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daphnebowen · 1 year

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hsmtmts season four episode five

WHY ARE ALL OF THEM IGNORING RICHARD even though it’s LITERALLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS FACE still that’s really rude what happened to being nice to people??? If people are genuinely like that in college I am scared

“Richard Bowen.”

”Elton John.” I LOVE THESE TWO!!!!

why does the principal care omg like stay out of her business not everyone can make every rehearsal what do you expect??

kourtneys hero is her mom! That’s the most wholesome and sweetest thing ever 🥰

if kourtneys college trip was a casual visit how come miss girl is wearing four inch heels a miniskirt and a turtleneck 🥸 not that I’m complaining, she looks amazing, but I’m just saying my feet would be KILLIN ME

”wait wait wait… YOURE working??”

ok can we talk about ej for a min?? Man has four jobs, full class schedule, is on the PING PONG TEAM (is that a thing?), is an acapella group called the blindorphins (blind orphans? Help?), has no parental support (srsly, where is his mama?) has a beard much more prominent than the one in season two, is the dork of his friend group (how????), is talking to Val (I totally ship, ngl, so if it’s just a friend thing ima hurt someone) and wears Birkenstocks. He’s a hippie. Someone help my matty poo. But good for him! Proud of ya eej!

”you do look good.” “You look… terrible.”

okay, plot hole, ej says he’s been dabbling in playing the guitar yet in season three he’s literally playing the guitar for the song “ballad of Susan fine.” So is he dabbling in other types of guitars or is a plot hole??? Because if it’s a plot hole it’s the first one I’ve noticed. and now it’s bugging me. And I can’t unsee it.

”I do not break my promises” NO YOU DONT

”for my leading lady thirty seconds.” Welp

”g force” I cant

”no is a complete sentence” thanks Quinn that’s my senior quote

YES GINA

”I’m hearing awards buzz” the only line from Mack I haven’t absolutely hated

“ all songs might be terrible, Elton.”

they’re such brothers it hurts knowing that this is like their last season together :( I wish we’d gotten more of their friendship “ooh, a capo? Fancy.” Ricky said with a proud smile 🤩 his big bro is all grown up (which is backwards, but you know what I mean)

I absolutely love this song! It’s everything we’ve ever needed and more

ricky looks so intently focused on ej he’s into it

AWWW THEYRE DUETING TOGETHER

that song really hit Ricky home huh. That’s just what he needed. I can totally see why people ship Ricky and ej because their chemistry and like, playfulness was really cute but I still see it as more of a bromance and brother relationship.

man Siri is really working miss Jenn dang

The fact that Siri is still going and recording all while miss Jenn and Carlos are talking has me bawling what if it sent the text to the theater group lmao

no Mack. You and Gina are not “best friends.” Yall are barely friends imo. Ashlyn is Gina’s best friend. Kourtney is Gina’s best friend. Ricky is Gina’s best friend (plus a lil smth else 😏😉)

the fact that she’s looking at a picture of Ricky to help her nail the chemistry 😚 true love right there

EW NASTY MACK STOP KISSING GINA Gina looks like she does not wanna be there but Mack is all in and I wanna slap him

omg big red. What happened…. Cairo… changed him?

Aw his grandma is 100! That’s so sweet

stopppp I still can’t believe it was BIG FREAKING RED

”fantastic. My girlfriend is kissing her childhood crush”

THE CAPTION HAS ME DEAD

ejs little noises “mmm.. mmmm… mmMMMMmm.” He totally disapproves huh

i love how Ricky is ranting to ej even though Gina and ej dated and ej is pretty cool with it, he’s so supportive in this season

man Ricky cannot sit still boy is constantly moving

“everyone’s only allowed to be okay, for like, ten seconds” yup pretty much sucks but true

”todd” says it like it’s the worst word ever

im tired of you losing people too Ricky - don’t worry I’m HERE FOR YOU :((

I love how big red was just like SURPRISE!! even tho Carlos is literally dying of heartbreak and he’s just like “eh it’s cool, whatever” COME ON BIG RED YOURE BETTER THAN THAT

i can’t freaking believe that big reds coming out moment was with Sebastian

I love how Ashlyn doesn’t even care herself she’s just worried about Carlos mostly TELL HIM ASH TELL HIM

bug red is so supportive 😍 he’s a number one madlyn fan I swear

honestly redlyn was one of the most non toxic couples in the show, they constantly supported each other and were there for each other, but they knew that there just wasn’t something final about them together, yes they clicked and they clicked well and so they’re better off as friends now that both of their storylines have explored other sides of their feelings and broadened “their dating pools” as Ashlyn said. So I’m glad that they’re staying friends. And were able to come to a mutual breakup. “Or maybe growing towards this” 🥹

”but what if I got it wrong?” GIRL SHE JUST TRIED TO KISS YOU ON HALLOWEEN!!! SHE WAS THE ONE TO INITIATE IT!!!

”we are 24 cups?!” The instant panic is so real

Carlos: “do you know what it’s like to be gay?” Miss Jenn: *shakes her head* 😭😭😭😭

”hiding is never the answer” yess!! This all the way

baby steps Carlos you got this hun

kourtney really is glowing , she’s so happy at Lewis

harpers shoes are super cute!

”how heavy can a steadicam be?” The steadicam guy: really heavy 😒

“you missed every one of my opening nights!” “Hollywood is different” GIRL I hate you if it weren’t for those opening nights Gina probably wouldn’t be in hollywood hate to admit it but I did

I hate Gina’s mom so much why does she feel the need to push Gina towards Mack and invite him over for dinner and make her miss rehearsals when clearly she wants to go rehearse like what? Gina doesn’t even like Mack that way!

ginas mother… I thought you said “no boys.” And here she is

the last time Carlos is gonna smile at big red “spill the international tea”

YOU KISSED MY BOYFRIEND?!?!?

”im very fond of you “ AWWW sad considering the circumstances but it’s still a sweet thing to say..

oh- mad and mad are back on again

i love how ej aaid “no” when the thunder cracked 💀

TIME FOR SOME BIG BRO EJ TOUGH LOVE AHHHH ALL FOR IT 💗

see the fact that Ricky didn’t even know about ejs dad problems and everything going on with him and Gina and still waited respectfully until Gina was ready shows his character growth. In season one he was actively interfering with nini and ejs relationship but in season three he saw Gina was happy and let her have her happiness. This is what I love about him ❤️

”you will never meet another family like the Wildcats” HITS LIKE HOME CUZ ITS OVER

”cause I miss it every single day” literally me rewatching this knowing I will never be able to go back and rewatch seasons 1 and 2 ever again 😢

Matt Cornett king of voice cracks

”she would be be with you if she didn’t see the guy you could be” YES EJ PREACH MY MAN

”if you hurt her… I will never forgive you.” The way Ricky looks up in alarm ‼️

Ej is the freaking best at pep talks man all that time with Val really taught him a lot, he’s being tough on Ricky and honest with him but he’s also being caring and gentle and I love that for the two of them, we need more bromances like this!

YES RICKY GO SPEAK YOUR MIND TO GINA PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN AND EARTH

YESSS A HUG

”why didn’t we hang out more in high school?” “Well maybe because you were always stealing my girlfriends” HAHAHA

awww ej is giving him his guitar!!! (He’s got good instincts)

ugh mark and spark are literally on the table

part 2 tk!

