit of NSFW, no under the cut.

Headcanons for how Guts, Casca, and Griffith with stripper s/o

♡Guts doesn’t like the idea of his woman being a stripper...at all. He’s the extremely jealous type, and doesn’t very much like the idea of his partner stripping for other men. It should be a sight for him, and him alone.

♡Early in the relationship, he hated that he had to worry about you coming home late at night, or someone hurting you. So, in pure Guts fashion, he would follow you to work, waiting outside for you for hours because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching you dance for other men, then following you back to your home. Somehow he’d managed to be in bed already “sleeping”.

♡One time, he did get curious, wanting to see what you looked like during a show. My god, was he mesmerized by her. He finally understood how she moved the way she did in bed. But just as he was becoming mesmerized, he noticed that so were the other men next to him! Unable to control his jealousy, Guts began knocking everyone out, prompting him to be banned from ever returning.

♡He’s not supportive about it after that, and has asked, no TOLD you to stop stripping on several occasions. Guts wants to take care of you, promising that he’ll get more money via mercenary commissions. You’ve been independent long enough to know that you can’t rely on men and their word, even if he is your partner. So you go against his wishes and continue working.

♡Once he found out you were still stripping, he became enraged. He went to the club, and yanked you so hard off the stage, making a big scene in front of everyone.

♡It’s likely Casca didn’t know you were a stripper going into the relationship, and when you did tell her, boy did she have a mouthful to say.

♡Also not one to support your stripper life. She is a very jealous person and believes that something as intimate as showing your body should be for her only.

♡She thinks that you having to strip for some money is a degrading job for a woman, and not only that, but it’s expected BECAUSE you are a woman.

♡She’s cried about it to you. Casca is already insecure about being a woman herself, so the fact that you’re dancing for men will make her likely believe that you’ll end up falling in love with dick again. Or if not that, be raped or get yourself killed from working in that kind of environment.

♡Casca also thinks that stripping is a stupid job, and wonders why you don’t get a “real” one. She even offers to help you find one, going from small villages to the next, trying to find something suitable for you. She doesn’t understand that dancing allows you to make some quick cash on the dash. And even if she does, it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t want you doing that.

♡With a job like this, arguments with Casca are frequent. Verbal arguments may lead to fistfights. She needs your constant validation that you love her and won’t ever be seduced by any of the men you are working for.

♡Now Griffith supports your lifestyle 100%. He doesn’t really care as to why you strip, but it must be because you’re trying to achieve some sort of goal. And he of all people respects that.

♡You two likely met at the club during one of Griffith’s depressing moments. When he gets that way he tends to visit strip clubs, looking for anything, or any woman to help ease his mind.

♡You were the only dancer that captured his interest, and he made sure to let you know by always paying for lap dances, private VIP rooms, and making sure to leave a lovely tip. At first it was easy for you to use him and take advantage of his morose situations.

♡ It also helped that he was very attractive and charismatic. So much so that you ALMOST believed him when he would butter you up. Always asking you how a woman of your standards ended up working in a place like this, while glazing his fingers between your cleavage.

♡Yes, Griffith is very touchy-feely and seducing in these situations. He’s so sly with it. And even when he’s not; blatantly fondling your breast and pinching your nipples lightly through the skimpy fabric, that burning desire you get when he touches you and gives you that look you can’t explain, is everything.

♡No, Griffith will not object to you stripping to achieve your goals. However, he does make it clear that you belong to him, regardless of the circumstances. And when he achieves his own goal, you won’t have to dance for estranged men no longer.

