#like I think they genuinely both believe that they have the right to look gideon and harrow in the eye

[0w0]

Made a post on Reddit of tlt theories I have, here's it:

But here it is under a read more so you don't have to suffer. I'd really love to hear everyone's thoughts!

Ianthe, Lychtorhood(s), the Tower, the Trinity, Ba & Ka, Vriska

Inb4; I'm an audiobook listener so my spellings are probably not right

[ Not Vriska ]

I'm a broken record when it comes to finding all of the little homestuck things in the locked tomb, and Ianthe seems ofc Very Serket-y. So my unironic but absolutely crack theory is that she's going to end up having a hand in bringing the story to its climax but in a way that could be considered either heroic or aligning with the protagonist, even if that's not the spirit of what she's doing. "Protagonist" being Alecto over all, not Harrow, not Gideon.

[ Motivation ]

I genuinely think Ianthe wants knowledge and power But not because she wants to be God to everyone, I think she wants to be God to herself (and of course however that plays into her enmeshment with Corona), looking back on how she always had to play second fiddle to Corona ineveryone's eyes, she was a puppet master further puppeted by her parents who obviously gave her a lot of issues. I genuinely believe she hates herself, and just looking for anything to fill that void.

[ Tower ]

I haven't read very many other theories on the Tower, But because the afterlife we've seen is referred to as the river, I believe it is a lighthouse allegory, meant to guide all of the souls who have been lost, straying, and absolutely ravenous. "Jewel or gleam of a smile" gives me very "beam of light" energy, I believe Ianthe will have some kind of end as a ferryman or harbinger, becuase John never was - he was just vindictive as a god.

[Types of Lychtor]

💙1) Swaparoo; John and Alecto - the switched souls or essences, something that traded their eyes but let them both live.

💙2) Headmates; Pyrrah and Gideon - two souls living in one body, independent of each other but the eaten soul isn't actually devoured, Pyrrah still having agency for example. I believe this is what Anastasia and Samael may have ended in, if John hadn't killed him.

💙4) Fusion; Paul - When Camilla and Palamedes achieved lychtorhood, it seems like they've fused into and have become a new being, like their souls are blended into a new one, which is parts of them both, yet is still new being.

💙3) Cannibal; Mercymorn and Christabelb- And the other cases of lychtors we've seen for the most part it seems like the soul has been completely devoured, or like the personality of the cavalier is gone, all there is, is autopilot and a battery.

[ The Trinity - what is it? ]

BUT if the perfect Lychtorhood trinity is actually 3 souls, here are my guesses for endgame trinity:

Upon my reread of Nona I realized Anastasia had mentioned a trinity, and I don't think it's just in a Christian Context. A possible reading of what the Trinity is - Adept, Cavalier, and the whole of what they make. The new entity is the 3rd thing, Lychtor type 4.

Ianthe, Babs, Corona

Alecto, Harrow, Gideon

John (father), Gideon (son), Alecto (holy spirit).

Alecto (father), the 10 billion souls (son), the tower/river (holy spirit)

Ianthe, for those last combos, I'd consider a Judas or Longinus allusion. I think her final defining act will be one of mercy, that will leave everyone in... awe ;)

[ Connective tissue ]

💙 Permission; "There is only one rule. Don't go into any locked room without permission. Wink." This quote from teacher in Gideon has been making my brain itch, and I really feel like it has something to do with the tomb itself, the tower, the river, the stoma.

💙 Eyes; are the window to the soul. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I believe the stoma at the bottom of the river isn't just a gateway, and isn't just full of teeth because it's creepy and necromantic. I think the entire river is a living being, that the entire universe in this series is a consciousness all of its own, and that entropy is only being expedited by John, whether he realizes it or not. I believe the river is one big revenant waiting to happen.

💙 Iceberg; Alecto is the Earth, but not the 10 billion souls. John is very much like Harrowhark, in that he is made up of so many more than just his own soul. I don't believe he devoured human kinds souls, I believe they're the mindless restless dead in the river that are so hungry and searching for closure.

💙 Tarot; The tower card often means unforeseen change and dangerous circumstances etc, though in reverse it means illness, loss, etc. I'm choosing to see the river as a reflection of sorts, so I believe the tower is a place of mourning, not the dangerous and ominous thing it seems to be. I genuinely feel like there used to be beings in the river who would help guide souls along.

💙 Ba & Ka; everyone here is extremely well read so I'll let you look up this Kemetic belief and jump into it curtly: I believe when a necromancer devours their cavalier, the eye color switches because the KA (essence) is what is switched with adept and cavalier. I believe this is why even though Gideon dies, Pyrrah still has his eye color rather than hers remaining. Her essence is what has been made part of their soul.

I believe the Ba is what joins the river even when a Cavalier is made into a battery, but that the KA stays. I believe that is what would explain things like only certain body parts or bisected spirits in the river, because why would it dead thing see itself as only part of its whole? Because it's whole isn't there.

Now the BA, personality and individuality, is what gets destroyed in type 2, but blended in type 4. Think Paul's eyes blending color.

[ In conclusion ]

(I'm talking about a lot of complex things that I only have cursory knowledge of, apologies if I get anything wrong thusly dismantling this entire red string maze.)

I still firmly believe that the Trinity is it's two parts plus the whole it makes, and I believe Babs will be rejected or expunged based on what was said in Nona. I don't think his entire Ba has been corroded down to just his Ka yet, so he still may be able to be saved.

This would leave and Ianthe and Corona. BUT I believe Ianthe will have to reconcile her own parts to become a whole person, and become a mini Trinity before even thinking about a perfect Lychtorhood - But she gives a love that is toxic and codependent, I could really see her going between eating Corona, or simply denying her again because she is the one person she can't live without, despite everything.

That, and Corona being Judith's Cavalier in spirit, I'm not sure where her final loyalties will lie. I think her rejection of Ianthe is what will drive Ianthe to do the ""right"" thing. She's always been into people who don't want her and Ianthe had already rejected her once, I don't know if she will get a second chance to reject her.

#smear campaign #tlt #the locked tomb #alecto the ninth #spoiler heavy

[limnsaber]

The thing this episode has taught me is that there’s no one Moff Gideon wants to be more than Darth Vader. He wants the cape. He wants the abyss-black armor. He wants the saber. He took Grogu’s blood because he wants the fucking force powers. He’s vying for being the head of the military or Palpatine’s second in command in light of project necromancer. The only person we’ve seen him genuinely scared of is Vader’s son. There’s a narcissism here he’s ushering in a new age of the Empire and he wants to be its tyrant symbol

I’d like to talk a little bit more about this, specifically the part about Grogu.

“But Lim!” you say, “Why do you think Gideon wants Grogu’s force powers?”Cause he’s a fascist with a singular goal of power but let’s get into it

I mentioned in the notes of that post about how there was more interesting, genuine stuff about Gideon & Mandalorian and imperialism/colonialism. The stuff about Gideon and the Mandalorians and everything he’s done to Mandalore, from ravaging their planet to massacring their people and how he so desperately wants to be Mandalorian, the cultural appropriation and everything else that comes with that, is really interesting and juicy and people have talked about it everywhere. But a question we’ve had from day one is: what are they doing with Grogu? Why do they want him? What are they doing with his blood?

We figured it was for Palpatine’s cloning project, to be able to imbue the Palpatine clones with midichlorians, giving them access to the force. I don’t believe this is the case. I believe Gideon is hunting Grogu specifically because he wants Grogu’s powers.

In the scene with the hangar at the end of the episode Gideon says this:

>“You see, every society has something to offer. The cloners. The Jedi.”

(Right in this line the camera cuts to Grogu)

>“And even the Mandalorians. By aggregating the best of each, I will create an army that will bring order to the galaxy.”

In the first scene with the Shadow Council we’re introduced to Project Necromancer, Pelleaon, Hux, and Gideon’s maneuvering to frame himself as an alternative to Grand Admiral Thrawn in Thrawn’s absence. The conversation, which I’ve edited down, goes…

Captain Pelleaon: “Grand Admiral Thrawn’s return will herald the reemergence of our military, and provide Commandant Hux enough time to deliver on Project Necromancer.”

…

Gideon: “Perhaps it’s time we look to new leadership.”

Hux: “Project Necromancer is in place for that.”

Gideon: “Yes, Commandant.”

Hux: “…I also hear whispers, Gideon. You held Pershing and were attempting your own experiments on Nevarro.”

Gideon: “The creation of clones is your obsession, not mine.”

Commandant Hux is directly in charge of Project Necromancer, the Shadow Council’s effort to produce Palpatine clones, and Gideon has no part in it. So why does Gideon want Grogu in the first place? It’s especially interesting to me that Gideon’s own experiments cause derision from the other members of the Council, or at least from Hux.

Textually we get a lot of talk about Mandalorian, about beskar, and that is the point of Gideon— he’s a foil to Din, the most Mandalorian guy to ever Mandalorian, and a violation of everything that is Mandalorian and all the Mandalorians hold dear. In the imagery, though, and less directly, we’re getting Vader comparisons. Just take a look at the armor. Watch him maneuver himself to take Thrawn’s place. I believe that his white beskar soldiers are clones for his personal Imperial-Mando army.

Gideon isn’t involved in the cloning of the Emperor at all like we originally thought; he took Grogu because he wants the power of the Force. Just like the Mandalorians and Mandalore, the Empire has killed and violated piece after piece of the Jedi, until all we have left are hidden individuals across the galaxy.

At the end of it all, Grogu is Mandalorian and Jedi and Gideon wants to be both.

#reblog this version plss #the mandalorian #grogu #moff gideon #mandalorian season 3 #din djarin #the mandalorian spoilers #meta #mando s3 #lim on the mandalorian

[wifegideonnav]

//

//

clinically old people pretending to care about the teenagers they personally traumatized while simultaneously refusing to take literally any responsibility: a compilation

#the layers of fucking self-delusion at play here #like I think they genuinely both believe that they have the right to look gideon and harrow in the eye #like hi cytherea you murdered two children in front of gideon and now you’re comforting her?? #cyth’s relationship with gideon is as bad as jods relationship with harrow #if not worse because gideon has NO idea #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #gideon nav #cytherea loveday #cytherea the first #harrowhark nonagesimus #john gaius #op

[the-bau-quinjet]

hiii! i don’t know if you have done this but can you do a hotch x reader where they get kidnapped by tobias instead of reid? xx

4 Months

Warning: Criminal Minds level violence, drugs, torture, rabid dogs

Word Count: 3562

a/n: I decided to switch up some of the specifics, just to make it a bit more fun to read. I hope you like it :) Also, we're pretending Rossi was there bc he is really the father of the group and it fit better than having Gideon 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

"JJ, we have to split up." You barely looked back at her, missing the nervous expression on her face as you ran toward the cornfield. "I'll take the field, you take the barn."

You slowed to a brisk walk as you neared the cornfield, raising your gun in front of you. You couldn't help but think about how pissed Hotch would be if he knew what you were doing.

You shook off the thought, knowing he would do the same if the roles were reversed.

Spotting movement, you moved farther into the corn, trying to spot any signs indicating which way Tobias went. A bent corn husk was the last thing you saw before the world went black.

-

"He's not a witness. He's the unsub." Hotch's eyes went wide as he realized you and JJ were there without backup. "Call JJ, now." He instructed Morgan, taking out his own phone to call you.

Hotch's eyes met Morgan's as both calls went unanswered. No words were exchanged as everyone ran out to the SUVS, putting on bulletproof vests as they went.

Hotch was nervously tapping the steering wheel the entire drive to Hankel's house. He couldn't stop replaying your last conversation.

"Y/N, you and JJ go talk to Hankel. Find out if he saw anything." Despite his stern expression, you could tell his eyes were smiling at you.

"Sure thing." You nodded, mouthing 'I love you' before turning to JJ.

That's it. He didn't even have the chance to mouth it back. JJ would've seen, and even though the team has theories about your relationship, you haven't confirmed anything yet.

He pulled into the driveway, running up to the house, gun out before anyone could stop him.

Prentiss followed Hotch, Morgan and Reid took the left, Rossi and a local cop took the right.

They tore through the house, clearing it with fierce determination, but came up empty.

"It's clear." Rossi called, joining Hotch and Prentiss in the living room. "Where are Morgan and Reid?"

Hotch spared a glance out the window, discovering the barn likely being cleared by the missing agents.

Everyone ran out of the house, arriving outside the barn just as Morgan and Reid lead a distressed JJ outside.

"What happened?" Hotch questioned, glancing over JJ's shoulder into the barn. Clearly you weren't there, but he needed to hope.

"We split up. Y/N went into the cornfield... I had- I had to shoot them." Her voice was detached, eyes glazed over.

"The dogs." Morgan clarified, leading JJ to a paramedic.

"Dammit. The house is clear. No sign of Y/N or Hankel." Hotch ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind. The worry was nearly overpowering, but it wouldn't help find you.

The sheriff approached, removing his hat. "A deputy two towns over gave directions to a man matching Hankel's description. He's headed for a hunting lodge."

Morgan nodded to Prentiss. "We'll check it out."

-

Your head was pounding. A vile scent reached your nose, causing your eyes to flicker open. You flinched at the closeness of the man in front of you.

"Tobias..." The name slipped out in a whisper.

"They're not here. It's just me now." He stated, calmer than you would've expected.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to portray a fake sense of calm.

"I'm Rafael." He pulled out a revolver, adding a single bullet to the six chambers.

"No. You don't have to do this." Your heart ached, fear gripping your body as he aimed the gun at you.

"It is my duty to enact God's will." He said, right before pulling the trigger.

-

Hotch pulled back into the driveway, leading Garcia into the house.

"His computer setup is in there. If there's even a hint of where they might've gone, I need you to find it." Hotch gestured to the back room.

Penelope nodded. Carrying her own computer bags, she followed Derek into the depths of the house.

"What've we got?" Hotch questioned those remaining around the table.

"He knew he could throw us off, pretend to be looking for a hunting lodge." Emily spoke quickly.

"We've got piles of information, journals, notebooks. We're still sifting through it all." JJ added, shirt still bloody from yesterday.

Just then, Reid rushed in from another room. "The walls in the bedroom, they are covered in the latin phrase 'honora patrem tuum', honor thy father."

"Garcia, look for anything you can find about his father." Hotch gave out orders, but his focus was elsewhere. What was happening to you?

"Over here!" Morgan called from outside.

The team ran around the house to see Morgan opening a cellar door. Nodding slightly, Hotch and Morgan made there way inside.

"Tobias Hankel, FBI." Morgan shouted, receiving no answer.

They quickly found the dead body of none other than Hankel's father. Even the new information did little to calm the worry brewing inside of Hotch.

-

"Confess your sins." He ordered.

"My sins? I don't have any sins." You did your best to hold back the tears, trying to figure out who you were talking to.

"Everyone has sins. Confess, and you will be forgiven." He stared you down, waiting for a response.

You simply shook your head, mouth slightly agape. The smell was getting to you. You couldn't think straight with the pain in your head.

"I- I don't know what-"

"YES YOU DO. CONFESS." He hit you, whipping your head to the left.

-

"Hotch, he took drugs to escape. Dilaudid cut with a psychedelic." Emily relayed the information her and JJ got from Tobias's sponsor.

"We've got something too. The dates in his journals don't add up. He was talking about his father as if he was alive months after he killed him."

"His father beat him, preached about sin." Emily replied, putting the pieces together alongside Hotch.

"Split personality. Profile the father. He could be the key to finding Y/N." Even just saying your name he felt his heart clench.

-

"Who are you?" You questioned him as soon as he walked through the door, trying to figure out who you were dealing with this time.

"Tobias." He moved about the cabin almost nervously.

"Who was here before?" You knew Rafael, but the other personality was a mystery.

"My father." Definitely the most violent. He was who you had to look out for. "I'm sorry if he hurt you."

Tobias looked over you newly forming bruises before pulling off his belt.

"No. No what are you doing?" You felt your heart rate increase as he wrapped the belt around your arm. You could barely register the words he was saying, something about escaping from the pain.

"Please. I don't want it. I'm fine." You begged, tears brimming your eyes. He ignored your pleas, injecting the drug into your bloodstream.

Despite how much you hated it, you felt the relief he was talking about. The pain was gone, even if just briefly. You thought about your time spent with Hotch. It didn't feel like long enough. You wanted more. You had so much you wanted to do with him.

"Aaron..." You mumbled his name between kisses. "They could see us." You did little to stop him, despite your words.

"We should tell them." He whispered against your mouth, holding you close. "They would be happy for us."

You sighed blissfully, forehead pressed against his. "Really? You know they've got a pool going to see when we'd finally get together. Who do you think had money on 4 months ago?" You laughed into his neck, pulling him closer.

"My bet's on Rossi. He knows us both too well." Aaron smiled, a full genuine smile.

"You're probably right, but just to make it interesting, I'm betting Reid. He's too observant not to have noticed." You squinted at the window, knowing Reid was staring at the closed blinds on the other side.

That earned a laugh, one you could feel in his chest pressed tightly to your own.

"I love you." He kissed your head, content to hold you for a little while longer.

"I love you too." You leaned ever farther into him. "We can tell them when we get back from this next case."

"Deal."

-

"Get in here!" Reid called from the computer room, pointing to a screen where you were being broadcast. You were handcuffed and tied to a chair, clearly beaten.

"Pick one to die." The voice of Tobias could be heard, despite him not being visible on the screen.

You shook your head, staring into the camera. You wanted to plead for Hotch to save you, but you knew it wouldn't be fair. He didn't need that on his conscience.

"Choose one, and I will free another."

You shook your head again, trying to think of a clue you could give the team. "I won't let you hunt them like a poacher."

"Now. Or I will kill them all." He threatened, lifting you from the ground.

"I'll pick who lives." You stuttered, breaths coming fast and short. "The right screen."

You were forced to watch as he turned off the camera, leaving the screens to show the heinous murders he was about to commit.

Suddenly, Rossi was talking to you through the screen. The sight of him nearly brought you to tears.

"Y/N. This isn't your fault. None of it. You can't blame yourself. We will find you, but I need you to be there when we do."

You knew exactly what he meant. You were already blaming yourself, despite Rossi's father like relationship with you, it was hard to believe him.

It did give you the strength to remember the team though. You needed to see them, all of them, again.

-

"He's back!" Morgan called everyone in to view the screens again.

"Confess your sins." They watched as he beat you.

You cried. You begged him to stop. You begged Tobias for help, but nothing worked.

Hotch felt his heart break even more with every word.

Suddenly, you were on the ground, still tied to the chair. You were seizing, Charles Hankel watching as it happened.

The screen went dark, causing Hotch to punch the desk.

"Dammit." He shouted. He didn't care if his worry was beginning to poke through the surface. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now.

"The timestamp." Emily's voice drew him out of his head. "There's only a few minutes between the time of death and when it was posted. He's got to be close to the crime scene."

Finally. Something that felt like progress.

-

They watched the screen as you appeared again.

"Choose one to die." It was Rafael this time.

"I can't. I can't do it." Your face betrayed every emotion you were feeling inside.

"Pick one." He stated again.

"Me. Kill me." You nearly begged.

"You said you weren't one of them. Your team has 7 other members. Choose one of them to die."

You shook your head, fear gripping you once again as he pulled out the revolver.