#hsmtmts #ricky bowen #ricky x gina #rina #gina porter #high school musical the musical the series #kourtney greene #carlos rodriguez #ej caswell

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salted-caramel-tea · 2 years

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ur right but it bothers me that a lot of ur pics were a decade off like for example led zeppelin was 70s not 80s and im sorry i know this is not a big deal its just ive been hyperfocused on these decades before so i cant unsee it

girl i had the rolling stones in sapnap’s and they’re 1960s but one thing that u learn doing history and fashion history is that cultures didn’t start and stop at turn of the century . for example the culture of the ‘sixties’ actually started in the late fifties and stopped around 1974 . ur right zeppelin are 70s but they’re still regarded and highly praised in the era of 80s classic rock movements and did influence the fashion then as well . fashion culture is an evolution there will be things that are ‘out of decade’ that still have prevalence and influence in that culture esp bc 70s and 80s classic rock fashions are extremely similar as an evolution of each other led zeppelin were the precursor to the glam rock movement in the 80s they’re both extremely interconnected

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

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The Paltrow-Industrial Complex

I don't know about you, but I've been worried about Gwyneth Paltrow. We've had the plague for a year and the Paltrow-Industrial Complex hadn't shown up with any kind of wellness grift!

Finally, we can breathe easy. As Beth Mole writes in Ars Technica, Paltrow has finally entered the covid profiteering racket, and she's going *big*, with a blog entry detailing the many ways you can buy your way out of long covid.

https://arstechnica.com/science/2021/02/it-took-a-year-but-gwyneth-paltrow-figured-out-how-to-exploit-the-pandemic/

Paltrow's post describes how she suffered covid "early on" and then heroically overcame long covid with chiropractic, a "plant-based" diet that's also fish-based (go fig), $102 worth of vitamins and supplements, and $60 "detox" powder.

These aren't just health advice, of course - they're also products you can buy from Goop or via affiliate links that pay Paltrow a commission. Beyond that, Paltrow recommends hiking with $9,000 worth of specialized gear ($8600 of that is a gold necklace).

As Mole points out, Paltrow also relates how she didn't see results straight away, which implies an answer to what her customers should do if her expensive remedies don't work - buy more and keep trying.

Mole does the lord's work in dogging Paltrow's heels. Not only did she take to time to explain why you shouldn't squirt coffee up your asshole as recommended by Goop:

https://arstechnica.com/science/2018/01/gwyneth-paltrows-goop-wants-you-to-start-2018-right-with-a-135-coffee-enema/

But she even reviewed Paltrow's unwatchable Netflix show:

https://arstechnica.com/science/2020/01/goops-netflix-series-its-so-much-worse-than-i-expected-and-i-cant-unsee-it/

This work isn't just unpleasant, it's risky. Speaking as someone who's been threatened by Paltrow's vicious attack-lawyers for criticizing the ultra-wealthy alexjonesian nostrum-peddler, I can only imagine what Mole's inbox looks like.

#pluralistic

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winterscaptain · 4 years

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through and through.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is our ajf minimal loss fic! as (usually) usual, its more fun if you read the rest of the series, but this one stands on its own just fine. lemme know what you think!!

words: 5.8k warnings: canon-typical violence, death, and injury, language, aaron Flexing on These Hoes™

summary: the septarian sect ranch situation is hard enough with the memories of waco. the knowledge you’re in danger, along with reid and prentiss, has aaron on edge.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Everyone just stay calm!”

Nancy turns, assuring you with a naive and placating smile, “I’m state police. I’m an officer of the state.”

Stupid. Stupid!

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.” Emily, ever the voice of reason, assures from behind you.

“We just have to calm down.” Your useless attempt at de-escalation is overrun by gunfire.

“I can talk to him.” Lunde turns to go, and you reach for the back of her shirt, trying to pull her back.

You manage to get past the goons in the front, while they stop Emily. There’s only one chance. “No, Nancy! Wait.”

As you run after her out of the tunnel to the main level, you give her more and more space. The noise and smoke is a little overwhelming and you almost lose her in your confusion and distraction. Cyrus shouts to cease fire, but it’s in vain. The gunfire echoes around you, and you can’t help but think of Aaron.

What if I don’t come home?

She rushes to the front of the building, by the window, and addresses Benjamin. “Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them.”

You catch up to here in the chapel, reaching for her arm to pull her back to safety when something stops you. You can’t feel it at first, but when you watch Lunde drop to the ground, you know.

Fuck.

Hitting the deck right away, you put pressure on the gunshot wound that’s torn through your left shoulder. You breathe deeply, fighting the panic you know will only hurt you more. The shock still numbs the pain and when you look, it seems through and through. The back of your blazer is ripped through, and there’s a hole in the wall behind you.

That’s a comfort.

The last thing you needed was a .223 round bouncing around in your chest. You’re grateful enough it didn’t tear your arm off entirely.

You crawl around the corner and press yourself against the wall. With a groan, you remove your blazer and tie it around your shoulder as best you can. You chance a glance at Nancy, but she's already gone - unseeing eyes turned toward the ceiling, her hand limp on the carpet, blood blossoming across the chest of her teal blouse.

Damn it.

Cyrus’s men shout around you, and it feels more and more like an active warzone with every passing second

“Man down, man down! We can’t stay here!”

“Hold your fire!”

You breathe as deeply as you can, tucking your arm to your belly and closing your eyes. The gunfire slowly ceases, the movement around you becoming only a little less frantic.

Aaron will know. He’ll find us. We’ll be okay.

Your shoulder twinges. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and you only hope you go into shock soon for the sake of your pain tolerance.

Aaron, please. Please hurry.

+++

“Morgan.” JJ bursts through the glass doors and unmutes the television in the corner.

“What’s up?”

She increases the volume, and they hear, “... a routine question and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Septarian Sect.”

Morgan stands, ready to leap into action. “JJ...That’s not the ranch were -”

“They’re still inside.”

Derek’s voice rockets across the office as he calls for Hotch, who immediately ends his call and leaves his office, leaning heavily on the banister. Derek tells him you’re still in there, with Reid and Prentiss.

“...at least three child services members are still trapped inside the compound.”

No.

Aaron swallows heavily,

Keep your head, Hotcher. It’ll be okay.

Phones start ringing all at once. Everyone looks to Aaron, and he’s already back in his office, grabbing his things. He flies back out, blazer slung over his shoulder and go bag in-hand. “Wheels up. Now.”

+++

You watch as they haul Lunde’s body out of the way. Someone helps you to your feet. You’re feeling pretty dizzy.

“Can I have some water? Please?” You know for certain you’re in shock now, and keeping your blood pressure and volume high enough is the only way you’ll make it out alright.

“We’ll get you what you need after we take you back to your people.”

There’s always been a little part of you that believes in the nugget of humanity in people. Today, it might just save your life.

Emily rushes to you as you step down into the basement. Reid hovers, nervous and watchful. Emily’s voice is steady. “We need water and medical attention.”

“First aid kit is in the corner.” Cyrus points and Reid jets off to grab it while Cyrus continues giving direction. Someone hands her three bottles of water, and she sets them by your side.

Emily’s hand flutters over your forehead, as if checking you for fever. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Through and through. Just gotta stop the bleeding.” You know you’re slurring your words a little bit, but it’s not as bad as it could be.

“I prayed this day would never come, but it has.” Cyrus shoulders a rifle. “God will see us through.”

Fuck.

Cyrus’s eyes linger on you and Emily a little longer than is comfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. Spencer returns with the kit, pulling out packing gauze and wrapping.

Emily helps you with your blazer and shirt, leaving your shoulder exposed to the mountain air. Spencer packs your wound while Emily starts wrapping the gauze around your ribs and shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You put a hand on her arm. “I know. Thanks.”

+++

Hotch comes to a screaming stop in the SUV, his suit jacket long gone in the Colorado heat. He immediately makes assignments. “Dave, I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave asks.

“Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron’s eyes are probing and hold all the respect in the world for his dear friend.

“Because the teacher is emotionally involved!” Dave cants his head toward the compound, and Aaron’s eyes follow, as if searching for you. Dave’s eyes stay steady on Aaron - watching him look for you. “And so is the Agent in Charge.”

With a defeated sigh, Aaron cops to it. “I know I am. This is a unique situation.” At Dave’s squint, he continues. “We have three agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” His voice is low and riddled with tension. The concern radiates off of him in waves, and he can only hope it passes as concern for the whole team.

In truth, it’s almost all for you. He can’t explain it, but he knows something isn’t right.

“I can’t be objective. I know them too well.” Dave does everything he can to pull Aaron from direct control, but he knows it's a lost cause. More than one part of him knows why.

Aaron’s jaw tightens, and he’s more intense than before when he replies, “This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of our team as Cyrus. That’s why you’re the best man for the job.”

“Assuming they’re still in a position to make moves.”

The thought is near-unbearable. He softens, taking another approach.

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.”

“Alright.”

Aaron claps Dave on the shoulder, and it’s a silent thanks. Before they can move, there’s more commotion around the back of the FBI staging area.

Goddamn it. What now?

“...I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI.”

Dave and Aaron share a glance, and Aaron leads the way to the argument.

“I’m the Attorney General of this state.”

He can’t help it. A smirk crosses Aaron’s face.

Lawyers. Alright. I can do lawyers.

There’s also a part of him relieved that he can offload some of this stress into some kind of altercation. An opportunity to flex his Juris Doctorate never hurts.

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Septarian Ranch -”

Alright. That’s it.

Aaron turns, an insulting kind of disbelief on his face. Steadily and without haste, he approaches. “The only thing that you’re in the position to demand is a lawyer.” A spike of anger strikes his chest.

He knew about this raid. He knew and he failed to tell us.

And now his people are in trouble.

You are in trouble.

“Who the hell are you?” The overblown AG turns on Aaron.

Big mistake.

“I’m Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.”

And it’s not an empty threat, dipshit.

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Was that a smug smile on his face?

Aaron steps up to him, nearly nose to nose. The adrenaline and anger and fear floods through him and leaks through his words. “Get off my crime scene.”

Hard brown eyes stare down weak blue ones. Aaron wins.

+++

“Then leave us alone.” Cyrus’s voice belies no tension as he paces. Your eyes follow him, much more alert now that much of the bleeding has stopped and you have some water in you. Emily strapped ice to your shoulder about twenty minutes ago. You might end up with a little nerve damage, but it's better than bleeding to death.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin.” Dave takes a breath, delivering the information steadily. “One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse.”

Aaron’s brows, already low, get even lower. Derek, hovering behind Rossi, takes note. The tension in his unit chief is different and he doesn’t know what it is.

“Please,” Dave continues, “just put down your guns and come out.”

A buzzing takes over Aaron’s senses for a moment, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. He reaches down for a bottle of water, downing half of it before he puts it back down.

“Now, the four child service workers…” That catches Aaron’s attention, and he snaps to. “One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.”

You bite your lip, watching Benjamin pace near the door. That phrasing will do nothing but panic your team, and you know it. Tipping your head against the wall behind you, you throw out anything you can.

I’m alright, Aaron. We’re okay.

Aaron’s head drops and he wets his lips. He closes his eyes, doing his best to keep himself from running straight for the compound.

No. Please. I’ll get what I get for wishing it’s someone else, but please let it be someone else. Anyone else.

What if it was Prentiss?

What if it was Reid?

Guilt floods him and he pushes the thoughts aside.

Dave keeps his voice clear and even. The depth of Aaron’s gratitude and respect is ineffable. There’s nobody better for the job. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.”

Aaron nearly collapses in relief, pushing away the guilt as it rises in his sternum.

“One service worker was shot in the same altercation, but we have provided medical care and the wound is non-lethal.”

Say my name. Say my name, please.

He doesn’t, and you grind your teeth together.

Dave nods, glancing at Aaron. “Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded, including the injured service worker. I promise they’ll be taken care of.”

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own.”

“Okay, I’ll need a few hours to put them together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

You can’t hear what Dave says on the other end of the line, but Cyrus’s lack of reaction can only be a good thing.

“You should get some sleep.” Emily, sitting next to you, checks over your wound again. Spencer’s on your other side with his eyes closed, but you know he’s not sleeping either.

Closing your eyes, you reply, “I can’t.” Nevertheless, you reach for her hand. She slips her fingers into your palm. “Mm. Your hands are warm.”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t get shot today.” She’d usually jostle you with a jab like that, but she knows better - obviously.

+++

When first light comes, you open your eyes. You’re not sure, but it was likely you got at least a couple of hours of sleep. There’s a lot you don’t remember from the night before, but you know they shuffled you up to the chapel at some point.

Probably a good thing.

The ice has melted and your arm is all wet. You check your dressings and find them working well enough. They’ll still have to be changed, but you can’t deny the effectiveness of Emily’s instruction and handiwork.

A car door closes outside. Emily stirs, immediately reaching for a nearby bottle of water. She hands it to you after she takes a couple of sips. Shuffling around Spencer, you take it with your good arm and drink as much as you can.

Wait. Didn’t Spencer say you could do a transfusion with coconut water?

Do I even need a transfusion?

Yes.

Oh. Thanks.

A knock on the door startles you out of your half-delirious thoughts. You’re grateful for the distraction. The feeling increases tenfold when Dave walks into the chapel.

Aaron’s nearby. It’ll be okay. He probably put Dave on this himself.

“The children, and our guests.” Cyrus gestures to you, proving to Dave that everyone is in fact, relatively, alright.

You turn your head (ouch) and meet Dave’s eyes. Looking back down, you’re satisfied he knows you’re alive.

“I was hoping you’d let me take the children,” Dave says.

Benjamin shakes his head. “Nah. They’re our protection.”

We are, too, dumbass.

The two men chat for a moment. Your heart feels like it grows three sizes as you listen to Dave do what he does best.

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

You have to believe it.

After Dave leaves, they make you stand off to the side while they pour wine for everyone present. Emily starts whispering, and you know she’s profiling the adults. It’s probably smart, but all your energy is focused on remaining upright and ignoring the throbbing ache in your shoulder.

+++

Dave jogs back up to the staging area and assures them you’re all okay. He relays your condition to Aaron, “...but it looks alright. Well-dressed and not bleeding through.”

Aaron nods. So that’s what the feeling was. You’re alright, but it’s still wrong. He shoves down something else that scares him a little.

That’s a problem for another time.

Is it a problem, though?

Yes.

“He’s too calm. It’s - It’s like he was waiting for this to happen and now that it has, he feels vindicated.”

Aaron rounds the table and comes to rest at Dave’s side. They’re in full strategy mode. The opportunity to stretch their abilities is welcome, but they both wish it was under better circumstances with lower stakes.

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides. Restless energy still rockets around his limbs and he hates it. He hates feeling so deeply out of control.

“I have a signal!”

Derek, Dave, and Aaron flock to their headphones, tuning in just in time to hear Cyrus inform the congregation they have all ingested the poison together.

+++

Emily’s eyes shoot around the room, and you know what she’s thinking.

The profile didn’t indicate mass suicide…

This doesn’t fit

He continues to deliver his sermon and you tune out, focused on the faces of Cyrus’s followers. Right now, they’re more revealing than he’ll ever be.

+++

“This doesn’t fit.”

Dave voices Aaron’s thoughts exactly. It quickly devolves into discussion of a breach, and Aaron brings a hand to his forehead. He’s ready to go.

“If we go into there, people are going to die.”