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fellfalcon · 4 years

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really big morality headcanon ! will place under read more. basically will embody a good chunk of how I write griffith and my own opinions regarding his morality. mostly as human griffith because femto is a whole other beast to cover.

initially, what we mostly get of grif is that he is someone who strongly desires a kingdom of his own. we know later down the line that he has always had this dream, ever since he grew up as a commoner, in the midst of brothels and dirty streets -- all he truly desired was something grand, grander than him and the tiny hole that he lived in. we don’t get much else besides that. all he really know is that he is extremely ambitious and he would do almost anything to get what he desires.

however, he is still human. he isn’t evil incarnate. while he does make some questionable choices, he isn’t intentionally malicious because he wants to rule the world and kill everybody in it. I believe that grif desires a kingdom simply because it is something that a mere commoner cannot attain. he wants to show everybody else that birth status does not matter, and that success is the only thing that truly matters in a ‘dog eat dog’ type of world. but again !! he is still human. what I find most fascinating is that casca says that grif was not born strong, so he forced himself to become strong.

in the scene with grif, after assassinating the queen, he asks guts if he thinks that he is cruel. he’s not asking for pity points from guts or anything. he’s asking because it’s a genuine question. and he asks the one person that he places a lot of faith in. but of course he knows that he is cruel. all he wants to know is the response of the other person besides him. grif is calculating and cunning. if someone attempts to wrong him, he does not shy away from hurting them as well. but because he desires to be someone perfect, he cannot allow himself to take blame for such malicious acts. so he acts guts to do it. it is intentionally cruel and selfish. but he recognizes this. realizes it. takes it to heart. but this is merely only one bit of grif’s complicated nature.

we also see some other moments of grif’s humanity. he sees that children have died for him. he likes to claim, however, that it is not his fault if they die -- simply because they have chosen this path for themselves. it’s not like he held a sword to their throat or forced them to follow alongside him. he is simply someone who is so charismatic and charming that people instantly wish to follow him. that his dream instantly becomes their dream. we can see this when he decides to give up his body, sexually, for someone who is born with tons of wealth. some people may see this as grif as being impatient, but I see it as both him being impatient and also not wanting to sacrifice more lives for his goal. if he can do so, he can strike a balance. sacrifice the lives of others, and sacrifice his body for his ambitions. at the very least, this can somewhat bury his feelings regarding his ambitions, and the pain that it brings.

and again, what I believe is a major source (but not the only one) of grif’s downfall is his guilt. his overwhelming guilt for the many bodies that have been trampled under his dream. again, casca says grif had to become strong. i’m sure initially, the idea of sacrificing people made him uncomfortable. he is someone who places a lot of pride in his ambitions, and someone who believes that a man should be able to achieve his dream on his own strengths. of course, grif is selfish and sometimes cruel. but there are times where he is quiet and perceptive. where he is fully aware of what terror his dreams may bring. because of all this, grif tries so hard to build up an image of himself. he tries to become a symbol rather than a person. a symbol of hope, of perfection, of strength -- even a symbol of marriage when he tries to get with charlotte. just a big old symbol so he doesn’t get himself emotionally attached. again, grif is not cruel to everyone. he is cruel to those he believes deserves it. he is actually quite kind and considerate towards his comrades.

his guilt is later again shown when he is rescued by the band. it was a very symbolic moment. grif fully understands that his body is no longer what it used to be. tormented to the point that he can no longer speak nor move on his own without struggle. he is no longer that charismatic man, the symbol of hope for his comrades -- he is merely a shadow of his former glory. he can no longer lead this people. he even sees that casca, someone who used to look up to him, appears to be more fond of guts. and guts, who used to rely so much on him, now relies more on casca. we can him letting go of everything when it comes to the flowers. he sits in the back and lets go of them, symbolizing that he has nothing else to hold onto anymore. that his dream is no longer attainable. because of this, he attempts suicide. but he can’t even fully kill himself because of his mutilated body. and he collapses, into a heap of self-destruction and remorse.

then he has the visions, all the godhand stuff -- and again he is reminded of his guilt. and of his selfishness. at this point, grif has nothing going for him (in his mind, at least). guts and casca have left him behind. the band of the hawk can no longer use him as a symbol. he is left extremely disabled. he has nothing left in this world except for his dream. and that is what he so desperately clings to. because he is so blind to the human connections he has made, so guilty over the bridge of bodies that has led him to his dream, so selfish that he does not consider the lives of others, so angry at the betrayal that he felt -- so many things all at once drove him to make his choice. to rid himself of any good, and to commit to the idea of evil. so that he can be reborn and continue on.

