#I've been thinking a lot about them lately

[yeetntve]

One time my Mum drove over a kerb and got her car stuck at a hardware store, and three different men just came over to help unprompted. The only thing they said about it was directly related to solving the problem, and in the end all three of them just seamlessly worked together to physically lift the front of the car so my Mum could reverse out. They succeeded, saving us tow truck fees and ensuring the nice afternoon we had planned was able to go on. They asked for nothing and we never saw them again. All it took was my Mum calling them her heroes, and those men were walking on air all the way into the hardware store.

I just think that maybe, just maybe, blaming the pain and suffering caused by our patriarchal system on men's individual nature is uhhhh, some bullshit.

I see the radfems out there saying that every man who's ever been born is a psychopath who's constantly looking for an opportunity to commit a felony and then I remember this one time I was really struggling to get a shopping cart out of another shopping cart and a dude came over to help me, but he couldn't do it, and then another dude came over to help him, and then another came over because it was a challenge he wanted in on, and then I had 3 guys all tearing at a stuck shopping cart, and literally none of them even needed a cart.

And when they got it out, they fist pumped and I said thanks so much and one of them said "easy." And then they left.

And it's like.

I don't think radfems go outside.

[astral-lucy]

your next partner (PAC)

hello beautiful creatures! i'm excited to be back with another pick-a-card reading. i've been feeling romantic lately, so here goes a reading regarding your next partner. hope you enjoy it!

as usual, pick the picture that you feel most connected or drawn towards (pile 1 - up and left / pile 2 - up and right / pile 3 - down and left / pile 4 - down and right)

happy reading!

#pile 1

wheel of fortune - eight of wands - knight of cups - six of swords - seven of coins

when i started to shuffle for this pile’s reading, “so high school” by taylor swift started playing, so maybe that means something to you. although this is a person i think you’ve known for a while, the wheel of fortune here shows a new stage of this relationship, and paired with the eight of wands this shows a period of excitement, passion - the typical honeymoon phase we all go through once we start a relationship. maybe you have been through a rough period emotionally, things haven’t been great for either one of you, and here comes a calmer time, you’ll have someone to rely on that’ll help you with all the love in the world. this relationship seems ideal, but there are a few cards here that advice making an effort to communicate correctly with each other. 

when i asked about the appearance of this person i got freckles! i also see that this person has a baby face or is a pretty childish person, someone with a lot of energy. i feel like they have lighter hair as well.  you can also expect this to happen literally at any moment now! this is something that is already happening and in the works. 

#pile 2

the hanged man - queen of cups - knight of cups - six of coins - nine of cups

“only love” by ben howard started playing when i started writing, and i feel like that’s how this connection feels like! this is someone new in your life, and your day to day will start to feel like this song. with the hanged man opening this reading i feel like this is someone who came in to change your perspective and opinions about love, and even about self love - but this card also tells you to be patient and advises not to rush into new relationships without being sure first, as not everyone will fit you. love is definitely on the horizon, just wait for it to come to you, as someone who is willing to listen to you and that will offer you all the attention you need is on the way. the six of pentacles here is asking you to give without expecting anything back, it advises you to be generous with yourself and the universe will be generous to you as well! a strong connection is coming 

when i asked about this person i got the five of coins, so this is probably someone who has gone through hard times and knows that feeling cared for is important. this is someone who has dark eyes, probably darker skinned as well. 

when i asked for timing, i saw that the winter time may be of significance, but this still may take a while to come to you. 

#pile 3

two of swords - ace of cups - six of coins - queen of swords - five of swords

wow, you may be indecisive regarding a relationship or taking a new step into a relationship, and you may be looking for advice. i think that this relationship has a great potential of being a safe space, somewhere you’ll feel loved and supported. you may be indecisive because you don’t want to lose your independence - but your partner understands how that is important to you and will respect it. there’s an emphasis on the important of communication, as you may have problems due to a lack of it, and what i see here is that you’re struggling to make things official because you’re afraid - talk to them! have the scary conversation. they understand. 

when i asked about appearance i got the emperor, which makes me think this is a person who has a lot of authority. i also think they’re someone with dark eyes but lighter hair. 

timing wise, regarding having a conversation or taking a new step, i’d say something will shift within the next ten days or the next two weeks. 

#pile 4

three of coins - three of wands - six of cups - king of coins - page of wands

i think someone you’ve had a crush on has looked your way! someone you’ve liked for a while is now noticing you in a romantic light, or maybe someone you tried to have a relationship with in the past is back. whoever this person is, they’re not 100% committed to you, they want to be your one and only. you may feel sparks, have a lot of passion and fun with this person, but you need to avoid being clingy or too jealous of this person, reminding you both how everyone needs space. the three of wands is an amazing card here, as it shows you good luck on your romantic choices. 

i think this person takes a great care of their appearance, especially their hair. 

i think this is going to become official in a few month, maybe around pisces season.

hope you enjoyed reading!

[caughtthedarkness93]

Ok, I guess I gotta talk about that one scene in Dragon Age: The Veilguard eventually because I've heard about discourse regarding it and it's driving me up a wall with how some of the criticism ignores key context from the rest of the story that informs how it's written. Spoilers for Taash's storyline follow below the cut.

So I mainly have seen this referenced on TV Tropes because I am not on the hellscape that is Twitter, but people, it seems, have been criticizing the scene where Taash comes out as nonbinary to their mom for how they get pissed at how their mom takes it. Often this is used to frame Taash as being unreasonable as their mom is struggling to understand what that means.

And I feel like that criticism kind of misses a big part of what that scene is actually about. Because Taash's relationship with their mom is complicated. This is something that their storyline stresses repeatedly. Taash has fond memories of growing up with their mom and knows that she basically gave up her whole culture to ensure that Taash wouldn't be forced into a soldier's life. It's clear that their mom is still very attached to Qunari culture and she outright expresses a couple times that she feels like being a Qunari scholar equipped her extremely poorly to actually raise a child. That checks out - under the Qun, that would be someone else's job entirely.

So this informs a lot of Taash's relationship with her - Taash recognizes that she gave up a very privileged position with the Qunari for their sake. Because she wanted a better life for them than what they'd get there. That's a huge sacrifice.

However, you watch how they interact, you can see that Taash's mom is also very critical of them and very controlling. She doesn't care much for Taash's privacy, tries to make a lot of their decisions for them without putting a lot of thought into what they actually want, and she is extremely critical of them sometimes about things that don't really matter.

So we get to that scene late in their storyline - the Lighthouse dinner. I think the critical mistake a lot of people make when looking at this scene is thinking that it's about how she reacts to Taash's gender identity.

Which that informs it, sure, but there's more to it. When Taash yells that nothing they do is good enough for their mom, it's not a reaction to how she responds to their identity, it's a reaction to the way their whole relationship has been built up throughout the game. It's the straw that broke the camel's back. And it's true to Taash's character.

One of the things that I like about Taash is that they're someone who likes a straightforward, direct solution to most problems. Thing in your way? Break it. Big scary monster? Kill it. They like to be able to take the most simple, direct path through a problem, preferably one that involves slaying a big monster, and Veilguard constantly puts them in situations where that isn't an option. And in those situations, they struggle a lot. Taash struggles to get along with Emmerich because that involves overcoming internalized prejudices (and understandable ones too - necromancy is something that would probably make a lot of people uncomfortable irl and for a culture where cremation is the norm and undead can be a legit issue, that would go, like, quadruple - of course they're uncomfortable with Emmerich). That's not an easy thing to do because it involves a lot of introspection and interrupting thoughts that you've been trained to think. Taash questions their gender identity. Definitely no easy, straightforward way to solve that. They angst a lot over being afraid they're broken somehow for feeling these things. A fraught, complicated relationship with a parent who sacrificed everything so that you would have a better life, but can't seem to bring herself to let you actually live it the way you want? Can't hit that with an axe.

And ultimately, that's what's happening in this scene - the whole game, we've seen Taash struggle with this really complex, nuanced relationship, this mother who clearly loves them and wants the best life possible for them, but struggles to understand what their child really needs and often says or does things that are hurtful. In this scene, this bubbling, brewing resentment, definitely exacerbated by Taash being outside their mom's orbit and with a team that has more faith in their skills and abilities, finally comes to a head.

The scene is only about Taash's identity on the most surface of levels. Yeah, that's what sparks the argument, but it's not what the argument is about.

[megismyname]

I've been curious why you haven't been doing your 'lives' lately, and really kinda wanting them. The few that you had, brought me a sense of comfort. But tonight, I ventured onto another person's live, and saw that they were having to constantly dodge comments from trolls.

I don't know if everyone feels this way, but I feel we are in a good place right now. We have been given beautiful, chess playing, crumbs recently from Nicola and her 'Team'. Even with the minor setbacks, everything is still good.

So just want to say that I get why you haven't been doing your lives, is because you don't want to let the negative spoil the positive message we've been given.

Hi there!

Short answer: I've been having a phase of being "over" Tiktok.

Longer answer: I am not a person who holds their tongue very well. I speak my mind and I tell people what I think about them when they are in the wrong. There are quite a few "larger" creators in this fandom who were taking it upon themselves to "educate" the fandom and become the moral police. Now to be fair, I am now blocked by most of them so my life is pretty blissful but it doesn't mean their toxic ramifications do not trickle down.

I find it very important to let you know that I am not afraid of trolls or toxic people and I will not cower to them. These are insecure people on the internet who are typically hiding behind the face of a celebrity - around here that's usually Nic - and that empowers them to speak the way they do. I guarantee if you met them on the street, they wouldn't say 75% of the stuff to your face.

Now I also need to say that I needed a break from TT lives because the fandom was exhausting me. This is not aimed at you Anon as I don't even know who you are. I am not a spiral-er because frankly there is nothing to spiral about. In the end, none of this affects my life personally. And as for those background characters, I don't give two craps about them. But there are a lot of you out there who just can't stop yourselves and my inbox was OVERFLOWING with people who needed their hands held and reassurance. After multiple N&J sightings in October, I just couldn't do it anymore. It is not my job to hold everyone's hand through this or tell you what to think and feel and I'm sorry if that offends anyone. We are all adults and we all need to find a way to manage our emotions and if you're going to break down over every little thing then you might need to step back and take a break.

That being said, I do plan on doing a live again one day soon as I know there are alot people who just want to be on there and laugh at silly shit and I'm always down for that. I just needed the fandom to break through a lot of this bullshit first.

[noperopesaredope]

I recently watched a video talking about what your favorite Mouthwashing ship says about you (spoilers: most of them are bad), and one thing I explained in the comments that I think is important to explain to certain people (in general with a lot of fandoms, tbh) is that a lot of shippers in the fandom understand that these relationships would not be good and are in fact deeply unhealthy, but perhaps that's the point.

Like, most of the Jambone x Curly shippers I've seen don't like the ship because it's cute or good, but because it's narratively interesting and would be extremely compelling to see. I honestly get it even if I'm not super interested in it. Jildo and Curly already have an extremely interesting and unhealthy relationship dynamic. It is heavily implied that JarJar acts very emotionally abusive towards Curly, belittling and manipulating him frequently and likely damaging his confidence and ability to stand up to people. But he is also obsessed with Curly in a very fascinating way.

Meanwhile, Curly has not only been friends with Jimbo for a long time, but has a fatal flaw of being too loyal and passive for his own good. As many have said, Curly is like a golden retriever in both a good and bad way.

Curly is Jackass' victim and enabler at the same time, which is why he is one of my favorite characters in the game. You both feel bad for him but also understand that he really fucked up and a lot of stuff is his fault. His most endearing traits are also some of his worst traits. Again, the golden retriever comparison is very accurate. He is friendly and loyal and believes the best in everyone (and very cute), but that loyalty and belief in everyone are also his fatal flaws.

He enables Jello because he thinks that there is good in him, and like a dog, he sees no wrong with most people no matter what they do (until it's far too late). I can't remember the fic I saw this in, but one good line I saw once was something along the lines of: "You believe in people and see nothing wrong with them no matter what until they abandon you at the park in the middle of the night." Curly sees no wrong in his friend because that's the type of person he is, and while it can be cute, it's also dangerous.

It can also often be detrimental to himself, as we see Juice be cruel to him as well, yet Curly excuses it as just Jizz being Jizz. He doesn't see anything wrong with the way he is treated, making him become desensitized to Jive's behavior and seeing it as not a big deal.

I think Curly's status as both victim and enabler would be interesting under the context of an abusive romantic relationship. There is an even greater power imbalance present, and Jojo may do a lot worse things as a result and be a lot more controlling and manipulative. He could be more physically and verbally abusive, make more threats, and even be sexually abusive (since he is canonically a rapist already, and hates Curly more than he hates Anya, thus he would probably put more aggressive hate into it). The whole relationship would be horrible and disturbing, but also interesting to see.

