#It's just the way some people are suggesting this is the ONLY possible explanation for their height differences feels...

[gaylactic-fire]

Not to talk about these posts again, but I've had a pretty big chunk of people reblog and equate Link and Zelda's height difference as being "Because they're T4T" or "Because Link is trans." And maybe uh... don't do that??

It's not that I dislike T4T Zelink (the exact opposite, actually) But you simply can't waggle your finger at people increasing Link's height to fit a cisnormative stereotype WHILE also suggesting Link's smallness is caused by an entirely different stereotype. To suggest the only possible reason Link is smaller / Zelda is taller is due to one or both of them being trans is hardly any better than "Man must be taller than woman because he is man."

I was genuinely happy seeing transmasc Link HCs in my notifs at first, since it’s a huge comfort HC of mine, but it's just bothered me more as time's gone on. Can we like... stop associating height and gender as being interconnected? Be it in a cis way or a trans way. It's weird and only enforces gender stereotypes. Thanks ✌️

[wriokitty]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[autistichalsin]

Okay I know I've made like three posts about this one specific thing but I gotta say, anyone who calls Halsin a typical boring Druid either doesn't understand Halsin or doesn't understand Druids, because Halsin is very much an atypical Druid.

Just a few ways Halsin is different than other Druids:

He can't control his wildshape. He transforms involuntarily when under stress, which is not a thing other Druids experience, and he can't control himself fully in wildshape either. He retains traits, such as an enhanced sense of smell, out of his wildshape form, and has the ability to remain as a bear borderline indefinitely, instead of Druids usually only being able to maintain the same form for a couple hours at most.

He doesn't hate undead; he views them the same as living creatures, worthy of life. He cares for Astarion deeply, and is furious if the player allows the 7,000 spawn to die. (He's a little nicer if they do it for a mercy kill instead of the ritual, but is clearly only happy when they are released into the Underdark, the exact thing a Druid is supposed to want to avoid.)

He dislikes the city because it displaces nature, yes, but he VERY rarely says that. Instead, almost every time he laments the conditions of Baldur's Gate, what distresses him is how capitalistic systems harm sentient beings- especially children. He is more upset at the human(oid) suffering he encounters in the city than he is at how it displaces nature.

Halsin is on an obviously morally good alignment. While Druids are no longer required to be neutral, most still are anyway, especially those from the Emerald Enclave, which the Emerald Grove is part of.

Emerald Enclave Druids are encouraged to sabotage society; they breed aggressive animals and place them near settlements to deter development, secretly sponsor brigands to attack new settlements, and simultaneously interact with local populations by providing sweet drinks and teas to boost their public image, so that new developments are curtailed while nearby people think the Druids are kind and harmless. Halsin very notably never even thinks about doing such things, even though it would be trivial for him to do so.

While Halsin's explanation for wanting to stop the Absolute is initially far more in line with Druidic thinking (they're unnatural, obviously), he later grows to want it finished because he wants you, the player, and your friends to be safe.

Halsin has zero desire to ladder-climb in the ranks of the Druids, nor to grow more powerful; he was perfectly happy as he was before the Shadow Curse, and is quite upset he had to waste 100 years of his life "dealing with others' problems and personalities." BUT the fact that he was happy to just that as alderman of his commune suggests the problem was with being forced into the position and being relied on as the sole authority, instead of one trusted elder of many.

Halsin wants children desperately, but was kept from having them by his leadership role. This is yet another example of how, despite his deeply held beliefs, being a Druid ultimately made him less happy.

Halsin isn't very good at leading the Druids, to the point that many of his Druids resent him, many are swayed to a cult the instant he leaves, and he himself decides the best thing he could possibly do for the Grove is leave it and have a better leader come in and take over.

Nearly every struggle Halsin has in the game arises from a conflict with his Druidic beliefs- whether it's his need to cleanse the Shadow Curse causing him to be an ineffective leader of the Grove, his desire for a family being held back by his leadership role, or his love of humanity battling against his hatred for cities as unnatural blots on nature.

Basically, nearly every character beat Halsin has comes from him not being a typical Druid at all, and in some cases, from him being rather bad at being the things Druids are supposed to be.

[logansdoll]

pep talk

part two of "contingency"

CW: fluffy fluff, suggestive, profanity, takes place after X2 (Jean survives), the girls are so kind to you, you have to adjust to modern life, angst if you squint, etc.

"No way!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you grabbed the remote, completely taken aback as you flicked through station after station.

Rogue nodded, grabbing another wildflower growing out your palm and tucking it in your hair, slightly amused by your surprise.

"You guys have so many channels! How is that possible?"

"Science," Kitty shrugged. "We have a whole bunch of new technology now."

"Wait 'til we show you what a flip-phone is..." Jubilee smirked, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.

"A flip-phone?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"That's somethin' we can tackle t'morrow," Rogue assured, carefully placing another peony in another section.

After being rescued from Alkali Lake, and getting a quick check-up from Jean, the students were more than eager to welcome you into the mansion.

And because of your obvious gap in knowledge in anything after 1988, the older girls took it upon themselves to educate you.

Of course, Ororo made sure you had at least a week to get your bearings about yourself before releasing the hounds.

"Wait, so Tom Selleck doesn't count as hot now? And Stallone isn't in all the action movies anymore?" you asked, skimming through some of the magazines Jubilee managed to grab out her closet.

"Who?" Kitty raised a brow.

"Eighties hunks," Jubilee clarified before turning to you. "And they've moved aside to make way for the hotties of the 21st century. Like Johnny Depp."

"Please," Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Johnny Depp is not hot."

"Tell that to People," Kitty grinned, holding up a tabloid that read SEXIEST MAN ALIVE in bold letters right above Depp's head-shot.

"He's not too bad," you nodded, getting a good look at his face.

'He's got nothing on Jimmy...'

"See," Jubilee smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. "If he's not a modern-day knock-out then who is?"

"Brad Pitt," Rogue answered, matter-of-factly.

"I knew you were gonna say that!"

"You watched Fight Club with Bobby, didn't you?" Kitty teased.

"Shut up!"

"Fight Club?" you turned to Kitty for explanation.

"It's a movie about guys fighting each other and trying to bring down capitalist society."

"And Brad Pitt getting all shirtless and sweaty," Jubilee cheekily whispered, earning a pillow to the face. "Hey!"

"There," Rogue smiled, placing the finishing touch before giving your shoulder a soft pat. "All done."

Carefully, you stood up, walking over to the full length mirror near the closet and smiling brightly at what you saw.

Your hair was adorned with all different flavors of bloom, the vibrant colors only enhancing your natural beauty.

"I love it," you smiled, marveling her even placement.

"Ugh. I'd kill Kitty to look like that," Jubilee slumped, resting her cheek in her palm.

"Sitting right here, dude," Kitty sighed.

"I can do you next, if you like," Rogue offered.

"Here," you nodded, sprouting a bouquet of wildflowers out one of their potted plants before sliding on your slippers. "You girls can keep going. I think I'm gonna go on a walk."

"Cool," Jubilee nodded, watching you make your way to the door. "If we don't see you again then good night~"

You paid the odd inflection no mind, waving goodbye before taking your leave, shutting the door behind yourself.

And once the coast was clear, Jubilee smirked, turning to the others with a knowing look.

"I think we all know who she's going to go see, right?"

"Oh, totally."

"Absolutely."

So preoccupied with Jubilee, you failed to remember just how drafty the mansion got at night, cursing yourself for forgetting your sweater in the room.

"I hate the cold..." you grumbled, hugging yourself tight.

Walking through the hall, you could hear the rustling of students on the other sides of the doors.

Some were debriefing about the events of the day, some were sleeping.

Others talking about the Alkali Lake incident.

Your face fell at the reminder.

James had told you countless times that what happened wasn't your fault, but you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt.

When you were cornered by Stryker's mutant-hunting task force, you thought you could fight them back, but you couldn't even take down one.

Granted, they were highly trained professionals, and you'd never used your mutation to fight before...

But that was no excuse.

What did that leave you as?

A) A helpless damsel, who needed her prince to bail her out of a pinch?

Or B) A stupid girl who let herself get put on ice because she wasn't strong enough to fight back?

C) All of the above.

"Whoa. You think any harder and you'll have steam comin' outta your ears," Logan noted, somehow in front of you.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you instinct took over, punching something that felt like a brick wall.

'Where did he come from?!'

He grunted, holding his side, "You hit... hard."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you winced, guiltily, as you moved closer to inspect it, carefully moving his hand. "It was just so dark and you scared the hell outta me."

You lifted his tank top, trying your best to check for a forming bruise in the dim light.

But there was nothing there, his healing factor kicking in much faster than you expected.

"Was thinking of about telling you a joke about how much you take my breath away, but I think you're a little preoccupied at the moment," he looked down at you, a grin spreading across his lips at your staring.

You scoffed, cheeks burning as you pulled his shirt down.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, quickly switching the subject, tightening your arms around yourself.

Logan smiled, your words fading into the background as he took the time to get a good look at you.

And fuck... a look you where.

You exchanged your low-rise jeans and long-sleeve (courtesy of Ororo) for a tank top and shorts, your curves now on display quite nicely.

"Nope," he shook his head, somehow making the motion sexy. "You?"

You sighed, commending yourself for making it this far—you were this close to pouncing on him.

"I just need some air, so I'm going on a walk. And speaking of..." you continued on, stepping around the large man to continue your stroll.

It caught him by surprise, but he quickly turned around, catching up to and getting in front of you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey," he halted, brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," you assured, poorly. "Just trying to get past."

"Nuh uh. Don't do that," he shook his head. "Don't downplay this. Somethin's wrong. I can see it all over your face."

'Shit.'

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping at being caught.

"I can't stand you, y'know that?"

"Start talking."

"Have I ever told you how good you look in blue jeans?"

"(y/n)."

"Alright."

You exhaled, steeling your nerves in case things went awry.

"Look... Jimmy..." you started, choppily, taking his hand in yours. "Fifteen years is a long time... too long for some people."

You cursed yourself as you could already feel a lump forming in your throat.

You hadn't even started yet.

"To me, it feels like yesterday we were at our place in the Rockies, making dinner together and talking about our day, renting shitty movies and falling asleep on the couch together."

The memories flowed over you like a calm tide, a smile stretching onto your lips as you recalled pretending to fall asleep so he'd carry you to bed.

But it wasn't long before those waters dried up, leaving nothing but cracked, jagged sand underneath.

"But to you, it was a lifetime ago. And a person can... move on... given the right conditions."

"What're you saying?" he asked, firmly.

"I'm saying that it's okay if you've moved on from me, James," you blurted, your voice having a slight crack.

It hurt even more to say it out loud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, even more confused, as his hands came around to hold you.

"You've spent the better half of fifteen years unaware that I even existed. And now that I've popped back into your life, I don't want you to feel obligated to love me because of something that happened in the past... I couldn't do that to you. Especially if you have feelings for someone else."

"And who else could I possibly I have feelings for?" he asked, sarastically.

"Jean," you stated, flatly. "I see the way she looks at you. She may be with Scott, but that's the look of a woman who's willing to test the waters. And I don't want to get in the way if that's something you want to pursue."

Amused, and honestly speechless, Logan could do nothing but laugh, slightly offended that you thought of him as that type of man.

"What's so funny?" you asked softly, eyes saddening as you watched him, quite hurt that he was laughing.

He cracked a grin, cupping your cheek in his hand.

"Baby, you're talkin' about me gettin' with another woman as you stand here, wrapped in my arms, and about to come back to bed with me."

Huh?

His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled you in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"(y/n), you are my wife, you hear me? My wife," he spoke sincerely, eyes never leaving you for a moment. "My memories might've been taken before, but they're all back now. And I remember every goddamn detail about you, about us, and about our life before all this bullshit."

You were too stunned to speak.

You knew James could get serious, but you never knew he could get serious.

It was doing some things to you.

"I don't want no one else because, to me, there is no one else. And the quicker you get that through your head, the quicker we can get back to bed 'cause it is fuckin' freezin' out here."

You snickered, both tickled and appalled by his horribly blunt speech.

"That was the worst pep talk I've ever had," you chuckled, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek in your hand.

"Not my strong suit," he finished with a smirk.

But that was all he needed before he roughly kissed you, pulling you in by the nape of your neck.

You kissed back just as passionate, sliding your hands down to his chest as he leaned in, getting the better angle on you.

One of his hands dropped to grab your thigh, hiking it up and pulling you flush against him in an attempt to keep you as close as possible.

But, quickly, you both separated, panting, abuzz with excitement as you rested against each other.

"Bed. Now," he growled in your ear, suddenly hoisting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

"Jimmy!" you quietly squealed, your face burning with embarrassment as he landed a loud slap on your ass.

'God, I hope the kids are asleep...'

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce @shakysif @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate

[ssa-dado]

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: uuum you tell me Summary: The BAU team discovers that Hotch had a former partner, a brilliant female profiler who left the unit abruptly. Gideon reveals you were one of the best, sparking curiosity among the team. As they dig deeper, they uncover your impressive credentials, speculation grows about your close relationship with Hotch, with theories ranging from unspoken feelings to complicated personal dynamics. Warnings: none - or at least that's what I think - who would have thought. Word Count: 7.1k Dado's Corner: OKKKKK let's gooo! First time meeting Aaron's children the team, who's excited?! Peter canonically the most hated character of this fic. This chapter, like many others in this fic, has a sister chapter coming up in exactly 7 hours. After leaving you with your mouth dry yesterday, I figured it’s only fair to keep the anticipation going! Let me know what you think of the team! Also if you have ideas for this particular fic, my inbox is opened, feel free to leave as many suggestions as you would like!

previous chapter ; masterlist

No one at the BAU was ever good with goodbyes.

It was a team built on unspoken bonds and shared burdens, a group of people who had seen the darkest parts of the world and each other. For all the skills they had in reading human behavior, they were never quite able to express what it felt like to lose one of their own. Words often felt inadequate, insufficient to capture the weight of what they’d been through together: the late nights, the close calls, the quiet moments that held more significance than any case file.

Goodbyes were messy, uncomfortable, and often avoided altogether.

Rossi had been the first to leave, and even though Hotch knew he had been restless for months, it still came as a shock. One day, Rossi was there, with his dry humor and his endless stories, and the next, his office was empty, the walls bare, as if he had never really been there at all, if it weren’t for Gideon’s call, he would have never reached out. Only later he left behind a brief note, neatly folded on Hotch’s desk, with a few lines about “needing a change” and “time to start the next chapter.” It was classic Rossi: vague, detached, like he didn’t want to make a fuss. Hotch had read the note a multitude of times, hoping to find some hidden message, but there was nothing. No explanation, no real goodbye. Just Rossi, slipping away on his own terms, halfway to his next adventure before anyone had a chance to ask him to stay.

Then the most recent was Gideon’s. After Boston, after the case that had broken him in ways none of them had fully understood, Gideon’s silence was deafening. Hotch remembered the last time he’d seen him, sitting alone in his office, staring blankly at the case files scattered across his desk. Gideon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t offered any explanation or farewell. He just looked up, his eyes hollow and distant, and Hotch knew that whatever had been holding him together had finally snapped. By the next morning, Gideon was gone, his desk cleared out, his badge left behind like a discarded shell of who he once was. There were no letters, no phone calls, just the ghost of a man who had once been a legend in the field but was now too broken to even say goodbye.

Both of those men had left him with new responsibilities: Rossi’s departure had made him a lead profiler, and Gideon’s exit had eventually thrust him into the role of Unit Chief. Though Hotch had always been an ambitious person, the way he’d earned his promotions often felt like a double-edged sword, each step up tinged with a sense of loss. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that he could never fully enjoy his achievements without bearing the weight of the absences that had made them possible, leaving him to wonder if success always had to come at such a cost.

Hotch had never mastered the art of letting people go. The departures always felt like tearing pages out of a story that had been written together, each blank space a reminder of what had been lost.

But you, you were different.

You were the only one who was extraordinary at goodbyes.

It had been a few months after his wedding when you made your announcement. The BAU had just wrapped up a grueling case, the kind that left everyone drained and hollowed out, and Hotch had retreated to his desk, hoping for a moment of peace. You had come in, hesitant at first, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist - a nervous habit he’d come to recognize over the years. You took a breath before speaking, your voice laced with the kind of excitement that only comes when you’re standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“I got an offer,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “To teach. It’s a position I never even dreamed of. The first-ever Behavioral Sciences courses, all across Europe. They want me to lead them.”