femto grif is more of the embodiment of evil. he lacks any source of good. he walks amongst the graveyard of his comrades as if it’s nothing. only feels something for casca and guts because of his connection to their child. whatever grif was before is gone now, replaced by this ‘being’ that has assumed grif’s previous form. in all sense of the word, he is truly evil by this point. he merges the physical realm and the astral realm to assert his dominance. so that he can create falconia, the safest place upon the earth. the only thing driving him now are his ambitions. and even then, his ambitions no longer feel human. it’s as if he’s an uncontrollable car going way too fast, the brakes broken. he can’t stop himself, doesn’t feel the urge to do so. the only thing that can stop him now is some outside force.

#.for the sinner knows all of hell (details)#WOW #biG HC #OWWO #basically #golden age grif is morally grey #femto is bad stinky man #I have a lot more notes + ideas about everything but I didn't want it to become too much #also pls dont think im like !!! forgiving him or anything #but ppl paint golden age grif to be as bad as post-eclipse grif and I simply do not agree #golden age grif is not a villain in my opinion #not fully #I dont think his intentions were evil. he was just...greedy #but not to the point of harming innocent ppl #tw suicide #tw violence #tw abuse #also would be nice if ppl read this but !! I understand if u dont sksksks

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medea10 · 5 years

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My Review of Angels of Death

#anime review #rachel gardner #isaac foster #daniel dickens #angels of death #satsuriku no tenshi

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infinitysdecendants76730 · 3 years

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Infinity’s Descendants- Becoming la Reine de la Mort

“New Understandings”

Malachi and Azazelle walked into the throne room where Lasko, Adonis and Griffith awaited them. “The Head of House sends you on a mission and you come back empty handed? Not much for a first impression, newborn” Griffith jeered. Malachi tossed Griffith a small blood stained burlap bag. “A true death dealer would have delivered the heads of the traitors to the feet of our Elder” Adonis taunted as Griffith emptied the contents of the bag into his hand. “I will keep that in mind in the future” replied Azazelle. “That is enough” said Lasko. He looked up at Griffith and beamed with delight when he saw the three severed tongues in Griffith’s hands. “The two of you are back much sooner than expected. Were either of you injured?” asked Lasko. “Nothing major for me, just a few cuts” replied Azazelle. “Et toi Malachi?” Lasko’s eyes shifted to the other death dealer. “I did sustain a notable injury sir but with a day or two of rest I will be good as new. I am feeling better by the minute” Malachi said nervously. “A couple of days? What sort of injury did you sustain from a mortal that requires multiple days of rest?” Griffith stifled a laugh. “It was not a mortal that gave me this injury sir. It was a vampire” Malachi lifted his shirt to present his wound. His eyes widened as he peeled the bandage back. The opening of his wound was nearly closed, the signs of possible infection were minimal as well. “That wound does not look as if it would require a few days rest. At maximum maybe a few hours before you are fully healed” Lasko said plainly. “It appears that I underestimated my body’s ability to heal itself and Azazelle’s ability to patch a wound. Perhaps in the moment it all seemed far worse than it was” Malachi shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Very well then, let us now discuss business. Please sit, share with us the knowledge you acquired” Lasko gestured to the stools sat in front of his throne. “Of course” said Malachi. He and Azazelle sat then he began sharing. “It was as we feared. The Duchessa had been provided with detailed design plans of each of the major houses. She had complete lists with the names of all of the hierarchy of both the Gallinari and the Brézé covens. Even the names of the immortal children Lord Lasko” The condescending looks on Griffith’s and Adonis’ faces change to those of utter concern borderline fear. “How did the traitors obtain such knowledge as this?!?” Lasko was outraged. “I do not know sire” replied Malachi. Azazelle stayed silent, observing the body languages everyone in the room. “Was there any further mention of the immortal children or anything else of importance?” Lasko’s question prompted Azazelle to speak on something that had her confused their entire journey back. “She did mention a farm?” “A farm, where?” Lasko appeared to be just as confused as Azazelle. “She did not know, she only said that she was told the preservation of our race depended on it. Forgive me Lasko. I mean Lord Lasko, I know I am new but what need to vampires have for farms when we can feed from the people as we please?” Lasko hesitated to answer her question. “I think that bit of Intel is of no importance us, perhaps something added in to throw us off or confuse us. This coven alone owns several farms that we use as a source of income and to blend in, if you will, with the mortals. I do not think you should concern yourself with this matter” Lasko did something imperceptible to Azazelle since she had not known him long enough but the other death dealers noticed it. Lasko had just lied.

