#other new additions that are debatably canon:

[other-blog-for-other-stuff]

zolicutio would just respond “cooked” whenever romeo tries to vent

[kiwriteswords]

If put to the test, would you step back from the line of fire?

AN: This got out of hand!! But kinda became one of my favorite stories I have written! I was up WAY too late today and in between meetings at work finished it, so I hope you enjoy it!! Let me know what you think!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 19k

Rating: Mature

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, injuries, fade-to-black smut, sexual tension, banters, enemies-to-lovers, suggestive comments.

Summary: New to the BAU, you quickly find yourself at odds with the unit's stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner. What starts as a clash of wills and a battle of stubbornness soon transforms into a connection neither of you anticipated. With each case you work, your fire-fueled banter and undeniable tension grow, challenging your carefully constructed walls. As you both navigate the line between professional rivals and something more, you're forced to confront the truth you’ve been hiding—from each other and yourselves. In a world where control is your armor, letting someone in could be the biggest risk you've ever taken.

The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy as you made your way to your desk, the new addition to the BAU. You knew the reputation Aaron Hotchner held in the unit: stoic, precise, and tough on new recruits—especially women. You’d heard the stories from the team about how he handled Emily's arrival and Jordan’s brief stint. You were determined not to let him rattle you.

But what you didn't expect was how quickly the two of you would clash.

"Agent Y/L/N," Hotch called out from his office, barely looking up from his paperwork. "I need that report on the recent case by the end of the hour. I hope you understand the urgency of deadlines here."

"I've been doing this job for a while, Hotchner," you replied with a clipped tone. "I don’t need a reminder on how to meet deadlines."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a hint of a smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Good. Let’s see if your actions match your confidence."

The tension between you two was palpable, and the rest of the team took notice almost immediately.

"They fight like an old married couple," Derek muttered under his breath, nudging Emily as the two of you clashed in yet another heated debate. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, watching you stand toe-to-toe with Hotch—a rare sight, considering most people didn't dare to challenge his authority so openly.

"She's got guts," Emily said, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go head-to-head with Hotch like that. And he's actually... engaging?"

Derek let out a low chuckle. "Oh, he's definitely engaging. Usually, he shuts people down in seconds flat, but with her? He’s giving as good as he gets."

Emily grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. "Think they realize they're basically the same person?"

"Not a chance," Derek replied with a smirk. "They’re too stubborn to see it. And honestly, I’m not sure I want to be around when they do."

The rest of the team exchanged amused, almost disbelieving glances. It was clear they’d never seen Hotch behave like this before. He wasn't just tolerating your defiance; he seemed almost... entertained by it, as if he was finally facing someone who could match his intensity and push back just as hard.

And while you both seemed entirely focused on proving the other wrong, the team couldn’t help but notice the way Hotch's lips twitched ever so slightly when you fired back at him—a hint of a smile that suggested he was enjoying the sparring far more than he let on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The case had taken a toll on everyone. It was late, the team was exhausted, and emotions were running high. As you laid out your plan to corner the unsub at the next location, Hotch cut you off mid-sentence.

"No, that won't work," he said firmly, his voice colder than usual. "You're making assumptions without enough evidence to back them up. We need to think this through logically."

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your temper in check. "I am thinking logically, Hotchner. If we don't act fast, we'll lose any chance we have of catching this guy before he strikes again. We have to take the risk."

"And that's exactly the problem," he snapped, his eyes boring into yours. "You're too impulsive. This job isn’t about charging in headfirst without a solid plan."

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, the frustration bubbling over. "I'm not impulsive! I’m trying to save lives, which, correct me if I’m wrong, is the point of this whole job. But you wouldn't know anything about taking risks, would you, Hotch? You always play it safe, no matter what it costs."

A flash of anger crossed his face, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerously calm tone. "You don’t know a damn thing about what it costs, Y/L/N. I’m not playing it safe; I’m making sure my team comes home alive. Something you might want to consider before throwing yourself into situations you’re not ready for."

The team watched in stunned silence. No one dared to intervene as you and Hotch stared each other down, both too stubborn to back down. They were used to disagreements in the field, but this level of intensity was something new—even for Hotch.

"I’m not some rookie you can bully into submission," you said, voice shaking with barely restrained fury. "I’m here because I’m damn good at what I do. And maybe if you took your head out of your own ego for two seconds, you’d see that."

Hotch's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually shout back. But instead, he spoke in that calm, unnervingly quiet voice of his. "The minute your 'damn good' plan puts any of my team at risk, I’ll pull you off this case so fast, you won’t know what hit you."

The team exchanged uneasy glances. It was clear this wasn’t just about the case—it was about control, about power, and about two people who couldn’t stand the fact that they met their match in each other.

As you turned on your heel to walk away, you couldn’t help but notice the looks on the faces of your colleagues. They weren't just surprised by how fiercely you stood up to Hotch—they were stunned that he actually seemed to respect you more for it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The case wrapped up successfully, just as you had predicted. Your plan, the one Hotch had so firmly shot down, ended up being the key to cornering the unsub. It wasn’t without risks, but in the end, it worked, and no one could argue with the results.

As the team gathered their gear, Hotch remained silent, his face stoic as always, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—a mix of reluctant admiration and irritation that he couldn’t quite mask.

Rossi, ever the perceptive one, sidled up to Hotch with a knowing smile. "You know, Aaron," he said, his tone dripping with amusement, "it wouldn’t kill you to admit when you’re wrong. I mean, it's not every day someone out-thinks the great Aaron Hotchner."

Hotch shot Rossi a pointed look, his jaw tightening just slightly. "I wasn’t wrong," he muttered defensively. "I was... cautious."

Rossi let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Cautious? Is that what we’re calling it now?" He cast a glance in your direction, where you stood a little ways off, giving instructions to a local officer. "She was right, you know. And from the look on your face, I'd say you know it too."

Hotch's gaze flicked back to you, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he quickly wiped it away. "She was lucky," he said, more to himself than to Rossi, as if trying to convince himself of that fact.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Right. Lucky.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Instead, he gave a noncommittal grunt and turned his attention back to his paperwork, his expression a mask of irritation mixed with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"You’re a tough nut to crack," Rossi said, his tone softer now, more serious. "But maybe that’s exactly why she’s the perfect match for you."

Hotch shot Rossi a glare, but it lacked its usual sharpness. "Don’t start, Rossi," he warned, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Rossi simply laughed, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. "Just saying, my friend. Sooner or later, you might want to let that wall of yours come down—before she knocks it down for you."

As Rossi walked away, Hotch allowed himself one last glance in your direction. He'd never admit it out loud, but in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for you—along with a nagging realization that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the last time you'd get under his skin.

But he wasn't ready to give you the satisfaction of knowing that. Not yet.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Weeks passed, and while your clashes with Hotch became routine, you couldn't deny that you had developed a strange rhythm with him. You knew each other’s moves like pieces on a chessboard—always anticipating, always one step ahead.

Despite your frequent arguments, there was a mutual respect building beneath the surface that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

During a late-night case discussion, Hotch had his arms crossed, leaning against the table. "Your theory is flawed," he said, his voice laced with skepticism.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. "It’s not flawed. You’re just too stubborn to admit that my way might actually work."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "If I admit you're right, does that mean you'll stop trying to strangle me in these meetings?"

Your lips twisted into a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself, Hotchner. If I ever strangle you, it’ll be out of pure frustration."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know you were into that."

You blinked in surprise, your cheeks heating slightly at his boldness, but you quickly recovered. "Only if it shuts you up," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

The rest of the team watched from a distance, exchanging amused glances. They could see the crackling energy between you two, even if you both stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air between you and Hotch was still charged, the underlying tension refusing to fade. The rest of the team had taken to watching your interactions like a live sport—wondering who would land the next verbal blow.

You were in the middle of the bullpen, poring over case files, when Hotch approached, his expression as stern as ever. "Y/L/N," he said, his tone clipped and professional, "I need your analysis on the suspect's profile by end of day. And make sure it’s thorough this time."

You looked up, eyebrow arched. "Oh, don’t worry, Hotchner. I’ll make it as ‘thorough�� as you like," you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn’t want you to have to redo it when you realize I was right all along."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation sparking to life. "This isn’t a contest, Y/L/N. It’s about accuracy and professionalism—two things you might want to brush up on."

You stood up, matching his gaze with equal intensity. "And maybe if you stopped micromanaging every move I make, you’d see that I know exactly what I’m doing."

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, both of you glaring at each other like two opposing forces locked in an endless struggle. The bullpen went silent, eyes darting between the two of you in surprise at how openly you challenged him—again.

Hotch opened his mouth to retort, but then he paused, his gaze softening just a fraction. He seemed to consider his next words carefully, as if he knew he was about to cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

"You know," he said slowly, his voice dangerously calm, "for someone who claims to know what they're doing, you spend a lot of time second-guessing your decisions. Almost like you’re afraid to be wrong."

You bristled, feeling the sting of his words hit a little too close to home. "I’m not afraid to be wrong," you shot back, eyes blazing with defiance. "I’m just not used to being treated like an amateur by someone who refuses to admit when they’re outmatched."

Hotch’s lips twitched, a brief flash of something resembling a smile crossing his face before he quickly hid it. "Outmatched? By you?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "If that’s what keeps you motivated, Agent Y/L/N, then by all means—keep believing it."

Before you could fire back, Rossi’s voice broke through the tension. "You two done sparring, or should we set up a ring in the conference room?" he quipped, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The rest of the team chuckled, clearly entertained by the ongoing battle between you and Hotch. Despite their jokes, they were all aware that there was something different about the way Hotch responded to you—how he engaged with you in a way he didn’t with anyone else.

"You know," Morgan added with a grin, "most people don’t stand up to Hotch like that. You must really like getting on his bad side."

"She’s practically setting up camp there," Garcia chimed in with a wink. "It’s like their own twisted form of bonding."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Please. If I ever start bonding with Hotchner, you have my permission to stage an intervention."

Hotch cleared his throat, shooting the team a look that was more amused than annoyed. "Alright, that's enough," he said, but there was a softness to his tone that wasn't there before, a hint that maybe—just maybe—he respected you for pushing back.

As the team dispersed, Hotch caught your gaze one last time. The moment was brief, but it lingered just long enough to make you question whether all this fighting was really about animosity—or if it was something else altogether.

And just like that, the fire between you reignited, burning hotter than ever.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The team was in the middle of a tense operation, a situation that demanded quick thinking and decisive action. You had taken a calculated risk, making a call in the field that didn't go as planned. The unsub got away, and while no one was hurt, it set the case back significantly.

The second you returned to the makeshift command center, Hotch was waiting for you, his eyes dark and unreadable. You barely had a chance to open your mouth before he was on you.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he barked, stepping closer, his voice rough with barely restrained anger. "That decision of yours just put everyone at risk, and I'm not sure we can afford that kind of recklessness again."

You shot back, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I was thinking that if we didn’t take the shot, we’d lose our best lead! But of course, you'd rather sit around playing it safe while the unsub walks free!"

Hotch's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. "This isn't about playing it safe, Y/L/N! It's about not acting like a reckless amateur who puts the entire team's lives at risk because they have something to prove!"

Your hands shook with the force of your frustration, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, "Oh, spare me the lecture, Hotchner! You act like you're the only one who knows how to do this job, but the truth is, you're just terrified of making a mistake. You’re so damn scared of letting anyone in that you push people away the second they don’t fit your perfect mold!"

The words seemed to hit Hotch harder than you expected, his eyes darkening even further. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet tone. "You think you know me, Y/L/N? You don’t know a damn thing. At least I’m not so afraid of being alone that I act like I don’t need anyone. You're more isolated than anyone on this team, and the saddest part? You overcompensate by pretending you don’t care."

Your breath hitched, but you were too angry to back down. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Hotchner! The great Aaron Hotchner, who’s too afraid to be human around us because it might make him seem weak. You can't even let people in enough to let them see that you're a father first, can you? You act like this job is all that defines you, but deep down, you know you're failing at the one thing that really matters."

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw the flash of pain in Hotch's eyes—a wound laid bare for everyone to see. But before you could take it back, before you could even blink, Hotch struck back, and this time, it was a direct hit.

"You don’t get to talk to me about failure," he said, voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. "You walk around here like you have something to prove, like if you’re tough enough, no one will notice how desperately you need to be part of something—anything—to avoid facing how alone you really are. But here's the truth: no matter how loud you are, no matter how many arguments you win, you’re still just trying to convince yourself that you’re enough."

The team collectively held their breath, the weight of the confrontation settling over them like a dark cloud. You could see the shock and discomfort on their faces, how they tried to look away as if that would lessen the impact of the words you and Hotch had just exchanged.

You opened your mouth, ready to deliver one final blow, but something in his eyes stopped you. The hurt, the frustration, the betrayal—it was all there, mirrored in your own gaze. And you knew, in that moment, that you’d gone too far. So had he.

Before either of you could say another word, a voice crackled over the comms, interrupting the heated exchange. "We have a new lead on the unsub," Garcia’s voice came through, urgent and breathless. "I need you back at the command center, ASAP."

The tension snapped, and you both pulled back, breathing hard, eyes locked in a shared look of something like regret. You could see it—the recognition that the words you’d thrown at each other couldn’t be taken back.

Without a word, you turned and walked away, your shoulders tense, refusing to let anyone see how deeply the argument had cut. Hotch stood there for a moment longer, his face an unreadable mask, before he, too, walked in the opposite direction, his movements stiff and deliberate.