Aaron’s hand flies out to the side. “People are already dying.”

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Aaron tries to keep his hackles down.

+++

“What do we do?” Emily whispers.

Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“We have to do something,” you hiss. “These people just took poison.”

“Cyrus just told them he did and I think he’s bluffing.”

Emily’s brow crumples. “Why do you think that?”

Spencer’s following observations make sense - the notes, the watching armed bystanders. It’s strategically sound for Cyrus to weed out the weak in his congregation.

After a moment, Cyrus admits it was a test of faith. “...Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

+++

Frustrated, Aaron runs his hands through his hair. “Tell ‘em to stand down.”

The tension is getting to him, as is the lack of sleep. Dave made him lay down overnight, but he never once closed his eyes. He was worried about Prentiss. He was worried about Reid.

He was worried about you.

I almost got all of them killed.

Step it up, Hotchner. You chose Dave for a reason.

Listen to him.

+++

“...well into its second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sept ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There was much speculation in regard to hostages…”

Aaron hovers behind JJ, completely tuned in to the news. This could be disastrous.

“...But anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect ranch.”

This is disastrous.

Everyone reacts, but Aaron walks away. He can’t face this right now. There’s too much to do, too much to think about.

Don’t do anything stupid.

He only hopes you can hear him, somehow.

Please don’t be a hero.

+++

Cyrus enters, all bluster and confidence.

Shit. Something happened.

“Which one of you is it?”

You all just stare at him. He pulls a gun from his waistband and you jump a little. The movement twinges your shoulder, and you let out a small wince.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer is the first to speak. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?”

Yikes, Spence. Question for a question.

Wait. Maybe it will work.

Something in you tells you to keep your mouth shut, and you do. The last thing you want is to screw up whatever Spencer’s cooking up. His brain moves a lot faster than yours.

Don’t do anything stupid.

“God will forgive me for what I must do.”

You can feel your eyes widen as Cyrus raises the gun to Spencer’s head. You’re completely frozen, as if something’s physically holding you in place.

Don’t be a hero.

You’ve been shot, idiot. Your shock response is all over the place.

No, it’s different.

Yeah. Sure.

You roll your eyes at yourself, but quickly cover it by crinkling your face up in what you hope looks like confusion.

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cyrus looks at you and you shake your head, doing your best to look like a deer in headlights. “One of you does,” he says. “Who is it?”

Before you can open your mouth, Emily jumps in without hesitation. “Me. It’s me.”

Spencer looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Cyrus lowers the gun and you take a breath. You don’t have much time to recover, though, as Cyrus snatches Emily by the hair and drags her out of the room.

Your breath catches and you leap to your feet with Spencer. The dizziness doesn’t phase you, but your concern for Emily certainly does.

Don’t cry.

Don’t be a hero.

There’s a gun to your head and you do your best to relax. You raise your good arm into the air, as if you could be a threat with a half-inch hole through your shoulder.

Shit.

+++

Between your gunshot wound and now listening to Emily getting the shit beat out of her, this is a bad day for Aaron.

Someone else hauls you by your bad arm into another room, and you can’t help but yelp. They need to listen to Emily now, so you do your best to stifle the urge to cry out. You’ll answer all the questions as quietly as possible.

They need to hear Emily.

Aaron, please have ears in there.

+++

Aaron very nearly throws the headphones off. He’d know your voice anywhere, even raised in pain. The overlapping cacophony of anguish breaks his chest wide open.

“We gotta go in.” He stands and removes his headphones, unable to listen any longer.

Rossi shakes his head, still tuned in. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

+++

You can hear Emily through the wall, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds. The man (who still has a hold on your arm), throws you into a chair. You let out a small wail, but cover your mouth with your good hand before speaking. “Please, I -”

“Did you know?”

“No. No.” They need to hear Emily.

“Tribulation breeds resilience,” the man says, dropping close to you. His thumb digs into your wound. It’s too much and you internally apologize to Aaron as you let out a sob. “God rewards the resilient. He rewards those who cleanse themselves of evil.”

“Please -”

He shakes you and man does it hurt. The pain shoots from your shoulder to your fingertips and zings all the way down your back. You’re hot and cold at the same time and don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. You break down, and sound falls from your mouth as the man continues to preach at you, all the while tweaking and twisting and squeezing your shoulder.

+++

“He’s got them both.” Aaron stands, his palms pressed flat to the table. Hearing you in that kind of pain ignites something white-hot in his chest. He hurts for Emily, too, but at least she’s still able to talk.

“I can take it.” Emily’s voice rings clear through the headphones, and they all freeze.

“Wait - Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave gestures to Aaron, who reluctantly tunes back in.

“I can take it.”

Derek scoffs. “She’s antagonizing him.”

“She’s not talking to him.” Rossi remains firm.

Aaron’s hands get lost in his hair, restless and frustrated and useless. He takes a breath and ignores the sting behind his eyes. “She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in.”

He knows Emily. She’s just as smart as she is strong and wouldn’t antagonize Benjamin on her own.

There’s a particularly vicious commotion and Emily falls to the ground with a sharp groan and a cough.

That’s it for Derek. He throws his headphones off and starts to pace. Aaron’s the only one who leaves the headphones on. Even then, his eyes mist up and his jaw is so tight he’s almost afraid his teeth will shatter.

+++

You slump back against the chair. “I’m sorry she lied to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words choke out of you with a gasp. Your shoulder screams and the pain is truly breathtaking.

Emily will forgive you for throwing her under the bus - you know you’d forgive her if the situation was reversed.

Cyrus throws the door open. “The agent’s going upstairs. The other two are clean.” He looks at you with a certain degree of contempt and you keep your eyes on the floor.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Don't be a hero.

Why those two phrases keep echoing around in your head, you have no idea. Nevertheless, they’re both good reminders.

You’re returned to Spencer and slide into a chair. You tip your head back against the wall and listen to Cyrus question him.

Why didn’t Spencer get beat up?

Not that you wanted Spencer to get beat up, of course, but it all seemed a little inequitable. You’d already been shot - isn’t that enough excitement for one day?

“On the next call, you should test them.”

Oh, how I love you, Spencer Reid.

He continues. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove he isn’t a liar.”

This would only work if they had ears in the building. If Spencer has faith, so do you. Tears prick at your eyes and you think of Aaron.

Please tell me he didn’t hear me. Please tell me they only had ears on Emily.

You’re still the baby of the team, the newest, the youngest. You know that’s why Aaron watches out for you so carefully. He’s just protecting you.

At least, that’s what you choose to believe. The other option is ridiculous, absurd, and nothing but wishful thinking.

Don’t be a child.

Spencer has Cyrus right where he wants him. You suppress a smile and hope it passes as a grimace.

“What about you?” Cyrus turns on you and you’re proud when you don’t flinch. “What do you think?”

You shrug with your one good shoulder. “It’s a good idea, and the offer to exchange a child for information is a show of good faith. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”

+++

Dave and Aaron share a glance.

“They’ve got him.”

A swell of pride crashes through Aaron’s chest. It’s just because you’re his youngest agent - the most time, the most potential. He has to keep you safe, he reasons. It’s the right thing to do.

That’s not the only reason.

He shakes his head, but the thought has its claws dug in deep.

+++

As Cyrus reads the list of names, Emily appears at your side again.

She looks awful - half her face painted with red and purple bruises, with more blossoming under her collar. You almost laugh aloud when she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Emily, you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

She huffs. “I didn’t get shot. Just a little beat up. We’re good. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer’s mouth presses into a thin line. You both know she’s lying. “I’m so sorry.” Moments later, he relays the information for both your ears and your team outside.

