#but the cast everyone in the cast is dead and sad and miserable

[roughentumble]

what do yall think is the happiest saya no uta ending?

[paintbrushnebula]

Could not sleep last night bc I was in a very thorough deep dive into Spot, like just. Everything about him, his past, his present, his future.

I like the idea of Spot being depicted as that very niche character trope where you have this character who is far more tragic than their goofy, eccentric personality lets on at face value, like they have this devastating backstory and the other characters around them realize it and are visibly very shocked and sorry for that person but said person doesn't even seem to register just how sad they are. Like yeah they probably know they're messed up, but not enough to dwell on it, yknow? Because they're like this eccentric, mildly problematic loser who annoys everyone because they're so very lonely.

Idk that's how I'd like him to be written, anyway, because that'd honestly be even sadder than if he was aware of how miserable he is.

I wanna know EVERYTHING about him. What family did he lose? Why did they cast him out after he transformed? Did they know it was him? Do you think they didn't believe it was him when he tried telling them? Do they think the *real* Jonathan Ohnn is dead? Does Spot consider Jonathan Ohnn "dead"?

How's Spot gonna live after he's redeemed?

Yes, I'd like him to be redeemed. And like, maybe somehow get off the hook in a way that is justifiable. It'd be way more interesting to see him have to find a way to readjust to life in a healthy way.

Where's he gonna live? Who will keep him company? How will he make a new living? How will he find new purpose? Is he gonna try to reconnect with his family again? What are his regrets? I'm sure he'll have many now that he's reflecting on his past choices that led him to the collider. I mean we know the history there a little bit don't we? The collider was his idea, his creation. And it was stolen from him by Olivia Octavius, who took all the credit. Spot got messed over hard, didn't he? Did he leave family behind to pursue a career at Alchemex? Is that why they pushed him away?

So so many questions!

[cheatsykoopa98]

Theory About Abstracting

long text below (the amazing digital circus)

I saw people taking the meaning of abstraction in TADC as "to remove certain parts of a program" and theorize that they get corrupted because they're losing parts of their virtual self, their sanity and stuff, but what I actually believe happens when one abstracts is you lose 100% of your original self to the virtual one.

Ragatha says going insane itself isn't what makes you abstract, but it's part of the process. It's when you reach your breaking point that you abstract. But what breaking point? If you're already insane it means your mind is already broken, right?

So let's look at Kaufmo, he's a clown, he likes to tell jokes, and according to Gooseworx he was a little bit too positive, like Ragatha, that fits his character within the circus, but apparently his jokes weren't good, and when people did laugh, they were faking it

We don't know how long Kaufmo knew about that, but it appears to hurt him badly, both by Ragatha saying he called her out for fake laughing and Gangle saying he got mad at her for not laughing.

So what am I getting at? I think Kaufmo only abstracted because he "gave up", like Zooble puts it. His room shows he was obssessing about the exit, but like, a negative outlook on it, like "I know there is an exit, but I won't ever be able to reach it, it's hopeless". I think the moment his spirit breaks and he gives up the last bit of himself to embrace his clown persona fully, he abstracts. The abstracted parts (that is, the removed parts) aren't the virtual ones, but the real part of his mind as a human. That's why he turns into a beast, he's not human anymore but just a jumbled code of what used to be a player

(basically abstractions are the source games error model lmao)

So when his mind is gone and he's just the avatar Caine made for him, he abstracts (probably not intentional since we know Caine isnt malicious, just incompetent). Caine is smart and knows how to make NPCs for the adventures like the mannequins, Bubble, the Moon and the Gloinks, but he can't comprehend fully how a human acts, so in his logic "humans are unpredictable, chaotic, so since Kaufmo is giving no player input anymore I'll just replace him with an NPC that is unpredictable and chaotic" which is the monster we see, and since he fails every time to recreate a human but can't really (isn't allowed or is unable) to kill or let the humans leave, he just throws them into the cellar

So in conclusion, I don't think anyone in the main cast will abstract because as much as their avatars do give away what they were probably like in the real world (someone who masks their sadness, a person figuring out their gender, a coward who is important in their ambient, a yes person, a troll, a person who likes to make people laugh and the person who is butt of everyone's jokes) as long as they don't give into being just that, but real people with depthful personalities, they will be fine. Probably miserable, but fine.

(TL/DR): Abstraction is AFK mode, Caine can't have a circus if the players are brain dead not doing anything after giving up on their individuality completely, so he tries to recreate the player as an NPC, fails, buries his mistake in the cellar and moves on

[fizzingwizard]

I was genuinely looking forward to Lupin vs Holmes in part 6, but what a disappointment it was. Actually, disappointment is too weak a word. In my opinion, it was pretty much a disaster.

There were so many reasons to be hyped for that crossover. You've got Holmes, the greatest detective of his time, and Lupin, the greatest thief of his. They're both canny, eccentric, and always a step ahead of everyone else. They're also both independent and live by their own set of morals. Holmes picks which cases he'll take without concern for money, and lets people go even if they're guilty if his own convictions say they don't deserve punishment. Lupin always does what he wants, doesn't let himself get pushed around, and enjoys wreaking havoc among inhumane criminals just as much as he enjoys flouting the law.

They're even perfectly matched in the ways they're different. I was open to them either liking or disliking each other (though I feel convinced they'd definitely have respect for each other), because I can see either take making sense. Holmes is calculations with a pinch of chaos, Lupin is chaos with a measured dash of calculation. Holmes eschews relationships aside from a very few - Lupin enjoys social interaction (but prioritizes just a few). Holmes is functionally asexual. Lupin is never not horny.

Even the supporting cast was so promising! To tell the truth, from watching previous seasons I didn't really think the rest of the Lupin gang or Watson would have much to do. But I hoped they would because there was so much potential.

I mean Jigen and Watson are both war veterans in their own way. It's not the best comparison (Watson was a doctor, and got shot almost immediately... but he is also a "man of action" and does have a lot of fight and pluck, even if he's not going to be a match for Jigen in terms of marksmanship). And they're the right hand men of two pretty difficult geniuses... couldn't they spend a moment commiserating lmao.

It could have been awesome to see Fujiko interact with Holmes because her usual tricks wouldn't work on him. I admit it isn't unlikely the show would have been like "Ahh, but this time they do work on him, just like Irene Adler!" and totally ignored that book!Irene impressed Holmes with her wiliness and not her sexiness... But I'm talking about my fantasy here. And in my fantasy, Holmes would have had a similar reaction to Fujiko's manipulation and acting skills similar to how he did with Irene. It would have been pretty cool to see Fujiko interact with a man who was NOT into her, but was just as smart and brave and perhaps wiser than Lupin.

Even Goemon would have had something to do. He could have had a super cool kenjutsu vs baritsu ("what even is that?") battle with Holmes. Extra points if Goemon walks away saying "I respect the skill of that fellow warrior, even if he can't spell his own martial art correctly."

And of course Lestrade and Zenigata's shenanigans at Scotland Yard are a nobrainer. But serious bonus points if they both pine away with equal envy and admiration for their respective smart ass thorns in the side hahahahahahaha.

I mean. There was SO MUCH there. How, HOW do you mess that up???

(Answer: By knowing absolutely nothing about Sherlock Holmes to begin with and basing everything on your memories of inaccurate movies from fifty years ago x'D)

So instead we got: perpetually sad, somber Sherlock Holmes, who isn't working the job that he literally loves anymore in favor of looking miserable a lot and raising a child. And the child is Watson's kid, who Watson can't raise because he's fucking DEAD, and mom can't raise because SHE'S dead (just say Holmes is her mom. Come on. We're in the future. Just say it). Also Watson is dead because Lestrade killed him like WHAT. Of all the twists they could have gone one, they definitely surprised me with that one. Was it a fun surprise though? ... No, no it wasn't.

Add to that the extremely dull characterizations of everyone, the heavy reliance on the danger to a little girl who isn't even a canonical character but is very cute, and the slow, slow pace of the episodes... What a mess. It was memorable, sure, but for the wrong reasons.

Like the only thing I can think of that I didn't hate about the whole arc was Lily taking her first steps as Holmes's assistant at the very end. Fine, that's adorable, and makes me feel ever so slightly better about Watson being dead. And I'm desperate for something to like here so let's go with it.

("It's not really Sherlock Holmes anyway because of the generational difference, it's his great grandson who has his exact same name and job! Same with Watson and Lestrade and sexy Mrs Hudson and and and-" I'm gonna stop you right there we all know it's Holmes. Whatever excuses they make, no matter how they have to bend time and physics to make it happen, it is Holmes Prime in every way that matters lol.)

A melancholy sigh for the Coolest Crossover Ever That Wasn't. As a Lupin fan and a Sherlock Holmes fan, I'll regret it till the day I die.

[partywithponies]

Glossary of media discussion terms I invented myself and then bring up casually as though you should know what I mean (AKA Tash Translation Guide):

The Inherent Eroticism of Solving Crimes Together:

the simple fact that the kinds of common character dynamics between the two leads of any given detective or mystery or police show (i.e. trust, devotion, talk of being "partners", sneaking around together in the dead of night) are often very easily read as romantic or sexual to fandom-brained people, even if that obviously wasn't the intention. Even if one of them's already married. Even if there's a 30 year age gap. Doesn't matter

The Holliday Grainger Effect/Holliday Grainger Syndrome:

Named for the actress Holliday Grainger and the MULTIPLE TIMES she has been cast as the less attractive/less desirable narrative foil to the more conventionally attractive and desirable female lead, as though we're all supposed to pretend Holliday Grainger isn't also an incredibly beautiful woman

The Milton Keynes Conspiracy:

Named for my joke conspiracy theory about the teen soap Grange Hill, in which I claim that within the Grange Hill universe, Milton Keynes isn't actually a real place, and that whenever a character disappears suddenly with the only explanation given being that they "moved to Milton Keynes", that was just code for them having been disappeared by the government for getting too close to The Truth™️, and every time something odd or unexplained happens or something major is just brushed under the rug and forgotten about, that was all just shady alien-related government activity and all part of The Milton Keynes Conspiracy. I tend to bring up The Milton Keynes Conspiracy whenever a show's canon, continuity, or geography makes absolutely no sense under close scrutiny and the only "logical" explanations left are things like time loops or aliens or cracks in space and time or government conspiracies.

Bastard Man (Affectionate) and Bastard Man (Derogatory):

A very important distinction. The sparknotes version is that a Bastard Man (Affectionate) is a Card Carrying Bastard who does it all with charm and charisma and confidence, knows they're a bastard and takes a twisted pride in it, and is at least funny about it, while the Bastard Man (Derogatory) is just whiny and sad and won't actually admit to being a bastard man, and usually the narrative won't admit it either and keeps treating him like a tragic hero no matter what. Has a tendency to just get away with stuff with no payoff and isn't even funny about it. Shares a lot of DNA with:

Sadboy:

My absolute least favourite character archetype, though that's purely subjective and there are still SOME Sadboys I like. I know that my opinions are not universal because part of the reason I have such a visceral dislike for them is because they're often tumblr sexymancoded and I cannot escape them in the show's tags. They're wet. They're pathetic. They're miserable. And they're pretty. Usually played by a skinny pale white boy. (Like I said. Tumblr sexymancoded). And because of this, the show and the fandom alike will expect you to ignore the fact they're an awful person and excuse everything they've ever done wrong. Look, you can't be mad at them, look how sad they are about it. Look at their big wet puppydog eyes. In fact they haven't done anything wrong at all and you're crazy for saying they have. It's everyone who was mean to him who is wrong and his wife/girlfriend is a bitch for getting mad at him. He's just a sad wet little meow meow. Ugh. Disgusting. When will [REDACTED ACTORS HERE] answer for what they and their characters have done to me.

[neoflames]

I don’t watch Etho so I’ve kind of absorbed information through osmosis but there’s something going on with this guy so here you go

Word Count: 900+ (I can’t remember)

The Boogeyman’s Curse- Etho’s Internal Monologue

——

Etho is a boogeyman.

That is his task. Well, it is now. It wasn't always.

He's no longer the devil, the shadow cast over Cleo's life (although he knows she enjoyed the shade he brought with that assignment), competing with the sacrifice, the saviour that everyone holds so dear (he did once, he still does, but now he's fighting for his life, he doesn't have time for sentiment).

The privilege of allowing Cleo to do whatever she wants is gone, and now she's once again confined to the rules of a green life that she finds so miserable. Etho can't help but feel like he's failed her slightly, but people fail tasks all the time, so no big deal.

Now he's inflicted with this curse again. The boogeyman curse.

It isn't quite so lonely as it used to be. Etho can't say he misses the near-paralysing anxiety, or the fear you'll be found out and cast out of your safe place. There's others now. But there is still parts that he hates.

He hates that he's against his friends. He hates the twitch in his hand every time he holds a weapon, as if whatever he's holding is just as bloodthirsty as he's being compelled to be.

Etho hates that he had to die to get there and that he still has to kill to be a success, that he still has to kill to survive. But that is the nature of these games. Etho just thought he had more time to enjoy the simple joys of life before they were snatched away from him.

Cleo is the last green now, and he's both happy and sad about it- they deserve to live the longest out of everyone, he thinks. To enjoy the small things. But he knows she yearns for the chaos of the later part of the game, and he knows they have a target on their back now.

He thinks he did a good thing by letting himself get killed so she can escape, but he's still not sure if it's worth it. Etho isn't saying he didn't try to save himself, he did, but he could have tried harder. Maybe it was intentional, maybe it wasn't- that doesn't matter now.

He can't be friends with Cleo this session. He can't be friends with Grian this session.

Maybe he can't be friends with them at all, if one of the non-boogeymen is able to land a good hit that knocks him down to red.

He fears the day he can't be with them, but he knows it's approaching so as soon as he gets back, as soon as he's failed his task for lacking the bloodlust that compels him to betray those he cares for, Etho is going to make the most of his time with them.

He can only hope that he isn’t convinced by his newfound thirst for blood to do something he regrets.

Etho isn’t sure he could attack Grian or Cleo if he comes across them- every cell in his body might be begging him to kill, but he can resist (maybe) (hopefully). And if that means he fails, then so what?

Then again, he’s killed Grian before. Cleo’s killed him. He’s killed. He can do it if he needs to. He just doesn’t want to. Things are different now, it’s a different game, a different life.

He wants to protect them, to let them flee from his new ‘friends’, to hide them from danger, but he’s a runner. He’s not a protector.

Still, he’s not sure he can hurt them now that he holds them so dear, but he wonders if he can say the same for them.

Maybe they want him dead, maybe they’d be glad if he died now he’s a boogeyman, maybe they want to kill him themself, maybe-

Etho is dragged out of his thoughts by someone violently shaking his shoulder. “Etho?”