I love fics exploring their unhealthy friendship, so seeing it as an unhealthy romantic relationship could be even crazier to see.

~~~~~~

There's also the nuances of Anya x Curly. Most people ship it specifically in the context of AUs where Curly actually stands up for Anya and helps her out. Their dynamic as characters could be really cute, especially if he puts in the work to protect her.

I personally find the potential of post-crash Anya x Curly to be interesting as hell. I generally find their non-romantic dynamic post-crash to be interesting enough on its own, but I also think it could be absolutely crazy if they developed romantic feelings because those feelings would develop from some really unhealthy places for the most part.

I see Anya as someone who still holds some resentment towards Curly, but also sees herself in him and feels he doesn't deserve what happened to him. Maybe at one point seeing him go through something similar to what she went through might feel a little cathartic, but anything after that is too much to her. She is also his primary caretaker and a nurse, so she feels responsible for his wellbeing and wants to take care of him. She also seems to read and talk to him a lot, which probably feels nice because she can have some company while also being safe because Curly is not in a position to be able to hurt her. Anya doesn't exactly develop proper feelings for him per say, but she still uses him as a bit of an emotional crutch of sorts and becomes very attached to him because of it.

Meanwhile, Curly feels deeply guilty for not helping Anya and feels she deserves better. He believes she has no reason to care for him, but chooses to anyway, and thus he is extremely grateful towards her, possibly idolizing her to a certain degree. He slowly develops his own weird feelings, seeing himself as unworthy of her kindness and wanting the best for her, while also being dependent on her, even if it's in a more direct way.

They never get together or even realize that they themselves have feelings for each other since those feelings are #messy, but do form a weird codependent relationship of sorts. I've seen some cool fanart of Anya hugging/holding onto post-crash Curly, and it made me think about the potential this whole dynamic has and how unhealthy it could be, both for Anya and Curly. I believe they would not work out or be healthy (though probably better than Jazzy x Curly), but could be interesting narratively.

~~~~~~

Basically, what I'm trying to explain is that a lot of people don't ship certain Mouthwashing ships because they think it's good or want to romanticize it, but because it is narratively compelling and can explore complex dynamics more.

[justtonto]

I've been thinking about them a lot lately

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Hi! If you feel inspired, maybe “Why can’t I say ‘no’ to you?” with hangman, Bruce Wayne, or Josh Lyman please? I just love the way you write them! No pressure :)

“I’m weak for you.” Prompts

Sure thing, nonnie! This screamed Josh to me :D

You're not blind to the speculative look Donna casts you as you head for Josh's door. You can't blame her—this is the fifth time a week that she's seen you there. You give her a small wave before you knock on Josh's closed door.

"Yeah," You hear.

You opened your door, poking your head in and smiling.

"Pssst."

You see his head shift just a touch, but his focus remains on the stack of papers on his desk.

"Pssst!" You hiss again.

"Would you—!" He looks up, and you can't help but smile at his incensed frown. "Just come in, it's not like people can't see you standing in the doorway."

"Take a walk with me."

"I'm busy."

"You're always busy. C'mon, it'll clear your head. Un-grump you a little bit."

Josh doesn't move for a moment before he pushes away from his desk. You can't help your smug smile as he presses past you on the way out the door, a hollow insistence of, "I'm not grumpy," dropping from his lips. You follow with a smile, half-jogging to catch up with him.

"Got a real fire lit under your ass today, Lyman."

"Whaddayou want."

"Are you up against a deadline that I don't know about?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You're drawing this out, you're taking this all out of order."

"There's an order?" You laugh.

"Yes, there's an order," Josh insists as the two of you turn into the hall. "You come in, say, Josh, I need a favor. I tell you that I can't do you a favor right now, I'm full up, I'm slammed. Then you bat your pretty eyelashes at me—"

"You think my eyelashes are pretty?"

"—And I crumble because I'm your favorite sucker—"

"You're nobody's sucker, Josh, least of all mine—"

"And then you get whatever you want because I can't say no to you! God, why can’t I say ‘no’ to you?”

Your steps slow and stop as Josh's tone rises, his hands combing through his hair, your mouth dropping open in surprise as he paces away. He seems to come his senses a few moments later, sighing heavily as he turns back. White House staffers flow around you, Josh's impromptu outburst hardly interrupting their traffic. You curl your arms around yourself as you finally manage to close your mouth, and clear your throat.

"I was just um...I was gonna buy you a coffee," You admit softly. "I know I've been asking a lot of you lately, so, um."

You can see Josh nodding in your periphery.

"...Josh, I'm gonna ask you for one more favor, and then I'm gonna leave you alone."

"Okay."

"And you don't have to do this—"

"Right."

"Take me out on Friday."

"I—What?"

You bite your lip, hesitantly raising your eyes to Josh. His irritation has melted to a sweet, gobsmacked look, lips parted in surprise, brows arching toward his hairline.

"Take me out on Friday," You repeat, taking a step closer to him.

"Why would you want me to do that?"

"Because I like you....And you can't say no to me, apparently. Are you gonna start now?"

Josh's eyes search yours for a few moments before he gives his head a small shake.

"No. I mean," His eyes squeeze shut with a wince, "Not no—"

"Uh-huh," You smile.

"I mean that I'm not going to start saying—"

"I know."

"Okay."

"Friday?"

"Yeah."

You nod slowly, stepping around Josh. "Coffee still sound good to you?"

"Yeah," Josh turns to join you, falling into quiet, steady step.

"...You know you can say no to me. If you want. Just because I ask—"

"Yeah, technically, yeah."

"Not technically. I think if you really put your mind to it, you could manage."

"Sure."

"...You really think my eyelashes are pretty?" You cast him a sly, sidelong smile, grinning as a flush creeps into his cheeks.

"Think some other things are pretty, too," He admits in a mumble.

"Really? Like what?"

"I'll tell you on Friday."

Tag list: @nominalnebula @massivecolorspygiant @winchestershiresauce @kmc1989

@thembosapphicclown @lorecraft @brandyllyn @missredherring @amneris21

[dark-overlord-of-rainbows]

Mostly memes because what's a fandom without them 1: Drawn Nov 13 2024. "You're telling me a shrimp friend this rice" & "Apartment complex? I find it quite simple" 2: Drawn Nov 16 2024. "it is pride month, walter. you know what that means" literally just hastily edited this one before posting because Ididn't want to put too much more effort in this silly meme but I drew the directors body really badly idk why. 3: Drawn Nov 15 2024. "The smart kid, not understanding how he's losing to me/me, who's been eating his pieces when he's not looking" + I attempted a tiger cub and housecat saber. I'm not that good at drawing animals but I thought it'd be interesting to attempt comparing their proportions I think I've been preemptively "apologizing" about my art a lot again lately, I do mostly like my art now! but y'know how it is. I'm not gonna rewrite this Nomads is by @captain-juuter

[canonicallyobserving911]

My theory about "Brad" for episode 8x8

In a recent post (linked here), I indicated I would reveal "My Theory" regarding the reason why I believe the character "Brad Torrence" is still around this late in season 8 and here it is.

Full disclosure: Initially, I didn't have a problem with Brad because Bobby was working as the tech advisor for the TV show "Hotshots" and I thought he was interesting. Also, after 8x1, I posted that I hoped him and Bobby could be friends since Bobby hasn't had anyone to hang out with outside of the 118 since Michael left in season 5. But my opinion of him has changed because he should be gone and I thought he would be once Bobby went back to the 118 in 8x4. He's still there taking up screentime from the mains and I don't like it 🙄. Even though I'll be glad when he's gone, I've still provided a fair and balanced assessment of his character.

On Friday, I posted my review of episode 8x7 "Hotshots" (linked here) and earlier this week I posted about my expectations for 8x8 "Wannabes". After rewatching 8x7, I noticed a common theme between Bobby's and Athena's storylines and it was centered around preparation for their retirements with Bobby dealing with Brad, a fake firefighter and Athena working with Sparks, a rookie police officer.

Before I delve into this, I need to make something crystal clear! These are my interpretations and observations regarding what could happen in episode 8x8 and even though it's possible some might not agree, it's ok if they don't because two differences of opinion can coexist. I'm basing my analysis off things that happened in episodes 1, 2, 3, 4 and 7 along with the stills that were released for episode 8.

Let's get started.

At the beginning of season 7, I did a post about the way the show was setting everything up for Bobby and Athena to begin their retirement arcs (linked here) but something happened (probably during the three-week hiatus between 7x5 and 7x6) that changed their storylines. When season 8 started, they were and still are living in an apartment, they're looking for a home and once again, Athena was in peril during the opening disaster. At the time it seemed like neither of them would be slowing down but the "cracks" in their communication were shown again and they've been present throughout their marriage (especially in season 4 when they argued about not talking to one another and it was about their retirement). They don't talk about the important things and it was even more evident in 8x7 when Athena told Hen that she told Bobby she didn't want to walk around with a cane. IMO, they're setting up their retirement arcs again but this time they're inserting others (guest stars) to assist with the development (which is unnecessary to me especially since the main cast is large enough which means they could utilize the people who are already there. I mean HELLO Buck's right there but I digress).

After rewatching 8x7, the common theme I found between Bobby and Brad and Athena and Sparks was that both Brad and Sparks were inexperienced, hot heads who wanted power and they were aiming to use firefighting and police work to get it. Brad is an actor playing the role of a fire captain on a hit TV show that contributes to the LAFD while Sparks was a rookie cop (who Athena kept addressing as a "probie" instead of a "rookie" and I think that was done on purpose for Brad's storyline). Brad and Sparks were/are impressed with Bobby's and Athena's work and they admire them.

Athena - Sparks did his homework and learned everything he could about her including the number of arrests she'd made and her commendations along with all of her other accolades.

Bobby - Brad told Bobby to his face in 8x1 that he was going to study him and in 8x2, he suggested Bobby do a bootcamp in the mountains or at his home in Malibu with him and his friends so he could learn how to be a fire captain.

Sparks and Brad have a lot of similarities; however the major difference is Sparks is young and he doesn't have a LOT OF LIFE EXPERIENCE (Sound familiar? It should since that's what Bobby told Buck in 6x1 when Buck wanted to be interim captain). Even though Brad is older, he's an asshat and he's also a reckless manchild (Bobby's description of him in 8x7) who will likely get someone hurt and he seems like a womanizer (Sound familiar? It should since that's how Buck USED to be when he first started at the 118.) He's been married 5 times and in the stills; it seems like he's flirting with a woman during that water rescue call.

These two guest characters have a lot of similarities with 25-year-old probie Buck and I believe that was done on purpose. During one of OS's Entertainment Weekly Q and A responses, someone asked, "In 9-1-1 s8 was Brad the British actor a reference to you being a British actor" and he answered, "Yes! Well, not like based on anything but I think he is an "homage" to me." The word "Homage" means "to show respect or honor to someone or something." Therefore, I believe my theory has merit since Callum Blue the actor who plays Brad Torrence is supposed to be an "Homage" to OS.

I've included a quick video below of Brad's interactions for two reasons, one, I didn't feel like making the GIFs for them and two, I think when the things a person says can be heard as opposed to reading them, it provides more context.

It's evident that Brad is mesmerized by Bobby's and Buck's father/son relationship and before 8x7 aired, I completed a post that included the way Brad wants to be like Buck and how IMPRESSED he was by Buck's and Bobby's heroics during the opening airplane disaster (linked here).

At the end of 8x8, Brad said he talked to the chief and had the show put his character in a coma so that he could "job shadow" Bobby but in the stills for the episode, he's wearing full turnout gear with a name on the back. I found this to be problematic for two reasons. First, Brad is NOT a firefighter, therefore he shouldn't be wearing any 118 or firefighter gear period. Second, the turnout coat he's wearing has a name on the back of it. Now, it's unclear if he borrowed it or if it's his but the last name is "Boothe" and since his actor name is "Brad Torrence" it made me wonder if that's his real last name.

FTR, job shadowing means a person is supposed to observe someone while they're doing their job. It doesn't mean "participating" and they shouldn't be dressed to look like they're part of the team but Brad is and it's going to be a cluster f~ck.

Why is this a problem?

It's a problem for him to be wearing turnout gear because he should be standing off to the side without getting involved. Bobby's captain of the 118 which means Brad should have a notepad and an ink pen instead of standing next to him. Since he's wearing 118 gear, someone will easily mistake him for being a real firefighter and reminder, in 8x3, he lied to the soccer player and claimed he was one even though he isn't.

Also, during the Metro Dispatch fire in 5x16, Eddie was still a firefighter but he wasn't with the 118 and when Bobby told him to grab some turnouts, THERE WASN'T A NAME ON THE BACK OF THE JACKET.

Therefore, how is it that Brad "an actor who plays a fire captain" is wearing full turnout gear with a name on the back when he hasn't even gone through the academy to become a real firefighter?

In the above BTS stills, it seems like Brad's flirting with a victim and the statement about not dating someone they meet on a call has been spoken numerous times since Eddie said it in 6x15. Since Brad's not a firefighter, he doesn't know that and he appears to be fascinated with the attention he's getting from the people who recognize him. Therefore, it seems like he's going to hookup with someone from a call and it's likely to cause problems with the team and the LAFD.

While I was making GIFs and the video for this post, I noticed something from episode 8x3 that I didn't see before. After Athena landed the airplane and the emergency escape slide inflated, the spotlight was on Brad for about 3 seconds and he was standing there all alone. Then the camera showed Buck and Brad standing next to each other and I don't believe that was a coincidence.

Here's my theory... I believe Brad is there so that he can become a "Probie" and Bobby will be the one who has to make a decision at the end of the episode about if he wants him to be part of the 118. The interviews all indicate that Brad will be there, he's going to cause chaos and he's supposed to have a conversation with Eddie that will be life changing and I think it'll revolve around Brad asking Eddie what made him want to become a firefighter. TM (showrunner) said in an interview that their conversation will revolve around something that has to do with being an "All American" (I couldn't find the quote but I remember reading it) and based on Brad's propensity to want to be like Buck and that he does in fact have "daddy issues", it appears he wants to work with Bobby so that he can aspire to be like him. This guy has to be at least 45 years old or older so his daddy issues should be resolved but that's my opinion.