“Azazelle you have done wonderfully. If you would excuse us I would like to have a word with Malachi” he stood, bowed respectfully and Azazelle did the same.

Lasko dismissed Adonis and Griffith as well and once he and Malachi were alone he spoke. “Tell me Malachi. How did she fare?” “She did very well my Lord. I understand why you selected her. I have never seen anything like her in all my years” replied Malachi. “Is there anything you feel I should know about. Something I might not have seen or been made aware of” he looked at Malachi as if he was longing for him to reveal Azazelle’s deepest darkest secret. Malachi thought back over their journey to the things he found odd or out of the ordinary. “Well there was one thing…” he started. “Yes?” Lasko drew nearer to Malachi. “What is it boy?” Initially Malachi was going to tell him about his suspicions of Azazelle’s blood but he thought that unwise and decided to disclose something he assumed Lasko would already be aware of. “She has a high tolerance for sunlight” Even still Malachi withheld information. Azazelle did not just have a ‘high tolerance’ she was fully able to walk in the sunlight like a mortal could. “C’est tout?” asked Lasko, he sounded rather disappointed. “Yes my lord that is all” said Malachi. “You may go now. Well done my boy”

I had left the throne room fairly satisfied with myself. I had successfully completed my first assignment as a shadow killer despite rather bad odds. All I wanted to do so desperately was share my triumphs but I couldn’t. I had no one. No parents. No Jean-Laurent. No Céleste. I made my way to my chambers, to my dismay as I was walking I was being spoke to, congratulated and even thanked by my fellow housemates for what Malachi and I had done in Italy. Oddly I found it refreshing yet awkward at the same time. Once in my chambers ai began to prepare myself for a nice hot bath. I was dying to rid myself of the stench of woods, blood and death.

The bathhouse overlooked the back of the estate. I walked to the window as my bath filled and watched as the soft breeze blew the tall grass here and there. The sun was starting to peak over the rolling hills. I shook my head in hopes of warding off the incoming thoughts of Jean-Laurent but my efforts were in vain. Thoughts of a date he and I went on in a meadow similar to this one began to flood my mind just as the bath finished filling. I happily welcomed the warmth of the water as I lowered myself in. Water always helped me clear my mind so I fully submerged myself in hopes that, in this moment, the water would do me the same favor. I was wrong, descending into this water was like descending into a dream…

Jean-Laurent ducked to evade an incoming strawberry. “Hey! I did not spend all day picking these out of my grandmother’s garden for you to waste them” he says as he grabs the basket of strawberries from my hand. “Aww I am sorry babe. Will you please forgive me?” I try to suppress my laughter. “You can have my forgiveness but it will come at a hefty price” he warns. I sit up straight and fix my dress to mirror my love’s seriousness. “State your price Monsieur” A breeze comes through and he smooths his hair out of his face. He looks so handsome and carefree out here away from the city. “For my forgiveness you must first sit here” he pats his lap with his hands. “Careful monsieur, one might think that you were trying to take advantage of a young women with a request such as this with no one around” my tone the same as his in his warning to me. “Nonsense. A gentleman would never do such a thing” he replies tapping his lap again. “Very well then. I shall trust you for now” Since I am in a dress I sit sideways on his lap as any respectable lady would and he wraps his arms around me. “Secondly, I require 4 kisses” he smiles. “A tough job but I think I can manage” I kiss his left cheek “One” I whisper. Then his forehead “two” I continue. “Three” I softly kiss his right cheek. Before the fourth kiss his eyes meet mine and he regards me with loving expectant eyes “Four” We share a long lingering kiss.