Cyrus looks at you, and you almost think he’s going to let you go, but his gaze slides past you. Spencer approaches him and they speak in hushed tones.

When they’re through, Cyrus gestures to Emily and a pair of goons. “Take her back.”

Emily looks only the slightest bit alarm as she’s taken back upstairs by the arm. If Spencer’s in, and Emily’s out, where does that leave you?

You elect yourself Reid’s shadow, silent and always right off his shoulder. Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind too much and if he does, he doesn’t show it.

+++

“Drugging the food isn’t an option because of the children. We’ll have to go in.” The whiteboard marker twirls between Aaron’s fingers as he thinks.

Indeed. Rossi, from his place in the corner, says, “The best time to hit them is when they’re least mentally prepared.”

“3am. Biorhythms are at their low point, then.”

“We need a diversion,” Derek notes. “Something that plays into his expectations.”

Humvees, then, are clearly on the docket. As are bright lights and all the flash and glamour of federal law enforcement.

Hotch and Morgan begin to volley, both men processing and paying close attention.

“The plan depends on our people separating the diehards from the followers -”

Derek interrupts, finishing Aaron’s thought. “And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault.”

“No, that’s not my main concern. They know what they need to do.”

“So what is your concern?”

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3am.” A thought comes to him then, and he reaches for a sharpie and a lid. Maybe your weird understanding of each other will come in handy, or Spencer will be looking for those signs he alluded to with Cyrus.

Either way, it’s the only option.

+++

Downstairs with Spencer, something catches your eye.

Wait a minute.

You’d know that blocky, left-hand slanted lettering anywhere. Aaron.

Spencer sees it, too, and you share a glance. You offer him a little smile, and he nods, understanding you completely. This might just work.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cyrus startles you a little, and you step closer to Spencer. Your wound dressing has yet to be changed today, and the heat radiating off your shoulder has made you a little jumpy.

Just my luck to survive all of this and die of an entirely treatable infection like a sickly Victorian child.

“You don’t have to be a part of this. You can go.” He addresses the both of you, and bite your tongue again. You have to trust Spencer’s plan, and you know he has one.

As you suspected, Spencer says, “I would prefer to stay. Somebody needs to tell your story.”

“I’m glad it will be you.” Cyrus turns his gaze to you, and you nod.

“I’ll stay.”

He softens a little, and calls someone over. In what feels like seconds, you’re sitting down while gentle hands clean and re-dress your wound. It hurts like all hell, but you’d rather do this than throw the whole damn arm out.

As you sit, Cyrus’s plan becomes clear. Explosives seem to pass from hand to hand without hesitation.

Where’s Emily?

+++

Aaron has no idea how long he’s been staring at the compound. He’s wound tighter than a spring, his body all straight lines of stress as Rossi approaches him.

Finally, Aaron says, “I know I can’t go in there.” There’s too much at stake, too much on the line, too many emotions. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind in a place he won’t acknowledge, that he would prioritize you.

So, he can’t go in there.

Dave nods. “I’m going.”

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid or…” he trails off, unable to speak the thought aloud. “I - I don’t know.”

Dave looks over at him, understanding all the things he can and can’t say. “You’re not alone.”

+++

You can feel a shift in the air as 3am creeps nearer and nearer. Outside, inside, it’s all alive with activity and anxiety. You hug your arm to your chest, nursing a bottle of water. With fresh dressings, you feel a little cleaner, a little safer, but you know it’s an illusion.

“Something’s wrong.” The goon’s observation brings Cyrus to the front window, and even over his shoulder you can see the humvees advancing on the compound.

Nice work, team.

“They lied to us,” he whispers something to his shadow. While Cyrus grabs his firearm, the shadow opens the door. The gunfire startles you, and you look to Spencer.

Tell me it’s gonna be okay.

His eyes are steady on yours and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’re going to be fine.

Some of the lights go out and your eyes dance around the room.

Aaron, this better be part of your plan.

“It came from inside the building.”

“Check the fuses.”

The rapid discussions fly around you, but you keep your eyes on Spencer as much as you can. He’s spitting verses at the men around Cyrus, stalling. Luckily, Spencer could talk about nothing and everything forever.

You knew that would come in handy one day, even if it drives you up the wall outside of life-or-death hostage situations.

“...I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Cyrus smacks Spencer with the butt of his rifle, and Spencer doubles over. You can’t help him - not with one arm and certainly not without a weapon of your own.

“You cannot convert my brothers.” Cyrus hits him again, and Spencer drops to the floor, and you crouch beside him, the very picture of fear. Oddly, you’re less afraid right now than you were before. “No one had to follow. God could have stopped me.”

There’s a breach, and you cover Spencer with your body as bullets fly past you from all sides. Cyrus goes down, and so does the detonator.

“He just did.”

You almost snort as you rise, but you rapidly remember time is of the essence.

“You alright, kid?” You’re not sure if Derek’s talking to you or Spencer, but you nod anyway.

Spencer, too, responds in kind. “Fine. Where’s Emily?”

“We got her out of here.”

The breath you’ve been holding since she disappeared again leaves you, but a heavy throb of your shoulder replaces it.

The girl you’re here for in the first place, Jessica, rounds the corner and you have a sinking feeling you know exactly what she’s going to do. Nevertheless, Derek calls out to her. “Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Come on. Let’s go, right now.”

You snag Spencer’s sweater in your hand and follow him to the door. You watch as Jessica takes in Cyrus’s body, clocks the detonator, and then reaches for it. Spencer leaves your grasp.

You’re hot on his heels and it’s only then you have another fleeting thought of not making it back home.

“Run!”

Derek’s behind you. You only hope it’s enough time.

The explosion rocks you to your core and for a moment you’re not sure whether you’re alive or dead. When the ringing in your ears cools off, Derek has his arm around you. The smoke covers everything. Your eyes burn, coughs rattling through your chest and wracking your shoulder.

You hear your last name, as well as Derek’s and Spencer’s. It’s Emily.

She’s scared.

Derek helps you straighten, and guides you down the steps. “We’re alright!”

You still can’t talk for your coughing, but you hear Emily’s relieved, “Oh, God.”

She meets you in the middle while Aaron waits at the bottom of the stairs. He’s watching you. Emily touches the side of your face and you lean into it. You’re a little on the outside as she gathers Spencer into her arms.

There’s something going on by Aaron, but you can’t quite hear it yet. Whatever it is, it’s over before Aaron’s hand is extended toward you. When your fingers meet his palm, he brings you close, careful of your shoulder. His hand meets the back of your head, and you press your face into his neck, blocking out as much as you can.

You don’t exchange words. There’s no need.

He tucks you under his arm and you pass Jessica’s mother, watching the burning compound with bewildered eyes.

+++

You sleep on the plane, your head resting against the window. Just as you suspected, you developed a small infection on the last day in the compound, but it’s nothing two weeks’ worth of antibiotics can’t fix.

Hotch sits beside you, pretending to read something or another. His eyes keep tracking the same line over and over again. The moments where he thought he’d lost all three of you to the explosion plays back in his mind again and again and again.

You can hear him thinking and you crack an eyelid. “Hotch.”

He immediately turns his head, ready to get whatever you need. Frankly, you look miserable. “Yeah?”

“We’re fine.”

An eyebrow raises.

“Fine. I’m shot and Emily’s beat to hell, but we’re alive.” You reach for his sleeve, running your fingers over the fabric. “I think you saved my ass, by the way.”

You pull your hand back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Something in me kept telling me ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ ‘Don’t be a hero!’ and I’m certain it can be attributed to your undue influence on me.”