"Choose." He connected the gone to your forehead, resting it there.

"No." He pulled the trigger, watching as you flinched.

"Choose." You shook your head, tensing as he pulled the trigger again.

Hotch felt his heart in his stomach, internally begging you to just say a name. He couldn't watch you die, not like this.

"Choose." He pulled the trigger yet again at your silence.

"I won't do it." You held firm, knowing you had limited chances.

"Choose one to die."

You opened your mouth, panting as an idea came to you.

"I choose... Aaron Hotchner." Your heart ached even saying it, but you needed to give him a clue. "He's a classic narcissist. Thinks he's better than everyone. He'd go to his grave knowing he was wrong." You winced internally, trying not to give away your plan.

Hotch left the room, trying to understand your words. The two of you had just argued about the definition of classic narcissism.

"I think you're wrong." You laughed at his amused expression.

"Yeah? Or do you just like making me exasperated?" He questioned your motives, pulling you closer as you laid in bed together.

"Maybe a little bit of both." You shrugged, leaning up to kiss him. "Promise me something?" You asked, a nervous expression on your face.

"What?" He looked at you with so much concern, you felt your heart beat a little faster.

"If... If I die, you can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to protest, but you kept going. "I know you Aaron. You'd take it to grave thinking it was your fault. I can't let you do that. Not when I know you blame yourself for Haley's death." You felt your heart break for him and the pain he had been through. "Promise me." You were nearly begging.

"I promise." He whispered, his throat tight at the idea of losing you.

He was brought back to the present by the sound of Rossi's voice.

"Hotch, you know Y/N didn't mean any of that." Rossi tried gently, unsure of how Hotch was coping with your situation.

"I'm not a narcissist. What's my worst quality?" He looked at the apprehensive looks everyone was giving him. "I'll start, I have no sense of humor."

He nodded along as his team listed his faults.

"None of you said I ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Y/N and I just argued about the definition of classic narcissism." He paced, trying to put it together. "I'd take it to my grave... Grave was a hint."

"What? How do you know?" Reid shook his head, trying to understand the logic.

"I made a promise. It's a long story." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory so he could focus. "Y/N knew I would remember it."

"A cemetary. It's got to be a cemetary." Morgan added.

"No cemeteries on the map." Garcia was typing away on the computer.

"Like a poacher." Reid whispered, staring at the screen.

"Reid?" Hotch looked at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

"That's what Y/N said in the first video. 'I won't let you hunt them like a poacher.'" He said it louder, more excited than before.

"Garcia, any reports of poaching in the area?" Hotch asked, the idea of finding you causing hope to erupt in his chest.

"Yes, at Marshall Parrish... and there's a cemetery on the grounds." She gave them the address, watching as they ran out to the SUVs.

-

"I'm sorry." Tobias said it so softly, you were almost certain you didn't hear it at all.

"Wh- why?" Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, trying to make sense of it.

"He'll win. In the end, he always does." He rose from the crouched position, slowly injecting you with more drugs.

"Hotch!" You screamed, feeling arms restraining you from behind.

You watched as he went into the hostage situation, unarmed and without a vest.

"Derek. Let me go!" You struggled in his grasp, straining to get free.

"There's nothing you can do, he's already inside." He stated the truth, although it did little to calm your nerves.

You settled down, throat tight with worry. You bit your lip, eyes flitting between the door and windows. You just needed a sign, anything to say he was alright.

The sound of a gun firing stunned you. You were frozen in place, fear consuming you. You had just told him you loved him for the first time this morning. What if you never get to say it again? What if that's all the time you got.

You stared in horror as everyone ran toward the house, only to freeze when a voice shouted everything was fine.

"It's fine." He huffed, carrying the small child out of the house toward a waiting EMT. "Baxter is dead."

"Aaron..." You whispered the name, realizing how powerless you felt when he was in danger. The two of you made eye contact across the yard, a reassuring look in his eye.

"Aaron..." You whispered, blinking rapidly as you slowly came to.

"What about Aaron." Charles. Tobias's dad was back.

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't keep him safe." You muttered to yourself, not fully understanding the situation.

"Is that a confession?" He asked, voice hard.

"Yes." It was more of a breath of air than a word, but it was all he needed to condemn you.

He unlocked your handcuffs, forcing a shovel into your newly freed arms before dragging you outside.

"Dig." he instructed plainly, watching over you as stray tears wet the ground beneath you.

-

"Clear." Morgan called from one side of the shed.

"Clear" Hotch replied from the other. With the whole team in the small space, it wasn't exactly necessary but it was habit.

Hotch could feel his nerves picking up again as he realized this meant you were still with Tobias. He paced back and forth, feeling powerless.

"Spread out. They have to be on foot." He left without waiting for a response, turning left with JJ to look for you.

-

You did your best to stall, but Charles wasn't the most patient.

"Dig faster."

"I'm trying. I'm trying." You whimpered, movements speeding up ever so slightly. The massive knife in his hands causing your own to shake.

"You're weak. Move." He huffed, throwing his jacket to the ground before ripping the shovel from your hands.

A flash of light in the trees caught your eye. Flashlights. Your team. Aaron.

Your eyes flickered between the man in front of you and the trees, causing him to turn.

You took the split second he wasn't looking to grab the gun from his jacket, swiftly aiming it as he turned back to you knife raised.

"Only one bullet in that gun." He lunged for you, falling backwards after you pulled the trigger.

You dropped the gun, quickly tossing the knife away.

"Tobias?" You cried, moving back toward him.

"You killed me." He seemed surprised, but grateful at the same time.

You felt the tears pouring down your face as you apologized.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." You grabbed his hand, watching the light fade from his eyes as he asked one final question.

"You think I'll get to see my mom again?"

You barely registered the arms around you, pulling you to your feet. You couldn't take your eyes off of Tobias. He wasn't the one who hurt you. He helped you, or at least tried.

"I killed him." Your breathing picked up, vision blurring.

"Y/N, look at me." You turned to the voice, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

"Aaron?" You took a stuttering breath, trying to make sure this was real.

"I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now." His words were just as reassuring to himself as they were to you. You caught JJ's eye over Hotch's shoulder, quickly moving to hug her.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never should've-" You cut her off.

"None of this was your fault. It was my idea to split up. I'm so sorry." You cried into her shoulder, knowing how guilty she must've felt.

She hugged you back, tears brimming her own eyes at seeing you alive again.

She lead you to the EMT, not commenting on the look you threw over your shoulder at Aaron. He quickly followed you to the ambulance. JJ left you to talk to Hotch, who stayed beside you the entire time the medics looked you over.

"I didn't mean it." You said when you were finally alone, sitting between the open doors of the ambulance.

"What?" Aaron questioned, his mind not following your own train of thought.

"When... When I had to choose. I didn't mean any of it." You could feel the tears coming, but this time you did nothing to hold them back.

"I know. I knew the whole time." You brushed your tears away, looking you in the eye. "I love you so much." He whispered, his own eyes feeling watery.

"I love you too." You leaned into him, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. You couldn't help but look over at the team, all of whom quickly pretended not to be watching. You huffed a laugh.

"Yeah, I think they're going to have some questions." Hotch smiled, glad to see you happy even if just for a second.

"After this case, right?" You looked back at him, confirming you still wanted to share your relationship with the team.

"Deal." He smiled, arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer.

-

You couldn't help but bring it up on the jet ride home.

"So, who had money on four months ago?" You questioned, tucked into Aaron's side on the couch.

"What?" Emily raised a brow at your sudden statement.

"That's when we started dating." You grinned at her shocked expression.

"Dammit Reid." Morgan huffed, handing over the money.

"Don't forget Rossi!" Reid high fived the older man, the two grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Looks like we were both right." Hotch smiled into your hair, trying to hide his laugh.

"Yeah. We make a pretty good team." You smiled, leaning into his touch.

"I love you." He murmured, face still in your hair. You turned your face into his chest before responding.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

#aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch xy/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #hotch fic #hotch fluff #hotch one shot #hotch angst

[whump-town]

Was Hotch Abused?

I offer you my 2,300+ worded thoughts on the matter with episodes included. There's going to be lots and lots of talk about abuse so you're going to want to steer clear of that if that's something you're not cool with but for those of you interested... I give you all the proof I could think of:

Natural Born Killer.

In the eighth episode of the first season, “Natural Born Killer���, we meet Vincent Perrotta. His father was abusive but from the outside looking in, no one knew a thing. Perrotta started drinking at fourteen and committed petty crimes, as well as assault, for pleasure. Going as far as to kill his own father not too long after. But Perrotta is a monster and a psychopath so it’s clear we’re not supposed to sympathize which makes his interaction with Hotch so peculiar.

Hotch is our “Captain America”. A true neutral with an infinity for doing what’s right so it’s inconceivable to compare him to Perrotta and yet Hotch gives us some rather conflicting lines to dissect.

Before Gideon hands the interview over to Hotch, he spends a moment talking with the others out in the bullpen. The whole time he’s leaned back and he’s watching Morgan and Hotch. Now, at this point, we don’t know about the sexual abuse Derek Morgan faced at the hands of Carl Buford but there’s something about the way that Gideon spends the entirety of the conversation only looking at the two of them. Waiting for them to put together what he clearly already has and when Hotch does…

Hotch jumps straight into Perrotta’s profile, asking: “You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?”, “But your father beat you every chance he got”

Perrotta excuses it with a shrug, “he smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?”

Abuse is a complicated thing and, often, abused children just don’t know what their parents are doing to them is abuse. It can be a subtle and outright thing but there’s an element of normalcy to it. The parent’s abuse is as habitual, as minimal as biting your nails to the child. Adults often can’t identify their parent’s past abuse.

With Hotch you learn that his lack of expression is often as telling as his expressions and as Hotch looks back at Perrotta, there’s something so sad about his eyes. His voice goes from loud, assertive to his whispered answer to Perrotta’s question. “No.” As if, well, maybe that’s a question he’d raised once too.

Perrotta doesn’t care about that though and he taunts “well, maybe if yours had you would have learned to fight”. But is it not more telling that Hotch didn’t make a sound? Perrotta got in several hits and the only sound Hotch made was when the wind was literally punched out of him. Not even when Gideon called to him and at that point, Perrotta did not the garrote around Hotch’s throat. That’s another thing mentioned before in the profile and something Hotch mentions to Perrotta directly. You learn to take the beatings, smile even. So, it’s just a little odd how little Hotch responded…

But that’s all nothing, you can take that how you want

Which leads us to the fateful, not everyone comment.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers"

That can’t mean NOTHING, there’s so much there but there’s something about Hotch’s subtle wording. The way he’s unconsciously slipped himself in there (a very real thing that people do) and he hasn’t even realized it. Doesn’t even know he’s done it until Perrotta pushes and he pauses, asks what Perrotta means. And the subtly of it, the way he doesn’t even mean to that says more than anything else.

“And some people grow up to catch them.”

It’s a super-specific comment to make. He can’t possibly be talking about Derek because he doesn’t even know about Carl Buford yet not to mention saying that about him would be incredibly rude if he were talking about Reid (and again, he doesn’t know about Reid’s childhood yet). So… that really only leaves him because JJ, Garcia, and Elle were not abused.

“P911”

In season two, episode two “P911” the team is hunting down a man trying to sell a young boy, Peter, on the black market. Kevin Rose is an underage boy “selling” himself on the internet while his abusive father has been in prison. I’ll let you just guess who it is that leads the team on finding out more about Kevin.

Your guess is more than likely right-- Morgan and Hotch. Now, we know about Morgan but come on. Nothing to say about it being Hotch who makes the emotional appeal?

The camera even follows his gaze, he’s crouched down (to appear non-threatening because he’s so close) and we watch his eyes take in the scars on Kevin’s chest. You can also note that while Gideon remarks that Kevin’s father was “always drunk, you never knew why he was hurting you, why he was so angry” both Kevin and Hotch look away from him.

AND FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME THE “some grow up to catch them” LINE WAS NOTHING TRY BECAUSE GUESS WHAT GIDEON SAYS? NO, NO GUESS--

Gideon: “At night you’d cry yourself to sleep hoping someone would come and save you”

And it’s HOTCH, HOTCH IS THE ONE TO SAY: “You have the chance to be the one who saves someone, Kevin. You can be the one who answers him, the one who stops his pain.”

PARALLELS PEOPLE THE PARALLELS

“Profiler, Profiled”

I bet you weren’t expecting this one, huh? But there’s something about people who faced trauma that makes it so perceptible to other traumatized people-- they sniff it out like coke to a drug hound. And, just guess, who it is that spends the majority of his time fighting with Morgan? Who knows (like I said about the bloodhound) immediately there is something Morgan’s hiding.

Hotch is angry, he’s upset that Morgan would hide anything. Mumbling about there being “larger implications” and how the team can’t have secrets. With the knowledge of exactly what that secret is it makes Gideon’s eye roll a little telling. Because it’s like they both know but neither will say. Driven home by Gideon turning the attention to Hotch, asking “would you want us profiling you?”

And again Hotch is the one to leap onto the abuse. The one to put the pieces together. Hotch’s anger makes no sense. He says he’s angry that Derek’s keeping a secret but the team has many, way too many. Over the years the team unwraps all kinds of secrets, he’s never angry then. So, it’s not about the implication of a secret at all. It’s what the secret is, like misplaced anger. Anger with himself may be leftover from his own abuse. But still…

Hotch lets Morgan escape. Knows exactly who and what Carl Buford is but all he tells the team is that “he won’t even speak about him”. He always knows how to find the abuse… like I said, a bloodhound.

George Foyet

I know you’re going to find this so fucking surprising but guess who also was abused? George Foyet was beaten by his biological father and his mother didn’t save him so he hates women (bleh, men are disgusting what’s knew).

Now, blah, blah, blah Hannah, I know you’re not about to say Foyet and Hotch are a lot alike-- no of course not. Don’t be silly. What I’m going to say is that they’re foil characters? They accent one another in an opposites sort of way. Foyet is a manipulative narcissist who doesn’t work well with others. Hotch is a guilt-ridden team leader who can’t let The Reaper’s case go. There are meant to be comparisons drawn between them. A good villain does that. George Foyet shows us that Hotch is not at all this removed, cool guy that we’ve previously assumed him to be. He cries in an alley because he blames himself when The Reaper kills a busload of people.

We see he has a rather compulsive nature. He never let The Reaper case go and has very personal ties in this case. Not even after Foyet attacks him, if anything it’s worse. He brings the case file home.

But it’s certainly interesting to see yet another “villain” with that same tragic abusive father and submissive mother come into play with Hotch. We’re nearing a point where it’s getting hard to call it coincidence (and according to David Rossi, there simply is not such thing).

Haunted.

In the second episode of the fifth season, “Haunted”, Hotch voice’s over a Dickinson quote: “One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing. Material place.” These quotes are often cheesy, if not a little cliché, but given the premise of this episode is in exploring the ways in which a man’s traumatic childhood has left him now grappling for a truth he can not define… well, maybe we can say the writers were onto something here.

Darrin Call, debatably the Unsub of “Haunted”, was abused by an alcoholic father. We see several signs of it throughout the episode-- Darrin’s delayed speech & severe neglect that leaves Darrin in dirty, hole-riddled clothing. If what we see is not enough, the reports that the team is given on Darrin explicitly state that he was extremely physically abused. It is this abuse that leads to the PTSD that he’s diagnosed with.

As sad and disheartening as Darrin Call’s life is, overall it’s the sort of episode that is forgotten over time. When it’s placed right after the episode that viewers have to watch Hotch say goodbye to Haley and Jack then, who is Darrin Call when compared to the agony of watching Hotch show genuine weakness? After watching Hotch lay in a hospital bed, tears in his eyes wondering if his son will remember him? His fears become our own and after watching George Foyet disarm and mutilate the one guy we’ve been led to believe for five seasons is infallibly, unflinchingly never going to break… well, Darrin Call has it bad but our focus is elsewhere.

It’s on Hotch, right?

The guy who is coming back to the job after only a month (and a day) off to recover. Who Morgan worries might have PTSD but he knows they can’t easily measure because Hotch wrote the questionnaire, he knows all the right answers. Who we see has had new locks installed since the attack and has Foyet’s file sitting open on a table for easy access. Who hears Darrin Call’s life (worked the same job without promotion for years before getting fired, no wife, no kids, a hermit) and bluntly asks why Darrin hasn’t just killed himself.

And let’s just take a moment to break down that comment. Hotch, who in the episode previously lost his wife and child, wants to know why a man who is steadily starting to sound a lot like him hasn’t just killed himself.

And I don’t say “sounds a lot like him” lightly.

Darrin Call has PTSD. Hotch, more than likely, has PTSD

Here are some signs just from that episode: hostility (he yelled at Garcia over something very small), self-destructive behavior (he ran into Darrin Call’s father’s house without a vest, back-up, or telling the other’s what he was doing), and guilt (blamed himself for missing the eye twitching Darrin exhibited because of his years of antipsychotic use)

Darrin Call was abused… this marks the second HEAVILY implied time that Hotch has been compared to another man abused by his father

Vincent Perrotta was the first with that hard to forget the exchange

George Foyet and his notably exactly the same past as Perrotta

“Haunted” feels like it’s supposed to prove to the audience that Hotch is losing it. He distances himself from Morgan, leaving every room that Morgan is in. He doesn’t pick up Garcia’s calls after Darrin Call attacks his therapist. The only glimpse we see of the old Hotch is with Emily, pulled to the side, but his guilt burns and he even brushes her off. Shaking his head and turning his back to her because somehow he should have seen something no one else did.

Throw in Reid’s comment about Call “victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma” and we’re painfully reminded of Hotch’s apartment. A place you’d think he’d want to escape but didn’t. The man was stabbed nine times in his own apartment and stayed in that same place. Almost sounds like that statement could be applied to Hotch too.

A dash of Hotch’s own comment about where Call would go to in his confusion and he says “to what he knows”, even the importance of how that orphanage is “where he became Darrin Call”. Where does Hotch go? What does Hotch know? The job.

So… we tally now three total Unsubs that Hotch has this direct relationship with. Three Unsubs with abusive fathers and mothers who couldn’t protect them. Hmm… coincidence?

Brothers Hotchner

Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner is a master of hiding, that is undeniable. It’s hard to see anything behind those furrowed brows and impersonal suits and that’s likely for a reason. However, anyone with a little sibling can tell you that no one on this Earth can and will annoy the ever-loving shit out of you like a sibling.

But that’s not really important. Sean and Hotch don’t talk about their parents. At all. Ever.

Hotch says that when Sean was in the first grade he got sent off to boarding school. “I was the screw-up making bad choices”. Interesting enough of a statement to make but you throw in the rough ages of Sean and Hotch at that time and it’s a little more than just “interesting”. You have Hotch at roughly 14-15 getting into trouble just like Morgan did at that same age (coincidence???).