When our lips part He stares at me like no other ever has. “Do I have your forgiveness now?” I ask softly. “There is one final thing I require from you” his lips were back on mine. “And what is that?” I breathed between kisses. “Your heart” he replies. Immediately I pull away and put on the most serious face I can manage. “I fear I cannot give you that” I said. He looked absolutely gutted and full of confusion. “I cannot gift you something that already belongs to you” he smiled again and kissed me with even more passion. As we continued to kiss Jean-Laurent laid me down gently. When my body was flat on the ground it suddenly felt like the ground fell from beneath me. I was now standing at Jean-Laurent’s bedside. “What is wrong?” he was violently coughing up thick black blood and convulsing. “Jean-Laurent please tell me what is wrong!” I looked around at the sick nurses in the room. “Why can’t he hear me?!? Why can none of you hear me!!” I shout. No one pays me any attention and suddenly the ground falls again. I am on the street outside of the hospital I worked at at staring piles of bodies slain by the plague. I am in a panic scanning them all until I saw it. Jean-Laurent’s black eyes staring at me face discolored blue back and purple.

I shot up out of the water with a loud gasp. The bathhouse was completely empty. After I slowed my breathing I decided it was time to leave the bath house. I no longer wanted to be alone.

“Ah Azazelle, I have been searching for you!” I was relieved that I saw a friendly face when I turned. “Bonjour Romulus” I say subconsciously I tightening my robe. “Bonjour, may I accompany you to your chamber?” he asked. I see no harm in that” I replied. Romulus was not exactly the company that I wanted right now but he was company nonetheless. “I wanted to personally congratulate you on your first successfully assignment” I nodded as a thank you. “Are you excited?” “Excited? About what?” I find it extremely odd that people are happy Malachi and I killed people. “Yes, for the celebration. With this being the first task House of Léon has received and completed in 11 years Lasko is sure to throw a huge party.” Had I not still been thinking about my daydream in the bath house I might have reacted differently to this news. “How do you know such things?” I asked just before walking through the door he had opened for me. We were now in the wing of the house where the death dealers resided and we were approachin my chambers. “Well I am the one planning it of course” he laughed.

“Well Romulus. I have enjoyed our talk and I look forward to attending this party you speak of” I was hoping he would leave after I said my farewells but he stood there hands behind his back and took a deep breath. I knew exactly what was about to happen. “Azazelle would it be too forward of me to ask that you accompany me to the celebration? I would love to have you on my arm” his face was so hopeful. It made what I was about to say even harder. “I am flattered by your offer but I must respectfully decline” I felt terrible saying this and felt I needed to clarify further. “Please do not think ill of me. It just that all of this” I swirled my hand around in the air “is very new to me. The house the people the job. I need time to figure out my place in all these things” There that explanation made me feel better. I could have never predicted what he was going to say next. A cheesy grin grew on his face. “You do not have to explain. I completely understand. We have forever mademoiselle and I am a very patient man” he winked, turned on his heels and left.