The corners of his lips turn up just the tiniest amount. “Maybe so.” He slips his blazer off and drapes it over you. “Sleep. You need it.” He sees you about to interrupt him and cuts you off. “If I see you in the office at all before next week…” The empty threat speaks for itself.

“Trust me. After my near-death experience, the last thing I want to be looking at is you.”

Liar.

“The feeling is mutual. You look terrible.” He smiles for real this time and you return it. A whisper passes through his head, and he pretends he doesn’t notice.

Liar.

+++

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#a joyful future #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future fanfic

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emmyrosee · 2 years

Note

"intimidatingly calls u princess" emmy i think this is the truest thing i've read about these characters!!! u are so so so right!!!

(dont mind me, i immediately made the hc that "princess" is almost always followed after a deep & heavy sigh lmao)

OSNDOSBSOS TRY TO TELL US WE’RE WRONG THO LIKE-

Like listen. I like men who are terrifying to look at, but literally fold in half when they see a bunny outside like. Those are them, I cannot unsee it.

also yes they ABSOLUTELY sigh heavily after a “princess” falls from their lips, even if they’re so happy to see you or turned on LMAOOOO, there’s just a deep sigh that follows that tells you everything you need to know about what they’re thinking I CANT, ISA THIS IS WHY WE VIBE-

#god I love my boys #i love serious boys who are like. super cute #give me that ‘bowl of soup’ personality and they’re official my fave characters man-

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Note

Okay, but with Grayson complaining about being lonely and wanting a girlfriend I CANT HELP but to think about how horny he probably is on top of that. Like- its been on my mind for days, so can you PLEASE write something about gray meeting a bitch, like through friend or something, and realizing he likes her and then having these dirty thoughts about her, and like he doesn't want to but he just cant help it... I will die and love you forever, you're writing is my absouloute favortie.

Ur so sweet babe haha thank you😊 hope this is along the lines of what you wanted.

Getting his dick wet has never been a problem for Grayson Dolan; not since receiving his first sloppy, inexperienced blowjob when he was on tour at the tender age of 16. There’s been a steady flow of girls in and out of his life ever since, fulfilling both his needs sexually and the fleeting desire for noncommittal intimacy. And that’s how he likes it for the longest time. Easy and no-strings-attached.

But he’s older now, and even though quarantine hadn’t stopped him from hitting up his favorite one or two booty calls every now and then, he feels empty in a way that’s becoming all-too familiar. It’s not a new feeling, but every time he leaves their homes (because that’s his number one rule — hookups stay out of his bed), there’s a longing that wasn’t satisfied and that’s becoming more and more apparent to him.

So he stops fucking around — literally. He believes in the power of the mind and manifestation almost to a fault, and considers that maybe he’s letting casual hookups interfere with what he really wants: companionship.

It seems like a breeze at first. Grayson swears he feels lighter, clearer in the head, more focused on what he wants out of his life. He puts his mind to being the best version of himself and hoping that it’s enough to attract the same kind of person that he can put all of his love and effort into in return.

As months roll on, however, he realizes that sometimes the universe just doesn’t listen right away. And for the first time in his life, Grayson discovers the monotony and reality of what it’s like for the ‘regular’ guys out there, whose only sexual pleasure comes from their own hand and the porn category of choice for the night. He was used to that as a filler, for sure, but not as his one and only outlet.

Plain and simple, he’s horny. All the time. Which makes him grumpy, and irritable, and frustrated with both himself and everything around him. So when Ethan tells him in passing that his girlfriend is flying in from New York with her friend to visit, it just makes him grunt. The fact that his brother is in such a happy and healthy relationship himself is a point of contention for Grayson in his head. He’s thrilled for Ethan, but he can’t help but dwell on the creeping jealousy in his chest. Here he is, starved for both intimacy and sex now, and Ethan will get served both of those the following night in excess while Grayson lies in his bed alone.

The next night, they’re all having dinner at the kitchen table — all four of them, including her. The friend. The friend that Ethan had mentioned would be coming but that Grayson had so brusquely ignored. The friend that had his eyebrows raised the second she walked shyly through his front door, drawn in immediately by her beauty.

The friend he can’t keep his eyes off of now as she goes to town on the roasted sweet potatoes and black bean burgers he had made himself. She’s quiet but witty and has a cute laugh that makes his heart flutter a little in a way he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

He feels a nudge against his ribs, and startles when he jerks to the side to see Ethan staring at him pointedly with a knowing little smile on his lips.

“You’ve got ketchup on your shirt, bro,” he says, nodding to the blob of red on Grayson’s white shirt that had dropped from the forkful of sweet potatoes, which had only made it halfway to his mouth as he listened to her talk.

“Shit,” he mumbles embarrassedly, flushing a color near the tomato-red that’s now stained his shirt. Of course, the first time he’s feeling real feelings around a beautiful girl, he has to revert to awkward, clumsy Grayson rather smooth, relaxed Grayson.

He starts to scrub up the mess with his napkin, but she reaches out from her seat across the table from him and grabs his wrist in her petite hand. “Oop, wait! Dab, don’t swipe, or you’ll make it worse. I know how to get that out as long as it’s not smeared around into the fabric.”

Grayson swallows, his arm flaring with goosebumps at her gentle but insistent touch, but tries to keep his cool. She’s grinning at him amusedly, then sits back in her seat when Grayson follows her instructions.

“I thought ketchup was one of those things that you’re just kinda fucked if you get it on your clothes, Ethan says, filling the silence left by his brother.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Peroxide will get it right out, especially if you wash it after. Do you have any?”

Ethan cocks a brow and looks at Grayson, hoping he’ll use the opportunity to speak to her. Thankfully, he does, even if it is lacking a little bit of gracefulness. “Huh, peroxide? Oh... uh, yeah, I — yeah, in my bathroom.”

“I’ll help you when we’re all done, if you want,” she offers before taking a modest bite of her burger.

Grayson nods, and can’t help but watch the way she sucks a bit of barbecue sauce off her thumb once she swallows. His heart picks up and he has to shift in his seat a little when she winks at him, his pants tightening under the table. Damn it. He’s been trying to avoid that reaction and those thoughts, determined to do this right.

He fixes a smile to his lips, and hopes his face isn’t giving him away. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Everyone helps clean up the table and dishes, and Grayson leads her into his room while they leave the other two to have some alone time. He prays that he made his bed that morning and that there’s no dirty underwear on the floor or used tissues on the nightstand.

Luckily, the floor is relatively clear, and the bed is made, if haphazardly so. She follows him into the en-suite bathroom and watches him dig under the cabinet in the first aid bucket he has down there.

She’s wearing jean shorts and a loose-knit sweater, and when Grayson starts to stand back up he takes a moment to appreciate the tone in the muscles of her legs and the flashes of skin he can see through her top, hoping he isn’t being too obvious.

She takes the brown bottle from him and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “It’ll be easier if you take this off.”

Grayson nods, and can’t help the laugh that escapes him when she turns her back to him. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you your modesty! I don’t know you, for all I know you might be super insecure.”

“At the risk of sounding like a total douche, I promise I’m not,” he answers, reaching behind his neck to tug the collar up and over his head. “Here you go.”

She turns back around, and Grayson doesn’t miss the way her eyes travel over his sculpted torso. He can’t help but smirk a little, thrilled at the cute blush that tinges her cheeks when she meets his eyes and realizes she’s been caught.

He hasn’t had a woman look at him like that in months, however, and he’s grateful when she tells him, “This will need to go in the laundry tonight if you want to make sure the stain comes out, so you’ll need another shirt anyways.”

It gives him an out to duck into his closet, taking a moment to collect himself before grabbing the first T-shirt his hand touches and slipping it over his head.