As you both moved to your respective corners, the team exchanged glances—expressions of concern, sadness, and a little fear. Even they could tell that this fight had gone way beyond professional differences. It had become personal. Too personal.

"You think they'll be okay?" JJ asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

Rossi shook his head, his face lined with worry. "Not sure," he said, glancing over at the two of you from a distance. "That was more than just anger. That was hurt. And that’s a lot harder to come back from."

Derek looked from you to Hotch and back again, his face serious. "They both know they crossed a line," he said quietly. "But the question is, can they find their way back?"

Hotch knew he’d struck too close to home, just as you did. The damage was done, and as much as you both wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had changed forever.

And for the first time since you joined the BAU, neither of you was sure how to fix it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

In the days that followed your explosive argument, neither you nor Hotch said a word about what had happened. Both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too proud to admit that you might have gone too far. But even as the tension between you remained thick and uncomfortable, something in the way you interacted began to shift.

Despite your so-called hatred, you and Hotch started doing little things for each other—things that neither of you ever mentioned aloud. He'd leave a coffee on your desk, exactly how you liked it, when you’d had a particularly rough night. You’d order lunch for him when he was too buried in paperwork to take a break. It was as if you were both trying to say "I'm sorry" without actually uttering the words.

The team noticed the change, the way you two danced around each other, trying to make up for the damage in the only way you knew how—without acknowledging it outright.

And whenever one of you tried to express gratitude, it always came out as an insult wrapped in sarcasm.

"Thanks for the coffee, Hotchner," you said one morning, not meeting his eyes. The words were gruff, but there was a softness beneath them that you couldn’t quite hide. "I didn’t realize you were capable of being considerate."

Hotch shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Don’t get used to it, Y/L/N," he replied, voice laced with mock indifference. "Just trying to keep you from falling asleep in the middle of your presentations. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of the team."

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile breaking through despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. "Oh please, Hotchner. If I did fall asleep, it’d probably be because your voice has all the excitement of a tax seminar."

He gave a small chuckle, the tension between you two easing just slightly, even if neither of you would admit it. It was as if every sarcastic comment and light jab carried with it a hidden message—"I’m sorry," "I didn’t mean it," "I care more than I should."

And so, the unspoken apologies continued, buried beneath layers of pride and wrapped in your shared rhythm of bickering. The gestures were subtle but unmistakable, a silent acknowledgment that despite the walls you both put up, you were trying to make things right in the only way you knew how.

But even then, the fire between you still burned hot, and neither of you could quite bring yourself to let go of the pretense of animosity. Not yet.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The days were filled with a strange tension—one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The biting remarks between you and Hotch were still there, but they were laced with something different now, something that had the team raising their eyebrows and sharing knowing looks. The biting anger had started to twist into something that almost resembled…flirting.

One afternoon, you were both standing by the coffee machine, trying to get through another endless stack of case files. You reached for the last cup of coffee at the same time as Hotch, your hands brushing against each other. You snatched it up quickly, smirking in his direction.

"Careful, Hotchner," you said, raising the cup to your lips. "You keep getting in my way like this, and I might just have to pin you to the wall."

Hotch’s eyes glinted with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Bold move, Y/L/N," he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Didn't realize you were in the habit of getting physical on the job."

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, narrowing your eyes at him with a teasing smile. "Only when someone deserves it," you shot back, your voice light but your gaze steady. "And trust me, Hotchner, you've earned it."

He smirked, the kind of smile that made it clear he enjoyed pushing your buttons, and that little spark in his eyes hinted at something more than just professional rivalry. "I’ll try to contain my excitement," he said, voice smooth and challenging, the playful banter lingering in the air between you.

You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came out. Instead, you found yourself laughing—a real, genuine laugh that caught both of you off guard. The sound of it seemed to disarm Hotch for a moment, his expression softening as he looked at you.

"Just admit it," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You’d miss our arguments if they stopped."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to think about it. "I’d miss putting you in your place, Hotch. But don’t get used to it—I’m still keeping score, and I’m winning."

Hotch let out a low chuckle. "We’ll see about that."

The team observed from a distance, exchanging amused glances at the way you two were sparring. But this time, it wasn't just hostility—it was something far more complicated, like the first sparks of a fire that neither of you wanted to put out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night had not gone the way you’d hoped. The date you’d forced yourself to go on—an attempt to prove to yourself that you could open up to someone, anyone—ended as all the others did: in disappointment. You’d spent the entire evening trying to connect, trying to be someone you weren’t, only to come home with that familiar ache in your chest and a little too much wine in your system.

Stumbling slightly, you sank onto a bench outside the bar, phone in hand, replaying Hotch's words in your mind from your previous argument. "You’re more isolated than anyone on this team, and the saddest part? You overcompensate by pretending you don’t care."

The truth of it stung more now than ever. You felt the weight of his words pressing down on you, and you didn't have the strength to fight against it. Maybe he was right, you thought bitterly. Maybe I am going to end up alone because I can't let anyone in.

Before you could stop yourself, your fingers dialed his number, the alcohol-fueled haze making you braver—or more foolish—than you would have been otherwise. The phone rang once, and then you heard his familiar voice, steady and calm.

"Hotchner," he answered.

You hesitated, suddenly feeling ridiculous for calling him of all people. But then, you let out a shaky breath and said, "I...I don’t know why I called you. I’m fine. I’m—" Your voice cracked slightly, betraying you. "I'm not fine."

He didn’t ask you where you were. He didn’t hesitate or question why you’d reached out to him. Instead, his voice softened, and you could almost hear the worry in it. "Tell me where you are, Y/N," he said, his tone more gentle than you’d ever heard it. "I’m already on my way."

You told him the name of the bar, and before you knew it, Hotch’s car pulled up to the curb. He got out, looking every bit the composed leader he always was, but there was something else in his eyes—something softer as he took in your disheveled state.

Without a word, he draped his coat around your shoulders and led you to the passenger seat. The drive was quiet, the hum of the car the only sound between you. You kept your eyes on the window, embarrassed by your outburst but too drained to put your walls back up.

When he pulled up to your place, he helped you out of the car, his hand lingering at your back, a silent comfort. You let him guide you up the steps to your door, but when you fumbled for your keys, he stopped you, turning you to face him.

"You didn’t have to come get me," you said, your voice small, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. "I’m just a mess tonight."

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the mask he always wore slip just a little. "You’re not a mess, Y/N," he said quietly. "You’re human. We all are."

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't get it, Hotch. I keep trying to let people in, and I can't. It's like there's this wall I can't tear down, and I'm starting to think I’m going to end up just as alone as you said."

Hotch's jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not alone," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "And for what it's worth, I never meant to make you feel that way. You’re tougher than anyone I know, but you don’t always have to be."

You looked up at him, feeling the weight of his words settle in a place deep in your chest. For once, there was no sarcasm, no biting remarks—just a quiet honesty that took you by surprise.

"Why did you come?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. "After everything I said to you?"

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and then he said, "Because I know you. And I knew that when you finally let your guard down, even a little, it wasn’t something you’d do lightly." His voice softened even further. "I couldn’t just leave you alone tonight."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. He moved closer, his hand still resting on your shoulder, and you let yourself lean into his touch, even if just a little.

He just stood there with you, holding you steady when you couldn’t hold yourself up, letting you see that maybe, just maybe, letting him in wasn’t as terrifying as you’d thought.

"Thank you," you finally said, looking up at him with something that felt like gratitude mixed with a hint of something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name yet.

Hotch gave you a small, almost shy smile. "Anytime, Y/N," he said simply. "And for the record, I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, the walls between you still there, but just a little lower now. And as you stepped into your apartment, you knew that this was the beginning of something different—something you weren’t ready to admit but couldn’t deny anymore.

The fire between you still burned, but it felt like a fire that could warm you instead of one that would consume you.

The door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the night’s events settling over you like a heavy blanket. Hotch stood in your entryway, his hands in his pockets, looking more out of place than you’d ever seen him. This was Aaron Hotchner, the unflinching leader of the BAU, but right now, he looked like a man unsure of what to do next.

You leaned back against the wall, running a hand through your hair and letting out a sigh. "I’m not usually like this," you said, your voice rough around the edges, still tinged with the effects of the alcohol. "I don’t usually call for help."

Hotch gave a small, almost reluctant smile, his eyes softening as they met yours. "I know," he said quietly. "You’d rather bite off your own arm than ask for help. That’s why I came."

You blinked at him, a bit taken aback by the way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The honesty in his eyes made something in your chest tighten—a mix of frustration and relief that you couldn’t quite put into words.

"You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?" you muttered, looking away to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

Hotch’s lips twitched into a smirk, that familiar fire sparking back to life in his eyes. "Well, you do have a habit of making it a challenge," he said, his voice taking on that dry, teasing tone. "But you’re not as complicated as you think, Y/N. I see right through that tough act of yours."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to shield yourself from the truth of his words. "Oh, please, Hotchner," you said, trying to regain some of your usual bite. "The last thing I need is you trying to psychoanalyze me."

Hotch took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. He was close enough now that you could see the concern etched in the lines of his face, the way he was holding back something he wanted to say. "You’re right," he said, his voice gentler now, almost a whisper. "I’m not here to analyze you. I’m here because I care."

Those last words hit you like a punch to the gut, the sincerity in his tone catching you completely off guard. You opened your mouth to say something, anything to deflect, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

"You care?" you repeated, a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm lacing your voice. "Is this the part where you tell me you’re my knight in shining armor?"

Hotch let out a small, rueful laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Hardly," he said, a hint of that familiar smirk creeping back. "More like the guy who has to keep you from making a fool of yourself because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re human."

You wanted to snap back, to put up the walls again, but you were too tired, too raw. Instead, you just looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something in his eyes that you hadn't allowed yourself to see before—genuine concern, warmth, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

"You know," you said, your voice quieter, softer than it had been all night. "You’re kind of infuriating."

Hotch’s smirk grew into a smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes in that rare, almost boyish way that you hardly ever saw. "And you’re impossible," he replied. "But we’ve established that already, haven’t we?"

For a moment, you both just stood there, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You should’ve felt awkward, but instead, there was a strange comfort in the silence, like you were both finally seeing each other without all the defenses in place.

You let out a deep breath and nodded toward the couch. "Stay," you said, surprising even yourself. "Just for a while. I could use the company."

He didn’t argue. Hotch gave a small nod and moved to sit on the couch, his movements careful, deliberate, as if he didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. You sat down beside him, not too close but not as far as you might have a few weeks ago.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your head leaning back against the couch, your eyes closing as you tried to process everything. You felt Hotch’s presence beside you, solid and grounding, the quiet rhythm of his breathing strangely soothing.

"Thank you," you finally said, breaking the silence, the words almost too quiet to hear. "For coming to get me. For…not letting me be alone tonight."

Hotch turned to look at you, and when you opened your eyes, his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it. "Anytime," he said simply. "And I mean that, Y/N. You don’t have to go through everything on your own."

You felt something crack open inside you, just a little—a small space where the walls had been, making room for him in a way you never thought you’d allow. And maybe, just maybe, that terrified you even more than anything else.

As you both sat there in the quiet, the tension between you still simmering but somehow warmer now, you realized that for all your fights, your arguments, and your stubborn pride, you didn’t hate him. Not even close.

You didn’t say anything more that night. You didn’t have to. The silence said enough, and for once, neither of you felt the need to fill it with words.

The fire between you had shifted, turning into something new, something unspoken but undeniably there. You didn’t feel quite so alone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next morning, the BAU office buzzed with its usual energy, but everything felt different. The night before lingered in the back of your mind like a half-remembered dream, and you couldn’t quite shake the image of Hotch sitting beside you on the couch, his quiet presence more comforting than you’d ever expected.

You walked into the bullpen, forcing yourself to adopt the mask of professionalism you always wore, your steps just a touch more deliberate to hide any trace of a hangover or vulnerability. You were determined to pretend like nothing had changed, like the night before was just a glitch in your well-oiled machine of stubborn denial.

But as soon as you stepped into the room, you felt Hotch’s eyes on you. He was at his desk, his expression calm and controlled, but there was something different in the way he looked at you—softer, more attentive, like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before.

You met his gaze, and for a second, the rest of the office seemed to fade away. His eyes held yours, and you could feel that unspoken connection between you, the memory of his steadying hand on your back, his whispered words in the dark.

But then you broke the gaze, clearing your throat and throwing up your usual walls. "Morning, Hotchner," you said briskly, moving past his desk like it was business as usual. "Let’s hope you’re ready to keep up today. Wouldn’t want to have to drag you along."

Hotch’s lips twitched into that familiar half-smirk, but there was something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—something almost like pride. "Careful, Y/L/N," he said in that smooth, controlled voice of his. "If you’re not careful, people might start to think you’re actually enjoying this partnership."

You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but JJ and Morgan chose that moment to walk in, their eyes darting curiously between the two of you. You could see the knowing smiles tugging at their lips, and you knew they’d sensed the shift in the air.

"Everything okay over here?" Morgan asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. "I thought I saw sparks flying for a second there."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest to regain some semblance of your defenses. "Please, Morgan," you said, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. "If I wanted sparks, I’d go rub two sticks together in the woods."

"Uh-huh," JJ said with a grin, not missing the way Hotch’s eyes followed you, a little softer than they usually were. "Well, you two seem to have your own language these days. Should we be worried?"

Hotch straightened in his chair, his expression slipping back into that stoic professionalism, but you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I think you have more important things to worry about," he said evenly, glancing at the case files on the table. "Like solving this case."