Hotch remembered the way his heart sank when you first told him, though he tried his best to keep his expression neutral, hiding the ache beneath a composed facade. He had always known you were destined for more; your talent, insight, and your relentless passion for sharing knowledge had set you apart from the very beginning. You were the team’s quiet genius, not just in profiling but in connecting dots others couldn’t see, blending psychology, philosophy, and the art of communication into something extraordinary.

You laid out all the details with an excitement that was hard to contain: Rome, London, Paris - places you had only glimpsed on rare vacations now calling on you to bring your expertise to their prestigious institutions. It was a perfect fit, a job seemingly tailored just for you. Your fluency in multiple languages, from Italian and French to German and Swedish, made you uniquely qualified to teach across Europe, bridging cultural gaps with the ease of someone who had spent their life immersed in the subtleties of language and human behavior.

It was everything you had worked for, and everything you deserved. Hotch knew that it was fate, really - that someone with your knowledge, your intellect, and your gift for teaching would eventually end up in front of a classroom, shaping the next generation of minds. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. You were finally getting the recognition you deserved, but for Hotch, it felt like the beginning of the end of something he hadn’t been ready to let go of.

Hotch had listened intently, though the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. He could see the flicker of conflict in your eyes, the way you glanced at him, searching for something: approval, reassurance, maybe even permission to take this leap.

You had always been strong, but this decision was monumental, and Hotch could sense your need for his support. As you spoke, your words came out in a rush, filled with excitement yet underlined with an uncertainty that made his heart ache. When you finally paused, breathless and hopeful, he forced a smile, pushing back the knot of emotions building inside him.

“You always told me I should find my happiness,” he said softly, echoing the words that had once helped pull him through some of his darkest times. “Maybe it’s time you did the same.”

He watched as your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Hotch could feel you on the verge of saying something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface. But instead, you nodded, your smile bittersweet, tinged with an understanding that broke his heart just a little more.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, yet so full of sincerity it nearly undid him. “I needed to hear that.”

And he knew, in that instant, that his words had given you what you needed. But the cost of that comfort weighed heavily on him. This was it - this was the moment he had been dreading. The goodbye that followed was simple, yet it carried a depth of emotion that neither of you dared to fully express. There were no tears, no grand declarations, just the two of you standing in the bullpen, surrounded by the echoes of shared memories and silent understanding.

When you moved to hug him, Hotch felt the familiar warmth of your presence wrap around him. For a second, he held on tighter than he should have, his hands lingering at your back, memorizing the way you felt against him. He wasn’t sure how long he held you there, but it wasn’t long enough. It would never be long enough. The realization hit him hard, this might be the last time he’d feel the steady comfort of you by his side, the last time he could call you his partner in the same way.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, your voice thick with the emotions you’d worked so hard to keep at bay. And though Hotch tried to respond, his throat tightened, and all he could do was nod, hoping that somehow you’d understand all the things he couldn’t find the words for.

“Don’t forget to write,” you had said, pulling back with a small, teasing smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a half-joke, half-promise, but Hotch had clung to it.

When you finally pulled away, it felt like something inside him had shifted, like a piece of him had gone with you. He watched as you gave him one last, lingering look before walking out of the building, the door closing softly behind you. The silence that followed was suffocating. Hotch stood there for a long time, staring at the space where you had been, already feeling the weight of your absence settle deep in his bones.

You both knew phone calls wouldn’t work - the time zones were unforgiving, and your schedules were a mess of lectures, seminars, cases and travel. Trying to coordinate would only lead to missed calls and voicemails, the kind of slow drift that ends in silence. But letters, letters were something else. They were tangible, personal, a way of staying connected even when the rest of the world pulled you in different directions.

Your first letter arrived a few weeks after you left. Hotch had found it waiting on his desk one morning, nestled between case files and memos, and just seeing your name scrawled across the envelope made something in his chest tighten.

For Hotch, the idea of writing to you felt right. It reminded him of the hours you had spent together in the bullpen, sitting across from each other as you filed endless reports and bantered over cases. Your handwriting, always in blue ink - never black, because you said it felt too clinical - was something he had come to cherish. He still remembered the way you had teased him, claiming that black ink was for lawyers and pessimists, and he had laughed, knowing you were right.

He opened it carefully, unfolding the pages with the same kind of reverence he might have shown an old photograph. The letter was filled with details of your new life abroad: how strange it was to be teaching in a classroom instead of chasing down criminals, how the students were eager but occasionally overwhelmed by the intensity of your lessons. You wrote about your tiny apartment in Rome, the cobblestone streets that twisted like a labyrinth, and the late nights spent sipping espresso as you prepared your lectures.

But it wasn’t just the big moments you shared; it was the little things, too. The frustration of dealing with Italian bureaucracy, the odd comfort of hearing a student quote something you’d said in class, and the quiet evenings when you missed the familiar hum of the BAU. Every word was laced with your personality: your humor, your insight, the way you saw the world with a blend of sharp intellect and boundless curiosity. Hotch read that first letter at least a dozen times, absorbing every detail, and when he finally put it down, he felt closer to you than he had in weeks.

Writing back to you became a ritual for Hotch, a quiet refuge at the end of his long, exhausting days. Once the cases were filed, the team had gone home, and the dim glow of his office lamp was the only light left in the bullpen, he would settle at his desk, the silence his only company. The act of writing to you felt both familiar and soothing, a tether to a time when you sat just across from him, lost in your own thoughts yet always attuned to his.

Hotch’s letters were a blend of work updates, personal reflections, and glimpses into the ever-changing dynamics of the team. He would tell you about the latest cases they were working on, the challenges that kept him up at night, and the way the BAU had evolved in your absence. You were always keen to know how the team was adjusting, and Hotch made sure to keep you in the loop, filling you in on the new agents who had joined and the unique personalities that now made up the BAU.

He told you about Derek Morgan, the first agent to join after you left. A former Chicago police officer with years of experience in the bomb squad, Morgan brought a fierce determination and a protective instinct that quickly made him an invaluable asset. But there was also a softer side to Morgan, one that emerged when he talked about his past or reached out to support his teammates. In many ways, his drive and unwavering loyalty reminded Hotch of you, and he knew you would have liked him.

Next came Penelope Garcia, the flamboyant technical analyst whose quirky style and unmatched brilliance with computers brought a new energy to the team. She was a ray of light in the otherwise dark world of profiling, and Hotch often found himself amused by her unique way of looking at the world. Despite her unconventional approach, Garcia was a genius with technology, hacking into systems with ease and always finding the crucial piece of information that made the difference. Hotch thought of how you would have loved her spirit, her warmth, and her unfiltered way of connecting with others.

Then there was Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, the new media liaison who had quickly proven herself to be on of the most important resources in the team. JJ was calm under pressure, compassionate, and fiercely dedicated to the team’s mission. She was a bridge between the BAU and the outside world, handling the delicate task of managing public perception and dealing with victims’ families with grace and empathy. Hotch admired her poise and her quiet strength, qualities he often found himself describing to you, knowing you’d appreciate how she balanced the team’s intense work with her soft-spoken resilience.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid, a young genius with an IQ of 187. Gideon had brought him in, recognizing his potential - just as he did with you back then - even though Reid was still so green, fresh out of the academy with a mind that worked on an entirely different level. Hotch wrote about Reid’s unique brilliance, the way he could recite obscure facts at lightning speed, and notice patterns no one else could see. But he also told you about Reid’s vulnerabilities, when his intellect clashed with his emotional sensitivity. Reid’s innocence and earnestness were tempered by the heavy weight of the cases, and Hotch often found himself mentoring him.

Lastly, Hotch wrote about Emily Prentiss, the newest addition to the team, an experienced agent with a knack for languages and a drive that matched his own. Prentiss was smart, resourceful, and relentless in her pursuit of justice, and her multilingual skills often put her in the center of complex international cases. She was bold, unafraid to speak her mind, and determined to prove herself, even when the odds were against her. Hotch appreciated her dedication and saw echoes of your tenacity in her work ethic, her unyielding desire to understand every angle of a case.

As Hotch became Unit Chief, he had worked hard to build a cohesive team, one that felt more like a family than just a group of agents. He made it a priority to cultivate an environment where each member’s strengths could shine, creating an expanded, stable unit where everyone had their own area of expertise: Morgan with tactical support, Garcia with technical prowess, JJ with media relations, Reid with his unparalleled intellect, Prentiss with her international insight and Gideon – just being Gideon.

It was a dynamic mix, and though the team had grown and evolved, Hotch never stopped missing your presence among them. You were the missing piece, the partner who had helped lay the foundation for what the BAU had become.

But his letters were not just filled with work updates; they were laced with personal moments, too. Hotch shared glimpses of his life outside the office, the small joys that kept him grounded. He wrote about his son Jack, who was growing up faster than Hotch could keep up with. He also wrote about Haley, who had found solace in gardening, transforming their backyard into a small oasis of color and life.

The lines between work and personal life blurred in his letters, just as they always had with you. You were more than just a partner at work, you were the person who had been there through the highs and lows, his best friend who understood the burdens he carried without him having to say a word. And though you were an ocean away, your presence lingered in every word exchanged, each letter a lifeline that kept you connected despite the distance.

You never just sent letters, though. There were always little extras tucked inside: clippings from newspapers, photos of the places you were exploring, and, most often - to still honour your long lived tradition - books.

You had a way of choosing the perfect titles, each one reflecting the country you were living in or the experiences you were having. When you were teaching in Italy, you had sent him a cookbook called “Pizza, Pane e Focacce,” a whimsical collection of traditional recipes that made Hotch laugh out loud. He had imagined you in the tiniest Roman kitchen, trying your hand at kneading dough, and the thought was so charmingly incongruous that he couldn’t resist teasing you about it in his next letter.

“Italian pizza and philosophy, a natural combination,” he had written, the playful tone feeling both familiar and distant. “Let me know when you’re ready to challenge Rossi to a cook-off. I’ll bring the wine.”

But the most meaningful gift had come when Hotch had told you about Haley’s pregnancy. It was a vulnerable confession, written in the quiet hours of the night when he felt the weight of impending fatherhood pressing down on him.

He hadn’t expected anything in return, but a few weeks later, a package arrived, a book titled “Guide for New Dads.” It was in Swedish, a nod to one of the first books he’d ever given you about coin collecting, and this time to prove him you had long mastered that language, every page was carefully translated into English with sticky notes in your familiar blue ink.

You had filled the margins with little jokes and notes of encouragement, turning a practical guide into something deeply personal.

“This one’s actually useful, Hotch,” you had joked.

“I promise, the Scandinavians know their thing.” Or

“It’s not the easiest language,” you had written on one of the notes, “but then again, neither is parenthood. You’ve got this, partner.”

Those two words - “you’ve got this” - had stayed with him, becoming a quiet mantra in the moments when doubt threatened to creep in. You always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even from halfway across the world.

Today, Hotch was sending you something in return. After years of toying with the idea, he had finally co-written a book on crisis negotiation, a project that had taken countless late nights and long hours of reflection. It was something he was proud of, a culmination of his years in the field, and it felt only right that you should be one of the first to see it. He carefully packed the book, adding a handwritten note on the first page, a Hegel quote about partnership that he knew you would appreciate.

"Partnership, like friendship, is an expression of freedom that arises from the recognition of others as individuals, bound by a common ethical life." - (Philosophy of Right, unfortunately, not Hegel for Dummies)

“Hopefully, you’ll like this one in particular,” he had added in a playful scrawl, imagining the way you would roll your eyes at his attempt at humor. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a continuation of the conversation you had been having for years, the dialogue that never really ended.

Six years had passed, but some things never changed. You were still his partner, the person who understood him in ways no one else ever could. But now, your life had taken a different turn - you were engaged to Peter, your best friend since you were fifteen. Hotch knew Peter well, how he had been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you were too stubborn to ask for help, and how, despite winning that date with you back at his welcome back party, you’d never really given him a fair chance.

Peter had always been that steady presence, always willing to wait, always there in the background, a constant in your life when everything else felt uncertain. And though you had resisted his quiet, unwavering affection for years, something in you had shifted: a desire for something safe, something dependable, something that felt like home.

In your letters, Hotch could feel the warmth and affection you had for Peter radiate from every line. You described him with such tenderness: the way he would surprise you with breakfast on mornings when you were buried in work as your usual, how he would wait up for you when your classes ran late, and how he would listen, truly listen, to every word you said, even when his own responsibilities at Interpol were just as demanding. There were little moments, too: the way his eyes would light up when he saw you walk into a room, and the quiet nights spent talking about everything and nothing.

Hotch could tell Peter cherished you in a way you deserved: patiently, deeply, without reservations. He could see that Peter was the one who was there to hold you through your doubts, the one who made you feel understood when the rest of the world seemed incomprehensible.

He remembered the letter you had sent announcing your engagement, how you described Peter’s proposal on a quiet evening in Vienna, the two of you standing on a bridge overlooking the Danube. You wrote about the gentle way he had asked, how it felt so natural, so right, that you hadn’t even needed to think twice before saying yes.

You were building something beautiful, and he was happy for you. Truly, he was. But there were moments, in the quiet solitude of his office or in the late hours of the night, when he couldn’t help but feel the weight of your absence like an old, familiar scar.

He sealed the package with the book and his note inside, pausing to add a small card with a few lines scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“To my partner, the only person who could ever make a philosopher out of an FBI agent. I hope this book finds you well. I’m proud of you, always. Don’t forget to write.”

He had kept your latest letter on his desk, re-reading it whenever the weight of the day became too much. You wrote about the small joys of your new life - the café near your apartment in Paris, where you and Peter would go on Sundays, the excitement of teaching your students about behavioral analysis, and the bittersweet feeling of missing the team. It was the kind of letter that made Hotch smile, filled with all the small details that made him feel like you were still just a phone call away.

But life at the BAU had moved on. Hotch was Unit Chief now, a position he had worked years to attain, and the team was evolving with new faces and new dynamics. Haley and Jack were thriving, and Hotch found solace in their little routines, the stability of home life that had once seemed impossible. But no matter how full his days were, there was always that quiet moment when he would think of you: wondering where you were, what you were doing, and if you ever missed him the way he missed you.

He hadn’t seen you in six years, hadn’t heard your voice except for in memories, and yet you were still so present, woven into the fabric of his everyday life in ways he hadn’t fully understood until you were gone.

.

Back in the bullpen, Emily Prentiss, still trying to find her rhythm with the BAU team, leaned against her desk, her eyes trailing toward Hotch’s office. She had been with the team for a few months now, and while she was learning the ropes and getting comfortable, Hotch remained somewhat of a mystery to her.

He was always calm, collected, and focused - a leader who kept a firm grip on everything around him. But when it came to his personal life, he was a locked vault. It intrigued her, in a way that felt almost frustrating. With a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she tossed out the question she’d been wondering for weeks. “Does Hotch even have friends? I mean, besides his endless pile of case files?”

The bullpen, which had been filled with the familiar hum of typing and low conversations, quieted as everyone processed the question. Morgan, sitting across from Prentiss, was the first to break the silence with a low snicker. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, flashing his trademark grin. “Hotch? Friends? Nah, that man’s married to the job. Friends would require, you know - fun - and I don’t think he’s ever met the word.”

JJ, who had been sorting through a stack of papers at her desk, laughed softly. “Yeah, he definitely seems more like the ‘spend Saturday night in the office instead of watching a game with buddies’ type. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have time for friends.”

Prentiss grinned at that, shaking her head in agreement. "Or maybe he has a secret club of workaholics where they get together and solve cold cases for fun."

Garcia, standing behind Morgan’s chair and draping her arms around his shoulders, gasped dramatically, her eyes widening with an over-the-top look of mock horror. She placed a hand theatrically over her heart, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh, can you imagine Hotch at a dinner party?” she exclaimed, her voice dropping into a stiff, deadpan impression of him. “‘So, how do you feel about the rising murder rates in the Midwest?’”

She shivered dramatically, clutching Morgan a little tighter for effect. “Honestly, the worst small talk ever,” she declared, rolling her eyes with a playful shudder that sent the team into laughter.

Laughter rippled through the group, the shared image of Hotch awkwardly navigating social situations becoming a source of amusement. But as the laughter died down, Reid - who had been quietly sifting through old case files - looked up, his expression thoughtful, as if he had been contemplating the question more seriously than the rest.