“Cold water first,” she informs, smiling at him through the mirror when he re-emerges as she leans over the sink with the water running. She shuts off the water and squeeze out the excess, then takes the peroxide and pours some onto the stain.

“Woah,” Grayson says, eyebrows raised in surprise at the fizzing bubbles visibly picking up the bright red from the fibers of his shirt. “Where did you learn this trick?”

“I work in the toddler room at a daycare. We keep this stuff on sight and scene to avoid 20 outfit changes a day on a few two year-olds. I’m sure you can imagine the amount of ketchup and blood stains a toddler procures on the daily.”

Grayson chuckles. He feels himself growing more fond of her by the second. “You like kids?”

“I love them,” she replies with a grin. “Working in childcare is pretty rough, but it’s been a great college job. Lots of experience for my degree. And, you know, good practice for the future one day.”

If he hadn’t been sold by now, that does it. Beautiful, smart, and good with kids?

He takes a moment to assess himself and his thoughts. He doesn’t think he’s letting his dick lead him right now, even if he does want her that way. He’s just as attracted to her mind as he is the curves of her body and the features of her pretty face, and finds himself wanting to talk to her for hours on end.

He doesn’t realize there’s a heated silence, both of them standing there staring at each other, until she clears her throat and holds up his shirt. Grayson glances down at it to see just a faint brown rim around what use to be a bright red mark. “All done.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking it from her and tossing it in his laundry basket. “Come on, hopefully we don’t walk into something we can’t unsee.”

“You make a pretty good meat shield,” she says jokingly, following close behind him. “All big and broad. I can just hide behind you and keep my eyes unscarred.”

Grayson laughs loudly, his ego swelling, and he has to resist the urge to take her hand in his. That would be too much. Right?

Thankfully, the couple is just cuddling innocently on the loveseat when they enter the living room.

“Movie?” Ethan asks when the two of them settle on the couch, a respectful and calculated distance between them — not too close and not too far.

“Sure.”

They’re all in a fun and lighthearted mood tonight, so they settle on Moana. Grayson wants nothing more than to throw his arm around the beautiful girl next to him, who sings along playfully to the songs she knows, her enthusiastic movements shuffling her closer to him. He doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but he doesn’t really care; her presence in both body and spirit feels good to him.

Ethan’s girlfriend only makes it about halfway through the movie before she’s passed out, tired from the long flight earlier that day. He looks down at her fondly and chuckles when he sees her nuzzled sound asleep against his chest.

“I’m gonna take her to bed,” he announces quietly before standing with her in his arms. “Goodnight, guys.”

They both murmur back “goodnight” and watch Ethan disappear down the hall. The movie plays on for a couple of minutes, before she’s turning to him and making small talk. Which turns into broader conversation about bigger things. Which leads to them settling so close that their knees touch. She finds an excuse to pick an invisible fleck of something off his hand, which turns into their fingers playing with each other’s teasingly.

Which turns to Grayson checking his watch in a quiet but not unpleasant lull, and muttering, “Oh, shit,” in surprise.

She checks her phone lying on the couch cushion behind her. The time shines back at her 1:27 AM.

“Damn, when did it get so late?” she wonders aloud, looking at him amusedly.

Grayson shakes his head. “Time flies,” he says. Whether it’s the late hour, or him getting his mojo back, or just the fact that he’s so naturally comfortable with her, he suddenly feels bold enough to reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you tired?”

She blushes and bites her lip, allowing him to keep his warm palm pressed to her neck while his thumb strokes the ridge of her jaw gently.

“Not really,” she answers, scooting that much closer to him. “Not ready to go to my bed, anyways.”

She’s referring to the guest room she’s already settled her things into. Grayson smiles. Rules be damned, he thinks, until he realizes in the next moment that there’s no way this amazing girl is going to be just a hookup. There’s no rule to be broken.

“Why don’t you come to mine, then?”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins fic #grayson dolan fic #blurb #g blurb

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 53- Rescue

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Grian is at the mercy of Dolios and his dark magic, but are the hermits there to save him in time? Or has the end come for the healing mage?

[Note: Hey everyone, I’m sorry for the time that was between chapters. A lot of really emotional and personal things happened over the past few months, and it just really pushed me off balance. But I really cant thank Red enough for being at my side the whole time- he’s the real hero in all of this.

Happy Season 8!]

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To be back in the dark, cold bowels of the dungeons, willingly returning to the chamber that Dolios forced them to play his game in, left every hermit with a strange mix of dread and remorse. Almost every hermit, except for the few that weren’t around during the championship, can remember waking up in cells, being dragged from the hard stone floor at knifepoint, and turned into pawns for Dolios to control. Promising he will kill every last one in his game, and making TFC play along.

But they hardly linger in the very chamber where their guildmaster outwitted the Magistrate of Lairyon, rather continuing on their search for a passage to the subchamber. Scar can feel the cavity in the stone beneath their feet, but no staircase seems to lead them down. It wasn’t until Cleo summoned the ghosts of those who died here, their souls lingering, that they are pointed in the right direction. So many souls, having seen so much suffering, not just from Dolios within these walls, though many are from his doing.

A ghost guides the hermits to a circular room, and though their voice has long faded with time, their misty hands point to the center of the room. Mumbo kneels down. “There’s machinery here. If I just…” He places his hands against the smooth stone, and without even having to think, his magic appears. Redstone seeping through the seams of the rock, reconfiguring the mechanics and forcing the spiral staircase to descend.

Everyone, including Mumbo, is surprised by his power. He’s never had such control before in his life. But they don’t linger on this new development. Not when time is running shorter and shorter for Grian. They cause a jam in the thin staircase, twenty something hermits rushing to the subchamber. Unlike the rooms above them, the stone is rough cut, no bricks or stenciling. It looks more like a cave blown open than a carved dungeon.

A heavy weight wraps in on the hermits. They know they’re close as the pressure increases on their bodies. They follow the struggle to breathe, the feeling of carrying stones on their back. They’ve come to know the signs of a dark crystal well- and it leads them right to not one, but three towers of corrupted gems.

They’re massive, protruding from the ground at an angle, black spikes erupting from the earth. The air is heavy with mist, swirling in tendrils, like the very tentacles of Eurynomos, way back in the forest. The mist grasps the open air, siphoning the very life from the stone and oxygen and taking it for itself. Every so often, a pulse of darkness bursts from the corrupted crystals, with such force it causes the entire cavern to shudder, and blows back the hermits’ hair and clothes. They all duck with each explosion, but one person remains standing, reveling in the energy that's breaking free from the crystals.

Dolios’s fingers toy with the mist, grasping the air and feeling the power. With each eruption, the black seal between him and the central crystal glows. For a second, the hermits swear they can see the mist at his back look almost...feather-like.

“Oh my gods… Grian.” Stress’s voice is so small, so quiet, the other hermits almost don’t hear it. But their captured friend’s name on anyone’s lips is enough to catch their attention.

He’s grey, so monochrome that it was almost impossible to pick him out among the black crystals, the grey mist, and the dark magic. Limp body and hands, eyes open but unseeing, Grian is chained to the central crystal. Once blond hair, now an ashen grey, curls and crests over Grian’s face, his chin dropped to his chest. The hermits don’t breathe until they see him do so, but it’s a horribly shallow breath. Another wave of energy rolls through the crystals, and Grian’s body loses more of its color. More of it’s life. At this point, he hardly even reacts to the tearing of his lifeforce, his magic, from his body. Fingers twitch, but even those are beginning to turn flaky, fading away into oblivion. The tips of his once blue cape become little more than mist. Even the energy, the powers of the very atoms are being torn apart. Grian was very near death- or a fate worse.