Morgan shot you a sideways glance, his grin widening. "Man, they really do bicker like an old married couple," he said under his breath to JJ, loud enough for you and Hotch to hear.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Keep dreaming, Morgan," you said, flicking your gaze to Hotch for a split second before turning back to the files. "If I ever settle down, it’ll be with someone who actually listens."

You didn’t miss the way Hotch’s eyebrow twitched at that comment, the slightest hint of a challenge in his eyes. He gave you a look that said he was holding back something—something that both of you were too stubborn to acknowledge.

"Who said anything about settling down?" Hotch replied, voice smooth as ever. "I thought you were the kind of person who lives for the argument."

"And I thought you were the kind of person who likes to be right," you shot back, smirking. "Guess we’ve both been wrong about each other."

There it was—the unspoken truth lying between you both, hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm and banter. You could feel the shift, the way your arguments had started to feel less like battles and more like dances, each of you knowing the other’s moves before they even made them.

As the day wore on, you found yourself glancing at Hotch more often than you cared to admit, catching him looking at you with that same intense focus that he usually reserved for unsubs. The problem was, this time, you weren’t sure whether he was profiling you or trying to figure out how to get past your defenses.

Later in the day, as you grabbed another cup of coffee, you felt his presence next to you before he even said a word. He reached for a file on the counter, leaning in slightly closer than necessary, and murmured just loud enough for you to hear, "I meant what I said last night, you know."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Which part?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Hotch's gaze held yours, unflinching, unwavering. "The part about not going anywhere," he said softly. "And the part about you not having to be alone. Not if you don’t want to be."

You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat. You knew what he was offering—a chance to let him in, to take that next step, whatever that might be. And it terrified you more than you’d ever admit.

"That’s a dangerous game, Hotchner," you said, trying to deflect with a smirk, even though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Hotch gave you that slow, almost maddening smile that seemed to unravel something deep within you. What you couldn’t see—what he hid beneath that calm exterior—was the way his mind was still racing with everything that had happened the night before. The way you'd let your guard down, even for just a moment, had left him more shaken than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a man who let people in easily; it took a lot for his interest to be piqued, to feel something more than detached professionalism. But you—you had managed to get under his skin. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that glimpse into your world, the vulnerability you showed him when you thought no one else was watching. It was raw, real, and it stirred something in him that he didn’t want to let go of.

He was intrigued by you in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, and now that he’d seen that side of you—the part you kept hidden from everyone else—he didn’t want you to close that door again. He wanted more than just the sharp banter and the fiery arguments. He wanted to see the layers beneath, to understand the person you were when the armor came off.

There was this part of him that saw you as this rare enigma, but also a part that saw a mirror looking back at him--someone who finally carried their world in the same way as he did. 

"You’ve never been one to play it safe, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and warm, the hint of a challenge still lingering. "Why start now?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost like hope mixed with determination. He was giving you a choice, but deep down, he knew he didn’t want you to pull away, to retreat back into the walls you’d built so carefully around yourself.

You didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one you were ready to give him. The truth was, the idea of letting him in—of letting anyone in—scared you more than you wanted to admit. But his steady gaze, the way he was looking at you as if he was ready to hold that door open as long as it took for you to walk through it, made it harder to hide.

So instead, you just nodded, your walls still there but not quite as high as they’d been before. "We’ll see," you said softly, more to yourself than to him. "We’ll see."

And as you turned away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his eyes still on you, watching, waiting. Hotch knew that if you closed yourself off now, it would be ten times harder to find his way back in. But he also knew he couldn’t push you—not yet. All he could do was make sure that when you were ready to open that door again, he’d be right there, waiting for you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few days passed since that quiet moment at the coffee machine, and while you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it kept creeping up on you. Hotch’s words, the look in his eyes—it all felt too real, too close, and you weren’t ready to let it unravel everything you’d built around yourself.

The trouble was, Hotch wasn’t making it any easier.

He was still his usual composed, authoritative self during briefings, but every now and then, you’d catch him watching you out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to figure out what was going on beneath your surface. It was disarming, the way he seemed to see straight through you, and it annoyed you to no end that you cared what he thought.

Today was no different. The team was deep into a new case, the type that pulled everyone’s focus with its twists and turns, but you still felt that nagging awareness of Hotch’s gaze tracking your every move. You tried to shake it off, to focus solely on the details of the profile you were presenting, but when your eyes met his, you hesitated for a fraction of a second—a slip that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you finished laying out your theory on the unsub, you expected Hotch to challenge you like he always did. Instead, he gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "Solid work, Y/L/N," he said, his voice steady, but there was a trace of something else in it—something that felt like he was acknowledging more than just your profiling skills.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the rare praise coming from Hotch. "Wow, did I just hear that right?" he teased. "Hotch giving a compliment? Are we sure we’re not in an alternate universe?"

You rolled your eyes, fighting to keep the blush creeping up your neck from reaching your face. "Don’t get used to it," you shot back, forcing a smirk. "I’m sure he’ll find something to disagree with in about five minutes."

But when you glanced back at Hotch, you caught the smallest hint of a smile pulling at his lips, like he was amused by your deflection. It was such a fleeting moment that if you hadn’t been watching him closely, you might have missed it. But it was there, and it sent a ripple through you that you couldn’t quite shake.

Later that evening, as the rest of the team wrapped up for the day, you found yourself alone in the conference room, staring at the evidence board. The case was getting under your skin in a way that you couldn’t quite explain, and you were too restless to go home.

"Working late?" Hotch’s voice broke through the silence, and you turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He looked at you with that same unreadable expression, and you hated how your pulse quickened at the sight of him.

"Just tying up loose ends," you said, your tone clipped, but even you could hear the exhaustion in your voice. "Can’t leave things half-finished."

He nodded slowly, stepping further into the room, his gaze never leaving you. "You’ve been distracted," he said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact. "Is it the case, or something else?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Always profiling, aren’t you?" you said, turning back to the board to avoid looking at him. "Maybe it’s both. Or maybe I’m just tired of being stuck in my own head."

Hotch moved closer, close enough that you could feel his presence like a tangible weight in the room. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything alone," he said quietly. "You’re allowed to let someone in."

You turned to him then, your eyes locking onto his, the vulnerability of that night flashing in your mind. "I thought you knew me better than that, Hotchner," you said, your voice laced with a mix of defiance and something softer. "I’m not good at letting people in."

Hotch held your gaze, and this time, he didn’t look away. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I also know that when you finally do, you don’t want to regret it."

The words hung between you like a dare, and for a second, you saw past the stoic exterior he always wore, straight into the man who’d been just as guarded, just as wary of letting anyone see the cracks beneath his armor. It was unnerving and comforting all at once.

"I don’t want to close that door again," he admitted, his voice steady but his eyes revealing a flicker of uncertainty, as if saying it out loud made him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been before. "You let me in, Y/N, even if it was just for a moment. And I don’t want to lose that."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat. You could feel your defenses crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze, and it scared you. But it also made you feel something else—something you weren’t ready to put a name to.

"I don’t know what you expect from me," you said finally, your voice softer, almost hesitant. "You know I’m not the kind of person who’s good at this… at letting someone get close."

Hotch’s lips curved into that maddening, gentle smile, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through you. "I’m not expecting anything," he said, his voice calm, reassuring. "I just don’t want you to shut me out when you don’t have to."

For once, you didn’t have a quick retort, no sarcastic comeback to throw up as a shield. Instead, you found yourself nodding, the smallest sign of surrender, as if silently agreeing to let this—whatever it was between you—take its own course.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Hotch said softly, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer before he turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Hotch," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper as you watched him walk away.

As he disappeared through the doorway, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The fire between you wasn’t just simmering anymore—it was building into something that felt inevitable, something that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

You didn’t feel the urge to run away from it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a long week for the team, the kind that left everyone mentally and physically exhausted. The case had taken a toll on each of them, but none more so than Hotch. You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged slightly when he thought no one was looking, in the tightness around his eyes that no amount of professionalism could hide.

He’d been quieter than usual, more distant, even with you. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d been drawing closer lately, as if he’d built up his walls all over again. And for some reason, that made something inside you ache.

You found him alone in his office late that evening, the light dim, a half-empty cup of coffee growing cold on his desk. The tension in his posture was palpable, and he didn’t look up when you knocked lightly on the doorframe.

"Hotch," you said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You look like you’re about to tear that case file in half. What’s going on?"

He didn’t answer at first. He just kept staring at the paper in front of him, his jaw clenched tight, the muscle ticking in his cheek. For a moment, you thought he might brush you off, that he’d snap back into his guarded self and shut you out completely.

But then he let out a slow, shaky breath and finally looked up at you. There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, something raw and unguarded. "It’s Jack," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I missed his soccer game today. I promised I’d be there, and I missed it."

You blinked, surprised by the admission. It wasn’t like Hotch to let his personal life bleed into the job. He was the master of compartmentalization, always keeping his professional mask firmly in place. But right now, that mask was slipping, and you could see the guilt and pain beneath.

"I’m sorry," you said, the words genuine and uncharacteristically soft. "I know how much he means to you."

He gave a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to scrub away the exhaustion. "It’s not just that," he said, finally meeting your gaze. "I try so hard to be there for him, to make up for all the time I can’t get back. And every time I fail, it feels like I’m failing him all over again."

You took a hesitant step closer, your defenses lowering in response to his vulnerability. "You’re not failing him, Hotch," you said, your voice firmer now. "Jack knows you’re doing everything you can. You’re a damn good father, even if you don’t give yourself enough credit."

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked at you like he was seeing something in you that he hadn’t allowed himself to see before. "It’s just hard," he said quietly. "Balancing everything. Being there for him and still being the kind of leader this team needs. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing either one right."

You took another step closer, your hand hovering near his on the desk. "You don’t have to be perfect, Aaron," you said, using his first name intentionally, letting it roll off your tongue like a promise. "You’re allowed to be human. To mess up. To let people help you when you need it."

His breath hitched slightly when you said his name, and you saw the way his defenses cracked just a little more, like he was allowing himself to believe you, even if just for a moment. "You say that," he said, a small, wry smile forming on his lips. "But you’re not exactly the poster child for letting people in either."

You felt a reluctant smile tug at your lips, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Touché," you said, your voice gentler now. "But maybe we could both stand to learn a little."

Hotch stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether he could really let you see him—really let you in. And then, almost imperceptibly, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk.

"You know," he said, his voice low and rough, "it’s easier for me to tell you not to close yourself off than it is to follow my own advice."

You looked down at his hand on yours, feeling the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, and you squeezed his fingers lightly. "Yeah, well," you said, your voice soft but steady, "lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere either."

His eyes softened even more at your words, a quiet gratitude filling them that made your chest tighten. He was letting you see him—not the stoic leader, not the unflinching profiler, but the man beneath all that. The one who was just as scared of opening up, just as afraid of failing the people he loved.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "For this. For not letting me push you away."

You offered him a small smile, one that felt more real than anything you’d given him before. "Don’t thank me yet," you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. "I’m still going to make your life hell in the field."

Hotch let out a soft chuckle, the sound breaking the tension in the room like a breath of fresh air. "I’d expect nothing less," he said, the warmth returning to his gaze. "In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t."

The two of you stood there, hands still linked, the silence stretching out but not uncomfortable anymore. It was filled with a promise, an unspoken understanding that things had changed between you—that neither of you was quite as alone as you used to be.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bullpen was buzzing with the usual chatter as the team wrapped up another case. The mood was lighter than it had been in days, and everyone seemed relieved to have a few moments to breathe. You stood at your desk, reviewing some final notes when you felt that familiar presence beside you.

"Y/L/N," Hotch said in his even tone, but there was a hint of playfulness in his eyes that only you could see. "I noticed a couple of discrepancies in your report. Care to explain?"

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as you turned to face him. "Oh, Hotchner, I didn’t realize you were that nitpicky," you said, leaning in just a fraction. "I thought you were more of a big-picture kind of guy."

Hotch’s lips curved into that maddening smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Details matter," he replied, his voice dropping a notch. "And if I didn’t keep you on your toes, where’s the fun in that?"

The rest of the team was watching this exchange with poorly concealed amusement. Morgan exchanged a look with JJ, and Garcia's eyes were practically sparkling with glee.

"You two are at it again," Morgan said, shaking his head with a grin. "I swear, the tension between you two is so thick we could cut it with a knife."

"More like set it on fire," JJ added, nudging Garcia, who was already leaning forward, her mouth wide with anticipation.

"Oh, please," you said with a mock roll of your eyes, but your smirk was undeniable. "If Hotchner could actually manage to light a fire, he’d probably try to put it out just to avoid making a mess."

Hotch’s eyebrow shot up at that, and he took a small step closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I don’t know, Y/N," he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a challenging glint. "I think you’d be surprised at how good I am at playing with fire."

The room went silent for a beat, the rest of the team exchanging looks that screamed oh my God, did he just say that?

Garcia’s jaw dropped dramatically. "Okay, that’s it!" she exclaimed, pointing between you and Hotch. "There is no way you two don’t have some unresolved sexual tension going on here. Spill the beans!"

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, an alarm went off on the conference room monitor. Garcia’s eyes widened as she quickly typed on her laptop. "We’ve got an urgent update from the field team," she said, all traces of her previous amusement gone. "It looks like the suspect we apprehended escaped during transfer."

Hotch’s face shifted instantly into his no-nonsense mode, all traces of flirtation gone as he snapped back into action. "Everyone, gather your gear," he ordered. "We’re heading out now."

As you all hurried to grab your things, you felt Hotch’s hand on your arm, his grip just a bit tighter than usual. "Stay close," he said, his voice low and serious. "I don’t want any surprises."