(now you can certainly look at Hotch’s parentification vs. Sean’s immaturity doubled with substance abuse problems but we’d be stretching. “The Tribe” touches on the parentification but Sean just calls it “the big brother” thing and tells Hotch that he’s not Sean’s father and it’s fine it’s whatever. Hotch is a bit pushy. That’s not new. Substance abuse can just be a problem, it doesn’t have to be bc they were abused but again… a little coincidental)

So... was Aaron Hotchner abused as a child? I certainly think so

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 5

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: A call with one of your bosses threatens to split you and Din apart.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,075

Warnings: Reader experiences a panic attack, use of a swear word, angst, reference to most recent Mandalorian episode so I guess it’s kind of spoiler-ish, hurt/comfort and more angst

Author Note: All the love to everyone who follows along with this series! I joined AO3 recently so all these parts will be on there as well at LittleMissPascal. I’m actually really nervous about the response to this particular segment so...be gentle, please ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 4 and Part 6

Photo Inspiration: 

“Cupid 1-1-7, am I hearing you correctly? You said there was an explosion?”

You scrub a hand over your face, biting back a sigh lest the comlink picks it up. “Not a literal one, sir. I’m still not sure what happened, just that when my client touched a potential match’s hand there was this...invisible blast of energy or something.”

The silence on the other end is enough to make you want to slam your head against the wall of the Razor Crest. You’d called headquarters as soon as you and Din had returned to his ship, figuring if anyone had a clue as to what the hell had happened it’d be one of your superiors. 

After twenty minutes of explaining your predicament not once, but three times, you’re beginning to realize you were evidently mistaken.

“Remind me again, Cupid 1-1-7, what name was it you referred to this immortal client of yours as?” Over the comlink, your boss’ voice sounds as if he’s gargling jagged rocks, deep and throaty. You can imagine the narrowed-eyed look he’d be giving you in person and you’re grateful you’re not currently having this conversation over a holoprojector. 

“I didn’t.” 

Your eyes drift to the ladder leading up to the cockpit where Din is located. Something inside of you is insistent you keep Din’s identity hidden from your superiors. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, certainly not with any of your former clients. Part of you thinks of the sensation as possessiveness, but what have you to be possessive of? You have no claim to him, nothing tying you to one another. 

“Interesting,” your boss says, dry as the Dune Sea.

“My client is high-profile, sir. He asked me to remain discreet and I intend to uphold his request.” You clutch the comlink against your chest, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm as you wait to hear if he believed your lie or not.

“This...incident you’ve described, it does bring to mind an event in history with similar details.” There is a shuffling sound that echoes over the device, resembling papers being picked up and flipped through. He hums, a long drawn out note that makes your skin crawl. “Yep, here’s the report right here, referencing an outburst erupting as a result of the physical contact between a potential pair.”

You wait for more information, drumming your fingers against a nearby crate.

“Unfortunately, you are not of rank to hear the specifics.”

“But—”

“I must say though, the Moff will be most interested in this development,” he continues, ignoring your protest as if you hadn’t opened your mouth at all. 

Heart lodging in your throat at the mention of the head seraph, you manage to choke out, “I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Hess.”

“That’s sir to you, Cupid 1-1-7.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Forgive me, sir.” You’re two seconds from babbling yourself off a cliff and you can’t find the off switch for your mouth. “It’s just. Moff Gideon is so busy, as I’m sure you know, and I would hate to bother him with this case when I have everything under control—”

“Except that you clearly don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made this call.”

His words hit you like a punch, silencing you.

“The Moff will hear about this, as well as your breaking protocol by concealing information from your superior when directly asked. No doubt he will be as displeased about your behavior as I am.” 

Your eyes fall shut as you listen, slumping against the ship’s wall and sliding down onto the cold floor. You feel disconnected from the situation, as if he’s discussing someone else’s fate instead of your own. 

“In the meantime,” his voice drones on, adding more weight to the pressure on your chest. “I will permit you forty-eight hours to complete your assignment before I officially relegate it to another Cupid. You will also be ordered to take a reassessment test of your basic understanding of standard Cupid regulations.”

You squeeze your eyes together tighter, feeling like you’re about to throw up. Each breath you take feels pointless, as if there is no longer any oxygen in the air, but you have enough pride left to keep you from having a breakdown with your boss still on the line. 

“Do you understand the terms in which I’ve stated to you, Cupid 1-1-7?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amor vincit omnia.” The parting mantra sounds almost sinister coming from his mouth.

“Amor vincit omnia,” you echo, forcing your voice to remain steady.

The comlink clicks off. The floodgates open not a second later.

You press your palms against your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the sobs that wrack your body so they don’t disrupt the silence of the cargo hold. The tears streaming down your face refuse to be stifled though, burning your eyes as they fall. Your head pounds in rhythm with your heartbeat, a frantic drumming counting down the seconds until you either scream or pass out. Or both.

It’s an ugly, hysterical kind of crying that can’t be stopped once started, not even when you hear movement from the ladder right before Din slides down it, boots thudding loudly against the floor. 

And then it seems like Din is right there in front of you without ever having moved, unnaturally fast and stealthy, gloved fingers resting on your shoulders. He’s taken off his helmet, brown eyes full of such concern it only makes you cry harder seeing them, further increasing his worry.

“Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he murmurs, a note of franticness in his voice as he looks you over for injuries, finding none except for the few scratches along your arms you’d received earlier when you landed in the dirt.

You shake your head when he tries to move your hands away from your face, emitting a choked hiccup that threatens to crack your already-bruised rib cage with its intensity. 

“Angel, you’ve got to breathe, okay?” Din says, soft and soothing. You blink through your watery vision, finding his gaze again, and he offers you a small, reassuring smile. “In and out. Just like this.” He inhales a purposefully deep breath, then slowly releases it without once breaking eye contact.

You try to copy him, but your nose is stuffed with snot and your lungs hitch with another round of sobs, ruining your attempt.

“Can I…?” Din again reaches for one of your hands, this time hovering without attempting direct contact, waiting for your consent. 

Trembling, it feels like a monumental task to remove your hand from where it’s glued to the top of your other one still covering your mouth. Din grabs onto your wrist and brings your hand to his chest plate, pressing it against the cool beskar.

“Together, okay? In and out.”

He continues his litany of encouragement, patient and calm, and gradually your heaving sobs begin to lose their power, enabling you to reclaim control of your lungs. Catching your breath, you begin to wipe away the lingering tears with the hand not still held gently in Din’s grip. 

“Sorry,” you sniff, embarrassed. The beginning ache of a migraine starts to form in the back of your head, worsening when you try to move too quickly, and you bite back a wince.

His grip on your wrist tightens in admonishment. “There’s no need to be,” he says, but your ears detect his thinly restrained anger. “Who were you speaking to?”

“He’s one of my superiors. Valin Hess,” you answer, biting your lip.

“I should have him wiped clean from the galaxy for making you cry,” Din hisses, a snarl on his face and eyes darkening with rage.

Face to face with anyone else, you would have felt terrified being so close to such open hostility. But this is how Din expresses his overprotective nature, making himself a more dangerous threat than the enemy, and for that reason, you could never be scared of him. 

“Din, listen to me,” you say, curling your hand in his grasp until he yields to your movements and allows you to intertwine your fingers with his gloved ones. “What happened on Sorgan when you touched Omera’s hand, Hess said it wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. He wouldn’t give me the details though because I’m not high enough rank.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware Cupids had any kind of ranking system.”

“It’s based on how long you’ve existed. I’ve only been a Cupid for fifty years now, barely made any kind of lasting imprint on the galaxy.”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, shooting you a stern look. “You’ve made a bigger impact than you could ever know.”

Struck momentarily speechless, you can only watch as he moves to sit on the floor beside you, clasped hands settling between his thigh and yours. The pauldron on his shoulder presses against the upper half of your arm and you tilt your head until your temple rests against it.

“That’s not what made you upset,” Din says.

You don’t need to shake your head, confirming the truth he already knows, but you do anyway, comforted by the cold metal rubbing across your forehead.

“What did he tell you, angel?”

You know by how he squeezes your hand that he genuinely wants to hear what happened. You know he must hear it from you because no one else can break the news. And you know you cannot lie to him because Hess’ intervening affects him even more than it does yourself. Still, in spite of knowing all of this, the words don’t come out any easier.

“I have only two days to figure out who your soulmate is before he reassigns you another Cupid.”

Din goes abruptly stiff. “What.”

“Because of the explosion and then also because I broke protocol by refusing to say you were my client, Hess believes I’m not handling things well and should be replaced by someone better.”

If you hadn’t known Din was immortal, you would think he died with how still he remains at your side. Leaning back with increasing worry, you see him staring forward across the cargo hold, granting you only a glimpse of the side of his face.

He...Oh, Maker. 

He looks kriffing pissed.

“Din—”

“How...” he cuts himself off, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. “How could they ever think there is anyone better than you?”

For the job, you tell yourself, not allowing your hopes to rise. He means there isn’t anyone better for the job.

“I’m just a Cupid,” you tell him weakly, shrugging a shoulder. “I—”

“Stop talking poorly about yourself,” he snaps, the closest he’s ever come to yelling at you, turning to meet your gaze with fire burning in his eyes. You swallow thickly, his intensity making you feel like cornered prey. 

When he speaks again, his baritone voice has become a low murmur, each word carefully chosen and bleeding sincerity. “Everything you said about knowing who your soulmate is—I want to experience all of it with you. Only you. You’re it for me, angel.”

You freeze, unable to believe what you’re hearing, train of thought coming to a screeching halt. For the second time during this conversation, you’ve lost your voice, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

“You’re it for me,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s pleading for you to believe him. “So tell your bosses to go fuck themselves. You’re the only Cupid I could ever want by my side.”

The reference of your designation is like dumping a bucket of ice water over your head, shocking your entire system. You wrench yourself away from him, stumbling onto your feet.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you say as you start to pace around the room, hearing the hysterical edge in your own voice.

He stands up, expression warring between confusion and irritation. “I know you feel something too. Why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“Because we can’t be together, Din,” you answer, blinking back the unbidden tears starting to form again. “I’m not your soulmate. It isn’t possible!” 

“Angel.” He catches your elbow when you pass by him, forcing you to face him. His voice is brittle when he speaks, already expecting your answer to shatter his wounded heart. “Why can’t you be with me?”

“Because I’ve already met my soulmate. And he wasn’t you.”

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk

#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #the mandalorian #my writing #death and an angel #my fic #soulmate au #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader

[princessbatears]

I'm a storyteller both by trade and by hobby, and I understand a lot about how effective television storytelling works, in particular. My background has given me a different perspective than most people with regards to the finale, particularly what happens between Din and Grogu. Normally, I don’t get involved in fandom discussions, but I was encouraged to share my take on this. Spoilers below the cut in case I miss some tags, lol.

When I watched the episode this morning, I wasn't prepared for what happened. Like many of us, I expected a terrible cliffhanger or a neat conclusion like we got in the last season. Instead, Din encouraged his son to become a Jedi, leaving himself (and the rest of us) more than a little devastated. It was brutal. But also brilliant. Din and Grogu's individual and family arcs in this season came to a close in a way more beautiful than I could have expected. At the beginning of the season, Din kept Grogu at his side and protected him, but he was determined to pass him off to a Jedi. In part, this was because he believed it was Grogu's own good, but also because he wasn't ready to accept his fatherhood. We see this in the episode with Ahsoka. Even though he didn't want to say goodbye, he was willing to thrust Grogu upon her. When Ahsoka refused, Din was genuinely relieved and finally admitted to himself that he loved him and wanted him to stay a part of his life. That was further confirmed by the lengths he went to in order to get him back from Gideon.

Meanwhile, Grogu's gone through his own arc. We learned from Ahsoka that he hid his powers out of fear. We also learned that he's very afraid of being separated from Din, who he sees as his family. It's completely understandable. He's young and been through a lot. But that fear also makes it harder for him to train, so Ahsoka rejects him. Grogu himself continues to be a little reluctant to use his powers, needing encouragement from Din (unless it's to steal cookies). When he's captured, he fights the best he can to get away, but that fighting doesn't end up doing him much good because he can't control himself. It's my impression that, by the end of the season, Grogu's realized that he needs to be able to master his powers, not just to protect himself, but to protect Din, too. He's finally ready to step into his strength and become all that he can be, which is why he decides to go with Luke.

Din did not want Grogu to go. Everything in his being screamed that. He even say to Luke, "He doesn't want to go with you." However, when Luke explains what's going on, Din realizes that he must put Grogu's needs before his own. It's in Grogu's best interest to be nurtured in the ways of the Force, as he's always suspected, but now letting Grogu looks different than it did before. It wasn't Din rejecting his love for his son or pushing the responsibility of him onto someone else. He even did several things differently from when he tried to give Grogu to Ahsoka. First, he promises they'll see each other again. Personally, I don't think this is the end of them being together, even though Din says Grogu belongs with Luke (also more on that soon). Second, Din tells him not to be afraid. He wants Grogu to become confident in himself and all he can be. Third, he takes off his helmet to show his boy his face and let him touch him. While this is a huge sacrifice on his part because others also see his face, it is proof to Grogu that they are family and that they will always be family. Fourth, Din sets Grogu down on the floor and lets him walk to Luke. This is vitally important. In the past, he's tried to physically hand him over. This time, he lets Grogu make his own decision once and for all. Grogu walks over to look and asks to be picked up, indicating he truly wants to be trained. Din recognized him as an autonomous being with his own will, and respected and encouraged that, like a good father does. Was it easy? Absolutely not, but it was the right thing to do.

I'm not sure what Season 3 will look like as far as Din and Grogu's relationship goes. Maybe Grogu won't feature as prominently, maybe there will be a time jump, maybe something will happen and Luke will bring him back? I have no idea. None of us do. However, what I do know is that heart of the show is the relationship between Din and Grogu. I believe Filoni and Favreau know this, as does Disney. Grogu has made Disney actually relevant again, he's made them an insane amount of money, and I don't think they're going to let that cash cow go any time soon. So, everybody, please don't despair. It's going to be okay! ❤️

I'd also like to take a moment to discuss Luke. My feelings on this have evolved as I'm processed the episode over the last few hours. Initially, I wasn't very happy. I felt like a lot of people do. Why does it always have to be Skywalkers? Why couldn't it be somebody—anybody—else? Why did that have to do that weird CGI thing with his face that wigs me out? (That, admittedly, I'm still not a fan of, lol.) But with some time, I've realized that Luke makes sense. There's the inescapable fact that Star Wars is about the Skywalkers. They're the central characters of this universe. If Movies 6-9 hadn't been as godawful as they were, I think many of us wouldn't resent this fact so much. We're jaded, understandably. However, I don't believe it's fair to judge The Mandalorian's choice to include him based on other creators screwing him up in a future timeline. So far, Favreau and Filoni have been nothing but respectful of the Star Wars universe and its characters, and I'm choosing to trust them with this. But that aside, Luke is likely the only Jedi in the whole galaxy who would take Grogu as an Apprentice. Ahsoka didn't want him, too scarred by her own experiences and traumas. She also comes with the baggage the Temple placed upon its students, which was, if you have any "dark" qualities, you're untrainable. Meanwhile, in the original trilogy, Luke learned how to become a Jedi even though his legacy was those "dark" qualities. He overcame his own anger and fear and started new Jedi traditions. He's the perfect person at this point in his life to teach Grogu how to master his powers. He is obviously aware of how important Grogu is to Din and he'll take good care of him until the family can be reunited.

Personally, I loved this finale, especially the last few minutes. They absolutely destroyed me on a human level, but excited me as a writer and storyteller. By shaking the show up like this, it keeps the audience on their toes and reminds us that anything can happen. Din and Grogu's relationship is why people are so invested and throwing this huge kink that creates a massive conflict that the audience is desperate to have resolved. Aside from one of them actually dying (which would have me throw the show in the garbage), very little else could create such a reaction, which is the whole point. I can't wait to see what the creatives throw at us next year! 😃

#the manadalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian #mandalorian analysis

[darlingofdots]

Which is a list of reasons that I believe Harrow and Gideon will get a Happy For Now, at least:

it’s thematically set up this way. GtN was about the two of them figuring out how not to hate each other, HtN is Harrow rejecting a world without Gideon with every fibre of her being and starting to learn that love is not acquisitive, as Ianthe says, and that sacrificing herself for Gideon the way Gideon did for her isn’t the right way, either. HtN was not Harrow’s journey through the stages of grief, culminating in acceptance, it is Harrow refusing to accept that the choice presented to them at the end of GtN – the choice of Lyctorhood or death – was the only choice available. HtN is all about choices, from the false one God gives her when he says she can be his Saint or return to the Ninth despite the latter being impossible, the choice to lock her memory of Gideon away to protect her soul, to the final decision whether to stay in the River and fade or return to her body and complete the Lyctoral process. In her letter to herself, pre-homebrew lobotomy Harrow says ‘Look upon me as a Harrowhark who was handed the first genuine choice of our lives’. Gideon didn’t think she had a choice when she died for Harrow and Harrow didn’t think she had a choice when she consumed Gideon’s soul, because the universe/God/the narrative did not present an option other than Death. Everything in GtN said ‘this is how it has to be’ and HtN is Harrow saying ‘not if I get a say’. Thematically, the only way this story can be concluded is by the two of them getting to decide what the options are, and I don’t see either of them not choosing to be with the other.

The bubble sequences in HtN allow characters who were wronged in GtN to make their voice heard. The reader comes out of GtN sad, and frustrated, and probably finding it all quite unfair, and then we get to see some of the characters who were unfairly killed again and this time, they have agency and power over their situation. I’d say Dulcie is the strongest example of this: she was killed off without a thought, off-screen, but in HtN she gets to be a person who gets to actively participates in her own narrative. I choose to read this as a continuation of the theme about choices and inevitability; just because the narrative/the universe/God treated you unfairly before doesn’t mean you won’t get to have your say.  

The pieces are all there. I would say at this point it’s established that there is a way to achieve perfect Lyctorhood in which the cavalier doesn’t have to be consumed, namely because:

a) in chapter 33 of HtN, Camilla’s previously dark brown eyes are ‘neither grey nor brown but both’, a mixture of her own and Palamedes’ eye colours, which we have established is a ‘symptom’ of the bond between souls that occurs in Lyctorhood, and Palamedes’ reaction to Harrow showing up in his bubble suggests he’d figured out how to do it, made provisions for him and Camilla to do it, and fully expected Harrow to do the same

b) the whole Gideon Prime/Pyrrha situation which suggests an albeit imperfect version of the Lyctoral process can occur in which both souls survive (this is most like what Harrow ended up doing to herself, I’d say)

c) Augustine and Mercy’s theories about God’s connection with Alecto, including the eye switcheroo, sounds very plausible to me, and God pretty much admitted that the reason he killed Samael was that Anastasia was too close to achieving perfect Lyctorhood and he couldn’t risk the others either finding out that it would have been an option and resenting him for the deaths of their cavaliers (fair) or figuring out where he actually got his power from

So here’s a way for Harrow and Gideon to both be alive, fuelling each other’s power (I’d say for the final showdown against God but that’s mostly unfounded). It has also been established that Gideon’s really hard to kill: she didn’t die of the nerve gas on the Ninth and the siphoning challenge, which Palamedes calculated would leave most cavs who weren’t bred to be human batteries with brain damage at least, just knocked her out for a couple of hours. And on top of that, we know for a fact that Blood of Eden took Gideon’s body from Canaan House because it wasn’t there when the Cohort arrived and Mercy saw it. If you put all these pieces together, that looks to me like it’s setting up Gideon returning to her own body and achieving perfect Lyctorhood (which I would say symbolises perfect cooperation, perfect togetherness, perfect partnership) with Harrow. Camilla’s actions in HtN also indicate to me that she is confident she can somehow restore Palamedes in some capacity, as long as the bone she restored has his soul attached to it, and the fact that Harrow transforms the bit of skull into a hand because ‘he specifically requested movement’ suggests that there’s something to it. Admittedly Palamedes is a revenant at this point and we’ve been told they don’t really tend to stick around for too long and usually lose cohesion of spirit eventually, but I’m willing to discard that in this instance because Harrow also said he’d be mad already after eight months in the river, and she was clearly impressed by the way he’d ‘preserved’ himself in the bubble on the Riverbank. The parallels to Gideon’s soul being stored away in a kind of bubble in Harrow’s memory are, in my opinion, too strong to ignore.