Brad wants to be like Buck so he can become a firefighter and like I said in a previous post, he was impressed by Buck's and Bobby's dynamic. Everyone knows Bobby is Buck's found dad and they've been working together for so long that Bobby didn't have to tell Buck what he needed while they were preparing to shutdown the I-110. Brad watched all of it and he called Buck, "Bobby's boy."

I don't know how long Brad will be around but based on everything that's happened so far, it seems like he could be part of the 118 at least until the end of 8B the same way Jonah was there until the end of 5B and he didn't leave until the real reason he was there had been revealed.

Do I think Brad is dangerous? No, I don't believe he is... at least not in the sense of him trying to capture someone and hurt them so he can be captain of the 118 or anything. But I do believe his reckless behavior is going to get someone hurt or they'll experience an NDE because of his actions and those someone's will likely be Buck or Eddie and/or Buddie.

All of this seems like a huge setup for the second half of the season.

These are more Bathena and Buddie parallels (related posts linked here and here) and I believe it's being done this way for a reason. IMO, it's still too early to tell if these things have anything to do with the 9-1-1 spinoff that's supposed to start filming in March but I'm not ruling it out. Since TM and RM (creators) like well-known stars with top billing name power (hence AB, PK and RL from LS) I'm not sure if Callum Blue fits that description to carry an entire series on his own but only time will tell.

The point of this post is to highlight the reason why I believe Brad is still around and it's so he can become part of the 118. That way Bobby will have someone to lead, teach and train since the core four (Chimney, Hen, Buck and Eddie) have been working with him for so long that they know what he expects. Even though Gerrard was a complete and utter terror while he was there (mainly towards Buck), when he got injured, they carried on with Hen as interim captain. It kind of seems like Bobby needs someone to lead who doesn't know anything and this is more about him than it is about Brad. At the end of season 7, Bobby left and he didn't tell his team that he was planning to retire. Now that he's back, it appears that he's realizing they can and did function without him and it's making him understand his role as captain could be coming to an end the same way Athena pulling her hamstring is making her realize her own mortality as a LAPD police officer.

It'll be interesting to see how this will play out but Brad being around at this late date is NOT a coincidence and I think Bobby will have to decide if he wants to hire Brad as a probie after Brad reveals he wants to change careers.

Just saying.

[mr-mercutio]

So here's something that I have learned about patriarchy I want to share: patriarchy is designed to benefit PATRIARCHS. Being the male "head of the family." It's about power and status and hierarchy. To be a patriarch you have to be in charge of others - generally your family. That includes other men! There's no real way to actually escape this, but the closest thing to escaping it for men is to become patriarchs themselves.

My dad was raised in a very strict and traditional catholic household. My opa (his dad) was very much The Head of the Family - even more so because he immigrated to Canada and his father wasn't around, so there was no one above him. He expected obedience from his wife and children, including his two sons, and that was just The Way of Things.

My dad suffered under this quite a lot. And he did the big hippie thing of vowing not to be like his dad - and to his credit, he did try in many ways not to repeat the same mistakes his dad did when being my dad. But the problem is that he still bought into the system of patriarchy. And the only real way to have power in that system is to be a patriarch. So that's what he became. He got a wife and had kids and expected them to defer to him the way he had to defer to his dad. He expected the cycle to continue, but now in his favour.

Problem was that no one else in my immediate family was fine with that. My mom eventually checked out of that. I cut my dad out of my life about 8 years ago. My sisters barely speak to him. We said no, you don't get to control us like that just because you're The Man of the House. You don't get to dictate our lives to us, to tell us how to behave and what's allowed and what isn't, especially as adults. It was chafing enough as kids, but as an adult he still had this expectation that we'd all still defer to him. He would always be right the same was his dad was always right.

And that worldview of his extended to everything outside the family as well - that's why he buys into men's rights nonsense and is anti-choice and thinks the world is too woke. Because he sees that people aren't willing to just prop up the system, and it means he doesn't get the power from it that he was promised. When he was young, it was clear that if he just held out and did what he was told, he would one day be King. And now he doesn't have that and hates it.

I've cut him out of my life because it's been too difficult to stay connected to him. He's hurt me too much and I can't be okay with him anymore. But I'm SAD for him because he's been screwed over by this system just as much as most people I know. Not in the same ways, but still very palpably. But he'll never acknowledge that the problem is the system and not everyone who refuses to follow it. For him, everyone who says no to patriarchy is just wrong and a traitor to how people should live, and he refuses to see that he doesn't benefit from this system because it's a BAD system. It crushed him and remolded him into something to prop itself up, and that's heartbreaking.

The people who support patriarchy are rarely the ones who are actually truly benefiting from it. Yes, men definitely get privilege from the system because it's designed to put men over everyone else. But very few men in the system actually manage to escape the hierarchy of the other men over top of them who make their lives miserable.

If you can, be kind and try to understand and help. It's too late for me and my dad - there's too much bad blood there now and I tried to help for too long without success. I still hope for his sake that he finds a better way to be happy. But there are lots of men out there who would blossom and thrive if they could let go of the idea that patriarchy is going to make them king - and there are more chances than ever that they CAN understand that. Try to give them that chance.

I want there to be fewer MRAs. Do you want that too? Do you want to know what helps us get there, from a feminist perspective?

You may not like my answer: acknowledge that sexism can affect men. Recognize that, although the patriarchy generally privileges men, they are also subject to restrictive gender roles that are harmful to them (shunning all things “feminine,” not showing emotions, being protectors/strong, never admitting being victims of SA/IPV, having to “earn” their manhood, etc.).

Give young men a place other than the right-wing manosphere to be heard about the issues they experience. If these grifters are telling them “only we understand how hard it is to be a man, the left hates you for your gender” and they look to the left and see “men claiming they have ‘problems’ are losers who just hate women, all men are trash,” do you think they’re going to be drawn towards or away from feminism?

Before you leave an angry response: no, this does not mean to center men instead of women in feminism, it just means including them at all. No, it is not “coddling” men to treat them with human dignity, you can and should continue to hold them (and every other gender) responsible for unpacking sexist beliefs. No, this does not mean it is every individual woman’s and feminist’s responsibility to prioritize men’s issues, it just means at the least not shutting them down when they do speak up about sexism. No, it is not “not all men-ing” to point out that “men are trash” sentiments hurt the feminist movement rather than helping it. Ask questions before you make accusations on this post, please. I have been abused by men too, I get it, this isn’t easy to hear.

[electricea]

on being 30.

my birthday is this weekend and i don't really know how much free time i'll have to spend on here, so i did want to poke on here and at least say something - thank you for another year together, whether we've just met or have known each other for ages, i genuinely appreciate being able to spend another year on this website with so many great folks, sincerely - i appreciate every dm, every image, it doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.

i've sort of touched on before on how 2024 has been a sort of a slump for a year for me - i've always sort of battled with self doubt and self loathing and just for some reason this year, it seems to just keep coming back and i hate that i actually doubt and question myself - if there's still a place for me here and when i get in my own head like this i really isolate myself and try to just deal with it in private because i don't like being a downer so if you have noticed me not exactly being the most responsive or talkative lately, that’s why - i’m not angry with anyone, i’m not trying to be cold with anyone - going back into my shell is just what I do and how I cope, it always has been, i don't even like writing this. and to make this clear, this is a me problem - not an anyone else problem, period - this isn't a vague or to point fingers, the issue is with me.

i think what sort of prompted this was seeing a lot of people open up about their own feelings and insecurities and I get the sense that 2024 hasn’t exactly been a great year for a lot of people either and my mindset has always been so long as it's not being passive aggressive or directing the blame at others, i honestly think it's good to have an outlet to just say how you're feeling once in a while - how else will people know what you're struggling with? of course what they choose to divulge is up to them and no one has to divulge if they don't want to, we're all just here for rp and for fun but i think sort of seeing others also struggling with having a crappy year and seeming to be in similar slumps was what really prompted me to write this. i hope it's just down to 2024 being a cursed year or something, lol.

like i said, i do genuinely appreciate all of you - i think more than anything else, more than rp or writing, the people are what keeps me coming back to tumblr - getting to write with and meet so many different writers from across the world (and possibly even talk with some of them and hang out with them??) is honestly a privilege and honour and even if i may not respond right away, please just know i appreciate every interaction, every message, every person. thank you all for being a part of my tumblr experience for another year and for already getting this birthday off to a lovely start. take care of yourselves.

[mac-ann-cheese]

Again with fur coats

I'm sorry for irregular posting, I've been snowed under with my uni work lately ( Ó⁠╭⁠╮⁠Ò )

Nevertheless I'm always grateful for your support!!!!! ( ⁠＾⁠ω⁠＾)

Under the cut lots of thoughts on current manga arc (I've got no one to talk about it,...)

I like to imagine that in gangsta au they still use flip phones. But it got me thinking about how that universe works,... Are there any transnational corporations? Is history in general the same just with criminal elements?? Like there should be some sort of grand gang bang I and II if the United Districts organization exists (the analogy to the UN, of course). And the Big five is just the security council.

Moreover, in the same strip, the fall of the USSR is brought up as the permanent members of UD discuss whatever they should keep or kick out newly formed Russia (or district 7. It's cute that they call each other after the first number of the nation's phone code. One thing bothers me with this fact. What were the districts called before the invention of telephones? Countries received permanent telephone codes only in the mid-20th century. Or in terms of au the actual number of the district isn't connected with phones and just a number?? Another bit of useless info: Kazakhstan also uses +7; will they be [I doubt that they would make an appearance in au, but let me DREAM!!!] also a part of the whole district 7 like NA bros with district 1???). Buttttt I was talking from the perspective of our history being pulled over on the lore of gangstatalia, cause we don't have those events described in canon, which IS interesting!!!!!

Also, the sputnik was mentioned, which means the whole cold war (or at least the space race period) had happened... Um. Do districts own nuclear weapons? It's just a theory. a MANGA theory!

Considering in that the characters aren't probably immortal anymore (well, I can make that conclusion only from the panel with young Alfred literally saying, "oh so you're the representative of the 86th district? I'm the new representative of the 1!", it means... that there was someone before him ruling the district.............), the timeline of parallel events shortens.

Therefore, the events are closely packed together; there aren't gaps of decades between them, but more likely a couple of years.

How does this world work? Judging from the map, the districts are on a Pangaea-like continent. Or are they districts of some bigger country...?

Is there a ruler over all districts? Who is it then? Flying mint bunny? Tony? GRANPA RO-

Was there always the gangster's paradise in the regions, or was the government more authoritarian before??????? WHY IS CRIME THE NORM? Why did they decide to regulate everything with the help of playing cards?

And lastly. The electric collars. How? How did the idea even cross Alfred's mind? If I'm not mistaken he is, well, not the creater, but the person who suggested wearing them. "Let's fry our brains to crispy nuggets!!!" Haha. Fun.

And others in the big five agreed to it. Like that isn't totally bucknutty. Not at all. Electric chairs would be much better...

Oof my head hurts just thinking of it

Maybe I'm not the first one to ask these kinds of questions, but still. I need answers.

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 9 - Sectionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 12.4k

Warnings: Tense atmosphere, explosion, anxiety and uncertainty, protective behavior, law enforcement taking charge, mentions of potential danger, team coordination, emotional reassurance, crisis response.

A/N: I've been so busy lately that this chapter took way longer than expected, but here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

Masterlist

The drive to the arena was tense, the silence between you and the rest of the team hung heavy in the air. None of you dared to break it, knowing any conversation would inevitably turn to strategizing — and a discussion that could mean the difference between life and death for you. The silence was only broken by the steady hum of the SUV’s engine as Hotch drove closer and closer to the arena.

The city blurred past in a haze of neon signs and glowing streetlights, muted by the darkness of the tinted windows as the sun started rising out in the distance. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, while Hotch remained focused on the road. His grip on the steering wheel was tight. It occasionally became tighter, you noticed his knuckles whitening, his expression was unreadable, but the faint crease in his brow betrayed the weight of his thoughts — you wondered what exactly he was thinking about, although you could probably imagine what it was.

Behind you, the team followed in two other SUVs, their presence both reassuring and unnerving. You couldn't see them, but you could almost feel their concern for you and their focus on the job at hand. Because that was what it was to them — a job. Despite how close you'd grown to the team, situations like this would always just feel like a job to them, while to you it could mean the end.

As the arena came into view, its massive structure rose against the skyline, the glowing display flashing the name of the event. You could sense the crowds of people flowing through the open entrance, their excited chatter muffled by the glass of the SUV. Competitors lugged their gear, some laughing, others stone-faced, and some with pre-competition nerves, while spectators bundled in scarves and coats hurried inside, eager to escape the cold outdoors.

Your chest tightened as your gaze lingered on the doors.

Hotch glanced over at you briefly. His steady presence had been a constant since the case began. He didn’t need to say much to steady you; his composed and authoritative demeanor spoke volumes. “We’re almost there,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence and the jumble of thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the road as Hotch turned to enter the parking lot at the back of the arena, meant for staff only. You drew in a deep breath. The moment settled heavily on your chest, but you found enough strength to murmur, “Thank you, Hotch. For… everything. I know I haven’t made it easy at times.” The words felt awkward as they left your lips, catching slightly in your throat, but they were true.