I had barely any time to settle into my chamber when there was another knock at my door. I recognized it immediately. “You may enter Malachi” As customary he poked his head in “I am not alone, may we still enter?” Not alone, who would he be bringing to my chambers? Please not Romulus I prayed. “Oui, you may still enter” Foolishly I tried to look past him through the door. I was shocked when I saw who the unknown guest was. “Azazelle” he said. “Adonis” I replied. “I suppose I owe you an apology. We just hadn’t had an opportunity like this in years and for Lasko to put you in charge it was a hard pill to swallow. That still was no reason for us to treat you the way that we did. So please accept my sincerest of apologies” I looked at Malachi for confirmation that I could believe this apology. Nothing about him told me that I shouldn’t believe Adonis so I took good word for it. “Apology accepted. Please have a seat” Malachi took his normal seat on the bed beside me and Adonis sat in one of the stools. “So Malachi tells me you are quite the fighter?” said Adonis. “He’s just being modest. He did all the hard work I just took the credit” I really appreciated that he was trying to break the ice. “The tongues were a pleasant surprise as well” he added. “That was not me. That was all Malachi’s doing. I said that taking their lives was enough but Malachi insisted” Not only did he insist he made me hold the tongues until I was able to find that burlap best. “Serves the treacherous bastards right!” Adonis and Malachi both raised there hands as if they were toasting but neither of them had glasses. It was rushing to see them relaxed. All this seriousness was mentally exhausting. “Let me ask the two of you something. Why did you all look so petrified at the mention of immortal children?” Malachi and Adonis glanced at each other. Each waiting to see which of them would answer my question. “Adonis, she knows nothing of this. We must be thorough” said Malachi. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning?” suggested Adonis. Malachi spoke first.

“The Gallinari and Brézé are the two largest covens units all of Europe and Asia. The most prominent Houses in the Brézé coven are the House of Léon, the Maizière family. The Gallinari consists of many houses but those that are of most importance are House Giovanni-Montoire, House Dei Guerrieri and the Corsini family” he paused, I presume to make sure that I was still following him. I nodded and he proceeded. “House Giovanni-Montoire consists mainly of royal vampires. It was so named after its founders Sergio Giovanni and Delphine Montoire. Together these two ancients had four children, since these were born from two vampires with the purest of blood it made them immortal. Many years after forming Giovanni-Montoire Sergio and Delphine lost their will to feed and to live. They ordered their children to spread their ashes after they had been consumed by fire so it would be impossible for them to regenerate” Malachi looked to Adonis and he proved to speak.

“Most nobles and/or direct descendants of Sergio and Delphine are in that house. It is also home to the Camorra, a small council of elders who implement and enforce vampiric laws that are to be obeyed. You became familiar with them at the hearing you had to attend no doubt” I wondered if he was at my hearing but then I remembered that neither he nor Griffith had any idea that Lasko was bringing me back to Léon. “Yes, unfortunately” I replied dryly. Adonis laughed. “I was not aware that vampires could reproduce” I added, grabbing one of my pillows to put in my lap so that I could prop myself up on it. “That is where things get interesting. Almost all vampires are sterile. Marrius is the last of the four immortal children” said Malachi. Now understand why Marrius felt so entitled and was held at such a high esteem.

“Jareth, who is the regent of Giovanni-Montoire is Marrius’ birth son. However, his mother was a mortal” Malachi moved my hands from my pillow and laid his head on the pillow I had just placed in my lap. I did not protest I just placed my hand on his chest. “If Marrius is the last of the immortal children then what was the cause for concern that the Duchessa had a list of their names?” I asked. “The concern was not solely about the immortal children. Mortals are never to be privy of the inner workings of our world. The information she was provided was the very foundation of everything we know. We all know what happens when you damage a buildings foundation” said Adonis. “It falls” Malachi replied. “Exactement” agreed Adonis.

I had to know more. More about what I am protecting if I was going to continue to risk my life for it.

“Jareth is the regent of Giovanni-Montoire you say? Then who is our regent? What is the order of a Coven’s hierarchy?” I asked. After the way things went the day I arrived in Léon I hadn’t expected to be having a free flowing conversation like this with my fellow death dealers this soon.

“The highest of the Hierarchy are the elders. All vampires must answer to the elders. They are viewed as the Kings/Queens of vampire society. They are also the ones that elect their regents. They can also sentence members of their houses to death in the case of treason and certain other things. Lastly they have the power to create and found new covens.”