You nodded, but there was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—a look that sent a thrill through you despite the situation. You didn’t have time to dwell on it as you jumped into the SUV, your focus shifting to the task at hand.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The stand-off had gone sideways fast. The unsub, cornered and desperate, made a reckless move, and in the chaos that followed, Hotch took a hit—a deep gash to his arm from a knife as he shielded you from the unsub. He stayed in control, his face a mask of determination as he secured the suspect, but you could see the pain etched in the tight lines around his mouth.

"Hotch!" you shouted, rushing to his side the second the threat was neutralized. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay focused, your eyes darting over the wound. "You couldn’t just dodge or take a step back like a normal person?"

He gave you a half-smile that somehow still had that infuriating charm. "I had to make sure you had a clear shot," he said, his voice calm despite the blood seeping through his sleeve. "Besides, if I’d let you take the hit, you’d never let me live it down."

"Yeah, well, now you’re stuck listening to me complain about your lack of self-preservation," you muttered, shaking your head even as you helped him over to the waiting ambulance.

The paramedics wasted no time guiding Hotch into the back of the ambulance, their hands moving efficiently as they assessed the wound. You followed closely, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the sight of blood seeping through his sleeve made your stomach twist with worry you couldn’t quite hide.

"How bad is it?" you asked the nearest paramedic, doing your best to sound calm even though your insides were in knots.

"Deep cut," the paramedic said as he worked quickly to clean and bandage Hotch’s arm. "He’ll need stitches but no major damage. He got lucky."

Hotch’s eyes flicked up to yours, a small smirk forming on his lips despite the pain. "Lucky, huh?" he said, his voice slightly strained but still holding that familiar edge of sarcasm. "Looks like I’m harder to get rid of than you thought."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and for a moment, your guard slipped completely. The rush of adrenaline from the standoff was fading, leaving nothing but raw fear and relief in its wake. Without thinking, you reached out and gave his good shoulder a light but frustrated punch.

"You reckless idiot," you muttered, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? You scared the hell out of me, Hotch."

The words came out harsher than you intended, your emotions bubbling to the surface faster than you could control them. Hotch’s smirk softened into something gentler, more genuine, and he looked at you like he was seeing right through your bravado to the fear and vulnerability beneath.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his tone different now—gentler, sincere. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

But before he could say anything more, you felt your chest tighten, overwhelmed by how close you’d come to losing him. Hotch reached out slowly, his uninjured hand wrapping around yours, holding on in a way that felt both grounding and intimate. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and you didn’t pull away.

Hotch hesitated, then reached out to gently touch your hand, his voice almost a whisper, "I’m right here, even if you don’t know what to do with that."

You blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, and you squeezed his hand harder than you meant to.

"You infuriating man," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold onto the last shred of your composure. "You just had to go and make me care, didn’t you?"

The laugh that escaped Hotch was soft, almost disbelieving, and his eyes were filled with something you’d never seen before—something that made your chest tighten and your defenses crumble even more.

"I’m glad you care," he said, so quietly that it was almost lost in the noise around you. "More than you know."

Your breath hitched at his words, and you bit your lip to keep the tears at bay. Desperate to deflect, you let go of his hand and turned away, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

"You had to make me feel something, didn’t you?" you said, throwing him a wry smile over your shoulder as you blinked back the tears that refused to fall. "Next time, try not to make a mess of it, okay?"

Hotch's eyes softened as he looked at you, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. "No promises," he said, a warmth in his gaze that wrapped around you like a lifeline. "But I'll try not to scare you again."

You nodded, biting your lip to keep your composure, and then without another word, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. You needed to get some distance before you completely fell apart in front of him.

But as you reached the end of the ambulance, you heard his voice, softer and closer than you expected. "Y/N," he called out, making you pause. "You know I’m not going anywhere, right?"

You didn’t turn back, but you felt the faintest smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "You’d better not," you said, voice just loud enough for him to hear. "You’ve got a lot to make up for."

And as you walked away, you realized that letting him in didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the only choice that made sense.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hours later, after a tense and exhausting standoff, the team finally returned to the BAU headquarters. Everyone was drained, their nerves frayed from the adrenaline crash, but there was a palpable sense of relief in the air—the suspect had been recaptured, and despite the close call, no one was seriously hurt.

But you couldn’t shake the image of Hotch sitting in the back of that ambulance, blood staining his sleeve, his eyes meeting yours with that maddening calmness he always managed to keep. The memory made your chest feel tight, like something was lodged there that you couldn’t swallow down.

You headed to the quiet of the briefing room, too wired to sit still. You started pacing, the adrenaline from the night's chaos still buzzing through your veins. All you could think about was how close you’d come to losing him and how much that realization had rattled you more than you wanted to admit.

Just as you were about to let out a frustrated sigh, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning around, you found Hotch standing in the doorway. His usually neat tie was loosened, and his composed demeanor seemed a little frayed around the edges.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"Yeah," you said, but your voice wavered, betraying the emotions that had been building all night. "Just trying to come down from the rush, you know?"

Hotch stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, the room suddenly feeling too small to contain everything unspoken between you. His injured arm was bandaged, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room.

"You handled yourself well out there," he said, his voice steady but tinged with something else—something like pride, mixed with relief and maybe even a touch of vulnerability. "You always do."

You gave a shaky smile, but you couldn’t help the words that slipped out next. "You didn’t have to get hurt for me to prove it, you know," you said, your voice cracking just a little. "What were you thinking out there?"

Hotch's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I was thinking," he said, meeting your eyes with that steady, unwavering gaze, "that if it came down to protecting you or getting a scratch, I’d take the scratch every time."

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, your defenses slipping in a way that was becoming too familiar. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head. "Always playing the hero, aren’t you?"

"Only when it matters," he said softly, taking another step closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, the kind that sent a rush of warmth straight through you. "You’re important to this team—to me."

The air between you was crackling with the kind of tension that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. It was as if all the arguments, the banter, the fire had been leading up to this moment, and you both knew it.

"Hotch," you said, barely more than a whisper, taking a step closer to him. "What are we doing here?"

He took a deep breath, and you watched as his gaze flicked down to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. There was a crack in his usual stoic demeanor, the tiniest flicker of vulnerability shining through, like he was finally letting you see the part of him he always kept hidden from the world.

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t look like the unshakeable leader of the BAU—he looked like a man on the edge, torn between staying in control and letting his guard drop completely.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice rough, tinged with a hint of something you’d never heard from him before—fear, maybe, or hope. "I’ve spent a long time pretending this wasn’t happening... I don’t think I can anymore."

He took another step closer, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, like he was terrified of making a move that couldn’t be undone. 

His voice softened, almost to a whisper, as he added, "I’ve been trying to ignore this," he admitted softly, his eyes never leaving yours, "but it’s not that simple anymore."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air right out of your lungs. You’d always known he was guarded, that he kept his distance as a way to protect himself, but hearing him say it out loud, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes—it shook you to your core.

For a heartbeat, you stood there, your emotions tangled, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The weight of his words, the confession in his voice, crashed over you like a wave, breaking down every last wall you’d built between you.

"I don’t know how to do this either," you said, your own voice barely holding together, a touch of desperation leaking into your words. "I’m so used to keeping people out, and then you come along and—" You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. "You scare me, Hotch. This scares me."

His gaze softened even further, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he reached for your hand, holding it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice so gentle it almost broke you. "Not with me."

The tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes held yours with so much quiet intensity, like you were the only person who existed in that moment—it was more than you could take. And then, with a boldness you didn’t know you had, you reached up, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss that was anything but gentle—fierce, desperate, a release of all the frustration and desire you’d been bottling up for so long.

The moment your lips met, it was like the world stopped turning. The kiss was electric, searing, filled with all the unspoken words and pent-up tension that had been building between you. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a collision—a clash of everything you’d both held back, all the things you were too afraid to say out loud.

Hotch responded instantly, his good hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His kiss was just as intense as yours, almost rough, like he was staking a claim, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath mingling with yours, and he kissed you like he was pouring everything he had into it—all the fear, all the hope, all the need he’d been trying so hard to hide.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for breath, you saw that the mask had shattered completely. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you’d seen before—raw, open, unguarded. Finally, you saw Aaron Hotchner not as your stoic boss or your sparring partner but as the man who had somehow slipped past every defense you’d ever built.

"You," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and relief, "You make everything so damn complicated."

Hotch’s lips curled into a slow, almost wicked smile, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he held you close. "And you wouldn’t have it any other way," he said, his voice low, roughened with emotion.

"Maybe not," you said, a shaky laugh escaping despite the tears welling in your eyes. "But damn you, Hotch…you’re going to ruin me."

He brushed his lips against your forehead, soft and lingering, his breath warm on your skin. "Only if you let me," he whispered a promise in his voice that made your chest tighten almost painfully. "And I really hope you let me."

At this moment, you realized that maybe letting your guard down wasn’t a sign of weakness; maybe it was the bravest thing you’d ever done. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to be brave with him.

Just as the charged silence wrapped around you both, the door to the briefing room swung open. You and Hotch sprang apart, a little too quickly, both of you turning to see Derek Morgan standing there with an expression that was equal parts surprise and amusement.

Morgan's eyes flicked between you and Hotch, taking in the slightly disheveled look on both of your faces. A grin spread slowly across his face, and he raised an eyebrow in mock innocence. "Whoa," he said, holding up his hands as if surrendering. "Did I just walk in on something, or is this one of those 'don't ask, don't tell' situations?"

You felt your cheeks heat up instantly, your mind scrambling for a response. But before you could even open your mouth, Hotch, ever composed and unreadable, turned to Morgan with the kind of calm authority that only he could pull off.

"We're just wrapping up, Morgan," Hotch said, his voice steady, but there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—one that only you seemed to notice. He kept his gaze locked on Morgan, his posture relaxed yet still protective, as though daring anyone to comment further.

Morgan's grin widened, but he knew better than to push his boss too far. He gave you both a knowing nod, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, alright," he said, backing out of the doorway with his hands still raised. "I’ll let you two get back to 'wrapping things up.' Just remember, Hotch, the team’s got eyes everywhere."

As soon as Morgan disappeared, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a half-laugh escaping your lips. You turned back to Hotch, who met your gaze with a look that was a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement.

"Well," you said, shaking your head with a smile, "that went better than expected."

Hotch's lips twitched into a wry smile, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "You realize this isn’t going to go unnoticed by the rest of the team," he said, his tone a little softer now, almost conspiratorial.

"Oh, I know," you replied, your smile turning playful. "But I’m not planning on making it easy for them."

Hotch’s gaze held yours for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you—an agreement, a promise, that whatever came next, you’d face it together. And with that, the tension in the room shifted once more, the unspoken understanding between you deepening into something neither of you could—or wanted to—deny.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The rest of the night passed in a blur of paperwork, debriefings, and quiet conversations as the team began to wind down after the exhausting case. But no matter how much you tried to focus, your mind kept drifting back to what had happened with Hotch in the briefing room—the way his touch had lingered on your waist, the heat in his eyes, and the quiet promise of something more.

You couldn't shake it. Every glance in his direction sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, a reminder of the kiss, of the way his lips had moved against yours, demanding and tender all at once. The tension between you hadn’t just simmered—it was boiling over, and the thought of leaving it unresolved made your heart race.

As the rest of the team filtered out, leaving the office empty and quiet, you found yourself lingering by your desk, unable to shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t over yet. And then, as if on cue, you felt him before you even saw him—Hotch’s presence filling the room, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approached.

When you looked up, your breath hitched at the sight of him. His tie was still loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing the bandage on his arm from earlier. There was a slight shadow of exhaustion around his eyes, but it did nothing to dampen the intensity of his gaze.

He didn’t say a word as he reached your desk, his eyes never leaving yours, and suddenly the air between you was thick with everything that had been left unsaid.

"You’re still here," he finally said, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your skin tingle.

"So are you," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he was looking at you made it nearly impossible. You swallowed, the tension between you two practically vibrating. "We need to finish this, don’t we?"

Hotch didn’t hesitate. His lips quirked into the faintest smile as he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "I think we do," he said, his voice dropping an octave. His gaze flicked to your lips for just a moment before meeting your eyes again, and you could see the unspoken question in them—are you ready for this?

You were.

He stood close, closer than he ever had before, his fingers brushing the back of your hand in a touch that seemed to linger just a little too long. He didn’t say anything, but the way his gaze dropped to your lips and then flicked back to your eyes spoke volumes. It was a silent question, one he wasn’t quite ready to put into words.

Without thinking, you leaned in, a slow, tentative movement that felt like testing the waters. His breath hitched, and just as your lips barely brushed his, he hesitated—only for a second—before closing the distance, his kiss soft and controlled, as though he was savoring a secret he’d kept locked away for too long.

Hotch responded instantly, his good arm snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against him, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that made your head spin. His kiss was demanding, fierce like he was making up for every moment of restraint, every fight, every time he’d held back. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you to him, deepening the kiss as his tongue grazed your lower lip.

You let out a soft gasp, and he took the opportunity to take control, his tongue slipping past your lips in a way that sent a jolt of heat straight through you. You pressed against him harder, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to get closer, to feel every inch of him.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and it was like something inside you snapped. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him pull back, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

"Careful," he warned, his voice rough and low, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and control. "You’re playing with fire."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I thought you liked that."