BDubs is shaking him, and he looks sideways. BDubs seems to be a tad more into this than most of the others. A handful of red lives are part of their ranks, and BDubs is one of them. Etho trusts BDubs not to kill him even after the session is over, but there’s just something unsettling about the gleam in his eye and the way his unhinged grin is slightly more terrifying than normal.

He responds with a quiet, “Hm?” as BDubs continues to shake him.

“You’re spiralling again. Calm down, we have stuff to do!” Etho blinks as BDubs finally lets go of his shoulder.

“How did you-“ BDubs cuts him off with a snort of laughter.

“Please. I’ve known you since forever, I know when you’re overthinking.” His friend says, his smile becoming annoyingly smug but also somehow so much less unsettling.

Etho nods quietly. “Oh- uh, yeah, sorry, my bad. Let’s- kill some non-boogeymen.” He stares up at his home, pausing to cast another glance at BDubs. Sometimes he wonders if BDubs knows him better than he knows himself. It wouldn’t surprise him.

But that’s not important. Now he has to keep his friends safe.

Etho tries to ignore how BDubs is watching him eagerly, clearly happy to be on the same side again (although that’s never really changed, it’s just official again after all this time).

He dreads to think what might happen if he has to choose between the people who he’d die for and the person who’s died for him.

[goosedoes-fics]

Werewolf

Bill x witch!Reader

Content Warnings: use of POVs, hanging mention, use of y/n, it's really just mild hurt/comfort