“Next are the regents. They are chosen by the elders to represent them in the coven’s houses and to be in charge of their estate and affairs during their absence in the house. All vampires that rank below them obey and serve them without question and their orders are only overruled by the elders. If a regent dies another is chosen to succeed them by an Elder. If there is no elder present then the house can choose a regent to lead them by popular vote. If that fails the camorra will choose”

“How is one chosen to be a regent?” I hope my asking this does not lead them to believe that I wish to be a regent. I have no desire, my curiosity just had the best of me.

“A regent is chosen for their past achievements as death dealers and/or for their leadership skills as they already have earned respect among the members of their respective houses.” he replied. Upon meeting Adonis one would never hired that he would ever speak this much. He was actually quite pleasant and very knowledgeable.

“The last of the notable high ranking hierarchy are Heads of House. Usually a regent would inherently take on this role but in some cases there are both in a House. Head of House is responsible for the well-being of the house stronghold and it members making sure everyone is doing their job. They would rule a house only when there was no elder or regent…Was any of that lost upon you?” asked Adonis.

“No I believe I understand. Essentially Lasko is everything here in House of Léon”

“Essentially” they said in unison.

“Has he never thought that to be a cause for concern?” I asked.

“I believe he used to but now I think his concerned has significantly ” said Malachi.

“Why? What caused the change?” If I were Lasko this would always be at the forefront of my mind.

“You” said Adonis.

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diopan · 8 years

Text

taking it all the right way

the gang takes griffith to elfheim au

for @noteli

Πάντα στον νου σου νάχεις την Ιθάκη. Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν’ ο προορισμός σου. Aλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξείδι διόλου. Καλλίτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει· και γέρος πια ν’ αράξεις στο νησί, πλούσιος με όσα κέρδισες στον δρόμο, μη προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη.

In this place time is counted by drops falling onto puddles of stale water. He knows it's stale. Even if he can't smell it anymore. He can't smell anything after all. Sometimes his head is left propped to the side, the helmet heavy weighing on his exposed neck, and he can witness the drops falling, not just listen.

Not that day though.

From darkness, creatures that bring forth voices of others calling his name try their best again to fool him into hopefulness. Everyone's voices gathered and rounding into a call for him, shaping his name and other words he knows must still be pronounced out there, out of reach.

During the first days, weeks, months, spent in the depths of the king's tower, he could smell and hear everything. He could see. He felt the king's spit on his tired face. And the jailer's hands on his exposed nerves. He smelled himself and recoiled, sweat stained blankets on puddles of piss it was too dark to keep away from when he rolled over in the few moments sleep he could get. The puss from his open wounds, infected by the touch of faeces and rat bites and dead maggots on rotten fruit. He can't smell a thing now. It's not for the best.

Guts' face appears to him often. And often the desire to lash out is within him, still.

Until that day.

His head was propped away from the water but teardrops fell on his open flesh from Guts' face. All and any desire for revenge left his body. He hadn't felt himself deflate and suddenly he was small. They stung the same as stale water, and alcohol, and blood, his own or the other's, and those liquids he could never identify, the tears did. They stung the same. Lightly salted, too. But everything stings flesh when it's been torn open, muscles exposed, tendons cut and retreating when their tension is lost, their shapes forming lumps under paper thin skin that'll thin even more. Touch stings. Cloth stings. Voices sting like paper cuts scraping underneath his nails that keep growing despite his will and voices scratch the inside of his head and not even the helmet keeps them out. The blood of others stings. It stings when he watches her wiping blood clean off Guts' face. It stings when Guts lets her.

He's on Pippin's back. No longer inside that cell. He's—

Guts embraced him and he placed his hand on Guts'. He felt Guts' tears stinging his face, and then he'd been picked up, propped on Pippin's back. From there he bore witness to their interaction, Guts' and Casca's, and it was as if they couldn't even see him. His flesh was already exposed so he couldn't do much more.

Outside the city a girl offered him flowers. They stung his charred wounded hands even as they floated away from him when he let them go and the child he once was ran back to the uneven cobblestone of backstreets stinking of urine and rotten food, the view of the castle left behind, and the sun, and everything else that could reach him obscured in the shape of a tall, broad man's sillhouette. He can't smell those backstreets anymore, either, even if they weren't just imagination.