Tamsyn Muir does not strike me as the kind of person who writer spend two books setting up the bond, the relationship between two characters the way Gideon and Harrow have been set up only to go ‘lol no’ at the end of it.

Bringing all of this together – obviously most of what I’ve said is ‘just’ foreshadowing and doesn’t mean it’ll actually happen this way. But there’s an awful lot of foreshadowing in both GtN and HtN, ranging from subtle to fiendishly subtle, and it’s the kind where the reader gets to a big reveal and either goes ‘oooh I was right, I knew x would happen because of y and z’ or, alternatively, spends their first reread gleefully pointing at bits of dialogue and cackling ‘Tamsyn Muir, you legend, I should have known’. It is not the kind of foreshadowing that leads the reader down one path only to go ‘ha, idiot, you really thought you knew where this was going’. Of course, sometimes you don’t know where she’s going (especially if you’re like me and just accept the wildest shit on face value the first time around), but it’s still all there if you know where to look. I think when people say they’re scared of Gideon and Harrow not being endgame or the whole trilogy just leading up to tragedy, it’s because the ‘ha, gotcha’ attitude to foreshadowing has become more prevalent in the last couple of years despite being really frustrating for audiences and, in my own opinion, not really Good Writing. Yes, the ending of GtN was a punch in the stomach, and I understand that people might not be so ready to trust the series after that. But you can’t really read HtN, which, again, is a complete and utter rejection of the ending of GtN and instead sees Harrow accepting help and care and advice from others and starting to grow into a more whole person who does not try to do everything by herself because that’s the only life she knows, and not see that bleak tragedy is not where this is going.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #jo rambles #the people's tomb #i was going to put a readmore after the first point but i can't figure out how to anymore? #anyway #have 1.3k of my Thoughts #i want to say 'this is baseless speculation' #but actually i almost have a masters degree in this stuff so i will not #because we're confident in our abilities this years kids

[intothewickedwood]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 6x19 The Black Fairy

Peter Pan! So weird to think they were married but I mean they’re both kinda obsessed with collecting children that aren’t their son which is a weird coincidence.

Aww baby Rumple!

Malcolm looks so happy to have a baby. It seems it was the loss of Fiona that made him resent Rumple. Perhaps he could have been a father with her support but he just couldn’t handle being a single father. 

I wish we got to know more about fairy lore

Rumple was born in winter. He’s totally a Capricorn!

Aren’t Saviors meant to save realms from dark curses? But the dark curse wasn’t created yet. Maybe they retconned it and they’re just meant to save people.

That dragon egg is awfully convenient. What happened to the characters going on quests to find things like this? It’s too easy to wake Blue up.

Snow straight up strangling the Blue Fairy. I know it’s not her but I think Snow deserves that opportunity. 

Quick thinking Rumple with that cuff! 

Why does Emma have to have sleepy time too?

Is the shack Rumple was born in the same place he and Milah lived in? Probably not.

Yep. Really shouldn’t have given her that book of prophecies. What did they expect? Fiona to be overjoyed her son would die at the hands of a great evil?

Wait. It’s not possible for someone to turn themselves into a fairy? There must be something about Fiona. There’s something about that family, I swear. It seems they were all destined for great power and great evil.

Regina teaching Zelena to drive is the best thing ever but she totally could have escaped with Henry on her broom if things went wrong. If people in New York saw her and Henry flying high defying gravity they’d just think it was promo for Broadway’s Wicked.

Lmao! Omg Zelena! This scene is glorious!

Oh yeah, baby Robin could fit on the broom too. They’d make it work!

Regina: “I trust him to raise you.” Lol. So true but now I need all the fics with Henry raising his little cousin and Auntie in New York. 

The Black Fairy is so freaking creepy singing a lullaby to Blue.

The hatred emanating from the Black Fairy for Blue gives me shivers. 

And then she’s like “I’m so happy we get a chance to play,” and sits down like a child. Chills, I tell you! Like, Blue has completely destroyed who she used to be.

What was she going to do to the child if she’d found one with the crescent mark? 

Aww. Rumple breaking down and saying “I would do anything for you, son.” This man freaking loves his children. 

How did they end up in Rumple’s dream when Gideon was the first to be sprinkled with the night night sand?

Hook: “How do we know you are actually you.” Regina: “Because it’s me!” Sounds legit.

Aww, Hook just called Regina “love”. Are they getting along again, now? I saw a meta the other day that noted how Regina only started to dislike Hook when he got serious with Emma and I’m pretty sure that’s true. Interesting!

I wanted to see a proper witch fight dammit! For a show with so many sorcerers, we deserved more magical duels.

But omg Zelena suddenly running the Black Fairy over and her flipping over the car is the best thing in existence! 

Aww the sisters’ little smiles to each other. 

The sacred vault of the fairies? Are they, like, religious? 

This poor woman. I feel so sorry for her. She’s just desperately and feverishly trying to protect her baby. What did they expect from her? Most mothers would go to those lengths if they were told their child would suffer such a horrible fate. That would bring anyone to the end of their tether.

Omg wtf. “He’s destined to die so that other children may live.” That is a beyond cruel thing to say to the face of a mother. What the hell? Omg the pain on Fiona’s face. No child should be sacrificed for another. How heartless of the fairies.

So did Emma replace Rumple as the EF’s Savior or can their be multiple Saviors? 

Agggh this is so horrific. Poor Fiona finding out she is destined to kill her own child. She’s devastated. 

Oh, did she get the crescent scar when she was disarmed? 

Oh cool, the Black Fairy can project memories! That’s quite a unique power.

Blue could have saved a lot of people by remotely teleporting their hearts into her hands from the EQ’s or Cora’s and yet she didn’t.

She has a point. Even if she severed her destiny so she wouldn’t be the one to kill him, he could still be in danger from some other threat.

Blue, what the hell! Summoning a portal was absolutely uncalled for. What because she dared to upset you as you were so desperate for him to become the Savior for some reason? Probably part of her long-game evil plan. So what if he didn’t become a Savior?! Blue’s going on like that was the worst crime. She was just trying to protect him and you separated a doting mother who was no longer a danger to him from her child! You had no right! She is so self-righteous, I swear to god. It’s nothing to do with her. Who does she think she is?! Blue has ruined so many lives and gotten away with it because she believes she’s all high and mighty. She’s just as much of a villain as any other on this show. It makes me so mad. Poor Fiona. No wonder she hates Blue. 

Fiona: “I promise you son, I will spend every moment of every day trying to find my way back to you!”

I think she let Rumple hate her because it was too painful and she didn’t think she deserved his love. 

There are a lot of parallels between Rumple and his mother’s stories. They are much alike. 

Malcolm genuinely loved Fiona. He said she was the love of his life. Gosh I needed backstory with those two! After her he felt the only way he could be happy again was to return to childhood and Neverland so he didn’t have to think about Fiona. It was too painful. Easier to pretend he’d never loved. 

Malcolm must have lied to Rumple and told him his mother had abandoned him.

The fairies imply Fiona is dead to cover their own asses. They won’t say they banished her because they damn well know he’d fight them to get the love of his life back.

Lol. Sorry but calling your child Rumplestiltskin just to spite him is hilarious. What does it mean? Oh! It means “Little Rattle Stilt.” I mean it could have been worse it could have been “Little Sh*thead.” 

Also the Fairies hearing him blame the baby for his wife’s death should have rung alarm bells. They should have put him in a home where he’d be loved and cared for. Nope, just leave him with this guy who hates him.

Eww. They put a heart on the dinner table.

Giddy Up’s got his heart back! Yehaaaw!

“A seafaring man does not take superstitions likely.” So he is superstitious! He allowed a woman on his ship for years so maybe superstitions are different in the EF.

Oh my God, next week’s the musical episode!!!! I can’t wait!!!!

#ouat #once upon a time #rumplestiltskin #mr gold #mr. gold #the black fairy #ouat 6x19 #6x19 the black fairy #ouat rewatch #ouat rewatch 2019

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

then came the morning (aka: the post - canon cuddle fic)

The work in progress is finally done! I’ve been chipping away at it for the past couple weeks now, and it’s gone through many drafts / iterations, but I think I’m finally happy with it. :)

Title from an album by the Lone Bellow. 

The first time the two of them “shared a bed” was about as awkward as one might imagine. The initiating circumstances were hardly any better.

 The heating apparatus in their quarters had given out a week or so back in a spectacular fit of dust - laden wheezing. The engineering crew called in to inspect it informed them that it couldn’t be fixed until they could pick up the right parts at the nearest trading post (which was naturally thousands of klicks away on the ragged edge of nowhere). With the ambient heat from the nearby engine room seeping through the wall, the conditions were deemed “unpleasant but survivable.” They were issued two extra threadbare blankets and told in tersely formal military - speak to deal with it. 

 And they’d dealt with it really well for a while! They grit their teeth and carried on like a couple of champs: Harrow, having been thoroughly warned against using her magic too frequently, layering on spare cloaks and sweaters until she almost disappeared under a mountain of black fabric; Gideon curling up close to the engine room wall and wincing when the cold sent spiteful twinges shooting through her still-very-busted knee. 

 But then one night their grand flagship of the revolution chugged through a particularly empty sprawl of space and began to slow down. The heat from the engine room guttered like a candle flame. Frost spiderwebbed across the thin plex of their window. Harrow’s breath showed in thin wisps of vapor as she huffed, glaring down at the pages of her book like she wanted to reprimand the cold for daring to interrupt her studies. 

 Gideon had half a mind to encourage her to try (that glare could stop a full - fledged Lyctor in their tracks, who knew what other horrifying powers it possessed?), but thought better of it when she saw the genuine exhaustion in the other girl’s eyes.

 “You doing alright over there, my vulturine vicar?” she asked. “I know it takes some time to absorb all that good bone knowledge, but you haven’t turned a page in like half an hour.”

 The thunderous look on Harrow’s face darkened further as she set her book aside with an exasperated thump. “This is ridiculous. I studied in the depths of Drearburh for years without any issue, and yet here I am struggling to focus like a novice. It isn’t even that cold.” She bit her lip as a shiver ran through her at the words. 

 “Evidence seems to suggest otherwise, o mistress of melancholy. Do you want me to go ask that guy in the supply room for another blanket? He still owes me for his son’s fencing lesson.”

 Supply room guy didn’t really owe her anything, but she knew that mentioning it would make Harrow feel better. If she could believe that the nice things Gideon did for her were actually for Totally Self - Serving, Debt - Settling reasons, she could accept them without feeling guilty.

 (Guilt had haunted Harrow more than ever upon returning to her own body, making it hard to breathe on good days and leaving her shaking with sobs on bad ones. 

It was one of those fun little things they had in common.)

 From the way Harrow’s shoulders stiffened, though, it seemed that Gideon Nav’s patented Guilt Workaround wasn’t going to be as effective as usual. She shook her head - a stiff little gesture that made her earrings rattle - then sighed. 

 “No. Thank you, though, it’s kind of you to offer.” 

 The thank you was sincere, and that was admittedly pretty nice, but all the sincerity in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Harrow was still  very obviously shivering. She looked miserable beneath her usual mask of face paint and stoicism. The dark red bead of blood-sweat trailing down her temple indicated that she'd probably tried using some kind of homeostasis theorem, but it wasn't working well enough. 

 There had to be a solution to this problem somewhere. Harrow's stubborn pride meant that she wouldn't accept help outright - she would sooner set her books on fire than admit what she thought of as a weakness - but if Gideon could play it just right, maybe she wouldn't have to. It would need to be done carefully - too sappy and she'd be uncomfortable, too straightforward and she'd balk.  Casual, Gideon decided. Nice and casual was the way to go. It would just be a matter of execution.

 "Soooo," she said at length, leaning back against the wall all cool and easy. (She folded her arms up behind her head as an afterthought, appreciating the way it made her still-atrophied-but-getting-there muscles stand out through the thin fabric of her shirt. Confidence boosts were going to be scarce and sorely needed in the conversation to come - she’d take them where she could get them.)

 Naturally, Harrow did not appreciate the change in tack or the cool-and-easy-ness. She did, however, manage to muster up a look so steeped in wary disapproval that it cut through her earlier frustration like a hot knife through bone marrow. “So.”

 “You sure about that blanket? Because really, it would only take me a second -”

 “I’m sure. Thank you.”

 “Then, um, did you want to borrow mine?”

 Harrow blinked. “You need yours.”

 “Yeah, I know! I meant that we could maybe - share. Pool our resources.” She patted the edge of her bunk gamely, then instantly regretted it when Harrow’s eyes narrowed even further. 

 “You want us to sleep together?”

 "No? I mean, technically, but no. In the literal way. Not the other way.” Well maybe the other way sometime if you wanted to but that’s a whole other weird conversation that we probably shouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or we might explode. 

 "How exactly would that work?" The caution was still heavy in Harrow's voice, but some of the disapproval had ebbed away. 

 "I mean. We'd probably need to use my bed, since my sheets aren't covered in gross bone gobbets, but you could bring your blankets over and layer 'em over mine and then we'd have twice the blankets! And, you know, body heat. Which has its perks." Even Gideon's cool-and- easy-ness faltered at that, but she bravely soldiered on. "The point is, we'd both be warm."

 "And it won't - make things weird?" 

 "Nope! Not weird. All perfectly chill, my shivering scion."

 Harrow paused for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'll get ready for bed," she said at last, clipped and decisive. "And I'll think about it."

 "Take your time. I'll be here."

 Moments later, after the shivering scion had swept grandly out of the room, Gideon's Thinking Brain crashed unceremoniously into her Talking Brain. Things were not, in fact, going to be perfectly chill. There were going to be some logistical problems with this arrangement. Big logistical problems.

 Big logistical problems namely revolving around the mutually exclusive facts that the midnight monarch was not especially comfortable with touch, and Gideon Nav, space - bee slayer and resurrected badass, was a sleep cuddler.

 Or, well, she was in theory. She didn’t have much (any) “real world” experience to go on, but she’d woken up many, many times back on the Ninth with a bundle of blankets wrapped up in her arms or nestled close to her chest. The habit had never really embarrassed her back then - she actually kind of liked it. She felt warmer and less lonely when she had something to hold, even in the frigid emptiness of her cell. 

 But that was back then. Things were different in the here - and - now. Harrow was in the here - and - now, and Gideon would never forgive herself if she ruined things with Harrow right when their relationship was on the upswing. They were actually talking, slowly figuring out how to work together again. The furious, tearful intensity between them in the wake of their reunion had calmed and warmed into something almost like real friendship. 

 After all that had happened - everything that had gone wrong over the past year and a half - they’d found a fragile sort of peace. There was no way in Hell she was going to ruin that peace now.

 So while Harrow swished about getting ready for bed, Gideon leveled with herself and laid down some ground rules. Don’t make this weird, Nav. Make sure she’s comfortable, give her her space, and don’t think about cuddling with her. 

 ...even though it would probably be warmer, and she has shitty necro circulation and essentially no body mass so she needs all the warmth she can get, and she gets that kinda soft peaceful look on her face when - no, fuck, see? You’re doing it already. Even if she did like you like that, which she absolutely doesn’t because she’s got a good old-fashioned frostbite girl back home, that’s not what you’re here for. You’re her cav. Her sworn sword. You’re here to do your job and make sure she doesn’t get her thumbs bitten off again. That’s it.

 “You’re staring.”

 Harrow’s voice cut sharp as a bone shard through Gideon’s nervous thought - spiral. Having apparently completed her grim evening rituals, she’d settled lightly on the far edge of the to - be - shared bed, countless dark layers poofing out around her like the feathers of a posturing crow. Her face was flecked with dots of gray from scrubbing off her paint, and her short hair stuck up in messy licks of black fluff despite her increasingly irritated attempts to smooth it flat. 

 It shouldn’t have been endearing. It really, really shouldn’t have. 

 It was.

 Gideon was so screwed.

 “Shit,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face to ground herself. She glanced over to meet Harrow’s eyes (and wow, was that a mistake, they were as mesmerizing a swirl of black and gold as ever), then forced a smile like she wasn’t screaming internally. “Sorry. Zoned out a little. You good to go?”

 The wryly exasperated glint in Harrow’s eyes made them glow even brighter in the dim light. “Yes, I’m ‘good to go,’ thank you. Are you, though? You look … troubled.” 

 Shit. Shit. Shit. Think nice, normal thoughts. Don’t let her know. She cannot know. 

 “I’m always good, my chthonic countess,” she lied, smooth as could be, throwing in a roguish wink for good measure. That was distractingly stupid enough, it was bound to work.  

 Harrow frowned. “Why are you blinking like that?”

 The roguish wink apparently had not worked. 

 “No reason! Just dust. In my eye. Lots of very rude dust landing right in my eye. Anyway. How are we doing this?”

 A flicker of genuine, anxious concern ghosted over Harrow’s face as her frown deepened. 

 “Gideon,” she began, in that slow, reluctant way of hers that heralded Incoming Indignity. “I know that you were the one to suggest this, but I want to impress upon you that if you aren’t - certain about it, there is another possible solution.”

 She cast around the room for a moment and reached for a massive, dusty tome at the top of a nearby stack, flipping determinedly through the pages. “I've had the idea for some time, but I only just managed to convince our commanding officer that I could use theorems 'responsibly' without their constant supervision, so I haven't been able to test it until now. Small - scale thanergetic fission reactions produce sparks of flame that, if handled extremely carefully, could give off enough heat - "

 “Wait.” Gideon held up a hand, her own anxious brain jolting back online at the word flame. “Wait, wait, wait. Harrow. Seriously? The concern is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but your other solution is death - fire?”

 “I said that it was a possibility,” she snapped back, that old brittle defensiveness calcifying over the vulnerability in her voice. Her posture straightened with a great rustling of robes: shoulders back, chin high, eyes gleaming with disdainful pride as the bones scattered about their room twitched to life. Looking for all the world like she had when they were ten - twelve - fourteen - sixteen, bitter and vicious and spoiling for a fight. 

 She seemed to realize it right when Gideon did. Her eyes widened, then closed. The bowstring tension in her shoulders slowly ebbed away as her half - formed constructs clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she said at last, her voice a threadbare murmur. “I’m sorry. That was - uncalled for.”

 “It’s a reflex. I get it.” And she did - she’d done the same thing countless times, had a hand on her sword and a barbed insult on her tongue without even thinking about it. 

 Another one of those fucked up things they had in common. 

 An uneasy silence settled between them, broken only by the rumbling hum of the engines, the thud of footsteps in the hall. 