“Don't worry about it," He put a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it again. "You’ve been handling more than most people could,” he replied, his voice was low. His eyes flicked toward you again, and this time, a small, reassuring smile softened his features. “You’re stronger than you realize. I’ve seen it, and I know you’re going to get through this.”  

Those words lingered in your mind, they were reassuring to you as the SUVs pulled into the designated area that had been blocked off by the arena’s back entrance. Staff waved the vehicles into position, their movements efficient and practiced — they had clearly been trained to do so, you thought. The low rumble of the engines faded as Hotch shifted into park and shut the car off. You opened the door, and the moment you stepped out, a burst of crisp air greeted you — it was nice. 

You adjusted your jacket, the motion almost instinctive, and drew in a steadying breath, letting the cold air settle your nerves. Behind you, the car door shut with a solid thud as Hotch stepped out as well. Straightening your posture, you turned to face the scene ahead. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement as the rest of the team approached from the second SUV. They closed the distance quickly, their expressions reflecting a shared determination to do whatever it'll take to keep you — and to some extent the other skaters — safe and hopefully catch the unsub if he decides to show up.

“You ready to show everyone what you’re made of?” JJ asked, her voice was gentle. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. 

You met her gaze and forced a small smile, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest but not breaking you — not like it would've without them. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, your voice was steady, even though your heart raced. 

They didn’t press for more. Their quiet support spoke volumes. You felt the strength of their presence in the air.

Hotch stepped closer, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. His grip was brief but firm, and before he let go, his words followed in its wake. “We’ll be here the whole time,” he said. “If you need anything, just let us know.”

With a deep breath, you nodded, hiking your gear bag up on your shoulder to get a better grip — Morgan had offered to carry it, but you declined, wanting to feel the weight of your stuff. The moment was still heavy but it felt more manageable. Together, you walked toward the arena’s entrance, the team moving seamlessly as a shield around you. The sound of your footsteps mixed with the distant hum of voices.

The crowd inside was thick, a mix of families, coaches, and fellow skaters, each group immersed in their own world of preparation and excitement. The backstage area was alive with chatter, the buzz of anticipation rising, and you could feel the collective energy as people moved around, some barely noticing the presence of the FBI agents at your side. But others — more curious — turned their heads, whispering amongst themselves, eyes briefly falling on you and the imposing figures accompanying you.

The whispers felt distant, and detached, almost as if they were happening to someone else. You tried to focus on the competition at hand, but despite the support surrounding you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly alone in the face of it all, especially with Branson missing — he was supposed to be here.

The familiar scent of the ice and the competition hit you the moment you walked past an open door into the rink — a mix of cold air, buttery popcorn, and the faint, metallic scent of blades. It was a smell that carried memories, memories of countless hours spent on the rink at home, memories of minor competitions that held no weight now, of dreams that had once seemed without reach — but now were closer than ever before. For a brief moment, you paused, standing still trying to ground yourself. The sound of the crowd was distant, and it felt muted.

You could almost feel the echoes of your younger self, the excitement, the determination, the hope. You took one last, steadying breath, letting the familiar air settle in your lungs before turning back to the team. Their faces were set in stoned expressions waiting for you to be ready to move on.

Hotch met your gaze and gave you a nod — a small but powerful gesture. It was the kind of nod that said he trusted you completely, that he believed in you unconditionally, that he gave you the time that you needed, even in the face of the unknown where his constant command would've been safer than letting you take breaks — but your well-being was just as important as your safety. That belief, so clearly reflected in his eyes, gave you strength.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Each step forward felt like a small victory — each step you were still alive — you were reclaiming your story, the dreams you had held so tightly when entering the skating world.

As you moved down the corridor, the team led you to a locker room that had been specially reserved for you. Hotch had insisted on this extra security measure, making sure you had a private space to prepare, away from the prying eyes of the crowd and any potential threats.

The tension was thick as Hotch and Rossi stopped just outside the locker room door, their expressions unreadable. They exchanged a quick glance and a nod — moving completely in sync — before stepping inside. You stood in the corridor surrounded by the rest of the team, your hands fidgeting in front of you, the nervousness spilling over despite your best efforts to suppress it. 

Inside the locker room, Hotch moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless of times before. His eyes swept across the space, gun held ready at his hip as he methodically checked every corner, every shadow, his steps silent. Rossi, just as meticulous, crouched to inspect the lockers and checked the hidden crevices. Their movements synchronized. It was a routine they had perfected over the years, and while its necessity was unsettling, it was also a source of comfort, knowing that they did everything in their power to ensure your safety.

Outside, the seconds dragged on, stretching the silence between being reassured that you would be okay. You caught JJ’s hand briefly, grounding yourself. Even Garcia’s energy had damped for a moment as she reached over to give your arm a squeeze, her eyes brimming with her usual unshakable belief in you. 

Finally, the door opened, Hotch and Rossi stepped back into the hallway. Hotch's gaze met yours immediately, the edges of his expression softening just slightly. “All clear,” he said simply, moving away from the entrance to give you the clearance to enter.

As his eyes lingered on yours, he gave you a brief nod, and in that moment, it felt like more than reassurance — it felt like a promise.

With a grateful smile, you stepped into the locker room, the door closing softly behind you. The space was quiet, the kind of stillness that magnified every sound — the faint flicker of the overhead lights as the fluorescent tube lights popped a little, the rustle of your bag as you set it on the bench. Normally, this room would be alive with chatter, nervous laughter, and the hurried sounds of skaters making last-minute adjustments to their costumes. But today — today, it was just you. The solitude felt daunting, you'd much rather have peers to hang around. Despite the competitions between you, you knew that being around the other skaters would've helped you calm your nerves. 

You unzipped your bag, pulling out the elegant black costume you’d packed. The fabric shimmered as it caught the light, the rhinestones adorning the bodice and forearms glinting like stars. It was stunning, a dress meant to command attention on the ice, and as you slipped out of your warm clothes and into the costume, it felt like an armor. The fabric against your skin was grounding, the tulle part of the skirt barely covering your upper thighs. The costume was a reminder of the hours you’d poured into perfecting every move and every detail of your performance. 

Adjusting the dress in the mirror, you smoothed it over your shoulders. You paused, your hand brushing against the rhinestones as you took a steadying breath, letting the reality sink in — you had made it this far, surely you could make it a couple of hours more. 

Sitting down on the bench, you pulled your skates on and laced them tight. You snapped the blade guards into place, the sound of each click echoing in the room. When you stood, the tiles beneath your blades felt foreign for a second, but you balanced yourself easily, the muscle memory of years of practice kicking in. 

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, and for a moment, you simply stared at the reflection. The girl looking back wasn’t just a skater. She was strong and resilient, someone who had weathered unimaginable storms and emerged on the other side stronger than before. You took a moment to meet her gaze, finding strength in her determination. 

This was it. The culmination of everything you’d fought for. Straightening your shoulders, you gave yourself a small, confident nod. You weren’t just walking out there to compete — you were reclaiming a piece of yourself, reclaiming your own narrative.

With a last anxious sigh, you walked to the door and cracked it open, your heart pounding as you signaled to the team. The moment they saw you, their expressions shifted, their faces lighting up as they took you in.

Emily reacted first, her eyes widening as they swept over your costume. “You look incredible,” she said, her voice carrying a mixture of awe and pride as she grabbed both your shoulders and leaned back to take your beauty in. Her smile was infectious, and you quickly found yourself smiling back at her as a little of the tension in your chest started melting away. 

Garcia was the next, she let out a soft gasp, clasping her hands dramatically over her mouth for a moment to prevent herself from screaming. “Oh, honey,” she squealed. “You’re a vision! They’re not going to know what hit them!”

Hotch lingered at the back for a moment before stepping forward. He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze spoke volumes. His eyes softened as they met yours, his expression filled with belief and encouragement, knowing that you were strong enough to do this. When he finally did speak, his voice was more monotone than you had hoped. “You’re going to do great,” he said, a simple statement. The way he looked at you — it felt like a mix of pride and trust — but it was words you knew he'd never speak out loud, although no matter what you wanted to hear or feel, you knew he was in your corner. 

You straightened your shoulders — your back cracking a little as you did — and managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” you said, your voice was quiet. “It means a lot to have you all here.” 

Emily grinned and nudged you playfully. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now go out there and show them how to win.”

Standing in the doorway to the locker room, you stared at the team, gathered together in a circle around. Months of preparation, countless grueling hours of training, and the ever-present threat that had loomed over you leading up to sectionals were settling in your stomach. It all felt like it was catching up with you now, making each breath harder to take.

You’d faced competitions before, even high-stakes ones early on in your journey where the pressure had been almost unbearable, but this was different. This time, it wasn’t just about winning. It wasn’t just another event to check off a list — it was everything. The culmination of every sacrifice, every setback, every late-night practice, and every moment you’d fought to get to this place. And with it, a vulnerability you couldn’t shake, a sense that so much more was riding on this than you’d ever allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

Can I do this? The question echoed in your mind loud enough to make your body tense up. The nerves were so overwhelming that you had to fist your hands so you wouldn't shake. The anticipation was almost suffocating, and it felt like there was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation.

As if sensing your internal turmoil, Hotch stepped in. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty in him. His authority radiated, drawing the team’s focus back to the mission as he began to address the group.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Hotch began, his tone was sharp. “While she’s on the ice, we’ll be operating in two key positions: interior and exterior monitoring. Emily and JJ, you’ll be stationed at the arena entrance and rinkside doors. I want both of you on high alert for any unusual movement or non-ticketed entries. We’re not taking any chances. If anyone looks out of place or tries to slip by, I want eyes on them immediately. You’ll have comms linked directly to the rest of us on the interior.”

His eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone was absorbing the information. “Maintain clear visual contact at all times — especially if large crowds are entering or exiting. Don’t let anything slip under the radar.”

Emily nodded quickly, her hand already reaching for the comm device on her belt to place it in her ear. “Got it, Hotch.” Her voice was confident.

Hotch’s gaze briefly shifted between the two of them, a subtle nod of approval in response to their readiness. But he didn’t linger; there was no time for that. His focus sharpened again as he continued to lay out the plan. You could feel the shift in the room.

Hotch turned to Garcia next. “Penelope, you’ll be monitoring security feeds in the surveillance room with stadium security. I need real-time video feeds on all arena exits, the main rink, and the locker room corridor. Any gaps in the footage — no matter how small — need to be flagged and investigated immediately. If anything, even remotely suspicious comes up, I want to know about it. We’ll have a secondary comm channel open for you, in case you need to escalate something right away.”

Garcia’s eyes lit up with her usual enthusiasm as she slipped her earpiece in. “Consider it done, boss-man. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. If anyone so much as sneezes suspiciously, I’ll catch it.” Her voice was light-hearted and confident with the sharp focus that always defined her when it counted.

Hotch gave her a quick, appreciative nod before his gaze shifted to Morgan and Reid. His posture remained alert. “Morgan, Reid — I want you both covering the back entrance. Ensure no one slips in unauthorized. You’re on backup detail in case there’s any movement that needs immediate attention.”

Morgan nodded firmly. “We’ll keep a close watch, Hotch. Nothing’s getting past us.”

Reid, who had already started analyzing the arena layout in his mind, added with his usual systematic accuracy, “We’ll also do a sweep of the corridor near the locker rooms.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked to both of them, he had trust in their abilities. “Good. Make sure you’re ready for anything. The moment something’s off, I want to know about it.”

Finally, Hotch turned to Rossi. “Dave, you and I will stay rinkside. We’ll be the first point of contact if anything happens, and we can coordinate directly with the rest of the team from there. We’ll be covering her from every angle.”

Rossi met his gaze with a nod. “You got it, Aaron.” There was no hesitation in his voice, just the confidence of someone who had been in countless high-pressure situations before — and had made it out alive every single one of them.

Lastly, Hotch turned to you, his gaze softening slightly, though his tone stayed constant. “You’re going to be in our constant sightline while you’re on the ice,” he said. “If anything feels wrong, don’t push through it. You signal to us, and we’ll handle the rest.”

You nodded, comforted by the structure and clear plan Hotch had concocted. He’d thought of everything, and accounted for every possible risk, ensuring that you wouldn’t have to shoulder anything if it was up to him. It eased a fraction of the tension that had coiled in your chest. They weren’t just here to watch; they were here to protect, each one stationed like a wall around you. That clarity, that assurance — it was your lifeline.

Around you, the team moved into their positions. Emily’s quick nod, JJ’s reassuring glance, Morgan’s confident stance, Garcia’s friendly smile — all of it steadied the nervous energy threatening to overwhelm you.

As you stood there, letting their presence anchor you, you took a deep breath — a very deep breath.

As everyone began filing out to their positions, Hotch’s hand came up, a subtle but unmistakable signal for you to stay back for a moment. You froze mid-step, glancing up at him in surprise. He motioned toward the locker room, away from the door and prying eyes. It was just the two of you now, the buzz of the arena and the team’s footsteps fading into the background.

He’d noticed the telltale signs — the way your fingers fidgeted with the rhinestone-laden sleeves of your costume, how your teeth pressed into your bottom lip during his briefing, the way your shoulders seemed to sag under invisible doubts. His instincts were always attuned to the smallest details.

