#(not discussed in detail but alluded to)

[agentravensong]

The Underground is a Haunted House and Chara's the One Haunting It

propaganda for @hauntthenarrative's poll tournament

Hello! I'm writing this in advance of Chara's next match-up in the tournament against Rose Quartz because, as an Undertale and SU fan, I know it's gonna be a tough one. The ways in which Rose Quartz haunts Steven Universe (the character and the show) are all fairly obvious for people familiar even with just the show's premise.

But Chara haunts UnderTale's narrative just as strongly, if not as obviously. If you already know that and want to vote for them, here's the link to the poll. If you need to be convinced to do so and don't mind UnderTale spoilers (because this will spoil basically the whole game), click the read more, and I'll take you on a journey :)

EDIT: Chara has made it to the finals!!! Here's the link to vote for them!!!

The Basics

If you don't even know who Chara is, here's the primer: they were a human child, the first human to fall into the Underground after the war between humans and monsters that led to monsterkind being trapped down there. Chara was taken in by the king and queen of the monsters, Asgore and Toriel, and became best friends with their son Asriel. Chara's bond with the monsters gave monsterkind hope that they could coexist with humanity once they achieved their freedom.

The underground was full of hope.

But then, Chara gets an idea for how to break the Barrier that's trapping the monsters. A plan that requires their death (though to the rest of the Underground it appears to be the fault of a random tragic illness). A plan that they commit to, but that, unfortunately, fails past that point, because Asriel refuses to follow through on the harvesting of other human souls it requires. As a result, he dies as well, at the hands of humans.

The loss of Chara and Asriel prompts the king to declare that all humans who fell into the Underground from now on must be killed, so their souls can be used to break the Barrier. Because, without Chara, the monsters need a new source of hope. Over the next... 100 or so years, give or take, six more humans fall into the Underground. Their souls are taken by Asgore. Then a seventh falls. And that's where UnderTale the game begins.

Chara as Catalyst

The player doesn't find out about Chara until they reach the final area of the game, when basically everything I just said gets exposition dumped on you while the song that shares the game's name plays (and even then, you don't learn the human's name - remember that for later). However, once you know that backstory, you realize that it is the catalyst for literally everything.

Toriel leaves Asgore because of his declaration of war on humanity, going to live in the Ruins to look after any humans who might fall like Chara did. Therefore, Chara is the reason that Toriel was there to save the playable human, Frisk, at the start of the game and teach them how to survive in this world.

Asgore's declaration (the catalyst for which was, again, him losing Chara and Asriel) also leads to the development or repurposing of the Royal Guard as a group to hunt humans. Papyrus wants to join that organization, and so tries various schemes to capture Frisk, occupying their journey through Snowdin. Then in the next area of the game, Waterfall, you're hunted by the captain of the Royal Guard, Undyne.

Chara's brief time Underground, becoming an honorary member of monsterkind, is part of the reason why Asgore hires Alphys as Royal Scientist to try and find a way to break the Barrier without killing any more humans. It's a large part of the reason why Asgore has such complex feelings about the deeds he's done.

And then there's Flowey. Flowey, the first character Frisk meets, who tries to kill you while convincing you that that's just how the world is ("it's kill or be killed"). Flowey, who tracks your journey through the Underground and becomes the final boss of all but one of the game's routes. Flowey, who is, to vastly oversimplify, Asriel's soulless reincarnation. Flowey, who learned to see the world as kill or be killed because of what happened to him and Chara. Flowey, who, after what for him has been a literal eternity, sees Frisk as his replacement for Chara: the one person who understands him. By the end of the True Pacifist route, in fact, he sees Frisk as literally being Chara. He says they're the only person who's still fun for him to play with, because they can still surprise him -- because they're the one person he hasn't gotten to see every angle, every detail, every version, of, with his newfound power over time. Because they've been gone.

Chara is the one person Flowey still cares about while being literally unable to feel love. And his enduring connection to them is what allows you to get through to him at the end of the True Pacifist route (arguably the canon ending) and SAVE the world.

But he'll never be Asriel again. And Chara will never come back. Not as they were.

Haunting Everyone (including you!)

That's the argument on a pure "sparks the plot" level. But there's way more to Chara than that, if you know where to look.

For one, there's the way they haunt Frisk and the player specifically. It's their name on your save file, on Frisk's stat menu. They're haunting you before you even know they existed.

And Flowey isn't the only person who projects Chara onto Frisk; Toriel and Asgore do too. Every time a human has fallen into the Underground, Toriel has tried to protect them, because she sees Chara in them. And Asgore, if you spare him after fighting him, sees in Frisk the opportunity to get back the family he lost, to do things right this time (he even forgets that he's divorced).

But even that's not all. Because of course Chara haunts Flowey/Asriel and their parents. But their loss, and the things they stood for, have also been absorbed into the fabric of the monster's civilization.

You see it in the complex feelings the monsters have about potentially finally getting their freedom. Before they fell, all the monsters had was rage toward humanity. But then this kid fell, and the monsters gave them a chance. And, in turn, that child gave them hope.

Young one, when I look at you... I'm reminded of the human that fell here long ago. You have the same feeling of hope in your eyes.

That hope for a reconciliation and peaceful future with humanity remains even after humans killed Asriel, though for many of the monsters it's turned bittersweet. It's what even allows for the possibility for Frisk to befriend every monster, which ends up indirectly being the key to their freedom. And you can also see how that hope has been twisted in Chara's absence, most significantly in Undyne's blind devotion to the cause of freeing her people at any cost, and Alphys’s terrible mistakes made in pursuit of the same goal (which also led directly to Flowey's existence!).

Haunting the Narrative — Literally.

And that leads me to my final major point, the most subjective but perhaps most persuasive of all: the grief the Underground felt from Chara's passing was so strong that Chara's short story has been baked into the present-day narrative of UnderTale itself. Without even realizing it, the main characters are all acting out the beats of that story - their story - again.

I've detailed my reasoning for this reading of the game in this post, so I won't go fully into it here (especially considering how many words I've already made you read), but the basic gist is:

Frisk falling into the Ruins and being taken in by Toriel parallels Chara falling into the Underground and being taken in by the Dreemurr family

Snowdin is cozy and homely to represent how Chara came to feel at home in the Underground, and the sibling dynamic between Sans and Papyrus parallels the budding sibling relationship between Chara and Asriel

Waterfall is where the player learns about the history between humans and monsters and what it would take to set monsters free, meaning that you begin to feel the weight that Chara felt as "the future of humans and monsters", the weight that led them to formulate The Plan. As previously mentioned, Undyne parallels Chara in her determination to free monsterkind, whereas the Monster Kid who befriends Frisk and eventually stands up to Undyne for their sake parallels Asriel, who refused to let Chara kill any humans for their souls as part of their Plan.

Hotland... goes kind of beyond the scope of this post, because the Chara parallel requires that you buy into the theory that Chara is the literal narrator of the game. A theory that I honestly believe based on all the evidence (see this video), but I think people's opinion on whether that adds to or goes against the idea that they're Haunting the Narrative in their absence will differ, so. Up to you whether or not you want to look into that.

And then the end of the game is where the past fully catches up to the present, and you decide the world's future.

The monsters will remain trapped by the past Chara represents until you get the True Pacifist ending and let them (and Frisk) start a new phase of their lives (or until you turn their willingness to trust a human against them and bring Chara back Wrong as the agent of monsterkind's ultimate destruction). Until you do that, as long as you keep playing, forcing the monsters to relive their grief (and adding to it), Chara remains. Their story isn't finished. They - what's left of them - can only move on once you do.

It's their name on the save file, after all.

You see? Even if a player doesn't know about Chara until near the end of their first playthrough, and even if they won't really know their full story without going back for the best ending, they're there, haunting the narrative, the whole time. The game, in every sense, would not be the same without them.

Chara was a human child. If you push them far enough, they'll call themself a demon. They loved chocolate and their village's golden flowers. They had a fascination with knives. They drew and gardened. They hated humanity for reasons they never told anyone, but which were strong enough to drive them to climb a mountain beneath which monsters dwelled. They gave those monsters hope. They wanted to give them more than that, and were willing to give their life to those ends. They were the king and queen's child. They introduce themself by saying "Greetings", just as their mother does. They accidentally poisoned their father, and whatever they felt about that came out as a laugh. They made him a sweater. They were Asriel's best friend. They played tricks on him and called him a crybaby. They trusted him with their soul.

They hid their face in the family photo.

They still smiled.

... If you'll let me get a little soap-boxy here at the end:

A large portion of the UnderTale fandom, for a long time, refused to acknowledge all the layers the game gives Chara. Too much of the fandom refused to give them their due analysis as a character in their own right, in a story that is in every way about them and their brother (remember when the song called "Undertale" plays?).

A win for them in this tourney would be validation of the complex and vitally important character they always were.

So. Vote Chara. For me :)

[galacticlamps]

actually ascension needs its own post since that's the one with the most details to speculate over and im starved for soho talk so i will talk to myself if need be

First the cover again, because I kinda can't get over it:

my only thing is that I had been hoping we might get Lizbeth on a cover again since she's never been on one of the boxsets before, despite being the 2nd person credited on all 4 of them (even if that's just alphabetical, still, she's the only one of the four main characters who never makes the cover)

But letting that go...

I know we already kinda knew the brief for this one but damn I didn't expect it to go quite this hard. Maybe that's just because the Parasite & Ashenden covers were (comparatively) similarish to each other and I was so pleased with Unbegotten's, and then got so used to it as the placeholder for Ascension while they kept postponing it, I wasn't expecting anything this colorful or detailed or with what I can't help but register as Fun New Outfits even though these are still like, pretty damn basic as far as costumes go. Still, it's a different vibe from everyone in suits and trenchcoats on every cover, technically. (Oh the woes of being an audio fan such that two characters owning sweaters actually does qualify as new information)

On top of just being visually delightful though, I know we knew religion was gonna be a fairly big part of this one, but I didn't actually expect to get quite this much of it - though I'm glad of it for a number of reasons. The BF twitter already made the ineffable joke so I don't have to, but also yeah I did very much spend all of season 2 episode 4 of good omens half convinced Samuel Barnett & Dervla Kirwan were about to pop up around any given corner (if you will go around being gay supernatural and horrible at your messy bureaucratic jobs in midcentury soho then I'm sorry, this is where my brain's gonna go) - so, fuel to that fire. But in terms of actual important things, at least one of my Soho wishes looks to be being granted because we have a Rev Edward Folgate on the cast list, which must mean we're finally meeting Norton's father, even if his mother & brother don't appear (which they could, technically, I've definitely seen BF not list all the doublings on their cast tabs before). Religion, domesticity, and the nuclear family are all things that absolutely fascinate me when it comes to Norton's character, so getting any amount of story involving his father & his church is something I've been actively hoping for for a long time now.

(I will say I'm a tiny bit bummed Saffron Coomber isn't on the cast list to play Mia again, but I kinda figured she wasn't going to be since Greg Austin's Armitage, who's making his first recurring appearance after originating in Unbegotten, was listed ever since the boxset was announced - presumably if she was also returning, that would've been handled in the same way. But since Unbegotten ended with Lizbeth and Mia going on a date, I still held out hope. Who knows though, maybe things did go well for them and Lizbeth just has a better work/life balance than Norton so she can date someone without them getting dragged into every scifi plot. I know that's not a very common accomplishment for any Torchwood agent, but a gal can hope)

At this point I know I'm completely in the realm of speculation & even wishful thinking, but I'm really really hoping we get some more clues as to Norton's overall timeline in this one, and I have a feeling that even if there's nothing as direct as dates given, the events of a plot like this one are going to heavily influence my personal interpretation of it.

To say that life & death are major themes for the soho crew feels wildly reductive, but even by Torchwood's standards and taking into account its origins as a piece of media with Jack Harkness & his newfound immortality at the heart of it, the living/dead status of this bunch has always been fantastically up in the air to me. Obviously Ghost Mission introduced Norton as kind of a ghost before revealing more obvious ghostly characters later on to which the title might have been referring, but his being from the past did beg the question of his survival into Torchwood's present era all the same, which Outbreak later alludes to much more directly, and his habit of showing up via hologram in multiple stories only further obfuscates any certainty we might have about where & when he definitely can be said to be alive and well. Then you've got Lizbeth and Gideon both being effectively 'brought back to life' via paradoxes that prevented them ever having died in the first place. Again, they are very very far from being the only Torcwhood characters this happens to (for a sprawling EU, it's really rather impressive how often & in how many different ways Torchwood as a whole manages to circle back to being about like. chaotic undead queers at the end of every day. though I suppose that consistency is part of why I keep falling in love with its different iterations again and again). That's without even getting into the question of Norton's dubious fate in God Among Us - and I say dubious because I know some people take that to be his ultimate death, but I personally think that reading something as vague as that as having any kind of finality rather goes against the spirit of this whole world/series, not just because I want him to live. (There are obviously other ways to make him survive/reappear, but I don't see this as a River Song scenario where we can safely assume one of his earlier-released adventures had to happen at the end of his personal timeline). But wherever God Among Us falls for him, he does very much meet God in it - or at least, a god, since the sentinel in Unbegotten is also described as a god of sorts, and even if he doesn't ultimately have the status of the god Jacqueline King is playing there, Unbegotten is still full to bursting with ghosts/undead/came back wrong/echo characters to continue underscoring that life/afterlife theme.

So all things considered, even allowing for the fact that we know Norton's twin hobbies are lying about himself and abusing time travel to suit his own ends/ever-shifting alliances, I find it difficult to believe we could get through a whole 6-part boxset about religion & death without something providing some kind of compelling evidence about where this adventure fits in among his other run-ins with apocalypses and gods and ghosts and dead-but-still-here characters/creatures, so I'm very much looking forward to any further exploration on that front.

And lastly, and least intellectually, I really want to know what the hell 20th-century Torchwood's obsession with Reginalds is. Reading through the cast list, I had to do two separate doubletakes over the character 'Sir Reginald Peebles' - firstly, because I had Reginald Rigsby on the brain, this being Soho (and the other Troughton brother being so active on BF's releases for this same month) - and secondly, because reading this in conjunction with the announcement for the July monthly adventure in which the new main Torchwood guy of the 20s is apparently called Sir Reginald Dellafield, there was a brief moment where I took that monthly release to be a tie-in with Ascension. I don't expect it to be, but damn. was it really so popular a name?

anyways, catch me thinking about those stained glass windows for the next couple months I guess (and knowing Torchwood Soho, for a long long time after it comes out as well lol)

[madlori]

On Tommy and narrative threads

So some fans who are vehemently anti-Tommy frequently use the talking point that they need to have Buck confront Tommy about his past behavior while under Gerrard, or have him find out about it if he doesn't already know, and that he should break up with him about it. Or they need some kind of reckoning to happen with Hen and Chim in order to move forward.

I'm 95% sure neither of those things are going to happen, and here is why: the show considers that narrative thread to be closed.

It has run its course. It's done. It's been resolved. As fans and viewers - and as many of us are fic readers and writers - we always want to see things hashed out onscreen in exhaustive detail but that's not practically possible. The narrative sometimes has to signal that threads are resolved in other ways, in the way characters act towards each other and speak about each other.

Throughout the course of the three Begins episodes in which he appears, the writers clearly selected Tommy to represent the "firefighter who acted kinda jerky but got better through personal growth and friendship with new people" narrative. By the end of Bobby Begins Again, this narrative is more or less complete, as we've now seen Tommy act to support Hen and also be accepted into a friendly relationship with both her and Chim, not to mention Bobby. When he reappears in season 7, nobody acts like he's anything other than a friend, and Chim outright admires him.

This is the conclusion of this thread, as far as the show is concerned. Did he ever sit down with Hen and Chim and make some big speech or have some big discussion about how he's learned and changed? Probably not. Those kinds of direct conversations sometimes do happen in reality, but more often than not, you just spend years working with someone and your opinion of them shifts as all of you change. And remember, Hen and Chim worked with Tommy for years before Bobby even showed up.

And ask yourself this question: if Hen and Chim have both moved on, and have accepted whatever direct or implicit apology Tommy offered, how is it Buck's business to decide that no, that's not good enough, HE'S going to demand some kind of restitution on their behalf? That's patronizing as fuck. These are people with their own agency who don't need Buck to advocate for them and exact some kind of retroactive revenge for something they're not even mad about anymore. Would he be upset that Tommy ever made off-color remarks, or was less than welcoming to people who are now his friends? Maybe. Is he upset that Eddie nearly killed a man? Is he filled with moral outrage and disappointment that Hen cheated on her wife? Chim physically assaulted him, and so did Bobby. Is he still holding that against them? Is he upset NOW that nobody's speaking up on HIS behalf when Gerrard targets him? Buck's an adult. He knows that people frequently look back on their past behavior and cringe at what jerks they were, himself included.

Tommy has several times alluded to being ashamed of his past actions. He knows the score. The message we're meant to take from those comments is that he's taken steps to not be that guy anymore. Need he flagellate himself forever? Does this need to cost him and Buck a relationship they both value? It can't have been easy to come from a terrible father, go into the army, then into the LAFD with a terrible captain, and then to meet people who challenged your behavior and made you want to be a better person. The fact that he became a better person is something he should be admired for, not punished.

[ozzgin]

The Mean Girl Bully Reader x Nerd Loser Yandere story sparked another red flag reader idea I had 😈

Imagine a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere. Unlike our favorite monster whore gal, and two-faced bully, this new reader insert is super vocal about her distaste in just about everything. Hardly anything is up to her “standards.” She not only complains, but whines too! 🥳

Then her poor beau weirdly loves her despite her horrid personality. I don’t know how, I’ll leave that part of imagining up to you, but there’s my request 🥺

I just like morally grey or blatant antagonistic readers. A lot of times, it’s more fun if the reader is attractive this way to a yandere, than having stereotypical good traits, like being compassionate or respectful 😔

So please, a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere?

-👘

I was wondering if I should just incorporate this into the Yandere CEO draft I have, but I had this sudden idea for a downright shameless relationship between a beloved, well-respected politician and a perverted, needy brat of a Darling. (I don't like politicians but alas, I needed a high-stakes public profession for this)

Yandere! Politician x Bratty! Reader

Mr. Politician is a true rarity in his field of work: well-mannered, articulate, and most importantly, genuine in his dedication. He works tirelessly for change and improvement, earning the adoration of the people. There's only one exception to his loyalty: no country ever comes before his Darling. And what a demanding Darling you are...

Content: female reader, older yandere, NSFW, some exhibitionism

Many would describe their interactions with Mr. Politician as follows: he's disciplined, confident and resourceful. A natural born leader, you can tell within seconds of meeting him that he is a man to rely on. He's spent many years in the game, and nothing can shake him out of his signature calmness. He keeps everything in pristine order, and nothing escapes his scrutiny.

There is, however, one quirk only few select people know about. A detail no one dares to discuss. It is common knowledge that Mr. Politician has a partner, yet the particularities of it are kept private. His beloved is a much younger girl, rotten to the core. It is unclear how this pairing came to be; the day Mr. Politician won his place in his prestigious office, he showed up with the mysterious feminine figure at his side.

What's certain and obvious to all witnesses is that his vocabulary quickly discards any meaning of refusal whenever he's dealing with you. It almost feels like the man worships you. He's never alluded to being religious, most likely because that role's been taken already. His eyes soften whenever directed at you, gleaming with raw adoration.

Splurging on expensive things is a given. Money has never been an issue for someone of his status. In fact, it's a handy and convenient tool he frequently uses to dampen the damage of your tantrums.

"Disgusting", you spit between your teeth, pushing the plate away and crossing your arms. The renowned chef of the Michelin star restaurant can only stare in horror before Mr. Politician intervenes with a chuckle. "Not feeling it today, huh?", he coos at you with loving strokes. "May I ask that you bring everything else from the menu?" he says in a sterner voice to the employee. "E-everything, Sir?" the waitstaff questions. "Well, naturally. I can't let my Darling starve."

"I'm bored. Let's leave now", you mention bluntly, standing in front of the heavily ornate table with a huff. "Are you sure, Darling? It's an important meeting for the country", Mr. Politician tries to plead. Around him, the other men sit baffled, observing the outrageous exchange. "Now!" you conclude louder. Before anyone can protest, your boyfriend stands up obediently and reaches out for your hand. "Then allow me to guide you, love."

A paradox. His earnest work is put to a halt if you require anything from him. Somehow, he has until now managed to juggle the two with little effort, and to his credit, there have been many instances requiring nerves of steel. Such as you paying him an unannounced visit to the office, and disliking the fact he was unavailable due to a meeting. So, you marched over to the window and promptly flashed your chest against the glass. Everyone else was focused on the opposing whiteboard; he was the only one who immediately noticed your arrival. "As you can see, the expected result is irresistible", he continued with a professional smile, tapping the graph with a marker.

Everyone knows Mr. Politician is fervently devoted to his principles. Take his last public speech, for example. Knuckles white from gripping the podium, he'd nearly choked during an eloquent -but passionate - conclusion. His face was red, his jaw tightened. He needed a moment to recollect himself, and the public waited with bated breaths, visibly emotional. Of course, they couldn't tell the outrageous truth: that you were shamelessly kneeling at his feet, pumping and teasing his erection until, at last, he let go all over your face.

"I wanted to see if you'd stumble on your words", you explain afterwards, wiping the sticky liquid off with a damp cloth. "That would've been unpleasant", he responds with a shiver. "It was live on national television."

He does not seem too bothered by the potential risk of being caught. Truly, his nonchalance knows no bounds when it comes to you. Or perhaps it is part of the charm. There's something quite depraved yet tempting about this perpetual contrast.

To return your daring favor, he gently places you onto his desk and spreads your legs, leaving trails of kisses along the inner surface of your thigh. A quick glance down confirms his suspicions: your bare bottom lays on top of confidential, rather important documents he dutifully signed hours ago. How thrilling of a feeling! He already smiles in anticipation, picturing himself as he hands over the folder to the oblivious party. He's not breaking any rules, now, is he? Nowhere in the book of etiquette does it state you mustn't fuck your beloved on top of official papers.

You gaze at the disheveled face underneath you. "One day I'll get you in trouble", you blurt out between whines. "Me? Oh, Darling. You know I always have everything under control." He lifts himself up and gives you a quick, desperate kiss. "Including you."

[peachpitfics]

Loml

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: You have been married six months, and it is fresh hell trying to conceive an heir with somebody you are repulsed by. Luckily, your old friend is willing to help you get through it while your husband is out of town.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Infidelity/adultery, themes allude to SA with unwanted husband (not described or mentioned), cunnilingus, face sitting, oral sex (male & female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex for the sake of breeding, breeding kink?, orgasm.

a/n: This is part ii of Wildest Dreams, requested by anon here! This turned out a little more angsty than I had planned!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Six months ago, your father inflicted the cruelest curse upon you when he married you off to his vilest friend, Lord Howard. Six months of marriage, six months of scheduled contact, attempting to make an heir. Agreeing to once per month, having to allow Lord Howard access to your body in order to do so, six attempts were far too many already.

As soon as Lord Howard informed you of his business travel plans, you began thinking about Benedict Bridgerton. Somebody you thought about relentlessly, however, in this case, you were hoping to hold him to a promise he had made you earlier in the year.

Immediately penning a letter addressed to him at Bridgerton House, with details regarding location, date and time. The staff had been quite loyal to you since moving into the grand house. Most of your time was spent in the country, avoiding your new husband – the service staff there thought you were a gift from heaven, far too good for the old codger, as they called him. They looked after you, and you ensured the same for them. They would keep your secret.

Benedict arrived by carriage a week later, the afternoon after your husband’s departure, having written to accept your invitation, but only to discuss what had been promised in the past. Benedict looked the same, but cleaner, his hair shorter. He looked grown up. He stepped from the carriage, baring in easeful smile, just for you.

“Lady Howard” He bowed properly, it felt like a jive.

You did not speak a word, jumping forward and into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. It was the first time you’d felt safe in months. Benedict’s eyes flicked between the housekeeper, the footman and you, desperately trying to understand if this was okay.

“They are my friends; they would never harm me. I know it is strange, but they really do help me keep my secrets” You tried to reassure Benedict, whispering in his ear.

“It is not strange, it is very country, I suppose,” His arms tightened around your back, lifting you off the ground slightly, “I have missed you. I did write” Benedict squeezed.

“I know,” You let him go, holding out a hand to walk him into the house, “I have your letters hidden in my dressing room. I do apologise for not replying” Ben took your hand and followed you into the house, leaving his luggage on the carriage for the staff to care for.

Benedict was amazed by the house, its long concrete walls and vaulted ceilings. It felt similar to a castle, empty and cold. After your evening meal, you took Benedict for a walk around the gardens. Two swings hung from the branch of a very old tree nearby, one of your favourite places to hide from Lord Howard.

“Where has he gone to?” Benedict asked, lighting a cigarette and passing it to you.

“France… I think. I was not paying very much attention when he was speaking. I was too focused on getting you here. I have been waiting for months, building rapport with the staff, friendships even. I just needed him to leave, so we could do this right” You stuttered, watching your feet dangle as you swung back and forth.

Benedict paused, taking the cigarette back and drawing in, “It has not been going well then?” The question was serious, but even he snorted when he got the words out.

“We have been intimate too many times already. I thought this was supposed to be easy. Women get pregnant all the time” You sighed.

“Yes, when they do not mean to of course. Also, you must account for your husbands age” Benedicts eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Please, do not call him that” You interrupted.

Benedict exhaled heavily, “That is who he is, y/n. He is your husband. If we do this, we commit infidelity. There are consequences for such acts, are you prepared to accept those consequences?” Benedict asked. You had not ever seen him quite this serious. It scared you, seeing what six months will change in a person.

“I am!” You said adamantly, one stiff nod of assurance. There was no way you could take any more of this. One child, that was all you needed, to make it all stop.

You reached over to Benedict’s swing, his sweet face resting on the rope, thumb caressing his cheek, “Will you be able to live with this? Your child, raised as another mans? Never being their father, or having a role in their lives?” You asked, hoping it was not too cold a question. Benedict pulled slightly away from your touch.

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about…” Benedict whispered, “I know that Lord Howard is your husband and that I am too late, y/n. I will give you a child, if I can. I will give you as many as you damn well want. But I must know that after Lord Howard has passed, you will come to me” Benedicts eyes were soft and glassy in the moonlight, the burning ember of the cigarette fading in his laxed hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head and closed your eyes. How could you make such a promise?

“I do not care if the old bastard lives another 20 years, y/n, I will wait. I will wait in torment for you. Even if I must spend the next decade in hell, learning to bend time, I will. And if we are only allowed a short time together, then so be it because whether it be 5 minutes or 50 years, it will still never be enough time. There is an inexhaustible amount of love for you in my heart. I did not recognize it before, I was selfish and hopeless. The two of you will come home to me, and we will be deliriously happy” Benedict dreamed aloud, starry eyed.

You sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other with tragic longing deep set in your eyes.

Benedict’s eyes cleared, his smile faded, “I know you love me” He breathed boldly.

You jaw clenched shut, your eyes closed over slowly, a single tear running down the far side of your face so Benedict could not see.

“I love you,” He howled toward the moon, “I loved you the moment I saw you. I have adored your passion and cherished your friendship, while cowering in the frozen solitude of my own mind. I have dreamt of you and our life together every day since your marriage date, stirring in agony, every night. Every time I close my eyes, the profound pit of blackness inside consumes me – until I wake again, then my existence is marred by its lack of yours. Your name haunts my tongue, its ineffable song too wistful a sound on my lips. I am left stumbling through life, scattered across the universe, searching for you” His once invincible foolhardiness nowhere to be seen. The peaceful eloquence of his voice so familiar to you, always a poet.

Standing from your swing, hand outstretched to Benedict, you tried to allow your eyes to do the speaking. His sad, desperate eyes, staring up at you in solemn hope, his hand bound for yours. You escorted him inside in silence, the air surrounding dense with disquiet. Leading Benedict into your bedroom, separate from the Master bedroom, you closed the door behind him.

Locking eyes in malicious yearning, your bodies came together, navels pressed, hands roaming across every inch of your torso. Benedict grasped the back of your neck, enchanted look in his eyes as he littered kisses along your jawline and down your throat. You breathed heavily under his lips, breasts heaving against his chest. Reaching around for the bows on your dress, undoing them as quickly as you could, desperate to shed your clothes for him, Benedict palmed at your breasts through your dress. He halted his movements when he noticed your hurry and began stripping himself down also.

“I have been thinking, of one thing in particular, all these months” Benedict panted, leading you over to your bed. You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Benedict laid, his back to the bed, your hands in his, guiding you over top of him. You hovered over his nude hips, he smiled cheekily, waving you up higher. You frowned down at him, completely confused by what he was asking. He tugged you upward, your knees resting either side of his head.

“You will have to trust me” He gave a soft, dreamy smile as you gave him a befuddled one back, bare behind resting on his chest. You pursed your lips, Benedicts hands digging into your hips pulling you down onto his face. His breath hot against your skin, his wet tongue sinking betwixt your folds, starting gently at your clit. You jerked in animated surprise, finding yourself lowering back down instinctively. Benedict’s hands kneaded your behind, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. You had done your darndest to replicate the way Benedict made you feel, to no avail, at a complete loss for how you would miss his devastating body.

Your fingers tangled into his hand, drinking in every tangible flick of his tongue against your clit. His lips pressed, sucked and kissed at you, pulling you further into his indulgent dreamland. Benedict’s big, blue eyes staring up at you, grinding down on his face, his premeditated attack on you began, wrapping his flexed arms around your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Blinding pleasure laved over you, your eyes uncontrollably clamping shut so hard you swore you saw every colour imaginable. Screaming Benedict’s name, his amused tongue swirling you to completion, you panted animalistically, unable to move.

“That was incredible. I do not believe I could have prepared myself for how much better that was going to be outside my dreams” Ben moaned into your pussy, lapping at your juices, drinking you in. You rested a moment, watching Benedicts crowning smile, his asinine eyes filled with everything else he wanted to do with you.

Freeing Benedict from beneath you he shuffled up the bed, resting upright against the grand wooden bedhead, his legs out in front of him.

“Shall we try?” Benedict asked delicately.

“Please” You whimpered, crawling to him, taking his cock in your hand.

You laid between his legs a moment, holding him in your hands, moving gently. Leaning forward to kiss his tip, your tongue flicked over his pink flesh, Benedict could not help but moan. Taking him into your mouth, you sunk down in long hot strides, pressing his cock to the back of your throat. His fingers wrapped into your hair, pulling you onto him further. Benedict relished your working on him, libidinous smile engraved on his face, pure bliss.

“I do not think that is how one makes a baby” Benedict chuffed, pulling you up quickly, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Face to face, you grinned into his splendidly hot kisses, his hand slipping between the two of you to situate himself. You felt his tip nudging against your entrance, hard and waiting, slipping inside of you. You gasped loudly, burying your face into his neck as a biological urge forced you to bounce.

Benedict growled lowly into your ear as you moved into a groove together, slow and tedious in perpetual delight. Benedict placed his hand in the smallest of gaps between you, his thumb adjacent to your clitoris; every movement, sinking to his hilt, he brushed against you softly. You were not aware that it could happen more than once, your heart quickened aggressively, Benedict tongue descending into your mouth as you whimpered louder and louder. Nails embedded into Ben’s shoulders, blood nearly drawn, your eyes holding his gaze, sheer hunger lived in his eyes. Hunger for you. Your pussy began quivering around him, aching, throbbing, trying desperately to take in more of him. Excruciating pleasure erupted from you, grasping his cock hard from within, your legs shook as your wetness spread between the two of you. Benedict did not stop this time, taking his hands to your hips as you ceased moving, manipulating your movements, grunting into your neck. Every time he led you to release, he seemed to get harder, more attracted to you. You did your best to get deep breaths in, to bring yourself back to reality, his cock still pounding into you steadily made it difficult. His teeth edge to edge in painstaking need, his forceful hands and powerful thrust told you he was close.

“Please,” Your voice rang out, his eyes needy and frenzied, “Please, Benedict, put that baby in me!” You continued to beg, his ragged panting and dreary eye contact wavering as you took control of your body again, bouncing heartily onto his cock. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at the same time, his hands aggressively pressing you down, as he groaned and grunted fiercely. You squeezed him inside, gently rolling your hips forward, feeling his cock pulsate inside you.

Benedict’s head rested against the bed head, his breath uneven and heart throbbing in his chest. Attempting to get off him, to allow him room to breathe, Benedict stopped you. He blinked himself back to this plane of existence.

“No, it helps if we stay like this” He explained through puffs.

“Really?” You frowned, never having thought about it.

“Yes,” He nodded frantically, “If we stay like this, everything will stay inside” He explained. You hummed in agreement, thinking perhaps that was what you had been doing wrong. Whatever it was that you were doing wrong, you were glad for it. If this made you an adulterer, a traitor, a betrayer, you did not care. Not for this.

Your hands rest on Benedicts chest, fingers splayed in brown chest hair, your eyes lingering over his collar bones and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, feeling rather observed.

“Taking you in” You purred, taking mental pictures in case you never saw him again. Benedicts hand rose to your face, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip, sliding down your neck to lure you into his most romantic kiss yet. Moments later, Benedict allowed you to slide off him, laying you with your legs up parallel to the headboard. You wondered how many more times you would get to feel like this.

“Shall I leave in the morning?” Benedict asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, Benedict lying next to you, a huge grin on his face.

“I joke, my Lady” Benedict laughed as you shoved him gently.

“You will be staying the entire week. I will hold you prisoner if I must” You chortled.

“Excellent, better treatment than home I expect. I will take it” Benedict stretched, every strained muscle flexing in exhilarating sex appeal. “We need every opportunity if we’re to make this baby” He smiled, thrilled at the chance to say such things, hoping one day his babies would come home to him.

“That is not the only reason I want you to stay” You said mellifluously, your soft, thoughtful eyes inspecting his reactions. Benedict frowned placidly, unsuspecting of your joyful surrender.

“You are the love of my life, Benedict Bridgerton,” Tears welled grievously, guileless love calm in your smile, “We will be together. I will be your wife, and I will bring our children home to you”.

Benedict leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, unhurried and glorious. Tears streamed down his face, amazed and implicit, his sureness of his love for you unwavering.

“How ever long it takes, whatever I must do, we will be together” Benedict smile was humble, but fearless.

--------------------------------------------

Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @dollarstore-lydia-deetz // @newavenger // @lifealot // @rosie-posie08 // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[ssa-dado]

14 - What Could Have Been

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, whump and alluded smut Summary: Hotch invited you to join the team for drinks, a rare gesture revealing how deeply your presence still affected him. As the night unfolded, the team noticed the undeniable connection between you two, despite the years of distance. Peter, unaware of the subtle dynamics, accidentally outed personal details about your past, igniting quiet rage in Hotch, who later confronted him. Meanwhile, Peter revealed plans for your future. Hotch, torn between happiness for you and regret over lost chances, masked his emotions, as usual. Warnings: alluded sex and outing Word Count: 7.9k Dado's Corner: I experimented stylistically with this chapter, it's all in one setting and paves the way for the future plot. It's very similar to chapter 8, this time with Hotch's POV. Ok now let's talk about the big elephant in the room: the part I decided to add was.. that. Yep. Hate me

masterlist

At the bar, Hotch sat directly across from you, it was an old habit neither of you ever discussed, but it mirrored the way your desks had been positioned all those years ago, facing one another.

It was Hotch who insisted you join the team for drinks while you were still in town, a rare invitation that had caught everyone off guard. For as long as the team could remember, Hotch had always been the first to leave after a case, racing home to spend whatever sliver of time he could with his family. There was always a hurriedness to him, a quiet desperation behind his tightly controlled exterior. His constant absence gnawed at him, feeding a guilt that never seemed to wane, as if each hour spent at work was a betrayal to the family waiting for him.

He feared, deeply and quietly, that he was becoming the very thing he swore he’d never be: his father.

Distant.

Cold.

The most irrational side of him believed, almost certainly, that once he became that, it would take barely a breath to not only become like his father, but to repeat his father’s deeds, most painfully, the ones done to him.

A man swallowed by work, only to offer scraps of himself to those who needed him most. He could already see the parallels, the way Haley’s eyes would dull when he missed dinner again, the way Jack’s laugh grew quieter in his absence. It haunted him - the thought of losing them, of being too late to realize he’d made the same mistakes.

So when Hotch suggested a night out with the team, everyone had been floored. It was so out of character for him to initiate something so casual, so personal. And when he casually mentioned that you would be joining, it became clear to the team that this night wasn’t just a rare opportunity to unwind, it was something more meaningful. This wasn’t just Hotch taking an evening off, it was him opening a window into a part of his life that had never fully let go of him.

That part was you.

As the night went on, the team exchanged subtle glances, silently acknowledging the shift in their normally reserved boss. You were someone who had shaped him, someone who still had an undeniable influence over him, even after all this time. There was a quiet gravity to the way Hotch looked at you, the rare ease in his demeanor. He wasn’t just their stern, disciplined unit chief tonight - there was something lighter in him, something almost playful.

Across the table, Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, drawn to every subtle movement, every quiet sound. Six years of distance had sharpened his awareness of you, as if time apart had made him need to memorize you all over again. The sound of your soft chuckle, the way you leaned in, eyes wide with surprise, became etched into his mind, each moment sacred.

"Wait - what do you mean you guys have a jet now?" you asked, incredulous, your disbelief pulling a rare smile from him, one he hadn’t felt in far too long, that immediately caught the team’s attention. It was an expression so unusual for him that it felt almost out of place, but in that moment, it suited him perfectly.

“Budget increases,” he said with a hint of dry humor. “I’d say we got lucky.”

You leaned back in your chair, rolling your eyes in playful exasperation. “I swear, I’m cursed,” you teased, your voice laced with disbelief. “Every time I leave something, it suddenly gets upgraded. I leave, and you guys get a jet? Come on!”

The team erupted in laughter, the easy camaraderie in the air making the night feel more intimate, more personal. Hotch’s smirk softened into something warmer, a smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth but was genuine nonetheless. “It probably only happened because Rossi left,” he added, his voice lighter than usual, clearly enjoying the banter. “You know he used to complain every time he had to share a room with Gideon.”

The team watched in amazement, their eyes darting between you and Hotch as if they were witnessing something impossible. Hotch - stoic, unyielding Hotch - seemed lighter tonight, the weight he usually carried on his shoulders lifting, even if just for this fleeting moment. It was as though being in your presence allowed him to breathe a little easier, his usual armor cracking just enough to let something more human, more personal, shine through.

JJ, wide-eyed and still processing everything that had unfolded, couldn’t help but blurt out, “How often did you even have to share rooms?!” Her question came out more like an exclamation, half in disbelief. She didn’t expect a real answer, just like the rest of the team.

“Oh, trust me,” you began with a knowing smile, your voice carrying the weight of countless stories untold. “I’ve shared rooms more times than I can count.” You paused, letting the team absorb that, watching as their expressions shifted from curiosity to surprise.

And then, as if effortlessly peeling back yet another layer of mystery, you added the real kicker. “In fact, I was always stuck sharing with him.” You gestured toward Hotch with a casual nod, your grin widening as the team’s jaws collectively dropped.

The room fell silent for a beat, the air thick with disbelief. The team exchanged wide-eyed glances, struggling to process what they had just heard. Garcia, practically vibrating with shock, looked like she might burst. Reid’s brows furrowed in confusion, as if trying to calculate how this detail had somehow escaped him all these years. Prentis and JJ sat frozen, their mouth slightly open, while Morgan leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised, letting out a low whistle.

Hotch, for his part, remained quiet but noticeably more relaxed, as though your playful revelation brought back memories he'd long held close to the vest. He didn’t deny it, didn’t feel the need to clarify, simply allowing the moment to exist between you and the team.

Garcia, her mouth still dropped open, asked, leaning in eagerly, hanging on every word. “Wait - how long are you in town?”

You smiled, but there was a trace of melancholy beneath the warmth. “Just for the weekend,” you replied, your tone softening. “I’m off to Poland next week.”

As soon as the words left your lips, Hotch’s demeanor shifted. His expression, which had been open and relaxed just moments before, clouded over with something more complex - regret, perhaps, or an ache he didn’t allow himself to feel too often.

He wasn’t ready for you to leave, not again. He had barely begun to savor the brief time he had with you, and already he could feel it slipping away, the distance between you growing wider with every passing moment.

Next to you, Morgan leaned in feeling the behavioural shift of the Unit Chief, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Think you can bribe Hotch into giving us a weekend off?" His tone was light, almost playful, but the faint glimmer of hope behind it was unmistakable.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the boldness of his request, but the smirk that tugged at your lips returned almost immediately. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t even give you weekends off?” you teased, eyebrow raised.

Morgan’s exasperated look said everything.

He wasn’t joking.

Your eyes flickered toward Hotch, who had been sitting quietly, focused on the almost emptied beer in front of him, his usual unreadable expression firmly in place. You caught his gaze, leaning in slightly, as if to coax him out of his stoic shell. “Aaron, don’t you and Haley come over for lunch tomorrow? Peter will be there, and I’d love to finally meet Jack.”

At the mention of his son, Hotch’s expression softened, just for a moment - a flicker of warmth breaking through his otherwise controlled demeanor. The team noticed too, their silent intrigue palpable. But the flicker was quickly extinguished as a sense of duty clouded his features. “I’d love to,” he replied, regret clear in his voice, “but we’ve got case files to wrap up. The Section Chief is breathing down my neck about last week’s reports, and we’re already behind.”

You leaned back slightly, watching him with careful eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you realized the negotiation had just begun. It was subtle, but the shift in the atmosphere was undeniable. Even the others at the table, long accustomed to Hotch’s unshakable authority, could sense that something had changed.

You sat up a little straighter, your voice calm but with a hint of persuasion. “Aaron,” you said again, more measured this time, “there’s no reason the reports have to be done in the office. Your team could work from home, and I guarantee they’d get it done faster. Studies have shown remote work boosts productivity. Less stress, fewer distractions.”

Hotch’s eyebrow arched, his skepticism evident. “Remote work? For a federal investigation?” His tone was as even as ever, but there was a sharp edge to it, as if he were already calculating the risk. “I need oversight, accountability. If something gets missed, it’s on me. And we both know how that plays out.”

You smiled, waiting for that exact response. Leaning forward slightly, you matched his tone. “Accountability doesn’t have to mean they’re sitting in an office under your nose, Aaron. Think about it. Immanuel Kant said that true moral and productive action comes from autonomy, from people governing themselves. There’s a very interesting quote of his that explains it all, ‘Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.’ People work better when they’re trusted to do their jobs without someone breathing down their necks. Give them that freedom, and they’ll rise to the occasion.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed, though a faint trace of amusement flickered in his usually impassive gaze. “Quoting Kant now, are we?” His voice remained calm, but there was a challenge in it, one that only those who knew him well would recognize. “Philosophical arguments aren’t going to change the fact that these reports need to be done. I need them on my desk by Monday.”

You weren’t backing down. “I’m not just quoting Kant. Rousseau, too. He argued that ‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.’ If you let your team work from home, you’re giving them the freedom to do the work on their own terms, without the usual constraints. Studies show that productivity actually increases when people aren’t stuck in traffic on their way to work or dealing with office politics.”

Hotch crossed his arms over his chest, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So now it’s Kant and Rousseau? What’s next, Nietzsche?” He leaned in slightly, his tone growing firmer. “I get what you’re doing. You’re trying to philosophically outmaneuver me, but that’s not going to work. I need those reports. Immaculate. Not just in by the deadline, but flawless.”

The air at the table became heavier, and you could feel the weight of the team’s anticipation. Garcia let out a barely audible gasp, her eyes wide as she watched the exchange unfold like a courtroom drama. Even Reid, usually quiet in such moments, leaned forward, intrigued by the battle of wits. You could feel Morgan’s eyes flick between you and Hotch, his posture tense, waiting for the outcome.

You leaned in further, your own smirk sharpening. “Flawless? That’s your condition?”

Hotch didn’t waver, his expression steady as stone. “That’s right. If they are going to stay at home, I need those reports in my inbox by 3 PM tomorrow. And they’d better be immaculate - no typos, no oversights, no errors. One mistake, and it’s not just overtime for next week, it’s the whole deal off.”

Morgan whispered under his breath, “This is getting intense.” His usually confident demeanor was momentarily rattled as he realized the stakes had just been raised.

You kept your gaze locked on Hotch, knowing this was the crucial moment. “Fine,” you said slowly, your voice calm but firm, “but if they get those reports in by 3 PM - perfect, flawless - then they get the entire weekend off. After the last case, they need it. You know burnout is real, Aaron. Aristotle talked about the importance of balance, the golden mean. If you push too hard without allowing for rest, people break. The mind needs downtime to function at its best.”

Hotch sighed, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Bringing Aristotle into it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve you’ve turned into exactly what you swore to destroy. A lawyer.”

You chuckled softly, your eyes sparkling as you locked gazes with Hotch. "What can I say? Sometimes you’ve got to fight fire with fire." you said, your voice light but knowing. “And you know I’m right. If you give them some breathing room, they’ll come back stronger. They respect you enough to deliver.”

Hotch remained silent for a long moment, his arms still crossed as he considered your words. You could feel the tension build at the table, the team watching closely, barely daring to breathe. Finally, Hotch exhaled slowly, his gaze sharp but thoughtful.

“Alright,” he said at last, his tone measured, “they can work from home tomorrow. But the reports need to be in by 3 PM. And I mean flawless. One mistake, and it’s overtime for everyone next week.”

You smiled, but your eyes stayed locked on his, knowing the weight of what you’d just achieved. “And if they meet the deadline, they get the whole weekend off?”

Hotch hesitated for a brief second, his expression softening slightly as he glanced around the table, seeing the exhaustion etched into the faces of his team. He nodded. “Yes. The weekend off. But only if everything is perfect.”

The room seemed to collectively exhale, the disbelief and relief spreading through the table like a ripple. Morgan let out a low whistle, shaking his head in amazement, he gave you a playful nudge. “Miracle worker... you sure they actually need you in Poland?”

Garcia clapped her hands to her chest dramatically, her eyes wide with delight. “This is like watching a legal thriller! I swear, next time I’m bringing popcorn.”

Reid’s eyes were wide, still processing the layers of philosophical argument and negotiation tactics, clearly fascinated. “That was… an impressive synthesis. You combined Kant’s moral autonomy with Rousseau’s ideas of freedom, and when you brought up Aristotle’s golden mean - well, that concept is actually about balancing between-”

Prentiss, sensing a Reid ramble incoming, quickly cut him off with a smile. “Reid, I think she’s got it.”

Hotch shook his head, locking eyes with you across the table, his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration. “Just don’t make a habit of this,” he said, his voice edged with familiar authority, but there was something softer beneath it.

You shrugged, the taste of victory still lingering, but a flicker of sadness crossed your face. “Don’t worry,” you said, voice quieter, “in less than 72 hours, it won’t be a table separating us, but an entire ocean. It won’t be as easy then.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Then in your letters, leave Kant out of it.”

You chuckled, the emotion behind it harder to hide. “You got it, partner. But don’t be surprised if Nietzsche makes an appearance next time.”

The door to the bar swung open with a soft creak, drawing everyone’s attention: Peter walked in, his presence immediately noticeable. He cut through the low hum of the bar’s evening crowd, his tall frame moving with casual confidence.

Hotch was the first to spot him, his eyes narrowing slightly as Peter caught his gaze and raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Peter was clearly planning something playful, and Hotch, though a bit apprehensive, respected the gesture and leaned back slightly in his chair.

Peter moved with purpose, his footsteps soft and calculated as he approached from behind you. You were still engaged in the conversation with the team, completely unaware of his presence. The warm glow of the dim lights bathed the table, casting soft shadows across your face as you laughed, oblivious to the fact that your fiancé was closing in.

In one swift movement, Peter leaned down, his body hovering close to yours as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The sudden pressure and warmth startled you, your eyes widening for a split second before recognition dawned.

Peter placed a quick kiss on the side of your neck, his lips brushing your skin lightly, just enough to send a ripple of surprise through you. His embrace was confident, bordering on possessive, and the scent of his familiar cologne filled the small space between you.

“Guess who?” he whispered playfully, his voice low and teasing, sending another shiver through you before you could fully react.

You tilted your head, looking up at him with a mix of surprise and fond exasperation. “Pete,” you breathed out, your voice laced with a smile despite the flush of embarrassment creeping into your cheeks. “You scared me!”

The team watched the scene unfold, their collective shock from moments before now shifting into amused smiles and curious glances.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised in playful approval. “Guess Pete likes to make an entrance,” he muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Garcia. Peter, meanwhile, didn’t seem to notice the eyes on him as he approached.

You had already begun to stand up, intending to grab a chair for him so he could join the table with the team. But before you could fully take a step, Peter caught you off guard, tightening his hold on you just enough to gently pull you off balance.

The suddenness of the movement made you pause, and before you could fully process it, he spun you around to face him. Without hesitation, Peter leaned in for a deeper, more intimate kiss.

The bar, the team, and everything around you seemed to blur into the background as his lips pressed against yours with unmistakable passion, momentarily stealing your focus from everything else.

The kiss was long enough for you to feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your body instinctively tensing. You loved Peter, there was no question about that, but you had always preferred your affections to be private, intimate, not something to be shared with the entire bar. When the kiss finally ended, you felt slightly breathless, and the weight of the team's eyes made you even more aware of the situation.

“Hi, princess,” Peter murmured, his lips still inches from yours as he spoke. His voice was soft but had an unmistakable edge of possessiveness. “I missed you. You could at least answer your phone once in a while, you know.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out a little shaky. “You know how bad I am at checking my phone,” you said, attempting to keep the conversation light, your eyes flicking toward the team, who were all trying to hide their laughs and amusement. “And didn’t we agree on dropping ‘princess’?.”

Peter’s hand, which had been resting lightly on your waist, now moved lower, sliding down your back until his fingers found the back pockets of your jeans. His touch was casual yet deliberate, his grip a clear display of ownership, almost as if he were marking his territory in front of everyone. His tone dropped slightly, becoming more suggestive. “You’ll find a way to convince me about that tonight.”

Hotch sat across from you, outwardly composed and focused, as he always was. To the team, he appeared calm, his usual stoic self, but inside, he was acutely attuned to every subtle change in your body language. He noticed how your posture had stiffened slightly, how the smile on your face didn’t quite reach your eyes. These were signs of discomfort he knew all too well, the kind you never had to explain to him.

For the longest time, Hotch had been genuinely happy for you, relieved even, that you had found someone like Peter. But now, watching your dynamic unfold for the first time, something didn’t sit right. Peter’s overly familiar gestures, his lack of awareness of your boundaries, gnawed at Hotch. How could Peter miss what was so clear to him? You never liked public displays of affection, Hotch knew that. You preferred quieter, more intimate gestures, the kind that carried deeper meaning.

But Peter, either unaware or choosing to ignore your discomfort, kept his arm securely around your waist. You shifted slightly, your eyes flickering to Hotch’s for just a brief moment. In that second, a silent understanding passed between the two of you. He saw how you felt - uncomfortable yet trying to keep the peace - and in return, you acknowledged his quiet presence, a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of Peter’s boldness.

As Peter finally stepped back, pulling out a chair for himself and sitting down next to you, the team exchanged quick  glances with one another. They were still processing the shift in energy, the unspoken dynamics they had just witnessed.

As Hotch watched, irritation flickered within him, slowly building into something more.

He had picked up on your discomfort immediately - why hadn’t Peter? And the more he observed, the more the realization crept in: maybe he didn’t like the two of you together as much as he’d thought. You, after all, were the type of person who believed that affection wasn’t measured in how loudly it was shown but in the care behind it. The way you would linger in a conversation, your touch light and careful, as if every gesture held meaning. The quiet moments, the unspoken words - those were what mattered to you.

You introduced Peter to the team as your fiancé, and they exchanged greetings, though the atmosphere remained tense. Only then Peter, in his usual charismatic way, greeted Hotch after six years as well. “Fatherhood looks good on you. Must be all those sleepless nights,” he teased.

Hotch smiled politely, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Peter, seated comfortably beside you, kept an arm draped around your shoulders, his thumb brushing against your arm absentmindedly. He turned his charm on the team, effortlessly engaging them in conversation. “Before she was Hotch’s partner and stole my desk - and my heart - I was his original desk mate,” he joked with a grin, leaning over to plant a light kiss on your cheek.

The team chuckled, clearly intrigued, their curiosity shifting to Hotch as they began peppering Peter with questions about their time together. Peter fielded them with ease but made it clear, “Oh, we were fine, but we didn’t click like he did with her. They were always in sync, like clockwork, it was terrifying. I used to call them ‘The Suits,’ because God forbid they ever showed up to work in anything other than matching attire.”

You laughed, nudging Peter playfully before teasing back. “At least I didn’t wear ties. My suits had some style and were timeless, unlike his. I still have nightmares about that tie with that weird triangular pattern.”

Peter squeezed your shoulder affectionately, offering a chuckle of his own, but Hotch, sitting across the table, raised an eyebrow in mock offense. "Coming from the only person who still wears vest suits?" Hotch quipped, his tone dry but playful. “Timeless, really.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Better than a white eyelash,” you fired back, with a mischievous grin. The comment earned a round of laughter from the team, who had never seen Hotch teased so effortlessly.

But Hotch wasn’t done. He leaned forward slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh, right,” he said, voice laced with mock seriousness. “Because the height of fashion is wearing all-black, every day. It’s like working with an artfully dressed shadow.”

The team erupted into laughter, their eyes flicking between the two of you, you immediately bite back "Hey, black goes with everything, it’s called consistency."

“And monotony,” Hotch countered smoothly, not missing a beat, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reveled in the rare lightheartedness of the exchange

The conversations around the table continued, but for Hotch, they faded into the background. Laughter and voices became a distant hum, blurring into white noise as something else - a distant, barely audible melody - began to tug at his attention. At first, he didn’t even realize what was happening. It was just a faint pull, like a whisper at the edges of his mind, muffled beneath the chatter of the team. He wasn’t sure why his mind latched onto that sound, why his breath caught in his throat at the faint strains of music.

The room around him faded, and the melody became louder, clearer.

His heart stilled as the realization hit him - it was that song.

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now.

The soft notes carried him to another time, another life. His mind flashed back to that night, years ago, when you and he had rehearsed the choreography to this very song for an undercover operation. It had been the first time you’d been so physically close, your bodies moving together in perfect sync.

The chemistry had been palpable, undeniable, electric. He could still feel the warmth of your waist beneath his hands, the way your breath had mingled with his as you moved together, the quiet intensity of your gaze as it locked with his. After that final twirl, your forehead had rested against his, the space between you charged with something neither of you could quite name, but both of you had felt.

And later, back at his apartment, the air between you had become too heavy, too charged to ignore. It was as if every unsaid word, every stolen glance had built up, until the tension finally snapped. The space between you vanished in an instant, swallowed by something deeper, something primal. One moment, your voices were filled with the brittle edge of restraint, and the next, his hands were on you - urgent, trembling, like he had been holding back for far too long.

It wasn’t graceful; it was raw and unrefined, a blur of tangled limbs and breathless gasps. Your fingers clutched at his shirt as if to anchor yourself to him, pulling him closer, as though the distance between your bodies had always been too far.

His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, fingertips tracing the lines of your skin, leaving behind a trail of heat. Your touch was just as desperate, each kiss full of unspoken longing, lips pressing harder, faster, as if you feared this moment might slip away, dissolving into something you could never get back.

He could still feel the way you had whispered his name - soft at first, tentative, as though testing the weight of it on your tongue.

But as your bodies gave in to the desire that had simmered between you for so long, the whisper turned into something louder, something hungrier. You cried his name out in the dark, your voice trembling with both need and fear. It had cut through him, that sound - like a confession you had both tried to suppress for years but could no longer deny. It echoed in his mind, haunting him, pulling him back to that night with an intensity that refused to fade.

There was something almost painful in how you touched him, like you were trying to carve the memory of your skin into his. Your nails raked softly down his back, your body arching into his as if the space between you wasn’t close enough, could never be close enough.

His hands roamed over you, slow but firm, tracing the delicate curve of your spine, the softness of your waist, the places he’d never dared to touch before. It was as if each movement was a conversation - every kiss, every breath shared between you was full of the things you’d never said aloud.

Your breath, hot against his neck, sent shivers down his spine, and the way your lips trembled as you kissed him, it felt like surrender. His forehead rested against yours, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven, as your bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt both foreign and familiar, as though this was how it was always meant to be.

And yet, it was never just desire, it was something deeper, a release of everything you’d held back. The vulnerability of it all had scared him then, and it still did. In those moments, stripped bare of the walls you’d carefully built around yourselves, you had been real, more real than either of you had ever dared to be before.

He had tried to forget it, to push that night into the farthest corners of his mind, but now it clung to him like a shadow. He could still feel the way your fingers had trembled against his skin, the way your body had fit against his as though it belonged there. The memory of how you’d breathed his name into the dark, then screamed it when the tension finally broke, was etched into his soul. He could still taste the urgency of your kisses, the way your bodies collided in a mess of emotion and need.

It was a moment suspended in time, where everything between you had been laid bare, and now, no matter how much time had passed, that memory refused to fade. It lingered, haunting him with what might have been, with the things you could never say aloud but had spoken through your skin, your breath, your body pressed so desperately against his.

But now, you weren’t his.

You belonged to Peter. And he, to Haley.

The sound of the song was drowned beneath the chatter around him, but somehow, the melody still pulled at his attention, louder than the voices just feet away. He tried to focus on the present - the team’s banter, Peter’s charm - but the past was louder, heavier. His chest tightened as his eyes flicked to you, and for a brief moment, your gaze met his.

You looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly as though you could sense it - something was wrong. You were trying to place it, to figure out why his expression had suddenly grown distant.

Then, the recognition hit you too.

The distant melody reached your ears, and you understood.

Hotch could see it in your eyes, the way they widened just slightly in acknowledgment, the way your posture shifted. For the first time, you both understood that what you had felt back then - the chemistry, the pull - hadn’t been one-sided.

It was as if, for all these years, you had been silently carrying the same secret, both too afraid to say it out loud. And now, you both knew the truth: you had felt it too.

But it was too late.

The life you each had now stood in the way, separating you like an ocean that couldn’t be crossed.

Almost unconsciously, your fingers found your rings, the movement so subtle yet so heavy with meaning.

It was an old rhythm, a quiet, unspoken dance the two of you had always shared, the kind of synchronization that went unnoticed by the world but spoke volumes in its silence. The small gesture seemed insignificant to the others, but between you and Hotch, it was everything, an echo of what once was and what could never be.

Your fingers twisted the silver engagement band around your finger, its cold metal grounding you, reminding you of the promises made to someone else, a life you had chosen. But even as you did, your touch was restless, the movement betraying the calm exterior you wore. The ring spun slowly, like time itself, like the years between you and Hotch, like all the moments that had slipped through your grasp.

Across the table, Hotch’s hand absently turned his gold wedding band, the warm metal catching the dim light of the bar, casting a soft, golden glow. It was a faint reminder of a life lived for someone else, of duty, of commitments he could never break. The glow of the ring reflected in his dark eyes, hiding the flicker of something deeper - something that neither of you dared to acknowledge aloud. His thumb traced the edge of the band, slow and deliberate, as though the weight of it was both a comfort and a burden he couldn’t shake.

In that small, shared moment, your fidgeting hands told a story. The rings - the delicate silver on your finger, the steadfast gold on his - shone like symbols of everything you had chosen, but now felt also of everything you had lost.

They were promises made to others, and yet they were reminders of the things you could never speak of, the uncharted territory between you that still lingered, just out of reach. The space between your hands felt infinite, a distance marked by time, by choices, by vows you could never break.

The team, ever observant, exchanged quiet, knowing glances. They had no idea of the weight of what had just passed between you and Hotch, but they noticed the synchronicity, the way you both fiddled with your rings at the same moment, the invisible thread that seemed to connect you two even now.

As if to break the tension, Peter leaned in closer, oblivious to the undercurrents between you and Hotch. With a broad grin, he draped his arm around your shoulders and raised his voice, cutting through the fog of memory.

“You know, when I saw you two dancing to this song back then, I knew I couldn’t let her fall for him. That’s when I realized,” Peter said, his voice filled with affection, “I wanted to marry her. I couldn’t let her slip away.” He smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Hotch’s stomach churned as Peter’s words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on him. He forced a polite smile, but inside, his thoughts spiraled. He glanced at you just as Peter kissed you, watching the way your face shifted into a quiet smile. You recovered quickly, as you always did, but Hotch saw behind the mask. He always had.

The atmosphere around the table grew heavier, the weight of unspoken tension thickening the air. The team, sensing something but unsure of what it was, shifted uneasily. Peter, still oblivious to the undercurrent between you and Hotch, tried to lighten the mood, chuckling as he added, “I’ll admit, at first I thought Hotch was a bit too old for her - sorry, Hotch,” he said with a laugh, clearly unaware of how his words were like salt on an open wound.

Hotch barely heard him. His mind was still trapped in the past, tangled in the memories the song had brought rushing back. He glanced down at his wedding band, the gold a reminder of everything that had changed, of the life he had built with Haley. And yet, across the table, he could feel the weight of what might have been, what he had never allowed himself to fully acknowledge.

Hotch forced a smirk. “Well, I’ll try not to take that too personally,” he replied, his tone light, drawing a wave of laughter from the table. But inside, his heart wasn’t in it. His mind was elsewhere, caught between the weight of the moment and the past that seemed to linger just beneath the surface.

Peter, emboldened by the laughter, leaned in with that easy charm of his and pushed further. “But I was even more surprised when she told me she dated that lawyer right after she moved overseas. How old was she again?”

The words hit like a sudden gust of cold wind, cutting through the warmth of the conversation.

Your expression shifted instantly, a quick, forced laugh escaping your lips as you scrambled to steer the moment away from the awkwardness that now hung between you all. “Forty-five,” you said, the number leaving your lips almost too quickly, like a reflex.

The room seemed to pause, the laughter dying out as the words settled heavily in the air. The only thing you could hear now were two words, echoing louder than anything else,

she and forty-five.

It was as if everything around you had gone quiet, the team's voices drowned out by the weight of what Peter had unintentionally revealed. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable, a sudden tension stretching across the table as the team sat in stunned silence, processing what they had just heard.

Hotch’s brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity and confusion clear. The silence that followed Peter’s comment only made his next word stand out more. His voice, calm but pointed, sliced through the stillness. “Lawyer?”

The single word seemed to hang in the air, heavier than everything else. Your heart raced. You opened your mouth to explain, to say something, but before you could find the words, Hotch’s familiar smirk reappeared, his eyes glinting with that familiar humor he always used to disarm tense situations.

“You always gave me so much grief about being a lawyer,” he said, the smirk deepening as his eyes locked onto yours, “claiming you couldn’t stand them. And now I find out you dated one? Hypocrisy, partner.”

His playful jab lightened the moment, and you felt a surge of relief. You rolled your eyes dramatically, grateful for the shift in tone. “She was the exception, I swear,” you replied, playing along. “And for the record, she was a force of nature, youngest senior partner at one of the biggest law firms in London.”

The tension broke as the team erupted into laughter, the awkwardness melting away, though a few lingering glances darted between them. Garcia, ever playful, fanned herself with exaggerated motions. “Oh, so the youngest senior partner cancels out the fact that she was, what, two decades older than you?”

Peter, oblivious to the shift in energy, leaned in and kissed the corner of your lips, adding with a grin, “Guess that means I’m too young for you, huh? I’ll have to step up my game.”

Hotch sat in quiet fury, his expression controlled, though anger churned inside him. Peter’s careless words echoed in his mind, louder than the laughter around them. He knew how fiercely you guarded your privacy, especially with people you’d just met, and Peter had exposed it all for the sake of a good story.

Watching you force a laugh, pretending it didn’t matter, only fueled his anger. His fists clenched under the table as he met your eyes briefly, seeing the discomfort you tried to mask. Peter had crossed a line, and Hotch felt it deeply.

To ground himself from the growing urge to snap, Hotch forced his focus away from Peter’s careless words and instead became hyper-aware of his surroundings. The almost empty glasses of the team caught his eye - Reid’s water was down to its last sip, Garcia’s cocktail was mostly melted ice, and even Morgan’s beer glass sat nearly drained.

It was a small distraction, but one that kept him from letting the anger boil over. Ever the composed leader, caring as always, Hotch cleared his throat, his voice steady but with a forced lightness.

"Anyone need a refill?" he asked, his tone casual but precise, offering a small smile to the group. He stood before anyone could answer, already signaling to the bartender. Taking control of the moment was his way of regaining composure, of keeping his emotions in check, even as the burn of Peter’s thoughtlessness lingered beneath the surface.

Garcia and Morgan exchanged mischievous looks before Morgan called out, “Tequila shots for us!”

“Noted,” Hotch replied with a smirk, already recalling everyone’s drinks without needing to ask again. You had always admired that about him, his ability to notice and remember the smallest details, always quietly looking out for the people he cared about.

Peter, as if sensing an opportunity to bond or perhaps clueless to Hotch's inner turmoil, quickly followed. “Need a hand with the drinks?” he offered, his voice light and easy.

Hotch gave a curt nod, though inwardly, he was grateful for the few steps of distance from the group - more importantly, from you. Peter fell in step beside him, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering just below the surface, the kind of tension that came from years of unspoken history. As they waited at the bar, the quiet between them grew thick, and for Hotch, it was impossible to ignore Peter's earlier thoughtlessness.

After a moment of charged silence, Hotch spoke, his voice low and firm, tinged with an edge he couldn’t quite suppress. “You know, what you said back there about her past... that wasn’t yours to share.”

Peter blinked, clearly caught off guard by the shift in tone. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh, come on, Hotch. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened, locking onto Peter’s with a quiet but unmistakable intensity. “It’s not about harm, Peter. It’s about respect. That’s her story, not yours to tell. You don’t know the team like she does, and they didn’t need to hear it from you like that.”

Peter, clearly flustered by the sudden seriousness, let out a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I mean, they’re her friends, right?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the flicker of anger just barely kept in check. “It is a big deal. You didn’t see the way she reacted. I did.”

Peter hesitated, the weight of Hotch’s words beginning to sink in as he glanced back at the table. His brow furrowed, suddenly seeing the moment through Hotch’s eyes, realizing, for the first time, the discomfort he had caused you. The easygoing confidence he had worn so naturally faltered.

Hotch’s voice dropped to a near whisper, the words laced with a subtle warning. “You’re supposed to protect her, not expose her. Remember that next time.”

Peter swallowed, his confidence shaken as he tried to brush it off with a weak smile. “Yeah… you’re right. I’ll watch it.”

While waiting for the drinks, you were left alone with the team, and for the first time that night, you felt truly exposed. It was like being caged in a zoo, observed from all angles, every subtle move you made dissected by the group around you. Prentiss, ever the one to stir the pot, leaned forward with a mischievous grin, breaking the silence that had settled like a thick fog.

“So… about sharing rooms with Hotch on all those field cases. Did you two ever, you know…?” she teased, her tone playful but pointed.

You laughed, trying to dispel the weight pressing down on you, the joke coming to your lips almost automatically. “Oh, absolutely. Every night. HR had to intervene because we were so unprofessional,” you said, your voice light, hoping humor would smooth over the moment. "We're talking about Hotch... and I'm not that different" But there was a tension beneath your words, something guarded, something you weren’t quite ready to let slip through.

The team chuckled, the moment seemingly passing, but JJ, always more perceptive, leaned in with a more serious, knowing look. “Did you ever think about… something outside of work? Something more?”

Her words cut deeper, and for a moment, the table fell silent. The laughter died away, replaced by an almost palpable stillness. You hesitated, your heart racing as your eyes flickered toward the bar, where Hotch stood talking to Peter. The unspoken question lingered between you and the team, hanging heavy in the air. “Honestly? What we had as partners was important to both of us,” you finally said, your voice soft but steady. “It wasn’t worth risking that for something that might not have worked out.”

Meanwhile, back at the bar, while still waiting for a portion of fries that Reid had begged them to order, Peter leaned in closer to Hotch. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about, Hotch. The reason I was calling her earlier today… After that lecture at the academy, they offered her a full-time teaching position. They want her to take over Gideon’s old class.”

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, though he kept his expression neutral. “At Quantico?” he asked, doing his best to mask the sudden surge of emotion rising in his chest.

Peter nodded, unaware of the internal storm brewing inside Hotch. “Yeah. It’s a big opportunity for her, and it means we’d finally settle down. No more crossing oceans every few months. We could start putting down roots.”

Hotch swallowed hard, the implications of Peter’s words sinking in with a weight that made it hard to breathe. You’d be back in Quantico, close by. The thought brought with it a mix of hope and dread.

He would see you again, be near you again, but it wouldn’t be the same. You had moved on, built a life that no longer revolved around him. The life you were building with Peter didn’t include him the way it once might have.

Peter, oblivious to the conflict raging inside Hotch, continued. “They also offered me a position, unit chief in the White Collar Crimes Division. We’d finally have normal hours, a more stable life. You know, time to build something together. Maybe start a family.”

Hotch felt a sharp pang of something he couldn’t quite name - regret, maybe, or longing, or something deeper that he’d never fully confronted. The idea of you starting a family with Peter gnawed at him in a way he hadn’t expected. He should be happy for you – he was happy for you - but the thought of you stepping into that future, a future he wasn’t part of, left a hollow ache in his chest.

He glanced back at the table, catching a glimpse of you laughing with the team, your face lighting up in that way it always did when you were at ease. In that moment, the weight of what could have been - and what would never be - hit him harder than he’d imagined. You were on the verge of stepping into a new chapter of your life, and he was stuck watching it unfold from the sidelines.

Peter’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. “I just hope she says yes. It’s a big change, but it feels right, you know?”

Hotch forced a smile, nodding even as the ache in his chest deepened. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll make the right decision,” he said, though the words felt hollow in his mouth.

As they gathered the drinks and returned to the table, Hotch’s mind raced, unable to stop thinking about the what-ifs. He couldn’t shake the memories of the past, of the closeness you’d once shared, or the realization that the future you were building with Peter was slipping further and further from him. But as he placed the drinks down in front of the team, his smile remained firmly in place, masking the turmoil inside him. He had mastered the art of hiding what he truly felt, after all.

You could be back, but at what cost?

[rebelcracker-s]

yapping about the welcome home 10/18 update because i am so incredibly normal

Hello neighbors! Not exactly my usual content, but since when was I consistent :P I have a lot of thoughts about the new Welcome Home update, so I thought I’d make a post discussing my thoughts n findings, and try to analyze them to make sense of Welcome Home. 

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

First of all, right off the bat, on the first page of the storybook, you can see this:

All of these dots in white diamonds are meant to represent eyes, like the Looky-Loo branding alludes to. While they’re all mostly looking in different directions, we have these two who are looking right at the reader. I think these are meant to represent Wally’s eyes. Since we know from the hidden audios from the June ‘23 update that Wally can see through every drawing of his eyes, it looks like Wally is watching us or at least W through the storybook. It’s a tiny detail but so creepy nonetheless!

I want to focus on the end of W’s version of the storybook rather than the contents of the storybook, but I loved seeing a story centered around Sally and some depictions of Sally & Poppy’s dynamic! (Also Eddie calling Sally rude—THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING. Based eddie tho LOL) I also loved seeing the neighbors all being so eager to help Poppy, but oh my goodness, the way that they did it… YIKES. Poor Poppy…

It’s so interesting that we’re seeing the characters one by one realize that something is wrong with their neighborhood—first Sally in last year’s Halloween update, then Eddie in the Homewarming update, now Poppy. 

It’s also interesting how Eddie and Poppy’s episodes(?) parallel each other. First of all, they very clearly focus on isolation from the rest of the neighborhood. Eddie loses all perception of the other neighbors, and the “single pea on a plate” represents his isolation from everyone else. Poppy is literally bricked off from the other neighbors, and she can’t hear them and vice versa until she screams and the door is opened.

The second interesting thing is that both of these episodes have Home involved. Eddie gets uncomfortable and immediately finds himself staring down Home even though he’s inside them. Poppy hears knocks, doors opening, and doorknobs turning—all of which are methods Home uses to communicate. I don’t know if Home is meant to be a metaphor for isolation or a genuine antagonistic force trying to corner the characters when they’re alone and at their weakest. Maybe both? 

Still, I was considering that the character who scares Poppy at the end of the storybook audio could also be one and the same with the “monster” (in quotations because it’s unclear whether this is an actual monster) Sally talked about in last year’s Halloween update. That would create a common thread between the two Halloween updates. Still, I’m not sure what that monster is meant to represent and if it is supposed to mean Home or something related to them, like the weird portal underneath it…

Third, it’s very interesting how the two episodes end. Both Eddie and Poppy are brought out of the episodes by the intervention of the other neighbors. But it’s not just any neighbors—both times, it’s Sally and Frank. Sally is the neighbor who notices something is up with Eddie first; she brings him to the Homewarming party, then pulls Frank over to Eddie at the end of Eddie’s episode. When Poppy’s episode ends, we hear two neighbors asking about her. It’s not explicitly stated whose voices they are in the transcript, but it’s clearly Sally and Frank.

Sally and Frank are a really interesting pair; their canon interactions include them getting into a physical fight over song lyrics. But somehow, we’ve seen them twice breaking up these episodes. They don’t appear to be as close as Frank is with Eddie or as Sally is with Poppy, but it would be a very weird coincidence if this was an accident both times. 

I strongly believe that Sally and Frank are both aware of what’s happening and trying to work together to either gain a bigger understanding of it, protect the other neighbors, etc. (I also have a theory that Howdy is in on it too, but I won’t focus on that right now.) This is why we see them coming to both Eddie and Poppy’s aid after their episodes. 

Another thing!! Connections to other literature seem to be really important in the lore of Welcome Home, so it’s not a throwaway that the play Sally puts on is Tell-Tale Heart. I don’t know a lot about Tell-Tale Heart, but it appears to be about a character who kills a man and buries his still-beating heart under the floorboards, only to be driven mad by the sound. I’m pretty sure we’ve heard Home’s heartbeat before, so I wonder if Tell-Tale Heart is supposed to connect to them… I’ve seen people connect it to Cask of Amontillado, but I’ve never even heard of that so I’ll let other theorists tackle that for now.

On a final note, Wally saying that “everything is as it should be” as the last line of the storybook…completely creeps me out!!!

That’s all for now. I should probably update my other theory soon lol 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

YASASHII NO DE

HE CAME IN 20 PULLS……………….. ……… ….. …. . … …. .. .. . . … . .. . .. . . . TRULY YASaSHii OF YOu, GOOD SiR 😭

***Crowley Groovy, chibi sprite, lesson lines, and vignette spoilers below the cut!***

Unfortunately, we do not get any more details on his profile. It’s the same as the profile he had before the update. Age and birthplace unknown, 185 cm tall, favorite food is wild game, and his hobby is vacationing.

SDFHEGYOGYFQEN;jkhaCWIDODB A LOT OF CROWLEY'S LINES ARE VERY CHILDISH OR GOOFY... Like he has one where he complains about Grim eating his snacks, tells on students who are sleeping in class, and gets distracted by shiny objects (which, I guess, is par for the course for a crow).

Crowley cannot attend Alchemy class and does not have Chats. His Buddies are Deuce, Vil, and Grim (with Grim being his Duo Magic partner). Deuce and Vil are interesting choices, I wonder why those two in particular... (Some friends and I were memeing earlier about how "all those characters have single parents so Crowley must be a single parent" and, "Vil is the Evil Queen and Meleanor is a princess of evil", etc.) Crowley can, however, attend the other lessons and it’s every bit as awkward as you think it is. (He has a pre-lesson line where he expresses surprise taht he has to do homework 🤡)

THE CROWLEY DOPPLEGANGER ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE 💀 He can just straight up run into a clone of himself during lessons… THE DEVS KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING, they even goofily have Crowley say, “Oh! Hello, me!” while the other Crowley is in class for the special lesson… THEY KNEW HOW DUMB THIS WOULD BE 😭 (The dialogue states the Crowley that barges into class is a magical projection…?)

Here are some of his chibi sprites, as well as his Groovy candy. Crowley is not only very yasashii, but also very cute!!

He does, in fact, have vignettes but they are unvoiced. The first part is him running an assembly with the dorm leaders present. Crowley discusses the health of an adolescent apple tree in the school's courtyard, and no one seems to be interested in his speech. Malleus barges in late and, in a fit of anger at having not been invited, starts unleashing lightning. Wow, just like how Meleanor shoots lightning at Lilia... Like husband, like wife/j Everyone retires to their dorms, leaving Crowley to deal with an upset Malleus. The second part features Crowley having lunch with the other staff members (Sam included!). Each staff member is eating something different (Vargas is of course having eggs), and Crowley is revealed to have a great appetite in spite of his age. Crewel and Trein wonder how many decades old Crowley is, since he was apparently still headmaster when Crewel was a student and when Trein started teaching at NRC. Finally, Crowley is walking down main street and spots Yuu, Grim, and some mob students skipping class… so he uses his Lash of Love to discipline them! He binds everyone together and proceeds to drag them back to class. (It was surprising, we haven’t seen the Lash of Love since like… what, the prologue? I almost forgot about it.) Crowley alludes to the fact that even though the students joke about him, he is actually a very powerful mage that shouldn't be taken lightly, you know?? The vignettes end with Crowley referring to his students as "apple trees" that he is nourishing and watching over as they grow, which rounds us nicely back to the apple tree he mentioned in his first vignette.

BUT ANYWay HEREmS thE GROOviY in JUICy DETAIL INkjoW YOU WERE ALL WAiTING FOR

It’s so pretty AaAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaAaaAHHHHH 🥺 His grotesquely detailed hand reaching out to the viewer, who appears to be awaking from within a coffin… and do I have to mention the parallel between Crowley here and the mysterious hand that is offered to us in the mirror at the very beginning of the game????? Which could imply that Crowley is beckoning/summoning us into another world... The dim room, light spilling onto the Mirror of Darkness… So atmospheric!! If Crowley knows how to do one thing well and consistently, it’s drama~ The Groovy totally reminds me a lot of the prologue when Crowley tells Yuu to go before the mirror to get sorted. Omg guys... He's posted like Masquerade Malleus/j

One detail I super appreciate in this illustration is that you can see the dorm leaders in the background! If you squint, you’ll realize that there are 5 of them posing exactly like how they are in the following promotional artwork:

The one without a matching pose is Idia, who is present via his tablet. Though… I feel like we’re forgetting something 🤔 … Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing, nothing at allllllllll~

[innerfare]

Mihawk Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: a random collection of Mihawk relationship headcanons

Genre: fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

He never imagined himself in a relationship. He’d had plenty of one night stands and situationships (he's notorious for allowing sexual tension to fester and never doing anything about it), but an actual relationship had always been off the cards. Until, that is, he met you. He didn’t really think too deeply about it, just started pursuing you. On some level, he knew he was putting you in danger, but he couldn’t stay away. 

Was definitely a victim of love at first sight. He fell first, and he fell harder. 

He is very secretive about his relationship with you, at first only visiting you in the dead of night and leaving before day break, appearing on your balcony like some sort of vampire or succubus. Shanks is the only person who knows about you, and he intends to keep it that way. 

Always brings you something- a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, a piece of jewelry, a pastry he wants to share with you, a piece of lace, silk, or tulle he wants to see you in. Will also bring you books he thought you might like, souvenirs from far away lands, and even pieces of him to hold on to, such as his favorite dagger that now lives on your person (he spent an entire night teaching you how to use it and was ecstatic when you held it to his throat, definitely turned NSFW). Being in a relationship with him is basically like having tamed a wild animal that brings you dead mice he caught. TBH wouldn’t hesitate to bring you the severed head of an enemy if you so desired. 

Of course, he plays all of this off, either saying nothing or giving you a small lecture about how you needed that thing. “I happened to find a copy of that book you mentioned.” “I don’t suppose you have any use for this.” “I brought this vintage wine for myself but I suppose you can have some if you really want.” When he brings you flowers, he tells you it’s because your place is rather drab and if you won’t bother to liven it up, he’ll just have to do it for you (the man lives in a gloomy castle but shhh). When he brings you lingerie, he lays it on your bed without a word or says something along the lines of, “those panties you wore the last time were so cheap they chafed my skin. Wear these from now on.” Alludes to finding the jewelry he gives you in some sort of pirate horde he won’t go into detail on it since it’s in violation of his Warlord contract with the World Government, actually just purchases the pieces from various jewelers he meets on his travels; sometimes seeks out famous jewelers far off the beaten path if he thinks you’ll like that jeweler’s work.

Insists your relationship is not a relationship but is rather an affair. The sort of man to lie about cheating- not about not doing it, but about doing it so you don't get the impression he's committed to you. Won’t tell you he wants to be exclusive, but will yearn for it. Not good about communicating in general, very bad about just thinking things and hoping you’re thinking the same. 

For a long time, he didn’t even want you to come to the Muggy Kingdom for fear the Navy was watching him there and would find out about you. He also refused to speak to you over a transponder snail for fear they had tapped his. 

Never really warmed up to the idea of keeping you close but eventually grew so attached that he couldn’t stand to have you far away. Had no appetite if you weren’t at his table, couldn’t sleep if you weren’t in his bed, didn’t even want to take a shower if he couldn’t use your floral shampoo. Eventually, he convinced himself you were safer with him than without him, and that was that. 

Late nights cooking dinner (dinner is never before seven at Mihawk’s place). Afternoons gardening. Mornings spent discussing whatever’s in the newspaper. Evenings spent making out in the wine cellar because you went down to select a bottle for that night and got carried away. You sitting atop some ruins and watching him practice. Very domestic, but he hates that word. 

Won’t really tell you he loves you unless it’s a late night and he’s very drunk and you insist upon hearing it, certainly won’t admit to needing you, but will press a kiss into your hand and assure you he has deep affection for you. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Allegory

Allegory - a story that alludes to other literary works or comments on common conditions of life.

When a work or its passages are allegorical, they are similar to an event, character or setting in a story that is universally known: a fable, a parable in the Bible, or a Greek myth.

Allegories have 2 levels of narration occurring at the same time: the actual events, characters and setting presented in the story, and the ideas they are intended to convey or the significance they bear.

3 Literary Forms that you might use when discussing allegory:

Fable. A fable is a short story, often featuring animals with human traits, to which writers attach morals or explanations.

Parable. Parables are most often associated with Jesus Christ, who used them in His teachings. They are short narratives that exemplify religious truths or insights.

Myth. Myths are stories, either short or long, that are often associated with religion and philosophy and with various races and cultures. They embody the social and cultural values of the civilization during which they were written.

When writing about allegory, determine whether all or part of the story is allegorical.

Sustained allegory. This occurs when a story’s allegory continues throughout the work, from beginning to end. The sole purpose is to convey the dominant idea. The idea is emphasized rather than the story’s actual (literal) details. For example, The Pilgrim’s Progress is a story about Christian’s difficult journey from his home in the City of Destruction to his new home in the Heavenly City. But the main idea is about the rigors and trials of Christian life.

Episodic allegory. This occurs when a story contains an allegorical episode or passage. The passage is based on both the actual (literal) events in the story and the allegorical elements. For example, during one scene in the film Star Wars, Darth Vader imprisons Luke Skywalker, and Skywalker must exert all his skill and strength to get free and to overcome Vader. This temporary imprisonment signifies those moments of doubt and discouragement that people experience while trying to overcome obstacles. Similar heroic deeds have been represented allegorically in the stories of Jason and the Argonauts and Beowulf and Grendel.

When analyzing allegory, ask yourself the following questions:

The application of allegory. Does the allegory (fable, parable, myth) refer to anything or anyone specific? Does it refer to an action or particular period of history? Or does the allegory refer to human tendencies or ideas? Does it illustrate, point by point, particular philosophies or religions? If the allegory seems outdated, how much can be applied for people living today?

The consistency of allegory. Is the allegory maintained consistently throughout the work, or is it intermittently used? Explain and detail this use.

Do extra reading and research:

To understand allegorical implications in a story, you have to become familiar with the source of the similarities.

Allegorical sources include world history, classic works of literature, and archetypal ideas, such as the “quest” or “coming of age.”

You might need to use a dictionary, encyclopedia, or other reference book. For example, you would not recognize that the musical West Side Story is allegorical unless you were aware of its similarities to a classic work of literature: Romeo and Juliet. Thus, to see certain implications in West Side Story, you have to have a general grasp of Shakespeare’s play.

Remember: As long as the similarities are close and consistent, your allegorical interpretations of the story will be valid.

If these writing notes help with your poem/story, do tag me. Or send me a link. I'd love to read them!

Writing Notes & References

[lucabyte]

If you wouldn't mind, could you explain to me in detail how your sifloop works? Would there ever be a romantic relationship between the two (and how do you think they would get to that stage) or do you just think they'll be stuck in this weird messed up obsession and loathing loop forever? Anyway your takes on sifloop are my favourite if you couldn't tell

Oh, I've been depicting it as romantic the whole time (remembers I'm asexual and aromantic and thus my depictions of such are alien at best) Er, though you'd be forgiven for not noticing.

I know I don't draw them being particularly traditionally cute (kissing, cuddling, etc) (even though I do envision that any time it's not literally extremely inconvenient that they are entangled like a pair of magnetised squiddles) particularly often.*

(Though, I do have some hints at that kind of behaviour: (x) (x) (x)) But this is where, hm, my particular readings of these characters' self-assessment comes in.

I believe that I (an aroace tumblr user who has been immersed in nuianced language about such things since i was an early teen) and Siffrin/Loop (a guy approaching their thirties who seems to have escaped social pressures primarily via isolation from their peers) will have some different views on things. Hell, Sif/Loop don't even have words for Asexuality and Aromanticism even if they seem to be able to point toward the feeling with roundabout language.

I think that their relationship, in the way that it would manifest, would first and foremost be Physical. Some real Maslow's hierarchy shit. Both of them are viciously touch starved and given the whole shared-ownership-of-body thing I keep alluding to (x) (x) I think they are prone to being a tangled pile of limbs both clothed and unclothed.

Now I (enlightened modern day asexual) do not think that physical/sexual/romantic are in any way synonyms unless you want them to be. I believe that literally all associated behaviours of these can be platonic if that's how you feel about it. Howeverrrrrrr. I really cannot envision "black-and-white-thinking-world-champion siffrin and/or loop" being able to disentangle that so easily. I think they would have trouble squaring the circle of certain actions not being reserved for romance, at least not until after several years of continued unpacking and philosophical discussion with Mirabelle and Odile.

And then there's the part where Siffrin/Loop (and also Isabeau!) have some absolutely insane Jealous streaks. Not even on the downlow, they just do. I think that combination of jealousy and posessiveness when paired with unevenly splitting time between A Guy You're Established To Be (at the very least on his side, romantically) In Love With, and Your Weird Fucking Clone Who You Keep Being Intimate And Intensely Emotional With, is going to cause some problems when it comes to labelling things.

I do not think Sif/Loop are stupid, but man do they ever lack emotional intelligence in a lot of areas (a thing the whole game hammers home). I do not think that they would be level-headed enough to independently invent the idea of "QPR, but the kind where you do basically fuck sometimes". I think they would just (agonise over cheating, first of all.) call it a romantic pairing and be done with it.

And then Isabeau is also there I guess. I gesture at him and at my aforementioned Iseabeau Torment Nexus thoughts (x)(x). I believe this polycule can work and even be healthy but hahahaha oh man they are gonna have some weirrrrrrd fuckin tension beforehand lolllll.

as for how i think they'd get to that stage? lol, lmao. I think of things with a lens of 'what would be the most narratively intense' a lot of the time, so my answer there is:

They basically act like one right out of the gate, at least to the average onlooker**. This makes the fights feel worse. This makes them both paranoid in different ways about how this affects Siffrin's relationship to Isabeau. This makes it more difficult for the party to go "hey so, your friend, we're all being very accepting of their sharp edges because they're clearly someone who's struggling, but why are they suuuuch an asshole?". They fret about this and it causes more push and pull as either side feels guilty about this relationship they're not 'supposed' to have. Even if their relationship woes could easily be squared away by either categorising it as a QPR or talking to Isa (who is vaugardian and probably thus lax about polyamory) neither of them are going to do that right out of the gate because they lack the language, are prone to being wracked by guilt, often assume the worst will happen should they talk about difficult topics, and straight up maybe just see intimacy/sexuality/romance as a package deal due to lacking the social expertise... You see what I mean.

I don't Know if what I envision is... The literal platonic ideal of "A Romantic Relationship". I don't know that if Cupid came on down and inspected my brain that they'd agree that this is romantic and not just like, something really fucking weird, man. I don't even know if I would call it romantic, necessarily. BUT. I Do Think. That These Two. Would Maybe Label It That Way. Because it would make it easier for them to understand and come to peace with that way. Which is what matters. Labels are Descriptive, not Prescriptive.

What I DO think i envision however is something so fucking aroace brained that i can point to sif/loop's canon labels, point to MY labels, and then give you a big thumbs up hoping that you won't get on my ass for implying several sentences upstream that "they probably basically fuck, or something, idk, does star-sucking count as sex? i'm not a doctor nor medical professional of any kind. you probably shouldn't drink whatever comes out of it though"

Implicit question 2: "Jesus Christ you make them seem to hate each other, is that not contradictory? Is that all supposed to be during them being romantically involved?" Yup! Sorry for the subtle undercurrent I haven't previously explicitly and overtly established literally at all but a good chunk of that percieved hatred is a byproduct of Loop keeping their identity secret. That's the space wherein I set most of my fanart. (x) Once that cat is out of the bag I think the heat cools off significantly because then they aren't both talking around each other trying not to actually say what they're fighting about. They can actually bond about shared experiences out in the open rather than keeping their traps shut in case the party overhears. They still fight and have problems thereafter, but it's not made worse by being unable to directly discuss the core issue (+ the party can actually contribute/try to shut things down rather than being unclear on what exactly the issue is)

The above ALSO not helping when it comes to jealousy/feelings of infidelity re: Isabeau. (When specifically in the context of Romantic Frustration here, since that jealousy extends to the whole party when generalised) So that adds another thing to, not necessarily fight about, but be bitter over.

As for hatred being contradictory. Mmm. Nah.

The opposite of Love is not Hate. It is Indifference. (A theme ISAT notably gets at). Hate is distinctly something you do if you care. Often if you care Way Too Much.

I try not to write them hating each other, so much as feeling extremely intensely about each other. (x)

Feeling intensely Thankful, Understood, Sorry, Trapped, Devoted, Jealous, Protective, Pitying, Indebted...

^ Scary ! Complicated ! Hard to deal with ! Even the positive ones can be overwhelming! It's gonna make things weird!

So uh, Yeah. There's your answer? I suppose tl;dr: I view relationships as nebulous and only defined by those in it. (This is something I have previously yapped about at length in essays about my OCs lol) And generally view that there's no "true" label for any relationship except the one that doesn't cause undue distress. (which. i mean it does here. but it probably works out in the end with enough talking)

Asking me to define if something is romantic is like asking me to pin down the true form of the Human Soul. Like dawg i dont know how to do that i dont even know if that shit is real. there are merely actions and their constructed societal categories. If i tell you I think they kiss sometimes does that clear it up? (It shouldn't, obviously, but you get what I mean)

But yeah. Gestures broadly. Shipping an ace (and maybe even aroace based on some shit that little fella says) character like this means it comes with an essay. Because it necessarily interfaces with their nonstandard mode of interaction in that arena. The part where its weirdo fucking ♠ ♥ ♦ ♣ selfcest merely adds a layer.***

... Anyway I'll leave you with this. The mirasifloop qpr "so what is.... romance?" discussion sessions are probably downright dialectical aren't they. Feelings Buddies discuss the phrase "Self-Love" 23467324235 dead 3 injured

*i do have like . 2 wips. that would. include this kind of behaviour explicitly. but i simply have not gotten around to them yet. and also don't worry neither of them are purely fluff both of them still have an air of worrying fuckedupedness about them. yay !

** inkeeping with my "geared for maximal conflict" mind, this can be flavoured with some "technically nobody can say it's not canon, I guess?" during-the-game Sifloop. By handing them the 'started leaning on each other for comfort more blatantly toward the end of a4' thing, since, well, I think exploring the "Loop expected at least one of them to be dead by the end of this/Loop never expected this to end, and thus began filling in that 'Lover' role as comfort/pity/selfishness/mercy given their knowledge that Isabeau is forever out of reach for both of/at least one of them" angle is... Well it's certainly fuckin' compelling that's for sure. Like oops, you let the timeloop malaise get to you and maybe started a trist because you thought you'd be dead before there'd be any lasting consequences. Here's those consequences, motherfucker !! But you won't catch me putting that explicitly in my comics because I don't want to change anything about the raw text of canon when I'm exploring its consequences. However, nothing I do is Incompatible with this read. And I enjoy making things more tortured so. Shrugs and hands this to you. Be free. (....x)

*** those of you that know what i mean by this just had all of it click just now didnt you. lol.

[adventuringblind]

Teach Me Part One

Max Verstappen x Reader Part Two

Genre: hurt/comfort (2.7k words)

Summary: Max helps our protagonist through a journey of sexual discovery. You know - after she's been assaulted... Don't worry though, he's got her (and her virginity).

Warnings: Attempted r@pe, BDSM in the wrong way, then it gets better, lots of discussions, Virgin reader, softdom Max, toxic ex, dom/sub, alluded to smut

Notes: I hope this is what le requester was looking for! I tried my best to get everything and I think I did! Really hope you like it and that it brings you comfort!

Side Note: My inbox is open if you wanna come chat with me because I'm going insane over here...

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Trust is something most people underestimate the power of. Trust is sitting on a chair and thinking it will hold you. Trust getting in your car and knowing it will get you to work and back. 

Trusting people is harder than trusting inanimate objects. It’s easy to come back from a chair breaking or a car randomly stopping. Humans take the trust of others and stomp on it. They treat it like a toy; something to be thrown away when they are done with it. 

She did trust once. She tried to give someone her love. It didn’t work out for her, and made her struggle to trust anyone after that. 

Max swings her legs back and forth on the counter. GP had come in not five minutes ago and told him to get down. But Max is like a cat, and refused to get off. 

She sits in a chair in the office area, preparing for debrief. Her fingers crossed it goes longer because that means right to sleep with her. Her boyfriend won’t have any reason to keep her up. Not when she has a race tomorrow. 

“Any plans for after the race?” 

Logically, there is no way Max doesn’t know her plans. They’ve grown up together; her and Max against the world. 

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably just hanging out with my boyfriend.” 

“Boring, you should come out with the team!” The warmth on his features makes her want to melt. She’d much rather be with Max. Her relationship hasn’t been going well for some time now and she’s been trying to find something to repair it. Because she can’t bring herself to leave. He’s guilted her into staying; the fear of being alone outweighs wanting to leave him.  

“If I could find something to do with him, then maybe it would be less boring.”

Max Waves her off after the race with a grimace. She knows he hates the guy, but he also doesn’t even know the full extent as to why she hates him. Why she can’t stand being around him for longer then she has to. 

She’s alone in the room for a minute. Her boyfriend is still in the shower for the time being, meaning - she has time to indulge herself. 

It’s a stupid interest, really. Max had brought it up in passing; something he’d tried with partners. The one problem with being Max’s friend? His astute lack of knowing when enough information has been given. Still, the details of his experimentation through the years left her wanting to know more. 

Her recent search history has been her own exploration into the world of BDSM. It’s a stupid thing to look into considering the male she’s with isn’t the nicest about sex. No, he’s tried to coerce her a few times now. He comes to races with the intention of trying to get in her pants. It’s just not something she wants yet and she’ll continue to let him fuck her throat if it means holding him off from taking that piece of her until she’s ready. 

She’s caught up in her own thoughts, mindlessly scrolling something mildly more explicit. “Watcha looking at?” The obnoxiously placed male on the bed tries to crane her head to look at her phone. 

In her panic to hide the screen, she fumbles. His hands snatch it away from her and begin scrolling where she had left off. “It’s nothing-” 

“Actually, this is something. Is this all it takes to get you to let me in finally? Would you like to be owned?” 

She would like to tell him no. She wants to explain what she wants is to feel safe with someone; enough to let go for once. “Just something I was curious about, is all.”

“Whatever - don’t expect me to stick around much longer then. Maybe this will help us get back to where we were.”

She ends up with a bruised throat the next morning. Her peace offering to him since he was adamant about getting something from her. 

What she was not expecting the next morning to be woken up stuck to the headboard. Her wrists hurt more than her throat and the fear clouding her brain makes it hard to tell what’s really happening. She tugs at it, only to be stopped by a familiar set of hands. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I figured I’d indulge you.” He sounds nonchalant about all this. She’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. “Just relax, yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

It’s the way he’s eating her with his eyes. The sinister tone in his voice. She doesn’t want to be here. The more she tries to relax, the more she ends up panicking. His touch on her skin hurts more than she wants to admit. 

“Would you stop squirming?” 

“No!” She pulls harder at the stupid restraints around her wrists. She pulls until her hands start to slide out, bloody and burned, but it’s enough. 

The second she’s free, she’s flipping them. They wrestle as she attempts to flee, eventually able to slip her way around him and out the door. 

She’s barefoot, disheveled, her long shirt barely covering her ass. Not bare, thankfully, but pretty close to it. The adrenaline kicks in and she sprints to Max’s room three floors up and prays there is nobody around. Grateful for the early hour in the morning that this has occurred. 

Her knuckles hit the door with a bruising force. “Max! Max please open up! Max-” The door opens and she tumbles inside. Nearly hitting the floor, but Max’s quick reflexes are there to steady her. 

She clings to him, sobbing, the fear of what might have happened to her hitting like a punch to the gut. 

Max ends up getting her stuff for her. She can’t stomach the thought of ever seeing that man again. Let alone attempting anything intimate. 

Max lets her stay in his guest room for the time being. He doesn’t push for her to talk about it. Not yet at least, but she knows he’ll get impatient just like the rest of them. He’ll kick her out when she doesn’t give him what he wants. 

Max finds her out on his balcony four months into their new living situation. It didn’t help that winter break happened three weeks after the whole ordeal. It’s nice solely for the reason they drive for the same team. Otherwise, she’d hate being left here to wallow in her own self pity. 

Max sits himself on the side across from her. “Wanna talk about what’s going on in your head? I miss seeing you smile.” She can tell he’s nervous, his lip biting from childhood never went away. 

“Just thinking.”

“About?” 

He’s worried; can clearly hear it in his voice. He wants to know that she isn’t going to do anything crazy. “What happened, I guess.” 

“I’m here. If you ever want to talk about it - I’m here.” 

Maybe it’s the thought of Max having defended her for years now, or the safety she has always found with him. “It’s really stupid.” She drops her head into her knees. 

“Can’t be if it’s making you upset.” 

“He saw something I wa looking at on my phone the night before I forced myself into your room-” 

Max’s eyes go wide. “Alright, the only stupid thing about that is you thinking you forced yourself on me. You can come to me whenever and I’ll open the door.” He gestures for her to continue after his interruption. “What was on your phone?” 

This is the part where she runs if things go south. “Itwaslikesexstuff…” 

“Sex stuff?” Well, her original plan has failed. How he could have ever understood that is beyond her. 

“The - the kind that - you talked about?” 

His cheeks turn a bright shade of crimson red. “Curiosity, I presume?” 

“If you count the last two years as a curiosity phase, then sure.” 

“I’m - I’m so sorry.” 

She blinks at him. The words are barely sinking in as she watches him rub his palm against his neck and jaw. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I sent you - unknowingly, sure - down a rabbit hole that can be dangerous if you don’t know where to look.” His sad demeanor makes her want to hug him. “Was it something related to BDSM stuff? I swear if he hurt you I know where he lives still-”

“Max please-” The laugh raging through her is pathetic. “-As much as I’d love to see him get his ass handed to him, I think I’ll be okay in time. He didn’t rape me. Close to it, but I managed to get away.” 

“Oh fuck! Your wrists were busted! I should’ve known.” 

“Yeah well, I guess it gives someone else the opportunity to take my virginity-” Well, cats out of the bag now. She had meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood. Now Max is gaping at her and she’s not sure how to feel about it. 

He slides over to her; their knees now knocking together. “Someone else, huh? Have anyone in mind?” 

“Had someone in mind for ages, but he wouldn’t feel the same.” Because he’s seen the worst of her. There is no way Max could ever love someone like her. Someone who struggles with intimacy-

“Try me. Because I think anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“What about you?”

“Especially me.” 

It’s a month after that where Max brings up the subject again. They’ve kissed and cuddled, but nothing aside from that. She has tried to suck him off. Her mindset being it would appease him for the time being but Max had refused. ‘Not until you are doing it because you want to, not because you think it’s your job.’

She wanted to lay there and cry. Which she might have, but fell asleep at some point. The subject hadn’t been brought up again until now. At the breakfast table of all places. 

“So, out of curiosity, are you still curious?” 

She drops her fork out of surprise. “I - I mean… yes? But I’m not sure I want to go through that again-” 

“Nope, never. What he did was wrong, plain and simple.” 

“But isn’t that what it is?” 

“It is about trust and safety. I’m going to assume you didn’t have a safeword?” 

No, because they didn’t even talk about it. She just woke up tied to the bed and was told to stay still. She settles for shaking her head no. Overwhelmed by the severe lack of anything that Max is talking about.

“If you want, we can take things at your pace, yes? I’ll show you what the bastard should have done.” 

And if that didn’t pique her interest, she doesn’t know what would. “Yeah I - I think I’d like that.” 

Max takes her out to dinner a week later. Her favorite, as usual, since it’s also his favorite (another perk of growing up together). He’s terribly sweet to her the entire night. Which isn’t that big of a change from normal - but Max is sassy and won’t hesitate to throw a sarcastic insult her way. 

“Are you alright if we talk about some things tonight?” He asks on the car ride home. “I would like to get a feel for what you might want to try in the future so I can research a bit.” 

“Yeah - yeah sure.”

Max collects her into his arms on the sofa. The stubble on his chin prickles her skin while he leaves playful kisses. The notebook he has resting on his (and hers by proxy) knee is flipped open to a blank page. 

“Okay, first up is safe words.” 

“To be fair, I know what they are and why they are important. He just didn’t talk to me about anything first…” 

Max hums. “And we’re still gonna talk about them!” He giggles when she groans. “Hey! This is the safety stuff I was talking about. Do you know the traffic light system?”

“Green is for good and red is for stop…”

“And yellow is for?”

“Pointless, is what I’ve read.” She shrugs.

Again, Max gapes at her. “On the contrary, yellow could just mean something doesn’t feel right or you need a minute to breathe. Not a full stop, but a slow down.” 

That makes more sense now. Curse the internet! She probably should’ve made sure her information sources were credible to begin with. “Yellow means wait a second.” 

“Secondly, it’s usually good to have multiple safewords. Red is one and the other I use is Mercedes.” 

She can’t contain her laughs. Nearly falling out of Max’s lap as she clutches her chest. “Mercedes?!” 

“Think about it! If Mercedes becomes a normal bedroom topic then we may need to rethink some things.”

“Fair point, but it’s still a bit funny!”

“Next thing on the list is how I personally like to conduct a scene.” The smirk plastered on his face makes her want to curl up in a ball and hide away. 

“Is it not the normal way?”

“To be fair - there is not a normal way. It’s just how I’ve come to enjoy setting things up prior. Like discussion beforehand is always a must.” 

“Like what we’re doing now?”

“Exactly!” 

They end up talking for hours on end. Into the morning until they are both passed out on the couch. Needless to say they don’t get any further than that. 

More daycare spent simply talking about it. Max takes care to make sure every detail is talked about. It’s the small things that she hadn’t even thought to consider earlier on. 

It becomes safer just by talking about it. Like Max has somehow made it less scary. Which could also just be because he keeps talking about safety. 

She explores in the way she is comfortable with. Small touches here and there, a bit of oral when she can manage. Max checks in with her almost too often. Specifically when she’d like him to keep his tongue where it’s at. He laughs at her frustrated huffs. They do the non-sexual side of things more often. Sometimes he takes things into his own hands, getting her on her knees. Nothing more than what she’s willing to do. 

It’s when she wins a race, high on adrenaline and soaked to the bones in champagne, that she feels the desire to go further. 

She attempts to jump Max’s bones when they are finally back in their hotel. “You don’t want to go celebrate?”

“Can’t I celebrate with just you?” 

“You certainly can, but I plan on taking my time if we’re doing this tonight.” The post race gravel in his voice has her swooning. 

“Please Max? I want you.” 

“I’m going to ask you if you’re sure a million times regardless.”

He pulls her in for a gentle kiss. It turns heated and eager quicker than anytime before. Her need to get her desperation across has Max pinning her to the wall. She squeaks in surprise, having not seen it coming. 

“Someone is eager tonight.”

“Are you going to make me beg for it?” 

“Not tonight, another time though.” 

He taps the bottom of her thighs. He lifts her like she’s nothing and sets her on the bed gently. “Shall we review?”

“Green for go, Yellow for slow, Red or Mercedes for stop.” 

God is he beaming at her. His knuckles caress her jaw. “Good girl.” 

Gone, she’s so gone for this man it’s not funny anymore. Not when he talks to her like that. 

Max takes care of her, runs his hands across her body and makes her shiver. He strips each article of clothing like she’s the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. 

“Color?” He says while leaning over her with no clothes between them. 

“Green.” 

The next morning is fuzzy. She’s not sure if it’s because she and Max were up until the early hours of the morning, or because she’s sore in places she didn’t know could be. It’s unreal how good she feels; how loved and wanted. 

She wants to stay here, frozen in this moment, watching the sun soak into Max’s skin. He’s breathtaking; always has been. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Max cracks a smile and stretches his arms out around her. 

“You’re a dork.”

“Ah, but you trust me enough to be your dork. Specifically yours; all this dorkiness is for you.”

She rolls on top of him. “Hey Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks - you know - for teaching me and making it special.” 

“You deserve is schat. I’m glad you trust me. That's a big honor and I’m grateful for it.”

[optimisticgardenhologram]

Not to be some sort giant simp, but because it's his birthday I wanted to write something nice and complimentary for him. But also genuinely and objectively as possible I think Mello is actually a fair bit more humane (or maybe the better term is "less cold-blooded") than he gets credit for?

The evidence:

1. He was very genuinely upset when they are informed of L's death, and doesn't even think about the matter of the successor-ship until Near speaks up alluding to it.

2. After Sayu was rescued/traded from the mafia she's asked to help in the investigation by providing any details of her experience. However she can't because she says she neither saw nor spoke much to her kidnappers. This indicates Mello (as the mastermind of all things related to this project) told the mafia members that they were to stay away from her and generally left her alone. She's a tool to him to achieve his ends but he takes no pleasure in using her this way nor has intention to cause her any additional harm, fear, suffering than is already an unavoidable part of being kidnapped and held hostage across the world.

3. When Soichiro confronts him with the Death Note by announcing Mello's real name and then actually starts writing, Mello could have killed him on the spot faster than Soichiro could write. He had access to the gun next to him in the open desk drawer. You can tell that even in this case he doesn't want to shoot Soichiro, and though Mello's hand hovers over the gun ready to grab it, he does his best to talk Soichiro down instead. Then he apologizes to Soichiro and thinks about how he never intended for Soichiro to die but at the same time he shouldn't have joined up with Kira. There is an important difference here between the anime and the manga; in the anime he tells this to Soichiro aloud which might be interpreted as a way to distract Soichiro while Jose prepares to fire, but in the manga because it's unspoken we know it wasn't meant as a distraction, but genuine regret and remorse.

4. When Mello crashed the SPK, Lidner wasn't really a hostage. She'd already been helping him secretly for a while and continues to do so afterwards; and she -wanted- Mello and Near to work together and was trying to help them do that - meaning she'd have gladly brought them together regardless. But they role-played her like one to cover for her in front of her colleagues, make it seem like she was being forced into it rather than reveal the truth that she was a double-agent.

5. While Mello frequently brandishes his gun as a threat and for coercion, he never actually fires it. Still no one ever doubts that he would use it if needed. Despite fanon often portraying him as a trigger happy nut-job, the canon demonstrates how controlled and coldly resolved he truly is.

6. A pretty commonly repeated sentiment on social media discussions is that unlike Near, Mello doesn't work well with others because he's too much of a lone-wolf and too insecure to work in a team because he would make everything about dominance and power struggle.

I really don't think this is right. Despite stubbornly refusing to work with Near, the evidence shows he's pretty good at getting along and working with other people. Like in the mafia he seems perfectly happy to let Rod Ross be top-dog; he doesn't appear to have any interest in being a big shot and throwing his weight outside of matters directly involving the notebook. Rod Ross is the one to give orders, dole out discipline, and is generally in charge, and he trusts Mello because Mello's proven his value as a loyal team member over time.

He also works well with Halle and Matt who both appear to be there by choice, neither are in the least afraid of or deferential to him and they seemingly work on equal terms together as opposed to a hierarchical boss/subordinate relationship, which for example so prominently characterizes Near's interactions with his group.

With Matt in particular he's way more patient than is even reasonable to expect, given how it seems like Matt spends a lot of time whining, slacking off, and messing up - no shade meant on Matt (love him dearly) but going by the manga that is what we see. But Mello never scolds him or gets angry or snappy. Mello's internal monologue does show that he's annoyed but he doesn't externalize it, doesn't lash out and is patiently long-suffering when it comes to Matt's shortcomings. He basically just accepts the situation being what it is and moves on. And of course is regretful and sad when Matt dies.

We don't see much of Halle and Mello's interactions as they mostly take place offscreen/off-page but from what there is they seem very casual and comfortable with each other and Halle was very clearly emotionally affected by his death and speaks up for him in 104, believing he sacrificed himself intentionally. Basically, Mello's issues and anti-social behavior stemming from his inferiority complex is SPECIFICALLY centered on and triggered by Near. With everyone else he was able to work very effectively, and they hold him in high regard and can maintain good relationships with him.

7. He seems to have sympathy for Misa and is judgmental about the way Light weaponizes her trauma and idolization.

8. Although she's on his enemy's team, he felt enough pity for Takada provide her a blanket when he orders her to undress, which directly contributes to his own demise. I believe he knew (intended as part of his plan) that X-Kira would kill her to stop her from talking, so it was a small gesture that is practical in that it could make her more willing to quickly cooperate, but also give some small comfort during the short remaining time of her life.

None of this makes him not-evil or villainous, but I do think he's genuinely a more compassionate person than he's typically cast as. Certainly the least villainous of Death Note's wide cast of villains. As it's noted in the Japanese wording of Volume 13 he's "not pure evil" and he "has a pure heart and acts mean to get the attention of the person he likes" (scream). I don't think Ohba intended any of the Wammy's characters to be either pure good or irredeemably evil.

[cynautica]

Cynautica's Secret Santa 2024

Hello everyone! Interested in spreading a little cheer this season? Challenge your creative muscles by entering our Secret Santa this year!

This is a small scale event hosted on Tumblr & Discord as a way to give back to the Subnautica community. Don't let that fool you though. Anyone and everyone is welcome to join, no gaming required!

Absolutely no skill minimum to join, you decide what you're comfortable with drawing and/or writing.

Never joined a Secret Santa before? Check out our Guide! Please be mindful of the deadlines and sharing rules before registering.

>>> Sign up here!!!!! <<<

More details below the cut:

Event Organizers: @cyliph / @cynautica, @p-wrryyy-mordial-soup

Backup artists: To be added after registration!

Timeline:

(more detail found in Guide!)

Nov 23: Final day to register for Secret Santa.

Nov 24 - Nov 25: Wish assignment. If you do not receive your drawing prompt or have issues with it please contact an organizer as soon as possible.

Nov 25th - Dec 15th: Work on completing gift! Once the gift is complete please send it to an organizer. If you need an extension, please make it known during this time window.

Dec 12th: Organizer nudge. If you have not completed your piece and sent it to an organizer please confirm your progress or request an extension ASAP. You can likewise post public teasers of your Secret Santa gift, though please refrain from including details that will 100% confirm a recipient.

Dec 16th (8:00PM EST): Final call to send completed gift to organizer! You will be informed after it is sent to the recipient, making it safe to post on any platform of your choosing. Until this please abide by the Secret Santa courtesy! 

Dec 23: Extension deadline! Everyone who participated should have a gift

-----

Participation Rules:

Refrain from posting art / writing with content that may identify the recipient across Discord or Tumblr. This includes discussions that might allude to who your gift is for. Remember: Just because playing Clue might be fun to you, the receiver of your gift may really value the surprise. Do not send your completed gift to your recipient. Send it to an organizer instead. This is to ensure that all gifts and gifters are accounted for and will streamline the process for us organizers. Once you get the okay Dec 16th, you can post it anywhere you like! Do not include NSFW content, hatespeech, political content, or gore in your gift. Everyone is invited to this event! Treat your gift as if it might go to your grandmother. Please keep in contact with organizers if something goes awry. Life happens. We overestimate our capabilities. Mental health is fickle. Whatever it may be, just let us know as soon as possible if you may need an extension or cannot complete your gift.  Be respectful of the wish you grant. It should go without saying, but Secret Santas are a labor of love. If you do not believe you can be respectful enough to grant a stranger's wish please do not register for this event.

[hazelfoureyes]

Angel’s Alastor

「Warnings/Promises: Angel x Alastor, bondage, rutting into beds, rutting into pants, Alastor keeps his dick in those pants, kisses, smooches, tentacle fucking, masturbation, cum eating implied??, karaoke reference」

Angel imagines Alastor is his co-star in a naughty film. Luckily he has just the toy to help him get into the scene.

MinoRS DNI 👨🏻‍🏭🙅🏻

The offer to fuck on camera was partly a joke and partly an invitation.

Angel had the ability to later say it was just self deprecating humor to even allude to wanting to fuck Alastor. The radio demon. The strawberry pimp.

What a laugh, Tall Dark and Creepy? Famously, whether he had a term for it or not, disinterested in sex?

When he stopped to think about, watching Alastor sip a whiskey and stare off into the void, what would that even look like?

Sex with Alastor, that is.

Angel watched his mouth part and peeked at his tongue. He sure did talk a lot, maybe his tongue had some skill. Wagging all day made for a strong muscle.

And he was strong. Not a hunk by any measure but he could tear apart airships and summon minions with a snap. Kinda hot. Power always added a level of attractiveness. 

Alastor’s ears … twitched. Perhaps a bug had landed on one. Angel’s head tilted a little as his eyes followed down Alastor’s long neck. Did he have chest fluff to match the ears? His happy trail… red? Black? What about his backside? A little tail?

Hooves…. Angel could take them or leave them. But he lingered at the calves and arms. Where he knew the black faded into the tan pallor of his face.  Did his cock fade too? A gradient Angel could squeeze and try to feel through his skin.

“What about you, Angel?”

“Oh fuck, I totally zoned out and forgot we were … we were doin’ something. Sorry Charlie.”

Charlie’s fingers templed, “We were having a conversation. About how you think redemption is going?”

Angel blinked away the tingle up his spine as Alastor’s attention turned to him, “Yeah that sounds great, sign me up okay? I’m headed out,  I gotta go for a walk or some shit.”

It was ‘some shit.’

A couple drinks, a few rounds of karaoke, and a quick make out session with a very generous stranger and Angel found Alastor had disappeared entirely. Until he curled into his bed to let the spinning room rock him to sleep.

And he wondered…

If Alastor was one of the guys in his shoots. The big bad who kidnapped him….

Angels arms were tied behind his back—

No, Angel stopped, Alastor would never go through the motions of tying someone up.

Angel's arms were held above his head and behind his back by writhing and curious black tentacles. A dark and smoky room, Alastor standing pretty as his shadows did all the work. 

“I’m going to need your cooperation, Angel Dust.”

Angel struggled, “Not a chance. Val would kill me and he’s a lot scarier than you.”

“Now now, you’ve barely let me explain the details.” Alastor took four swift and long strides to be within touching distance. “You report back what the Vees discuss. No theft, no clandestine recording devices.”

Alastor had to look up to meet Angel’s indignant gaze. 

“And what’s in it for me?” A smirk. 

“That depends, what do you want?” Alastor’s clawed hand touched his hip, “Anthony.”

Angel peeled off his shorts and vest. He’d found a fun narrative, one he wanted to see through. A hand wrapped around his still half soft cock and began gentle tugs.

“You don’t have what I want.” Angel bit his lip. He watched the radio demon’s brow arch, a challenge. “So why don’t you stop playin’ and either let me go or get your dick out.”

A laugh he’d heard a hundred times before bouncing off the walls he hadn’t bothered to imagine, “Dirty mouth for an ‘angel’.”

“Oh you don’t even know the half of what my mouth can do.” His tongue rolled out and beckoned Alastor closer, “And I ain’t no angel.”

His dark eyes stayed calm as new appendages began ripping off Angel’s clothes. “Oh that’s right. Angel Dust. You’re a drug. Cheap and addictive.”

“Aww and I thought you didn’t watch my movies!”

“I have no interest in filth.”

“You sure ‘bout that? Seem interested enough in  me.”

“You, Anthony, are not filth.” Alastor’s hand slid down Angel’s stomach, past his erection and balls. “You are art best seen up close. Intimate viewings only. Where patrons can take their time to admire the details.”

Alastor’s fingers pressed gently at Angel’s puckered hole. 

Angel tried to slow the prodding of his now lubed fingers at his entrance. Alastor would be frustratingly slow. But he wanted Alastor to rush in, to hurt him a little. But then why even think of him? Anyone could do that. Everyone does do that.

Alastor’s middle finger slipped in. Angel wanted a kiss, wanted anything more but the overlord didn’t allow him any movement.

A second finger. Quick and sloppy thrusts, poor preparation but more than some. A third finger, Angel moaned Alastor’s name. 

Once he started he couldn’t stop, “Alastor. Alastor. Alastor!” Every time he said it louder it made his fingers feel like they could truly belong to Alastor. Leaking and fully erect, his dick was pulsing in reply.

“Oh fuck, Alastor. I know you have more for me. Come on, daddy.” Angel’s ass was rocking against those quick fingers. “Gimme more. Ya can’t break me.”

A wicked grin, Alastor’s free hand coming to rake through Angel’s chest fluff, “Oh, I absolutely can. But, luckily for you, I’m not interested in seeing you in pieces.”

Three fingers slipping in and out with slicked ease, Angel rummaged in his side drawer feeling around for the shape he was seeking. Tongue out with concentration until he felt the little bumps and the curve he needed. 

He’d rarely used the tentacle dildo, but suddenly it seemed like a very convenient purchase. The tip was so thin, the base so wide. 

From point a to b, Angel lost track of the storyline. He just needed to skip ahead, quick fingers to hungry tentacles working in time with the real life toy. A taper that allowed Alastor to reach deeply but still stretch his hole with enough burn to keep Angel’s attention on where they connected. Could Alastor feel him? How much was he able to sense through his shadow appendages?

His face didn’t let on, no slip of what he was feeling. 

Angel’s soul was his own when outside of Val’s studio, time he’d happily sell to Alastor to see the man so much as break a sweat. But he could, at least in his head.

“Would it kill ya to kiss me?” Angel wished he could hide his need better but even in his dreams he was melting for a chance to feel Alastor. Skin to skin, wet warmth anywhere on him. “I could make ya see stars behind your eyelids.”

A hum, hand slipping up his neck and to his jaw, “Dear I don’t need to close my eyes to see a star.” Angel held his breath as Alastor leaned in, a slow tilt of his head threatening to pull another moan from him. His eyes closed and he waited for that feeling of soft lips against his.

And he waited.

With a huff he opened his eyes to complain about the hold up, but his words got caught in his throat when he saw the expression on Alastor’s face. Knitted brows and heated cheeks, he’d never seen such a needy look.

A look that twisted back to its usual smirk when a thrust into Angel pulled a shocked whine from the spider demon. Even in his dreams he would be made to beg. 

“Do ya want my help or not?” His voice was huskier than before, struggling to keep his reactions to a minimum. 

“Oh? A kiss is all it costs? There’s the cheap part.”

“And I’ll show ya the addictive part if ya hurry up already.” Maybe Alastor was loosening the restraints, maybe Angel was just adept at escapes, but he managed to pull a hand free. 

Grabbing hold of the smaller demon by the ear he pulled Alastor into a kiss. 

Another moan. He felt the heat of the blush reaching his own ears; it was just a kiss. But it made him twitch at the idea. Even as the long black toy bottomed out, his mind was on the ghostly pair of lips he could almost feel. 

Like a man with time to kill, Alastor didn’t let Angel slip his tongue in until he heard the hunger in his breaths. And as Angel’s tongue reached deeper into his mouth, so did the tentacle in him. His knees began shaking, finally both holes full of Alastor. 

Angel’s tongue danced behind his teeth, going through the motions. He wanted more friction. Rolling onto his stomach, Angel began rutting into his bed. 

Alastor pulled him close, grinding his crotch into Angel’s leaking cock. Every roll of his hips pulled a gasp from the porn star.

“You're gonna get your pants all dirty.” Angel’s mouth left Alastor’s long enough to comment but Alastor’s leaned back and out of reach when he tried to return.

“Hmm, I’ll have to make you lick them clean after.”

Angel’s head fell back, he gripped the toy with five fingers around the base and pumped it in and out. Every return to his tight heat seemed to stretch him a little wider, prod new depths no dick had ever managed to reach before.

If it wasn’t Alastor, he’d be scared. But the two hands holding his hips in place as his precum was smeared into the overlord’s pants felt like a safety net. Alastor wouldn’t go too far. He was a master at pushing limits and that was it.

Angel’s mouth hung open, drool sliding down his chin as his hips picked up speed. A hand came between his legs and began stroking his shaft. He wanted to cum.

He needed to cum. He dropped his head back down and let his free hand slide across the lapels of Alastor’s suit.

Twisting the toy, he hit it.

“There!! You’re hitting my spot. Don’t stop.” Angel’s body shook. The radio demon grabbed him gently by the neck and gave a testing squeeze. 

Angel’s hand tightened slightly on his throat. Just enough to make the pressure in his head become noticeable. 

“Alastor please, I’m close. Don’t stop, don’t ya dare fuckin’ stop,” his slit was sliding across the precum soaked fabric. It was rough, but made him cry as he grew harder and more sensitive. “Gonna cum soon.”

His cock was still rubbing into his silky blanket despite his hand’s direct help. He pulled a throw pillow into his mouth and screamed. Every ounce of his brain’s focus went to his dick and caused his hand to slow the thrusts into himself.

He was pulled into a breath stealing kiss. With Alastor’s mouth on him again, exhales across his skin, Angel came with a cry. Alastor’s tentacle buried deep in him as his cock pulsed lines of semen across the demon's pants.

Angel‘s hips kept thrusting, smearing his seed into the blanket and across his knuckles. He took his hand off the toy and let the spasms of his twitching hole push it out and back onto the bed. 

Alastor’s tongue swiped up Angel’s lips. He didn’t stop rubbing his lap into the groaning demon even as his tentacles all withdrew. Angel fell to his knees before long and thin fingers pulled his chin up.

“Now, lick.”

༻Masterlist༺

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon n , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , , @fizzled-phoenix , @phobophobular , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl

[thetruthwilloutsworld]

I'm making this post to debunk the theories currently circulating regarding the identity of the woman who was with Sam this weekend. I think now is the best time to do this as I feel it has gone too far after a possible woman has been identified.

You may question why I'm in a position to do this well it's because I know the actual identity of the woman. I was the person who saw her picture when she posted it on an IGS on Sunday 28/7/24. I follow this woman on Instagram before I'm accused of stalking along with a few thousand others so I certainly wasn't the only one who saw it. She usually tags who she's with and the location but didn't in this instance but I just thought at the time she might still be there.

Sam then posted his pictures on Monday 29/7/24 and I knew straightaway they looked identical to the one the woman I follow posted.

The woman I follow didn't take her IGS down when Sam posted his pictures it was there for the full 24 hours.

I sent a message to BCAC as I knew the usual questions would be raised as to who he was with or was he alone.

BCAC and I discussed it she agreed it was the same location and left it at that. She was asked by an anon if he'd gone hiking and she responded yes and wasn't alone.

BCAC didn't make her post until Wednesday and quite rightly didn't identify the woman. I don't agree about people getting harassed because of an association or coming after the blogger who posted the information.

Theories starting popping up which is amazing considering it was just the top of a picture. Then overnight a blogger has alluded to a woman but the facts are wrong which is why I'm doing this post to set the record straight.

If anyone is trying to find the picture the woman posted it was an IGS so it's not on her blog or highlights so don't waste your time looking.

She isn't an actress.

She isn't married.

She didn't put the word 'our' on the picture she just put 'last nights camping spot'.

Yes he knows her as they've spent time together before which I'm not going into.

She definitely isn't any of the women he's been linked with recently.

The video that Sam took wasn't a 360° more like 180° so she could've easily stood behind him. There were comments about other people being with them I find it hard to believe they all moved in unison behind Sam to keep themselves hidden.

There's only two people minimum who know the full story and they aren't going to tell, so yes there may have been others or it could've been just the two of them.

Following details given out by another blogger I can confirm the woman Sam was with in the picture is not 19 years of age, her chosen profession is not that of an athlete and the initials are completely wrong so please do not go to her page for those who have guessed who she is she's an innocent party in all of this.

The last thing I'm going to say about the woman in the camping picture is I'm not going to give her name, nationality, age or career details or post the full picture so there's no point in asking.

At the end of the day a picture was posted at the same location as Sam's and we will probably never know the full story.

Hopefully that has answered some people's questions, will stop rumours and bloggers inboxes can have a well earned rest.