 “I meant it, you know,” Harrow said, after a long moment. “About other options. It was a half - baked and immature attempt, but I wanted to give you an out if you were uncomfortable.”

 “Yeah, I know, my sepulchral sage. I appreciate it. Half - baked immaturity and all.” She bumped her shoulder gently against Harrow’s, then flopped back on the bunk to stare up at the low ceiling. “Are we, like, committing to honesty hour tonight? How deep into feelings do you want to get?”

 “As deep as is comfortable.”

 “That’s what she said.”

 “It’s a reasonable thing for her to say.”

 Another hush fell over them, marginally more comfortable than the last, as Gideon worried her lip between her teeth and counted the cracks in the ceiling above her. There were nine of them in total. Go fucking figure.

 A bony finger poked her in the side after a few cycles of counting. “Were you going to elaborate, or was that all just a set - up for one of your charming jokes?”

 “I can’t believe it took you eighteen years to finally admit that they’re charming, but no, that’s not why I said it. I’ll lay bare my tender squishy heart for you, penumbral lady. Because you asked so nicely.” 

  Because I think you might already have it. 

 No avoiding it now. Might as well bite the bullet and dive in. 

 “I was on board with the cuddle thing from the beginning, but I felt like you wouldn’t be, and I panicked. You probably already knew that because you’re way more creepily observant than you have any right to be, but there it is. Out in the open.” 

 She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just run away and hide from the other girl’s piercing gaze. “I just don’t want to fuck things up with you, Harrow. I feel like we’ve got a kind of good thing going now. You haven’t called me a useless halfwit in forever, and I haven’t called you a heinous bitch in forever, and I haven’t wanted to. That’s unheard of for us. I don’t want it to go away.”

 Her voice cracked, and the most damning words burst forth like flowers through concrete: “I don’t want to give you a reason to shut me out again.”

 The memories of those nine months flashed in fragmented mosaic through her mind - the slick stone walls of the well, the freezing churn of the water, the burn in her muscles as she desperately thrashed up toward the surface and reached for someone who didn’t even know she was there. The gut - wrenching loneliness that defined her entire fucking life coalescing in that pit of brackish darkness. The chant rattling on loop in her mind as the water pulled her under: Harrow, what happened, what did you do, why the fuck did you leave me here, I had a purpose, I threw myself on that goddamned rail for a reason, was that not enough for you? 

 Was I not enough for you?

 A cool, fine - boned hand laced with hers and squeezed, just once. The memories blurred. 

 “Gideon,” the voice that had haunted her all that time said. “You know - you have to know that isn’t why I did it.”

 “Why did you, then?”

 A tiny hitch of breath. A soft, almost incredulous laugh. Then:

 “Because I loved you.”

 The words hung heavy in the frozen air. 

 “You - what?”

 “I loved you.” She said it so simply. Like it was something she’d come to terms with long ago. “I loved you beyond reason, and for once in my life I wanted to do right by you and keep you safe as you did me. The motivation doesn’t justify a moment of it, I won’t pretend it does, and I can’t even begin to erase the hurt it caused you. But I need you to understand that it was never because of something you did wrong. You are good, darling. Good to the core. You always have been.”

 Bright spots bloomed before Gideon’s eyes as her reeling mind fought to catch up. Three thoughts sprang unbidden to the forefront:

 Mmf.

 And: Darling?

 And:

“Loved. You said ‘loved.’ Why the past tense?”

 She sat there, staring blankly up at the ceiling, half - expecting a don’t be presumptuous, Griddle or something even remotely normal, at least. What she got instead was another laugh, halting and shaky and suddenly deeply bitter. The hand in hers went rigid and drew away. 

 “I came to my senses. I remembered the countless awful things I’ve done. Saw myself for the leech that I am. I’ve taken and taken and taken from you, over and over again, torn away at your life like a scavenger, I can’t steal anything more  - “

 “Who said anything about stealing?”

 For the first time since the grand awkward commencement of honesty hour Gideon felt a genuine smile bloom across her face. “Come on, Nonagesimus, give me some credit. You honestly think I would have stuck around this long if I didn’t know what I was giving you? If I wasn’t getting something out of it too?”

 “What could you possibly be getting out of it?”

 “You. I like you. Like, a lot. More than I ever thought I would. And I know the brain weasels are going to start yammering about how that’s impossible, and you don't deserve it, and we've still got a mountain of baggage left to work through, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I really mean it. Having you with me has made this whole shitty thing infinitely less shitty."

 With a surge of sudden bravery and dizzy emotion, she reached out to take Harrow's hand again and, giving her ample time to pull away, pressed a feather - light kiss to the back. “If you want me here too, sunshine - as your cav or your friend or something else - then I'm not going anywhere."

 Harrow closed her eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, and - smiled. A real one, slow and hesitantly sweet, lighting up her careworn face. "I need to think about it - we both should think about it. But I do want you here, in whatever way you want to be."

 "Yeah? Cool."

 "Cool."

 Silence settled upon them for the third time that night, but this time it was different. It was soft and tentative, fragile and new, like budding grave - flowers reaching for the sun. First flowers, the both of them, clawing up out of the grit and finding a way to bloom.

 "Should we go to sleep now?" Harrow asked at last, her rasping voice low and quiet. "It's getting late."

 "We probably should. Cam and Pal are gonna kill us if we're not up by 6:00 tomorrow. Are you still up for this, though? Like, the whole 'two girls, chilling in a military bunk, zero feet apart 'cause they're freezing and also maybe like each other' thing?"

 "Yes. On one condition."

 "Anything."

 "This might be difficult for you."

 "Seriously, Harrow, just tell me. Name it and it's done."

 "No sex jokes."

 She heaved a sigh, mock - exasperated and so stupidly fond. "As you wish, my dearest darling death omen. As you wish."

 It took a while to get comfortable - with Harrow's knobby elbows jabbing Gideon in the stomach, Gideon's clunky knee brace getting tangled in the sheets, the blankets collectively giving up and puddling on the floor at least ten times - but eventually, like everything else, they made it work. They fumbled through the sleep - cuddling confession with an admirable lack of panic on both sides, culminating in a firm agreement that they would let each other know the moment they were at all uncomfortable and an "I trust you" from Harrow so pure in its sincerity that it would be ringing through Gideon's mind for at least a myriad.

 Harrow was the first to fall asleep, curled up tight in a cocoon of black fabric, the dark crown of her head just barely brushing the sunburst scar on Gideon's chest. Her shallow breaths fell into an even, steady rhythm, interspersed with whistling snores that Gideon was definitely going to tease her about when her heart was less of a melted puddle of goo. 

 The minutes slipped by warm and slow as drops of honey as her own eyes grew heavier, fluttering closed. She gave her necromancer - her Lyctor - her beautiful baneful bone empress one last sleepy smile, and drifted off.

 (When Camilla went to shake her sparring partner awake the next morning, she found the two of them still sound asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms and looking more peaceful than she'd ever seen them. She huffed a laugh, muttered "finally," and let them be.)

#the locked tomb #tlt #locked tomb trilogy #griddlehark #angst and fluff and love confessions oh my! #the girls are trying to do right by each other and it's a bit of struggle but they're figuring it out

[bytheangell]

Reclaiming Power

(S02E13 inspired fic) (Read on AO3)

There’s a knock on the door of Jace’s room and he knows who’s on the other side even before Alec’s voice calls hesitantly through the wooden barrier between them.

“Jace? Are you in there?”

Jace considers not answering. He’s avoided Alec all day since Imogen told him that he was going to be named the replacement Head of the Institute. He knows he has to tell Alec at some point - sooner rather than later, since Alec deserves to know before it’s announced to the entirety of the Institute the next day. The problem is that Jace doesn’t know how he’s going to look Alec in the eye and break the news.

“Jace?”

Jace sighs. “Yeah,” he answers, still making no move to get up and open the door.

“...can I come in?” Alec adds, sounding even more uncertain. Jace wonders how much of his anxiety is coming through the bond for Alec to feel.

“Yeah,” Jace repeats, this time standing up and walking over to unlock and open the door.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asks before he even clears the doorframe, and Jace winces. Not ‘how are you?’ or even an ‘are you okay?’, but straight to ‘what’s wrong?’, implying he already knows that something is wrong. Of course, he does.

“That obvious?” Jace stalls, wandering over to the window so his back is to Alec. He hates this. he hates this so goddamn much.

Alec doesn’t comment. Instead, he closes the door behind him before sitting down on the edge of Jace’s bed in a clear sign that he isn’t going anywhere until they talk, no matter how long that ends up being. Jace isn’t naive enough to think he can wait this out - on some of Jace’s more stubborn nights Alec has sat in silence for hours until Jace was ready to talk about whatever was on his mind.

The silence stretches between them for a minute, and then two, and into a third before Jace finally speaks.

“It should be you, Alec. I told Imogen it should be you, but she wouldn’t listen.” Jace still can’t bring himself to say the words, like maybe if he can avoid speaking the title aloud it might be less real.

“What should be-” Alec starts, confused without any context, then trails off. Jace is still facing away from him but he can picture the look of recognition that crosses Alec’s face as his parabatai finishes that thought with a quiet, “Oh.”

Worse, Jace feels a flash of disappointment across their bond before Alec manages to reel it back in.

“Congratulations, Jace.”

“No,” Jace shakes his head. “We’re not celebrating this. I don’t deserve it. You do.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him, booted footsteps that stop only inches away before Alec’s arms slide around his waist, pulling Jace back against his chest. The touch, the pressure of Alec’s gentle but firm embrace, grounds him from the spiral he was about to enter - the same one he’s experienced more often than not during the majority of the day.

“This isn’t your fault,” Alec reassures him. “We both know that position was yours from the moment the world found out you’re a Herondale.”

It’s true. Not too long ago, when everyone thought he was a Morgenstern, Imogen would’ve as easily seen him returned to the Clave dead as she would’ve alive. Now she’s just as quick to appoint him the Head of an entire Institute, all because of a father he never met and a bloodline he feels no allegiance to.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a Herondale,” Jace mutters. “I’m a Lightwood. And if this Institute goes to a Lightwood, it should be you, not me.”

Jace feels the rise and fall of Alec’s shoulders against his back when he shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better, even if it wasn’t you, I still don’t think it’d be me. Not after… everything.”

‘Everything’ being walking out of his own wedding to be with Magnus, and Madzie breaking into the Institute for Valentine, and the demon possessions, and his parents’ history with the Circle… though they both know all of that is just an excuse to punish him for choosing Magnus over one of their own and showing sympathy toward Downworlders.

“Not really.” Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t make Jace feel any better. In fact, it only makes him feel worse for fitting so seamlessly into this broken system of theirs as a perfect soldier. Jace pulls away from Alec and sits on the edge of his bed. Alec follows close behind, sitting next to him a moment later.

“You’re going to be a great Head,” Alec says. “And I’ll have your back every step of the way. You can do this.”

As comforting as it is to hear Alec’s reassurances, Jace doesn’t doubt that he can do this. He’s a smooth talker, a skilled fighter, and one of the best soldiers of their generation. He can give orders as well as he follows them... when he feels like it. And he’s never backed down from a challenge, especially when his personal reputation is on the line. No, he’s positive he can do this, but that isn’t the point.

“Sure I can, but I shouldn’t have to,” Jace sighs, sounding defeated. Talking about it isn’t helping, especially since there’s nothing either of them can do about it. “It isn’t fair.”

Alec shrugs again, looking about as helpless as Jace feels. “What about our lives has ever been fair?”

---

This is ridiculous. The longer Jace stands in front of Imogen as she addresses the Shadowhunters the more he fights the urge to simply walk away before she can announce him the future Head. He shouldn’t be here. Looking at the faces of Shadowhunters much better equipped to run an Institute than him, he knows there’s a very long list of people who should be in his place right now… and he knows that Alec is at the top of that list.

He woke up resigned to playing out this blatant favoritism because he couldn’t imagine what else he could do at this point, but at this moment he has a sudden flash of inspiration… or insanity, depending on how it plays out. Jace figures he’ll find out which way the scales tip soon enough.

“In this time of crisis, it is essential that we maintain strong leadership. That is why-”

“Actually, if I may?” Jace says suddenly, interrupting Imogen with a disarming smile, not giving her a chance to answer one way or the other before turning back to speak to the Shadowhunters gathered before him. “This Institute has been through a lot lately. These most recent attacks on Shadowhunters notwithstanding, we’ve been tried and tested time and time again the past few weeks. And, time and time again, one of us has risen to the occasion and proven himself a true and dedicated Shadowhunter, son, brother, and most of all, trusted leader of our people.”

At this point Imogen realizes what he’s doing, and moves to stop him, eyes wide in a satisfying mixture of panic and anger. “Jace-”

“And after sharing my opinion, Imogen agreed. That’s why it is our honor to name Alexander Gideon Lightwood Head of the New York Institute.”

Applause mixes with murmurs with all eyes darting from Jace to Imogen to Alec. Alec, to his credit, keeps a mostly neutral expression despite the surprise and hint of panic Jace feels spike in their bond. After the clapping dies down all eyes turn back to Imogen. For a moment he’s afraid she’s going to take back everything he said, but then he watches as the flash of anger from before melts into a bitter resignation, lips pursed tight. Jace knows the position he’s put her in - if she calls Jace a liar now, she ruins his credibility. No one will know whether they can believe him or trust any order that comes from him.

He’s left her with no choice, not if they both want to come out of this with their heads held high and Jace’s newly established association to the Herondale name a respectable one.

“Yes. As my grandson so generously stated, there’s no one else better suited to run this institute than Mr. Lightwood, who will take over upon my departure back to Idris,” Imogen says. Jace breathes a sigh of relief.

“Dismissed.”

Jace tries to make a beeline for Alec, but a firm grip on his shoulder stops him dead in his tracks. “Not you,” Imogen says, her voice low so only he can hear. She waits until everyone else has scattered before speaking again. “What do you think you’re doing, pulling a stunt like that?”

“Giving this Institute the leadership it deserves,” Jace says. “We both know it. And don’t worry, when he’s the best Head the New York Institute’s ever had, you’ll get all the credit for appointing him. It’s a win-win.”

“We’ll see about that,” Imogen mutters, turning to leave in a huff.

Alec is by Jace’s side in seconds.

“What the hell was that, Jace?!”

“That was me stopping Imogen from making a huge mistake. Congratulations,” Jace says, an echo of Alec’s sentiment from the night before. Except this time the word is full of nothing but genuine joy - no hesitation, no disappointment.

“There’s no way she’s going to let that stand,” Alec insists.

“Sure she will. She can’t go back on it now. In a few days, you’re going to be right where you deserved to be all along. I meant every word of what I said up there, too. You’ve earned this,” Jace says, clapping Alec on the back.

He hopes Alec believes him. This isn’t just some ‘spit in the face of authority’ move, or a selfish desire to avoid responsibility and paperwork. Alec deserves this, and Jace wants nothing more than for Alec to get everything he deserves in this life and beyond. After two decades of constantly drawing the short straw, he’s earned this chance to properly show everyone else what Jace already knows: that he’s damn good at what he does.

Alec returns the motion, pulling Jace into a quick hug. “Thanks, Jace.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jace grins. “Now c’mon, boss, let’s get back to work. We’ve got a rogue warlock to track.”

#jace herondale #alec lightwood #imogen herondale #shadowhunters #gotta catch up on these! #and surprise MORE JACE POV #I've actually had this canon divergent scene in my head for ages and never got around to it so this was perfect! #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

[summerdazed]

A list of random things about Gideon:

When asked what his best feature was he replied his smile. Of course it’s fake as hell because that man has probably never smile genuinely in his life but normal people don’t know that.

He’s extroverted but does get burnt out after a few hours and wants alone time or a nap. Don’t bother him during this time or he’ll most likely be snappier.

One of his short term goals is to learn how to navigate using the stars. (Too bad he sucks at it.)

When he was younger he picked up cursing from his favorite tutor and hasn’t stopped since.

He talks in a fake accent half the time to hide he real one. Especially when he doesn’t want to stand out around others.

He collects bugs for fun. Like the dead butterflies people have in frames. He loves those.

He has a bad habit of fidgeting and not looking people in the eye. When he was younger is was something that got him in the most trouble.

Drinks too much but only ever at events he deems he doesn’t have to be sober for. Luckily he is not a lightweight in the slightest.

Dresses really nicely in public and when meeting people but if you caught him around his house he’s probably wearing simple dirt stained clothes and muddy boots.

Has a bad back. (Hot girl things 🤪✌️)

His legs and forearms are usually covered in cuts, scraps, and bruises from not being careful messing around in the forest. Someone please bandage his hands and kiss them for him. He’s gonna melt but he deserves affection.

One of those people that are pretty sleepers and never snore. Also never has bed head when he wakes up or looks crusty. (Ugh morning people am I right?)

He loves music and dancing but is not the best at both. He somehow manages though. Somehow.

Because of his isolation when he was younger, he wasn’t particularly close to any of his siblings when they were alive. They weren’t the fondest of him either so he felt like even less bad when they died if that’s possible.

He wears gloves a majority of the time to hide a nasty scar on one of his hands from uhhh “unfortunate incident.”

He loves ladies and talking to them. Especially if they hug him or kiss his cheeks. Granted if anyone did it he would blush and shut down. He just loves attention.

He may act all tough and brave but he is a weenie at heart lmao.

He really like savory foods but will try anything you feed him once even if it sounds gross.

He genuinely enjoyed school when he was younger and excelled in it.

How does Gideon see himself ? He sees himself as absolutely worthless. He knows that he will never, ever live up to his surname no matter what he does. That's why, when he finds someone that he thinks might elevate his status, he latches on for dear life.

How does Gideon believe he is perceived by others? He believes that others see him as a worthless piece of shit that can't do anything to save his life. That's why he tries so hard to make sure everything goes absolutely perfectly.

How confident is Gideon? Depends. Sometimes he's the most confident bastard that's ever walked the Earth. However, other times he is the meekest person in the world. It sort of swings back and forth between these two. He is never in between. Ever. This is probably due to his uhh problems

He always carries a bloody photo of his mother with him at all times even though he didn’t like her very much. Old habits of trying to please her die hard.

Has a diary and writes in it religiously. Had that embarrassing moment where someone read his diary when he was younger but it still never made him quit writing.

I have a lot more stuff but I’m just going to leave it at that for now. Slowly be surely I want to show more of his dark side. Also if I have writes for him some hidden on docs do y’all want then even though I can’t guarantee their quality?

#summersocs #gideonweiss

[eldrai]

What It's Like (Morgan & Hotch)

Read on ao3 here

Summary: Everything was supposed to be over.

Everything was over.

Right until state troopers had cuffed him, read him his rights and left him in a cell to be interrogated by a snarky son-of-a-bitch detective. Right until the team just had to get involved. Right until Buford insisted it was his help which had made Derek into himself now. Right until Hotch and Gideon stood there and heard and knew.

OR: Buford is arrested; Hotch and Morgan have a conversation.

Warnings: implied/referenced childhood sexual abuse + domestic abuse, internalized victim-blaming (not actively blaming himself for abuse, but 'I should be over it' type thinking)

Words: 2.6k

Written as platonic, could be pre-slash if you want

It shouldn’t affect him.