“Hey,” he began, his voice was low like he was carefully choosing every word. “Before you go out there, I want you to know something. You’ve got this. You’ve put in the work, and we’re right here with you. Nothing’s going to happen that we aren’t prepared for.”

The warmth in his words was unexpected. But even as his reassurances settled over you, the lingering weight of your fears refused to be fully silenced. Swallowing hard, you found yourself speaking before you could second-guess yourself. “Hotch, I know it’s irrational, but I feel… I don’t know, like I’m not ready, or maybe just not strong enough to do this without him.” The words tumbled out faster than you’d planned, more vulnerable than you'd expected and that surprised even you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. Instead, you focused on the intricate pattern of the tiles, moving them to your skates, tracing the laces with your eyes as if they held the answers. “Every time I’m about to step on the ice, there’s this voice in my head,” you admitted, your fingers gripping the edge of your sleeves a little tighter. “It keeps telling me I’m not ready… that I don’t have it in me.”

Hotch’s hand reached out, resting firmly yet gently on your shoulder. His touch wasn’t just grounding; it kept you from drifting too far into your spiraling thoughts.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You’ve already proven your strength by coming this far. I know losing Branson has made this feel impossible, and I understand that. But what you’re doing — going out there, honoring all of the victims by competing despite everything — takes more courage than most people will ever know.”

His words hit you like a wave. He spoke with such conviction, as though he could see something in you that you couldn’t.

“But what if — what if I mess up?” you whispered, your voice trembling. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “What if all of this training and everything I’ve done just… falls apart?” 

The fear had been gnawing at you for weeks, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind that no amount of practice or preparation had been able to silence. Saying it out loud as if naming it might make it real.

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened. “Then you’ll keep going,” he said, his voice was layered with emotion, but he quickly snapped out of it, “just like you’ve done every time before. Messing up doesn’t change what you’ve accomplished or who you are. And it certainly won’t change how proud everyone is of you. Mistakes don’t define you; what you do next does. And right now, I see someone strong enough to face this, no matter what happens.”

His words cut through the doubt. It wasn’t just what he said — it was the absolute certainty in his tone, the way he delivered like it was fact. You could feel his belief in you.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you murmured, your voice was soft as you looked up at him. Your lips curved into a smile — a genuine smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, his own expression softening slightly too. With a firm nod, he released your shoulder, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Now go out there and show them.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly and it felt like a spark igniting in your chest. You were ready.

The energy in the arena buzzed, and the hum of the audience seemed to seep into your skin as you stood in the narrow waiting area just off the rink. Your fingers twisted the fabric of your costume, an unconscious attempt to tether your thoughts as your eyes locked on the skater gliding effortlessly across the ice.

Natalia Ivanova.

Even the name carried weight — she was a rising star whose performances had already sparked whispers of greatness within the skating world. She wasn’t just good; she was extraordinary. You’d known that before today, had watched grainy footage of her routines — that Branson somehow had gotten his hands on through some dodgy Russian website — during late-night study sessions, dissecting her artistry and precision. But seeing her in person was an entirely different experience.

Natalia’s presence on the ice was magnetic and held a refined grace. Every movement she made was deliberate, every step part of a larger, perfectly choreographed narrative. Her coach’s reputation preceded her — a great figure in Russian skating known for a ruthless dedication to perfection. The rumors of severe training schedules and discipline seemed to manifest in every controlled motion Natalia delivered. She wasn’t just skating; she owned the ice, bending it to her will.

As she launched into a series of jumps, each one higher and more precise than the last, your breath hitched. Natalia’s triple Lutz was perfection, her spins faster than you'd ever managed, and it blurred into a vortex. Her footwork was sharp and fluid all at once as if the ice itself answered only to her. Watching her was both inspiring and daunting, and it was a reminder of the sheer level of competition you were up against.

The crowd erupted as Natalia neared the end of her routine, their cheers swelling into a roar of approval as she struck her final pose. Arms extended, chin lifted, she held her position for a fraction longer than necessary, commanding the spotlight on her even as the music faded. The applause was deafening.

You exhaled slowly, willing the tightness in your chest to ease. The reality of Natalia’s skill loomed over you. She’d set the bar impossibly high, and now it soon was your turn to step onto the ice, you were scared that competing after such a talented skater would be your certain doom.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, delivering Natalia’s score, it made the crowd erupt once again. It was an impressive number. She was undeniably talented, her performance near-flawless, and now she stood at the top of the leaderboard as the skater to beat. The thought gnawed at you. Could your routine, no matter how tirelessly you had trained, truly stand up to hers? The crowd’s energy seemed to affirm Natalia’s dominance.

Your mind wandered, replaying every hour of practice, every late night spent refining your choreography until the music and movements felt like second nature. You knew you’d worked hard — relentlessly hard — but the small, insidious voice of doubt whispered that maybe it wasn’t enough. That no matter how prepared you thought you were, someone like Natalia was more talented.

Your gaze dropped to the ice, searching for something — focus, courage, clarity? The polished surface reflected the arena lights in fractured glints, as the Zamboni made its way across, preparing the ice for you. You felt the storm of "what ifs" building in your chest until you sensed him behind you. His presence wasn’t loud or invasive, but it was a constant amidst the chaos. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Hotch. His aura was unmistakable.

You could almost sense the picture of him, towering a little over you. The mental picture of a Doberman popped into your head — alert, loyal, fierce — and the image almost made you smile despite the tension coiling in your chest. If Hotch was the guard dog, you were the kitten, small and vulnerable but you were protected. Somehow, that strange picture settled your nerves just enough to let you breathe a little deeper. Hotch had been that way since the night you first met him: a silent guardian who didn’t have to do much to remind you that you were never truly alone in anything you faced.

Natalia glided off the ice with a satisfied attitude as she passed by. Her presence lingered maybe even taunting you, to match what she had just delivered. The weight of it threatened to send you spiraling again, but before it could, Hotch’s voice cut through the noise.

“You’re going to be incredible,” Hotch said, stepping a little closer until his chest was nearly brushing against your back. His voice was calm — maybe a little too calm given the situation. “You’ve got this, no matter what anyone else scores. Remember, this isn’t about them. It’s about you and what you’re here to do.”

You nodded, drawing in a deep breath. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his tone, and somehow that steadiness seeped into you, pushing back against the nervous energy buzzing in your chest. Hotch didn’t offer more words, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, calling your name, and the atmosphere shifted as the crowd’s attention swung toward you. A murmur rippled through the stands, accompanied by polite applause, but it all blurred into background noise as you took a step forward. The bright lights bore down on you, and the cold, crisp air prickled against your skin, heightening your senses. For a moment it all swelled, threatening to overwhelm you — but then you glanced back.

Hotch was still there, rooted in place, his eyes meeting yours and with a firm and steady gaze, he gave you a small nod. It wasn’t overbearing; it was just enough to remind you of everything, of the people who believed in you and the work that had brought you here.

That nod was all you needed.

You turned toward the ice, exhaling. This was your moment, and you were ready to claim it. As your skates touched the ice you glided to your starting position, the arena’s energy wrapping around you.

The announcer’s voice carried on, introducing you, but just as you reached the center of the rink, his tone shifted. It grew softer, more solemn as if hinting at something — you weren't sure if he would announce it, but you sure hoped he didn't. The slight change sent a surge through the crowd, quieting the murmurs as anticipation settled over the audience.

"And now, representing Quantico, Virginia," the announcer's voice carried through the arena, "a brave young woman who, not long ago, suffered the tragic loss of her longtime coach in a heartbreaking incident that has no doubt deeply affected her journey here today."

The words struck, rumbling through the arena. You froze, the announcement cutting through the confidence you’d just pieced together. It wasn’t just the mention of your coach’s death — it was the way it was framed, so public, so intrusive, as if your grief were a narrative for the world to consume. You hadn’t prepared for this, for the raw wound to be laid bare before thousands of spectators.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the team’s reactions. Morgan’s jaw clenched, JJ's mouth parted in shock, her eyes narrowing in disbelief as she turned sharply toward Hotch from the door. Reid stood just behind Morgan, his brows furrowed, his face carrying a sense of sorrow that spoke to his own experiences with loss. He looked like he wanted to say something, to object, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

Hotch, however, was unreadable. His body was taut with control, his expression carved from stone as his eyes stayed locked on you. There was no visible anger, no outward sign of the frustration he undoubtedly felt, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable. His jaw tightened ever so slightly and his hands locked on his hips were the only signs of his frustration with the announcement.

Instinctively, your gaze sought his. Your eyes, wide with disbelief as you silently pleaded with him to do something. Why did they say that? What does this mean? The once-excited hum of the arena was replaced by a heavy and stiff silence. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once, your thoughts colliding as you tried to process what had just been said.

When Hotch met your gaze, his response was immediate. He didn’t break eye contact, slowly, he gave you a single, deliberate nod. It wasn’t dismissive, nor was it overly reassuring. Instead, it was an unspoken promise. I’ll handle this, his eyes seemed to convey. But right now, I need you to focus. I’m here.

The crowd’s murmur began to rise again, unsure, but you held onto that connection, that lifeline Hotch had silently extended.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of your routine, your hard work — nothing, and no one could take that away.

The arena settled into silence as the lights dimmed, and a single, piercing spotlight illuminated you. For a fleeting moment, the world outside the ice disappeared. The crowd, the noise, even the ache of loss — it all fell away.

You pushed all doubt aside. This was your moment, your chance to honor everything you’d worked. The cold of the ice seeped through the delicate fabric of your costume. It wasn’t uncomfortable — it was nice.

Another breath. Deep, steady, intentional. And then you moved into your starting pose. As the first haunting notes of your music filled the air, the stillness gave way to motion. You stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The sharp sound of your blades cutting into the ice echoed softly.

The spotlight followed you as the rest of the rink faded into shadow, casting the rhinestones on your costumes into sparks of light. They glittered like fragments of a starry sky, transforming you into something otherworldly under the glow. The shimmering stones caught the light with every subtle movement.

The music flowed soft and melodic, carrying you forward. Each turn, each spin, flowed effortlessly from the next, the choreography imprinted in your muscles from endless repetition.

You leaned into the music, letting it guide you. Your arms arced gracefully through the air as you performed a series of elegant steps, each more intricate than the last. The swish of your blades cutting across the ice was almost hypnotic.

The crowd’s reaction was lost to you — at least, for now. You were no longer aware of anything beyond the ice and your own movements. There was only the rhythm of the music, the glide of your skates, and the rush of adrenaline that propelled you forward.

You felt the audience’s eyes on you, but it didn’t matter. The whispers of the crowd faded away. This was your stage, your moment. You were more than the grief. You were strength, determination, and resilience personified. As you launched into your first jump, the air seemed to hold its breath.

Your legs extended gracefully, kicking high as your body twisted through the air, weightless for that perfect second. Then, you landed, cleanly, your blades biting into the ice with a satisfying sharp The crowd’s gasp of awe rippled through the arena, but you barely registered it. Your focus was unshakable, channeled entirely into your routine.

From that first jump, you flowed seamlessly into the next sequence. The choreography demanded a balance of strength and elegance, a challenge you had spent years perfecting. Each turn, each spin, held power, telling a story that words and pictures never could.

Yet even as you lost yourself in the rhythm of the music and the beauty of your performance, one constant remained. Hotch.

He stood at the far end of the rink, a dark figure blending into the shadows. His eyes were locked on you. But his focus wasn’t just on the grace of your movements or the artistry of your routine — it was on everything. The arena, the audience, the exits, the subtle shifts in energy around the room. He didn’t stop calculating, didn’t stop scanning, his mind constantly processing potential threats and outcomes.

Even in stillness, his posture radiated control. He didn’t draw attention to himself, but there was no mistaking the command he held over the space around him. To the audience, he might have been just another spectator. To you, he was so much more.

As he watched you glide across the ice, his expression softened in a way that most people would never notice. But you would. He saw the fire behind your performance, the resilience you poured into every spin, every leap, every graceful line you created on the ice. He knew the depth of your struggle.

And still, he couldn’t let his guard down. As you moved, so did he, his tall form cutting a purposeful path around the rink’s perimeter. His sharp eyes swept the crowd, assessing every face, every possibility. He wasn’t here to enjoy the show. He was here to protect you.

But even in his attentiveness, his heart wasn’t untouched. With every flawless element of your routine, something entirely different swelled in his chest. He wasn’t one to dwell on sentiment, but watching you out there, defying the odds, he couldn’t help it. You were doing it. You were proving to everyone — and, most importantly, to yourself — that you were unbreakable.

And as you skated through the crescendo of your routine, the crowd held its collective breath, captivated by your story and your skill. Hotch remained on edge. You might have been performing under the bright spotlight, but in his eyes, you were the brightest light of all.

The end of your routine drew near. You could feel the intensity mounting in the air, every note of the melody urging you onward. This was the final stretch, the moment you’d trained for, the pinnacle of everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. Your heart raced, adrenaline flooding your veins as you propelled yourself into the final series of moves.

You spun with unrelenting grace, the rhinestones of your costume catching the spotlight in dazzling bursts. The rink was your stage, and you commanded it with every turn of your body, every subtle shift of your weight.

And then came the moment you had been building toward — the most difficult element of your routine, the leap that required every ounce of your strength, focus, and courage. With a deep inhale, you pushed off, your legs kicking powerfully as you launched yourself into the air. The arena seemed to hold its breath as you soared — knowing fully well the danger of your element — your body twisting in a perfect arc.