His grip on your waist tightened, and before you could tease him again, he spun you around, pressing your back against the nearest wall with a swift, fluid movement that left you breathless. His body pinned you there, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared down at you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

"I do," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as his hand slid beneath your shirt, his fingers skimming over your skin in a way that made your pulse race. "But I don’t think you know just how far I’m willing to go."

You shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers grazed the curve of your waist, his lips tracing a hot path down the side of your neck. "Then show me," you whispered, barely able to form the words as the heat between you both threatened to overwhelm you.

Hotch’s lips curled into a wicked smile against your skin, and without another word, he kissed you again—harder this time, more demanding, more possessive. His hands explored your body with a hunger that matched your own, sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt, tracing every curve, every dip, until you were arching against him, desperate for more.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling to unbutton it as you kissed him back with just as much intensity, your heart pounding in your chest as the desire between you grew hotter, more insistent.

"Y/N," he groaned, his breath hot against your lips as you finally managed to push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands exploring the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. "God, you’re going to drive me crazy."

You smiled against his mouth, tugging him closer. "Good," you breathed, your voice a mix of teasing and need. "I’ve been waiting for this."

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his hands sliding down your body until they were gripping your hips, holding you tight against him as he kissed you again, harder, deeper. It felt like you were both caught in a storm, a whirlwind of desire that neither of you could control, and you didn’t want to.

You didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, how many times you lost yourself in the feel of his lips on yours, the heat of his body against yours. All you knew was that it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough.

When Hotch finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest. He stared down at you, his eyes dark and full of desire, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that went beyond the heat of the moment.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "I think I do," you whispered, your voice soft, full of affection and heat.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the intensity of what had just happened settling between you like a silent promise. But the fire was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to burn even hotter.

The air in the bullpen was electric, the tension between you and Hotch almost crackling as you both stood there, chests heaving, lips swollen from the kiss you’d just shared. The reality of where you were hit you like a bucket of cold water, and you glanced around, grateful that the rest of the team had already gone home.

"Hotch," you said, voice still breathless, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him—tie askew, shirt half-unbuttoned, looking thoroughly disheveled in a way you’d never seen before. "As much as I’d love to continue this… display, I’m pretty sure the FBI frowns upon public displays of—well, whatever this is."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest, his hand still resting on your waist, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. "You make a good point," he said, his lips quirking up into that maddening smirk that drove you insane. "Wouldn’t want to scandalize the rest of the team more than we already have."

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look. "Oh, I don’t know," you said, a sly smile spreading across your face. "I think Morgan’s probably got a running commentary ready for the next team meeting. Maybe we should give him more material."

Hotch’s smirk widened, a flash of mischief sparking in his eyes. "You really are trouble, aren’t you?" he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I knew it the moment you walked into the BAU."

"You sure that’s what you thought?" you shot back, your voice laced with challenge. "Because I’m pretty sure the first thing you said to me was how I needed to 'fall in line' if I wanted to survive on this team."

Hotch let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded like he was finally letting himself enjoy this. "And you’ve been driving me crazy ever since," he said, his voice softer, almost reverent, as his thumb brushed across your cheek. "In the best possible way."

You felt your cheeks flush, but you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face, the one you couldn’t hide anymore. "You know," you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone shifting back to playful, "for a man who claims to be the master of control, you really have a habit of losing it around me."

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning almost predatory as he leaned in, his lips brushing just shy of your ear. "Oh, I haven't lost control yet," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "But keep pushing, and I might just have to show you what that really looks like."

Your breath hitched, and you had to fight the urge to pull him back into another kiss right then and there. Instead, you pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him back just slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Promises, promises, Hotchner," you said with a wink. "But you’re right—we should probably get out of here before this turns into an official FBI incident."

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but the fire in his eyes never dimmed. "My place or yours?" he asked, the question laced with a hint of playfulness that made your heart skip a beat.

You pretended to think about it for a moment, your lips quirking up into a sly grin. "Yours," you said decisively. "Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m too comfortable letting you into my world just yet. Gotta keep you on your toes."

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his smirk widening into a full grin. "Ah, so we’re back to this, are we?" he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe how much he was enjoying this. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m going to let you win our next argument."

You laughed, the sound coming out light and genuine, surprising even yourself. "Hotch," you said, leaning in close enough that your lips almost brushed his, "you never had a chance of winning. I’ve been three steps ahead of you since day one."

His expression softened, his eyes locking onto yours with that intensity that always made you feel like he was seeing right through you. "And that’s exactly why I’m not letting you out of my sight," he said, his voice rough with honesty. "You’ve already got me hooked."

Your teasing smile faltered for a heartbeat at the sincerity in his voice, and you felt the air between you shift—deepening into something more than just banter, more than the physical pull you couldn’t resist. You reached up, cupping his jaw in your hand, and for a moment, you let yourself just look at him—this man who’d somehow become everything you never knew you needed.

"You coming or what, Hotchner?" you finally said, pulling back just enough to flash him a challenging smile, the one he loved to see on your face.

He let out a breath, his smile softening into something almost tender. "Oh, I’m coming," he said, taking your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulled you toward the elevator. "And don’t think for a second that I’m letting you out of my sight."

As the elevator doors closed behind you, the teasing banter between you faded into silence, replaced by a different kind of tension—one that promised tonight was only the beginning of something that neither of you could walk away from now.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The car ride to Hotch’s apartment was silent but not the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind of silence that crackled with tension, filled with every word neither of you dared to speak aloud. Every glance he stole in your direction made your pulse quicken; every brush of his hand against yours made your breath hitch just a little. You were both wound tight, like two live wires sparking dangerously close.

When you finally reached his place, Hotch opened the door with a practiced calm, but you could see the fire still simmering just beneath his composed exterior. He let you step inside first, and the second the door clicked shut behind you, something seemed to shift between you—a silent understanding that whatever happened next would change everything.

"You know," you said, turning to face him, your voice teasing but your smile almost too genuine, "I never thought I’d end up here, with you, of all people."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he took a slow step toward you. "Trust me," he said, his voice low and rough, "I never planned on it either. But somehow, you’ve got a way of turning my plans upside down."

You let out a breathless laugh, the kind that felt like a release of all the pent-up tension between you. "I guess I have a knack for getting under your skin, huh?" you teased, taking a step closer to him, so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Under my skin?" Hotch murmured, his gaze darkening as he reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. "You’ve done a lot more than that."

He leaned in, his lips just a breath away from yours, the anticipation almost unbearable. But before he could close the distance, you pulled back slightly, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"Easy there, Hotchner," you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Are you sure you can handle this? I wouldn’t want you to lose control on me now."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, and in one swift movement, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and teasing. "Oh, I’m more than ready," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "but don’t think for a second that I’m letting you call the shots tonight."

Before you could muster a retort, his lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, a raw release of everything you’d both been holding back. This wasn’t the careful, testing kiss from before—this was a battle of wills, a clash of all the fire and passion that had been building between you for so long.

You responded just as fiercely, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, your mouth opening under his, desperate to taste every inch of him. His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight as he pressed his body against yours, pinning you to the wall in a way that left no space between you.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Come on, Hotchner, that’s the best you can do? I thought you’d at least make me work for it."

His eyes flashed with something wild and hungry, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough like gravel, "I’m just getting started."

Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle, and carried you through the hallway, his lips never straying far from yours. He kicked open the door to his bedroom, the darkness of the room swallowed up by the heat between you two. He set you down on the bed with a deliberate slowness, his eyes drinking you in like he was memorizing every detail.

"You have no idea how much you’ve messed with my head," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and longing as he leaned over you, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "How many nights I’ve spent wanting you, hating you for making me feel this way."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Believe me," you said softly, all the teasing gone from your voice, "I know exactly how you feel."

Hotch's expression shifted then, something raw and unguarded flickering in his eyes, and he crashed his lips onto yours again, this time with a desperation that bordered on reverence. He kissed you like he was pouring all his unspoken words into it—all the frustration, the longing, the need that he’d kept buried for so long.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off him in one swift motion, and his hands followed suit, sliding under your top, lifting it over your head with a quick, impatient motion. His fingers traced the bare skin of your waist, sending shivers down your spine as he drank in the sight of you like he was seeing something he’d been waiting for his entire life.

"You make this harder than it needs to be," he said, his voice a rough whisper against your lips, his hands caressing your skin with a touch that was both tender and possessive. "But I wouldn’t have it any other way."

"Good," you murmured, your lips brushing his as you smiled, that fiery spark still dancing in your eyes. "Because I’m not done driving you crazy yet."

His answering laugh was low and rough, a sound that made your toes curl. "Bring it on," he growled, his mouth crashing onto yours once more, claiming you with a kiss that left no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing.

This wasn’t just a moment. This was everything—the culmination of all the fights, the banter, the fire you had both sparked from the beginning. The dance had finally peaked, and you knew there was no going back now.

As he pulled you closer, his hands mapping every inch of your body with a hunger that matched your own, you realized that you didn’t want to go back. Not to the arguments, not to the distance, not to the days of pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

Whatever this was—this fire, this madness, this undeniable connection—you were both all in, ready to let it burn as bright and as hot as it needed to.

And as his lips moved over yours, the night stretching out ahead of you, one thought echoed in your mind with a clarity that was impossible to ignore: This was only the beginning.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first light of dawn crept through the blinds of Hotch’s bedroom, casting soft shadows across the room. You blinked awake, a lazy smile spreading across your face as the events of the night slowly came rushing back—how it had started with teasing banter and ended with the two of you tangled together in ways that left no room for ambiguity.

You turned your head slightly to see Hotch lying next to you; his face softened in sleep, a look of peacefulness that you rarely saw on him. The lines of stress and worry that usually creased his brow were smoothed out, his breathing even and slow. At this moment, he looked almost boyish, vulnerable in a way that made your heart squeeze just a little.

Careful not to wake him, you let yourself watch him for a moment longer, taking in this rare sight of Aaron Hotchner—not the stoic leader of the BAU, not your sparring partner in the bullpen, but just a man who’d let his walls down for you.

Just then, Hotch’s eyes fluttered open, and the soft sleepiness was quickly replaced by that intense gaze that never failed to set your pulse racing. He gave you a small, almost shy smile—a look you hadn’t seen on him before and one that did dangerous things to your heart.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and rough from sleep, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"Morning," you replied, unable to keep the smile from your face as you met his gaze. "So, about last night…"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he raised an eyebrow in that infuriatingly charming way of his. "You mean the part where you practically tackled me against the wall or the part where you admitted you’ve been three steps ahead of me this whole time?"

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, please," you said, leaning in slightly. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who said you were 'just getting started,' Hotchner."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your bare shoulder. "But I have to say, if this is what happens when we stop fighting, I’m not sure I want to go back."

You paused, the teasing smile fading slightly as you looked at him, something softer, more vulnerable settling in your chest. "You’re really okay with this?" you asked, your voice quieter now, the question carrying more weight than you intended.

Hotch’s expression shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper, something that spoke of sincerity and warmth. He reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "More than okay," he said softly, his eyes locked on yours. "I know this changes everything, and that scares me a little—but not as much as the thought of pretending this didn’t mean something."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stopped you with a gentle press of his lips against yours—a kiss that was so different from the ones last night. It was soft, slow, like he was savoring the taste of something he’d finally allowed himself to have.

When he pulled back, you gave him a lopsided smile, your voice teasing but with a hint of tenderness. "You know, for a guy who spent so much time trying to get me to fall in line, you’re awfully good at breaking your own rules."

Hotch let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe I’ve always been a little too good at breaking them when it comes to you," he said, a hint of that old mischief dancing in his eyes. "Besides, it’s only fair—you’ve been breaking down my walls from the start."

You arched an eyebrow, smirking at him. "Who knew all it took to get through to the great Aaron Hotchner was a little bit of sass and a lot of stubbornness?"

"Trust me," he said, his smile turning soft, almost shy again, "it’s more than just the sass and stubbornness. You’ve always had a way of seeing through the tough exterior, straight to the heart of it all. Even when I didn’t want you to."

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and for once, you found yourself speechless. You stared at him, the man who had always seemed so distant, so unreachable, now lying here beside you with his guard completely down.

"You know," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper, "I didn’t expect this to happen."

"Neither did I," Hotch admitted, his hand tightening around yours, "but I’m not sorry it did."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I’m not sure how we’re going to explain this to the team. You know they’ll never let us live it down."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "Oh, I’m counting on it," he said, leaning in closer until his lips were just a breath away from yours. "Besides, I’m pretty sure they already have us pegged as the bickering married couple of the team. This will just confirm their suspicions."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. "Oh great, so now we’re giving them material for years to come. Just what I needed."

Hotch chuckled, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was playful and sweet yet still carrying that hint of fire that never seemed to go away. "Well, if we’re going to give them something to talk about," he murmured against your lips, "we might as well make it worth their while."

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into a smirk as you gave him a light shove. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, pulling you back into his arms, his voice a low whisper against your ear. "And you wouldn’t have it any other way."

You realized he was right. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The fire, the fights, the laughter—it was all a part of what had led you here, to this moment, to him.

And as the morning light continued to filter through the window, warming the room, you knew that whatever happened next, you and Hotch were in it together.

And that was more than enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Walking into the BAU the next morning felt different—like the air itself had changed. As you and Hotch stepped into the bullpen, you couldn’t help the way your shoulders brushed, the way his gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than usual. The two of you had agreed to keep things professional, at least while on the job, but there was an undeniable shift between you—like a secret that wasn’t much of a secret at all.

As you both moved to your respective desks, trying your best to look like everything was perfectly normal, you were acutely aware of the way the team's eyes tracked your every move. Morgan and JJ were huddled near the coffee station, grinning like they were in on the world’s biggest joke, while Garcia’s jaw practically hit the floor the second she spotted you two.