He shouldn’t even be here. Derek had laid it to rest the last time he’d spoken to Buford, and though it took him a couple of years to work through the overwhelmingly intense emotions he’d never let himself feel, he had reached a state he’s content with. When it crosses his mind every now and then – much more frequently when they have a similar case – the memories aren’t so sharp and stay in their box most of the time. He’s accepted he’ll never live without it but as far as things go, he’s living with it as well as he can.

Everything was supposed to be over.

Everything was over.

Right until state troopers had cuffed him, read him his rights and left him in a cell to be interrogated by a snarky son-of-a-bitch detective. Right until the team just had to get involved. Right until Buford insisted it was his help which had made Derek into himself now. Right until Hotch and Gideon stood there and heard and knew.

Derek paces outside the rec centre, awash in flickering red and blue from the car they’d stuffed Buford into. It shouldn’t affect him but here he is, a tight knot of dread in his chest and a bitter anger burning hot in his face. His clenched jaw aches and it takes a conscious effort to stop. He’s a teenager again in the worst way – furious at the world, at Buford, at himself for caring about it.

And Buford is under arrest, his personable father figure persona falling through at last, but the smallest, most selfish part of him asks if it’s worth it. For him to be dragged out here and accused of murder and stripped of dignity and secrets.

(It is. Derek would do it again in a heartbeat if it stopped more boys getting hurt, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hate every last second.)

He’ll have to tell Mom and his sisters, but Mom—it’s going to destroy her. She will blame herself for letting it happen, for not noticing, hate herself for every late shift and early start and no amount of arguing will ever truly make her understand it’s not her fault. Derek just hopes she doesn’t find out before he can tell her himself, soften the blow a little; his mind conjures up the same cop who’d arrested him, exhausted and apathetic in the eyes, spitting it out with no regard to the damage it can do.

Better than winding up in jail for a murder he didn’t commit, Derek reasons. The victory rings hollow when the prize is stripping back his skin and muscle and laying his insides bare for everyone to see, his blood as ink spelling out the ugly story. Breaking his family’s hearts.

The worst part is he’s not supposed to be angry. All the team ever did was their jobs and if Hotch had listened to him, had backed off, Derek wouldn’t be here now to be pissed at him. But that does little to soothe the sting. His secret on display just like that.

He paces and he breathes and he swallows down the anger but it’s too much to store away for later, his next trip to one of his properties and a sledgehammer in hand. Too raw. Too real.

Because he thought he was over it.

(It’s not fair. Why was it him? Why was it the boy before? Why was it the boy after? What unfortunate string of experiences led to Carl Buford deciding he’s got the right to manipulate them and befriend them and abuse them? None of it is fair and nothing will change that.

Why isn’t he over it?)

Behind him, the footsteps aren’t the stomping gait of police standard boots. Derek doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t want to see how pity looks on Hotch. It’s one thing to tolerate it from well-intentioned acquaintances but another entirely from people he cares about.

He leans against the low fence running the perimeter of the parking lot. It is scabbed over with rough rust. He lets his vision soften, blur around the edges, content with the occasional car coming past.

“Morgan.”

“What gave it away?” Derek asks. “I bet it was real satisfying to figure out what was wrong with me. So what was it?”

“I’m sorry—”

Sorry doesn’t help. Derek’s sorry too that this ever happened but saying it doesn’t make a difference. He turns, and is momentarily relieved when Hotch just looks at him the same as ever, because it’s easier to handle pity if it doesn’t really show. “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m serious, though: what was it?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Hotch says. Infuriatingly calm. An irritating mix of gratitude and anger just fuels the fire. He wants to feel one way or the other about it, not both.

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek protests. Uniforms glance in their direction. “You had no right to – no right!”

No, he had no right but it’s only because he ignored that they’re having this argument. It’s rational and irrational to be mad and he can’t settle on which is the right thing to feel.

“I know,” Hotch admits.

That strikes a nerve.

Because no, he doesn’t. None of them do. They can’t understand the raw humiliation from the type of abuse alone, let alone having his life picked apart and examined for cracks. And yet they did it all the same, without so much as the decency to include him.

“Do you?” Derek says, his voice cold steel. “Do you really? Have you got any idea what it’s like to go through that? To have his hands on you? And then just when you think it’s over, someone comes along and brings it up again! Don’t tell me you know that!”

Blood buzzes in his ears and a spark of pain in his palms come from his fingernails pressing deep into his skin. Derek breathes, feels the tension ease a fraction, the headache and stomachache and dizziness starting to melt away. He’s not good, but he’s not close-to-a-panic-attack bad.

They stand there for a time, just breathing and occasionally making brief eye contact, and Derek is beginning to think he’s completely screwed until Hotch joins him, hands on the railing as the low rumble of distant traffic ebbs and flows.

“You were right that I don’t know what sexual abuse is like,” Hotch says. It’s how he says it unflinchingly that sets him on edge; he’s used to euphemisms and avoidance and nobody ever wants to come right out and acknowledge what it really was. At the same time, it hits like a punch to the gut. “I should have worded it better. That’s on me. What I was trying to say is that nothing you did gave it away.”

His anger has mellowed out, not as sharp as earlier but there just the same, a heaviness in his stomach and an irritability he can’t shake and doesn’t much care to try.

“So what did?”

“I know how it felt to keep secrets like that,” Hotch says. He speaks slowly. Deliberately. “I know what it’s like to have spent half the time wishing someone would notice and the other half being terrified that they’d figure it out.”

Derek swallows but says nothing. He can recognise an olive branch when he sees one.

“I know what it’s like to have to listen to everyone praise him and know even if you told someone, they’d never believe it.”

That hangs in the air until he’s pretty sure Hotch isn’t going to say anything else. “It’s always the ‘upstanding members of the community’ and you’d think someone might realise.”

“That was why I suspected Buford,” Hotch says. “Aside from the initial accusation, the image he presented of himself was too clean.”

“He needed – hell, still needs – people to think he was good,” he says. “That what you meant?”

“Good people – genuinely good people – don’t work so hard to convince everyone that they are,” Hotch says. “They aren’t perfect. They have disagreements and make mistakes. They’ve got faults because they are real people, but we never heard a bad word against Buford.”

(For some reason he’s thinking of Garcia: her bright smile and the light in her eyes and driving away the darkness that threatens to drown them. Genuinely good people indeed.)

“Me neither,” Derek says, laughs without humour. Without the burning anger he’s cold and a little empty. Mellowed-out. “I used to think people did suspect something, you know? Because someone must have. All of us, the same ages, all boys…”

“People see what they want to,” Hotch says, more than a touch cynical. “They wanted Buford to have no ill intent, so they didn’t see it. They created justifications for almost anything.”

“How did you get from ‘something’s up with this guy' to the real thing?” Derek asks.

“Process of elimination. Nothing showed up on your records and nothing indicated something removed. If he killed those boys in a fit of rage, he’d have shown a history of violence and there would be evidence of previous domestic abuse. He went to lengths to maintain a reputation, and that gave him access to children and teenagers. He favoured a specific demographic but his status kept people from questioning it.”

It’s laid out bare and clinical. Just the same as an average profile: nothing personal to him or to Buford. Derek appreciates it, a good middle ground between avoiding the issue and being painfully, painfully open. He’d just rather not have to have this conversation at all. “The team’s gotta have some idea,” he says.

Because Gideon and Hotch did, and they’re all profilers as well. The more they think about it, the more likely they are to come to the correct conclusion, and Derek is equally as apprehensive about facing their reactions. A sick guilt sets in when he thinks too much about it: the response he’s afraid of is concern, pity, kindness – a luxury many aren’t afforded.

(Does he even deserve it if he doesn’t want it?)

“They knew Gideon and I were leaving but not what we thought,” Hotch says. “If they guess, it’s their own.”

Derek looks over his shoulder. Buford’s silhouette sits in the back of a car, its chin held high, commanding a respect it had never deserved. “Yeah, well, if they haven’t figured it out by now, they’re going to once they book him in.”

“They don’t have to know more than what they hear.”

“Good to know I can choose now,” Derek mutters. “It doesn’t matter. Either they know or they don’t.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just don’t. Please.”

“No, not that it happened,” Hotch says. A beat later: “That wasn’t what – I wish you weren’t in that position, but I’m sorry that I had to bring it up.”

“I’d be in jail,” Derek says. More than any emotion, he is plain tired. What he’d give to be at home with Clooney and his own bed. “I don’t think I’m allowed to be mad.”

“You are,” Hotch says firmly. Perhaps more than a mediocre attempt at a joke necessitates. “It was an awful situation. You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it.”

It’s not that he needs someone to tell him that, but hearing it is – he’ll admit it’s nice, to know that someone else agrees and it’s not just his own head. Derek shrugs. “I moved on. It shouldn’t be – it was fine.”

Fine before Buford dragged him into this mess—god knows how many people are going to hear his name in connection to him tonight. And how many after that? They’ll think of him and see what a sick old man did to him. Not the work he puts in. Not who he fought – fights – to be. Not a profiler and a brother and a son.

Not Derek Morgan.

Just a victim or a survivor or whichever label they thrust upon him for their own comfort, easier to digest, easier to square him away in a neat box and tell themselves it won’t affect them because it’s only ever those children. Neighbours and friends and acquaintances but never their kids.

“It doesn’t mean you haven’t,” Hotch says. “I’d be more surprised if it didn’t affect you at all.”

“It doesn’t ‘affect’ me,” Derek says. Maybe he’s spoken too soon about the pity thing. “Look, just leave it.”

“Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean feeling nothing,” Hotch says. “If you wanted to tell someone, if or when you wanted, and how much to share – that was your choice and it shouldn’t have been taken.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that, by the way,” he says, more bitterly than he’d intended. His thoughts return to his family. “The team are gonna know, who else?”

“Other than the officers making the arrest, nobody yet.”

Derek nods. He can work with that, has to. At the very least he’ll be the first one to tell his mom and sisters – silver linings, he supposes, no matter how thin – and it’s certainly better news to give than they’re taking him to trial for a murder he didn’t commit. This isn’t the type of thing he can just drop on them and walk away. “I’m gonna take a couple days to, uh, let things settle down around here.”

It’s not a question.

“It won’t come out of your personal time off.”

He lets go of the fence and brushes flecks of rust from his palms. Behind them the area is quieting down again, and in an hour or two there won’t be any sign of what happened beyond a handful of collective, awful memories. Well, Derek’s just glad there aren’t going to be any more kids knowing the place as somewhere bad—that it’ll never be more than a sports hall and cramped changing rooms and a stuffy old storage closet. That when they think of it, the memories are nostalgic, not thrown together into a nightmare steeped in fear.

Derek makes a move to go. It’s a short walk back to his mom’s and it’ll do him good to clear his head. Give him time to find not the right words – for there can’t be – but the most comforting.

“Morgan.”

“Yeah?”

“You know if you need to talk—”

“I know,” he says. “And no offense, but you have to say that, right? ‘Cause I don’t think either of us really want that.”

Hotch tilts his head. “I’m not saying it because I’m obligated to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says. “And I’ll keep it in mind.”

He doesn’t intend to mention it. Just like how they aren’t going to mention what Hotch had told him. That’s never how they handle it. But the sentiment is there, and the team are reliable like a second family: they’d be there if he wanted to and until then, they’re not going to press it.

He’s not okay – he’ll admit that to himself if nobody else – but he’ll get there. Knowing their luck, they’ll have been thrown headfirst into a case so chaotic by next week that it’s all they can think of. Such is the job. It's crazy but he loves it.

“Thanks,” Derek says. “For not giving up.”

Hotch gives him a solemn nod.

“And sorry for the paperwork they’re gonna give you for me getting arrested,” he jokes. “Ever had to do that before?”

“Fortunately not.”

“Well,” Derek says, “there’s an early Christmas present. You’re welcome.”

That elicits something that’s almost a smile. “Take care.”

“I will. See you back home,” he says, and he walks away from Buford and the memories and this long, miserable day. Back to his mom's place with nicer reminders of childhood, the height marks pencilled on the kitchen door frame and the shower with a leaking faucet and home-cooked meals.

Back to his family.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hotch #morgan #angst #oneshot #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #god i'm nervous putting this one out #but hey #also shoutout to sumayyah for letting me show her lines and generally being awesome <3 #mine

[solacefruit]

What are your favorite examples of enemies to lovers? (Whether in your head or canon)

Hello there! Thank you for asking in--and your patience while I got around to answering this. I’m always terrible at this kind of thing, because people ask me my favourites and I forget everything I’ve ever read. But these are a few I’ve loved that jumped to mind immediately so hopefully that’ll do! I’ve put it all under the cut so as not to clog up everyone’s dash.

In no particular order and numbered only to make this a bit more legible: 

1. I think quintessentially for many people of my generation is Draco/Harry, and honestly yeah, the dynamic is a lot of fun. It’s narratively + emotionally a very fun and flexible pairing, because you can really play any tune with it without it stretching credulity. Mortal enemies? Completely plausible. Petty stupid rivalry? Equally plausible. In the right hands (i.e., mine and my friends’), hours of entertainment. 

2. Sophie/Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle, obviously. Any variations but the book specifically is so fun and is much more antagonistic than the film, which I love. The weedkiller always makes me laugh. 

3. Laurent/Damen from Captive Prince trilogy. I remember first picking it up on a trusted recommendation and being intrigued by the notion of enemies-to-lovers that absolutely does not hold back at all when it comes to the enemies part, and honestly I was a little dubious to see if Pacat could pull it off--but by the end, I was convinced. I also just love court intrigue and machinations. If you’re going to read this one, though, I recommend checking out a content warning first if you’ve got any sensitivity to particular dark content. 

4. Maia/Csethiro from The Goblin Emperor. Not enemies as such but certainly not friends, but again, I love court intrigue and their set-up as an arranged marriage that becomes a genuine relationship is charming to me. I also love both the characters dearly, so there’s that too. 

5. Zagreus/Megaera from Hades (game), obviously. Thank you, based Supergiant Games. Their dynamic and banter is so extraordinarily good. It’s hard to know where enemies begins with them, though, since they’re lovers -> enemies -> lovers again but they still beat the daylights out of each other, and there’s sort of every reason to believe that they’ve more or less eternally been in that cycle in some form or another. Not relevant to this question, but I have my nose way out of joint about the fact AO3 disproportionately ships Zagreus/Thanatos, which is just so typical. Anyway. 

6. Discworld: I’m one of those people who believes in Sybil/Vimes/Vetinari superiority, so I’m going to say that Vimes/Vetinari counts here too. Like, there is so much to say about this, but in particular Vetinari’s little “you know... I rather think I did” comment after it’s remarked that if Vimes didn’t exist, Vetinari would have had to invent him--but then in Night Watch, there’s Keel (cough) and young Vetinari is enamoured in his own way and grows up to become Patrician and it’s like... oh you created each other. I’m obsessed with that. It’s perfect. However, I disagree totally with everyone who cuts Sybil out of the picture, because she is probably the only person who loves either of these men and she is vital. As a bisexual man, I am begging people to stop acting like girl germs are real. 

7. I don’t know if this is cheating but Hiccup/Astrid from How to Train Your Dragon series (films) have a special place in my heart too. It’s definitely enemies-to-lovers from her side of things, whereas Hiccup’s starts at longing, journeys through the valley of rejection and self-actualisation, and then they have a healthy, cute relationship, so not exactly the trope but close enough and also I like it so I’m going to say it counts for the purposes of me talking about things I like. 

8. I’ve only read the first book so far but I really got a kick out of Gideon/Harrow from Gideon the Ninth and I’m looking forward to reading the rest. The dynamic, chemistry, and mutual loathing is delightful, and I just love when people hate each other with their whole chest. I think some writers are worried if they’re too mean early on, it’s too hard to do the to-lovers bit, so it’s always terrific when a writer has the confidence and vision be properly nasty and still sell you a great story of overcoming that.

9. I am deeply enraptured in what can unfortunately only be called the Jesus Christ Superstar dynamic, which is to say whatever the hell Jesus, Judas, and Mary Magdalene have going on in that musical. I feel like enemies-to-lovers is... somehow relevant to it, but just chronically it’s all over the place. It’s like enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies, but also enemies-to-friends? confidants-to-enemies but also lovers-to-confidants. It’s a hot mess and I have a lot of feelings about Heaven on Their Minds, is what I’m saying. 

10. Dimitri/Anya from Anastasia. It’s very good, although another example where enemies is maybe not the right word and a little too harsh for what ultimately is just petty bickering. But it’s just so fun, and more or less any time I see a film where they try to show chemistry and tension between a man and woman by having them snark at each other, almost always Anastasia did it better. 

I think I said this before when I was talking about the trope, but really and truly I would love to find more really good novel with a bit of enemies-to-lovers in the mix. I love other relationship dynamics too, but my truth is that I’m very much I don’t want peace, I want problems, always! and I’d like more books and whatnot to deliver me that. 

#reply #book recommendation

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 12

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword. 

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well. 

It isn’t really funny at all.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,704 (good lord I’m tired...)

Warnings: angst, swearing, one brief moment of sexual harassment, lots of assumptions made, Dark Din returns and some familiar characters make themselves known

Author Note: Believe me I want Din and Cupid reunited as much as all of you do, but my dark side keeps saying just stretch it out a little bit longer 😈 All the love to each and every reader out there, the support you give me keeps me sane and happy each week ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 11 and Part 13

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You wipe furiously at your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, while inwardly cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of Gideon. A lump forms in your throat as you replay the last sixty seconds on loop in your head, imagining exactly how Din will react to each sentence, especially those last two words: let go. This will be the one and only time you’re thankful you can’t feel Din’s half of the bond. If he’s feeling even a smidge of the throbbing, torturous pain you’re feeling right now, experiencing both sides would have overwhelmed you. Of all the commands Gideon could have chosen, why would he choose to taunt Din with that one? It’s as if the Seraph is purposefully trying to piss Din off.

Maybe he is insane, you think, not for the first time, just as he starts to clap his hands together in applause.

“Well done,” Gideon says, almost in admiration. “You’re a much better actress than I imagined you’d be.”

“It wasn’t an act,” you snap back.

“Regardless, you’ve served your part well.” He reaches forward to pat your head, and you honestly deserve an award for not giving into the urge to break his hand. “If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget this moment ever happened. Should I require you to send a second message, it would certainly make it all the more bittersweet for you to think it was your first attempt.”

His words make no sense at first, and you merely sit there in the chair blinking back at him, some distant part of you aware of how your eyelashes are still wet and stuck together. Involuntarily, you find yourself recalling Din’s reaction to your memory loss, how he had muttered under his breath he thought someone was responsible for the blank spots. Your mouth falls open in shock as Gideon’s meaning clicks.

“You...You tampered with my memories?” you whisper.

“It wasn’t personal. There are holes in every Cupid’s head.”

Why would he use his powers so cruelly and invasively? How does he choose which memories to erase? These questions and more run through your head, but you don’t voice them aloud. Everything you’ve heard about and actually seen in person about Gideon has solidified your opinion he is a certifiable control freak. Of course he would use his memory-erasing ability to further establish his position of authority amongst the Cupids.

Your eyes drift to the Cupid twi’lek behind him. “Is that why she’s here? You brainwashed her into joining you?”