When you landed, the ice met your blades with a satisfying slice. The momentum carried you smoothly through the final steps, your movements slowing as the music swelled to its last note. With a fluid motion, you struck your final pose at the center of the rink, poised and frozen in a picture of perfection. The arena was silent.

And then, like the shattering of a dam, the applause erupted. It started as a ripple before surging into a roaring wave, filling the arena with deafening sound. The cheers, whistles, and stomping feet seemed to shake the very ground beneath you. You stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exhilaration of your performance, your mind struggling to grasp what you had just accomplished.

From the shadows, Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you. To the untrained eye, he appeared calm, but inside, pride swelled in his chest. He had seen every step of your journey the past few weeks, every struggle and triumph, and now, he watched as you stood victorious.

The applause still echoed around you as the announcer’s voice cut through the air. The crowd hushed slightly, their attention shifting toward the scoreboard. You remained at center ice, your body still, though your fingers twitched at your sides. The adrenaline still coursed through you, making the moment feel both impossibly long and achingly brief.

Your eyes locked onto the scoreboard, the only thing in your line of sight now. Time seemed to slow as the numbers flickered, the world holding its breath alongside you. Your chest rose and fell steadily, but inside, your heart pounded. Waiting, hoping, believing.

Then, the numbers appeared.

"Total Score: 147.56," the board lit up, and the individual breakdown of your program components appeared underneath it:

- Technical Elements: 72.34

- Program Components: 75.22

It was a great score — a strong one, especially when measured against the competition in the competition. The crowd reacted with scattered applause and murmurs of approval, but your gaze instinctively flickered toward the scoreboard again, scanning for context. Just moments before, the Russian skater's score had flashed onto the board. She had also received a 147.56, but with a slightly higher technical mark and a lower program component score.

Your heart leaped in your chest as the realization sank in. The tie, the near mirror image of your scores, seemed almost impossible given how flawless her performance had been. The breath you had been holding came out in a shaky exhale. This was more than good; it was remarkable. You had stood your ground against one of the most highly praised skaters of the season — the one glorified as the "rising star" and "unbeatable." And here you were, matching her score.

But a flicker of doubt pushed its way into your mind. Your eyes darted back to her, standing by the sidelines, her posture rigid as her score glowed next to yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her body language betrayed a hint of frustration.

It wasn’t a perfect victory — there was no gold medal being handed to you just yet. But this wasn’t about medals or rankings anymore. This was your moment, your proof that you could rise to the occasion, even without your coach.

The numbers on the board seemed to glow brighter. A faint smile crossed your lips, hesitant at first, before blooming. You had done it. You hadn’t stuttered, you hadn’t stumbled. You had poured every ounce of your heart and soul onto that ice, and it had paid off.

The applause began to swell again as your name was announced, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced up at the crowd, your chest rising and falling as you took in the moment. For all the loss and grief that had brought you here, for all the challenges you’d faced in your training, this was your triumph. Not just because of the score, but because you had proven something to yourself.

You stepped off the ice, your skates leaving faint, sharp lines in their wake, and allowed yourself to feel the mix of emotions swirling inside you — relief, pride, and a lingering ache for the absence of your coach. But even that ache was quieter now, overshadowed by the sense of accomplishment. You had competed, and you had competed well. That was what mattered.

But before you could fully bask in the moment, a loud bang shattered the atmosphere of the arena. It wasn’t a celebratory sound, nor the kind of noise you might expect in a place like this. It was sharp and deep, thundering through the air like an explosion. The echoes seemed to cling to the walls, leaving behind a strange silence that pressed down on everyone present.

It didn’t belong here, not in this arena meant for elegance and artistry. It was utterly wrong.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sound sending a jolt through your body. Instinctively, your head snapped toward the direction of the noise. Your muscles tensed, and a cold wave of unease rushed through you. Around you, the crowd, which had moments ago been alive with applause and cheers, seemed to freeze. Confused murmurs began to rise, growing louder and more urgent as the initial shock faded.

Your eyes darted to Hotch. He was already moving, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. His piercing gaze swept across the arena, narrowing on the source of the disturbance. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching as his mind worked quickly to assess the situation. He stood rigid yet poised, every part of him ready to act.

Even in his intense focus, he glanced toward you. It was just for a moment. But the moment didn’t linger. His expression hardened again, his attention snapping back to the task. Whatever this was, he was already working through it, calculating every possibility.

Without hesitation, Hotch moved toward you, his steps deliberate and controlled. He reached out, his hand clasping your arm firmly but gently. It wasn’t just a touch — it was a message. His grip communicated a silent directive to stay close and follow his lead.

You didn’t need him to speak. You trusted him, knowing that in situations like this, he was the one person who could bring order and keep you safe.

Around you, the murmurs in the crowd grew louder, some voices rising in alarm. Hotch’s sharp gaze flicked back to the arena’s perimeter, his body tense as he scanned for any signs of further danger. His hand remained on your arm, anchoring you to him, his protective instincts driving every movement.

The silence of the arena was breaking, but your focus stayed on him. Whatever was about to unfold, you knew he would take care of it.

Parents clutching their children, coaches exchanging uneasy glances, spectators craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Yet, amid the chaos, one thing was abundantly clear: something was wrong. The rest of the BAU team was already moving, their training kicking in. Eyes scanned exits and entry points, steps purposeful, bodies coiled and ready for action.

Hotch’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, drawing your attention back to him.

“Stay close. We’ll get you to safety,” he said, his tone firm and edged with an urgency that matched the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. Around you, his team moved into position. JJ was speaking quickly to a nearby event organizer, while Morgan and Rossi spread out to survey the crowd. Emily and Reid were already coordinating with security and checking sightlines. No one was leaving anything to chance.

The atmosphere in the arena shifted further, tension thickening like a storm cloud about to break. Your stomach twisted as you watched the judges exchanging concerned looks, the skaters huddled near the edge of the rink, and the crowd fidgeting in their seats. Whatever had caused the explosion remained a mystery, and the not-knowing only made it worse.

You felt your thoughts scatter, your pulse pounding in your ears.

People remained seated but shifted nervously as if preparing to flee once getting the go-ahead.

“Everyone stay where you are,” Hotch barked, his voice roaring over the noise. The authority in his tone was enough to quiet the murmurs in his immediate vicinity, though the tension in the room didn’t reduce. His gaze flickered back to you as if ensuring you were still steady under his protection. Even as his body remained composed, you caught the tightness in his jaw and the subtle way his shoulders squared — he was ready for anything.

In one fluid motion, Hotch pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed. His voice turned cold and precise, each word clipped and efficient as he relayed the situation to the local police.

“This is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We have a potential security threat at the Sectional Skating Championship. Requesting immediate assistance. Unknown cause of disturbance — a loud explosion-like sound—followed by unusual crowd behavior. My team is securing the area. Lock the building down — no one in or out until further notice. I’m on the ground. We need a full investigation.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd once more as he listened to the dispatcher’s response. When he spoke again, his voice was even sharper, cutting through the noise around you.

“Yes. Multiple agents on-site. We’ll hold until local law enforcement arrives.” There was a brief pause as he listened to the other end, and then he added, “Send an officer to every exit and have them check for anything suspicious. I want the building swept. No exceptions.”

The brief crackle of static from Hotch’s phone was drowned out by the rising noise of the crowd, but you could still catch the exchange between him and the dispatcher. Even after the call ended, the residual weight of his authority lingered. Hotch wasn’t just standing beside you as your protector — he was assuming command, his focus split between ensuring your safety and piecing together the origin of the threat.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Hotch turned toward you. Though his posture remained stiff, his expression softened for just a moment.

“Stay close,” he instructed, his tone low but firm, just audible over the murmur of the crowd. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as he began issuing orders to the team.

“Morgan, Prentiss,” he called, his voice sharp as a commander's. “Check the perimeter. Sweep the hallways and backstage areas. We don’t know if this was an isolated incident or the beginning of something larger. Make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

Morgan’s response was immediate, his posture tense with readiness. “On it,” he said, already scanning for exits as Emily moved in tandem.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward one of the arena officers, who was fumbling to coordinate with staff. With his usual efficiency, Hotch strode over and handed off a series of rapid instructions, his tone leaving no room for question. It was clear to everyone that he was taking control.

Then, his attention was back on you. He closed the space between you, stopping just short of crowding your personal space. Even now, as chaos brewed around you, Hotch was attuned to your needs, knowing exactly how to make you feel secure without overwhelming you.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said softly. This was Hotch at his core — methodical, persistent, and entirely focused on the task while ensuring you remained his top priority.

Strategically, he moved to position himself near the entrance to the locker rooms, creating a barrier that no one could pass without confronting him first. His protective stance made it clear: you were his responsibility, and nothing was going to slip past him.

“JJ, stay with her,” Hotch directed, nodding toward the blonde agent, who was already on her way to your side. Her movements were brisk but deliberate, and her warm smile was meant to comfort, even though the tension in her eyes mirrored the unease in the room.

“Got it,” JJ replied, standing close enough to reassure you without adding to the weight of the moment.

Meanwhile, Hotch’s focus returned to the broader scene. He continued issuing orders. “Dave, you and I will manage the investigation at the main entrance. Coordinate with the local PD and security. Stay in contact with the team — if anything changes, I want to know immediately.”

Rossi gave a sharp nod, already moving to carry out the directive. Around you, the team dispersed like clockwork. Yet even as they moved, Hotch’s eyes flicked back to you intermittently.

His movements were quick, sharp. Rossi gave him a firm nod before he walked off toward the entrance. Meanwhile, Hotch turned back to you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder once again, the gesture offering reassurance, though you could see the tightness in his face.

You swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgement, though a lump had formed in your throat. The scene before you had turned from a competition into something far more complicated, far more dangerous. Hotch, though, was steadfast in his focus, ensuring that everyone had a role to play in securing the area, keeping everyone safe.

"You'll be fine," Hotch said again. "We’ve got this under control, but I need you to stay right here with JJ. Don’t go anywhere. I won’t be far."

You glanced at JJ, who offered you a comforting, gentle smile, and you felt the small knot of anxiety in your stomach begin to loosen slightly. The team had it under control, but even still, the looming threat and the lingering chaos left you feeling a little off-center.

He moved to take his place at the front of the arena, ready to address the situation head-on, but with a glance back at you — just a quick look, to make sure you were still safe.

The tension didn’t ease, not by a long shot, but for the moment, you had the protection you needed.

The air was thick with tension as Morgan and Emily moved through the backstage area, their footsteps silent but quick. Every corner, every shadow, was a potential hiding spot for the person behind the explosion sound. The buzz of activity and officers calling out orders had begun to fade as the pair zeroed in on their search, their movements precise.

“Here,” Morgan murmured, motioning toward the steel door at the end of the hall. The hum of machinery echoed from within the room — the Zamboni room, where one of the two ice-resurfacing machines was stored when not in use. A room that, until moments ago, had been nothing more than a utilitarian part of the rink’s operation.

Emily’s hand was already on the door handle. She pushed it open, and they both stepped inside, their eyes quickly adjusting to the low light. At first, the room appeared as it always did — rows of machinery, a place for storage, a place for repairs. But then, their gazes locked on the destruction in the center of the room.

The Zamboni was in pieces.

The giant machine had been obliterated. The frame had been crushed, twisted metal hanging off at odd angles like the remnants of a wrecked car. Bits of shattered glass and chunks of the vehicle’s undercarriage were scattered across the floor, the machinery was unrecognizable. The cause of the explosion was now painfully clear — someone had sabotaged the Zamboni with a destructive force designed to do one thing: send a message.

"Jesus," Emily breathed, her voice low but laced with disbelief as she tried to think of exactly how the Zamboni had been destroyed like that. Her hand instinctively reached for her gun, though there was nothing left of the machine to be worried about anymore. The force of the explosion had left a crater of destruction in the middle of the room, the walls and floors marred by scorch marks.

Morgan’s jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed. He surveyed the wreckage, his gaze flickering over every damaged piece. But it was something on top of the destroyed Zamboni that caught his eye.

There, resting on the crushed metal, was a small, unaffected object — something that, at first glance, seemed almost out of place amid the wreckage. It was a plain, seemingly unmarked CD.

"Is that...?" Emily began, stepping forward cautiously as she pulled her flashlight from her belt and cast its beam on the CD. "No way."

Morgan approached the machine slowly, his hand never far from his weapon as he reached for the CD. He gingerly picked it up, his fingers brushing against the surface. The words scrawled on it in thick, bold Sharpie were specific: Play Me.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered under his breath. He turned the CD over in his hands, checking the back for any other markings or labels, but it was just the words.

"Whoever did this... they want us to listen," Emily said, her tone dark, as she stood back from the wreckage. "But why? What’s on it?"

Morgan glanced over at her, his eyes flashing with the usual resolve. "We need to get this to Hotch. He’s gonna want to see this right now. Whatever’s on this CD, it’s tied to all this." His voice hardened, knowing that this wasn't just a random act of destruction; it was part of something bigger. A message. A warning — and it was all for you.

They exchanged a brief look — silent, but their thoughts aligned. The situation was escalating, and they needed to act quickly. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Morgan pocketed the CD in his vest and turned to leave the room, his focus sharp. Emily followed close behind, and as they made their way out, she glanced back at the destroyed Zamboni. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be good.