"Well, well, well," Morgan said, straightening up with a grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. "If it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence. How was the night, you two?"

You rolled your eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. "Please," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, "you act like this is something new. We’ve been driving each other crazy for months."

"Oh, trust me, we noticed," JJ chimed in, her grin just as wide as Morgan’s. "But judging by the way you two walked in this morning, I’m guessing the banter took a… different turn last night?"

Hotch, ever the picture of composure, adjusted his tie as if this was just another day at the office. "I’m not sure what you’re implying, JJ," he said in that calm, collected tone of his, though you could see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, come on, Hotch," Garcia said, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. "So, anything new happening here that we should know about?

"Remind me to never play poker with any of you," you said dryly, raising an eyebrow at the lot of them. "You can’t hide anything."

Morgan leaned against his desk, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. "And here I thought the toughest thing to crack in this office was the newest unsub," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Turns out, it was the two of you."

Hotch offered a small, controlled smile, giving Morgan a pointed look but saying nothing, his silence more telling than any words.

"Exactly," you said, turning to Hotch with a grin. "Might as well own up to the fact that I’ve been right all along, and you’ve been falling behind since day one."

"Oh, is that how you remember it?" Hotch replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "I seem to recall you being the one who couldn’t keep up."

You felt a laugh bubbling up, the banter between you as natural as ever, but now it was tinged with something lighter, something softer. "Keep telling yourself that, Hotchner," you said, crossing your arms with a teasing smile. "We both know I’m the one who’s three steps ahead."

Morgan let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, this is going to be fun to watch," he said. "You two are never going to stop, are you?"

Hotch gave Morgan a look that was both calm and controlled, but there was a slight softening at the corner of his mouth, a hint of a smile that only you would recognize. "Let's try to keep it professional," he said in his usual authoritative tone, though you could see the glimmer of amusement hidden in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his response, the challenge still present between you even if he wasn’t openly saying it. "Of course, Hotch," you said with a touch of mock seriousness. "I wouldn’t dream of making things too easy for you."

Hotch’s lips twitched ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he turned back to his desk, his expression as unreadable as ever to the rest of the team. But in that brief glance, you saw it—the silent promise, the unspoken words that lingered between you: this is far from over.

The rest of the team exchanged amused glances, their smiles wide and knowing. It was clear that this was the moment they’d all been waiting for, the confirmation of what they’d suspected for far too long.

As the team gradually settled back into their usual routine, you felt Hotch’s hand brush lightly against yours, a subtle touch that sent a thrill through you. You turned to look at him, and he gave you a small, private smile—a look that was meant only for you.

"Think you can handle the rest of the day without causing too much trouble?" he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

"I don’t know," you said, leaning in just a little closer, your voice a soft whisper only he could hear. "Trouble seems to be the one thing I’m really good at."

Hotch’s smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, a glimmer of affection in his eyes. "Good," he said softly. "Because I have a feeling we’re just getting started."

And as the day carried on, with the team throwing you both teasing looks and sly smiles, you knew that things were never going to be the same again. The banter, the fire, the arguments—they were still there, but now they were wrapped in something new, something deeper.

And this time, you were both all in, ready to face whatever came next together.

The worst-kept secret in the BAU was out, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[impishjesters]

Aggression Distraction

warning(s): canonical character..death? (it's Kaufmo), nondescript type of panic/anxiety attack (honestly the whole thing glosses over exactly what type of mental state you are in, just that you aren't doing so hot after that experience), cursing, minor suggestive content note(s): This can be read stand-alone but goes in hand with my previous post about Jax with a partner (platonic or romantic) who suffers from depression/suicidal tendencies. Can be read as platonic or romantic but written with more romantic intention in mind, consider it like pre-dating romantics or whatever. A/N: It's worth mentioning that Jax's behavior is a little back and forth, which is intentional. This stuff is new territory for him, but you matter to him so he's trying to be a rock for you, he's just gonna be a little shit while doing it though. ♥ AO3 version

With the latest addition of Pomni and the recent departure of Kaufmo, things had taken a slight turn from the usual day-to-day. You weren’t particularly close to Kaufmo, but to see him abstracted like that? Someone you knew, for god knows how long to just..stop existing like that?

It was horrifying.

As nonchalant as Jax had been over the whole thing like he’d seen it a million times, it had yet to leave your brain. Even days later. Days? It’s still hard to tell the passing of time.

Jax had taken notice when your gaze lingered on Kaufmo’s old room, the large red ‘X’ over his face. Every time he’d swing by your room to pick you up or drop you off he’d catch you staring, and he knew it wasn’t a good thing. Sure, nobody really liked Kaufmo, and you knew him for an even shorter time than them, but he had an inkling what had you so..distracted for a better term.

The first day or two after the events left everyone a little thrown off. Pomni stuck by Ragatha like a little duckling, Gangle had taken to trying to fix her comedy mask, Zooble did whatever Zooble does, and Kinger? Yeah, nobody cared what he did. But you? You distanced yourself or tried to at least, Jax was never far behind.

It was sweet really, he’s still getting the hang of this whole situation the two of you got going on and it’s been going on for a while. Honestly? It’s almost scary how well he knows you and is able to silently confront you without you realizing something’s even wrong, like some weird sniffer dog.

The thought makes you giggle.

Jax’s head lifts and his gaze falls to you with a brow raised, it’s not the first time you’ve randomly giggled but usually there’s a reason, generally something he did. And he wasn’t doing shit worth giggling over. Waving him off that it’s nothing he shrugs it off and goes back to his little task that his torso is blocking.

To be honest, you aren’t even sure what he’s doing anymore, he kinda just showed up and said “I need my favourite doll for this new little prank, so get off your butt and come to my room.” And then proceeded to drag you off your bed and over his shoulder like a sack of rice into his room.

A prank that he has still yet to tell you if there even is one.

During the time spent together, there’s something you’ve managed to pick up in the way he always goes with the crowd. Sure there are times he’s alone, but it’s different, it’s like he wants to be alone compared to the times he seemed to be following others around simply because he didn’t want to be by himself. It was something you yourself used to do after all. Hanging out with people you didn’t really care about simply so you weren’t completely alone.

Now if you tried to confront him on this little theory, he’d no doubt make some comment about how he’s not sure if it’s sweet or creepy that you’re staring at him so intently. Then immediately follow up with some spiel about how he can’t watch funny stuff happen to others if he’s alone. “Think of all the funny shit I’d miss!” Or whatever.

“Are you ever going to tell me what this latest ‘prank’ is?”

“Mmm..” he hums as if debating, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell you it’ll be a—“nope!” Called it.

You wanna call him out that there isn’t even a prank, he’s not even doing anything other than sitting there polishing a…bowling ball? You sit up from your spot on his bed confused. “Is that.. the bowling ball from—”

“What you think I went back down to that creepy place just for this exact bowling ball?” he scoffs, this place has plenty of the damn things he doesn’t need that one.

As tempting as you wanna say yes, you know just how lazy and manipulative he can be. “You? No. Making someone else fetch it with some excuse about how it’s got meaning and worth to you? Now that I can see.”

His eyes squint as he throws a grin over his shoulder at you, one that looks almost painful if not for the fact that he’s almost always grinning.

“You know me too well sugar,” he turns to face you, bowling ball balancing in his hand like it weighs nothing to him, “but I hate to break it to you. This really is just a different bowling ball, but now you got me wanting to send Gangle down to see if she’ll actually do it.”

“Behave.” You playfully chide. It’d be hypocritical to say “poor Gangle” after all, you’ve also sent her on a wild goose chase once or twice, even if you felt a tad guilty later on.

He scoffs and places a gloved hand on his chest in mock offense. “I always behave. I’m the textbook definition of the word gentleman.”

“Oh yeah? In what book?” Slipping off his bed, you walk over to him and reach out to the bowling ball only for him to yank it out of reach. Even sitting the bastard has enough reach to keep anything away from you.

Jax waves his arm about every time you try to reach for the ball, there’s no real reason to keep it from you, he’s just fucking around at this point. Plus this little endeavor has kept you distracted and him mildly entertained. “Oh, now that’s just rude doll, have a heart.” You stop trying to get the ball and he waggles it at you like he’s trying to tempt an animal. “You don’t think I’m a gentleman?”

“A man? Yes.” You scoff and push the ball out of your face. “Gentle? Only when you want to be.”

He hisses and tosses the ball aside letting it roll away, no longer finding it fun. “So harsh, you really do wound me.”

You flinch at the loud thud, unsurprising at the lack of dent the ball should have created under normal circumstances. “Oh bite me.”

“Is that an invitation?” His shit-eating grin nearly splits his face in two, it’s a shame the others aren’t around, he loves seeing their reactions when the two of you banter like this.

Like an old married couple.

You roll your eyes and step into his personal bubble, one of his ears twitches out of habit and his shoulders tense but they gradually relax as you get yourself situated on his lap.

It takes everything in him not to spit out something insultingly sweet, he’s heavily aware of your mental state right now and that wouldn’t help. Though he really wants to joke about how this definitely seems like an invitation seeing as how you’ve walked into his bubble and made yourself at home on his lap. Maybe later.

Silence falls between the two of you, huddled up against him with your face buried into his chest. He pulls the blanket off his bed and drapes it around you, it’s not cold per say, but you had voiced once that you still liked the habit of curling up into a blanket. Specifically how you were a fan of blanket sushi? Much to his original confusion.

“You know I’ve seen some pretty gross things wrapped in seaweed, you by far are the grossest sushi-filling doll.”

To which your immediate reaction was to question whether or not he’d still try and eat you. That was definitely not something he thought would leave your mouth. Luckily his quick tongue bit back something along the lines of “Not while the playschool toys are around baby”.

Jax placed one hand on your back applying light pressure while rubbing small circles, the other falling loosely to rest on your lower back. Your arms tightened around him and he gave you a squeeze back, when you got too embarrassed early on to keep asking for him to squeeze you the two of you settled on this unspoken method of asking. And it wasn’t always limited to full-body squeezing either, you’d squeeze his hand, arm, or leg and he’d squeeze back.

The longer the silence went the more his irritation grew, not at you though, just overall irritation at the silence, at seeing you like this. Kaufmo’s abstraction itself wasn’t what had you like this, he knew you thought of it more like Kaufmo dying. Which, who’s to say that you weren’t wrong for thinking that? That thing wasn’t Kaufmo, and now he’s in the cellar doing whatever it is abstracted things do. If Caine couldn’t fix them they might as well be considered dead.

The topic of death and dying almost never came up in day-to-day conversation, maybe a joke here or there but nothing like this. And you were doing so well too.

If he had the ability to fall asleep he would’ve, not that it wasn’t cozy and domestic as shit being all huddled up with you, but he was getting bored. His leg began to wiggle, lightly bouncing you in the process, something you recognized as him being antsy and an unintentional aid in soothing you.

Another squeeze to the lilac torso resulted in another returned squeeze, except unlike the first time, the grip didn’t loosen. It wasn’t suffocating but grounding, the hand on your back stopped moving, and both hands were glued to your back to apply pressure like a weighted blanket. If asked, Jax would probably lay himself on you like an actual weighted blanket—but part of you felt like he’d enjoy that too much and force you into some shitty deal to get him off of you.

The thought sparked a tiny giggle, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Jax. What the fuck were you giggling about? Meanwhile, his ass is going numb (it’s not) sitting here holding you like he’s trying to wrestle a balloon and not pop it. Mood swings aside he’s grateful for the sound, it’s not much but it shows him you were coming out of it. Especially when the giggling starts to pick back up.

“What’s so funny you little brat? Finally gone bonkers?” It’s harsh but there’s a fondness in his tone that only causes you to giggle harder. The lost grin slowly returns to his face and he purposely jostles his leg harder now, bouncing you more chaotically.

The giggle turns into a full-on laugh and he can’t help but find himself grinning more at the sound. “Okay, okay! Enough jostling, I’ll lose more brain cells if you keep it up.”

“Oh, you still have those?” He chuckles. “Here lemme just.. shake those loose too.” Both of his legs wiggle, jostling you back and forth like a boat would, his arms caging you in so you don’t actually go flying.

You let out a squeal following more giggles and hold tightly to his neck until he comes to an abrupt stop. “Jeez, that’s a real workout on the legs..” he mumbles, letting out a little exhausted sigh.

“Hey you did that all on your own, you have only yourself to blame.” Your grip doesn’t leave him in its entirety as you shift on his lap turning sideways, he loosens his grip and grumbles out a “watch it” until you settle down.

After making grabby hands at the arm not trapped behind you he rolls his eyes and relents, giving you his newly free hand. It’s obvious that Jax is pushing his limit at both sitting still and being this vulnerable, and you could keep going on and just soak up the affection full well knowing he won’t actually blow up at you. The others however will pay the price of his pent-up aggression. Perhaps you could lessen that by…

You give his palm a few gentle prods with your thumbs like it’s a squish toy before bringing it to your face, moving it in such a way that allows him to take your jaw and squish your cheeks between his thumb and fingers.

And oh boy does he squish, a bit too roughly but it’s not unbearable as he moves your head side to side. He knows what you doing, letting him have some playful aggression with you to lessen what he’ll put the others through.

You’ve done it before but it rarely does much, he’ll play nice when you’re around then subject the others to his full bull shittery when you’re gone. It does give him a good chance to just fuck with you and squish those cheeks and rattle you around, you’re at his mercy and you happen to make some particularly cute little noises after all. It’s a nice and rare chance to soak up being able to have your face in his hand without him having to subject himself to any embarrassing vulnerable shit of outright asking to touch your face in such a.. intimate-like gesture.

His internal struggles are lost on you though, simply content on his lap, in his arms letting him squish and waggle your head around. You silently count down the minutes, or guesstimate the minutes until he’s had enough and lets you go. At least this time he has the decency to help you stand versus shoving you off his lap and onto the floor.

Jax brushes the imaginary dust from his clothes and puts a hand on his hip, gesturing the free hand towards you. “We done here babe?”

You nod, rocking back and forth before shaking your head. “Lean over real quick.”

He rolls his eyes and groans but does as asked, leaning over to be on your level. Before he can ask why he’s breaking his back you lean up and press a quick kiss to the side of his mouth before pulling away and racing out of his bedroom.

The grin slips for a split second while he processes that you literally had him lean down, just to kiss him and then bolt. That face-splitting grin returns as he strolls out of his room just to see you at the end of the hall giggling like a maniac.

“You know what? I’ll give you a head start, better hope I don’t catch you!”

You bolt off with a squeal and he chuckles, maybe when he catches you he’ll just settle all that pent-up aggression toward you—he’s long overdue for an intense tease session after all.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Aahh your addition to actually girl sanji was amazing ✨ thank you

Its so funny to have them realising all the way to WCI/Wano, theyre all so silly. ALSO CHOPPER- He's new to the crew and giving them all a check up to get up to date with their physicals and he's all like 'dont worry Sanji your secret is save with me!! I wont tell anybody!!' And sanji thinks he's actually talking about the nr 3 burnmark (hc of mine that judge labeled all his children) so she's very thankful to him

Omg and the ship options... To many possibilities to choose from... Luffy going 'HES NOT A PRETTY BUT SHES A PRETTY GIRL?!!' Literally no fucks given nothing changes but he looveess the clothes and makeup nami gives sanji to wear (the liploss tastes like fruit and the dress fabric is so softt!!!)

Or sanami... Nami feeling attracted to sanji even though she's a lesbian and heaving a sexuality crisis cause is she bisexual??? But no she's still a major lesbian (or even funnier no attraction until its 'stupid guy -> stupid girl??!!!'

Honestly east blue poly would be funny as hell, so many possibilities

Also (sorry im rambling) SHES ZEFFS LITTLE GIRL 💥💥when she left with luffy, zeff 100% threatened the shit out of him (he also did this in canon but with his mind UvU) idk i fucking adore zeff and sanji protective of each other

And lastly??? All the regulars knowing??? Amazing, show stopping, ground breaking. Theyre coming to the baratie not seeing the cute waitress and when asked the staff says she has become a pirate cook of the strawhats

But whenever there's news its always talking about a guy and the wanted pictures are not so helpfull... So many possibility...

Have a nice day! Hope you had/have fun at your con :D

I'm so glad you enjoyed them! Fem!Sanji is fun to write, especially when no one knows she's a girl because how can you not know? She is Zeff's little girl! The dumb brat he gave up a leg for on a rock! She is his pride and joy, and everyone knows this!! Also, I love the idea of the burn mark and the confusion therein for Sanji because Chopper thinks she's trans masc when she's not, she's just waiting for her mom's genes to kick in more. Also the shipping, I agree with East Blue Polycule because you can fit all that in together in one go and no one is going ask questions. But I'm getting ahead of myself and skipping to the regulars first so that I can get some funny scenarios out of my head first.

First, Mihawk has watched this girl grow up and probably saw the fall out after shortly after Zeff butchered her hair. When he asked about it, he gave Zeff the most unimpressed look Zeff has ever received because good fuck he could have just braided it until they got into town? That's all he says about that because Sanji is still upset her hair is gone. Then some years later he's calling Zeff and asking when Sanji changed her gender and Zeff is confused because she hasn't but anyone and everyone are calling her a boy, even that crew she set off with. Mihawk is staring out of his office with the denden with an empty gaze as the greenhaired moron he almost slaughtered on the deck of Baratie is in his castle with one of his fellow warlords first mates and he's having a time but at least that hasn't changed.

Buggy is also probably really confused about 'Black Leg Sanji' and "his feats" and when Garp is arresting him they're debating whether or not Sanji would be a good marine until Garp calls her a boy and Buggy corrects him. Garp is staring down at the clown who looks back and is like 'wait, wait. Zeff's called her "princess" and you never questioned why he would call his son that?' to Garp's non-committal shrug of 'He's Zeff.' which, okay yeah, sure. It's Zeff but Zeff never used it in a derogatory manor. Sanji is quite literally his princess. She is the princess of the Baratie that Buggy used to do card tricks for because Zeff had no idea what the hell to do with kids.

Now onto the hilarity because East Blue Poly would be exceptionally hilarious. They all start dating and Sanji thinks Nami is going through a sexuality crisis because she's a girl where as Nami thinks Sanji's a boy and it's never cleared up. Sanji looks particularly butch because it made her life easier at Baratie, and she doesn't want to ruin dresses and skirts and blouses with cooking or blood. She also just never really wore make up unless Baratie was closed for some celebration or something, when she had a reason to doll up because she was so busy. Also she wakes up and goes to bed before and after everyone else so no one catches she's a girl. I think the hilarious exception of Ace clocking it in Alabasta and telling Luffy he's got the prettiest girl and the best cook wrapped in one is an amazing thing and Luffy goes with it but still asks why Ace called Sanji a girl and Ace is confused now. They never clear it up.

When Sanji is training and everyone is talking about forcing her into dresses Sanji is like 'I don't need to be forced, I love dresses! I just don't like ruining them with blood.' and coming back to Sabaody with a few dresses, skirts, blouses, more fem clothing and everyone is like 'you don't have to wear those if they make you uncomfortable' is sending some weird messages to her so she just doesn't wear them still. For the wrong reasons and everyone is confused. Like WCI when Sanji's in her wedding dress and fighting and mourning the blood on the dress and Luffy and Nami are asking her why she's in one because she doesn't wear that stuff and Sanji says she thought they didn't like them on her and the very quick explanation of 'we thought you were a boy!' is Sanji going 'How?' as Nami complains she had a sexuality crisis for nothing until Luffy asks about him, Zoro, and Usopp; Nami concedes that the crisis wasn't for nothing then.

Nami makes sure she's in a kimono like she and Robin are as an apology because they didn't realize that Sanji was a girl and was just dressing for convenience, she's not a boy and was a princess and she is loved.

Also my con was lovely but I'm so glad it's over.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Humans And Mutants - Chapter 10 - Logan Howlett X Female Reader

Title: It's All A Lie

Previous Chapter | Current Chapter | Next Chapter

Logan Howlett X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Jean, Scott, Kurt, Ororo, Charles, Magneto, Mystique (Mentioned), Pyro (Mentioned), Stryker (Mentioned), some of the children (Mentioned), and Mutant 143

WC: 982

Warnings: X-Men canon violence, X-Men canon storyline, brief mention of death/killing, italics, slow burn, and angst

(Sorry, if this series is a bit odd, I made this in 2018)

Ororo stared at Jean in agony. She then turned to the children, to the other X-Men, and then to Nightcrawler, who then spoke, “But, Miss Ororo…” He began, only for them all to look at her. From the look on her face, they all knew there was no debate.

“Get to the helicopter.” Ororo said to Cyclops.

Cyclops nodded, and Nightcrawler wrapped his arms around Ororo, and closed his eyes. “You have five minutes before I come in after you.” Logan said to Ororo, who nodded, her lips pursed.

“Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom comes, thy will be done, on Earth…” Nightcrawler whispered, then they both disappeared. They then reappeared and discovered themselves on the platform behind Charles in the Cerebro of Mutant 143’s vision. Nightcrawler stared in awe at the room, and the billions of white lights that were twisting above. Dark Cerebro’s hum was getting faster and faster, while the white lights brightened even more. “... As it is in Heaven.” Nightcrawler finished his prayer, in awe.

At the same time, the hum echoed throughout. Stryker pulled on the chains that were binding hom and felt the effect of Dark Cerebro pulling on his mind. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Then he heard a voice, “Mr. Stryker. How good to see you again.” Magneto spoke as Stryker lifted his head up to see both Magneto and Mystique. “It seems that we keep running into each other.” Swiftly, the chains wrapped around Stryker’s throat, strangling him; he was choking. “Mark my words, it will never happen again.” Magneto finished.

Later in the helicopter, Magneto sat next to Mystique. She pushed a button, and the propellers began to spin. She was about to pull back on the stick when she looked outside. Magneto turned to meet her gaze, his eyes narrowed curiously. Outside the helicopter was Pyro, alone, flicking his lighter open and closed. Magneto looked to Mystique for guidance, she had no answer. Magneto reached out and opened the door, and with a smile and a nod, Magento stretched his hand out as an offer to come aboard. Pyro hesitated, but then put his lighter into his pocket. He walked to the helicopter and joined them silently. The helicopter then took off, flying high into the sky. Magneto, Mystique, and Pyro; the new ally.

The little girl glanced up to see Ororo and Nightcrawler at the very end of the platform behind Charles, and just as they made eye contact, Ororo yelled, “Professor!” Her voice was as soft as a whisper against the sounds of Cerebro and the hold that the little girl had on Charles’ mind.

The platform between the little girl and Ororo started to stretch to near-infinity. The platform was so long that it looked like an endless highway expanding into a void. Cerebro was massive, the aspect was completely off. The rotating globe seemed to be the actual size of the Earth.

“I hear them… But I can’t find them.” Charles looked about with the help of Cerebro but saw nothing.

“Then increase the signal.” The little girl said stubbornly. He closed his eyes again, concentrating. The droning got louder. In the back of the platform, Ororo was running towards Charles but made no headway. The little girl suddenly appeared in front of her and glared. “Stay away.” She spoke, glaring at the women.

Ororo took another step forward anyway, against the little girl’s demanding words. The platform between her and the girl suddenly broke and fell into the abyss, creating a massive chasm between them. Ororo looked into the chasm, then closed her eyes and continued walking forward. Nightcrawler was completely terrified.

“This is just an illusion. You can't fool me. It’s all just a game.” She spoke. She stepped forward, unafraid. Her foot stepped into the abyss and she fell, screaming. Nightcrawler's tail reached down and grabbed her, pulling her back up onto the platform with him. The room rocked by the sound of another explosion. The illusion quickly fell, then re-aligned itself. The girl flashed into Mutant 143 and back again. The lights were getting brighter, the hum was getting louder and louder. Back at the control panel of Cerebro, Charles looked around, still unable to find anyone. “Professor!” Ororo yelled, her voice was very faint in his ears and mind.

Ororo and Nightcrawler looked up and saw the panels on the ceiling raining down. Ororo looked at Nightcrawler and glanced back at Charles. Nightcrawler quickly enveloped his arms around her and they disappeared, reappearing in-between Charles and the girl. The girl stared at them angrily.

“Ororo. I was just trying to find you.” Charles spoke, still unknowing of what was really going on.

“Professor, you have to stop Cerebro now.” Ororo said, desperate for it all to end.

Charles smiles, “I’m just locating the others… And showing our friend the mutants of the world.” 

The little girl smiled as Charles looked up at the billions of white lights. “These aren’t the mutants of the world.” Ororo said, leaving Charles confused and bewildered once more. “Professor, none of this is real. It’s an illusion. You have to see beyond it.” Ororo explained, trying to snap him out of it.

The little girl moved to Charles’s side. “Don’t listen to her, she’s lying!” The little girl yelled, now desperate.

“Professor! Who is this girl?” Ororo pleaded with Charles.

Charles continued to smile, “She’s a student.” Charles answered, as if it was a fact.

“You know every student in the school. Which one is she?” Ororo asked, gesturing to the child. “This is an illusion, Professor. You’ve been inside it for far too long.”

The girl's eyes quickly changed, one blue and the other green. Charles thought hard. He looked up to the white lights and back to the girl. Realization crossed his face. “Jason...”

---

@ashdoctor @powergirlsupremacy @weallhaveadestiny @amandarobertsboyce @casey162

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Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

[marley-manson]

I would love to hear any "director's commentary" you have on Army Style. It's one of my favorite MASH fics and I love not only the attention to historical details but everyone's characterization.

Thank you for asking! And thank you for the comment, I'm super stoked that it's one of your faves 💖

fic is here

ask meme is here

I basically had the idea when I was disappointed by how the later seasons had way fewer gay jokes than the early seasons lol, and I wanted to headcanon an explanation for that, so I had this idea that Hawkeye had a close call with a blue discharge and started playing it a lot safer afterwards.

I didn't really consider writing a fic though until I started doing a lot of hobby reading on midcentury gay history alongside Mash, and having a lot of thoughts on historical accuracy in fic and feeling like I was getting enough of a sense of the time period that I could maybe do a half decent job at exploring it.

I cited the main book that was my inspiration in the author's notes, Coming Out Under Fire by Allan Bérubé, but in addition to that I was reading like, One Magazine, Gay New York by George Chauncey, old 40s and 50s Canadian tabloid letters to the editor featuring debates about gay rights lol, this site which is a v cool resource, The Lavender Scare by David Johnson, Gay Talk by Bruce Rogers, Letters to One and Masked Voices by Craig Loftin, a little blue book on homosexuality published in like the 20s that I could imagine Hawkeye reading as a kid... not that all of these sources are necessary for authenticity or anything, and I definitely wasn't reading them just for the fic lol I'm not that into research, but I figure a director's commentary is a good place to make a list of various things I happened to be reading that helped inform the fic.