Notes: when I uploaded this to ao3 about a year ago I put one of the tags as "impromptu divorce" and I think that's really funny

~~~~

POV: Bill

Bill ran through the thick forest as fast as he possibly could. Stray twigs and branches clawed at his face as he rushed by them, leaving dirty scratches where they whipped past.

Bill could hear the townspeople's outraged cries some ways behind him. His friends, his family, everyone he had ever known, trying to have him dead. He tried to tell himself it wasn't their fault. The paranoia got to them. But the look of hatred on his wife's face... he couldn't forget that.

At the memory of his wife, his mind flashed back to the scene in the Seer's abode. Despite their semifrequent arguments, Bill had expected his wife to defend him when he was accused of being the werewolf. But... she was so quick to turn on him. There was no sympathy in the woman's eyes when she followed the crowd to have him hung.

The memory brought tears to his eyes, blurring his vision. His emotions were a vortex of anger, of fear, of sadness and betrayal. Quickly, the anger overtook all others. Putting his jeweled hand in front of him, he threw off the precious golden ring viciously, watching it fly behind him and land in a pile of mud, slowly getting harder to see as his legs carried him further away.

The ring was hard to see now. In fact, Bill couldn't hear the townsfolk anymore, either. He slowed to a fatigued jog, straining his senses for any sort of evidence that he was still being followed.

Silence.

With the town, the villagers, and the ring now out of sight, it was as if Bill had never lived there in the first place. He couldn't decipher if this fact made him joyful or absolutely miserable.

Bill refused to stop walking for quite some time. Though every inch of his body begged him to cease his fleeing, he couldn't be sure yet if his pursuers were far enough away to be safe.

It was nearly midnight now. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting an oddly serene light on the forest floor. Though, Bill noticed, the trees were beginning to thin out considerably.

Looking further ahead, he could clearly see an open field lined with dazzling flowers. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief at his fortune. This would be a good place to settle down. Nobody would be able to sneak up on him.

"You're quite some ways away from the village."

Bill leapt into the air, gaining astounding height from the shock of the sudden voice. Whirling around in panic, he swiftly noticed a human figure wrapped in a silken cloak and decorated by colourful flowers.

It was evidently none of the townspeople, so Bill let himself settle down. He took a few steps back before letting himself speak.

"Who are you?" he asked warily, eyeing them carefully to take in their features.

"You may call me [Y/n] [L/n]." the stranger's critical yet gentle [e/c] eyes were shaded slightly by the brim of their rounded hat. "The Seer told me of your town's plight. I am sympathetic, though as I told her, I am forbidden from tempering in Wolven affairs. I cannot help you."

Bill bowed his head nervously. "I understand. B-but... I have been driven out of the village. I-I am no longer a resident there." as he spoke, he felt his fatigue catch up to him. He willed his eyes to stay open, praying he didn't faint in the midst of a stranger's presence.

They paused for a moment, gazing at Bill carefully. "I'm sorry, but I have no room to house someone of your kind. My work is frowned upon in your world, and I'd hate to force my beliefs upon you." They said the last bit coldly, as if they had heard such a phrase a thousand times.

Bill opened his mouth to speak again, but the thrill of running from the townspeople was beginning to wear off quickly.

Fatigue hit him hard and fast, and as he began to crumble to the ground, all he could muster was a quiet sorry before everything went black.

POV: 2nd person

You gazed at the odd villager curiously as he unconsciously nestled further into his pile of woolen blankets. His sudden fall had surprised you for sure, but you managed to catch him just before he hit the ground. You suprised yourself with being able to catch the hefty man, really. You had to pretty much drag him to your cottage. Oh well, his clothes needed cleaning anyways.

You glanced outside the window. It was about noon by now. The man had been sleeping for at least 12 hours.

As if he had read your thoughts, you saw his figure start to stir in the corner of your eye. Turning to him, you could see just how much good the rest had done him.

He sat up in your wood-framed bed you had lent him, stretching with a loud yawn. The bags under his eyes were no longer visible, you noted as he turned to look at you.

You made eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time before you spoke up. "Despite my previous concerns... I'm willing to let you stay under this roof for as long as you need. So long as you keep your religious opinions to yourself."

The man looked dazed and confused. Perhaps he had forgotten the events of the previous night? "I don't... think I follow."

"I am a witch," you responded simply, gesturing to the herbs growing in pots around your room. "And your... ex-neighbors have been trying to kill me for years."

He blinked, eyebrows knitting together in an expression of concern. "Well, that hardly seems fair," he commented. "Though they don't seem to know the meaning of fair, I'm coming to realize." His words turned bitter and you remembered his passing comment about being driven out.

"What is your name?" you asked gently after a moment's pause, crossing the room to stand by your desk. You took a vial of coloured liquid, tapping a drop of it into a newly-brewed cup of herbal tea.

"It's... Bill."

You walked back to him, holding out the drink. He accepted it gratefully, taking a few sips. "Normally nobody drinks that brew," you commented fondly. "It's always too bitter for them."

Bill tilted his head. "Sure it's bitter," he agreed, "but you seem to know your way around herbs. I trust you."

A warm feeling filled your chest at his words. This odd man was clearly different from the other villagers. Somehow, he made you feel as if you wanted him to stay.

You quickly brushed the thoughts away. Surely, his fellow townsfolk would welcome him back soon. You wouldn't want to keep him for longer than he needed.

"You should go back to sleep," you advised quietly. "The potion needs time to take effect. It will clear any wounds that haven't already mended."

Bill frowned slightly at your words. "I don't know if I can. I'm not used to sleeping alone."

You raised an eyebrow, staring at Bill for a moment. After some thought, you let out a soft sigh, walking over and sitting on the bed. "Does it go against your kosher laws if you use a witch like a teddy bear?" you asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Bill's face turned a light shade of pink. "O-oh. Well, no, but you... you don't have to if you don't want to."

"It's fine." You smiled softly, laying down next to Bill and staring up at the ceiling. You expected that he wouldn't cuddle with you. You had only just met. But maybe just being close by would help him fall back asleep.

A few minutes passed by with no sounds from Bill. Thinking he had fallen asleep, you turned on your side, facing the window and looking out it placidly. Then, you felt a woolen blanket being pulled over you, and strong arms pulling you closer towards the center of the bed. Your face flushed at the unexpected embrace, but you didn't speak for fear of alarming the tired man and having him pull away. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warming your skin. His face felt almost as warm as yours, evidently unsure of whether you would accept his touch.

You let yourself relax into the embrace, allowing Bill to do the same. His breathing steadied as he drifted off again.

You closed your eyes as well, letting drowsiness overtake you. The two of you were safe together, you knew for sure.

[danddymaro]

A Bit of Comfort | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

You’re having a bad time ( post break up) so, Sad bby Girl reader. 

mentions of an Ex

Abba is going through his own shit too.

word count: 3345

A bit Of Comfort

You'd think his face was permanently stuck in a nasty sneer because every time your eyes would skim over to him he had that same sour expression, and you wouldn't have minded it if it didn't seem like that scowl was directed towards you, and you alone.

He seemed to ignore everyone else’s stupidity, but had a particular itch to act upon yours as of late, and especially during then.

Quietly, you ran your sleeve across your nose, scrunching it as you wiped off the excess boogies that had decided to peep out. 

It was A nasty habit, yeah, but it's not like you really cared about the old sweater, nor did you really have it in mind to try and look presentable. 

- Day 5 and you feel like Shit, utter shit.

Mista makes an attempt to make you smile, he tries his best, but ultimately he's left defeated, and you feel sorry for bumming his mood. 

You silently apologize to everyone for bringing them down. 

You feel even worse knowing that no matter what you do, you can't fake being happy. 

You simply can't and it irks you because normally, you don't have that issue, but this time it just feels impossible.

You can't help being the downer shit you are, and it makes you slump in your seat more. Your eyes which look rather dull and have remained half-lidded, close for just a few moments longer than what you need. 

With how glossy they are you hardly have to even blink, and you're sure you look practically dead.

However, they squeeze even tighter together as you hear Abbacchio click his tongue as he passes you again, and you don't have to look at him to know he's cast a dark look over to you. 

You can just feel it. 

As effortless as it is to see that you're upset, it's even easier to tell when he's annoyed.

"Is Bucciarrati back yet?" you can hear Narancia ask Fugo.  He's trying to whisper, but can't, and you bite your tongue because you know why he's asking. 

It's not just because they miss him, but because he's usually the one you talk to. 

He knows you well enough to somehow always coax it out of you, and when he can't he's patient enough to wait. 

And you were sure he'd be waiting for you to see him if he were there, but he's been gone for a couple of days, and it's not like he's going to magically appear simply because you've been having a few bad days. 

'He likes me, but not that much,' you think dryly, somewhat amused at the idea of him zipping to the rescue.

Some things are more important though, like your jobs.

"He's going to take a while...." you wind up saying, your voice rather soft, and you don't make an attempt to speak any louder. 

If they heard you they heard you, and if they didn't...well.

Either way, it's not the first time you would be ignored. 

You figured they'd heard you because you register Narancia's voice uttering a small 'thanks' as you drop your attention down to your phone.

 You do so with hope before you notice there aren't any new messages, nor new notifications at all which just makes you feel even worse. 

You bite your lip and swallow hard before you make your way to your room, silently, and you barely pick up your feet during the process. 

.

.

.

You come out much later, and it's dead quiet by then. 

The room is dim as the last person that left probably turned it off, and you reason that perhaps it was Fugo given how much he gets on everyone for it. 

It had to have been, that or poor Narancia that normally ends up doing it with a long whine and less than kind words.

Either way it’s done.

After a long peek you finally make your way out of your stuffy room.

 Having heard the guys leave a while ago, you figured it was a good time to take a breather. 

You take the opportunity to be outside without worrying about someone looking at you funny, or worse, trying desperately to ignore the fact that you're miserable. 

Soon, you take a seat on the large couch and you release a low sigh, one that turns into a shaky breath that quickly morphs into a little sob you can't hold back. 

It hadn't been the plan, especially when you'd been sure you cried everything out before, but it seemed like you still had it in you.

‘At least no one’s around,’ you thought with comfort, it being the only peace to it.

You take a moment to cry, and after a long minute and few following thick breaths, another sound interrupts, and it's a click of the tongue you already know, a sound that makes you freeze. 

'Of course,' you think with miserable luck.

" Abbacchio..." you breathe, your eyes following the sound, and sure enough he's sitting on a lounge chair, relaxed as he hangs out by a very dimly lit table lamp. 

He hums out a rather lame response, something that's not even a word, and you feel your face burn. 

You hoped that the ground would suddenly turn into a vortex, a spiral that swallowed you into the center of the earth before you melted into magma, gone and forgotten. 

you hope for it, but instead, you sit there stupidly, looking at the man with the same surprise, anxious as shit as you realize he's still watching you. 

There was one thing you made sure to do no matter how hard things got and that was downright cry, especially not in front of him. 

- Never in front of him.

" Ah, what are you doing here..?" you ask quietly, looking away to cool yourself off and simultaneously he releases a low sigh. 

You take a moment to swipe your thumb under your eyes while sniffling up whatever was stuck in your nose.

"Same thing as you," he mutters dryly while drinking, and he doesn't bother to use a glass, his lips familiar with the half-empty bottle's open end.

" Well... " he then pauses, "except all the crying," he says, a half smirk almost hidden as he mutters out the dry response,  and it makes you shiver in annoyance. 

"Sorry," you sheepishly mutter, your legs Picking up, your knees briefly touching your chest as you curl into the couch more. 

-It's not like you can just leave because even while you were feeling miserable, you could tell he was doing much worse by just a single glance. 

.

.

.

"You liked him?" he asks you, and you suddenly feel a cold sweat as he brings up your new ex.

"Of course," you say, your previous relationship wouldn't have even started if you didn't.

" hm...” It’s quiet for short minute before he speaks, “ I didn’t like him,” he tells you, and you almost laugh because he didn’t like anyone, he just put up with a few people more than others.

“Well I liked him,” you say with a soft smile and he seems to somehow look more sullen before things grow quiet between you two.

You’d liked him, but for all the wrong reasons.

Fugo sat beside Mista, the blonde’s expression stern as he stared at you and your boyfriend.

“Hey...fugo,” Mista started as he got his chin comfortable over his fist, staring ahead at the couple with a dumfounded expression.

“I’m not crazy right?” he asked while not taking his eyes off of the two.

“Any idiot could see it,” the violet eyed man lowly muttered while watching you practically swoon at every thing the guy did.

“What about that one,” Guido grinned while subtly nudging his chin to where Abbacchio sat, practically shaking, seething with annoyance. It’s like someone had blown a dark cloud over his head, and it thundered over him as he watched you two.

He could see you two speak to each other, and he didn’t even want to catch the sappy shit you two talked about , forcing him to put up the volume, the music that blared from his headphones at the max.

Fugo had trouble not laughing, and he made an effort to by shutting his eyes tight, his lips pursed. Meanwhile, his dark haired companion grinned.

“Just shut up,” the blonde muttered while biting his tongue. “And don’t say a word,” he warned ; a memo Narancia didn’t get. 

“Holy shit!” the younger male exclaimed as he caught sight of you two leaving. 

“Did you guys see that?!” he said while turning to his other friends, “That guy looks just like Abbacchio,” he pointed out. 

He excitedly turned to the brooding male, trying to get his attention, but was left ignored as he simply walked out, carrying his misery with him.

“Yeah...” you murmured, “ I liked him a lot,” you said fondly, your tone just a tad bit softened with sadness too. 

it was a shame because out of all the other guy’s you’d seen, he’d actually been decent. Unlike those other jerks you’d dated, he’d actually found a way into your heart.

You’d liked him so much than when he’d called you a few hours prior trying to make things work, you stopped him, coming clean. 

You’d told him the truth, and that was that as much as you loved him as a person, you couldn't love him as a man. 

Much more that he deserved someone who could give him what he deserved.

- and you were sure you were going up to end up old and alone, all because you can’t get over the mess of the man before you.

“I’m going to need some time,” you hear his voice say, and you can hear the hurt that’s weaved in there.

“I know,” you say back, and you can’t help but sniffle, but you cover it up with a little chuckle, “I didn’t want to hurt you,” you tell him again, and you hear him take in a long breath. 

“I know...” he responds simply before he says your name, and you can hear the adoration there, the part of him that loves you. 

“Take care of yourself,” he advises, and just like that the call ended. 

“Yeah...” you say again.

Hearing that softened tone, Leone takes another long drink before he slams the bottle down on the little table beside him, and he takes a long breath before he stands and approaches you.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice low, and you immediately press yourself onto the cushions more as he suddenly leans close to you, his arms stretched on either side of you as he holds onto the couch’s back and cages you there. 

“No one’s home,” he reminds you and you nod fastly.

He stares at you long and hard, and he’s breathing hard, something you take notice of with a hard swallow.

“Yeah...” you breathe, and boy do you feel tiny.

He stays there and it’s like he expects something out of you, something you have no clue of, and when you’re lost you just smile, too embarrassed to ask.

You’re lost and when he notices, it’s like he’s been defeated.

he drops his head for a second before he gathers himself, and by the time he’s looking at you he’s got a fierce look to his eye. 

You can see him swallow hard, and it only makes you more nervous.

“Let’s screw around,” he suggests, and it’s like your heart is suddenly attacked with a powerful pulse of shockwaves.

You fall short of breath and nearly choke on your own spit. 

“What are you...”

"I figured that if you gonna be screwing worthless assholes," he started, thinking back to you crying, his grip on the surface growing harsher.

 " I might as well try my luck," he says dryly, and you sit there silently, a bit surprised, too surprised to hold any insult.

the hold that has you hugging your legs close slacks, and you just blink in confusion, remaining rather stunned while he takes your silence as a rejection. 

Or maybe it’s that he realizes how it sounds once he plays it back in his head.

Either way he feels regret. 

"Shit..." he mutters, and he looks somewhat lost in between his frustration and shame before he releases a low sneer and begins to back off. 

He curses again and he has trouble looking in your direction as he retreats, but not without reaching for his drink again.

He doesn’t go back to his seat, instead simply leaving, needing to get away from you.

When you notice you step off the couch, following him, and you're worried the entire way. 

"Hey..." you start before you have to swallow down thickly, and then proceed to clear your throat of whatever is left over by performing a forced cough. 

"Abbacchio, wait!" you finally say clearly, catching up with him and going farther by stepping in front of him. 

He looks down at you with a tired look, and there's a dullness in his eyes that has you releasing a soft, low sigh before you sound out a soft tut.

Your eyes then skim over to the bottle he still has in his grip and you purse your lips before you decide to reach for it. 

"What are you doing?" he says lowly before he tries to pull the arm back, making you miss by a second that shocks you, and your surprised face is paired with a little gasp. 

You bite your inner cheek before you glare up at him, your eyes narrowed at his apparent glare, 

" You know what I'm doing!" you respond back just as annoyed because he must have known if he had good enough reflexes to evade your reach. 

"Just look at you..." you mutter, and you notice how he's having trouble standing, and he goes as far as to stretch out an arm to steady himself with the wall. 

It's subtle, but noticeable to you.

"You can barely stand..." you say disappointed, and you shake your head as your hands find their way to your hips. 

You knew about how bad he'd gotten in the past, much more, You'd been witness to it when Bucciarati had come back with him.

You remembered that mess of a man and you could faintly see him right before you, 

"What's gotten into you..." you ask him, and maybe you sound like a chiding mother or worse some old crone with nothing better to do than bitch, but you can't help it. 

Sure Leone has his little drinks here and there, but it wasn't anything you'd raise your eyebrow at. 

That was just who he was, and if he was falling apart, it was done in silence, alone. 

He didn't make a spectacle like this, he had too much pride and it left you with concern because for him to go as far as he'd gone...

It meant something. 

He still couldn't meet your gaze, and you'd question it if you would have had time to before he shove the bottle at you, giving it up with a low grunt. 

"Just leave me alone," he said with a huff, trying to move past, and you let out a little groan, annoyed. 

"I'm not going to leave you alone like this," you told him, bending down to put down the container before standing back up at your full height, releasing a soft sigh, 

"you should know that," you tell him with a tender tone, and the way he looks at you is like he's challenging you.

"I can stand here all day," you tell him while crossing your arms, and his shoulders sag in defeat, something you take with triumph.

"I'm no therapist, but I've been told I'm a good listener," you told him, and you show him a soft smile that has him staring.

You don't know what it is that has him so silent, gazing at you so devoutly, but it's like he's contemplating something you don't catch on to.

"So what do you want to do? " you ask him, "what do you want me to do, st-"

"-Stay with me," he says, and as he says so he takes an unsteady step closer to you, leaning close. An arm falls down to your waist and it goes across your back as he leans into you. 

"I want you to stay with me," he admits, and he speaks warmly as his lips graze your ear with such daring proximity. 

"That's what I want," he tells you. 

The way your body reacts is utterly embarrassing. 

The way you lean into him more is natural, and you shiver even while warm. Much more, the way your face overheats has you too flustered to look at him. 

"Are you lonely?" you ask, your voice low, knowing he's so close. absentmindedly one of your hands touches the back of his head as he continues to hold you, clearly searching for coddling. 

-And you think back to what he said, the idea crossing your mind with a touch of upset and stupid consideration against all better judgment. 

You liked him and you would have jumped at the chance if it hadn't been for the fact that it all felt like a weak point for him.

-Sleeping with you was problobly rock bottom, and the idea had you less than enthusiastic.

You have to put more force into your stance as you feel his weight fall on you. 

The arm that was used to steady himself has moved, doing what the other has and locking you into a needy embrace. 

He says your name softly before he pauses,

"I need you..." he says softly, and if it wasn't for the inebriated breath that makes your nose scrunch, you'd melt.

You'd immediately give in to him.

"I'm sure you do," you muse with a little huff, shaking your head, and you can hear him release a sigh that blows through clenched teeth. The places his hands have landed on are then squeezed, his arms pressed to your body nearly selfish. 

He can hear your doubt, the undertone of mockery in your tone as he speaks the truth, and it irks him.

He shifts, a hand holding your chin, and he has you looking at him and the plea in his gaze, 

“You don’t feel anything for me?” he asks, searching.

“Of course I do,” you say, leaning close after he lures you to do so by brushing his nose by yours.

“Then?” he breathes.

“You’ve been drinking,” you say, and he shakes his head. 

“ I’m gonna feel the same way tomorrow, and the day after that,” he says, “ I've been feeling this way for too long,” he tells you. 

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” you ask, trying to understand,  and he’s shaken by the question. 

“- Because I saw how happy he made you,” he revealed. 

“It was different with him,” he added, remembering. “Because I saw how much he actually cared about you. I saw how he treated you, and it was the way you deserved,” Leone admitted. 

Truthfully, he would have preferred  dying in  miserable silence after noticing how happy you’d been. 

“- I hated him because I knew I couldn’t be him,” he finally admitted, ashamed.

It was then that he huffed, 

“Do you know how many times I saw you two and hoped you’d break up?” he asked with a low chuckle, one that was full of chagrin.

 “ Too many too count,” he answered himself. “And when you did, I felt like shit seeing you cry.”

“Do you know why things didn’t work out?” you asked him, “Why they could never work out between us?” you asked him, your own shame there for dragging someone so kind through the dirt because of your own feelings.

He looked at you waiting, curious. 

“- Because he wasn’t you.”

I’m so fucking sorry because I don’t know how to end this, I really struggled. I liked the idea and everything here, but I couldn’t find a way to just do it right!

Also, teh EX is basically Abbacchio’s alternate color palette lmfaooo.

[nerdylolo]

My honest takes on The School for Good and Evil movie:

It wasn't horrible, but it was certainly a bit disappointing to me, and definitely not what I expected.

The beginning, taking place in Gavaldon, was very different from the books, but not quite bad. I don't know why they made Sophie less... obviously vain, but it wasn't terribly done. Also, I didn't understand why Sophie and Agatha didn't know about the SGE yet, I personally thought Agatha's disbelief in it and Sophie's enthusiasm about it was a major enjoyable part of their relationship in the book, but maybe it was so they could introduce it to us through them? Also, so sad we didn't get to see more Reaper with dead birds and more miserable Agatha life.

I and my brother were sad to not see Castor and Pollux, as well as the other Good professors/characters who weren't there. Princess Uma, Sader. I think that would have been a lot to include in a movie--hence why I think TSFGAE would have been better as a shoe--but alas. I was also very confused and distressed about how they've been handling the School Master/Rafal during marketing, and now during the movie? I definitely think it removed all of the mystery about him, a big loss.

I think, personally, the costumes, set, all the design, even cgi and practical effects, casting and acting were fine. My main issue was pacing and script. The pacing felt very odd. Even as an agressive Tagatha stan, I feel like this movie pushed them together too quickly with barely a few hints of Tedros and Agatha before making them kiss at the end, which felt very wrong to me. (Their relationship was slower and more natural in the books! One of the reasons I liked them so much!)

I definitely thought the book story would need upgrades to be up with the times, and in some ways, the movie did an okay job (I definitely liked the part where Rafal talked about slowly corrupting Good with vanity). However, the script writing is where I think it went to far. The writing was very middle, the modern language from Agatha and Sophie felt very awkward next to everyone else and out of place in general.

Of course, I very much disliked the part where, to symbolize her Evilness with ugliness, Sophie grew a hooked nose. Antisemitic much? I honestly felt like the movie starting with using disheveledness and dirtiness to symbolize ugliness (rather than just unpopular characteristics like bug eyes, crooked/hooked noses, weight) was better, but then they brought out the big hooked nose for grand Evil Sophie and that definitely threw me off. I had hoped they'd stick to dirty and disheveled than associating characteristics with Evil, but that happened.

Of course, I can't not talk about the Sophie Agatha kiss. I read the books when I was small, so I know The Spoiler. Don't worry. I don't think the movie is pulling any more queerbaiting than the book was. And I think that the queerbaiting could be debated, given the whole context of the time the book was written, what messages Soman Chainani wanted to write, etc.

Confession 1. When Sophie called Aggie her best friend, died, and then Agatha kissed her, I laughed so hard I cried. They really leaned into it so hard, huh. They said "GUYS THEYRE NOT IN LOVE THERE'S NO REASON YOU SHOULD THINK ITS GAY BUT HERE'S A MOUTH KISS". Hilarious.

Confession 2. I think they only added the Tagatha kiss to reiterate that, even though Agatha kissed Sophie, they are not a thing. Overly pushing Tagatha with the limited chemistry they had so far.

Other words about shipping. Why did Lady Lesso say "my love" about Rafal, that felt out of nowhere. They defruited Lady Lesso, but at least we got our Hestadil fruits. Wish we saw more of the Coven, though. Anadil and her rats, Hester and her tattoos, Dot and her chocolate. I wish we knew them more, even saw more of the classes. Also, I adored Hort's entrance, Earl did a perfect job with him the whole movie, even when the script failed him. Same with the rest of the Coven.

Final point: The pacing was weird, would have done better as an episode series I think than a movie. Such a shame, because I loved the cast and most of the rest of the work done on this movie.

[rosekillerismylife]

AGGGTM Trilogy by Holly Jackson

I HATE HOLLY JACKSON! Just why?! Why would she do this to me?! It broke my fucking heart and I bet she didn't even cared while writing the third book of the trilogy. So, all the hate aside, I freaking love the series. Since book one, I have been hooked on the stories surrounding Pippa Fitz-Amobi and the murder cases in Fairview. It was just so interesting to read how she thought these cases through and how her brain worked. But my favorite thing about the series would probably be the relationship between Ravi Singh and Pippa Fitz-Amobi. Like, I'd want something like that! They weren't only boyfriend and girlfriend, they were more to each other. They ARE more to each other. I refuse to believe otherwise. And that's what a good book is all about. It's supposed to make you cry, it's supposed to make you question your life choices and it's supposed to make you feel miserable. But once you feel miserable and sad, you also need to feel joyful and in some moments even happy and that's what the trilogy did for me which was mostly Ravi's doing. Ravi and Pippa were soulmates. They were meant to be since day one and that didn't change. You probably figured this out but I just finished reading 'As good as dead' (the third book of the trilogy) and I was ready to wake everyone around me just to complain about the ending. It wasn't exactly how I hoped it would be. However, it was a fucking good book and an even better ending for the series. I have one request though: Please adapt the trilogy into a TV series but if you do, please make it good, consider your cast choices and consider how much you want to change the storyline because in my humble opinion, the storyline is already perfect.

Oh and my opening sentence: I mean it metaphorically. An author isn't good if their readers don't have an ounce of hate for them.

[rosebard]

About Viktoriya.

Viktoriya: (laughter) Tell you about myself? Well, I’m the finger down your spine- the name whispered in fear and adoration. Many want to be with me, and many more want to be me.

Viktoriya: And when I enter a room, conversations die, and all eyes on me- because there’s one thought on the minds of my audience: because everyone else wants to know. . . who is. . .  that. . . girl?

Viktoriya: (laughter) I... am... Viktoriya. Viktoriya Passerine. Songstress, prima donna, spymaster, toxicologist, poisoner, exacter of justice and revenge for those unjustly cast aside and harmed by their own people, a traveling bard, celebrity, the uncrowned queen, and trendsetter. I have many roles, darling. So you're going to have to be a little more... specific.

About us - Bianka Adler.

"Viktoriya": There are a few parts of my life unworthy people aren’t allowed to dig around in- that's my head, and my past. so . . . That other name... never say it again, if you value your life.  It belongs to a dead girl, and you are unworthy to let that name roll from your tongue so... so... so wantonly.

"Viktoriya": ...hiding myself from you? Please. Watch yourself, and your inflated ego.  I'm not that poor, sad, miserable girl anymore. She was naive. She was a nobody. Bianka Adler was cast aside by the very people who were supposed to help her, care for her, support her. And now she's dead, because the uncaring world killed her. So let the dead rest, and stop prying.

"Viktoriya": My name is Viktoriya Passerine. Now, go on and show yourself out, and do so swiftly- before I change my mind on letting you keep breathing.

"Viktoriya": I must say a prayer for someone I used to know.

[winderlylandchime]

I really felt like you deserve to read this tiny moment from his check up today. I remember you said you also had a doctors appointment and i would just like to ask, how does a normal one look like because I fear I forgot about it.

We were basically in the office with a nurse and a doctor waiting for the attending. And the nurse made a mistake of asking him how he was doing to try and make small talk and you guys. He literally looked at her, sad as fuck and went ‘How I’m doi- well let’s see, shall we? *crosses his legs and puts his hands on his knee* i started this year all happy and excited. Then i had a tiny accident, maybe you heard about it? (Narrators note: this all was said very calm and nice but with heavy sarcasm since that accident is the reason for all the surgeries) and there goes my motorcycle, which don’t even get me started about. So bad month. Then i come here across the whole country and you people don’t let me go home for almost a month and then this dickhead *points to me* shows me a tv show. And i figured: i had a few bad months but maybe a little distraction wont hurt, its not like im gonna care much about it, just to watch while on bed rest. Cool. And then the funniest thing happened. It hurt! It hurt a lot! And i cared, way too much according to my dad. So a bad day turned in a bad month which turned into a bad year. And now I’m sitting here still in pain from a surgery that happened months ago, a broken wrist with a cast on that I cant even write on, crying over two dudes while also wearing one of their fucking faces on my shirt. So what do you think how I’m doing?’ And she stared at him and went ‘im gonna go with: not good, am i right?’ The other doctor and I fucking lost it. And my brother just sighed really loudly and dramatically and went ‘you could fucking say that’

And let me try to paint this picture for you because i made the mistake of laughing at the beginning of this and i had to cover it up as a sneeze cause he looked at me like he wanted to kill me. He was sitting on those bed/tables that they have. Swinging his feet like a child and he was wearing his Brian shirt over a long sleeve shirt (hes been doing that since it got cold but still wants to show his Britin merch) and he was pouting. Like a child. Just the sight alone was funny but the complaint? Golden.

Then the attending arrived with another doctor and made the mistake to ask the same question and the nurse went ‘I wouldn’t do that if i were you..let’s just say he’s had better days’ and the other doctor goes ‘(the other nurse’s name) told me you finished the show. Are you just sad it ended or was it actually that bad?’ And my brother looked at him like he was just kicked and went ‘they broke my heart, put it back together, broke it again, put it back again, then broke it, stepped on it and flipped me off. And then had the audacity to ask me if I was proud. So yeah, that bad’ and then the attending just looked at him and went ‘i cant believe I’m doing this for a grown man but if you can answer next questions without talking about the show or that dude *points to the shirt* ill get you a chocolate bar’ and yes, it worked. He fully cooperated and got his chocolate bar. And when the doctor went to get him just a normal chocolate bar, he kinda nudged him with his cast and went ‘don’t be cheap, get me the good shit or i will talk about Brian next check up from start to finish’

By the time we left his check up, everyone knew he finished up the show and that he was absolutely miserable about it. Im honestly surprised that they even let him leave the hospital at this point.

THEY BRIBED HIM WITH CHOCOLATE!!!

Dying.

Dead.

Deadened.

They wanted him to shut up about QAF and Britin and they bribed him with chocolate.

The crossing his legs and putting his hand on his knee is killing me all over again. "How am I doing? Well, Susan, thanks for asking. Not well, not well at all." I am cracking up.

The thing is, I bet they all love him - the nurses and doctors - most of their appointments are business only and here comes your brother and yes he keeps breaking himself because of this show, but he takes their "how are you doing" literally and is very engaging about it too! I imagine he's animated during all of this.

[pretty-boys-book-club]

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader, mentions of past Aaron Hotchner x Haley Brooks

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, character death, angst with happy ending, mentions of child abuse, child neglect, Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Aaron Hotchner Whump, Teen Hotch, alcoholic mother - I think this is pretty much it, but feel free to let me know if there's any more!

Word Count: 12K (this thing is loooong)

Prompt: Person A is too busy working, even going as far as spending Christmas Eve alone at their office. They end up falling asleep and get visited by a series of ghosts who give them a chance to re-evaluate their actions and right the wrongs of their past. (A Christmas Carol)

Author’s note: The person who sent me this request wished to stay anonymous, so I’m posting this as a text instead of an answer. I’m sorry if this a little too sad, but I thought Hotch deserved some type of background and got a bit carried away. The timeline is a bit wobbly and this hasn’t been beta read, but I’ve spent over a week obsessing over this text and something tells me it is ready to be released into the world. Also, per the request,I’m doing this one as a Fem!Reader.

This is part of my 12 Days of Christmas (100 Followers Celebration, which turned into a 250 followers celebration and now a 300 followers celebration!). Requests are now closed and will reopen at 2022.

Haley Hotchner was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that. The arrangements – which sort of coffin, cremation or burial, where would they have the service – seemed to relate to someone else, some stranger. The register of her burial was signed by the coroner, the forensic pathologist and someone else at the FBI. Aaron Hotchner signed it too.

He’d known nearly immediately, of course. How could it be otherwise? Aaron knew as soon as he walked into their house, his gut telling him the worst possible outcome had come true. As odd as it sounds, part of Aaron was grateful for the pain. Of course, he was absolutely miserable but, in his own way ,he was glad that his ex-wife died first so she didn’t have to feel what he did. As much as it hurt, it was an honor to him to be able to share the best years of their lives together and that she chose him to share them with. And if he thought too hard about what it was like for him in the first couple of years, he was glad that she was spared of that.

On the surface, the man looked and behaved just as usual. Rather, Aaron felt content to find a new sense of resilience. One latches on to any concept that offers hope or comfort. As a trained FBI profiler, Aaron knew that a theory shared by many psychiatric studies of bereavement is that the mind shuts down, so the body will have time to adjust to the new situation.

During her burial and the days that followed, Aaron felt as if he was moving through the rooms like a shadow, and their shared house seemed large and cold and alien. He’d never spent such a long time at the house without Haley. After a couple of weeks, the soft grief, the tears, began to hit. The metaphors – waves, inundation, floods – seemed accurate to him. Grief swallowed him. Whoever he was before her death, was replaced by a melancholic, taciturn, and cautious man. An iron ring was cast around his heart, followed by a heaviness in the chest. It was almost as if his innards had been scooped out – no stomach, heart, or emotions.

Reid once told him that after a year and a half 70 per cent of widows reported significant improvement in their feelings, which offered more hope to Hotch than statements such as “everyone’s grief is different”.

After about a year, Aaron stopped obsessively going over the most horrible week of his life. He once had promised Haley that he’d make sure she and Jack never suffered pain because of his job. And she had suffered great pain, in the end. But after so long of wallowing and going over every moment of that nightmare, in some vain expectation of correcting his mistakes, he had to move on.

Since that fateful night, everything had become about Jack. He had to make their life as normal as possible and see Jack through the hell of their reality with the assurance that he was loved and that both of them would be okay.

After two or three years, he stopped thinking about Haley’s death. Jack was getting better every day, and as he did, Aaron found himself worrying less about his son. He was almost starting to believe that he would be okay. He had a lot of work ahead, but he’d manage.

So, there was no doubt that Haley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come out of this story.

After Haley’s death though, whatever he might have once been, Aaron Hotchner was a different man. He needed to work, not only to survive, but so that he had an identity that he could wear like armor. This new version of himself was working at least 70 hours a week, so much on his plate that early every minute of his day had to be spent in a productive way. He still felt as if he’d lost a limb. But his wound had healed and he’d learned to manage without it.

The old Aaron only had to exist in the precious moments before his head hit the pillow at night or when he was spending time with Jack. It was safer there. At some point, he became hard and sharp as steel, self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold inside him froze his features, brows permanently furrowed, wrinkles adoring his forehead. He carried his own low temperature always about with him, external heat and cold had little influence on Aaron Hotchner. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him.

Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve— Aaron Hotchner sat busy in his office. The weather was cold and bleak, and he could hear the people in the bullpen going around their day. Reid was stating all the possible facts about Christmas to Morgan, Prentiss was discussing what type of wine to bring to a party with Rossi, JJ had already left to be with her family, Penelope was merrily distributing gingerbread cookies to all of the office and youyou, well, youyou werewere far too busy actually working.

You see, you you arrived at the team just after Hotch returned from his leave, proving yourselfWith a background on forensic analysis, you’d quickly proved to be a useful asset to the team. Not only that, but your work ethic was impressive, probably the only other person in the team who worked as hard as Hotch did.

There was something different about you. Something that made Hotch feel as if he could relax around you, and he felt, slowly, all the walls he’d put up starting to crumble. Spending so many hours together, it was only natural that the two of you grew closer together.

To be completely honest, Aaron’s not even sure when it started. If he had to guess, it might have been during one of the late nights you shared at the office, enjoying the silence. Or it might have been when you started to compliment him on the tiniest of things - Hotch knew you were a profiler, but he didn’t expect anyone on the team to notice whenever he got a haircut or when he tried a different coffee brand than usual. Or maybe it was because you never gave him a look of pity. Maybe sadness, maybe care, never pity. Maybe, just maybe, his feelings started when you knocked on the door to his office with a bag of takeout, starting a secret routine of sharing dinner, chatting about anything and everything at once. Maybe that’s when the familiar feeling sank in. Or maybe it was any of the other small moments in between.

Of course, having felt this way before, he knew exactly what was happening. Sure, you were attractive, it was hard not to notice the way you swayed your hips or how your curves complimented you, but it was more than that. It wasn't a crush or some type of infatuation. It was too similar to what he’d felt all those years ago with Haley. So he couldn’t possibly allow it. Not if it meant to be plagued with the possibility of you getting hurt too. On top of that, the fact that he was your boss just further complicated things. No, he decided, those feelings won’t do. Best to avoid it all together.

So he started to push you away. Trying his best to ignore what his heart craved so badly. Sitting back and watching as you dated despicable man after despicable man. Even if he wanted to give his heart to you, after years of white-knuckling it, his fingers didn’t know how. Anyway, back to our story.

The clock had barely hit four in the afternoon, but it was quite dark already — it had not been light all day. Snow was pouring down so dense that all the other buildings outside of Quantico were mere phantoms. Aaron had come to despise the winter weather. Haley loved the season and the holidays served him as a painful reminder of memories he didn’t want to revisit.

Hotch was divorced from all the antics of lights and decorations, as soon as the leaves announced the beginning of autumn, his moments of abstraction were frequent, and in them it seemed as if his spirit were wandering the paths of another world. He’d only come back to his senses with the beginning of the next year, when the first flowers blossomed with hope of spring.

During the month of December, the BAU had surprisingly little to do. A few cases here and there, but nothing that required more than a couple of days. So, from where he was sitting in his office, he saw that most of the team had already left. You were still typing away at your desk, the only one left at the bullpen. He saw from the corner of his eye how you held your coat closer to your body, the temperature at Quantico making you slightly tremble. Not matter how many times Hotch had told maintenance to come down and fix the thermostat at their floor, his requests had been ignored.

He was so distracted observing you, a luxury he rarely did ever let himself indulge in. He should have been more insistent, you shouldn’t waste your time working that much lest you become like him. He hated how he could see the transformation taking place in you. How your soft eyes now carried a look of disappointment each time you looked at him. He was so absorbed in his task of admiring you that he was caught by surprise by someone entering his office.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Penelope Garcia, who was head to toe dressed in red and green, not hiding her enthusiasm for the season.

“Merry Christmas, Garcia.” he said, not looking up from his report. He watched as Penelope left him one of her cookies on his desk as she walked away, one of the last of the team to leave the office.

“Sir, I’ve closed off the bat cave for the day. Some of us will be going to Rossi’s to have a Christmas dinner, you know. Do you maybe want to join us?”

“There’s no need. It’s fine, thank you for worrying about me, Garcia.” he said shortly, and turned away, his attention back to his report.

“Okay, well, never hurts to ask. The invitation still stands, in case you change your mind. Good night then, sir.”

“Good night, Garcia.” he said as he heard her leave his office.

He looked back at the report in his hands. What was he doing? He knew it the team probably suspected he wasn’t as busy as he was pretending to be. But, for some strange reason, the idea of spending Christmas working was more appealing than the idea of spending it with Jack and Jessica. The idea of seeing his sister-in-law, which meant he’d have to face Roy too, would meant facing a painful and familiar feeling and he didn’t wish to spoil the night for anyone else.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re planning on actually working tonight.”

Hotch raised his eyes from his paper as the subject of his affections walked into his office. You were standing at the doorframe, arms crossed, holding the tiniest of packages, wrapped in some sort of shiny paper. Your face sported a concerned but amused look.

“It’s just another day, crimes don’t stop just because it’s a holiday.” he replied.

You observed him, not believing a word he said: “It’s just one night, Aaron, the office will be here tomorrow morning. But I bet Jack would love to have you with him tonight.” He whimpered at the use of his given name, hating how you could read him so effortlessly.

“He’s with Jessica and his grandfather, he’ll be fine. I get New Year’s with him. If I’m working, no one else has to.”

“Aaron, c’mon, you should go spend Christmas Eve with your family just like the rest of us.”

“I have to finish this report.” he turned back to face the papers on his desk. “Besides, I’ve worked during Christmas for the last few years, I really don’t mind.”

“Still, you really shouldn’t spend tonight by yourself. I can give you a ride to Rossi’s if you want. I heard he’s making thirteen different dishes, something about an Italian tradition. You should come.” He could see the expectation on your face. A look he had come to agree that was only reserved to him. After a moment of silence, you continued, suddenly remembering the package you were holding. “I got you a gift, by the way. I hope you like it.”

He wondered what you’d bought him, but decided against opening the gift, putting it inside one of the drawers instead. Anything to avoid letting you know how happy the little gesture made him. “Thank you. For the gift and the invitation. But I’m fine being here. You should go, I’m sure they are waiting for you.” Hotch gave you a small smile, unsure of what to tell you. He couldn’t admit he was at the office to avoid his feelings.

“Okay, never hurts to ask. The invitation still stands, in case you change your mind. Have a good night then, I…” You started, having trouble finding the right words. “Merry Christmas, Aaron.”

“Merry Christmas.” he uttered the words with a stone cold face, almost as if he’d rehearsed them before. Not hiding his guilt, though, he continued: “I’m sorry for turning down the offer, but I really need to finish this.” You seemed to understand his motives, looking down at your feet. He could see your eyes get a bit teary.

“Don’t worry about it.” You spoke softly, offering a gentle smile. He hated how you always did that, always showed sympathy for him. He didn’t deserve it.

And like that, you were gone, your steps echoing in the empty office as you took the elevator. He was now completely alone. Hotch sat there, unsure of what to think. He tried really hard not to feel bad for letting you go.

He really did.

HALEY’S GHOST

Without him noticing, the clock turned to yet a later hour. And so, Hotch decided to pour himself glass of scotch, the taste rich on his tongue, the familiar burn in his chest warming him up as he swallowed a generous gulp. It was much too late for him to drive home, not to mention the snowy road would be a menace to his safety, so he decided to sleep in his office. It was not the first, second, third or, hell, even fourth time he’d done so. Much too familiar with the action, he found himself laying in the sofa inside his office, putting one of the pillows below his head, sleep almost taking over him instantly.

It was then that Aaron noticed a couple of the computers outside his office turning on, the screens illuminating the empty bullpen. This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The computers turned off as they turned on, together and all at once. His office door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the corridor; then coming straight towards his door.

“Who’s there?” He asked, cold gun smoothly drawn from its holster, pointed, and fired up, as if expecting someone to reply. His color changed though, when, without a pause, someone came on through the glass door, and passed into the room before his very eyes.

The same face: the very same. Haley Hotchner stood in front of him.

“I must be delusional…”

“No, you’re not delusional, Aaron.”

“Who are you? Is this some sort of prank? It’s not funny, you know.”

“Ask me who I was.”

“Who were you then?” said Hotch, raising his voice. “You can’t be… I shouldn’t have had so many drinks.”

“In life, I was your ex-wife, Haley.”

“But you’re…”

“I’m dead? That much, Aaron, is, unfortunately true.”

“Can we—can we sit down?” asked Hotch, looking doubtfully at the ghost.

“We can.”

“Do it, then.” Hotch took a moment to observe her more closely. This Haley, staring back at him, looked a bit older. She had more lines on her face, her hair was long enough to tie it up, back to her usual blonde. But, Hotch noticed that, oddly, there was more life in her eyes then than during the last few weeks of her life.

“You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.

“No, I don’t,” said Hotch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. He had become insane. Or maybe he was just dreaming. That had to be it. It was the only explanation that made sense. He had to be fast asleep on his office couch, and he would wake up in the morning to see that this whole thing was just some dream. He would wake up, alone on Christmas morning, and go back to work to forget this awful dream.

“After everything you have seen, you still think ghosts are impossible?” Haley’s ghost crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, a stance that Hotch was very familiar with. The distant memory made the tension leave his body for a bit.

“Okay, let’s say I believe you are actually here for a second and not some vision I’m having…” Curiosity got the better of him.  He sighed, dropping his head in his hands. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to warn you, Aaron, that you have yet a chance of living a long and fulfilling life, if you change the course you’re going. A true chance at love and happiness. You just need… a nudge in the right direction.” she quietly said, stroking Aaron’s face gently like she had done so many times during the years they were married.

“Oh, Haley, it’s really you. I’m so sorry.” Tears sprung to his eyes as he recalled their final moments together. He hugged her, burying his face in her shoulder. “I… I am-” The way he had cradled her, quite like he was doing right now “ I…”

“I know, Aaron. And I forgave you for it all, so you could find happiness again.” She held his face in her hands. “But you’re not happy, are you, Aaron? Look at you.”

“No, I am not! How can you expect me to be happy now you’re gone?” he demanded, in a faltering voice.

“You can be, I am sure. And you might not even see it, but you’re so close. You’ve got so much time to live, so much love left to experience, so many more wonderful years ahead of you. Time is the most precious thing in this world and to have shared my life for so long with you is something I am incredibly grateful for. Please tell Jack stories, so he knows how much I love him and how proud of him I will always be.” She smiled at him. Hotch can’t help but feel the hollowness of sadness combined with choking from grief. The price of love.

“You will be haunted,” she resumed, “by Three Spirits. Look at what they show you. Listen to them, please!”

“Is that what you call a nudge in the right direction, Haley?”

“It is.”

“I—I think I’d rather not,” said Hotch.

“Unfortunately, it’s not up you. Expect the first when the clock strikes one.” said Haley’s ghost, her hand touching his cheek one last time. “I loved you so much, but it’s time for you to let me go.”

Tears ran down Aaron’s face. “I’m not sure I know how.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Haley’s ghost smiled, wiping his tears gently with her thumb.

Then she left. Just as she appeared, dissolving into thin air. Aaron blew out a breath he’d been holding in his lungs without realizing it. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse into the afterlife, or the dull ache he still felt after seeing Haley one more time, Aaron went back to lying on the couch, not even taking off his shoes, and fell asleep upon the instant.

THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

When Hotch awoke, it was so dark, that from his office he could scarcely distinguish the rest of the bullpen. He was trying to pierce the darkness with his eyes when he glanced upon the watch in his left hand. It was a quarter past midnight.

The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of his office, and groped his way to the door. He rubbed the sleep off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he could see very little then. Hotch went back to his makeshift bed, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought.

Haley’s ghost had bothered him. Every time he resolved within himself, after much inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind went back again to its first position, and presented the same evidence to be worked all through, “Was it a dream or not?”

He stayed like that until the clock had hit one in the morning, when he remembered, on a sudden, that Haley’s ghost had warned him of a visit. Light flashed up in the room, and the door to his office opened.

The door to his office was opened, I tell you, by a hand. And Hotch, clutching his gun at its holster, found himself face to face with an unearthly visitor: “Tom?”

“Hello, Hotch.”

“Why are you here?” he inquired, even though he already knew the answer to that question. The old man looked just as he did on the last time they saw each other, with the small change being that he was able to breathe - or whatever it was ghosts did - without needing an oxygen tank.

“I am the ghost of Christmas Past.” his voice was singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

“Of course, you are. So, Shaunessy, where are you taking me?”

“As it usually goes, we shall start at the beginning.” Before Hotch had time to react, the spirit of the older policeman was holding his hand, they passed through the wall, stood upon the FBI building, facing the road below and then leapt out into the night. After a while, the entire city had vanished below them. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

They landed on an empty field in rural Virginia.  There was a sharp intake of breath from Aaron as he recognized the location. The sky was tinted a purplish gray just as he remembered, the snow falling down the quickest and heaviest it had in a long while.

“It can’t be.” Hotch said. “My old boarding school.”

“Do you remember it?” inquired Shaunessy’s ghost.

“Remember it!” cried Hotch with fervor; “I could walk around here while blindfold.”

They walked along the road, Hotch recognized every post and every tree, until an imposing building appeared in the distance. There was an empty familiarity in the way the school campus was silent during the winter break. Looking forward to the holidays, most of the boys put on their own clothes and packed their bags, shuffling past the school gates to the arms of their waiting parents, vacating the school for the two weeks that separated Christmas from the beginning of the year. Aaron watched all this activity without any obvious sadness or bitterness.

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Shaunessy’s ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left here still.”

Hotch looked to the front of the building, scanning it. Something caught his trained eyes: fresh footsteps in the snow, leading away from the building. And amidst all of it - a young Aaron Hotchner stumbling blindly through the storm, snow over his ankles, head pounding and tears shining in his eyes. The older Hotch remembered exactly how his fingers ached in the winter wind as he clenched and unclenched them, trying to keep the feeling in their tips.

“Do you know why we’re here?” inquired the ghost.

“It’s the year when my father got sick.”

“Were you two ever close?” the ghost prompted.

“My father… He hurt me and not once did he show a single ounce of remorse. Never. My mother… She knew… But she didn’t do anything. Then she had Sean, and we were happy for a while. But when I became a teen, I became more and more difficult because I started to realize that things shouldn’t be like that. That it wasn’t normal for love to hurt the way it did. I rebelled — that's how I coped.” He answered. The image of his poor excuse of a father beating up his mother on the kitchen floor, while his brother cried in his room, played in his mind. Flashes of being beaten, thrown down the stairs, slapped. “So my father decided that I was the problem. I was the screw-up son with an attitude problem. The beatings got more frequent, and the more he tried to correct me the more I lashed out. And mother was… She got me away as soon as she could, I think my mother thought boarding school would give me stability. I just felt as if I must have done something wrong to be sent away. She didn’t stop him, though. Nobody stopped him. He only stopped when he died.”

“Are we here because that’s when he died, then?”

“No, not yet, at least. You see, he’d been having all those symptoms for years but he didn’t do anything because of his pride. No, this, right here, it was the Christmas I spent at school.”

“A happy memory, then?”

“Yes.”

In fact, he remembered being glad to spend the holidays far away from home. Of course, he’d struggled when he first got to the school. The first night away, he sobbed in the small, unfamiliar bed. Aaron had just turned sixteen when his mother sent him away. He thought his mother, at least, loved him, so for her to leave as if Aaron held no importance to her at all. It had hurt. But as she said goodbye he felt a strange sense of relief. The school was the ideal setting for him to hit the “reset” button.

There were paddocks with sheep in them on the actual school grounds. There were woods next to the school pool. The school chapel was quaint, with roses growing up the exterior. It was different from what he was used to, but he quickly settled into the routine. It’s funny how you can adapt when you don’t have much of a choice. The school fostered organization; its surroundings provided a sense of peace; and its people offered engagement and a sense of belonging. Every day at home was unpredictable and ghastly. Rules that were enforced one day, don’t apply on the next day. Promises were neither kept nor remembered. At school, though, things seemed to always remain the same. Aaron finally felt like he had a place to call home. He found a new way to cope: by taking on lots of responsibility and putting up a competent front for others.

As Hotch, the older one, that is, reminisced about his childhood, his teenage self was huffing and puffing about, mumbling something to himself, a letter in his hands. Both men walked closer to where the teen was, trying to get a better view of what was going on.

“You don’t seem that happy.” Shaunessy’s ghost teased.

“Well, I mean, of course, I felt lonely and left behind. But when wasn't I lonely? At least I was in peace. Besides, I had nowhere else to go, so the matter was decided.”

“Doesn’t look very peaceful to me.”

It was sad, perhaps, but that was the way it had always been for Hotch by then. Before he could explain anything else, though, the silence of the scene was shortly interrupted by another boy running up to meet them. He was shorter than Aaron, his round face adorned by a pair of similarly rounded glasses and blonde hair. His cheeks were red, partly because of the weather, partly from running.

“Hotchner, where are you going?” exclaimed the younger boy, trying to catch up with him. The older Aaron took a few steps to get closer to unfolding scene, only to confirm he wasn’t seeing things.

“It’s Richard Wilkins!” The older Hotchner exclaimed, a smile on his face like never before. “He was one of my closest friends as a boy.”

“What the hell does it look like I'm doing?” The young Aaron retorted, stopping just for a moment to wipe the dark hair out of his face before continuing to walk.

“It looks like you’re sulking, or something, I don’t know. But you’re not wearing enough layers to go out in this weather. You’ll catch a cold, or pneumonia, or hypothermia. Or worse, you’ll get both of us expelled!” The boy reasoned, earning a scoff from the young Hotch.

“Why do you care anyway, Wilkins?” Aaron asked, like a moody child, without turning, still holding the letter in his hand. He surely carried the weight of the world on his shoulders at that moment. Snow flew in the courtyard and the wind blew it back.

“Didn't you hear? There's going to be a blizzard!”

Hotch did hear, the professors had been grumbling about it all week about it, complaining they might not make it home before the storm hit the town, afraid they might get stuck in the roads during the worst of it. He didn’t care. The cold made him feel alive.

“Listen, you can’t stay out here like that. You’ll freeze to death” Wilkins spoke softly.

“You don’t understand! No one does!” Suddenly young Aaron crumpled up the letter in his hand and threw it into a ball. Wilkins bent down to take it. He glanced down at it, scanning the text quickly.

“Wow, you must be sad about your dad…” Wilkins is giving Hotch a sad look, but he doesn’t say anything more about it.

“What? No! I feel nothing for that man. It’s just… I can’t believe he gets to ruin my Christmas even from afar.” the older teen practically growled. Aaron was tempted to tell Richie how he had wished for his father’s death. He had prayed about it more than a couple times and even wrote a letter to Santa when he was younger.

“I know the feeling, my parents are dead and they seem to have that power too.” Wilkins agreed. And Hotch immediately felt like shit, because at least he had a mother to go home to. Even if she was not the best, at least she was alive. “I’m sorry to hear that.“

“It’s alright. There’s no way you could possibly know. By the way, I came here because I was supposed to tell you that Father Jones and a couple of other kids are decorating the school, we’re having a Christmas party at the dining hall tonight.”

“I didn’t realize there was anyone else here for break.” Aaron looked down at his feet and rubbed his hand through his hair.

“There’s a few of us. You want to come?”

“Fine. But I’m not celebrating anything tonight.”

“Your loss. I heard there’s going to be an actual dinner tonight. Not the usual grub we are served, actual real food. Heard they even went to the city to buy some stuff. If you don’t want it, you’re out of luck. More for me, then.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. Maybe I’ll try to enjoy it for a while.”

And with that, the boys walked back into the school, together, talking about their plans for the evening. Hotch felt his heart swell once again in hearing the laughter emitting from his child self and his friend while they joked with each other.

He saw how they entered the school, quickly being called by one of the older kids to help set up the lights. The boys spent the whole afternoon decorating, eating and enjoying each other’s company.

"You had a few Christmases with this guy?” Shaunessy asked, with the authority of someone who had seen every Christmas.

“Not really. For a while, we were best friends. But then my father died and my mother asked me to come back home.”

“You loved each other deeply.”

“I suppose we did. It’s stupid but… That little Christmas dinner, it meant everything to me.”

The scene faded was replaced by another wintry day. Now, instead of the old school building, they were in a nice residential street. The lawns were decorated with lights and reindeer and Santa Clauses. All of them, except one.

"Where are we now?"

“Another Christmas when you're a bit older. Another time and another place but one that had a huge impact on making you who you are now."

The boy that walked around the corner on this day was a few years older, barely turned into a man. He still had the same dark hair as before, but this time, tears ran unchecked down his face.

"No, I don't want to see this." said the real Aaron to the ghost.

“I’m sorry, Hotch, I know how you feel about this whole thing but you need to see it.”

He knew immediately what Christmas this was. It was the year when Aaron came home from college. After being isolated from the outside world for most of his life, he now had exams to study, a loving girlfriend and a future to look up to. Finally, he was normal. He clawed his way to have the life he deserved.

Coming back hadn’t been easy, but Haley had convinced him it was the right thing to do. He knew the old man couldn’t hurt him now. But dealing with his mother was hard. His mother, having come from a broken and somewhat dysfunctional home, was culpable in different ways. She had embraced the view that his father was trying his best to help them and how Hotch was always ruining everything for them. So now, when the old horrible man was already lying six feet under, his mother was already halfway to becoming a functioning alcoholic, minus the 'functioning' part.

As he thought about having to see his family, he started to lose sleep. It was his mind’s way of telling him that this was a bad idea. His body would always tell him when something wasn’t right. He’d ‘feel it’ in his bones. Maybe that’s why he was so good at his job. But he had to go home. Not for his mother, but for Sean.

Thinking of his brother, Aaron made it home for the annual roller-coaster ride of the holidays. But Sean had missed out on having a brother for a while there, and now Aaron had come home after five years to find his little brother wasn't the person he left behind. His brother had witnessed as their father health declined and how their mother’s drinking spiraled out of control. He’d never known his father’s wrath, but Sean had known up close how mentally and physically their mother had become. How mean she’d been to the people who loved her the most. How angry. When he got inside the house from the airport, it was silent, cold and tomb-like. He couldn't wait to leave.

On that Christmas Day, events had unfolded as they often did — just another day of the year when they had to tip toe around on egg shells and do everything in our power not to address the elephant in the room: mother’s drinking. The menu for the day apparently was booze for breakfast, lunch, dinner and scotch all the way to bed.

Sean fled to his room as their mother took her third or fourth drink. Aaron knew the feeling of unease all too well. He’d spent the year at university with a written eulogy in his back pocket, waiting for the moment he’d get the call about his mother being dead and hoping that it wouldn’t happen.

So now, as the past and present Aaron Hotchner stood in the street, Hotch, the older one, was already bracing himself for impact. He knew exactly what scene would unfold.

As the younger version of himself stood there, crying, he could see little nine-year-old Sean Hotchner walk up to him, his pajamas a bit too short, a side effect of not having enough money to spend on such things, his hair a mess as per usual. The two brothers sat by each others side in the sidewalk. Like any good children in a broken home, every year they hoped that Christmas would be different, and every year it was the same, except a little worse.

“Is mom going to be okay?” Sean’s small voice asked. Of all the questions Aaron avoided, that one was the hardest.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” He thought back to his mother passed away on her bedroom, the plans for a family dinner long forgotten. Better than to be at found tomorrow morning at a ditch somewhere, on some strangers' house or in the police station.

“Is- Is Santa real?”

“What? No, of course not.” Aaron didn’t even try to hide the sound (something between a laugh and a scoff) that escaped him. “Why are you even asking me this?”

“I… I asked Santa for a nice Christmas dinner this year.” As his brother confessed, he saw the tears on Sean’s face that he was trying to hide.

“Sean… Listen, this is not gonna happen, but it’s not your fault.” Aaron answered. “This is her problem. It is not your job to fix it. It is your job to get on with your life.”

“You say that but you’re the reason our family is like this in the first place. Mom always says you’ve always been a liar. If…” Sean said between sobs. “If you hadn’t been so ungrateful, dad wouldn’t have sent you to boarding school and he’d still be alive and mom wouldn’t be sick!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aaron hissed. Was his brother angry at him? He was dumbstruck. It simply hadn't occurred to him that Sean would place the blame for all of the family’s problems on him. How could it be that his younger brother’s view of their family was utterly different from his? It was pretty ironic, given the givens. But it made sense, as far as Sean was concerned, if one person could just leave, who was going to disappear next?

“Yes, I do! Why did you leave me? You promised you’d take me with you. Remember?” Sean looked at his older brother, the same look he used to give him when they were younger and fighting. “You didn’t just leave our parents behind. You left me too!”

Aaron cringed - he knew he only had himself to blame for that. It was his fault anyway. Of course it was. But what was he supposed to do? He had no idea how to take care of a child, no financial stability, no place for Sean to sleep. He was just a broke college student.

“I’m sorry, Hotch, I know how you feel about this whole thing.” Shanuessy’s ghost reminded the real Hotch this was just a replay of something he’d already lived through. “It’s not your fault. Sean was just a kid, who was in desperate need of a parental figure. Remind you of anyone?"

“Jack.”

“That’s right.

Overcome with great sadness for the fellow, Tom Shaunessy’s ghost sadly placed a comforting hand on Hotch’s shoulder while he teared up. He stared at the man in pity. “Poor guy. No wonder you’re like that.” Shaunessy’s ghost murmured inaudibly before a final flash from the watch enveloped them and sent Hotch back to the empty office of the BAU…

THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS

Hotch gasped and woke up with a start, madly twisting his head from left to right in trying to see his surroundings. It was his office, just as he’d left it moments ago.

It hurt to remember those events. They had been locked away in his mind for years. He made a pact with himself, there and then, to never let anything like that happen with Jack. Knowing his son was probably sleep by now, he made a mental note of never again leaving him alone during the holidays. Then, his mind rushes to the other person he can think might needed his company during the holidays.

“Sean…”

Hotch quickly grabs hims phone, staring at the light up screen. His tired eyes have no trouble typing the number, something he’s had to do a handful of times during the years.

He waited nervously for Sean to accept his call. He hadn’t seen his brother in almost five months, much less talked to him. The only contact they’d had were a couple of short messages, nothing really relevant. The phone ringed for a couple of minutes, no answer. Realizing the time must mean that his brother was fast asleep, or, more likely, in some random bar drinking the night away, Hotch decided the phone call would have to take place the next morning.

It was an hour later by this point and Aaron didn't need any convincing to know that there would indeed be another visitor at two. Expecting to see the next Spirit, he was surprised when there was no one there.

His mind wandered back to his colleagues. Did they resent him for being so closed off lately? He thought about you and the forgiveness that had come so easily when he turned down the invitation for the party, even though he knew you must have been hurt.

Then there was the look, the one you had reserved just for him, the one you had shared so many nights together at the office. Was it an expression of affection? Maybe it was more than affection. Anyway, that look frightened him. Because if it meant what he thought it did, there were so many things that could go wrong.

At ten past two, Hotch finally realized that there was light slipping into his office through the space beneath the door. He thought that it might have been there for some time, actually.

He stood up and opened the door, finding the bullpen as empty as it was before. But, upon further inspection, he could see that the source of this ghostly light might be in the conference room, from where it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled to the door.

The moment Hotch’s hand was on the lock, a familiar voice called him by his name, and told him to open the door. He obeyed.

“This can’t be right…” he mumbled, as he turned on the lights in the room. “Jason? What are you doing here?” He blinked a few times to try to focus harder, but that did nothing to clear the situation up. If anything, he was more confused than before.

“I am the spirit of Christmas present." answered the figure of his former colleague, masquerading as a spirit on one of the strangest nights Hotch’s had in recent memory.

“Wait a second, you’re not dead, are you?” He worried.

“Well, if you bothered to call me once in awhile, you’d know the answer to that.” The spirit of Jason Gideon smiled. “But no, I am not dead. I’m only here for Christmas day.”

Hotch crosses his arms, knitting his brows. “So you’re supposed to show me the present, I take it?”

“Exactly. You’re finally catching up, good.”

“Does that mean we’re staying here?”

“No.” Gideon’s laugh reminding Hotch how he’d missed his former colleague. Even if they weren’t too close, he was nice to have around. “We are going somewhere. It’s not far, though. Ready?”

Hotch nodded and allowed Gideon to guide them into the night. Unsurprisingly, they remained in D.C., going straight to David Rossi’s house. The house was, of course, beautifully decorated. Strands of tinsel and garland wrapped around the columns in the entrance, string lights by the windows, casting a warm glow to the whole house.

"Shall we have a look inside? Something smells good." Hotch sniffed the air, the smell made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. The smell was even better once they were inside.

The table, decorated with branches of holly and ivy, indicated the meal had already been served. Knowing David, there here had been a nice starter and plenty of main courses. By then, though, the table was filled with various deserts, so much that Hotch knew for a fact that most of the team had to sit down for a while, too full to move. He started to seriously consider that Rossi should quit the BAU and open up his own restaurant, so delicious the food looked. He was quick at counting, enough that he quickly saw there was a place set for him as there always had been, every year. A place he had yet to fill since Haley’s death.

The living room was filled with laughter, a roaring fire in the fireplace and music playing - he thought for a moment that it sounded like Andrea Bocelli’s voice - in the background.

On the corner, a very large, way bigger than necessary, Christmas tree stood, piles upon piles of gifts at its feet. From across the room, David Rossi, raised his glass with warm eyes casting upon everyone.

"This calls for the yearly toast, you all! For a lovely Christmas this year!"

Emily joined in. “Dave’s right!" She agreed cheerfully. "Plus it's never a proper Christmas without a toast to somebody!"

"Exactly!" Derek agreed.

"That's right!" said JJ.

"Oh that's a great idea, let's do it." Garcia tipped her head. "Now who are we going to toast for tonight's Christmas?" The team looked at each other in wondering for suggestions until Reid piped up excitedly.

"Oh! I know who we should toast!" The six pairs of eyes focused upon the doctor in eagerness. But then nothing prepared Aaron for what next came from the boy's mouth: "Let's give a toast for Hotch!”

Why was a sense of guilt beginning to work its way into his body? He had no reason to feel guilty. Right?

“I agree, he’s done so much for all of us.” you said, walking back from the kitchen. Hotch took a moment to take you all in. The way the red dress you had changed into hugged you in all the right ways. His eyes never left your face, his attention was purely yours.

“Christmas is a time for joy isn't it? Everyone deserves a little cheer for Christmas! Specially Hotch.” you shrugged, giving a practiced fake smile. What was going on with you? He knew you loved Christmas.

Everyone gave out whoops and cheers of agreement and seconds later, all the hands enclosed around their glasses of prosecco. Derek gave Rossi a nod and the latter raised his glass, beginning the toast. "A toast, to our unit chief Aaron Hotchner. May the spirit of Christmas be with him!"

"To Hotch!”

After the impromptu toast, Aaron could see most of the team had begun drifting towards the makeshift dance floor. Derek and Penelope swaying close together, Spencer and Emily having fun doing silly dances with JJ in-between. Since it was Christmas, there was a lot singing as well. All of them except for Dave, who walked to the kitchen, no doubt starting to clean up a bit. And you.

“Hey guys?” You piped up softly, as you slipped away from the rest of the party. “I’ll be right back.”

He could see how you swiped the bottle of champagne off the table and stalked away. Hotch couldn't stop his own feet, feeling compelled to be near you even though he was supposed to be merely an observer in this scene.

You quietly walked out of the house, sitting down in the steps leading out to the patio, even if they were mostly covered in snow. You finished the champagne in your flute, then started drinking straight from the bottle.

You’d left the door open a crack so that, theoretically, anyone could come in if they wanted to, and Hotch wished he was actually there to tell you to come back inside, lest you catch a cold.

After looking back to make sure no one had followed you, you did something he never would expect. At first, some tears started rolling down your face, as you desperately tried to blink them away. But after failing at holding back a sob, you openly burst into tears. Hotch was taken by surprise. Why were you sad?

“Hey kiddo, what are you doing out here?” Aaron’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, and he saw Rossi walking up to you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s freezing out here.” He said, putting a blanket over your shoulders.

“I’m just getting some air.” You answered, giving him a friendly nod, not willing to move despite the company. You tried to wipe your tears away, plastering a small smile on your face.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.” You said, shaking your head. "I'm really not good company right now…”

“It’s because of Hotch, isn’t it?”

Hotch felt so horrible, so ungrateful. Maybe that’s why all this was happening: the world was trying to punish him for being this way. And he couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it.

“Take me home.” He told the Spirit, feeling awful. “We’re done here.”

“We’re not.” Gideon shook his head. “You need to see this.”

“No, I don’t.” Hotch whispered, on the edge of having a breakdown as he didn’t want this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He really shouldn’t be listening to a private conversation between you and Rossi, but Hotch couldn’t help but wanting to hear more.

You sighed, knowing the look in David’s eyes all too well. The pity. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to care,” you murmured.

“Please, we all do care about you. Some more than you’d imagine. Just tell me what it’s going on.”

“Sorry, I’m just having a really bad time wrapping my mind around how he’s been acting lately.” You paused, before letting out a heavy sigh and beginning. “I know I have no reason to feel hurt, but I just can’t shake the feeling that I must have done something wrong, to push him away.”

“C’mon, you must know why he’s been acting like that. You’re a profiler, after all.”

“I mean, I know the holidays can be stressful, so I figured that was it. But surely not enough for him to be gutted all day and chose to spend it alone at the office. What do you think is upsetting him?”

“Are you serious?” Rossi sputtered, before seeing the look you gave him. “Well, it’s been like that every December…” Rossi started. “Ever since Haley’s death. You know he doesn’t really like to talk much about it.”

“Oh, God, I’m an idiot.” You sobbed, feeling like the most selfish fool on the planet. “I’ve been making this up to be about me when Hotch is out there dealing with his grief over his ex-wife.”

“When were you going to tell him?” Rossi asked, obviously trying not to smirk.

"I'm... I'm sorry?"

“I might not have been successful with my marriages, but I know love when I see it. So, when were you going to tell Hotch how you felt about him?”

“I wasn’t planning on telling him. He’s dealing with so much, the last thing he needs is a coworker with a stupid unrequited crush on him.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s unrequited.” Of course, David Rossi would know all about Hotch’s feelings before even himself did. “Let me guess: something about him being you boss, something about you being afraid to ruin things, yada yada.” Rossi said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Guilty as charged.” You held up your hands in surrender. “But I can’t, Rossi. I’m too much of a coward to tell him how I feel. Honestly, I think it would be best if I could put my feelings aside… Why can’t I stop?”

Hotch practically collapsed as you said this. His knees gave in and he had to make an effort to keep standing. He couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open. He wasn’t sure what knocked the wind out of him more - your confession of love or the deep anguish in your voice. It was so obvious to him now.

“The heart wants what it wants, kiddo.” Rossi stated. As simple as that.

“The funny thing is I know Hotch would handle it gracefully. He’d reject me with kindness. He has such a good heart and he can be so thoughtful. I don’t know why he tries to hide it.” You said, sounding wistful and sad. “I don’t know what to do, Dave.”

“Did you not hear anything I said? You should tell him how you feel, that’s what you should do.” David stood up, brushing the snow off his pants. “You take all the time you need, okay? I’ll get everything to make up the couch. You shouldn’t drive in such state.”

“I’m fine, Dave.”

“Nonsense.” Rossi spoke as gently as possible.

You gave a faint smile, wrapping the blanket tightly around you. “Thank you, Dave. For the blanket and for caring enough to listen…”

“You're welcome" Rossi smiled. “Alright I gotta circulate, catch you later.”

As you stood there catching your breath, Hotch looked to Gideon, who smiled, the same face he used to have whenever the team reached a conclusion long after him.

“What is this, pity? You feel sorry for me, so you’re showing me what I want to hear?”

“No. Of course not. I have no control over what you’re seeing. Everything is true.”

“Why did you show me this, then?” Hotch’s voice trembled.

“Because you deserve to know the truth. Maybe knowing she returns your affection will help you act on your feelings.”

“She never told me she felt like that.” Hotch tried to defend himself, as Gideon’s spirit began to walk away. He caught up quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I had no idea, I swear.”

“Why are you so scared of being happy?” Gideon asked him. Hotch’s breath quickened and he looked away, not sure if he had an actual answer.

“Because I… I don’t deserve to be.” Maybe, it was because, deep inside, he was convinced that admitting how he was in love with you would be a crime. An act so selfish, preventing you from meeting whatever better man you might have found if he hadn’t stepped in. Forget that - it would be the most narcissistic thing he had ever done. Because if he had you, he’d never let you go.

“Oh, Hotch, you always were so harsh on yourself. You deny so much of yourself, hoping it will cure things faster. But it doesn’t work, does it? No. The only way that we can find happiness and peace is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself. Do not attempt to feel nothing so as not to feel anything.”

The shorter man looked up at the him, trying to read the expression and thoughts of the man before him. Hotch felt like the answers to a thousand questions had been answered yet more had appeared in their place. Was he really wasting the opportunity of being happy with you just because he was afraid?

“I’m afraid our time is up. I hope for your sake you’ve truly paid attention. The next ghost won’t be so kind. If you listen to any of us tonight, listen to him.”

Suddenly, everything went black and Hotch was back at Quantico, sitting in his couch. Gideon had left him with a warning. What was the last ghost going to show him?

He remembered the gift you’d given him. What was it? He supposed he might as well open it and see. He opened the box, only to find a pair of tickets for an live orchestral presentation of The Beatles White Album. He flipped them over, then back again. Of course you’ve bought them. The perfect gift. There was two tickets, though. Had you intended for the two of you to go together? He quickly saw that the box also had a note, written in your calligraphy.

Dear Hotch,

John Lennon wrote that we need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. I hope this holiday season you find the strength and healing we all need in our line of work. Without you, this team would not be called a family. You complete our lives. Thanks for your support, guidance, and care.

Merry Christmas xx

THE LAST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

Before he had time to react, the clock struck three in the morning.

Hotch looked about for the ghost, but he didn’t see it. He then decided to lift his eyes, and there it were the ghost, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

Approaching the figure, his gait began to falter as he saw that a deep black garment concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. No. No no no. This couldn’t be the third spirit. He felt a chill course through his spine.

“Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?”

The ghost didn’t reply, but it simply nodded.

“You are here to show me my future, I presume.” The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.

The ghost walked up to the mural at the entrance of the BAU, right next to the elevators, where the wall of honor where there was pictures of all the fallen agents. He saw Anderson and an intern he didn’t recognize, probably from another floor. Anderson was putting a new photo in the wall, but Hotch couldn’t see it from where he was standing.

“No,” said Anderson, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead.”

“When did he die?” inquired the intern.

“Last night, I believe.” He replied as he wiped beneath his eye with his knuckles.

“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked Gina Sharp, stopping by the two of them. “I thought he’d never die.”

“God knows,” said Anderson.

“What about the Behavioral Analysis Unit?” asked the intern.

“I haven’t heard yet, but they will find someone to replace him.” said Anderson again. “Maybe Rossi will take over, perhaps. Or maybe Prentiss. No one has notified me. That’s all I know.”

“It’ll likely be a very cheap funeral,” said Gina. “I heard he didn’t leave any family behind.”

“Just his son, Jack, and a brother, I think.” answered Anderson.

The group quickly dispersed, going back to their jobs. Hotch knew them, and looked towards the ghost for an explanation.

The ghost glided on into the bullpen. Its finger pointed to Hotch’s office. Hotch walked up to his door, listening again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

He looked around to find Emily sitting in his chair, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the office. It didn’t surprise him, he supposed one day he’d eventually retire, opting for going back to practicing law or only sticking to teaching negotiation techniques at the Academy.  Emily looked tired, purpling bags forming under her eyes and at least a handful of grey hairs on her head.

She quickly stood up, walking past Aaron and the ghost and going up to David’s office. “We’ve got a new case, a child abduction. So far, only one victim, but seeing as we are short two pair of hands now I really need you to go. Are you okay with that?” Emily started and David looked up, and she returned his gaze with a gentle calmness.

“Sure. It’s what he’d have wanted.” Rossi replied, hiding a few stray tears. “One last rodeo, then. Next week will be my last with the team.”

Emily turned to face the rest of the team: “Conference room in five.” she called to the bullpen, a hush falling over the office as everyone paused to listen.

And like that, all of the familiar faces were moving slowly, Prentiss, Morgan and JJ found their way to the conference room.

Garcia was wearing all black, a sight never seen before at the office, not masking the pain in her eyes. Reid followed soon behind her, hunching as he walked, as if folding in on himself. Hotch noticed there was no sign of you. He looked over to the ghost, who stood still. He supposed he still needed to hear whatever was about to happen.

In the conference room, two chairs remained empty. “I just can’t believe it.” said JJ.

“I know, to think if I had stopped by his office, if I had insisted that he should join us for the party, and now…” Garcia said, breaking off in another round of sobs, and Hotch could feel his heart tearing to pieces. What happened to his team?

“You don’t have to tell me, baby girl.” Derek said, sounding sympathetic. “None of us saw it coming until it was too late to stop it.”

“So, have all of you given some thought to what we discussed? Sabbaticals, transfers, reassignments. All of you have options if you chose to no longer be part of the unit.”

A chorus of yes was heard around the room.

Rossi stood up: “I have told you all, I’m choosing to go back into retirement. After… after all that happened, I’m not ready to go back into the field.”

“Of course.” JJ said. “I’ll be taking a sabbatical to be with my family, I think it’s something important for me.”

As she said, this, you appeared at the room. Hotch had never seen you like this, wearing an old t-shirt from the FBI Academy and sweatpants. “I’m sorry for being so late.”

“It’s okay, we all understand.” Emily said.

As the photos of the next case were being shown, Hotch turned to the ghost. “I don’t understand. What has happened?” he demanded. “Why are you showing me this? Who is the person they’re talking about? Am I in danger of sharing his fate? Of losing everything? Is that it?”

Nothing. Instead, the spirit turned back toward the doorway, Hotch falling into step behind it, and followed it through to the unknown. The scene around them changed and  Hotch found himself standing in an open field.

The spirit was as silent as ever. Hotch followed it as they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering. A graveyard. The ground was covered in snow, but he could see it was overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation’s death, not life.

His mind quickly jumped to conclusions. Oh, no. He looked at the ghost for an explanation. The spirit was standing among the graves, and pointed down to one in particular. Hotch felt the blood in his veins turn into ice.

Aaron sank to his knees, one hand coming up to brush away the layer of snow that had blown up against it. “Aaron Joseph Hotchner. Father, brother, and friend. 1970-2018. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.”

“No…” he moaned. “No… it can’t be. It’s not supposed to be like this, it can’t be like this!” Choking back a second sob, he rested his head against the marble.

“Who are you?!” he demanded, anger and panic and anguish bubbling up in his chest and threatening to drown him. “Only cowards hide their faces, so remove your helmet and show me your face!”

The ghost watched him silently. Taking off its hood, Aaron Hotchner felt all the air leave out his lungs as he looked at his very own face.

“No, it can’t be. How can you be me?!”

“I’m not you.” the ghost said in a voice that sounded too much like his. “I’m the Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come. I’m here to show you the future consequences of your actions.” The face before Hotch was a blank mask as he delivered his prophecy. No emotion, no inflection, the effect reminding him too much of the day where George Foyet appeared in his apartment.

“Wait!” he yelled, “ Wait! This is not how my life it’s supposed to end! Let me put things right!” but the fog was growing thicker, obscuring the spirit from view. He was running, lungs burning in the cold air as he rushed through the cemetery.

He faltered, falling into his knees, sobs overtaking him. He collapsed, as his surroundings changed once again. Instantly, he was back at the office.

THE END OF IT

Yes! He was back at his makeshift bed, in his empty office and he was the happiest he’d ever been. Not knowing what hour it was, he walked into the bullpen and was now standing there: perfectly winded.

"I don't know what day of the month it is," said Hotch. "I don't know how long I have been among the Spirits. I don't know"

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. The sun shined bright outside, the air was clear and cold, he could fill the blood pumping through his veins. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!

He walked into the corridor, bumping with Anderson, who carried a pile of files. “What’s today?” Hotch asked.

"Eh?" returned Anderson, very confused. If there was one person he could always count on to know the day, it was Agent Anderson.

"What's today?" repeated Hotch, with such a happy mood he could not remember the last time he had felt this happy.

“Well, it’s Christmas Day."

"Christmas Day! Thank you, Anderson. You can have the full holiday off, spend however you want.” Hotch smiled.

"Are you serious?"

“Yes! Go, go, I’ll take care of things around here.” he ushered the younger man out the door. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course, they can. Of course, they can." said Hotch to himself. Turning back and rushing back to his office, he slammed the door behind him. He threw himself into his couch and starred at the clock. It was just past 8 in the morning. He felt too wired to try and sleep, even though he was sure he hadn’t slept at all that night.

“My brother.” he exclaimed, frantically looking for his phone. The device light up, and he saw there were a couple of missed calls.

After talking to his brother, which was “fine, thank you very much, are you sure you’re okay, Aaron?” and making sure Jack was having a great time with his grandfather and aunt - even asking if he could stay there another day, he stood at his desk, not sure what else to do.

Apologies didn’t seem fitting to be said over the phone. You needed to know how much you meant to him, in person.

Rossi wasn’t sure what surprised him most: that it was Hotch knocking at his door just as brunch began, or that he had a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

Now that he was face to face with the older agent, he wasn’t sure what to do, looking slightly abashed.

“Good morning, Dave. Does the invite still stand? I thought about it, and I…” he took a deep breath. “I’d really like to celebrate with you guys for a while, if that’s okay.”

“I see no reason why not. You’re part of the team, after all.” Rossi said, pulling Aaron into a backslapping hug. “Just keep it quiet, okay? Things got a bit carried away in the alcohol department last night.”

“Sure, you won’t even hear my presence.”

“Don’t overdo it, Aaron.” Rossi said, beckoning him into the house.

You suddenly appeared, hair a complete mess and mascara blurred. You looked perfect in Hotch’s opinion. He eyed you in your red dress, smiling to himself as if were part of an inside joke.

“Hotch? Is everything alright? Have we got a case?” you asked, stifling a yawn. He couldn’t help but giggle. Aaron Hotchner actually giggled.

He drew the bouquet from behind his back, holding them up as one did in a romantic comedy. “Hi,” he exhaled, giving you a boyish smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you returned automatically, then looked up at him in confusion. “Is that for… me?”

“Yes, I didn’t know what kind of flower you wanted, so I just got a bunch of them.” He looked up at you with wonder in his eyes, and you felt like the air had been knocked out of you.

You laughed and thanked him, but something still plagued you. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here?” His eyes softened a bit, and he looked at you once more. Then, something new flickered across his face. Determination. He met your eyes.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable but I have to be completely honest with you. I can’t keep denying what I’m feeling.”

“And what is that?” you asked, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“That I’m in love with you.” he said.

“You love me?” You asked.

“I do. And I know it’s wrong, I’m your boss, we work together. But I can’t help how I feel. And I know I have the worst possible timing in the world but-“ You shut him up with your lips. Hotch was caught by surprise but you felt him relax as you brought your hands up to his neck.

He pulled away to catch his breath, looking deep into your eyes. “You’re beautiful in the morning, you know that?”

“You’re a tease, Aaron Hotchner.” you laughed. “And I’m in love with you too.”

“So, what do you say about going to that concert with me?”

“I’d like that. I’ve…wanted that from you for a while. Took you long enough.”

“I know. But you mean so much to me, I’m hoping to make up for it.”

“You better.” you smiled again, that same little smile that was reserved for him, and he felt a pleased flush of warmth this time, spreading from his middle outward to his extremities, “but what brought all this on?”

Aaron huffed and pressed his forehead to yours. “Let’s just say I had some… interesting visitors last night.”

The two pressed together in a kiss, full of promises and potential. In the background, the BAU team cheered, for once in his life, Aaron Hotchner had a real shot at long-lasting happiness.

THE END

[awesomerextyphoon]

I love your writing. May I have Loki x Reader? The reader is a sweet, delicate dreamer. Loki has come to conquer the world. He saw her and wants her to become his Queen of Midgard. He kidnapped her. She pleads with him to let her go while she is tied to the bed. He caresses her hair and says she will love him (he doesn't want to use the scepter on her).

***Can I have White Reader x Loki, please? Loki just escaped from the Helicarrier. He saw the reader who is a sweet and innocent creature. Loki doesn't want her dead when he will start battle. Loki kidnaps her and locks her up to keep her safe. When he wins, Loki tells her that she will become his queen.***

Hi! I decided to combine the prompts and make the reader plus-sized. I hope you enjoy! 

His Match

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Plus-Sized Female Reader 

Summary: You’ve tried to live by your grandmother’s rule  of being kind to others, even when the world gives you the middle finger. What if a Norse God decided reward you by becoming his Queen?

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: 18+/Mature

Warning: Kidnapping, Implied Dub/Non-Con, Angst, and some Violence

A/N: Thanks goes to the amazing @angrythingstarlight for beta reading this!

Loki was walking around New York City, scouting Stark Tower making sure the final preparations of his plan was perfect when something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

She walked out of what looked like a women’s clothing store with a forlorn smile. She was plumper than the average female Midgardian last time he frequented the realm. His eyes did not miss the enticing curves that lied beneath her clothes despite her efforts to ensconce herself into the background.

She was a vision.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments and it felt like time stopped. His heart quickened in his chest and a rush of blood surged to his groin.

He had to follow her. His Elskan.

“Barton, tell the others I’ll be out for a few more hours. Proceed as planned.”

–––––

He found you entering a rather destitute apartment complex. Its lights and foundation were a bit unsound and gave off a seedy ambience.

Loki grimaced at her living conditions. When he ruled Midgard, she would have only the best.

Casting a simple concealment spell, Loki entered her fairly small apartment. She began mixing ingredients together for what looked to be ‘chocolate chip cookies’. He smiled as he inhaled the sweet aroma knowingly; Asgard had only recently started consuming the sweet. She soon laid out a batch of thick, scrumptious cookies with a satisfied expression.

They reminded him of better times when he and Thor would sneak into the kitchens and swipe confections from under the baker’s nose. Loki chuckled at the memory; those were the days.

Not ten minutes after she placed the last cookie onto the cooling rack did her phone ring. It was her mother. Loki felt dread coming off his Elskan in waves.

Loki could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation, if you could call it that. Her mother constantly nagged her about her weight, life choices, and her ‘pathetic’ attempts to get over her ex-boyfriend. His heart broke as he saw tears begin to fall and the croaking of her voice as she bid the odious creature goodnight.

Several minutes after she cried herself to sleep, Loki entered his Elskan’s bedroom. He spied her diary on the nightstand and decided to read a few pages.

He was fuming within two minutes.

How dare that caustic pig sow treat his Elskan, her own daughter, in a such ghastly manner! Her ‘perfect’ sister always slighting and reminding her on how ‘she’ll never be good enough for anything’ and her father’s callous indifference to her cries for help and solace only added to his rage. Combined with the way her ex-boyfriend, the repugnant gnat, treated her (he cheated on her with someone who ‘wasn’t built like a blimp’ and ‘the only thing you thing you had going for you were your tits’) and he wanted to speed up the invasion just to watch the horror become engrained onto their faces.

And yet, she endeavored to treat everyone with kindness harkening back to your grandmother. She strived to be the one light in one’s otherwise miserable existence.

Well, she can be his light as his Elskan and Queen.

Loki took a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to stick to the plan. When he conquers Midgard, she will be their queen. She will grace the undeserving masses with her elegance and beauty and he will worship her every chance he got.

He just had to make her see it that way.

Gently, the light forest green glow of Loki's magic flowed from his hand to the crown of her head like a halo. He leaned in and kissed her cheek with a smile as he left.

He hated to leave her, but he had a realm to conquer. Though he hoped she’d enjoy the introductory gift.

––––––

You were in your grandmother’s living room; spacious yet comfy with all of her quirkiness and splendor included. It was odd since you haven’t been in her house since your parents sold after her death seven years ago. You tearfully smiled remembering all the good times you had with her, the only member of your family you gave you any true warmth or love.

Her piano was in the corner, barely aged a day with all the music sheets, pens, a light scratches you came to know and love. You took your seat and started to play the piano version of one of your favorite movie themes.

You were so engrossed in playing, you failed to notice someone materializing into your dreamscape.

“What a lovely tune! What is it called?” A smooth, honey-tinged voice broke your concentration.

You turned your head and saw what had to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was tall (6’ 10” / 2.08m) easily towering over any man you’ve ever met. He had smooth alabaster skin, light rose undertones with a little blue-red just under his eyes. His cheekbones were immaculate, somehow looked sharp and soft at the same time. He had thin lips with a fair plumpness to the bottom one. His slicked-back, shoulder-length Ponzu/Shadow Purple hair kissed his lean, battle-hardened physique (if the way he’s filling out his outfit was anyway to go by). All of this deliciousness was clothed in a casual Palm Green suit with a Glossy Black tie and shoes.

It took you a full minute to stop ogling him, “Wha-What did you say?”

“I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. I asked what you were playing.” His voice had hints of mirth which was odd considering his appearance. Most people in his league would give you a thinly veiled sneer of disgust, but he seemed genuinely interested.

“Um, well, it’s called Merry-Go-Round of Life from the movie Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s a favorite of mine. I used to play it all the time until…” You trailed off, not wanting to revisit how your grandmother died.

“You do not have to tell me if it brings you such displeasure.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Loki. Please, call me Loki.”

“Loki,” he inwardly moaned at the way you said his name, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Please, continue playing.”

And you did for what felt like hours, all while your sexy dream companion asked about your hopes, dreams, anything he could think of really. You in turn asked him about his life and interests; you even laughed at a story of his brother having to dress like a bride to get his hammer back.

You soon became enamored with Loki. It was refreshing to be noticed with actual interest, not ridicule or pity. He seemed to taken with you as well, if his gentle caresses and not-so-subtle lustful glances he gave you were any indication.

You were glad this was just a dream. You didn’t want your heart to break like last time.

Loki was about to lean in for a kiss when everything faded to black.

–––––

You jolted up from the mattress and screamed once you realized you weren’t in your room.

No, this room was…spectacular for lack of better word. It had high ceilings, large windows, ornate chandeliers, and magnificent balcony. Luxurious dark greens, gold, and black covered the room in splendor. Extravagant pieces of furniture dripped with precious stones metal worthy of queens or royal mistresses of old.

“What is this place?”

You tried to leave but was forced back onto the bed by a force field. You tried to take calm breaths just like your therapist taught you in order to make an escape plan.

No sooner did you calm down than the door open to reveal-

“Loki!”

Only Loki was wearing radically different clothing; looked like he walked right out of a fantasy epic. And yet, his smile was enchanting.

“What am I doing here? I need to go back home.”

He tutted in response, “That would not be wise, Elskan Mín. This world is mine now and this is safest place to be.” He was right. His brother’s team of desperate souls were no match for his cunning and Chitauri Forces. Midgard’s pathetic leaders gave up in less than an hour once their beloved ‘heroes’ were defeated, broken, and laid bare before them.

“You can’t be serious, Loki. I need to leave.”

“And go where? Like I said, this realm is mine now. That rat poison of a dwelling is no more and I have dealt with your ‘family’ as needed.” Loki smirked at the memories. It gave him extreme joy squeezing the life out of that worthless pig of mother, breaking every bone in your father’s body one by one, and leaving your ‘perfect’ sister alive with partially rotten skin. Not even the scavengers or maggots would find or want the remains of the scurvy insect of an ex-boyfriend, though he was still alive..just barely.

Well, at least until he decided on how to destroy the blight of creature.

Though he did make sure to leave two of your real friend were treated well. You needed to have someone to talk to while he was away.

You gazed into his Spearmint colored eyes in one last attempt, “Please Loki! If you love me, you’ll let me go!”

For a split second, you could’ve sworn you saw hurt in his eyes and he glided across the room. You back hit the headboard in you sad efforts to get away from him.

“Elskan Mín, I promise to always love, cherish, and worship every part of your glorious body. You will become Midgard’s queen and my goddess. No. One. Will. Ever. Demean. Or. Slight. You. Again.” he punctuated each word of the last sentence with soft, open-mouthed kisses to your face, neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

You tried to fight him, but it felt so good. His touches sent shots of lightning to your core; plus his lips and fingers were cook to the touch provided excellent contrast to the spike in heat.

You started crying realizing how pathetic this was, to have the first person to profess such feelings be a kidnapper. You were actually contemplating whether or not he was telling the truth.

Loki sensed your sorrow and kissed your tears away. “I know this might be ‘difficult’ at first, but you will love me in time.” He hoped he did not have to use the scepter.

You thought about your dream and all of the effort he was putting into this. It was frightening, but it came from a place of love.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay.

–––––––

@lookiamtrying @jtargaryen18 @sapphirescrolls @jobean12-blog @sweeterthanthis @gotnofucks @mcudarklibrary@saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @navegandoaciegas @stargazingfangirl18 @opheliadawnwalker3 @tilltheendwilliwritee  @imanuglywombat @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @navybrat817 @anyatheladyclown @buckysbunny @nacho-bucky @donutloverxo @stephanieromanoff @threeminutesoflife @angrybirdcr​ @angrythingstarlight @chixkencxrry @hurricanerin @marvelfansworld @the-soulofdevil @captain–barnes @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thebanprincess @winteralpine @leslie2898 @buttercandy16 @propertyofpoeandbucky @hevans-angel @thorfanficwriter @afriendlyblackhottie @avintagekiss24 @syntheticavenger @phant0m-queen @tuiccim​ @blueberrythor​ @river-soul @justthehiddleswrites @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[afishlearningpoetry]

what happened with stranger things? not a fan, just curious

The character Will has been gay since the original pilot Montauk was pitched, described as having “sexual identity issues”. ST built on this characterization for the first two seasons, along with being largely successful of handling the rest of the story and cast. The original inciting incident of the show was wrapped up pretty neatly and everyone was waiting to see what happened next. El and his best friend Mike are dating. Then season 3 ruined everything by killing everyone’s characterization, which also killed everyone’s relationships by manslaughter, injecting dead-end creative decisions for the incredibly thin and boring story for action and spectacle over substance , and giving no one a real character conflict besides Will through the end of episode 3, where he destroys his childhood fort in a fit of anger and sadness over everyone (Mike especially) being able to move on from their childhoods while he can’t, because he’s been through so much and can’t relate to them spending so much time with their girlfriends (Mike especially), which fit really naturally with his own internal conflict over being gay in the 1980’s. The problem is in addition to everything else this arc is completely abandoned after episode 3 and the rest of the season plays out like a pretty soulless husk of itself. Will and his family, including newly adopted El move away in the closing montage.

Anyway so in season 4, which has only corrected some of the issues in s3 while exacerbating others, he hasn’t had anything to do in the story at all. He’s working on a painting of something in the first episode, but doesn’t show anyone what it is. He makes a school project based on Alan Turing. In episode 2 Mike comes to visit and it’s really awkward when they meet again. Will brought his painting to show him at the airport but decides against it, and spends the rest of the day being miserable as the third wheel with Mike and El until him and Mike finally blow up and argue about their relationship deteriorating since the move. Mike’s written El a lot, but only called Will a few times. At the same time, El gets mad at Mike for never saving “Love, Mike” in his letters, and only signing it “from”. They reaffirm their friendship later but the scenes play out strange, in the sense that something seems unresolved on Mike’s end, some other reason why he isn’t telling El he loves her, but we’re given no insight into what that might be, whereas we know why Will stopped reaching out to him. It *feels* like we’re supposed to notice it and aren’t given the full explanation. Lots of plot happens and they go on the run for a few episodes, and in episode 8 last night Will finally shows him the painting, which is of him and all their friends, and lies by saying El asked him to make it. Mike doesn’t pick up that El already said to him earlier she doesn’t know what he painted. Will kind of comes out to Jonathon but without saying it explicitly, and is clearly trying to come out to Mike, but can’t find the words and is crying really hard in the car but Mike doesn’t seem to notice (some people who watched it are still saying Will is not gay lol, so it’s not explicit). Will motivates him to tell El that he loves her so she can use her powers to save the day. His arc kind of drops off unresolved again, and I guess Mike just stopped reaching out to Will because he’s a bad friend, if we’re supposed to take this subplot between them at face value, which is absolutely not what Mike from the first two seasons would have done.

I don’t know if we are but it’s like, so boring to watch lmao. Straight characters in the show get to flirt and everything right away and we have to wait this long for this to happen possibly, maybe. Everything else is saying that we’re supposed to believe it’s not over but the shows been so messy the last two seasons it’s not like that’s a reliable metric. There’s also this weird parallel between lesbian character Robin seeing her crush with a boyfriend and Will seeing Mike and El. Is it on purpose? It obviously should be lol and I believe it has to be because why else? But it’s so frustrating regardless, so who knows.

That’s what I meant by series 4 being so ahead of it’s time. It was able to distill this weird, strangely modern but also timeless kind of dilemma into an unreliable narrative that captures the emotionality of it really well. Is it on purpose? Are the inconsistencies there for a reason? In Sherlock there’s a science to it, but everywhere else in the world, you’ll just find uncertainty.

[youhearstatic]

Beetlejuice blupjeans?

Ohhhhh, anon, I like this one a lot. Come sit next to me, okay? I like your ideas.

So it's tempting and perhaps a bit obvious to say they're Barbara and Adam but, and I'm thinking of the Broadway play a bit more here than the movie for this idea (as well as a dash of the old cartoon and also, playing around a bit with ages because obviously) but come with me a minute on this one:

Lup is Lydia. She's been separated from Taako and she's absolutely miserably unhappy and worst of all, no one around her seems to care about that fact.

But she happens to be in a haunted house. And I'm going to cast Merle and Davenport as Barbara and Adam. (Look, I just love pairing these two as a sometimes fun, sometimes crotchety old married couple, okay?) This was their house and they don't want this bunch moving in and changing their stuff. Davenport would obviously be Adam, how easy is it to imagine him with an extensive model town he loves perfecting?

So they summon help. Bluejeans Bluejeans Bluejeans. (Why is he called Bluejeans if he's in a red robe? Best not to ask, perhaps.)

His ideas are... perhaps not the best. He talks all spooky and he doesn't seem to fully understand the line between harmless prank and grievous injury. (He's not bad just really out of touch with the living.) So Davenport decides no way, this guy is not their answer. Maybe they'll just deal. Besides, Lup seems nice. Merle agrees, though he's kinda finding a bit of a soft spot for this Bluejeans guy who maybe also just needs people too. But during one overly enthusiastic demonstration, Bluejeans wrecks one of Davenport's models and Dav kinda loses his patience with the guy.

But the problem is, once you summon Bluejeans, he's there. You can't just put the lid back on him. So of course it's not long before he gets an eyeful of Lup, Lup who is sad and lonely and really in need of distraction.

Bluejeans is nothing if not distraction. He's got magic, he's got stories, ... he's got a crush.

And Lup has someone who cares about how she feels and just wants her to be happy. She can't help but be a little smitten herself.

It's fun, it's messy, and lots of mistakes are made, but mostly they are both crushing hard on each other. The biggest problem is that he kinda stages a big prank to get back at her family for not caring about her feelings ... on the night Taako comes for a visit with his new boyfriend. He takes it too far and Taako is almost hurt. She tells him to get out.

He's crushed but again, her feelings are what are important to him, so he makes himself scarce.

The problem is, Taako's new boyfriend has seen enough to think they can take advantage of this and make some money. With the right information from this Book of the Dead, they can trap the guy (and hey, there's two other spirits here too!) and make so much money.

(In case it's not clear, this is not Kravitz we're talking about here.)

Lup might not be happy with Bluejeans but that doesn't mean she wants him exploited. And she definitely doesn't want that old couple messed with.

She ends up going to the Land of the Dead to try and find help and ends up meeting Kravitz who wants to know how and why one of the living has ended up here.

Further hijinks ensue, it turns out there's plenty of 'smitten' to go around when Kravitz gets an eyeful (and earful) of Taako, Bluejeans redeems himself, shitty new boyfriend is fed to a sandworm, and the twins both get cool new (not exactly alive) boyfriends.

And everyone agrees to let Davenport have the attic to himself for his models.

Thanks anon, this was really fun and one I'd never considered before!

Send me an AU and I'll tell you how I'd make it Blupjeans!