They moved through the hallway with urgency, heading straight for Hotch, who was already coordinating the investigation. The ominous CD in Morgan's pocket felt like a ticking clock. The message had been delivered. Now, it was up to them to decode it before everything spiraled out of control.

Morgan and Emily hurried back to Hotch, the tension between them noticeable as they moved quickly through the hallway. Morgan had the CD tightly in his grip. As soon as they arrived at the part of the area where Hotch was, Morgan handed over the disc without a word, his expression tense.

Hotch glanced at it before his sharp gaze snapped back up to Morgan. "What do we have?"

Morgan answered, "It's a message. We found it at the scene — the Zamboni room. Whoever did this... they're taunting us."

Emily added, "There's no label on it, just the words 'Play Me' written on the CD. We knew it was important, so we brought it straight to you."

Hotch nodded, his face hardening as he took the CD. Without wasting a second, he led them to a nearby office — one they'd set up as their temporary command center. Inside, he sat down at the computer and inserted the disk into the drive. The monitor flickered before the video began to load.

The figure that appeared on the screen was cast in darkness — his face obscured by shadows, the low lighting ensuring his identity remained hidden. He spoke with an eerie calmness, his voice laced with a mix of confidence and amusement, as though he were already in control of the situation.

“You really thought you could stop me, didn’t you?” His voice was low, calculated, and filled with an unsettling arrogance. If he had had him in his interrogation room, Hotch was sure he would've needed to step out before he let his anger overtake him. “You thought Branson’s death meant the end. But I’m always one step ahead. I'm always ahead." He repeated

The video flickered, and images began to appear on the screen. First, a photo of you, being led to Hotch’s SUV the night Branson was murdered. The image was clear, documenting the aftermath of a tragedy, and the protectiveness in Hotch’s gaze as he escorted you away from the crime scene.

The next photo was taken from a distance — again, it was of you, practicing alone on the ice at the rink, completely unaware of the watchful eyes on you. Anderson who had been there to keep an eye out for you, stood off to the side, watching intently. Fire bubbled within him — Anderson was supposed to look out for you, yet he had let the unsub get close enough to take pictures that day.

Then, another image — you again, this time accompanied by the girls, laughing with them during your night out, a moment of lightheartedness in the midst of everything that had been happening. It was a candid shot, but it held the terrifying realization that you had been watched the entire time.

You had been followed. And you hadn’t known.

The room was dead silent as the images flickered across the screen. It was clear now — this wasn’t just a stalker. This was someone who had been tracking your every move, every breath, for who knows how long. And now, he was making sure you knew it.

The last image hit them hard — a photo of you, surrounded by the team, smiling during your celebration after a long practice, completely unaware of the danger that had been stalking you. You had been followed everywhere, and it was more disturbing now than ever before.

The man’s voice returned, his words dripping with amusement. “You’ll learn soon enough who’s really in charge. This is only the beginning. I will get to her sooner than you think”

The screen cut out abruptly, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

Hotch stood still for a moment, absorbing the implications of the video. His jaw was clenched tightly as he took in every detail. The fact that this man had been following you, watching you from the shadows — it wasn’t just disturbing, it was personal — he took it personally.

Morgan and Emily exchanged a look, both now fully aware of the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just about stopping a random killer. This was a calculated, dangerous individual who had been in control the whole time — more than they had thought he had been.

Hotch finally spoke, his voice steady but firm. “Lock down the perimeter. Every exit, every corner, needs to be checked. We need to find out who’s behind this — and we need to do it now. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re with me. We’re going through all the footage from tonight, starting with the security cameras. We need answers, and we need them now.”

He paused and turned to you, his eyes softening just slightly. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Stay close. We’re going to handle this.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of both dread and relief. The man behind the video had been watching your every move, but you weren’t alone. The team was here, and they were going to make sure he didn’t get away with it.

Hotch’s jaw was set tight, his eyes dark with fury, but he didn’t let it show outwardly. He was a master of control, and right now, his focus needed to be on the team and you. The anger simmered beneath the surface as the weight of the situation pressed in on him, but he couldn’t afford to let it slip — especially not now. The lives of the people in this arena, particularly yours, depended on him remaining calm.

Still, he couldn’t help but make a mental note, his mind already ticking off the necessary steps. Anderson was next on his list of reprimanding, he had failed to notice, or worse, ignored the warning signs while protecting you. If there was even the slightest chance that Anderson could've prevented this by pulling his head out of his ass, Hotch would make sure he was held accountable. Anderson was going to be in for one hell of a reprimand the moment they got back to the office.

He turned his attention back to the screen, his gaze darkening as the images flickered in his mind. The unsub had been planning this for so long, watching and waiting. And now, Hotch was furious that he’d let this slip under his radar for so long. The thought of you being followed, the pictures of you taken without your knowledge, without your permission... it gnawed at him.

But this wasn’t the time for personal anger. This was the time for action. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. First, he needed to make sure everyone was safe. Second, he needed to find out exactly who this man was and put a stop to him, once and for all.

As his mind ran through the next steps, he made a note to himself: once they were back in the office, he would need to pass the disk over to Garcia. She would be the key to deciphering this he thought — she would find something, maybe a code, in the data hidden on the disk, that would lead them to more answers — maybe she could find the origins of where the disk had been purchased. The words used in the video were no accident, and Garcia’s knack for digging into digital trails was exactly what they needed.

“Take this back to Garcia as soon as possible,” Hotch said, his voice sharp, as he looked at Morgan. “Make sure she checks it from every angle. I want to know who’s behind this, and I want to know now.” He almost growled.

Morgan nodded quickly. “Got it, Hotch.”

Emily, standing by his side, glanced at you briefly. She had a similar, unspoken understanding as Hotch. Whatever was happening now, it was becoming more personal by the second. The killer wasn’t just playing games — he was making his presence known, and he wasn’t going to stop. Not unless they made him.

Hotch turned back to the group with that same steely focus. “Once we have the answers, we move fast. No hesitation. We clear out every area of this arena. Every single corner gets checked. And keep your eyes on the crowd. This man might be hiding in plain sight.”

You, still shaken but determined, met his gaze for a split second, offering him a silent nod. It wasn’t just about safety now. It was about stopping a person who had been lurking in the shadows for far too long. And you were done being the prey.

Hotch’s hand flexed into a fist for a brief moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it, ready to lead his team with the precise command they needed. He couldn’t afford to let the personal emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not when it was all on the line.

“Let’s move,” Hotch said quietly, his voice still calm but filled with that unmistakable urgency. “And remember — stay close. We don’t take any chances.”

They all nodded, shifting into action, and Hotch stayed close, positioning himself as a protective shield between you and the unknown danger that was closing in around you.

And when the case was over, he would deal with Anderson. But right now, there was only one priority: keeping you safe.

The air in the arena was tense as the team waited for the all-clear. Hotch had done everything in his power to ensure the security of the building and those within it. The bomb threat was real, but after a thorough sweep, there was no sign of the unsub inside the arena, no lingering danger. The decision to continue the competition was made with careful consideration, but Hotch wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

The FBI had taken over perimeter security, local law enforcement assisting with the sweep of the area, and all competitors were closely monitored. Hotch made sure the team was in position, watching the exits, the crowd, the ice, and each other’s backs. They’d gone over the plan several times already, but the weight of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Even though the threat was seemingly neutralized, Hotch wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. Not while you were so vulnerable.

As the final skaters took the ice, Hotch kept his eyes on you, watching you from a few feet away as you sat in the designated area, the bright lights of the arena casting sharp contrasts across your expression. He noticed you were still tense, though you did your best to hide it. Your body was still tightly wound, the nerves from earlier lingering, but you were focused — your eyes intent on the ice as each skater performed their routine.

Hotch had made it clear earlier that the team was staying close, and he kept that promise. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight — not now, not ever. He stationed himself just behind you, standing protectively, while the rest of the team remained nearby, their eyes scanning the crowd and the rink, ensuring no one would get too close.

Morgan was just a few feet to his left, standing with Emily, both of them making sure to keep watch of the area around you, while Reid sat a little further away, his eyes flicking between the skaters and the crowd. Garcia, on the other hand, was in constant communication with Hotch, eyes glued to the security feeds on her laptop, making sure there was no sign of the unsub reappearing.

You glanced up at Hotch and offered a small, thankful smile. You appreciated the support, even if you weren’t sure you could perform at your best with everything going on. The fear that had been gnawing at you earlier was still there, buried under layers of nerves and adrenaline, but you could feel a little of it slip away with Hotch’s presence so close by. It was almost like he was your rock.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, sensing your unease. His voice was calm, yet it carried assurance.

It was that voice that reminded you that he was there for you — not just as an agent or as a protector, but as someone who cared deeply about your safety and well-being. You nodded, grateful, and looked back to the ice, your mind still swirling with the weight of everything happening around you. You focused on your breathing, trying to steady yourself, trying to find that quiet place where your mind and body could align.

The announcer called out the name of the last skater, and you turned your focus back to the ice as the young woman glided out with perfect form. Hotch’s hand subtly touched the back of your seat, the smallest gesture that was somehow grounding, reminding you that he was there — always within reach.

It was almost surreal, the calm after the chaos. The atmosphere was still electric, the energy of the arena humming with anticipation. The competitors were giving it their all, but your mind kept circling back to the moment that had nearly destroyed everything. You didn’t want to think about the danger anymore, but it lingered just beneath the surface.

The final skater performed her routine with grace, but there was something in the way she moved that didn’t quite have the same sharpness as the others. The audience cheered, but the applause wasn’t as thunderous as it had been for some of the earlier skaters. As she finished, the score popped up on the board — an impressive number, but nothing that would push her to the top.

“Okay,” Hotch muttered, giving a glance to Morgan. “Let’s keep it tight. No surprises.”

The last round of scores were being tallied. The scoreboard flickered momentarily as the announcer stepped up to call the final results. The crowd’s hushed anticipation was a thick tension in the air, and Hotch stayed standing by you.

Through the chaos of the competition, he had made sure to keep a cool, level head. His team was sharp, and they had done everything they could to ensure your safety. Now, it was your time to shine, despite the shadows still lurking in the background.

The results would soon be in. And no matter what the outcome, Hotch would stand by you, just as he had all along.

The competition had been intense, every skater pushing their limits, giving everything they had. You had performed your routine flawlessly, but the pressure and nerves still clawed at you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the eyes of everyone in the arena on you.

The announcer’s voice broke through the silence, echoing through the arena.

“The scores are in for the women’s singles competition. And moving on to regionals in the first place is Natalia Ivanova and Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted into applause, and Natalia stood tall, a proud smile on her face, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes.

The cheers were louder than before, but you didn’t fully register them. Your heart was still racing, the rush of your performance still lingering in the pit of your stomach. You had made it to regionals, but sharing first place still felt bittersweet. Natalia had set the bar high, and you’d come so close, but it hadn’t been enough to truly overtake her in your mind.

But there was a sense of pride too. You had done your best. You had stayed focused and resilient despite everything. And you knew that getting to regionals was still a massive accomplishment, despite sharing the spot.

Natalia turned toward you, her gaze locking with yours across the rink. She gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, a respectful gesture. You returned it with a smile, a silent understanding passing between you. You had been rivals on the ice, but in this moment, there was nothing but respect between you.

“You did great,” Hotch said, his voice low and reassuring. “It is an incredible achievement.”

You nodded, the words from him soothing some of the tension in your chest. But a part of you was still restless — sharing first place meant that the job wasn’t finished yet. Regionals were still ahead, and the road was far from easy.

“Let’s get to the locker room. You’ve earned some time to relax,” Hotch continued.

You let him lead you off the ice, the team forming a protective circle around you as you made your way through the arena. Morgan gave you a thumbs-up from the sidelines, a proud smile on his face. Emily flashed you a wink, and Garcia was quick to send you an encouraging smile as she checked her phone, likely already gathering intel for anything suspicious.

You reached the locker room, and Hotch gave you a moment to catch your breath. The adrenaline from the performance was still running high, but a small sense of relief washed over you. You had made it through the competition, and despite everything, you had succeeded. Natalia may have outperformed you technically, but you were headed to regionals with her and had a better storyline and components in your performance.

And now, with the competition behind you, it was time to regroup, refocus, and prepare for what was to come. The threat was far from over, but for now, you had made it to the next stage.

Hotch stepped closer, his tone serious. “We’ll be right here with you. Let’s keep our focus sharp, and get ready for the next round.”

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @ahotchnersreid @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black

[marta-bee]

I'm fascinated by this.

First, thank you thank you THANK YOU for talking seriously but generously about book!Denethor and book!Faramir's relationship in a way that doesn't treat him like an outright villain. I'm a huge Denethor fan (in a way that hopefully revels in his moral complexity/complicity rather than whitewashing it, because where's the fun otherwise?), and we really need more of that in fandom.

I'm not sure I'd call Faramir cruel, but he's definitely living in an imperfect world where he probably understands he can't save everyone, even as he's probably better able to do that than Boromir just because he's working with a much smaller group. But he's harsh when he's questioning Gollum. He's not even overly quick to reassure Frodo and Sam that they're safe and he believes them, after the drumhead trial-type interrogation before they all decamp to Henneth Annun. And he takes part in several really bloody battles and he's still prepared to lead men into almost certain defeat to defend the various outposts around Minas Tirith. I see him making lots of hard decisions in the books.