“I made my own choice,” she replies, tone as sharp as the knife she twirls with nimble fingers. It doesn’t gleam like metal, instead faintly sparkling just like your arrows do. Kyber crystal, you realize with a chill of uneasiness. “You don’t see me in a collar, do you?”

“Indeed, I cannot alter memories, only erase them. It was free will that brought Xi’an to me, not manipulation,” Gideon says with a smile, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes your throat close up with fear. “She has become a loyal and valuable ally.”

Valuable. One word and your suspicions are confirmed. Collared or not, Xi’an is just as much a toy for Gideon to play with as you and Din are. The only difference is she doesn’t seem to realize she is one. Or, and this is a dangerous possibility, she does know and simply doesn’t give a damn.

“She’s your ally?” you echo, nervously licking your lips. “What does that mean?”

“She has dedicated herself to the achievement of my goal.”

You know he’s purposefully baiting you, but still you find yourself asking, “And that goal is?”

Gideon leans forward, invading your personal space even as you jerk backwards in your seat. The smile has been wiped from his face, replaced with narrowed eyes and a twisted scowl. He deliberately presses the unlit laser sword against the middle of your chest in the space between your breasts, thumb teasingly hovering over the activation button.  

When he answers, you’ve never heard anyone else speak as seriously as him.

“To finish what I started.”

The words linger in the air the same foreboding way Din’s reapers linger around hospitals. You don’t realize you’re not breathing until Gideon steps back after several pounding heartbeats pass and your lungs are on fire. You suck in a breath of relief, but your body remains tense, recognizing the dangerous situation you’re still stuck in.

“Mayfeld,” Gideon addresses the man armed with three guns who immediately straightens. “Take her back to her cell.”

You don’t resist as Mayfeld grabs you by the upper arm and tugs you out of your seat. It’d take a miracle to incapacitate him and everyone else in the room before they subdued you. No, you can’t make any rash decisions. The right moment will come, you tell yourself. It has to.

...Right?

“So, what’s it like being Death’s soulmate?”

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Mayfeld’s voice. You side-eye him, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“I mean, I’ve heard he never takes off the helmet,” he continues, unbothered by your silence. “But surely you must’ve seen what’s underneath there. If it were me, I’d definitely wanna know the face of the guy I’m allegedly destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Allegedly?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not so much a believer in fate or destiny or true love. And now that I know the guy who’s the boss of Cupid operations?” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Forget about ever trying to convince me the universe has a mortal’s best interests in mind when it allows a Seraph as bat-shit crazy as the Moff to have the power he has.”

“If you think he’s insane, why do you work for him?”

“The pay’s good,” he answers with a laugh. “Plus, if he really does pull off this plan of his, well...let’s just say I’d rather be in his corner than anywhere else.”

“You do realize though that anyone in Gideon’s corner is an enemy of Death’s?” you say, half-taunting him half-genuinely curious about his reaction.

“That thought has recently crossed my mind,” is all he replies.

The conversation comes to a halt when you arrive back at your cell. Mayfeld pushes you inside, but the force is noticeably gentler than the thug who had manhandled you earlier. Standing near the pallet, you watch as he digs a remote out of the pocket of his pants and activates the laser grid with a single press of a button.

Interesting.

You expect Mayfeld to immediately return to Gideon’s side, so you’re surprised and more than a little confused when the man continues to linger. A minute of silence ticks by and your confusion changes to frustration. What does he want?

Just as your mouth opens to snidely voice the question, the baby chooses that precise moment to sneak back into your cell. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush forward to grab him, torn between forcibly shoving him back into the hole or foolishly attempting to hide him behind your back.

“There’s the little green guy,” Mayfeld says, and you pause at the audible note of cheerfulness in his voice. The baby coos in your arms, waving his hand in the man’s direction.

They kriffing know each other?

Mayfeld notices your bewildered expression. “What? You think none of us noticed he doesn’t like staying put? We might be mercenaries, but we’re not complete idiots.”

“You’re a heartless bastard,” you spit, holding the baby tighter against your chest. “He’s a baby and you’re doing nothing to get him out of here.”

“First of all,” he counters, holding up a finger. “Ouch. And second,” he points that same finger directly at the baby, “that little guy is older than me so calling him a ‘baby’ isn’t exactly fair.”

Your eyes sweep over Mayfeld, estimating him to be at least forty. You then look at the green face smiling back at you. Yeah, there’s no way he’s telling the truth.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maker, the hits just keep on coming.” Mayfeld rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about his age?”

“I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Exactly.” He nods smugly. “Look, he fooled me, too, with those big brown eyes of his. If I hadn’t witnessed what he can do when that collar’s off, I might have been suckered into releasing him. He’s cute, sure, but he’s also secretly a menacing gremlin.”

You frown. “What do you mean you’ve seen what he can do?”

“I mean he’s got powers. He can lift things with his mind, throw men against walls five times his size like they weigh nothing. What’s worse is he uses those powers to steal. I had a pack of cookies I was saving and he levitated them right out of my pocket.”

Your disbelief falters at that last bit. You had already surmised the baby had stolen the cookies, but not like this. Looking down at him again, the collar stands out more prominently than ever before. Xi’an told you they were purposefully designed to prohibit the use of powers. Why else would the baby wear one if he didn’t possess some type of special ability?

“You really have some serious trust issues, don’t you?” Mayfeld says, almost sounding impressed by your stubborn reluctance to believe him.

“I’m currently being held hostage by a psychopath,” you retort. “I think I’m allowed to be suspicious of a mercenary who says everything that pops into his head.”

His lips purse. “Alright. That’s a good point.”

“Isn’t it risky?” you ask, stepping closer to the gate. “Sharing all this information with me?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate the value of it all.”

Your brow furrows, not understanding.

“Look,” he lowers his voice meaningfully. “One way or another, Gideon and Death are gonna face each other and only one side will win. Gideon wins, great. Status quo unchanged. But if your soulmate wins?” He grimaces at the prospect. “By talking to you, I’m trying to cover all my bases here.”

Your brain works rapidly to fill in the blanks. “So, let me get this straight. You think that by getting on my good side, Death won’t murder you?” A wide grin stretches across your face, not the least bit friendly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to do so much better than that. With what you’ve given me so far, the only kindness he’ll spare you is ripping your throat out quickly so you don’t suffer long.”

Take the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” A flicker of nervousness flashes across his face. He shifts his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “What would I have to do to not have that happen? I’m, uh, open to suggestions.”

Good, good, good.

“You get me the keys to these collars, I can guarantee you’ll walk out of here with every limb attached and not one drop of blood spilt.”

A long beat passes wordlessly. It would be completely silent if not for the baby’s quiet whining as he cuddles against you, unsettled by the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not the only one with trust issues,” Mayfeld says at last. “Maybe you can guarantee Death won’t kill me, but how do I know you won’t kill me with your bow yourself?”

You say nothing, not because you’re guilty of thinking of that specific scenario, but because you don’t know how to convince him you haven’t considered it. Anyone else in your same predicament would undoubtedly shoot him the first chance they got. He is an enemy after all. A minor one, true, but nevertheless contributing to the effort of keeping you separated from Din. He also clearly only has his own self-interest in mind, making him unpredictable and untrustworthy. Who’s to say he won’t attempt to double-cross you somehow?

All these reasons are valid and should make you hate him, but something inside of you isn’t allowing you to commit wholeheartedly to the feeling. And as much as it pains you to admit it, you know that ‘something’ is fear. You’ve never killed anyone before. Shot someone with an ichor arrow? Yes, several times, but not once was the wound fatal. As your list of escape options continues to dwindle though, you’re terrified of the possibility you’ll have no choice but to personally be responsible for ending someone’s life.

“There’s my answer,” Mayfeld says. His words are distressingly ambiguous, but it’s the way he bobs his head in a decisive manner and turns his back on you that causes your stomach to tie itself into knots.

Throat suddenly dry, you struggle to choke out, “Wait, I—”

He starts whistling an upbeat tune as he walks away, ignoring your attempts at reclaiming his attention. You listen hopelessly as the sound gradually grows farther and farther away, until eventually all you can hear is silence.

And once more, it’s just you and the baby alone in the cell.

~~

You lie on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling with the baby sleeping on your stomach. You reflect on everything that has happened since you left Arvala-7, taking every moment apart piece by piece to figure out what you know.

From what you’ve witnessed, you don’t think your superiors are involved in or even aware of Moff Gideon’s plans. Lang, Hess, and Morgan were his associates, not allies like he’d called Xi’an. The difference is subtle, but profound in meaning. You wonder if the three of them have had memories erased too, if they know Gideon was responsible.

He had told them you were being hidden away to prevent other Cupids from knowing you had a second soulmate, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Gideon wants you as his hostage because you’re Din’s soulmate. He wants to use you as leverage to get Din to do what he wants. Initially, you assumed that meant kill those who Gideon considered enemies, but that assumption was proven incorrect when you sent the message to Din without naming even one potential target.

Unfortunately, you think that is not the only wrong assumption you’ve made recently. Gideon had forced you to tell Din to let go. The bond had cried out with agony when you’d said the words out loud as it had thought you were telling Din to let go of you. But looking back at the incident with a clearer head, you find yourself wondering why hadn’t Gideon included those two extra words if that was what he meant? It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of space left to write them on the paper.

If he didn’t mean for Din to let go of you, then logically that would mean he wants Din to let go of something else. Something important enough that Gideon is taking advantage of your relationship in order to convince him to release it.

But what could Din possibly possess that Gideon wants this badly? Din doesn’t own anything valuable except for the Crest and his armor, and you doubt either of those will further progress Gideon towards his goal.

To finish what I started.

Hours later and you still can’t figure out what the kriff he’s talking about. No matter which way you twist or turn the phrase over in your mind, it’s incomprehensible. What did he start? When did it happen? How does he intend to finish it?

Considering how your previous assumptions were both flawed, you really shouldn’t be making another one, but you can’t get the moment of when he’d pressed the sword against your chest out of your mind. The action itself screamed intimidation as well as sexual harassment, but when you think about how he did it at the same time he revealed his goal, your gut instinct is telling you to definitely assume the two are connected to each other.

And then there’s Mayfeld’s comment about there being an inevitable clash between Din and Gideon. He had sounded so certain there would only be one victor, but, unlike you, he hadn’t immediately placed his bet on Din. Which makes no sense to you. Everyone knows it’s an indisputable fact Din is the most powerful entity in the universe, second only to the Maker. The chance of Gideon winning their fight is so slim it’s infinitesimal.

It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword.

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well.

It isn’t really funny at all.

~~

Over the span of Din’s existence, he had witnessed entire civilizations wiped out by war, genocide, disease. No matter the reason behind the tragedy, the universe always called him there in the final moments to walk amongst the ruins left behind, to watch those last to die mourn those who passed before them. In those moments, he felt powerless, knowing there was not one thing he could do to change any of it.

He realized the universe was trying to instill a lesson in him: what is meant to happen, will always happen. Regardless of who is hurt in the process.

And maybe he would have surrendered to the harsh teaching if his angel hadn’t been stolen from her rightful place at his side. No one, not even the fucking universe itself, is going to stop him from getting her back.

From their first meeting, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Then when she asked him question after question about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite sights in the galaxy—he made the risky decision of trusting her. He revealed his face to her, allowed her to know every part of himself, and was stunned every time she didn’t fear or run away from what she discovered. He didn’t know whether to consider her stupid or brave, but the moment he first heard her laugh at one of his sarcastic quips he knew it was a sound he wanted to hear everyday for the rest of eternity.

When she showed him her marked hand, claiming they were each other’s soulmates, he swore to himself he’d dedicate himself to her happiness. Anything she wanted or asked for, he would give to her without question.

Except now she has asked him to do the impossible: to let go.

He replays the transmission enough times every word, every quiet hitch of breath, and every subtle twitch of her facial features is embedded in his mind. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh after the eighth loop, squeezing the bridge of her nose as if a headache was forming, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the hologram long enough to glare at the reaper. She doesn’t have a soulmate, therefore she can’t even begin to fathom how it feels when his half of the soulmate bond slams itself against the invisible wall separating him from his angel with all the unhinged ferocity of a feral beast.

If Din didn’t know his angel as intimately as she knew him, he might have believed those were her own words coming out of her mouth. However, throughout the entire length of the message he notices how her eyes nervously flick to the side every few seconds, as if she needs to reassure herself someone offscreen isn’t making any sudden movements. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know she’s being used as a mouthpiece against her will to demand Din gives up searching for her.

Din refuses to yield to the whims of an enemy who doesn’t have the balls to face him directly.

He channels his seething anger into steadfast determination as he stretches his powers out across the galaxy for a second time, this time searching for the twi’lek Hess so graciously identified for him. Her being the one to have dragged his soulmate out of Cupid headquarters couldn’t have been a random circumstance. If she has even the slightest notion of who the elusive immortal is that is responsible for shielding his angel from him, he’ll beat the name out of her just as he had her Cupid superior.

Bo-Katan, never one to stand still when she can be doing something useful, sends a message out to her fellow reapers to fill them in on the developing situation. Only Din can give them orders to follow, but she strongly recommends they interrogate any Cupid they come across for information about Xi’an.

Transmissions start flooding in an hour later of reapers reporting what they’ve learned. Turns out Xi’an is the type of person who finds joy in antagonizing others. No one claims her as their friend nor do they know what region of the galaxy she usually operates in. The most interesting tidbit learned from the interrogations is that several Cupids have admitted they often saw the twi’lek in the archives at headquarters, studying datapads and flipping through holobooks.

“She was searching for something,” Bo-Katan murmurs, brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Or she was gathering information on someone’s behalf.” Din’s eyes remained closed, focus split between the conversation and the search. “Only Cupids are allowed at their headquarters. She’d have no issue slipping in and out without anyone giving her a second—”

Every soul has a unique aura that can only be sensed by power-sensitive beings like himself. No two are the same, similar to fingerprints and snowflakes. Having a specific target in mind hastens the search of detecting them amongst the trillions of other beings inhabiting the galaxy, but it is not the fact that Din’s powers have just locked onto Xi’an’s soul that has his eyes snapping open. It is her location.

She’s on Umbriel.

“Stay with the ship,” he tells Bo-Katan.

Din teleports before the reaper responds, arriving at the front entrance of his soulmate’s apartment in the next blink. The front door is wide open and his jaw clenches as he recognizes the gesture for the taunt it is. Rolling his shoulders back, he enters the apartment, purposefully shutting and locking the door behind him.

“About time you showed up.” As soon as Din hears her voice, he’s reminded of a loth cat screeching when its tail is grabbed. The anger he’s been forcibly holding back starts to simmer beneath his armor, fingers twitching at his sides with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze.

He finds a purple-skinned twi’lek Cupid standing in the center of the living room. Or, what used to be considered the living room at least. Every piece of furniture has been broken and torn apart. The pile of newspapers kept in the corner are shredded and scattered across the floor. If he didn’t know how precious they were to his angel in her quest to reclaim her memories, he wouldn’t have cared about the mess, but he does know and his wrath increases exponentially.

“Xi’an,” he says, the name bitter on his tongue like a curse.

“The rumor mill says you’ve been looking for me,” she drawls, looking coy and fluttering her eyelashes. “I gotta say, I’m flattered by the attention.”

“Tell me where my soulmate is and you won’t meet the same fate as your boss.”

Her head tilts, tapping her fingers against her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are you referring to Hess? I heard no one’s been able to reach him lately, but since I report to someone of much higher ranking I could hardly bring myself to care.” Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, revealing the faintest glimpse of her fangs. “You’ve piqued my interest now though, what’d you do to the bastard?”

“I ripped out his soul and crushed it into dust.”

She giggles, unpleasant and shrill. “How scandalous.”

His patience snaps.

“Enough of this.” He steps forward. “Tell me who you work for and where is my soulmate.”

A pair of knives appear in her hands, summoned in the same quick manner as his angel had drawn her bow.

“My answer to the first part is no. And as for the second, you need to be more specific.” She sneers. “Which part of her are you looking for?”

The noise that tears itself out of Din’s throat is one never made by another entity before. It is an outburst of ravenous fury, a promise of bloodshed and carnage, and a predator’s roar before they consume their prey all blended into one deafening war cry.

Xi���an maintains a brave face as she throws knife after knife at him, but as each one harmlessly deflects off his beskar and dissolves into a flicker of light, he sees her mask begin to crack, revealing her nervousness.

She resorts to throwing punches when he’s close enough, but there is no finesse and each one is sloppy. He catches her fist mid-swing with his own hand and twists, shattering her wrist. She gasps out a curse, but the unexpected reappearance of her mischievous smirk manages to catch him off guard.

“Are you gonna do it?” she asks, voice tight with pain, but the intent to provoke him is clear. “Unleash that beautiful darkness I can sense writhing around inside of you?”

He pins her against the wall harsh enough her teeth audibly clack against each other. Still she keeps smirking, still her voice drips like poison into his ears.

“You know you want to, sweetie, so just let go.”

Din’s powers lash out, incensed by those two words he’s sick of hearing. Latching onto her soul, she starts to choke, but the deranged glimmer of glee in her eyes makes him think she’d be laughing if she could.

Darkness starts to ooze out of his armor, resembling thick, black smoke. He can feel the sinister energy emanating from the very core of his being, as if the box it’s been trapped in has been unlocked and is seconds away from bursting open.

Some distant, far part of him is ringing every warning alarm and urging him to stop. But he ignores that voice of reason when he sees Xi’an’s soul start creeping up the back of her mouth, glowing brightly as it squirms in a futile attempt to free itself from the hold of his powers.

He grits his teeth, impatience prompting him to tug at it again, and—

The world lurches and transforms in a blur. When his vision adjusts, he’s no longer standing in his soulmate’s apartment, but instead surrounded by an abundance of scorched trees. Chest heaving, he struggles to clear his head of violent thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Someone suddenly calls out from behind him, “I summoned you here to speak with you.”

Din recognizes the speaker’s voice before he actually turns to see the female togruta. She wears her usual blue-and-silver tunic and a brown headpiece embedded with a gem over her montrals. The ground is green beneath her feet, the only glimpse of flourishing nature for miles.

“I was in the middle of something, Ahsoka,” Din answers, stalking forward until they stand nearly toe to toe. He’s lost count of how many encounters they’ve had with one another over the years, but no matter the number he remains reluctant to consider her a friend since the Oracle has the irritating knack for disrupting his life when he least desires her presence.

She stands tall, but her hands move to rest on the hilts of the two sabers attached to her belt. “Have you forgotten your creed? When the universe needs you, you listen to it.”

“My soulmate needs me!” he shouts, trembling as another pulse of dark energy discharges from his body. It washes over Ahsoka like a harsh gust of wind, but while she remains unaffected, the patch of grass withers instantaneously.

“The universe recognizes that,” Ahsoka says, and while her calmness does nothing to ease his frayed nerves, her next words have him freezing in place. “And I’ll take you to her so long as you promise me one thing.”

Tentative hope slices through the erratic storm of frenzied emotions in his chest like a beam of sunlight. He searches Ahsoka’s face for the faintest hint of deception, but finds only sincerity.

“What is it?”

“You cannot kill Moff Gideon.”