All for Dolios, and his insatiable need for power. The low thunder of every wave is broken by Dolios’s voice. He flexes his hands, laughing to himself. “Of all the angels I’ve stolen magic from before, it has never been this strong. Even Celia had nothing against you. I feel like I could blow all of Milliara apart with a windstorm this instant! Don’t worry, little bird, your magic is in good hands.”

Iskall and Mumbo both scuffle to their feet, surging forward. Mumbo faster than Iskall. Too fast for TFC to grab him before he’s over the boulder they hid behind. And too fast to stop even his own magic from summoning. But it wasn’t the out of control magic that the hermits have seen before. Like destroying the crystal shard on Eremita, or in the depths of the Hangman’s Playground.

No, even though lightning filled Mumbo’s vision, and magic surged through his veins like energy through a redstone circuit, he had every wit and thought about him. For the first time, he had true, full control. Every iota of power was at his command, like a dragon spreading it’s wings for it’s first flight across the sky.

With a flippant wave of his hand, the twin satellite crystals shatter, red bolts of lightning creasing through the darkness-bound lattice. The air is filled with glittering crystals, mist freed from the quartz and purging it of the darkness. Mumbo turns his power, his attention towards the crystal that Grian’s chained to, and presses his fingers together to destroy the last crystal.

He’s blown off his feet, a burst of wind from nowhere sending him skidding across the floor. When Mumbo gathers his wits and looks up, finally seeing Dolios through his anger, the magistrates is wild with manic delight. “Oh, now that’s real magic. I think this little bird’s powers might become my new favorite.” The other hermits dare to step out, walking through the shattered, transparent remains of the crystals. Dolios is the only color before them, his plush robes and rich colors standing out against the swirling magic. “Ah, the whole parade is here. Come to watch your friend die? Or will you all be joining him as well?”

Dolios turns, resting his gaze on Grian. The hermits watch in horror as their healer looks as if he’s about to blow away in the wind. Like dust in the shape of a human. His eyes are empty, no glimmer of life left. They realize they may be too late.

But that doesn’t stop them from getting their revenge. Mumbo remains focused on the crystal his friend is trapped against, but a sharp shard of gemstone goes flying through the air, cracking Dolios upside the head. Blood pours from the wound, matting the curly brown hair that crowns Dolios. He turns, anger mixing with the mania into a dangerous concoction. But his fury doesn’t get to live long, not when Scar drives a wedge of rock into Dolios’s jaw. This time it’s the magistrate that goes skidding across the rough hewn floor. In his attempt to stand up, Dolios becomes ensnared in just about every medium of magic the hermits can offer. Vines tie him down, radioactive spikes pin his clothes and hair to the floor, a ring of hellfire erupting from the depths of the earth.

Mumbo, however, remains focused on his best friend before him. Summoning all his magic, every ounce of effort he’s ever put forth, he sends a bolt of lightning directly to the core of the crystal that is draining Grian. The lightning strikes true, hardly even raising a hair on what remains of the sky angel, but obliterating the crystal he hangs from. From the inside out, the darkness is banished by red light, like the sun rising red on a bright, beautiful daybreak. Blinding everyone within the cave- except Mumbo. He’s not lost in the light, the power, the magic. He’s a part of it all.

The crystal shatters, and Grian falls. Crumpled to the ground, he looks to be little more than a pile of ash and rags among the sparkling crystal shards. Like the moon adrift in the sea of stars.

When the hermits blink away their momentary blindness, they find Mumbo is already at his friend’s side. With a few teary blinks, the last of the lightning fizzles away, and Mumbo’s voice cracks like the very gems he destroyed. “G-Grian? Grian, wake up.”

But Grian doesn’t move. Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the angel and pulling him to the safety of the hermits. Holding him close as the others surround. Ren reaches out, placing a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He retreats immediately, when Grian’s shoulder seems to fade from existence, flaking to ash and falling apart under Ren’s pressure. “Is he….”

No one dares speak the word. Joe scribbles down a healing poem, but the magic does nothing. Grian doesn’t breathe, his eyes don’t blink. They just stare, empty, at the cavern roof above. And he continues to fade, all color lost, becoming nothing more than dust.

“No, nononononono.” Mumbo’s words stumble and jumble together, and he shakes and jolts Grian as if trying to rise him from a dream. “Grian, don’t leave us! We need you!”

Still nothing.

Mumbo’s shoulders slump. A weight heavier than any dark crystal hangs over the hermits as Grian’s limp form lays in Mumbo’s arms before them. Tears threaten to spill from Mumbo’s eyes. Grian was his first real friend, the one who saved him all those years ago. And he couldn’t return the favor now. It was Grian that offered him kindness, offered him friendship. Grian who gave Mumbo a true family, a real home, who trained with him even when all seemed hopeless, and drank with him when nights were bright. It was because of Grian that Mumbo has a father in TFC, friends all around him. And now?

Now his best friend was dead in his arms. Fading from existence, his magic and life stolen by a monster in magistrate’s clothes. Mumbo tips his head, breath stuttering as tears fall freely. Like a stream after a storm, rivers of salt water across his cheeks, cresting his jaw and running across the valley of his throat. Some droplets are caught in his mustache, others stain the collar of his outfit. All the hermits openly cry, even Doc. Memories flood alongside the tears, bowed heads over their fallen comrade as Mumbo holds his fallen friend tight.

One tear falls straight down, landing with a wet plop on Grian’s eyelid. Water, the lifeblood of Lairyon, slowly drips into Grian’s own vacant eyes. And from the ashen grey, empty gaze, a single vein of blue appears within his iris.

Like a river, the blue flows freely, spilling across Giran’s sky blue eyes. Filling the empty grey valley with fresh blue water. And from the blue, like the sun reflecting off the see, a glimmer appears.

Iskall noticed the color returning first. The pink of Grian’s face, sunlight colored hair beginning to renourish with color. Bringing Grian slowly back from death’s doorstep. He slaps Mumbo on the shoulder, his own breath gasping. Words struggling to break free from the nuclear wizard’s mouth, rather just random noises escaping his lips.

It’s enough to get Mumbo’s attention, as well as every other hermit. Through teary eyes, they see the color spread. The red of Grian’s robes, the blue of his cape. The translucent, flaking form becomes solid and tangible again.

And then Grian breathes. So shallow and soft, it’s almost impossible to see. But to the hermits, it might as well be an earth breaking tremble. Eyes blink, and parted lips move. A whisper of a voice breaks free from death’s grip. “Mumbo? Iskall? Guys?”

Grian can’t sing, but the words from him might as well be a chorus of angels. He was alive. Whether it was pure luck, the gift of life that water carries, or simply the friendship the hermits hold, something brought Grian back from the brink.

Only one thing can break the joy. And that one thing has to open his mouth. From across the room, Dolios writhes in his bonds, snering. “Oh that’s just touching, isn’t it? If I can’t have it all, then I might as well kill every last one of you.”

Doc realizes what’s happening first, but Dolios is just out of reach. A bout of strength that can only be attributed to previously stolen magic, Dolios tears apart the vines and breaks apart the crossed spears of iskallium. He stands, brushing off leaves and radioactive dust from his robes and tugging on his ponytail. When he opens his eyes, a crooked, crazed grin creases the leader’s normally charismatic face. “Do you really think such weak power can hold me down?”

Wels reacts just in time to shield the hermits from the arc of magic that aimed for the group. Dolios doesn’t let up on his barrage, and the magical barrier begins to crack and contort against the dark energy. No hermit can step out from behind the shield without risking certain death.

A wild, cackling laughter echoes off the cavern. “What will you roaches do without your precious angel now? Who will save you now?”

Wels’s barrier breaks. And Dolios attacks.