“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t want friends,” Reid mused, his tone thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. He absentmindedly flipped through a stack of old case files in front of him, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere. “It’s more that he doesn’t *prioritize* them. His work-life balance is… well, skewed. I think he probably sees relationships outside of work as distractions. They pull him away from his responsibilities, and that’s something he can’t afford.”

Prentiss nodded slowly, taking in Reid’s assessment with a soft hum of agreement. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, her gaze flicking toward Hotch’s office, where the blinds were half-drawn and the lights were on. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word, “I can see that. But still… doesn’t everyone need someone to talk to? I mean, even Hotch?”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair with a casual grin, was about to drop a classic sarcastic retort when something stopped him in his tracks. He noticed the subtle shift in the room - a presence just behind them, commanding yet silent. The playful banter faded as everyone instinctively glanced up.

There, standing quietly at the edge of their conversation, was Jason Gideon.

His mere presence had a way of quieting a room. Unlike Hotch, whose authority was overt and rooted in his leadership, Gideon’s was understated, more psychological. He didn’t need to bark orders at them; he simply had to be there, and everyone would fall silent. He looked between them, his eyes calm but sharp, assessing the scene with a quiet understanding.

Gideon had clearly overheard enough of the conversation to know what they were discussing. His expression was thoughtful, as though he was deciding just how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, in his familiar, measured voice, he broke the silence. “Yes, he does have friends.”

The simplicity of his statement landed like a bombshell in the middle of the room. All eyes snapped to Gideon, the weight of his words sending shockwaves through the group. The notion that Aaron Hotchner - stoic, ever-serious Hotch - had a social life outside the walls of the BAU was almost laughable.

Morgan was the first to react, leaning back with an incredulous grin as he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re telling me Hotch has friends? Like, real, actual friends? Not just old case files and unsolved murders?”

JJ, sitting a few desks away, blinked in surprise and lowered her papers, clearly caught off guard by the idea. “Friends?” she echoed. “I mean, I know Hotch is close to his team, but I didn’t think he really had time for anyone outside of work.”

Prentiss, her curiosity instantly piqued, leaned forward, her arms now resting on the back of a chair. “Wait, hold on. Hotch has a friend? Who?”

Gideon’s gaze swept the room, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a subtle smile, enjoying the ripple of disbelief he’d caused. He took a step closer, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “She used to work here,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, almost as if the information he was dropping wasn’t about to throw the entire team into a frenzy. “One of the best profilers we’ve ever had, Hotch and her were partners.”

The weight of that revelation hung in the air like a thick cloud of mystery, and the group fell silent again, processing what had just been said. A female profiler? Someone close to Hotch? Who had left the team without a single mention in all these years? The idea felt like a puzzle, one they couldn’t help but start piecing together.

Garcia, always the quickest to act when it came to uncovering mysteries, perked up immediately. Her fingers hovered eagerly over her keyboard, itching to dive into the archives. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “She? A female profiler? Who worked here? And Hotch’s partner?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “We need details, Gideon.”

JJ, her brow furrowing in confusion, leaned against her desk and glanced at the others. “Why didn’t Hotch ever mention her? I mean, if she was one of the best profilers we’ve had, wouldn’t we know about her?”

Morgan scoffed lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “This has got to be a joke, right? Hotch had a female partner, one of the best profilers, and he never said a word? Not even in passing?”

Prentiss, now fully engrossed in the mystery, added, “And why did she leave? People that good don’t just walk away. Something had to have happened.”

But Gideon, ever enigmatic, simply shrugged as if he were tossing breadcrumbs to a group of hungry detectives. “She moved on to bigger things,” he said, almost wistfully. “She’s in Europe now. Teaching. Brilliant mind.” And just like that, before anyone could ask more questions, he gave a small nod of finality and turned to walk back to his office. He left the group standing there in stunned silence, their collective curiosity now burning hotter than ever.

JJ blinked rapidly, still trying to process what had just been revealed. “That’s… cryptic, even for Gideon.”

Morgan, arms crossed over his chest, glanced back at Hotch’s office, his brow furrowing deeper. The blinds were half-drawn, but he could still make out the familiar figure hunched over case files, as usual. “Hotch had a partner like that and never mentioned her once? Not even a hint? That’s not just weird, it’s suspicious.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips as she shook her head. “If she was that good, why isn’t she still here? There has to be more to the story than Hotch is letting on. You know how he is with secrets.”

Garcia’s eyes were immediately already glowing with excitement. “Well, my darlings,” she said, leaning forward with an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, “it seems we have ourselves a delightful little mystery to solve. And you know there’s nothing I love more than a good digital dig into the archives.” She clapped her hands together. “To the Batcave!”

Morgan chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Alright, alright, lead the way, baby girl. Let’s see what you’ve got on this mystery woman.”

With an excited flourish, Garcia waved them all into her colorful sanctuary, the tech-laden, light-filled Batcave that was her pride and joy. Stepping inside, it was like entering another universe, a world of colorful bobbleheads, blinking lights, and eclectic posters that shouted Garcia's unique personality. Her desk was lit up with the glow of multiple monitors, all showing scrolling lines of code and flashing icons.

She wiggled her fingers theatrically over the keyboard before diving into the search. “Prepare to be dazzled, my friends. You’re about to witness hacking magic.”

Prentiss leaned against the edge of Garcia’s desk, smirking. “Do we get popcorn for this?”

Garcia flashed her a grin. “Popcorn comes later, my dear. Right now, we’re after intel.”

The rest of the team gathered around Garcia’s chair, their curiosity piqued. Morgan leaned over her shoulder, watching as she quickly navigated through various secure databases, her fingers flying over the keyboard in rapid succession. The sound of keystrokes filled the air, the tension rising with each tap. After a few moments, Garcia’s face lit up, her fingers pausing as she let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh. Oh my God.” She spun around dramatically in her chair, eyes wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… her.”

The monitors flickered, and suddenly, the screen filled with your personnel file. A younger version of you stared back at them from the photograph - a sharp, focused gaze beneath determined brows, your expression serious yet full of life. There was something magnetic in the way you carried yourself, even in a still image.

Morgan leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the picture. “Well, damn,” he muttered under his breath, letting out a low whistle. “She’s exactly my type.”

Prentiss nudged him playfully, raising an eyebrow. “You say that about every woman who’s both breathing and talented, Morgan.”

Morgan grinned, flashing her a playful wink. “Yeah, but this one’s different. Hotch kept her under wraps. That’s like a glowing recommendation.”

Garcia, enjoying the banter, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Easy there, tiger,” she teased, spinning back to her computer. “I’ll share her with you, but only because I love you. Remember, I’ve called dibs.”

The team erupted in laughter, Garcia’s infectious energy cutting through the room. Even Reid, who had been quietly studying your file, let out a small smile, though his focus remained intensely on the details unfolding before them.

“She was hired here at 21,” Garcia read aloud, her voice laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Straight out of university with degrees in philosophy, psychology, and linguistics. And - oh, my God - she spoke 16 languages fluently when she joined.” She paused dramatically. “Now they’re up to twenty-six, tewnty-six.”

Reid’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Twenty-one? She was recruited younger than I was?” He blinked, his mind racing as he processed the information. “That’s… incredible.”

Morgan grinned and elbowed Reid playfully. “Looks like someone beat you to the genius profiler title, pretty Ricky.”

Reid shot Morgan a mock glare but couldn’t hide his amazement. “Twenty-six languages?” His voice was filled with admiration as he scrolled through your file. “I’ve read her work. She pioneered an entirely new method of geographical profiling, 3D models that incorporate topography. Elevation, terrain changes, natural barriers… it completely changed how we understand unsub movement patterns.” He leaned forward, growing more animated. “Traditional geographical profiling looks at a flat map, but she recognized that criminals don’t move across flat landscapes. She factored in hills, rivers, even forests,anything that could affect the unsub’s route or escape. She mapped out the terrain as the unsub would see it, considering how natural barriers influence decisions.”

Prentiss nodded, intrigued. “So, she wasn’t just tracking where they went, but how they moved through the landscape?”

“Exactly!” Reid’s excitement built. “She created a ‘criminal terrain map,’ layering traditional geographic data with topographical maps. She used it to predict choke points, places where terrain forces an unsub to make specific choices. She even factored in the psychological impact, organized offenders would avoid risky terrain, while disorganized ones might take dangerous paths without thinking. She didn’t just consider where they were going, she understood why they made those decisions, based on both the landscape and their psychology.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, basically, she was a legend?”

Garcia continued scrolling through your file, her fingers moving methodically as she scanned more of your achievements. “And she didn’t just stop there,” she said, excitement building in her voice. “After leaving the BAU, she went on to teach behavioral science and criminology all over Europe: Italy, France, Spain, Greece, Sweden – you name it – even Iceland. Lecturing in multiple languages, of course. She’s giving a guest lecture at Quantico today.”

Morgan let out a low whistle, leaning in closer as though he could learn more about you just by studying your photo. “Hotch’s friend is an international superstar. That’s why he didn’t tell us about her. He didn’t want us feeling inferior.”

JJ chuckled from the other side of the room, still processing the idea of Hotch keeping someone like you under wraps. “Of course, Hotch would keep someone like that close to the vest. It’s so like him to have a secret weapon tucked away.”

Prentiss, crossing her arms, seemed to grow more curious by the second. “If she’s this brilliant, why did she leave? And why didn’t he ever mention her?” She scanned the faces of her colleagues, clearly unsatisfied with the pieces of the puzzle they had so far. “There’s something else going on here. Hotch doesn’t just let people disappear.”

Morgan scratched his chin thoughtfully, glancing back toward Hotch’s office, which seemed to be shrouded in even more mystery now. “Yeah, something’s not adding up. She was that good, and then she just… vanished from the BAU? I bet there’s a whole story we’re missing. The question is, why did she leave?”

Garcia, never one to miss out on a juicy bit of gossip, spun around in her chair with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it… she left just a few months after Hotch’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, enjoying the shocked looks from the others. “Coincidence? Or was there something more going on?”

JJ’s eyes widened, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You think she and Hotch were… what? Secretly involved? No way. Hotch is way too straight-laced for that.”

Morgan leaned against Garcia’s desk, crossing his arms. “I don’t know… maybe. She leaves right after his wedding? That’s a pretty big red flag. Maybe she had feelings for him, and when he married Haley, it was too much. She couldn’t handle being around him anymore.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, half-amused but also intrigued by the theory. “Or… maybe Hotch had feelings for her, and she left to avoid a messy situation. I mean, Hotch isn’t exactly one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe it was all too complicated.”

Reid, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up, ever the voice of reason. “Or,” he said, “it could just be a coincidence. People leave jobs all the time for personal reasons. She was clearly brilliant; maybe she just wanted to pursue teaching or research.”

Garcia grinned at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, genius. Even you can’t deny that the timing is suspicious. She leaves only months after Hotch gets married? There’s gotta be more to that story.”

Morgan nodded, his expression serious but playful. “Yeah, kid, you don’t leave the BAU, the best profiling team in the country, unless something major goes down.”

Prentiss tilted her head, her curiosity still running wild. “What if they had some kind of falling out? Maybe they were super close, and after the wedding, things got awkward between them.”

JJ leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful. “It’s possible. People don’t usually leave a close partnership like that without a good reason. Especially someone like Hotch, he doesn’t form bonds easily, but when he does… it runs deep.”

Morgan grinned. “Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out. If we’re lucky, we might get some answers when we meet her. Maybe she’ll drop some hints about what really went down.”

Garcia, her fingers flying across the keys again, pulled up more details about your guest lecture. “Well, lucky for us, she’s not going to be a mystery for much longer. Her lecture is in just a couple of hours at the Academy. How convenient for us to take a little field trip.”

Reid, his eyes lighting up, nodded eagerly. “I’d love to hear her lecture. I’ve read so much of her work - it would be fascinating to see how she applies her theories in person. Maybe we’ll even get some insight into her departure.”

Prentiss smirked, clearly enjoying the intrigue. “And I wouldn’t mind getting a sense of what she’s like. She sounds like a force to be reckoned with. Plus, if she was that close to Hotch, there’s gotta be some interesting history.”

Garcia swiveled around to face them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Field trip, anyone?”

JJ pushed away from the wall, smiling as she glanced around the room. “I’m in. Let’s go meet the legend.”

The team exchanged eager glances, the sense of excitement in the air palpable. There was more to this than just a lecture, they were about to meet someone who had not only shaped the field of profiling but had also left a deep, unspoken mark on their unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. They couldn’t help but feel like they were about to uncover a part of the team’s history that for some reason had been hidden for far too long.

[wosov]

A tough pill to swallow - part 2

content warning:

blood (minor mention)

poor mental health

The relief you felt once you were out of Leah’s car was immediate but short-lived as you turned the corner to the changing room. You could quite clearly hear voices and although you couldn’t quite make out who they belonged to, you knew it would be too much for you to cope with. So, off you went to the bathrooms to hopefully get changed and allow yourself some time to hopefully shake out of this mood. After all, nobody deserved to be on the receiving end of that. 

Meanwhile, Leah had quickly gotten out of her car and managed to catch up with Beth and Katie. She needed advice and they seemed the best people to be able to offer that to her. So, with a deep breath she explained everything that had gone on. Your terrible mood this morning, the screaming match you had gotten into. The fact that the dark circles under your eyes made you look like you hadn’t slept in a week and that you just seemed to be getting more withdrawn by the minute. 

Katie and Beth listened intently both seeming to become just as concerned as Leah. Beyond everything, you had found a place in every single heart of your teammates with them looking out for you as one of their own. 

Katie was the first one to offer her thoughts. “Le, if i’m being honest the kid has seemed off lately.” Katie takes a deep breath before continuing on with her opinion. The seriousness in her demeanour, a stark contrast in her usual brash personality, made Leah really pause and listen. “I have to ask, do you think she is on drugs?” 

This question was not what Leah was expecting and Katie guessed it too, so she carried on trying to justify her thought.

“I mean it’s that the past few days she was really hyper and upbeat. Like unnervingly so and it… I guess it just made me wonder because I know her usual self is happy and cheeky but what I saw from her, I have only ever seen when people have been drunk or high. And now she just seems depressed and like she is going to snap at the slightest thing.” 

Katie’s words really made Leah stop and think and she hated to admit it but her theory did make a lot of sense. It would account for your strange moods and your more recent irritability. But this thought didn’t fill her with the comfort like she thought having a possible explanation would do. Instead it filled her with dread at the conversations she would have to have with not just you but the staff as well. And Katie sensed the unease building in Leah.

“Hey, I am probably wrong, y'know. It was just a thought I had, especially given how young the kid is. She may be trying to experiment or feeling pressure to fit in, I don’t know.” Katie desperately tried to make the situation better.

It was Beth that chimed in next with a sensible suggestion. “How about we all keep an eye on kiddo and ask the others if they have noticed anything before we confront her. If we go in all guns blazing then it will make the situation 10 times worse and we don’t even know what type of situation we are dealing with yet.”

Leah and Katie both agreed to that and they resumed their walk inside, mutual silence filling the air. 

After Katie had gone off to find Caitlin, Leah and Beth headed to the locker room but when they noticed you weren’t there confusion covered both of their faces. The only other logical place where you could be was the canteen and they knew you weren’t there, having passed it on the way to their current location. Leah quickly dumped her stuff into her locker before muttering to Beth that she was going to go check in the bathroom. Beth just nodded in response and began to get ready for training. It wasn’t long before Leah came back empty handed but just as they were about to start coming up with different places to search, the whistle blew signalling to the start of training. This filled Leah with worry, thinking you were going to be late for training so she didn’t know whether to be pleased or more concerned about you when she saw you were already kicking a ball about on the field away from where everyone had started to gather. 

It didn’t take long for Renee to realise this and after yelling a quick “Kiddo c’mon” you tossed the ball to the side and made your way over. All without lifting your head to meet your teammates. There were no cheeky jokes or remarks, no playful shoves or smirks. Just complete silence. 

Leah was definitely more concerned now. 

As they were nearing the end of their morning training session, the girls were in good spirits, playfully shoving each other and laughing. That was until Kyra made the decision to completely miss the social queues you were giving off and shove you. Fair enough her actions were completely innocent and on any other day you would’ve shoved her back and probably started play fighting in one way or another. But today, you weren’t expecting it and fell straight onto your front, your hands getting covered in mud as they reached out to break your fall. 

Kyra, still not picking up on your discomfort, started laughing and trying to start joking about with you. But you had well and truly snapped. Everything had suddenly come to fruition and you no longer felt in control of your own body. It all happened in an instant, one second you were on the floor the next second you had shot up from the ground before pushing Kyra over aggressively. 