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#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 23

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

@alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 22

Next Chapter: Chapter 24

Alastair was exhausted. By the time they made it back, it was seven in the evening even if they’d been in the land in between for much shorter. He was cold, still soaking wet, and he didn’t want to know what had been in the water that had flooded the dungeon. He imagined he and Cordelia both smelt terrible, but completely covered in it, Alastair could not smell it himself. It was frustrating, because Thomas and Lucie did not indicate anything about their scent, but Alastair suspected they did smell whatever had been in that water and were just too polite to mention it. Thomas didn’t touch him and kept a little more distance than he usually did.

All the way back to the Herondale’s manor, Cordelia and Alastair were arguing about who could use the bathroom first, until Lucie pointed out there was a second bathroom connected to the master bedroom.

‘Why do you both want to go second anyway?’ Thomas asked. ‘I’d imagine you’d argue about who gets to go first.’

‘Because I am cold and dirty and want to use the bathroom for at least an hour, and if I go first, Cordelia will start yelling at me to hurry up after about ten minutes,’ Alastair said.

Thomas tilted his head. ‘And if she goes first?’

‘Then I will yell at her to get out after ten minutes,’ Alastair said. ‘And since I am freezing I’d be completely justified.’

‘We both have very excessive bathroom rituals,’ Cordelia added. ‘Especially when we’re this dirty. But staying in there for an hour would be rude if someone else also needs to use the bathroom. So whoever goes second can yell and be completely justified, and then has all the time they need to get warm and clean. It’s a good thing there are two bathrooms and we can both go take a shower.’ .’

Two separate bathrooms sounded good. He remembered his childhood home had had that too, before his father had been forced to sell the family home when Alastair was around five. Jem had bought it back a couple of years ago, but Alastair found it difficult to imagine why one person needed a house that big. Although he guessed Jem had grown up there too and had lost his parents at a young age, so perhaps there were sentimental reasons.

Both the Herondales and the Lightwoods were at the manor. Will and Tessa were reading as usual, Sophie was tidying something up in the kitchen and Gideon was pacing back and forth until he noticed the four of them.

‘Finally, you’re back,’ Gideon said, concern written all over his face. ‘What happened?’

‘We got the skin,’ Cordelia said. ‘Grace is free. But the dungeon the skin was hidden in was completely flooded, so if you don’t mind I want to use the bathroom. Alastair and I both do, and Lucie mentioned there was a second bathroom.’

In the end Cordelia took the bathroom connected to Will and Tessa’s bedroom while Alastair took the one upstairs, glad to finally have some peace. He was exhausted as well as cold and dirty. There was a huge bathtub in there and Alastair turned on the water while getting in the shower to first rinse off the worst of the filth and to get warm again. He got out of the shower when he felt like he was semi clean and the bath tub was nearly full. Even if he’d been in the shower for some time and felt a lot cleaner than before, he was still so cold. He got in the bathtub. There was even a bubble bath function, exactly how rich was Lucie’s grandmother?

Perhaps he should ask Thomas to join him here sometime. He imagined that would be nice. Alastair allowed himself to relax. Although he was exhausted, he did feel a lot better than yesterday. At least with Grace freed, he felt like he’d accomplished something. Like he wasn’t useless and deserved to be liked again. That was something he often struggled with.

He sought out memories, but unlike other days he didn’t seek out the bad ones. Right now he wasn’t seeking to make sense of the past, nor was he interested in hurting himself. Instead, he let himself settle comfortably into a memory of Thomas confessing his feelings to him, of their first kiss. It wasn’t all bad, the memories.

When he was younger, they didn’t have a lot of movies at home, so sometimes they would rewatch movies Cordelia had seen at Lucie’s place instead. His mother had been a little concerned about that, usually children being too quiet was bad news but them sitting on the couch for over an hour in the same position was just weird.

Lucie had a tendency to talk through movies, so Alastair had come to associate certain scenes in the Little Mermaid or Aladdin with her commentary. Alastair had always loved Aladdin as a child. Although now he was far more critical of the strange way in which the movie mixed together Persian, Arabic and Indian culture and architecture, at the time Aladdin had been one of the few movies with a main character who looked like him.

He returned to reality after a while, finally warm again and decided to stay in bath for a little longer. Bubble baths really were nice, Alastair guessed if he had ever had enough money for one he’d buy a bubble bath. In the current economical climate he doubted he’d even be able to buy a home, but he could dream.

***

Thomas was busy in the kitchen with his mother. He liked to cook, and was quite good at it. From a young age he’d wanted to go into the kitchen and look at what his mother was doing there, or help out. Barbara was a decent cook but didn’t love it like he and his mother did, and Eugenia had been banned from using the kitchen, but Thomas had picked up cooking quite easily. Now, they were making a vegan shepherd’s pie, Thomas was cutting the onion, trying to cut the pieces as tiny as possible. Compared to his mother, he was less sensitive to onion and was therefore always giving that task while cooking together.

‘Were you surprised?’ he asked out of a sudden. ‘When you and dad found out I like boys?’

His mother threw away the potato peels. ‘Not really. I remember when you were fourteen and would come home from school. You could only talk about this older boy you’d met, about how beautiful his dark hair and eyes were.’

Thomas realized his mother had a point, that wasn’t exactly subtle. And he couldn’t talk about his feelings for Alastair with his friends, so instead he’d talked about him at home. ‘That boy was Alastair,’ he said.

‘Really?’ his mother asked. ‘Now that you mention it, that was his name, but we never met him.’

‘I think dad suggested I invite him over for dinner, but Alastair barely acknowledged me back then and I didn’t dare. Nor do he think he would have accepted.’

‘And while you were singing his praises, James and Matthew could only complain about him. So we figured there had to be a reason why you thought he was perfect when your friends thought he was awful. We weren’t sure it was a crush, or if there was some other reason, we figured it was best to let you figure that out on your own.’

Thomas hadn’t realized it was so obvious, but looking back it was a miracle anyone had missed it.

‘Thanks for that. I don’t think I was ready to talk about it at that age, even if I wasn’t exactly subtle. We do have a bit of a history. While I was in love with him, he was awful to us. I think I idealized him then, because he was beautiful and smart and appeared so confident, and I downplayed his rudeness. But he isn’t like that anymore, he grew up and changed and he apologized for his behavior at school.’

‘People change,’ his mother said. ‘I believe people deserve a second chance. Especially when someone was so young when they made mistakes.’

‘Exactly. And now I feel like I’m getting to know the real him. You and dad, you do like him right?’

‘Of course we do,’ Sophie said. ‘He’s been nothing but polite, although a bit blunt. Your father sees himself in Alastair, he thinks Alastair struggles with connecting to people because of his past, and wants to help.’

‘Alastair thinks you only like him for his ability and his willingness to save me,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m not sure why he thinks that, it seemed unlikely and he couldn’t really explain his line of thinking either.’

Sophie sat down at the kitchen table, cutting the carrots. ‘When you’ve been treated badly in the past, it can become difficult to accept kindness. At some point, you start to expect people aren’t sincere, they can’t be trusted, because that’s all they’ve known.

It was difficult for me, at first, to trust your father’s kindness because I knew people were not always genuine, because I’d been hurt before and I was scared it would happen again. Because I thought, with this scar, who could believe I’m beautiful?’

Before meeting his father, his mother had been in a relationship with a man who’d cut open her face when she’d broken up with him. He’d claimed that if he couldn’t have her, he’d make sure no one else would want her. The cut had left a scar across her cheek and her ex had eventually gone to prison.

Thomas didn’t know the details, but suspected her ex had been abusive before the break up already. People didn’t always realize how dangerous leaving could be for an abuse victim. His mother’s ex had turned to carving up her face with a knife. Benedict Lightwood had decided to sacrifice his wife when he realized she was leaving. He had to admire Alastair for being brave enough to leave his ex. Even if someone wasn’t physically violent it couldn’t be easy.

‘Do you think he distrusts your and dad’s kindness because of that?’ Thomas asked.

‘I think that’s likely,’ Sophie said. ‘I think he blames himself for what happened to him, and might not believe it’s possible for other people to genuinely care for him. Perhaps he thinks people have treated him badly because he’s a bad person, or perhaps he thinks that he’s too broken to be loved. Perhaps to him it is so unlikely that we care for him that it makes more sense that we are kind because we want something from him.’

Thomas figured it was something like that. But what did to mean for Alastair’s feelings for him? Did Alastair think he too would abandon him if things became too difficult? Or did he think Thomas would only stay with him as long as he could satisfy his needs, with no care for his own? Did he feel guilty about falling into that flashback last night when Thomas had touched him, like he was not good enough? Thomas wanted to make him understand that it wasn’t true, that he loved Alastair and wouldn’t abandon him, but he wasn’t sure how.

‘How do I convince him that’s not true?’ Thomas asked.

‘The only thing we can do is let him know we care,’ his mother said. ‘And be patient with him. Does he communicate his feelings to you?’

‘He tends to be honest and rather blunt with his feelings,’ Thomas said. ‘I like that about him.’

When Alastair wanted to be honest, he wasn’t one to dance around the message or his feelings. He was very straightforward and blunt in what he wanted to say, not much like what was common in Britain, to hide behind politeness. Thomas found it refreshing, to know that when Alastair said something nice he meant every word of it.

‘So make sure you communicate with him as well,’ his mother said. ‘I know you struggle with verbalizing your emotions, but you have to let him know how you feel or he might end up believing you don’t really care for him.’

Thomas nodded. His mother was right, he did struggle with telling people how he felt. Most of the time, it was because he was scared his feelings would inconvenience other people. He was determined not to do that to Alastair though, he knew his feelings for him weren’t inconvenient and they weren’t shameful. Nevertheless sometimes it was hard just to get the words past his lips. Perhaps that was why he’d waited so long to come out when he’d wanted to for some time. Ultimately, kissing Alastair when they would see was easier than telling them, but he knew he could not communicate with Alastair the same way, he’d have to tell him how he felt as well as show it.

‘Was it difficult for you, entering a new relationship after the last one had ended so badly?’ Thomas asked.

‘It took a while until I was ready,’ his mother said. ‘At first, I thought, who would want me now that I have this scar? I think Alastair might feel the same way, even if his scars aren’t literal like mine is. It took some time before I started believing Gideon when he said I was beautiful. That is a process, and all you can do is support him and be gentle with him while he works through that.’

‘Last night, something I did triggered a flashback,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I thought he was okay with it, I think he thought so too. Or maybe he was scared to refuse because of how his ex used to treat him. Something I did reminded him of his ex and he panicked.’

‘Did you communicate what you both wanted?’ his mother asked.

Thomas had to think. He’d asked, of course, and Alastair had said yes. But perhaps what they needed was a more in depth discussion of what they both liked and what Alastair was comfortable with.

‘Yes. He likes it when I ask for consent before kissing or touching him. I think he didn’t see it coming. That it would trigger a flashback, I mean. But I don’t want to hurt him, and I think maybe he feels like he isn’t a good partner if he’s not ready to have sex? I’m not sure exactly, but I think his ex was very demanding when it came to sex.’

‘It’s best to ask him,’ Sophie said. ‘You said he usually honest and blunt with his feelings, so I think if you ask him how he feels about sex, he’ll tell you. Those aren’t always easy conversations, but it’s the best way to make sure you don’t accidently hurt him. And I think when you accidently trigger something, it’s best to apologize and move on when he does. Lingering on it might make him feel worse.’

They finished the shepherd’s pie and put it in the oven. Thomas always struggled with preheating the oven at the right time, he didn’t want to leave it on for a long time while he wasn’t ready to put anything in it, but it was also annoying when everything was finished but he had to wait for the oven to get warm. It was another half an hour until it was done, which would give Alastair and Cordelia plenty of time to finish bathing. Thomas hadn’t wanted to say anything but they did smell awful after coming out of that dungeon soaking wet, and he could tell they were both chilled to the bone. He hoped neither of them would get sick.

Thomas sat down on the couch with his father and Lucie. ‘I’d been waiting for you,’ Lucie said. ‘I thought it would be better with you here.’

Gideon frowned. ‘What’s going on?’

‘This might be difficult to process,’ Lucie said. ‘While I was waiting in the land in between, I saw a ghost. Not like I usually see ghosts, she was only half there, transparent like in the movies. Until I asked her to show herself so Thomas could see her too. When I was back in our world, I could do the same thing. According to Grace, I stole a soul back from the thief of souls.’

‘You stole a soul?’ Gideon asked. ‘I’m not sure I’m following. Is she a ghost now?’

‘She’s right here,’ Lucie said. ‘A ghost, yes, but no longer trapped. She’s your mother.’

‘My… mother?’ His father seemed in shock, his voice a whisper. ‘You mean to say she’s here?’

‘She’s been trapped for a long time until I found here. She didn’t realize how much time had passed until we told her and she found out Thomas was your son. She wants to talk to you if that’s alright with you.’

Thomas found it difficult to imagine what his father must be feeling. Would he be happy for a chance to see his mother, or would it only tear open old wounds? He knew Lucie had done the right thing to set her free, and hoped she could find peace and way to move on from this world, but he wasn’t sure it was kind to his father. Not telling him was infinitely worse though.

‘Yes, of course. How does this work? Do you tell me what she’s saying?’

‘Actually, I can make her visible,’ Lucie said. ‘Barbara, show yourself.’

Barbara Lightwood appeared once more, standing in the middle of the living room. She looked a bit disoriented, glancing around before settling her gaze on his father.

‘Gideon. It has been so long,’ she said. ‘Last I remember you were still so small. I’m so sorry for leaving you.’

‘That wasn’t your fault,’ his father said, tears in his eyes.

Thomas wondered if he should leave, if this was a private conversation, but Lucie couldn’t leave since she had made Barbara visible. Perhaps he should stick around for emotional support?

His father had a long conversation with Barbara, telling him about his life, about Thomas’ sisters. Barbara started crying too when she realized Thomas’ oldest sister was named after her.

Thomas imagined Barbara had to be devastated to learn what Tatiana was up to and hoped she could find peace with it. He didn’t think Tatiana could be persuaded to stop by a mother she didn’t even remember. Gideon was the only one of her children who remembered his mother at all, although uncle Gabriel claimed to have a few very vague memories even if he could not recall her face and had no concept of who she had been.

Alastair entered the living room, his hair still damp but otherwise dry, wearing a clean dark green button up shirt with black jeans. Thomas went to him, he didn’t think they’d explained to Alastair what had happened or who Barbara was.

‘That’s the soul Lucie took back, isn’t it?’ Alastair asked.

‘Yes. Her name is Barbara, and she is my grandmother.’

‘Benedict’s wife? The one he sacrificed?’

‘Exactly. Somehow Lucie saw her and when she made her visible, she pulled her through to the world she was in, and now she’s here.’

Alastair looked concerned. ‘Do you think the thief of souls will try to take her back?’

‘I’m not sure. But if she moves on, we think she should be safe. How are you?’

‘Tired, but feeling a bit better. The bubble bath was nice, you should try it sometime.’

Thomas wondered if Alastair meant he should try it because it was nice or he wanted them to use the bubble bath together. He didn’t dare ask for clarification. He’d be far too embarrassed if it turned out Alastair had no desire to take a bath together. Just after he’d told himself he’d have a conversation with Alastair about sex and what he wanted.

‘Maybe I will,’ Thomas said, not sure what he meant he’d do. He wasn’t opposed to taking a bubble bath with Alastair, but wasn’t sure Alastair was ready for something so intimate. He’d ask later, he told himself. ‘You smell nice.’

All traces of whatever dirt he’d been in were gone. Instead, he smelt sharp and minty, but also sweet.

‘Just my shampoo. And I guess also the scrub, bath oil and body cream, but they all have the same scent.’

‘I like it,’ Thomas said. ‘Like eucalyptus, maybe?’

‘That’s in the products I use, yes,’ Alastair said. ‘Are you alright?’

Thomas guessed Alastair had read some worry on his face. ‘Well, I never knew my grandmother so it’s mostly confusing. I think it’s hard for my father though. He lost his mother when he was five, it’s been a very long time and seeing her again has to be painful.’

‘I can’t even imagine what that’s like,’ Alastair said. ‘But I’m happy for him that he gets the chance to talk to her even if it’s only once. He deserves that.’

‘They really do care for you, you know,’ Thomas said, returning to the kitchen with Alastair in tow to check on their shepherd pie.

‘Your parents?’ Alastair asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t know,’ Alastair said, head bowed down, avoiding eye contact.

‘I just asked my mother, she likes you and you remind my dad of him when he was younger. They both care. I’m not sure why you have this idea that they don’t, but I thought you should know.’

‘I don’t know how to explain,’ Alastair said, still refusing to look him in the eye.

Thomas guessed eye contact might be difficult for him. Lucie was the opposite, staring into people’s eyes so much it became uncomfortable. She was a writer, after all, and how else was she to know Thomas’ hazel eyes had both hints of green and gold in there?

‘My mother thinks it’s because you were hurt so badly you find it difficult to believe people could love you. If you want, you could talk to her about it. I may not know what it’s like, but she does. Her ex hurt her too.’

‘Not everyone is as easy to love as you are, Tom,’ Alastair said with a sigh. ‘Now that you’ve seen the extent of my scars, how long until you realize that I’m just not worth the pain?’

His mother was right, Alastair did believe he could not be loved. He believed Thomas would grow tired of him? That it was painful and difficult to be with someone like him and it wasn’t worth it? How could Thomas make him see that he was wrong, that he was loved and that he deserved that?

‘You are worth it,’ Thomas said, running a finger through Alastair’s soft dark hair. ‘Having a mental illness doesn’t make you unworthy of love, it doesn’t make you too difficult.’

‘You realize that this might never go away, right?’ Alastair said finally looking up. Thomas realized with a shock there were tears in his eyes. ‘I still have hope for EMDR, but PTSD is a very difficult disorder to treat. Perhaps it will get better over time, but it might not.’

Thomas imagined that was a difficult idea for Alastair to cope with, knowing that he might never get better. He’d read a lot on PTSD in the past week, and it was true that it was difficult to treat, especially when caused by prolonged childhood abuse. But according to his admittedly limited internet research, even then people could learn to cope better, find better support. One metaphor he’d found interesting was how the symptoms were like waves of the ocean, Alastair might not be able to stop them but he could learn to surf.

‘And if it doesn’t go away, I’ll still want to be with you,’ Thomas said. ‘I’d still do the best I could to support you. My feelings for you are not conditional on you getting better, although I certainly hope you do. For your sake.’

‘It’s easy to say that now,’ Alastair said softly, once more refusing to look him in the eye.

‘I’ll prove it to you then,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t care how long it takes until you believe me, but I’ll keep proving I care about you.’

‘Just how do I intend to do that?’ Alastair asked.

‘Well, I’m still figuring that out but it would involve lots of cuddling. And my mother thinks it’s important that I tell you how I really feel, so I’m going to do that too.’

Alastair’s expression changed, showing a small smile someone else might have missed. ‘I’d like that. When will you be next available for cuddling?’

‘Give me a moment, I need to check on the shepherd’s pie. You need to eat and I couldn’t feed you burnt food.’

Thomas checked the oven, everything looked fine and needed a little more time in the oven. He set the timer and returned his attention to Alastair.

‘I am available right now if you want. Another ten minutes until we can eat.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Thomastair #Lucelia #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh