#I just spewed this out now

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

He’s a funny guy!

I just feel like Sanemi would be such a funny guy in private. In public he’s maintaining his tough-guy and grumpy exterior — not letting anyone see more than a scowl.

But imagine, he probably never had the chance to truly be a child, either he’s being beaten by his scumbag-dickfaced-asshole-father, or he has to help raise his younger siblings and work.

So when he’s grown up and meets his s/o, who’s blankly ignoring his attempts at remain aloof and brings out a side of him he never knew he had.

Suddenly Sanemi is running around playing tag, climbing trees, tickle fights, prank-wars, staring contests (he’d win this one because the dude doesn’t blink). Sanemi’s s/o doesn’t only give him the love and safety he’s always wanted, needed.

But also a safe environment for him to be himself and not be afraid.

When he truly became comfortable in his own skin, he even allows others to see more than his cold and angry demeanour — for people to hear his genuine laugh and see him smiling wholeheartedly. And Sanemi doesn’t care what anyone thinks, because he’s genuinely feeling happy and free — and like a child again.

He starts to play prank on others too and has learned the art of comical timing — so the first time I delivers a smooth one-liner during a Hashira meeting everyone just stares at him in shock, did the Wind Hashira just tell a joke?

Sanemi freezes momentarily as the room falls into an awkward silence, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. The blush tinting his cheeks is unmistakeable and he regrets ever listening to his s/o about trying to be funny with anyone else.

As he’s about to speak again, somehow, hopefully salvage his dignity, the whole room bursts into laughter after the initial shock wears off.

Sanemi tries (and fails) to hide the slight smug expression and the bubbly warmth spreading through him when his attempt at humour hit the mark.

“Welcome home, Sanemi. How did the Hashira meeting go?” He immediately catches his s/o in his arms as he’s greeted with a hug at the front door. He gazes down into those familiar eyes and recognise the flicker of mischief in them.

“I know what you’re really asking… and yeah, the joke was a success. But we need to brainstorm for more jokes because now those damn people expect more.”

His home is filled with laughter and love and together with his s/o they start to plan future jokes and pranks together almost like two children.

[starrysharks]

real savory heads will remember savory's giant handcuff era of 2021... perhaps we should bring it back (i have no clue how to develop his design)

[blithesharem]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT

“Go away.”

Satan doesn’t even glance over his shoulder to see who opened his bedroom door. It doesn’t matter. He’s in the middle of an important chapter and he doesn’t intend to be interrupted. Even so, he continues to listen as he finishes his paragraph: footsteps shuffling, hesitant, the soft click of the door and movement toward his bed. He huffed with annoyance.

“I said-“ he begins, stopping when he feels the body push to press against his back, soft hands slipping around his chest. He squirms instinctively, a proper scowl breaking now as he prepares to shove his lustful brother off his bed.

“Asmo! I told you, I’m not-“

“Satan.”

Satan cuts of his hiss, as the sound of a hitching breath in Asmo’s voice stops him. He stills, listening, before tilting his head to try and catch a glimpse of Asmodeus’s face. He can’t – its pressed too tightly against his shoulder blades, and Satan can only see the edge of Asmo’s shoulders as they give a shudder.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Asmo sniffles, rubbing his nose against Satan’s back.

‘You’re going to get snot all over my shirt,’ he thinks. Aloud he says, “What happened?”

“…nothing…I just…” Asmo swallows, trying to find a way to express what he’s feeling. Nothing happened and everything happened: how does he explain that? Sometimes, the despair just gets too much. Sometimes he feels crushed by the work he does to try and keep everyone together. To keep everyone a family. He hates the thought of anyone seeing his most important acting role slip, certainly he can’t allow anyone to see his face so red and puffy.

“Can I just…stay? Please?” he whispers, too weary to even add a drop of simpering to his request.

Satan stares over his book at his bedroom wall, feeling how tightly Asmo’s hands cling to the front of his shirt. ‘Why me?’ he wonders silently. The newest of the brothers, the most unpredictable, certainly the one least likely to allow such an invasion into his space.

Though, Satan supposed, he was certainly the most familiar with being swept up in one’s emotions.

“Okay,” he finally says simply, shifting to lay over Asmo’s arm more comfortably. He hears Asmo give an exhale and another sniffle, feels him melt with relief. Satan can’t quite relax himself, unused to being so close to another body. It’s alien, the feeling of Asmo’s heart racing against his back.

Alien. But not so bad.

Resting his cheek back on his pillow, Satan returns his gaze back to his book, and starts his paragraph over.

[jadelemonadee]

What r ur thoughts on people who twinkify samuel seabury…like when his only personality is being soft uwu boy who gets bullied by hamilton and king george is his protector!!1!1!1!

I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THIS I HATE IT SO MUCH

okay first of all I’ve said this before but i feel like the only reason people see him like this is because of “chaos and bloodshed is not a solution” which caused people to be like “omg he doesn’t like violence such innocent baby protect him 🥺🥺” WHEN HES A GROWN ASS MAN (45 - 47) AT THE TIME OF FARMER REFUTED ☹️ also about the king george thing there’s lots more to his character than just being a loyalist he was a priest / bishop fcs 😞 how about jesus being his protector!!!!! /j another thing about him is that i feel like people tried babying him to make him seem less of an antagonist maybe…??? like ive seen people say “poor sammy he was trying to express his opinion🥺” ok well we’re not rooting for his opinion in this musical ARE WE?? like idk maybe we should let antagonists be antagonists and be in the wrong 🤗 personally i dont agree with samuel’s opinions AT ALL but that doesn’t make him any less kissable in my eyes!!! can we let characters be pathetic without infantilizing them PLEASE i just see him as this annoying snooty man who sees the revolutionists as childish and immature / sees him + other loyalists as above these “barbaric patriots”. also i recall thayne sayinf something on the hamilcast podcast about seabury trying to “save everyone from the king” (i pray the king shows you his mercy) before its too late and i dont know how this aligns with what im saying but i think it tells us a bit more about him (at least thayne’s version) and i just find it a silly detail 😁 btw you guys im only talking about all this from the musical perspective and this has barely anything to do with actual history or the characters’ historical counterparts 🤗🤗🤗🌈🌈🌈🌸🌸🌸

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[seijorhi]

Hey Rhi 👋

It’s been established that I’m completely obsessed with your fic “Means to an End” and I was wondering if you could PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE just spare me a couple more crumbs!!!!! Whether it’s just a couple of backstory ideas that didn’t make it into the fic, outtakes, lil fun facts, more info on the twins and readers highschool drama, or more info on Atsumu and Ames relationship, LITERALLY ANYTHING.

At this point I’m starving 😔, you could throw me a bone and I would die happy.

OBVIOUSLY I don’t want to force you or anything, if you’re not comfortable with doing any of those things, or if I overstepped a boundary, than I’m sorry and I understand. I wouldn’t be at all booty hurt.

This is just me being desperate, delusional, and annoying 😭. ( I was going to ask some questions but my mind is blanking for some reason 😃)

With that being said, hope you keep your mental and physical health 🆙. And in case nobody’s told you this today, we love and support you babe ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

-🌫️🌬️

nonnie do not let it be said that i leave y'all to starve

atsumu's not usually the grateful type.

some might argue that he should be. the talent he's been blessed with, the opportunities that came with it – but what none of those whiny little piss-ants seem to understand is that those things weren't given to him. he worked for them. hours on the court, practicing with samu, competing against him. drills, endless fucking drills, running til he puked, set after set after set, serve after serve after serve until he was practically fuckin' flawless.

he won't be grateful for his teammates, or his coaches, not even for samu. they worked their asses off to get where they are, too, and samu– samu's his other half. a part of him. it'd be like being grateful for his right foot or grateful for his lungs.

you certainly didn't trip and just fall into their laps – onto your knees, pretty mouth begrudgingly parted – back then, either. never let it be said that he and osamu half ass these things.

but as the girl behind the counter lays out her tray, glittering, shiny – expensive – pieces splayed out to show him, atsumu decides that maybe he has to rethink that.

because he is grateful, really.

ame might as well be a gift, wrapped in ribbon and fucking lace, delivered right into his hands. his sweet, eager to please, idiot girlfriend. atsumu grins, hardly listening to the sales assistant prattle on about the collection – but to his credit, he pretends, throwing in a nod and thoughtful hum every now and then.

'just get her a decent looking fake, s'not like she's gonna know,' samu had said. 'why waste the money?' the why bother goes unsaid.

osamu's not wrong, exactly. he isn't in love with ame, some days he can't stand her. she's fucking annoying at the best of times. ame's not the end goal here – more of a means to that end – but he's not gonna sit and pretend he's not kinda looking forward to breaking her heart and kicking her to the kerb.

but if ame's been good for one thing – if he's grateful to her for anything – it's that she making all this so damn easy.

always chattering, giggling, smiling, bulldozing over your worries and fears. not that you told her the full truth. he doubts that even she'd be able to overlook that, but you told her enough that would've raised some serious red flags with anyone else.

not ame. not his girlfriend. your best friend, supposedly.

what's there to worry about? he and samu, they've grown up since high school, matured, lost that mean streak of theirs. she's so in love with the idea of him that she can't even imagine the atsumu you're intimately familiar with.

he almost died laughing when, at dinner the other night, she'd bashfully admitted to wanting to play a little matchmaker with you and osamu over the weekend. like he and samu haven't already seen you naked, fucked you – claimed you as theirs in every way that counts.

and sure, you've always been easy enough to manipulate to where they want you. even without ame this reprieve of yours was only ever gonna be a temporary thing – til they got their shit together, at least – but fuck it all if she wasn't going out of her way to make it a nice, smooth transition.

he glances up at the sales girl, a grin already taking shape. 'the earrings.' he says, jabbing a finger at the diamonds, 'i'll take 'em.'

she deserves something nice, considering he's just so damn grateful for her help in all of this.

[help-me-find-a-name-please-lol]

CM HOTCH/REID HEADCANONS

My headcanon about Hotch leaving in Season 12, Reid's reaction, and trying to have it make some kind of sense.

Disclaimers:

This is the first rewatch of the later seasons I've done since it aired on TV, and I've only just finished Season 12 episode 4 (I do, however, know the early seasons ridiculously well).

From LDSK onwards, I only ever really watched it for Hotch, Reid, and the Hotch/Reid dynamic. I didn't really watch it after Hotch left, but caught bits and pieces because my roomates did.

Yes I know why Thomas Gibson left the show and why they had to suddenly wrap up his character. No, I don't condone violence in the workplace. I also never dove deeply into the behind-the-scenes lore of this show, cast and crew interviews, etc etc. This will purely be relating to the show as it was depicted on screen, and my love for the characters as their own entities.

I am not going back to fully source which eps all my observations come from, cos I'm supposed to be working on an assignment rn and CM transcripts are a ducking nightmare. I just wanted to put this idea out there cos I think we all need a bit of self-soothing after the crap they fed us to write Hotch out of the show.

Also fun story I just came back to finish writing this after being interrupted by what I though was someone trying to break into my house at 4am (heard a noise, gate wide open, can't see anyone but damn, scary. My town's big on crime, too). SO my thoughts may now be even more disorganised thanks to the adrenaline crash headache I'm currently experiencing.

So anyway like I said, just finished watching S12E04 Keeper, during which Reid gets a call we don't hear, is visibly upset by it, and takes a bit of prodding to discuss it with JJ and Rossi. He then reveals that he was just told his mother left her care facility on her own and was found wandering confused around a casino. He takes minimal convincing to head back to Quantico and lines himself up another couple of days off to visit his mum (yes I'm Australian, this is how we spell it lol).

MY HEADCANON: This is when Hotch called Reid to tell him that he was going into witness protection and wouldn't be coming back. (Exactly how much was discussed on the phone vs possibly being discussed/explained later in person is of course open to interpretation, but enough for Reid to know Hotch wanted to say goodbye and to not tell the rest of the team).

I know that his mum's issues are an ongoing valid storyline. But this is why it was also a plausible excuse for Reid to come up with on the spot as to why he was upset.

Another thing that makes it entirely plausible that the phone call was about Hotch is the long, significant staring Reid did at Prentiss as she walked away after they discuss what supposedly happened with his mum. To me that could scream that Reid was actually dealing with something team-related, and was already grieving how it would affect the other members of his team that he's keeping it from. He could have gazed down or elsewhere to communicate his worry for his mum to the audience, but he specifically turned and watched Prentiss leave, looking all angsty.

What's a heck of a lot less plausible:

His mum, who has been in care since Reid became a legal adult, suddenly escaping her care facility, despite having been in care for well over a decade and who now needs even more supervision due to Alzheimer's on top of her Schizophrenia. Yeah, escapes happen, but to make it all the way into a casino and being found in a confused state? When this didn't happen before Reid flew up and got her diagnosed her with Alzheimers? Even though she'd been getting some increased freedoms for doing well on her new meds prior to her sudden worsening with the Alzheimer's onset?

Hotch leaving without saying something directly to Reid first. Yeah, I'm a shipper, and I know Hotch has his son to think about, but I call BULLSHIT. Hotch knows all about Reid's abandonment issues and there is no way he'd want to end up on the same mental list Reid keeps alongside Reid's father and Gideon. When Gideon went AWOL, Hotch returned from suspension, despite the fight he knew it would cause with his wife, because "the team" needed him. Then Haley stressed "no, they need Gideon". Fully believe this was all just about Reid (I also kinda low-key believe Haley had an inkling about Hotch's thing for Reid but anyway). Hotch, Reid and Morgan functioned as a team while Gideon was on leave after the bomber case, Morgan didn't even really want Gideon to come back and would not have been that thrown by his absence. Reid however we all know was very emotionally-involved. And it's Reid that Hotch pulls aside to get his head back in the game (and who then gives them a breakthrough in the case shortly after, at Hotch's encouragement). When Gideon had officially left and Hotch addressed the team about it, he mostly directed what he was saying towards Reid, when he said that he couldn't explain why he'd left the way he did, etc. And when Hotch was trying to decide whether he'd take over as section chief after Strauss left, again he was addressing the team but pretty much turned and spoke directly to Reid when he said something along the lines of "if I decide to leave the BAU, you'll be the first to know". He also saw how much it killed Reid to be lied to about Prentiss (and you can see he felt like shit about it during Reid's assessment). This man. Would NOT. Have left Reid without saying goodbye. That's the hill I'm dying on. On top of that, Hotch is always the most emotionally-compromised whenever Reid is in danger, and he knows it (he let Gideon know he was currently a terrible example of "handling things emotionally" while Reid was being held by Hankel, resulting in Gideon's weak reassurance of "We'll get him"; when Reid got on that train with Elle he tried to stop it then immediately went to chat with the sniper; when Reid was in the cult compound he had to hand off negotiations to Rossi; when Reid was protecting Owen Savage; heck he practically yeeted Morgan out of the way when Reid was trying to talk down Maeve's stalker and they heard a gunshot. Etc etc.). And whenever Hotch gets emotionally affected by other things (eg that defence attorney for amnesia/coma guy, or regarding his brother), Reid is the one who can break through that and keep him steady. Reid is VERY IMPORTANT to Hotch and I don't see him hurting Reid in what to him is the worst way someone could do it.

Reid being so chill about Hotch suddenly leaving without saying goodbye. Goes without saying, yeah? But I'll say it. I get that they've been trying to paint him as more emotionally-mature and that he was able to handle Morgan leaving, but it is SO not the same relationship or circumstance and Reid would not have taken Hotch's departure in stride like that. I get that they also wanted the show and its characters to move on as quickly and as apparently unaffected as possible, but it still clearly flies in the face of proper characterisation. Reid is brilliant and back when he was being held by Hankel, I'm sure he could have found any number of ways to communicate with a specific team member at that moment, but he chose Hotch. He knew Hotch would be the only one capable of putting his ego aside at being "picked to die" and to listen properly to the rest of Reid's message. Once he confirmed that his message was correct and that he was in a cemetery, Reid was so sure that Hotch understood his message and would be coming to save him that he let his guard down for the first time. I think he only picked up that gun and shot Hankel with it in the end to just superstitiously make sure that the bullet never did reach Hotch (and to "free" Tobias, or whatever. Either way Hankel wasn't going for the gun or to use Reid as a shield when he turned to face off with the FBI and any of them could have taken him down easily). They've only been getting closer and closer over the years, on-screen and off (Fist-bump anyone? Always standing close together? Plus Reid's been teaching Jack magic tricks and was the one to get him smiling and laughing after Hotch got arrested by SWAT, which you know would make Hotch even more gooey for him). They're 100% an army of 2/hyper-competent power couple (take for instance the way Hotch and Reid were mirrored against Garcia and Kevin when she referred to her own pairing as the President and Vice-President after the bank blew up?) who can probably achieve 90% of the team's success level on their own. That super-serial-killer chick may have talked about Reid losing a "protector" in Morgan, but Hotch has always been the one Reid has come to or looked to. He was pretty distraught about the idea of Hotch leaving to be Section Chief, not that long ago, too. Also, constant super-crush behaviour which I could list but this post is already very long. Reid would not just immediately go "Prentiss is our leader now, this'll be great!". FFS.

Anyway we all know the way they wrote Hotch off was bullshit, hence the suuuper-long monologue to explain everything that's apparently happened off-screen, and yeah he'd totally enter WITSEC without even telling the team (until he decided to resign) when Peter Lewis had already hacked it once and killed the person on it before the team figured out who he was after and got there 🙄. All of it is super implausible. But to me, nothing more so than Reid's poor imitation of shock/surprise and almost total lack of emotional reaction. Him knowing beforehand, because Hotch already said goodbye to him, is the only thing that will ever make me be at peace with this crap from an in-universe POV.

This could all be shot to pieces in the next ep lol, but for now I'm just glad my brain has a way to make sense of it.

[sadaveniren]

Hi Sada! I saw your nasty anon and I thought i’d balance the hate with some love: you’re my favorite blog on Tumblr! I always look to see if you posted and I love reading your thoughts on things! Lots of love xx

🫶🏻 thank you so much!!!! I’m glad to know I entertain the majority of you!! I’m just here for a laugh and to enjoy myself and if other people like it all the better 🥰

[thewritingowl]

One thing I've noticed as I've gotten further into the DPxDC fandom is that people don't believe me anymore when I tell them I don't consume DC media.

Like, I'll be like, "Oh I don't really know much about the DC universe" which is true! Most of my knowledge is from fandom osmosis and various wiki dives I've done for the sake of my own fanfic. Even then, my knowledge tends to be very batman specific because that's the niche that I've found myself just cozying on up into.

But then I'll be talking with one of my irl friends and they'll mention something about batman or one of the robins and I go off about the things I've learned (like according to the batman wiki APPARENTLY Duke might be immortal????? Like what the fuck????) and they'll go, "Wow you know a lot about Batman, huh?"

and I have to sit there being like, none of this knowledge is knowledge I gained legitimately. I was just trying to enjoy some fanfic of my comfort media from when I was a child and suddenly I found a Danny Phantom/Batman crossover fic and now I've written over 100K words for a fandom in which I've never consumed content and whose other half I have not watched since I was a literal child.

My friends are out here being like, "Wow, Eli, you must be a fan of DC!" and like, I can't just TELL them that I only can bring myself to enjoy DC media in this very specific context because the fandom itches a particular area of my brain that has not been scratched in a long time. Like, I'm not MAD that I've ended up in these predicaments, I'm just constantly living in a state of wondering when do I stop denying that I know a lot about Batman and accept that I've become a fan of Batman media in the least legitimate possible way.

IDK if this makes any sense, it's just a thought I had while I was working on my one shot for day 6 of DP/DC Week. Also like, it feels very weird to just throw my thoughts out into the void like this when I've only really interacted with other DP/DC crossover fans via my own fanfics and other ao3 comment sections so like please excuse my general awkwardness as I shout into the void that is tumblr.

[puppyeared]

[ying-doodles]

my brain is running a million miles a minute rn

help

[byanyan]

ㅤbeen thinking today about how byan's anger can be really scary to witness... it's very... raw. anger is the emotion they feel the most intensely, and the one they filter the least. it's raw, it's heated, and it's very instinct-driven — they have very little control over it, and they're certainly not thinking before they do or say anything. impulses are followed, whether it's to lash out and cause harm to whatever has hurt them, or to throw or break whatever is within arm's reach just to release even a little bit of the energy that's overwhelming them. they don't know what else to do with it. literally no thoughts, all that their mind can focus on is the emotion; they just want to get it out and stop feeling this way (and/or ensure the person who's pissed them off gets what they deserve) and they'll do whatever it takes to ensure that. i think that lack of control really shows too, like it's palpable in the air and adds an extra layer of discomfort and uncertainty if you're in the same room as them. concern for one's own safety is valid in such a scenario too tbh, because they have hurt people in the past who they never would have caused harm to normally (both directly and indirectly; sometimes by their own hand, other times as an unintended consequence of them throwing/breaking something). it's not something they're proud of, but they also just... don't know what to do about it. ...they're honestly afraid of their own anger, at times. afraid of what they're capable of and what they might one day do.

[prototypelq]

I have slayed the bastard.

Now, I will make Barioth extermination my crusade. I want my entire house built out of Barioth parts. Ugly horrible rags with head everywhere. Silverware from it's fangs. Bath out of it's back scales. I will hunt every. Single. Damn. Barioth In Existence.

[makerofmadness]

ok I'd been wondering what the israel situation was about and right now what I can gather is "governments are killing people" and Goddamnit not again

[ballroomnotoriety]

hello we set up a camera to watch the cats while away and tonight it showed a bunch of orbs in the kitten room so i googled it and google said it's either dust or fragments of lost souls so i was like hmm let's go with dust and immediately afterwards the camera sent me a Person Alert From The Kitten Room so our house is just haunted i guess.

[ria-the-camel]

one of my angsty imodna posts from may is suddenly getting a bit of notes, we’re going through it on this here wednesday aren’t we gang