As you stood over her, fists clenched and breathing heavy, you had no other feelings other than pure unfiltered anger and that anger needed a place to latch onto. Unfortunately for Kyra, it was her. 

The only other of your teammates that were in close vicinity were Laura Wienrother and Caitlin Foord and all they could think to do was watch on in shock and disbelief that your usual cheeky self would be capable of something like this. That was until Kyra (still in utter shock) managed to get back on her feet and you just completely lost it and swung at her. The action of your fist hitting Kyras face caused Laura to scream out in fear and Caitlin tried to restrain you in response. Key word being try, as you quickly fought free of her hold. However, Laura’s scream soon alerted the rest of the squad to the heated situation that was quickly unfolding back on the field and Leah had no hesitations before she was running over to grab and restrain you. She didn’t know what had happened to set you off like this, she just saw Kyra’s bloodied nose and your bloodied fist and she just took it upon herself to minimise the impact of your meltdown. 

She found herself quickly grabbing you by the waist in order to restrain you from causing any more harm to anybody else or yourself, begging you to calm down. 

As the others ran over to see what was happening, 

Kim was the one who quickly took charge of the situation. She made sure Kyra was being taken care of and had people to accompany her to the medical room before getting Katie to help Leah to restrain and calm you down. 

It took several minutes until you were no longer trying to actively claw your way out of Leah’s grip and the others weren’t sure whether you had calmed down or simply ran out of energy to carry on in your state. Either way, they were glad you seemed calmer and knew they had to get you back inside the changing room so you could clean up. But as Kim took in your current appearance she knew that would be easier said than done. 

You were currently catatonic, leaning heavily against Leah and unmoving. She was rocking you whilst whispering comforts and reassurances in your ear, although unsure whether you were actually hearing her and her arms were still securely wrapped around your small, fragile body. As if she was scared you would snap and try to flee again. Katie just watched on feeling helpless at the adamant pain you were in. 

Kim, however, was quick to nudge Katie to grab her attention so they could start coming up with a plan to get you inside and cleaned up. She took in how your small frame was starting to shiver and turn blue in the cold mud and knew they had to move fast. 

Kim and Katie swiftly formulated a plan to carry you inside and as Kim went over to explain the plan to Leah, Katie knelt down and took one of your hands into hers, stroking it gently. 

Once Leah was informed of the plan, she quickly started to move out of the way so Katie could pick you up with Kim helping Leah up from the cold mud coated ground. 

The walk back inside was surrounded by an uneasy silence. Communication was shared via somber glances and heavy sighs as Kim and Leah followed Katie from behind, with Kim casting her arm over Leah’s shoulder.

Leah felt despair watching Katie carry your fragile body indoors. She had no idea what was going on with you let alone how to fix this, All she knew was that she needed to fix this and fast.

As the people requested on the poll - ATPTS part 2 is now out.

Not fully proofread so I am sorry for any mistakes included.

As always, I love getting fic and hc requests for anything WOSO related, not just for our poor little chaos kiddo.

[aperrywilliams]

Under the Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Spencer fucked up but Reader loves him.

A/N: It's winter on this side of the world, and the rain makes me kind of sad.

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Is there anything worse than your boyfriend standing you up in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary? Yes, being stood up by your boyfriend in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary day while outside it’s raining cats and dogs.

That's worse. And pathetic.

You feel pathetic, sitting in that chair, all dolled up and waiting. You arrived at 19:30, and now your watch reads 20:45. No sight of Spencer.

What the fuck?

He was the one who suggested a romantic dinner in this very restaurant. He was the one who told you to make reservations. How could he forget it? You knew there wasn’t an active case. The very Penelope told you it was paperwork day when you texted her in the afternoon.

In the past hour, you dialed his number several times. You were worried at some point: what if something terrible happened to him? But you know bad news travels fast, so you assumed he didn’t show up just because he forgot. Deep down, you wanted there to be another explanation because if he only forgot, that would strengthen the idea of how little you mean to him.

Sensing the pitiful looks the hostess and the waitress sent you occasionally, you only wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When the clock marked 21:00, you gave up. You asked the hostess for your coat and left the place completely silent.

The rain pouring outside was the perfect scenario for your current mood. You thought about calling a cab in front of the restaurant, but you only wanted to be far from that place as soon as possible, so you started to walk in the rain.

Goodbye to the stylish hairstyle that took you hours to achieve. Goodbye to the makeup you put so much effort into doing.

Striding along the sidewalk, you made sure to step on each water puddle you found along the way as you recalled every moment in the past months you felt Spencer away from you. And not only physically as when he was in a case. It was more than that. It was each morning he didn’t say I love you before leaving your shared apartment. It was each text he didn’t send telling you he was coming home or leaving for a case. It was each coffee you didn't share in the morning. It was each animated chat in the middle of the night you didn't have.

Were you being dramatic? You knew Spencer’s tendency to distract and engage in whatever his job could present him. In any other circumstances, you could have understood. Not tonight, though. Not when it was supposed to be your night together celebrating this milestone. The two years of love you thought were strengthening your relationship. How blind you have been. How naive.

You kept wandering on the streets with no destination. You didn’t want to come back to the apartment. You didn’t know where else to go either. So you kept walking.

-

Spencer Reid is a man with an eidetic memory. Everybody knows that. He can remember every piece of information people usually wouldn’t recall. He knows almost everything about anything. But even with his big brain, he sometimes has trouble keeping track of his own life. Like today.

Engrossed in a pile of manila folders from old cases, he lost time. A task meant to take just an hour or so kept him occupied and entertained for almost four hours. Emily’s voice was the only thing that brought him back from those files to reality.

“You still here?” Emily asked with a frown. Spencer looked at her oddly.

“Yeah. I was looking for patterns in our last cases in the northwest. What Tara said about the mixed murder weapons sounded familiar to me,” he explained before rubbing his eyes. He didn't notice how tired he felt until Emily interrupted him.

“Spencer, it’s almost 10 pm. And there is no active case. You can resume this tomorrow. I even thought you had plans today?”

‘10 pm’ and ‘plans today’ was enough to bring Spencer to realization.

“Fuck!” He yelped, jumping from his seat and freezing immediately, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Emily asked, seeing the panic in Spencer’s eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated over and over as he reached for his phone in his satchel.

“What is it, Reid?”

“Emily. I was supposed to be in a restaurant with (Y/N) tonight! It’s - uh - it’s our second anniversary,” he, visibly embarrassed, finished the sentence.

Emily shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Reid? How on earth do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know! I - I don’t really know. Fuck. I’m an asshole!” He checked the phone: twenty missing calls. Why he left it on mute?

“Stop complaining and do something! Come on! Move your ass out of here if you want a chance of not being precisely kicked in the ass by her,” Emily instructed. She knew Spencer needed directions when he was freaking out.

Spencer rechecked his watch. It read 10:05 pm.

Swearing under his breath, he dialed your number, which went straight to voicemail. Putting his coat on, he tried again while rushing to the elevator. Maybe you were still at the restaurant? Getting in the first cab he found, Spencer headed there.

Once he arrived, he asked the hostess about you. The girl told him you left after 9 pm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He called you again with no success. This time you turned off your phone. Spencer’s stomach was a knot, and his heart hurt imagining you sitting alone, waiting for him.

Were you at home? Spencer guessed you wouldn't want to see him, so it was less probable. Should he go there anyway and wait for you? No. You deserved better than that. He would look for you even if it could take all night. Taking a cab, he decided to check the apartment - just in case - and grab his car keys.

As expected, you weren’t in the apartment. Spencer faced the darkness and coldness of the place, and a chill ran down his spine—the fear of losing you forever.

In the car, he thought, where you could be. It was still raining, and Spencer feared you were getting soaked and frozen, God knows where.

It was at this kind of moment Spencer wanted his eidetic memory, and all the knowledge in his brain could help to compensate for the dose of common sense he lacked.

‘Come on, Spencer. Think. For once in your life, do it for what is really important for you.’

-

Spencer parked and rushed out of the car, hoping his hunch was correct. He was in a park. Not any park, though. It was where he met you three years ago—where his life changed forever and for the better for once.

You were in a swing, moving softly back and forth, your feet touching the ground. Your eyes focused on the rain collecting in the nook you created with your feet in the mud.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer called once he spotted you. The rain muffled the sound of his voice.

Your eyes didn’t leave the ground. At first, you thought you were imagining things. It could have been wishful thinking that your boyfriend really cared about you. He called again, and now your brain obliged your eyes to look toward the voice’s source.

Spencer was in a corner where the park's playground began. He was looking at you and wanted to run to you, but the fear you could run away made him stay there, as the rain dampened him.

The sight of you broke him. You were utterly soaked. Your coat and lovely black dress were ruined, and your face with traces of smeared makeup. He could even spot your bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying.

He caused that. And Spencer hated himself for it.

Seeing you didn't say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, Spencer dared to take some steps forward. Your numb body didn't even flinch.

“(Y/N). I’m sorry,” were his first words. Expectable but useless for you. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I wanted to be there with you,” he apologized, giving a few steps closer to you. Not looking at him, you mumbled.

“But you weren’t. And if you really wanted to have been there, you would have.” Your voice was low and husky. You sounded tired and defeated. It was worse for Spencer. For him, you should be yelling. Telling him how hurting you were. How an asshole he was.

“Baby, there is no excuse for what I did. The last thing I want in my life is to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Spencer’s voice broke with each word.

What had he done? Why? How can he be so stupid? He loves you. You’re the most important person in his life, so why did he do that to you? How can he fix it?

Still not looking at him, you spoke again.

“I can’t understand, Spencer. It was our anniversary. You were the one who suggested doing it,” you remind him. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. It didn’t matter the mud, and it didn’t matter the rain still falling. Spencer needed to look at your eyes to explain himself.

“I’m an idiot. I lost track of time and forgot,” he mumbled. You held up your head and finally looked at him.

“You forgot? So it's true I’m not that important to you,” you concluded sadly. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No! Don’t say that!” he pleaded.

“Am I wrong? I don’t think so.” Your chin wobbled, but you needed to say it. “I know your job is important, Spencer. I do. And I never wanted to compete with that because I thought I didn’t have to. But after these past months, I think I need to get used to the idea I lost you already,” you acknowledged with a pained sob betraying you. It was the pang of the meaning behind your own words.

The memories of the past months flashed before Spencer's eyes. And there he saw it. The kisses he didn't give you, the 'I love you' he didn't tell you. The nights he didn't sleep by your side—all the things he has been missing.

He realized that although he never doubted his love for you, he stopped nurturing it and took it for granted.

Crying, he took your hands, and by divine grace, you didn't push him away.

No words he could say would be enough to convey how sorry he was. But he needed to try because he didn’t want to lose you. You needed to know he loved you and that you owned his heart. You needed to know he just realized he made a mistake, and he wants to fix it.

“The first time I saw you in this very place, you were slowly swaying in this exact spot with your eyes focused on the book in your hands. I was so mesmerized that I never thought I would get the nerve to talk to you, you know? But I did. And when I saw the warm look you gave me when I asked you if you had read the author's biography, I felt my heart warming as never before. And when I heard your laugh after I clumsily tried to flirt with you? I swear it was the sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life,” Spencer confessed, eyes sparkling at the memory. You fondly recalled it too. You never liked to talk with strangers all of a sudden, but with Spencer? It felt natural and right.

“You let me in in your life. You opened your heart to me and taught me how to do that too. You realized I’m not the best student in those matters, though,” he chuckled, seeing your nod.

“Despite that, you believed in me. You gave me a chance to love you, and I swear loving you has been the most natural thing that has ever happened to me. You have made me so happy (Y/N). You have no idea. And that is the problem. I have not known how to love you the way you deserve. I hadn't realized what I was doing. I'm sorry. I spent much of my life fending alone, not walking with anyone by my side. And I know that does not excuse my behavior. Even so, I dare to ask for an opportunity to prove you do not have to compete with my job. Give me a chance to prove to you I can be better. I can be the man who deserves your love. Please let me gain back your love and the privilege to hear you laugh again."

Spencer was almost out of breath when he was done speaking. You mulled in his words as his hands enveloped yours, patiently awaiting your response. Would you give him a chance?

As the rain continued pouring down, your eyes focused on him, still kneeling before you with hopeful eyes.

You know he loves you. Even if he needs to be better at proving it to you. And you love him even if you feel hurt for what he did. You both would have to work to make it work. You both deserved the chance, though.

The answer to his question was clear then.

You hopped off the swing and kneeled, not releasing his hands grasp and pulling him to catch his lips with yours. He kissed you back with everything he had. When both parted, you smiled at him, and Spencer was trying to figure out what that meant. You spoke to make it clear.

“Please, just don't make me regret being in this same place three years ago.”

Spencer earnestly shook his head.

“I won’t. I promise,” he told you before kissing you again under the rain.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​ @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[anghraine]

There's this weird genre of post I've periodically seen that's like "It bothers me that autistic people come onto this site and vent about the pressure to accommodate mainstream social norms that seem unnatural to them, and these people just don't seem to get that mainstream social norms serve a function that makes them right and good, so 'help' consisting of pressuring autistic people into unnatural 24/7 performance is actually great. Really, autistic people need to meet the allistics halfway and accommodate us as well!"

Obviously, these posts aren't phrased this way—the style is usually more patronizingly helpful with a hint of chiding autistic strangers for venting on their own blogs about one of the most basic diagnostic criteria of autism. But the thing that always strikes me about these "helpful" explanations is how incredibly sheltered they seem.

I can't speak for all autistic people. But a lot of treatment for autism has historically been rooted in teaching autistic people to mimic "normal" behavior as much as possible. Success has often been understood less in terms of the strain of this mimicry on autistic people or how viscerally unpleasant it is for an autistic person to perform this way, and more in terms of the comfort of people around us. The less perceptible our symptoms are to other people, the greater the perception of success in most cases, although research increasingly suggests that "social camouflaging" is actively harmful to autistic people no matter how good we seem at it.

Yes, there's a reason for social norms. I know. Many of us know. We have been incessantly told this our entire lives and live under extreme pressure to adapt to the allistic world. We are under vastly more pressure to accommodate the social norms of our communities than most allistic people seem to even remotely grasp. All this "don't label yourself, it's all just a social construction" and "you're high-functioning, though, so-" and "WELL ACTUALLY it is morally incumbent on you to imitate our social norms" only makes this absolute abyss of ignorance seem all the deeper. It feels rather like Protestant proselytizers in the USA who walk up and are like "have you heard about Jesus?!" as if it is remotely possible to live in this country without hearing about Jesus.

Secondly, the idea that the weight of accommodating these different experiences should rest equally on allistic and autistic people is actually pretty grotesque—yes, even if you're talking about autistic people without specifically intellectual disabilities. Where is all this endless understanding and patience for the allistic world we're expected to develop when it comes to accommodating us? Usually completely absent, and even when we do receive some degree of empathy, it still seems incredibly unequal to the demand on us.

But even if that were not the case, the idea that ethically, the people with, you know, autism are under some moral onus to equally accommodate allistic people (especially allistic people who do not have any similar disabilities themselves, which is most of them!) is absurd. Most allistic people are more able to adapt to changing circumstances than autistic people and experience less strain from doing it, they are better and faster at correctly interpreting social situations and emotional cues, and social performance is easier and more natural for them, and they overwhelmingly outnumber autistic people. The logic here just seems absurd.

And thirdly this scary danger of "high functioning" autistic people not trying to accommodate the norms and comfort of allistic people on some broad scale is not happening. Here's one fairly clear discussion that isn't paywalled:

In fact, high-functioning ASD individuals were reported to be more aware of their communication difficulties and were more likely make considerable efforts to adjust their behavior to conventional rules of non-autistic individuals, learning to imitate other non-ASD individuals. Moreover, females reported a higher frequency of camouflaging strategies, suggesting a role of camouflaging in the gender gap of the ASD diagnosis. Although camouflaging strategies can sometimes grant a better level of adjustment, even resulting in a hyper-adaptive behavior, they are also often correlated with negative mental health consequences due to the long-term stress associated with continuous attempts to adapt in day-to-day life.

Seriously, the world being just too easy on autistic people and letting them actually show signs of being autistic (God forbid) without sufficient chiding is not a thing. It's not real in any significant large-scale way; the exact reverse is vastly more common. Annoying autistic people on Tumblr dot com are not a social problem.

[mickyschumacher]

Hi!!! I just wanna say that I really love your writings!!! Their so good hehehe!! Can you do one a mick x wolff!reader?? Maybe one where toto sets them up cause he is tired of seeing them make heart eyes at each other and not making a move HHHH. Thank you lovie!!🤍

[SET IT UP!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: love at times is shy and oblivious. like you and mick. but sometimes all you need is a father and a plan (with some backups!).

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 16+? (suggestive), fluff, poor humour as guaranteed, (loosely) based on the movie 'set it up', no sense of a motorhome ♡︎, mention of christian horner :(, possibly cringe, basically childhood friends to lovers trope, reader is lowkey a menace, confessions are made, toto in line for best dad award?, google translated german :0, a mess in general!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mick schumacher x wolff!fem!reader, joão felix x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: okay so i've been waiting for a good mick plot but nothing was coming to mind but this! this screams mick! thank you so much for your praise. hope i do them justice with this although the plot holes are there!!

𝐏.𝐒: i'm curious on how people envision themselves as wolff, horner, vettle readers, etc. if you're coloured like me, do you pretend to be adopted or from a previous relationship if it isn't specified? 😭 i mean the explanation has to be viable lmao. maybe you just don't imagine?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

There were certain values a Wolff had. Those that were just innate.

A Wolff, more often than not, was a leader, intelligent, charismatic, good-looking, and embedded with dad jokes. Additionally, when a Wolff wanted something, they would do whatever to get it. They didn't leave any leaf unturned, they made the rounds and the effort.

It didn't make sense. You had all of those values. Yet, every time you joined the Mercedes garage, your father, Toto, found himself questioning everything.

Take now for example. He was in the beloved Mercedes garage, sat next to the best reserve driver he had ever chosen, Mick.

Parents tend to be protective of their children before they're even born. And it only amplifies after they're born. From which strangers you meet, the roads you cross, the seatbelt you have to wear to the clothes you wear, the suspiciously high phone bill and your romantic endeavours. A father's protection for his little girl was a tad bit stronger than this, special in it's own way.

Toto would do anything to protect his children, especially his little girls. And if any guy was making moves on you, right in front of him, the 'dad' side of him was just waiting to come out.

But he could only do that if someone actually made a move on you. Sure there were other guys but the one sat right next to him did nothing but shyly follow you with his blue eyes and blush in your presence.

Mick was seriously frustrating Toto and his wife. The both of them had watched the German boy watch you with heart eyes ever since the both of you had first met at the Schumacher's house for dinner. You were young back then but hell, within five minutes everyone knew that Mick was a lovesick puppy.

Years had gone by with your friendship becoming stronger. Those same years involved Mick and you being stuck to each other as if you were hip-to-hip. You attended all his races and he supported you in all your academic achievements. And oblivious to you, somewhere along the road you had also become as lovesick as he was.

Toto didn't really realise how fed up he was. He didn't want to interfere. In fact, he wanted things between the both of you to happen naturally. But he just had happen to watch the entire hour and forty-five minutes of 'Set It Up' over your shoulder instead of doing his work and he just had to do something... hell, anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━

First things first... Toto couldn't put the both of you in an elevator. At least not yet. You knew each other while the two bosses in 'Set It Up' didn't, so it didn't make much sense. You probably would never even get to the topic of your feelings. Not without a physical icebreaker of sorts.

Toto needed someone and George Russell just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"George, my boy!" Toto chorused, beckoning the British driver towards him. He slung his arm over George's shoulder, bringing him closer to him. "Do you mind doing me a favour?"

George nodded without too much thought. "Yeah sure. What is it?"

"If you see Mick and Y/N go towards an elevator, stop them and tell Y/N that a guy asked for her number, uh, who was that footballer... ah yes, João Félix, him... he did ask her yesterday right?" Toto looked over at George.

"Uh, yeah. Before you dragged her away... listen, Toto, I'm not sure I can do what you asking me to. I thought none of us were going to mess with whatever's going on between them?"

"You're young, George. One day you'll realise what 'desperate times calls for desperate measures' means. So..." Toto trailed off, eagerly looking for an answer before spotting the hesitant expression on the British driver's face. "Can I pay you do the favour?"

George blankly looked at his boss. "I'm on your payroll, Toto. You already pay me. That also sounds like extortion and bribery."

Toto's eye twitched as an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He stared at George heavily before giving in. "Fine. You'll be out before Lewis for this week's quali."

The corner of George's mouth teetered up, working to a small grin. "Extortion and bribery... it sounds cool," He said with a nonchalant shrug.

Toto shook his head to himself. "You can try and be less British, George. Just because your ancestors colonised doesn't mean you need to take the same behaviour," He patted his shoulder before leaving, feeling George's confused expression bore into the back of his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto was a great man. But today was one of those days where George really did question him. Part of him was praying that he didn't see you and Mick head to an elevator. The scenario was so specific that well... the probability was low.

There was no way he was going to see it happen. Not even 30 minutes after he had this conversation and he had just grabbed a coffee and was now heading to Alex...

But the peak of that blonde hair and the familiar shine of your signature glasses caught George's eye. Christ.

"How is that possible?" He muttered to himself, eyeing the both of you as you waited for the elevator to go up the Mercedes' motorhome.

First in quali. Come on, George. You got this!

"Hey guys," George greeted the both of you.

You and Mick turned to him and smiled. "Hey George. How's it going? Ready for practice?"

George nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. Good, thanks. Uh, I was just wondering about yesterday... João? Since Toto dragged you away before you could do anything but he was just wondering if you would still consider giving him your number."

George pressed his lips, seeing Mick's eyes narrow from his peripheral vision. God how had the both of you not gotten together yet?

"I didn't know João asked you that?" Mick looked at you with questioning eyes.

You blinked, feeling your heart skip a beat slightly. You weren't sure why Mick's interest was to intriguing to you all of a sudden. You pursed your lips, looking to George. "Oh? I didn't know you knew João like that."

"I... don't. It's... Kika! Kika knows him... you know... Portugal things," He laughed awkwardly, giving a helpless shrug.

"Right..." You nodded slowly. "Uh, I don't know. I mean was considering it, I guess."

"You were?" George and Mick spluttered out in unison.

Your eyes widened at their reaction. "I mean, yeah... kinda?" You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly.

George could see the German driver's head racing a hundred miles per hour. It was time to get out of this mess.

"Okay, well, if you consider it, you could probably DM him on Instagram. Don't ask Kika!" George quickly said. "I mean... you know, she gets very excited to play cupid... anyways, I have to get back to Dudley, but let me know how it goes!"

You and Mick waved goodbye, heading onto the elevator after what felt like forever.

As the doors closed, you looked over at your thought-consumed best friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr Schumacher?" You humoured.

Mick briefly smiled before returning to his brooding state. He folded his arms, leaned on the wall of the elevator and stared at you.

Your mouth felt dry and yet you were drowning in your own saliva. There were certain things that weren't healthy for humans: too much sugar, high cholesterol foods, and apparently air-drying your hair. And then there was too much Mick.

The folded arms and his stupid shirt brought your eyes to the muscles you had so desperately been avoiding after Mick had started to work out even more in the past year.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of another topic of discussion.

In your pondering, Mick opened his mouth. "I don't think you should give João your number," He said, bringing his hands to his side, discreetly allowing the fabric of his shorts to soak up his clammy hands.

Your eyes flickered towards his face. You raised brow. "What? Why?" You asked, feeling an uneasy ache gnaw at your chest.

"I..." Mick started, "I mean what if he's a bad guy? You know... I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Your heart dropped. You felt like an deflating balloon: all blown up, only to be taken down. You mustered a soft smile. "I mean, you can't protect me forever Mick. What are you going to do? Vet the guy on the day of my wedding," You joked.

Mick frowned at your response. The image of you marrying someone that wasn't him was disheartening.

"I won't need to if you get married to someone you know," He shrugged. "You don't know João. You know me."

Oh?

Oh.

You almost did a double-take on your best friend. Did he know what words were falling from his lips. "So what? He's kinda cute. And a five-star FIFA player. I could take the risk. And eventually, I would know him... since that's how relationships work... communication and all," You defended the footballer.

Mick stared at you for a few seconds before blinking out of his short trance. "Right..." He said sharply, pushing himself off of the wall as the elevator opened. He struck out his arm, holding back the door. "You go on. I just remembered I need to talk to Toto."

You flickered your eyes to Mick, trying to read his face. "That's fine, we can go togeth–"

"No," Mick interjected, "it's... it's okay."

Upon the slight widening of your eyes and the startled expression lingering on your face, Mick's innate action was to internally wince. "I'll join you soon. Don't worry. I bring your favourite pastry on the way back, hmm?"

You nodded silently, taking a step out of the elevator and headed towards the lounge with a troubled feeling nagging at your head.

Had you struck a nerve?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto couldn't tell what he had done wrong. You and Mick were fine this morning. But after he had told George to push things along between the both of you, a sense of distance radiated off of you.

And George still got out before Lewis for the first quali. Goddamn it.

When Toto raised an eyebrow at you after Mick had slightly brushed you off to talk to Bono, you simply shrugged helplessly.

That night Toto did not get a wink of sleep. Instead, he stared at this hotel ceiling with a twitching eye.

There was nothing he couldn't fix. Whatever was going on between you and Mick right now was just a small bump in the road.

The solution?

A baseball game.

Unfortunately for Toto, baseball wasn't that popular in Brazil. But that didn't mean they didn't do them.

The plan was going perfectly. Toto had offered a 'family day' and gotten you and Mick to join him and Susie to attend a local baseball match between some of university teams. Toto made sure you and Mick were sitting behind him so you had all the privacy you needed. As a dad, he shouldn't be that happy about kiss-cam, let alone bribing the camera operators with the help of Pierre and Kika. But he wanted peace and he was going to get it.

But nothing was easy in life. And Toto could not have predicted this in a million years.

As everyone waited for the game to start, Toto timidly turned his head. He caught the brown eyes of the five-star FIFA player. Giving him a hesitant smile, he averted his own eyes back to the field, cursing himself under his breath. "Scheiße," He muttered through his clenched teeth. Shit.

The tension in the air was thick, to say the least. You sat between João and Mick with blank expression.

João, who was in town for the F1 race, decided to stay back to support a friend in the match. Obviously.

When the footballer on your right extended his hand to Mick, you sucked in a sharp breath. You heavily eyed the firmest handshake you had seen in your life. Letting out a nervous laugh, you sat down before the gesture turned into hardcore glaring.

Still, there was the hope of this kiss-cam.

Toto waited with little patience, hearing João crack jokes in Portuguese that actually made you laugh while Mick took deeper breaths.

It felt like life itself had been poured into Toto once the kiss-cam started on the public. This mattered to him more than whoever was going to win this match.

Toto's face dropped as the camera fell on you.

Your mother pointed at the camera with a gleeful exclamation. Your eyes moved to the screen, widening when you saw yourself and the man next to you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Toto exasperated quietly.

You turned your head to the right, meeting the equally shocked brown eyes.

"In what way does he look like 'a blonde boy with the face of the greatest racer in F1 history'?" Toto said into his hands, shaking his head slowly.

Mick looked blankly at you and João on the screen before turning to you. He watched you shake your head softly, smiling awkwardly at the camera as the crowd urged you to kiss.

"Oh mein Gott," You murmured to yourself, eyes darting around in panic. Oh my God.

Suddenly, you felt Mick lean in, his fingers sliding under your chin and resting on your cheek. He turned your head slightly towards him.

Your eyes widened upon meeting his baby blues, feeling unnerving giddiness swarm you. You hoped your face screamed, "What are you doing?!"

All Mick did give a small smile, bringing his lips towards you.

Instinctively, your eyes closed, bracing yourself whatever was about to happen. All you could hope for was that this was all a dream of some sort. Maybe you fell asleep in the car?

You skin flushed at the feel of Mick's soft lips on your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling him linger for a second longer before pulling back.

What on earth?

You weren't sure if you were breathing as you felt his hand move to your leg, covering your hand and giving it a small squeeze. You moved your eyes to the screen. Mick looked unbothered while the crowd erupted in cheers and boos. You, on the other hand, looked flushed.

And Toto?

The urge to run around with his hands flailing in the air was strong.

This was a home run, for crying out loud!

Whoever said jealousy was a disease... thank you!

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Liebling, du solltest jetzt rauskommen," Your mother said to you through the bathroom stall you had been hiding in for the past five minutes. Darling, you should come out now.

You winced as you banged your head against the wall of the stall. You sighed. "I don't think I can. Do you think you can convince the staff the bring a bed? Maybe some food?"

Your mother snorted. "What are you going to do? Live here?"

"Ja. War das nicht offensichtlich?" You retorted, eyes screwing themselves shut after replaying the kiss in your head for the umpteenth time. Yes. Was that not obvious?

Susie sighed, awkwardly smiling at a woman leaving the bathroom. "Y/N... it's Mick. You can't ignore him forever. How long do you think it will truly take for Mick and your father to storm in here after not seeing you for so long?"

You sighed at your mother's response. She was. As always.

The last thing you needed was a headline on ESPN: Toto Wolff and Mick Schumacher caught barging into a women's bathroom.

Christian would have a field day!

You shuddered at the thought.

Susie's ears perked up at your grumble as you fumbled with the lock of the stall. She sported an amused smile at the blank look you gave her.

Slinging an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder. "Come on, liebling. You got this."

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Oh thank God!" Toto exclaimed after seeing you and your mother come out of the bathroom. "You took forever!"

You narrowed your eyes at your father, avoiding the lingering eyes of a certain German boy. "Maybe next time you shouldn't feed me a hotdog at a baseball game, right?" You pressed with a raised brow.

"Hmm?" Toto mended his brows before nodding profusely. "Right! Right! Yes... that was my bad. Poor thing... you know, Mick, with Y/N being sick and all, I think you should drop her to the hotel. Me and Susie still have a date to go on!"

You and your mother looked at Toto increduolously.

"We do?"

"You do?"

Toto nodded, grabbing your mother's hand. "Yes! Okay, see you two! Tschüss!" Bye!

With a jaw-dropping expression, you watched your parents leave with a twitching eye.

You heard Mick clear his throat.

Slowly, you turned around with a small smile. Fiddling with your fingers, "So..."

Mick rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a small tinge of pink dancing across his cheeks. "The hotel?" He asked, swinging his keys around the his index finger.

Silently, you both walked out of the stadium and towards the car park.

You furrowed your brows upon seeing the orange and pink laden sky. "What the heck? How is the sun already setting?"

"I mean... you were in there for a long time," Mick shrugged.

The crisp summer evening breeze glided past your flushed skin. Your body winced at the paining silence ensuing between the both of you. You let out a small exhale. "Uh, with the thing before–"

"Yeah?" Mick eagerly turned his body towards you, on edge.

You cleared your throat at the anxious expression Mick sported. "You sighed. "Uh, that was to like... save me, right? Aus Verlegenheit? Danke für das." From embarrassment? Thank you for that.

Mick mended his eyebrows. "Verlegenheit? No. I... that was so you didn't kiss João."

You laughed nervously. "Right! So I didn't have to kiss João."

"No. So you didn't kiss João. There's a difference," Mick pointed out, eyeing your expression carefully.

Your eyes widened at his suddenly soft gaze. You looked up at the sky, hoping the breeze would cool the wave of warmth swirling around you. "That's... that's what I said," You shrugged.

Mick stepped in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead of the sky. "Why do you do that?" Mick asked.

"Do what?" You responded.

"I mean... I–just why do you have such a hard time admitting that I like you?"

You wish you had something to say. Anything. But it was as if the ability to speak had been seized from your throat entirely.

"I mean I know I don't make it obvious. I just thought we had some sort of understanding... you know... the one without words?"

You looked up into his hopeful eyes. Entranced, you leaned in towards him. Your fingers danced across his cheek just the way he had done not so long ago. You watched his eyes close at the feel of your touch, making your heart thud against your chest.

Inching closer, your thumb gently swiped over his lips, feeling his faltering exhale warm the pad of your thumb. "So pretty," You whispered to yourself, eyeing his face.

Mick wasn't sure whether you were talking about him or his lips but he didn't care.

You shuddered, feeling Mick's hand slide around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

Without waiting a second longer, you pressed your lips to his.

Mick's lips were softer than you had imagined, warm to the touch. Your stomach churned upon feeling his fingers skate under the hem of your shirt, rubbing tingling circles on your hot skin.

You hear an unrecognisable breathy gasp fall from your lips. The hair on your body stood straight as goosebumps littered your skin. All because of Mick.

Mick took advantage of the moment, darting his tongue to explore your mouth. He groaned against your lips, pushing your hips even closer to him, feeling the hard outline of his bulge rub against your pelvis.

Fuck.

You were going to combust at this rate.

Mick trembled in your grasp as your hands wandered his taut torso, lingering closely to his v-line.

He pulled away with an indescribable urgency, staring at you with small pants falling from his lips. He held your face with his hand, thumb gliding across your swollen lips. "We can't–" He sighed out, voice hoarse, "No more. Please."

Your thighs clenched at his plea, eyes falling down to his prominent bulge. You were sure he was in a lot of pain right now. The sexual tension between you to had been pent up for years now.

Your tongue darted out, swiping over his thumb briefly before faintly sucking on it. You looked up at Mick. "You're right, we shouldn't," You nonchalantly told him.

Mick's blue eyes danced with a tortured pain, following your tongue carefully. "We... fuck, Y/N," He complained, feeling impossibly tight in his pants.

"We fuck? Direct much?" You teased, removing your lips from his thumb.

Mick stared at you, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I was saying... we should do this properly. Not in some parking lot."

"Why not? Car sex is hot. Just imagine!" You urged, amused by the conflict in Mick's eyes.

Imagine he did.

You and him in his God forbidden Mercedes... him making sure every inch of his car was stained with you...

Mick sucked in a sharp breath. "Nope. Come on. Hotel."

You gasped humorously. "In a hotel? Mick Schumacher! Well I never!"

Before you knew it, Mick had whisked you into his arms and into his car, hoping he was not breaking Brazil's speed limits tonight.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The only way I can make Cater's dream make sense is through headcanon. 😭

Like, one day Cater vented to Lilia during club time about how tyrannical Riddle was and joked about how much easier things would be if he were Housewarden instead. Then later on Lilia repeated it to Malleus while they were discussing how their days went and Malleus just....took it seriously.

There’s two clashing explanations given in canon: Idia’s claim that Malleus “has a shallow understanding of happiness” (implying Malleus has more control over the contents of the dream than one may think) versus the realistic logic that Malleus cannot possibly control the contents of individual dreams because he doesn’t know all 20,000 Sage’s Island residents.

Maybe there’s a middle ground between these two…? Like, Malleus might exert a little more influence for those that he feels he sort of knows, hence it resulting in very convenient scenarios he might think others would want, but in a very surface-level way that does not reflect truly “knowing” someone intimately. Sort of like how someone might tangentially hear about Twst but they never read the main story, vignettes, etc. and they just write fanfic based on the ✨ Vibes ✨ which will inevitably lead to mischaracterization or contradictions with canon. (And no shade to those kinds of Twst fans, I’m only using this as an example because I’ve heard people joking that the dreams are basically “Malleus’s fanfictions featuring his classmates”.)

This could maybe explain things like Leona being king or, like you said, Cater being dorm leader for some reason. Only trouble is, very little in the game implies that this conclusion (the combination of two previous explanations) is what we’re supposed to come to, nor is it ever mentioned that Cater mentioned or joked to Lilia about being a dorm leader. I’ve seen many other headcanons to explain Cater’s dream, including “he masks so often he doesn’t know what he truly wants anymore” and "he craves attention, even if that means being in a position he's not interested in" which are completely different than the idea suggested in this ask. There are countless more out there.

I don’t think Twst should pass the work of justifying the dreams to us every single time, especially when they failed to provide the clues for us to generally all come to the same end point 💀 The only way for us to make sense of things is to come up with our own headcanons to cope…

[hearts4golbach]

I lovedd ur sfw alphabet for tyler!! could you do an nsfw one if possible??🥹

ABC NSFW Headcanons.

a/n:

im so behind on requests this is so stressful.

not proofread

warnings:

no actual smut, suggestive content, sex talk.

word count:

1.1k.

A- aftercare. (What are they like after sex?)

Tyler isn't overly caring. he'll clean his cum off of you before crawling into bed with you. you two cuddle because when you go at it, you go at it HARD. on occasion, especially if he fucks you in the morning, he'll run the two of you a shower.

B- body part. (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners.)

Fella is most confident in his arms and chest. he jokingly flexes his muscles, but it ends up turning you on.

his favorite part of your body is your face and torso. he thinks your waist and hips look amazing in whatever you wear. you always catch him staring when you're wearing something other than pajamas.

C- cum. (anything they do with cum.)

he gets down and dirty with it. he loves seeing his cum on your face, stomach, tongue, ass, wherever. if you guys go for more than one round, he doesn't clean his cum off of you until you're finished.

his thumb ran over your bottom lip, smearing his seed over your lips. he swiped some off your cheek, sticking his finger into your mouth and watching as you suck it clean.

D- dirty secret. (self explanatory.)

whenever your hair is up, especially in a pony tail, all he can think about is seeing your face as he pulls your hair. he loves tugging on your hair. if he could leave your hair a mess all of the time, he would.

E- experience. (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

it didn't take him long to learn your body. he knows all of the right spots inside of you and what really gets you going. before you, he had sex with a couple other girls, so he had an average amount of experience. he only kept getting better whenever you two started dating.

F- favorite position. (self explanatory.)

even though Fella jokes about buckshot a lot, I feel like he'd love giving them. he also loves missionary. he gets to watch how your face contorts as he pleasures you. he's not big on crazy positions.

G- goofy. (are they serious in the moment?)

he'll joke if it feels right or to relieve tension. he doesn't want to take sex too serious because it ruins the enjoyable aspects of it.

H- hair. (how well groomed are they? do the carpets match the drapes?)

he leaves a little stubble but doesn't like leaving a lot of hair. the carpet does in fact match the drapes, no further explanation.

I- intimacy. (how are they in the moment? romance related.)

it depends on the mood. if you wanted it rough, he'd give it to you rough. but, if it's sweet vanilla sex he is very intimate with you.

J- jack off. (masturbation headcanon.)

if you're not there, he only perks off about once a day. when he does, he takes a shower because he doesn't want to be bothered with cleaning up his own seed. he doesn't use any material to get off, just the thought of you.

K- kink. (some of their kinks.)

he'd love fucking you while you wore one of his shirts.

L- location. (favorite place to get freaky?)

his favorite place is his bed, hands down. but if you two wanna change it up, his go to is the shower. Tyler also loves how steamy the car gets.

M- motivation. (What turns them on?)

you. your scent. your personality. everything about you. whenever you're yourself, which is when it's just the two of you, it gets him going. he can't help but admire you and imagine all of the dirty things he'd do to you.

N- no. (something they wouldn't do.)

he wouldn't do anything too violent, like slapping you or hitting you. he knows it turns some people on, but it just presses his buttons in the wrong way.

O- oral. (preference on giving and recieving and skill.)

he prefers to give you head. he could eat you out for hours on end. although, he does occasionally enjoy using your throat. he is mind blowing blowingly good at giving head.

P- pace. (are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

I think he can be both. it all just depends on the vibe between you two at that time. he prefers slow and sensual over fast and rough.

Q- quickie. (their opinion obviously.)

he loves quickies. they're exhilarating for him. although he prefers to take his time with you, quickies are just as fun.

R- risk. (Do they like to experiment? how willing are they to take risks?)

if you're comfortable with it, Tyler is down to try whatever you want. you rarely turn down things he wants to try as well. spicing things up in the bedroom isn't unusual for the two of you.

S- stamina. (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

depending on how long you had Fella waiting for, it varies. if you had been teasing eachother all day, Tyler can last for 2 or 3 rounds. one round is normally enough for both of you.

T- toys. (Do they own them or use them?)

he doesn't own toys, and feel slightly insecure if you want to use them during sex. it makes him feel insufficient, but you never wanted to use toys, anyway.

U- unfair. (how much do they like to tease.)

fuck, it's all Tyler does. he loves teasing you more than anything. and he loves it just as much when you tease him in return.

V- volume. (how loud are they and what sounds to they make?)

he's a grunter!!! if it's super good, he'll let out low moans. he's not super loud, but loud enough for you to hear. the noises he makes never fails to turn you on.

W- wild card. (random headcanon.)

he loves it whenever you cover him in hickeys. the feeling of your lips on his neck is heaven. there is never a moment where there isn't a hickey on him, even if it's hidden.

X- x-ray. (a peek under the clothes.)

I've seen people saying exact measurements, but I don't wanna violet Fella like that. I will say he's definitely above average, but not too skinny nor thick. and yeah, he does have a curve to it.

Y- yearning. (how high is their sex drive?)

your sex life is healthy. unless either of you are busy, sex is a daily thing. you two are addicted to eachother and make love like you're still in the honey moon stage.

Z- ZZZ. (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

while you fall asleep almost immediately, it's sort of difficult for him. when you fall asleep, he holds you and savors your presence.

[iwritefandomimagines]

I COULD KISS YOU — GREG HOUSE

masterlist

pairing: greg house x reader

description: when an offhand comment to praise house for helping you diagnose a patient leads to the silent treatment, you’re both forced to confront the feelings that had been lingering unspoken for too long.

warnings: swearing, angst to a teeny bit of fluff, may be a lil ooc as i’m still iffy on fleshing out how i write the house characters but i’m trying <3

author’s note: had this idea and got excited so bashed it out quite quickly while i was motivated af — hopefully you enjoy !!! let me know what you think

“Gregory House, you bloody genius,” you exclaimed, clenching your fists in excitement, unable to stop the words that came flying out next, “I could kiss you!”

You’d been trying to diagnose your patient for nigh on a week now, and with the young boy’s symptoms rapidly progressing and his condition rapidly worsening, House’s diagnostic expertise provided exactly the breakthrough you needed.

You were ecstatic — mentally piecing together just how he had to be correct — and so without another word you practically skipped out of his office to run some tests and reach the certainty needed to treat the boy as soon as possible.

What House had suggested made perfect sense, accounting for every symptom and every adverse reaction to the treatments you had tried so far, and though you usually mocked his tendency to always smugly assume he was right, at present you were immeasurably grateful for his input.

You were disappointed, then, when you rushed to tell him that the young boy was responding incredibly well to the treatment he suggested and he simply gave you his smug “I-told-you-so” smile and rushed away from you.

He didn’t speak to you again for the rest of the day, choosing instead to actually take time to visit his patients rather than deal with encountering you again.

“What did I do to piss House off?” you asked Cameron, Foreman and Chase shyly as you stood near the nurse’s station with them.

They all just eyed you like the answer was obvious, but Chase shrugged, “When has anyone ever needed to actually do something to piss him off?”

“No, he won’t even talk to me right now,” you frowned, brows furrowed, “It’s weird. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong since this morning.”

The group all looked between eachother, as though deciding who would be the one to have to tell you the honest truth.

“Probably something to do with your little ‘I could kiss you’,” Chase replied, doing a terrible impersonation of you and batting his eyelids flirtatiously as he quoted you, “He didn’t seem to like that very much.”

Your mouth was parted in confusion, “Firstly, I do not sound like that. But secondly, why would he give me the silent treatment for that? Is the idea of kissing me that repulsive?”

Cameron scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re both as oblivious as each other, Y/N… He’s ignoring you for literally the opposite reason.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

Was she seriously trying to tell you that House was ignoring you because he didn’t like you joking about kissing him?

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s literally painfully obvious, Y/N,” Foreman groaned, “You’ve had this weird sexual tension going on forever and given that he’s usually bad at giving a damn about people, he gets weird about you. And he obviously has feelings for you, so it rubbed him up the wrong way.”

Chase chuckled, “They’re right. He’s only mad at you because you’re the only person he’s never mad at but you hurt the feelings he apparently has.”

You pondered what he was saying for a moment, trying to piece together whether there was any semblance of truth behind their explanation for House’s weird behaviour.

Truth be told, it was the exact kind of petty and ill-fitting behaviour you’d expect from House.

For such a brilliant man, he could be utterly childish at times, especially if he wasn’t getting his way.

Your relationship had always teetered on the edge of professionalism — he was always making flirtatious comments, he always took your suggestions on board more than the others, always sung your praises to your peers and superiors.

Whilst everyone else was certain it was proof of his feelings for you, you had just thought he appreciated that you never pried into his life unless he offered to divulge information himself, and you were excellent at your job.

Of course, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed your ambiguous relationship, given the crush you had harboured since very early on in your acquaintance. That’s why you always flirted back, always made sure your input was carefully though out, and why you were always singing his praises too.

But it was Greg House — a man who so famously behaved as though he didn’t care about anyone. So of course you didn’t think that things would ever progress past your unprofessional professional relationship.

“Where is he?”

“In his office,” Cameron smiled, “He told me to make sure nobody bothered him, and I think he meant you because he’s still throwing his toys out of the pram.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, “God, he’s ridiculous. I’m going to go and talk to him. Or try, anyway. Wish me luck.”

“Is this House we’re talking about?” Dr. James Wilson made an appearance at your side now, his brow quirked in curiosity as he butted into the conversation.

You nodded, “He’s being a baby instead of actually talking to me about why he’s mad.”

You hoped he’d have some kind of more concrete explanation, given that he was the only person House was even remotely honest around.

“He’s hardly an expert at talking about his feelings, is he? Or having them, actually,” Wilson chuckled, “But he’s been grumbling all day. Please do go and speak to him. For my sanity’s sake, if not your relationship’s.”

“Slow down, Wilson,” you scoffed, but though you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at any sort of reference to you and House’s potential relationship, “I’m going!”

You entered the room without even knocking, folding your arms over your chest with a stern expression on your features as you strode towards his desk and stood firmly in front of him.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy being petty and ignoring me?”

He looked up now, narrowing his eyes as he realised you were not going to meekly scuttle away like you had done every other time he’d dismissed you today.

“What makes you think that?” sarcasm dripped from his words, “I just so enjoy spending time getting to know my patients and doing paperwork!”

You huffed out a sigh, frustrated by him already trying to dodge the subject, “Greg.”

“Y/N.”

“Greg!”

“Y/N!” he matched your tone just to challenge you, and you scoffed, “Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“So deliberately evasive?”

His lips drew together in a thin line as he eyed you carefully, “How’s your little boy from this morning?”

“You are so fucking frustrating, Greg,” you scowled, “Can we have an adult conversation here?”

He appeared to ponder over another joke to make, but apparently for the first time in his life thought better, as he remained silent and waited for you to continue.

“I’ve been so stressed out about that kid, and you helped me to help him massively — he’s likely to be discharged by tomorrow. I was so happy, so relieved, and I said I could kiss you,” you began, avoiding his gaze at first until your final sentence, “And it was a silly offhanded comment about how grateful I was, but at the same time I honestly could’ve kissed you because I quite honestly want to a lot of the time.”

Oh my God — you’d stunned the Greg House into silence?

Your breathing was jagged, “I don’t know if you’re just being an ass because you don’t like being on the other end of jokes, or if the team actually aren’t just blind hopeless romantics and you actually care about me. But I just wish you’d talk to me instead of doing all this and making me feel like you don’t care at all.”

He pulled himself up onto his feet, grabbing his cane to lean on as he inched closer to you.

“It’s a bit of both,” his voice was low, and you were sure that if you didn’t know him better you might believe him to be shy about telling you the truth, “I’m not good at caring, and I don’t usually like caring, but I guess I do. Sue me!”

You took another step forward, so that you were so close you were breathing right in each other’s faces.

You were trying to be brave and command the conversation, but your stomach was doing backflips as it dawned on you that what he meant was that he really did feel the same about you.

“Why would you go silent on me then instead of talking to me about it?” you bit your lip as you spoke, and caught notice of how his eyes trailed to your lips as you did so.

He swallowed thickly, “Didn’t feel right to. Hardly professional, is it?”

“Oh, because you’re the picture of professionalism usually aren’t you?” you laughed dryly.

“Point taken,” he shrugged, “Maybe I was little scared. And we’ve got a good thing going, it’s a risk pushing things any further.”

You weren’t happy with that, not when this was Greg House — king of taking risks and breaking rules — and you were certain that it was a risk worth taking anyway.

“When has risk ever stopped you?” you asked, whispering now as your eyes darted between his and his lips whilst he mirrored your behaviour.

“Point also taken,” he mumbled, before finally taking the plunge and bringing his lips to yours in a heated kiss that you leaned into immediately.

He quickly leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you to stand between his parted legs.

You pulled back, suddenly aware that anyone could come in at this moment and see you — and whilst the biggest risk here really was endless teasing from the team or a scolding from Cuddy, you did still have some things to discuss too.

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, overcome with giddiness at what had just happened, but you wanted to make your feelings clear; Even if it was to a man who would probably make a jokey remark and underplay his own feelings.

“I don’t know your relationship history, and I don’t care to,” you shrugged, moving your hands to your hips but hardly moving away from him, “Well, I’m not rushing to. I can assume it’s not great, but I just want to take every day as it comes and see where things go because mine isn’t great either. I’m not gonna hurt you, Greg.”

The sincerity in his eyes as he gazed up at you made your heart melt, and you could tell that somehow, some way, you had gotten through to him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t be certain that you’ll keep, Y/N,” he mumbled, before shaking off his own words and standing back up to stare into your eyes intently, “But fine. Because it’s you, I’m willing to try. Provided there’s more of this,” he kissed you again before continuing, “And less of them ogling and concocting their little romantic stories about the lovely doctor Y/N and her damaged old fool.”

You turned around to see the entire team peering through the window, all smiles and whispered chatter at the sight before them.

You raised your middle finger to them, turning back to look at House and stepping back a little from him.

“Unfortunately, those nosey fuckers are not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, “If you’re willing to try then we’re going for dinner. Tonight. And we’re going to have a good time, and not talk about this place or about anything you don’t want to.”

He nodded, “I’ll pretend I’m not furious you’ve robbed me of making the grand romantic gesture of being the one to ask,” he cocked his head as he joked, truthfully very much pleased you were the one to ask and confirm that your interest in him was genuine, “But sounds good to me. I’ll wear my nicest tux, eh.”

“Yeah, yeah, ha ha,” you hummed, “Now I’ve got a living patient to go and visit thanks to you. Enjoy your afternoon with that lot,” you gestured to your friends, who were all still stood there watching you, “Good luck. Oh, and pick somewhere to book for us to eat. That can be your grand romantic gesture, hm.”

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you grinned, swanning out of his office with the biggest smile possible painting your features.

You nudged past your friends as they watched you walk down the corridor, happier than they had probably ever seen you in the time that you’d known them.

They immediately filed into House’s office when you were out of sight, and his head fell back in irritation for a moment despite the smile still gracing his lips.

“Things went well, then?”

“Go away,” he replied, “I’m in a good mood for once, and you idiots aren’t going to ruin that, alright?”

“Woah, okay,” Foreman laughed, “Who are you and what has Y/N done with Greg House?”

———

thanks for reading !!! i hope enjoyed and this wasn’t too ooc lol. let me know what you though pleaaase & if you’d like — feel free to request!

in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

[destinysbounty]

Ever since Crystalized came out, there's been this theory circulating that the reason the Overlord somehow managed to manifest crystal power seemingly out of nowhere and with no explanation (at least, none that I can find/remember), is because his fight with Zane affected his power in some way.

The main evidence for this is that:

Zane was the last person to fight the Overlord

Ice is technically a crystalline structure, depending on how it's formed, and Zane is the master of ice

When Harumi was first resurrected, she found the Overlord's spirit imbued into a purple crystal

As evidenced by past seasons, the Overlord's power seems to be influenced by his circumstances and environment in the wake of his last defeat. During Rebooted, a tech center was built over his resting place, and he ended up taking on the abilities and limitations of a computer virus. And in this case, the theory suggests that the Overlord's power was then influenced again by all the ice surrounding him as Zane destroyed both of their physical forms.

This does, to some extent, seem to fall in line with everything else we know about the Overlord. The Overlord is a being of shadow and darkness, and the shape of a shadow will always be influenced by the light around it. (And if we want to get into the theory that the Overlord was created as a result of the FSM trying to purge the oni blood from his veins, then you could even bring up the fact that the oni are shapeshifters sooo).

Now, I'll be the first to admit that this theory is ultimately pretty circumstantial, and there's nothing in canon to point to it being explicitly true. BUT, the cool thing about this theory is that it does also retroactively solve another big fandom mystery: that is, it explains how Zane survived his fight with the Overlord.

Let me explain.

When Zane came back to life after his fight with the Digital Overlord, while it was never outright explained how he did so, it was implied that he came back the same way the Overlord had: by spiritually manifesting within the systems at Borg Tower - specifically, the Digiverse. But that doesn't really answer the question, does it?

Like, the Overlord coming back as a spiritual manifestation makes sense. He's a regenerative being, an immortal abstraction of all the evil in the world. And Zane, as far as we know, is very much not that. So what could have happened to cause Zane, a nindroid, to end up being resurrected in the same way as the god of darkness? Why did he come back to life, instead of passing onto the afterlife? Even Lloyd, the special-est boy in all Ninjago, made a quick visit to the Departed Realm and only came back because the FSM said he could.

And true, it's certainly possible that Zane had a similar encounter with the FSM. Or that his power source is responsible for his resurrection, and just as we may never know how his power source works he may also never know how it brought him back to life. Those are all very possible solutions, and you're welcome to just accept those ideas and move one.

But if you're like me and you don't find those answers particularly satisfying, here's another possibility:

Just as Zane's power has influenced the Overlord, the Overlord's power has influenced Zane. In the explosion of Golden Power that caused both of them to be destroyed in unison, their souls became intertwined. So yes, Zane was meant to die. And judging by his account of the situation in Decoded, he did die. And maybe a peaceful afterlife was well within arm's reach, maybe he was just about to grab the FSM's hand...but then something pulled him back. His soul, chained to the Overlord's dark power, dragged him to the land of the living once more.

And if you really want to get into it, then you could even theorize that this connection ended up influencing Zane's power as well. During the Ice Chapter he was capable of turning people into ice samurai zombie-things kept under his control, as well as creating ice constructs like Boreal. These are not abilities that have been established in the ice power-set, nor are they logical powers for an ice elemental to have. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but the Forbidden Scroll doesn't give you new powers, it just enhances and turbo-boosts what you already have. Which is why it did nothing when Kai held it, as his power had been stolen from him at the time.

(Now before you ask why Pixal could use the Scroll despite seeminlgy not having any powers, there are very subtle implications that she had developed a very, very minor sixth sense due to her inheriting some of Zane's power. If anyone wants me to explain that in greater detail, I'd be more than happy to.)

And yes, Aspheera is also capable of creating elemental zombie/mummy things and other such constructs, but she did all that before she found the Scroll. This is a power-set she had by virtue of her being a powerful sorcerer, not something granted by wielding the Scroll.

And yet somehow, the Scroll did seem to give Zane these powers. Powers that so far have only been exhibited by two people in the series: Aspheera, and the Overlord. So if we submit to the theory that Zane and the Overlord's fight have caused their powers to mix a little, and the Scroll magnifies your power....well, it suddenly becomes very possible that the Scroll amplified some of the dark energy he inherited from the Overlord and awakened some of the Ice Emperor's more unique abilities.

And if that's true, then that really just kinda makes the whole Ice Emperor sting that much more. All of the good things Zane has done, all of his biggest sacrifices, all led to this moment. To him becoming the Ice Emperor.

I dunno. It's just something to think about.

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 6

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

September 1982 . . . again

Eddie doesn’t cry about his knuckles turning a blazing bright red right before his eyes. The bruise would fade in a week or two. When he sits back in his seat, he does think about just what got him here. How it felt good to crack his knuckles against Rod-pie’s face. The shock in his eyes when Eddie slammed him into a locker felt justified as soon as he heard the words ‘that chick?’ as if you were just any girl that he’s forgotten about.

It didn’t matter to him that he would be spending some time with the principal after he knocked Rusty into the hallway tile. Things began to change when he found you down the hall with your mouth agape, covered by your hand and terror stricken across your face. He’s never wanted you to be afraid of him.

Eddie didn’t get a chance to explain to you why he punched the boy who ditched you on Saturday night to party with some of the idiots from the basketball team. King Steve was hosting his infamous Saturday night kick backs, and Raphael just had to be there. He would have taken you, but by the way he had some blonde fluttering her lashes at him in the hallway - Eddie can only assume that he was less than interested in you.

So, he decked him.

Eddie isn’t a violent person by nature. This is the first time he’s ever sat outside of the principals office for something other than skipping class or smoking on the property. Smoking around school is such horse shit. Everyone does it. Eddie happens to be the special case that gets nagged at.

Day-in and day-out, someone always has a problem with Eddie. They hate the way his hair is grown out. They call it mangled. They hate the way he dresses. They call him dirty. They hate the way that he has an uncle to raise him and not a dad. They don’t really have a name for that, but they do like to ask where his dad is.

Most of them hear rumors from their preppy little parents. Eddie bets they treated his father just the same when he walked these halls. This town is so small that everything circulates into a huge impossible rumor mill.

It motivates Eddie to get out of this poisoned town. There’s nothing for him here. Well, nothing except Wayne . . . and you.

“Eddie,” the soft voice of the secretary brings him back to reality. She leans her head around the corner of the principals office. “He’s ready for you.”

Just as Eddie stands up to face the judge with his sentence already laid out in front of him, Uncle Wayne marches through the front office. Huffing and puffing like a mad man, Wayne beelines for his nephew. That gray uniform makes Eddie’s heart skip in his chest. Wayne has just come from a day of work. Now, Eddie begins to sweat.

Wayne was at work when his boss radioed him that there was an urgent call from Eddie’s school. It’s not as though Wayne is negligent. He knew Eddie hasn’t had the best time making friends or even getting along when he has school projects with another person in his class. Some people just don’t get along, and that’s fine. He’s met the few friends that Eddie has, and he imagines he spends most of his time with them.

Punching another student? Wayne isn’t about to let that behavior slide, and Eddie better have a good explanation as to what happened.

“Wayne-,”

Wayne’s nose flares as he holds a finger up to quiet Eddie, before he speaks.

“Sit,” Wayne points to the chair.

Eddie slumps back down like he’s a boy again. It’s going to have to sink in soon that he’ll be a man in the real world. All of this silliness in high school drama isn’t going to matter after he graduates.

The secretary shuts the door behind Wayne, which leaves him and Principal Higgins to have their conversation in private.

It’s peculiarly silent inside the office. A hum comes from the desk fan that Higgins has propped up against the stained oak. There’s two chairs sitting in front of the principal. Both are empty.

“You must be,” Principal Higgins hugs his spectacles when he reads Eddie’s name off of a piece of paper that’s atop of a neat stack of papers in an open envelope, “Wayne Munson - er - the uncle. . . not father?”

“I’m the rightful guardian of my boy,” Wayne puffs out his chest a bit.

“Right,” he speaks coolly, “we have much to discuss. Please, sit.”

Wayne chooses the chair to the right of the principal, so he doesn’t find himself hidden by all of the silly trinkets the man has organized across his desk. A plastic yellow bird diving for water catches Wayne’s eye. It’s the oddest item in the room. Stacks upon stacks of literature find a home on the bookshelves behind the principal. It’s behind Wayne that Higgins keeps all of the important files in cabinets that are locked tight.

Bitter coffee stinks up the air. It’s burnt. Wayne can almost taste it on his tongue.

“Your nephew, Eddie, finds himself in a lot of trouble,” Higgins comes off strong, and he doesn’t back down. “Do you know how far his grades are slipping?”

There’s times when Eddie struggles with a math problem or two, but surely that can’t affect his grades that much.

“Well-,”

“We’ve only just begun the year,” Higgins slides a piece of paper across the table that names Eddie’s grades. “He has F’s in all of his classes.”

Wayne swallows thickly. Boy, Eddie is in deep trouble at school. It isn’t just this year either. The sheet of paper also explicitly highlights all of the barely passing grades from the previous years, and he’s skipping classes?

“He has all year to pick them up, right?” Wayne crosses his fingers where the principal can’t see.

“It’s possible,” Higgins sits back again. “Can we talk seriously about Eddie’s violent outburst this morning?”

“Eddie has never been violent!” Wayne snaps.

Higgins raises one eyebrow, “I recall speaking to a student earlier, who says your boy attacked him.”

“Eddie wouldn’t hurt anybody without a reason, honestly.”

Higgins continues, “I hear a lot more than you would imagine, Mr. Munson. Maybe Eddie can enlighten you during his week long suspension why he feels he must act out his aggression.”

“A week?!”

“I would be grateful that the parents of the student were able to be reasoned out of calling the police,” Higgins returns to writing notes on a part of Eddie’s file. “You may go.”

Eddie tries to keep up with Wayne, as he zooms out of the office with great speed behind each stride. It’s surprising how angry Wayne has become. Eddie can’t recall his uncle being sour about a single thing. He wants to ask what happened inside the principals office, but he has a feeling that Wayne won’t talk until they’re in private.

Their shoes scuffling along the tile in the hallway keeps them from total silence. Classes are starting. Even with the door shut, Miss Smith’s shrieking tone carries through the classroom door. No one should be that passionate about mathematics.

Unbeknownst to him, you’re around the corner. You’ve skipped class just to wait for Eddie. Tears burn down your cheeks. As soon as you see that frizzy metal head pull around the corner, you’re a wrecking ball ready to hit your target.

“Eddie Munson!” You shout. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Eddie cringes at the harshness in your voice. Your face is beat red. Hot tears cloud your vision. It would be the perfect time for an explanation, if you would let him get a word in.

Wayne doesn’t budge. Out of the corner of Eddie’s eye, Wayne is just as shocked. You've never shouted like this before.

All Wayne knows is someone got hit, and now Wayne is catching a few hints about who that someone was.

“Oh, kid,” Wayne presses his temple with his fingers. “You didn’t.”

Wayne didn’t tell Eddie about Rodney, so that he could assault that boy. It looks a bit stupid now for him to have told Eddie anything about you being stood up. He didn’t know that it would escalate!

“Rodney got my address wrong,” that is a lie, but Eddie still doesn’t think this is the right time to add fuel to the fire. He chickens out and shrivels into himself, while you jab your finger into his chest. “He won’t even talk to me anymore and it’s your fault, Eddie!”

Wayne does try to step between you two when you begin to swing at his chest. You’re frustrated. It’s understandable. Frankly, Wayne is exhausted from work; and now, he has to deal with the thought of his nephew not graduating and Eddie’s suspended for punching some guy. The same guy, who has an interest in you.

Gareth tears through the school hearing all that noise from the men’s restroom, where he was enjoying a cigarette instead of listening to a boring lecture on the periodic table. When he heard the ruckus, he thought some poor sap was getting his head beat in again. It wouldn’t be the first time this morning, since Eddie knocked some guy on his ass.

Word travels fast around here.

After realizing the voice belongs to you, Gareth races to the rescue where he finds you screaming at Eddie for what he had done. Oh, boy.

Firstly, Gareth grabs hold of you from behind. He’s also terrified that in your angry rage, you might accidentally swing at Wayne.

“That’s enough!” Gareth wraps his hands around your wrists, before sinking you into a tight bear-like hold around your middle. “I’ve got her. You guys head out.”

Wayne nods his head to Gareth. It’s him that has become one of Wayne’s favorites of Eddie’s friends, aside from you - if he can call you Eddie’s friend anymore.

Eddie scrambles after Wayne again like a lost puppy when Wayne mutters something along the lines of;

“Does anyone actually go to class around here?”

Gareth is still holding onto you when they leave. You drive sharp breaths in and out of your lungs, while tears drip onto his shirt sleeve.

“Let’s go in here,” he helps you up, so he can bring you into an empty classroom where there wouldn't be as much of an audience.

It’s dimly lit.

Gareth snags tissues from the teacher’s desk. He rolls the chair around for you to sit down in. While you dry your eyes, Gareth leans his weight on the desk.

You’re boiling for answers. Rodney can be a nice guy. The way he dresses isn’t offensive. He lays his hair down with a comb he has nestled in his pocket at all times. There’s no loose threads on his clothing. He’s got a well-enough smile that’s glossy and wide.

“Rodney won’t talk to me,” you ball up a damp tissue between your fingers.

Gareth scoffs, “good. He’s a douche.”

“He is not,” you frown.

“He’s a bit too,” how could he say this? “Clean?”

“He’s too clean?” You roll your eyes at him. “Eddie punched Rodney because he’s too clean?”

“Eddie punched Rodney?” He hold his belly, while laughter flows from his mouth. “Oh, man! I would have loved to have seen that. Er-”

You’re stone cold. Tearing apart that Kleenex, Gareth takes this as a warning and he zips his mouth shut.

Neither of you want to mention it, but this is the first time you’re alone together; and, the first time that neither of you want to kill each other. You’ve never held malice against Gareth. It’s been the opposite. Gareth has his reserves about you. If they’re fair or unjust, he would never let you know that.

Gareth notices you’ve painted your nails with a pretty lilac color. It matches with the rings you have accessorized across your fingers. His heart sinks seeing how red he’s caused your wrists to go.

“Sorry,” it comes out of Gareth’s mouth without much thought.

You trace his eye-line back your wrists, “oh, I’m fine.”

“Does it hurt?” Gareth grows nearer, as he takes your hand to trace over the bruising skin. “Should I get you some ice or something?”

You’re taken aback by the way his curls drape over his forehead. His hair is so full like a wig. Freckles dance across his nose and underneath his eyes. His skin is still soft like a child, and he has hardly any of that bothersome acne scratching up his face.

Gareth doesn’t pay attention to you studying the way his smile line makes an indent into his cheeks, until he catches your eye quite close to his. Your puffy eyes stare back at him, as he searches you curiously for answers. An eyelash rests on your cheek bone, and Gareth boldly brushes it away with his thumb. Your skin is velvety under his touch.

“Uh-,” Gareth’s voice cracks, “do you want to go somewhere?”

You nod your head eagerly wanting nothing to do with this school today.

“Come on,” he says, “I know somewhere we can blow off a bit of that anger.”

-> <-

Eddie shuts the door after Wayne, waiting for the yelling to begin. It never comes. In fact, Wayne purposely takes a big show of calming himself down. Taking a few deep breathes at first, his uncle then cranks his head in one big circle.

“Sit,”

That would be thrice that someone has told Eddie to sit down today. Although he wants to make a joke, that would be most inappropriate. He does sit among the stack of bills that have grown tall enough to tip over and to spill over the couch.

“Eddie,” Wayne huffs, “please tell me what happened.”

Finally, a chance to tell his side of things. He was beginning to believe that everyone was against him here. Watching Wayne soften his posture, Eddie opens his mouth,

“Yeah, I hit him.”

Great job, Eddie. Everyone knows that. The words he wants to say fizzle out on his tongue like water to a flame. He could have said that he hit him because he wants to protect you like his little sibling. But, that word implies something he doesn’t want it too. He can’t figure you out. Especially, since you decided to date that slime ball.

Eddie knows better than to hit another person unless he has too. It just came out of him. The way that Robert dismisses you with the flick of his wrist sent him over the edge. You’re not just anyone - you’re someone.

“Why did you hit him?” Wayne wants to know.

Eddie wants to know too, and he licks his drying lips.

“Alright,” his uncle paces before him. “Whatever the reason, you’re suspended for a week-,”

“What?!”

“And, I want you to pick up around here,” Wayne gestures to the stack of mess surrounding them. Specifically, he wants Eddie’s bedroom clean. Even Wayne knows that can’t happen in a week. He just wants him busy, and he wants to keep his nephew’s head on planet earth. “Keep up with your school work. I mean it. Your principal is threatening to keep you another year if you don’t pick up those grades.”

That might not be exactly what Principal Higgins had said, but it sure sounded like that when he sat across that vile venomous viper of a man.

“Eddie, I’m very disappointed in you,” his uncle scolds. “Have I taught you nothing? You cannot use violence to solve your problems.”

“Wayne,” Eddie says sorrowfully, “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he plants his hands on his hips, “I want you to apologize to your friend, and to that boy.”

Apologize-,” Wayne shoots Eddie a stern look. “Alright, Wayne.”

“Go to your room,” his uncle commands.

Eddie has never ever disappointed his uncle like this. There have been a number of times that Eddie can recall some close moments. He tried to take the van out for a spin when he was fourteen without a license, but it stalled. Wayne repeatedly told Eddie he could have been hurt, and he’s just glad that he’s alright. Or, the many times he snuck out past curfew just to look at the lake behind the trailer park in the moonlight. He loves the way the ripples move and dance when he wades through the water. Of course, Wayne snatched him by his collar a few years ago about midnight. He told Eddie that he could drown and that no one would know where he was. He also said that someone else could snatch him up by the back of his neck.

Who would want to kidnap Eddie? He’s a screwup just like his father. Eddie hadn’t been to prison yet, but he might as well fall in line. Maybe his daddy could be his cell mate.

Eddie had gone back to his room and stripped himself of his shoes and his jacket. Instead of tossing them aside, he folds it in half and in half again and then sets it atop of his dresser. His shoes would fit in the small space under his bed. Tidying up, he begins to form a pile for his dirty laundry to be in, rather than leaving his shirts and pants strewn across the floor.

Eddie’s real lucky. He does know this. If it weren’t for Wayne, he would be slumming it with people who would probably give him back to the agency in a week. That is if he wasn’t stuck in foster homes. No, Wayne’s treated him good. He even gave Eddie the large bedroom in the trailer.

“Boy’s got to have a bedroom,” he had said.

Wayne slept on a fold-out-bed in the living room. When he was too tired, Eddie would catch him curled over the couch.

Eddie decides then he has something to prove. If not for Wayne, then for himself. This whole town knows the story of Al Munson, the lowlife and drug addicted man, who just couldn’t get clean enough to take care of his son. But, they don’t know Eddie - the determined offspring. That sounded better in his head. The point is that Eddie Munson will graduate. He’s going to be a success, and, with the help of his buddies and their band, he’s also going to be a rockstar!

-> <-

Gareth has snuck off of the school grounds before. He knew all of the spots where teachers laid in wait to snag anyone, who was willing to punch out of school early. Lucky for you, Gareth also knew how to get around them.

He took you down a long windy route through a busy classroom that hardly noticed you’re there.

“Shop,” he told you, while flicking a piece of shavings from your shoulder.

From there, Gareth sneaks you out of the school with him. A rush kicks in that you’re doing something that you’re not supposed to be doing. Robin would miss you. She waits for you to come out of biology, so she can walk you to lunch.

Biology before lunch is no picnic, and you really wish that the school wouldn’t permit it. You might say the same for chemistry, or gym. Actually, a math class or an English class feel the safest to have before lunch. You don’t have to touch anything, but a book. And, you’re not grossly sweaty.

All this thinking, and you’re not watching where you’re going. Gareth is leading you across the street. The neon orange 'ARCADE' sign swings in circles high above your heads. Although it’s unlit, it’s not unnoticeable.

Palace Arcade is somewhere you pass by after school on your way home. You’ve never actually been inside.

All the noise hits your ears when Gareth opens the door for you. A surprising number of people crowd the arcade games. Does everyone come here when they skip class?

A droopy eyed employee ignores them to suck on a soda through a red straw. It doesn’t bother him that a bunch of teenagers show up in the middle of the day to play games.

“Trust me, he doesn’t care.”

You must have been staring a bit too hard at the man for Gareth to make a comment.

“Jeff!” Gareth catches his friend in front of the game Dig Dug. He eggs you to catch up.

Jeff is in the band with Eddie and Gareth. He plays guitar. Otherwise, you don’t know much about Jeff. Well, he certainly likes playing video games. After Gareth distracts him, you can read that the highest score belongs to Jeff.

“You’re good at this game,” you say.

Jeff jolts. Gareth usually comes alone, or with Eddie trailing behind him. It’s never occurred to him that you might come someday. You’re not one to skip class, or at least that’s what Eddie tells him.

“Hey, little miss,” his nicknames for you are sweet. “What are you doing around here? Where’s Eddie?”

Your smile falters.

“Let’s talk later,” Gareth warns Jeff, who catches the hint.

Jeff moves away from the game, “let’s see what you got.”

“Me?” You point to yourself.

Video games aren’t your thing. You’ve never even tried before. School work keeps you busy, and your mom has a strict ‘no fun’ policy around the house. It’s honestly been enough work just to keep track of her whereabouts lately that you don’t even have time for yourself outside of school.

“Come on,” Jeff taps your shoulder. “I’ll show you.”

Well, you’re not good at video games. You don’t even make the scoreboard when Jeff finishes teaching you how to move the little character left and right. Jeff and Gareth are standing on either side of you. They cheer you on as your character dies yet again.

“I suck,” you slouch.

Gareth clicks his teeth, “maybe you’ve got the wrong game. Let’s try something over there.”

Mrs. Pac-Man is open. You like the look of her little bow atop her head. The console is pink. That might be more your speed!

When you walk away, you expect the boys to follow behind you. You don’t notice when Jeff yanks Gareth to the side.

“What are you doing?” Jeff grills Gareth.

Gareth shakes his head, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“That’s Eddie’s girl,�� he shouldn’t have to say out loud how untouchable you are. All the boys in the band know this. “You can’t go messing around with her, man.”

“She’s not a trophy,” Gareth already knows what Jeff is trying to imply. Aside from the falseness in his accusations, Gareth doesn’t very much like how you’re being spoken about like a prize - like an object. “She’s a person.”

Jeff cocks his head to Gareth’s simple little brain. Obviously, that is not what Jeff means. You’re attached to Eddie at the hip. Anywhere he goes, you go too. Your friendship isn’t a silly little thing that will fade out over time. Those two grew up together. There’s a bond between them that no one else will understand.

Gareth better not screw this up.

“Look,” Gareth says when you’re out of earshot. “Eddie sucker punched that kid, Rodney.”

“Rodney?!” Jeff knew the kid.

Gareth waves his hands like a wild man trying to get Jeff to lower his voice, then says, “she’s really upset right now.”

This is worse than he thought. Eddie knocks Rodney to the ground, but Gareth’s there to pick you back up? Jeff watches soap operas with his grandma, but man this is so much better. He chooses not to say anything more.

The chips will fall where they lay.

Rodney certainly did.

-> <-

[June 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst

[alliseaisfandom]

Some Coven of Chaos headcanons

(I haven't watched the finale yet and so I'm coping already just in case. For arguments sake we assume the road was real and at the end it gave Jen, Billy, Agatha and Rio the rest of the coven back, because I'm sappy and live in denial)

They're all alive and meet for holidays. Keep that in mind for the rest of the list.

Jen mixes the best drinks. Alcoholic or not, everyone is convinced there's magic involved. She's got a lifelong ownership of the liqueur cabinet at everyone's house.

Alice can play the cello. Billy is the only one who knows this fact. That is until he can get her tipsy enough to break it out someday play for the coven (he almost got it at Samhain)

Lilia has a "memorial pool" in her backyard.

She was also the one to veto Cats out of Billy's suggestion list for musicals they could go to

Said musical outing has yet to happen since almost everyone voted in a different thing

Agatha voted for wicked.

Rio voted for beetljuice (there was a fight over this, Billy remembers very little of it other than hearing Eddie yell "just because you say it three times doesn't mean your vote counts more". It was the first time he brought Eddie to meet the Coven, and sure at the time he didn't know he was arguing with Death Herself, but Billy was impressed regardless)

Lilia voted for Carmen. When told that Opera was not on the list, she argued that dying granted her an extra vote.

Alice agreed, and so West Side story lives on Billy's whiteboard with 2 votes

Jen voted first and picked Chicago, which Billy also voted for, unfortunately when he tried using Lilia's argument, he was reminded rather aggressively and extensively by Rio that being unmade and Dying are actually two very different things

It's the most anyone has ever heard her talk at once and Billy still regrets not taking out his notebook to remember more of it

Unfortunately he only remembered that he did in fact die as William after he and Eddie were on their way home

Rio hates easter with a passion. She has a great time during Good Friday and then sulks for the rest of the weekend

She also steers clear of most of South America and southern Europe in the ends of cotober-beginning of November, not that she doesn't like the Death related holidays, it's just that people keep spotting her even when she doesn't want them to! It's exclusive to that time of year and she's been trying - and failing- to stop it for centuries

The Titanic was a gift from Agatha to Rio. Yes the Iceberg was an accident, in the way that it rendered useless the very precarious fire she'd set to one of the engine rooms

Rio was very thankful.

Billy's school organised an end of year trip to Italy. That night he got a call from Lilia where she told him the best places to go to, what tourist traps to avoid, and asked if he could bring her back a package stashed away under the floorboards of what he eventually found out was a heavily guarded historical monument

The first time they all actually got together to celebrate anything was Alice's birthday dinner

Agatha found herself with 6 unwanted guests in her kitchen and zero explanation. She did not kick them out, a fact she loudly proclaims to regret as often as possible

There is a group chat

Billy, Alice e and Rio are the most active in it, with Jen following, a bit behind because she "actually has a real job that takes up time that you all seem to have free for some reason" (her herb garden died that afternoon and she refused to answer any of Rio's texts for a week after that.)

Lilia never interacts, and they're not entirely sure she receives the messages, as everyone's phones glitch when they try to check

Agatha leaves them on read

Jen was invited to a beauty event in New York. She brought Billy as her plus one, who proceeded to act as her agent all night, getting her two new brand deals, and a spot on a talk show. She brings him along every time now

To be continued

[verdemoun]

Fun fact, Kieran may have been originally supposed to live longer, at least judging by his many unused voice lines (found on YouTube) and a longer hairstyle which I actually think looks better for him (found on rdr wiki of cut content). Maybe he was supposed to go to Guarma? The voice lines to me suggested going on hunting missions with him but I’m not too sure.

spoilers. obviously

fun fact i have listened to the 2+ hours of Kieran's cut voice lines so many times even my housemates know it and groan when they walk in and i'm listening to it. Did you know one of his cut voice lines for a near miss in a shootout is 'whoo, nearly took my head off!' to foreshadow his eventual demise? And he has several variations of lines telling Arthur to rest with the gentlest tone suggesting he would have been one of the few characters to show concern for Arthur's illness in later chapters? And slightly less relevant but there is a cut interaction in where he asks Jack to sneak him some food only for Arthur to threaten to kill him BUT CALLING HIMSELF UNCLE KIERAN???

screenshots by cad5150

About Guarma, all but confirmed. Here is one of his cut outfits, which I think very obviously suits the vibe of what most of the gang wore in Guarma like compare it to Micah's Guarma outfit in particular. Additionally he has this hood as an outfit accessory: some people think it was intended that when he rides into camp Horsemen Apocalypse there's a moment of the hood being taken off and then the characters having a much more visceral reaction to his eyes being gauged out but personally I think it makes way more sense that he was meant to be in Banking, the Old American Art 'replacing' Sean as an extra gun. Which would have been really cool because I would have loved a conversation where they bring up they're a gun short and it spiral into more reflection on how they're not just a gun short, they're a man down, they lost the 'joy in their lives' Sean Macguire and they were still hurting instead of just NEVER MENTIONING HIM AGAIN other than a few rare character lines.

Side tangent also his scarf is different in his guarma outfit which is it's own essay because if you're going off the blue high honor red low honor theory this so strong implies we could have seen some really cool character development. looking at what the gang were wearing in banking and then in guarma there's no obvious explanation as to where he got it. how cute would it have been if we got a scene where mary-beth gifted him a scarf?? but the also terrifying implication that we might see kieran become less high honour good boy blorbo to someone a bit more morally ambiguous?

I think the question really is how he would have fit in in Guarma, which of course we will never know and considering how much cut content there is about Guarma. Like everyone else in Guarma makes sense: Dutch's descent into immorality being so clear even Arthur questions it, Bill being the one trusted to look after Javier following his rescue, supporting their friendship in rdr1, Micah reaffirming his position as an actual piece of shit in his lines responding to Hosea and Lenny's deaths and complete lack of empathy. Maybe a kieran who is slightly more ruthless and active in shootouts in guarma but also shows compassion for arthur as arthur gets sick? Maybe the attack on Hanging Dog Ranch was meant to be more a revenge for Kieran's death assuming he was taken and killed similarly to his death in chapter 4 (given how much much foreshadowing there is for his death), but just another misery in chapter 6 that hits harder because we have more time to grow attached and see him develop?

Except. Except then we get to cut outfit kieran.

first. hellooooo sailor. but who is this man. who is this man who looks older. and wears a very, very low honour red scarf. and is obviously dressed still as an outlaw, and didn't go live a happy life with mary-beth. is it. is it possible. kieran was not always meant to be doomed by the narrative??

is it possible we would have seen kieran become more loyal to dutch and micah, true to his army abandoning, gang jumping, choosing to ride with the o'driscolls rather than die, immediately 'loyal' to the vdls despite torture because being alone meant certain death, coward nature? or would he have just been a character john could encounter in the epilogue? perhaps shaken by knowing arthur, as one of his very, very few friends, died trying to be a better person and abandoned any effort to be more than an outlaw?

but. but kieran. shirt all buttoned up. scarf on. thick coat. hair slightly feral and wild. why does it looked like you're all dressed up for the cold, buddy? like- like you might have been hiding out up mount hagen.