(It's been years since I've actually reread the books, and it's also late so if I'm misremember or misrepresenting anything, please take it as a good-faith misremembering.)

But I do think --fascinatingly-- he sees an even bigger picture than Denethor does. That's the tragedy of Denethor, that he sees the whole struggle in terms of Gondor vs. Mordor. I was going to say book!Faramir isn't this overly moralistic person, it's more that he's concerned with the fate of everyone, coupled with having the wisdom to see what his father would prefer he'd do wouldn't actually work. I'm thinking of the temptation to bring the Ring back to Minas Tirith here especially. If he thought it would actually bring the goal he's working for, I'm not sure he wouldn't have done it.

But he's wise enough to know it would destroy the Gondor he loves, and broad-thinking enough to know saving Gondor isn't enough. And maybe that is goodness in the Arda-verse or close to it: not some idealistic clinging to principle totally divorced from the practical consequences of how you act, but thinking more universally and seeing more clearly.

Or put another way:

I don't know. It's a fascinating thought, and one I'll probably be turning over in my mind for the next few days.

book!denethor and faramir are like

"i need you to make the hard decisions now that your brother is gone, because you are the one that will be my heir. i need you to weigh the good of many and the good of few. and i need you to do it independently for when i am gone as well."

and

"i refuse to be anything but gentle. i refuse to let the concept of a greater good justify cruelty. i love you. and im sorry to be a disappointment."

[whatastrangewriter]

I've been seeing a lot of posts about Isha and Jinx lately. (Which is fair, they were adorable and I sobbed when Isha died.) A lot of the posts comment on how Isha is meant to symbolize Powder, which is also very valid. But I think these posts might be missing a key thing:

Isha is not who Powder was, Isha is who Powder could have been.

Let me explain.

Powder, in the series, is depicted from the beginning as a traumatized child. She witnessed the deaths of her family, and then was adopted into a family where she was constantly told "you're not ready" or else told that she was useless. Even Vi, to an extent, told her both of these things, through actions if not words. Powder was a brilliant child, who had a sister who loved her but didn't understand her.

And to me, this is possibly the most tragic thing about Powder. She was loved but never understood. (Except, maybe, by Ekko.) Vi loved her, but couldn't understand her gadgetry, and didn't realize that there were more ways for a person to be useful than being able to fight/steal.

Which, look. I like Vi, sometimes. I don't like needlessly demonizing her, as a lot of Jinx stans seem to do. She truly, truly, loved her sister. She did everything in her power to protect Powder. But she didn't understand her sister, and tried to protect her by holding her to impossibly high standards. "You're not ready," was used as a weapon when Vi went to save Vander; it told Powder that she wasn't good enough, that she was weak, that because she couldn't fight she was useless.

And this is why I consider Isha to be the person Powder could have been. Because Isha is from the beginning shown to be a scrappy child, much like Powder was. Isha isn't scared of violence, just like Powder. (Powder was only ever really scared of violence when it looked like Vi and Mylo and Claggor were losing. Isha is only scared of violence when it looks like Jinx and Vi are losing.)

However, here is one key difference between Isha and Powder: Isha has someone who understands her.

Isha has Jinx! Jinx, who loves gadgets and gizmos, just as Isha seems to hold a fondness for them. Jinx, who protects Isha but doesn't view her as useless for not being able to fight. Jinx, who we see taking the time to laugh and play and jump with Isha, instead of before her.

Powder had someone who loved her and pushed her to be better, but never understood her.

Isha has someone who loves her and understands her and shows her how to do things instead of expecting her to do them.

So there we go. Isha is who Powder could have been, if there'd been someone who understood her.

[reaperlight]

(Venom 3 spoilers)

(More Eddie finds help from protective murder friends au)

Cletus: The first rule of rescuing a loved one from an evil government lab is to have fun and be yourself.

Eddie: This is not helpful.

Cletus: Sorry. You know... I did what you're doing right now. I searched for years but like I could only actually do it when I already had Carnage, so...

Eddie: So how is that supposed to help Venom?

Cletus: Do you really wanna make my mistakes, Eddie? You saw how that ended up.

Eddie: I don't know, you seem to be doing alright now.

Cletus: Eddie...

Eddie: I can't abandon him.

Frances: We know.

Cletus: Look... I've been there. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now. But you don't wanna be messing with this. At least not alone. Put those guns away and let us help you. You know Anne's really worried about you.

Eddie: You had to involve her in this.

Cletus: I didn't know what to do, you weren't listening to me and I couldn't just watch you throw your life away...

Eddie: It's already gone. I can't. Without him--

Cletus: Eddie... you know I'm already burned. So let me do it. I can get him back to you.

Eddie: Why, why would you help us?

Cletus: I told you, Eddie. I like you. That's all I ever wanted, to be your friend.

Eddie: You always try to befriend people via sledgehammer?

Cletus: I may have... overreacted. You know I didn't have my head on straight.

Eddie: And now you do?

Cletus: Yes. Look, I'm not asking for your forgiveness but I'd like to try and make it up to you, if you'll let me.

Eddie: Assuming I even agree to this... what's in it for you?

Cletus: Just... Can we be friends, for reals? Please? You don't have to forgive me. I'm not asking that. Just... we really want to be friends with you. That's all.

Eddie: Alright fine. Just help me get Venom back.

Frances: You won't regret this, Brockilicious!

Eddie: Believe me, I already do.

Cletus: So like, maybe... do you want us to just... clear the way for you? We storm in there, you get Venom out, all is good.

Eddie: You know they'll be prepared for symbiotes, right? That's like their whole thing. You'll get captured.

Cletus: Oh Eddie you do care! Yeah uh... Well both my girls kissed and made up, really bonded you know, and now we're immune to sonic attacks now. And I can stand the heat. I can take it. I don't really... experience pain like you do anymore. It takes a lot to feel anything. All my life it's been nothing but suffering. It's funny how I almost miss it.

Eddie: Are you going to read poetry now?

Cletus: Ha! You know that wasn't for you but maybe if we survive this I'll write something for you.

Eddie [daring to hope]: ...you really think you can do this?

Cletus: Uh yeah, did it before at Ravencroft.

Eddie: They've got like these elite symbiote hunters.

Frances: But they won't be prepared for me.

Cletus: Have I mentioned lately that Frances is awesome?

Eddie: Only every five minutes.

Cletus: Her powers have grown. She is like wicked strong in the Force.

Frances [eyes glowing, raw power swirling around her]: Alright, let's do this!

Eddie: No murders.

Cletus: C'mon Eddie, you know we can't promise that.

Eddie: Just... keep it to a minimum will you?

[Seeing the tank where Venom is held from some distance away while fighting their way through the base]

Eddie: Aw shit, I knew I'm forgetting something. How are we gonna get him out? I can't rebond with him or the codex thing activates. But I can't just leave him there. But as long as this Knull guy is out there if we bond again they'll come after us and doom the planet. He'd send those Xenophages, big monster things. They'd eat you for breakfast

Carnage: They can certainly try.

Eddie: Buddy, I've seen them eat like ten of you. You're not special.

Carnage: *Offended symbiote noises*

Cletus: Yes, you're very special, sweetheart. But I think it would be wise to listen to Eddie if he says it's dangerous.

Frances: ...I could carry him for you.

Eddie: What?

Frances: Venom. This... codex thing won't happen if someone else hosts him, right? I host Carnage sometimes. It won't be a problem. I can host him for you.

Eddie: But wouldn't that be awkward?

Frances: Why? I told you I host Carnage sometimes.

Eddie: Okay but like, for Cletus? [To Cletus] That's like... my husband in your wife... Sharing a body.

Cletus: You're sure you're okay with that, baby?

Frances: Yes, I can do this. I want to do it.

Cletus: Okay. If you're sure.

Frances: *nods*

Eddie: Okay. Then after this...

[All dodging bulletfire, Eddie looks away as Carnage slams tentacles through them and Frances clears a path with her new telekinesis and mind control powers.]

Eddie: Shit, what are we gonna do?

Cletus: So like, it seems simple enough to me. After we rescue your husband then we find this Knull dude and kill him.

Eddie: I doubt it's that simple. I don't think he's even on Earth.

Frances: So like we steal a rocket or something? If they're coming after you anyway might as well go big.

Cletus: Yeah, we just do whatever we need to do and find this guy and then... then you let me do what I'm good at.

Eddie: Are you sure you're cool with all this? Especially after all that happened before...

Cletus: Eddie... if we weren't cool do you think I be helping you now? If anything you did us a favor. You gave me and Carnage a chance for a hard reset so we could really bond.

Eddie: Wait a minute... the codex. Oh shit. It exists because I died and Venom brought me back to life....

Frances: You died?!

Eddie: Temporarily, nevermind that. [To Cletus] You died. So then why aren't they coming after you?

Cletus [Visibly confused]: Maybe they are and and we haven't noticed yet?

Eddie: Well, that's a terrifying thought but not quite as bad as you secretly working for Knull.

Cletus: Eddie, Frances is the only person I'd ever let boss me around. And I'd make a pretty shitty spy considering you already don't trust me, and for good reason.

Eddie: That's true.

Cletus: Maybe... Well, that wasn't the first time I died, you know.

Eddie: Huh?

Cletus: Told you. Baby Cletus died on the operating table as a newborn babe. Also my heart stopped when I got the needle too.

Eddie: Jeez, you're like a zombie.

Cletus: Yeah, suppose it could be something supernatural at play here, like Granny was involved in some weird cult shit. Also nearly bled to death when granny carved up my back with a kitchen knife as a kid. Maybe that counts as dying too.

Eddie: Carved up your back?

[During a pause in the fighting, briefly takes off his shirt and shows the scars. ]

Eddie: Woah!

Cletus: See, I'm not bullshitting you. I never lied to you, Eddie.

Eddie: Huh? Yeah, I believe you, okay Just... Holy shit.

Frances [holding him tenderly]: I know, my poor baby!

Eddie [visibly alarmed]: Yes. Also...

Cletus: What? What is it?

Eddie: I am sorry that happened to you. Like, there's no good way to say this so I'm just gonna say it. I'm not accusing you of anything--

Cletus: What is it, Eddie?

Eddie: That's Knull's symbol.

Cletus: What?!

Frances: Knull's symbol?

Cletus: ...well fuck me.

Carnage: Do not fuck him. He is taken.

Cletus: Eddie, I swear I don't know this guy. I didn't even know what that was. Given the way my family treated me I wanted nothing to do with it--

Eddie: I believe you. I do. And I am so, so sorry.

Cletus: This was from when I was kid... Was this asshole fucking with me my entirely life? Before I was even born? My entire family? Well, I wanted to kill this guy before on general principle but now--

Eddie: Now it's personal?

Cletus: Oh It was already personal. He hurt you.

Eddie: ...

Cletus: Eddie, I... I'm sorry. About before. My head wasn't on straight.

Eddie [sighing]: Honestly, I'm more angry about you kidnapping Anne.

Frances: In fairness that was my idea, don't blame him for that.

Cletus: We just needed you there, you know?

Eddie: Why?

Cletus: Because you're our friend and we were getting married and... and it seemed like a good idea at the time? I apologized to her when I called her.

Eddie: What did she say to that?

Cletus: I promised her I'm not that guy anymore. That I was gonna help you not repeat my mistakes. She passed on some legal contacts in case we got into any more trouble which I think more for your sake than mine but it was most appreciated in any case.

Eddie: [*staring at the scarification on his back.*]

Eddie: But... what does it mean?

Cletus: Well, I always assumed it just meant I was raised by abusive fucks.

Eddie: I'm sorry. But what if like... Knull's controlling you or something? Has been controlling you all along?

Cletus: ...I like to think I have some agency. No, those are my mistakes and I own them.

Eddie: That... That's all well and good but how can you kill him if he can just possess you or something? He's supposed to be like a symbiote God, right? And you've got his symbol.

Cletus: We don't know if he can do that? ...can he?

Carnage: *nodding*

Cletus: Oh.

Frances: *gasping*

Eddie: Shit.

Cletus: Well, if it comes to that... Frances. Can you...?

Frances: Cletus, you can't ask me to---

Cletus: Baby, you can control my mind, I give you permission. I want you to do it if that sick fuck is making me his meat puppet, alright? Do not hesitate. Use that jedi mind trick of yours to make me slit my own throat.

Frances: Baby!

Eddie: Woah!

Cletus: I'd rather die then be made to hurt you or our friends again. Do whatever you have to do to stay alive. Can you do that for me, baby?

Frances [*Wiping away tears, nods.*]

Cletus [*also wiping away tears*]: That's my girl.

Eddie: I don't doubt that she's strong, but I think Knull is supposed to be really tough. Venom was afraid of him--

Carnage [scoffing]: Venom was afraid of me.

Eddie: Just... we don't want to be underestimating this. What if he's too powerful?

Cletus: Well, I guess we burn that bridge when we come to it.

Frances: Come on, Eddie. Let's go rescue your boytoy.

[Getting to the tank where Venom is held]

Frances: [*Breaks the glass*]

Venom [in Frances]: Eddie!

[Venom making out sloppy style with Eddie while Cletus awkwardly looks away.]

[Eddie considering he is so far unmurdered. Maybe they really have changed...]

Cletus: C'mon we gotta go.

Venom: ...what?!

Eddie: He's with me, they're helping us. I'll explain later, come on...