The way the wagon's uneven wheels hit against the road hurt his muscles, his open wounds, his ripped flesh, his cut tendons. No way he'll let them know, though. No way he'll reveal to the rest just how deep he's been cut, just how much he's lost. He has Guts now, at least. He watched Midland's roads fade into distance behind them, the castle and the tower a speck in the horizon. His eyes were heavy with Charlotte's voice, entwined with Guts', with Casca's. Somewhere all of this was concrete. Somewhere this wasn't just a delusion brought about by the creatures slipping out of darkness, out of the interstices covered in mold that lined the inside of his cell in the tower.

Harsh voices filled the void around him: loud shouting and hoarse screaming. Everyone has their own voice. At night he hears words carried by the wind, and the crackling of the fire. He can't smell the food they're preparing but he knows it's clean. Outside the wagon—as it did outside the tower—time carries on without his trace. This is his home now. This will be all.

The drapes that hide him from view and separate him from the rest of them—and the fire and the voices and the smells he cannot smell—rustle. Their movements match the anticipation building within him and he lifts his face slightly—it's all he can manage—to meet the one he waits for.

Sometimes Judeau, or Pippin, or someone else entirely comes. Their faces, their noses, their mouths, twist and wrinkle and disfigure; they open the drapes as wide as they can, let the sun inside, eagerly, urgently inviting a breeze that should wash it all away to start anew. Is it that important to distract themselves from the one in the wagon? Is he that disgusting? Is he that impossible to look at, to learn to live with, to believe? They smile so wide their eyes wrinkle and their faces crack open like a horse before its legs give in. They smile because he’s impossible.

Does he look at you in that same way?

Guts fills the spaces between them with words not of comfort or pity. “Soon, he says, we’ll both be back in the battlefield, soon” he repeats. Soon. Yes. But for now, for now Guts changes his bandages and cleans his skin and fills the spaces between them with laughter.

This face doesn’t twist, it doesn’t wrinkle, this smile is wide and open like a sword, like the sun staring down on the land signalling the best time for attack. For a moment or two he believes in it. He lets himself believe in it. He really truly isn't in that tower anymore. Guts is by him, once more. For a moment he believes.

He doesn’t look at you in that same way.

The drapes rustle and something on the outside breaks. The spell is broken too. Guts looks at the entrance of the wagon (is that the same anticipation he can see in himself?) and no one comes but they both know who could.

Can he even see you?

Guts waits for someone too. And—again, again—it's not him.

He feels small against the hands that help him inside the armor. Small against this voice telling him that soon. Soon he’ll wield a sword. Soon they’ll meet battle together.

He feels small against the voice not mentioning her and them, even when he already knows, he already heard. It’s so easy to forget, so easy to place his own broken hand on those large ones and forgive. He truly believes Guts is with him, here, no longer in the tower.

In this place time is measured by the rising and setting of the sun. The meals brought by Guts, or Casca, or Pippin. The fires lit at night. The voices carried in by strong gusts of wind. The second day he heard their voices, just outside. The two of them, leaving—again, again—leaving him. And now together. Casca who had wiped the blood from Guts' face. And Guts who'd let her. They spoke of leaving. Leaving him behind, torn, open, ripped, limp, unmoving, lying on the shredded remains of those who believed, the festering, broken remains of his dream.

And so he lets Guts say soon. Soon they'll be together again, like they're meant to be. He plays their daily game of dress up and dreaming and longing. Guts lifts his arms and positions him inside the heavy impossible armor. But he knows what hides behind those drapes.

The wagon has travelled farther and farther, he knows. Days have passed and they've only stopped nights, the horses too tired, the food too scarce. He doesn't have it in him to ask. He cannot.

"I know of someone who can heal him" he hears on the seventh night.

huh... imagine an its always sunny berserk crossover

#GriffGuts #NotEli

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