Another motivation for writing this was like... idk, wanting an alternative to fics and headcanons where everyone knows Hawkeye is bi and supports him or looks the other way because the 4077 is one big happy family, but not wanting an angst fest where he gets discharged or everyone turns on him and he loses his friends because now they know, etc. I just kinda felt like the most realistic thing that would happen if someone accused Hawkeye of homosexuality was this - the cast would largely support him but more because they don't believe it, rather than because they're allies or family. And that's its own source of more lowkey, subtle angst, which is my bag baby.

So I guess I have an agenda in wanting to show that Hawkeye isn't really an open secret despite the jokes, largely because he's charismatic and good at making friends and very good at his job. No one would want to believe it.

There's no real dividing line where the jokes have a steep drop off imo, but between seasons 7+8 felt like a natural place to set it, and I liked incorporating the notorious joke with Flagg as an inciting incident.

For a while I was thinking it would be pretty short and just like, Hawkeye being accused and denying it and the rest of the cast vouching for him, all set at the 4077. I considered having him sent to a hospital when I read a section about it in Coming Out Under Fire, but I was like 'nooo that's so much work I don't wanna.'

And then as I wrote it the fic just went that direction anyway so I rolled with it and did my best.

Gonna do a bit of a play by play now, scanning through the fic and seeing what stands out to me to comment on.

-- Hawkeye makes like 3 times as many gay jokes as usual at the start of this fic because a) they're really fun to write, and b) I think it makes sense for Hawkeye who tends to say exactly what's on his mind. It's what he's worried about and thinking about, so it's what keeps coming out of his mouth. Plus I read the jokes in canon as not so much Hawkeye throwing caution to the wind, as Hawkeye knowing that it's a way he can be open to some extent about how he feels - the way he always wants to be emotionally genuine - without actually drawing suspicion. He goes a little overboard but everyone who knows him is like 'yeah not surprised, Hawkeye gonna Hawkeye.' So he's generally right about the jokes being safe.

-- I wanted all of the supporting cast to have a different reaction to the investigation. Radar is the least supportive and most homophobic about it, because honestly that just fits how I see him. He's canonically uncomfortable with a lot of Hawkeye's jokes, sometimes mildly like a long-suffering little brother but sometimes weirdly hostile about it lol. I think he'd believe it's true pretty quick and be disturbed by it, but be swayed by Hawkeye denying it and reminding him of their friendship, because he doesn't want to believe it. Also by this point in the series he's pretty grouchy in general.

-- And I have Klinger as the only one who knows Hawkeye's bi and doesn't give a fuck, because I believe that's true in my soul and I didn't feel like it even needed an explanation lol. But the explanation in my head is that Hawkeye rolled up to the 4077 on his first day, saw Klinger in a dress, thought 'wow that's bold' and asked him where the gay scene on campus is with hardly any deniability in his phrasing. And Klinger was like, lol why does this keep happening, and pointed him to some of the other people who did the exact same thing (including Trapper), and they all have a monthly poker night (which Klinger goes to too even though he insists he's straight.)

-- The interview in general was fun to write. Hawkeye breezing through at first, until the revelation that it's not about Flagg's report throws him off, and then the reminder of Tommy's death sending him into rant mode. Hawkeye's confident and charismatic so it takes something extra to make him fuck up here. It did take a lot of rewriting to feel like it escalated smoothly and made sense emotionally though.

-- I'm kinda proud of the little twist of this fic lol. Hawkeye having already been reported by Tommy's lover ages ago, unbeknownst to him because the dude only knew of him as "Hawkeye" and no one could connect that name to "Benjamin Pierce" until Flagg's report. It was a fun way of using the fact that Hawkeye goes by a nickname as a plot point. It was also a good way of making it so the jokes aren't actually the problem and Hawkeye is right about how they're pretty safe - if it was just Flagg's report it would've been laughed off and thrown away. And it's a way of including the army coercing names out of people, since I didn't have them trying that with Hawkeye at the hospital.

-- “Lieutenant Jacobs is married.” Said with a mild glare at Hawkeye. “Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to propose to her.”

lol I only included this to push back against the common misconception that Hawkeye is morally against sleeping with married women.

-- I had a whole issue with misremembering GFA being set in Tokyo instead of Seoul when I wrote this, so I just wrote with the assumption that Sidney worked at a different hospital and this was a different hospital than the one in GFA so the descriptions were all different, etc, and then I realized my mistake and had to rewrite everything and give a reason for Sidney to be elsewhere lol. On the plus side I got to add in some ominous GFA foreshadowing towards the end.

-- hmmm upon scanning through the fic I've noticed that I had Potter referring to Tommy's boyfriend as 'the kid' at one point, which is kind of funny because I'd used that casual phrasing a couple more times before realizing it could sound kind of skeevy and edited it out. I was envisioning him as like 19-21ish though lol so it makes sense that it slipped through. Anyway everyone's a kid from Potter's perspective, even if he shouldn't know his age.

-- I always wonder about GFA and Hawkeye's claustrophobia, whether he was locked in his room at all. Despite it not being mentioned in GFA I figured I had to address it a little because I like Hawkeye's claustrophobia, so I had Hawkeye feeling a little freaked out but not too bad because it's a big enough ward.

-- I hate writing OCs. I'm not creative, I have zero interest in inventing people, it's a big chore. I usually pick names by looking at bookshelves or lists of people and mixing and matching first and last names at random. Hopefully you can't tell from reading this lol since there are several OCs. I tried to write them pragmatically, to fill a role in the story, and make their vibe consistent. And they're all minor characters so they don't really have to be fleshed out much at least.

-- This was written as a long one shot but when I was finished I figured it would probably be a more approachable read if it was divided into two parts.

-- BJ is awkwardly dancing around the possibility that the accusation is true in his own mind. For me BJ's whole thing is denial lol, I have a few wips from his point of view as well and they're all about him avoiding some kind of truth or revelation. He takes the path of least resistance when he can.

No, if there was even a tiny kernel of truth in the accusation about his friend, it was nothing more than maybe one youthful, experimental indiscretion. Nothing that meant anything about him now, and nothing the army had any business digging up. Radar was just a kid, after all. He didn’t understand the difference.

Also couldn't resist vaguely implying that BJ might've exchanged handjobs with a friend back in the day himself lol.

-- Hawkeye was a happy, confident, successful guy, about as far from the self-loathing, secretive neurotics you read about in the tabloids as you could get.

I also wanted to include this to show how being popular and charismatic and cool could be protection from these accusations. This is something Coming Out Under Fire actually got into - how you were more likely to get accused and discharged if you weren't likeable, whereas funny cool likeable guys got away with camping it up all the time. And the most important thing in the army especially was competence, which Hawkeye also has in spades.

-- The nurses discussion was self indulgent lol, and came out of reading about how widely read and impactful the kinsey report was. DeGroot was a very late addition because I wanted more negative consequences and an example of the witchhunting vibe. Margaret's musing at the end is maybe a little bit redundant after BJ, I realize now lol, since I also kind of imply she had a lesbian experience or two, but it's ambiguous and maybe more easily read as her having had a gay friend. I definitely wasn't aiming for an 'everyone at the 4077 is queer' vibe for this lol, but tbf it's historically accurate for army medical units and the WAC to be statistically very gay.

-- Got to get into some of my Hawkeye headcanons for the interview with McKay, which was fun. I always imagine Daniel Pierce as fairly leftist and cool, which is why Hawkeye is so brash and confident. And Hawkeye has been a popular kid all his life to me, he's no former awkward nerd or wallflower or bullied weird kid. Not homecoming king but friends with him sums his childhood up to me.

-- Not sure Hawkeye should cavalierly mention living in sin with Carlye upon reflection lol, but I don't think it was illegal? Anti-cohabitation laws wrt men and women living together were a thing, but I'm sure would have varied from place to place. I tried to research this once but couldn't find much info though.

-- “Did you imagine marrying her often?” “All the time,” Hawkeye lied. “If she’d said anything before leaving I would’ve proposed on the spot.” That was probably true, honestly. But, with all the clarity of hindsight twice over, he knew it would’ve been a mistake. Carlye wanted things from him that he didn’t have to give; it would’ve dissolved anyway, whether into divorce or into unhappy affairs. She’d probably known that long before he’d figured it out.

My thoughts on their relationship in a nutshell lol. Marriage far from Hawk's mind but something he definitely would've done if she'd asked, and then regretted in short order because they're just not compatible.

-- “Do you want to have children?” “Absolutely.” Whether they were in the cards was anyone’s guess, but given the opportunity he’d order half a dozen.

I see Hawkeye liking kids and potentially wanting kids and being a great father if he had them, but never actually having kids and being fine with that too. And not because of GFA either (though it doesn't help), but because in my headcanons he eventually ends up in a committed relationship with a dude. I have a post-canon wip I will finish where he does find a way to have both, in a way.

-- lol this medical interlude was such a pain to research and write, but I guess I felt like I needed some kind of action so that the whole hospital sequence wasn't just introspection, plus it's an illustration of how poorly they're treated, and how great Hawkeye is in the face of it.

-- Also I really enjoy writing a pissed off Hawkeye pov, his humour gets so biting when he's in a bad mood, and I really lean into that when writing his inner monologue. I might exaggerate that a bit honestly - it happens sometimes in the show, but sometimes he's just humourless when upset. But in my fics he's never humourless lol, unless maybe he's being really emotionally supportive for someone.

-- “I blame the war,” he lied. Blaming the war was like blaming a fire for burning down his house. No, he blamed the arsonists: Truman, MacArthur, America, every army involved, every American Tommy was trying to educate with his book, whoever the hell ordered him into that battle, Tommy’s recruiting officer, Tommy, and his own damn self for not immediately diagnosing him with a heart murmur or sawing off his leg and getting him sent home as soon as he found him in Korea.

I looove the way Hawkeye assigns responsibility to people, rather than treating the war like an inevitability.

-- (oh, sure, he supported the president. He was supplying the guy with half his reading material; he should be earning a salary as Truman's personal entertainer)

Also loooove that it's a recurring thing that Hawkeye writes to the president lol, I absolutely headcanon it as regular stress relief for him.

-- “You know there’s no physiological difference between degenerates and fine, upstanding members of society, right?” he said as he disrobed. “Have you read up on the literature?” the doctor asked, far from innocently. He had, as a matter of fact.

This is a historically accurate depiction of two different professional opinions on the subject, as far as I could tell from my reading, and army doctors did use like hips to waist ratio and various other measurements as evidence of homosexuality. The gag reflex thing is accurate too.

-- I enjoyed how I wrote Potter in this fic as Hawkeye's number one ally but also the representative of the army who Hawkeye doesn't fully trust, and who protects Hawkeye because he's his friend and a good surgeon and an asset to the unit, rather than because he disagrees with the army ideologically. To him it's a stupid thing to care about because Hawkeye is saving lives and investigations are a lot of hassle, but he's not gonna be, like, calling General Imbrie to plead the nurse's case.

There's something weirdly satisfying about writing Potter in general in a "good" role, because I don't like him on the show much and it's fun to kind of subtlely play with his flaws without making him an antagonist.

-- Highlighting the gay ward's party vibe at this point in the story and Hawkeye finding it comforting is mainly a way to make the ending feel worse lol.

And if he did get out of here scot free, then what? Keep his head held high and his sense of humor alive and kicking, or put his head down and just get to the end of the war without losing his surgical career?

The former, he told himself. It had gotten him through almost two years, not just without getting caught, but without losing his mind. One stumble wasn't enough to justify calling off the marathon. And the thought of wrapping himself in olive drab and marching in time with everyone else was so sad it made him want to cry. No. He’d make it through the rest of the war, and he’d do it without changing himself to suit the straight-laced, and just plain straight, sensibilities of his overlords. Then he’d go back home to Boston, take back his old job, and fuck the first guy to look him up and down, just to prove he could.

Like by grouping 'not changing in the army' together with 'going home and fucking a man first thing' I'm implying that Hawkeye's maybe a little overly optimistic here, and the hesitation he ends the fic on might extend back home too.

This is absolutely counter to everything I believe about Hawkeye post war lmao, I 100% envision him living a gay life outside of work, and even in the context of this fic I'd prefer to imagine it as a psychological barrier he'll overcome rather than an ominous omen that he's gonna fully closet himself and live heterosexually ever after, but yk. I also like sadness and misery and the army ruining everything, and that's what this fic is all about, so I gotta at least imply it as a possibility.

-- lol this final good cop bad cop style interview was another very late addition partly so the hospital stay didn't just trail off awkwardly, and partly to parallel the army as a whole. Like the good cop pointedly resembles Potter and Potter even echoes him when he says "who needs the paperwork?"

The point is just that this is a small scale version of what I see happening to Hawkeye throughout the show and this fic, between dad figure Potter and other friendly military faces and the bad cop of military authority behind them, like the whole investigation. He catches the trick in this scene, but on a grander scale he does succumb to that authority more and more as the show goes on, and in this fic ultimately Potter wins a victory over him in a sense with Hawkeye toning himself down to fall in line more.

-- He kept the regulation boxers and socks he’d put on that morning — the underwear he’d arrived in was mixed with the rest of the laundry now, so he figured he was entitled — and everything else went down a laundry chute. “So long,” he sing-songed out loud as he sent them off. “Let’s not meet again.”

lol one of a few ominous GFA references towards the end here as he leaves the hospital (for now)

-- I think my one regret is not having Charles at the welcome back celebration. Honestly I just kinda forgot lol, and his absence feels conspicuous upon re-read.

-- And yeah, love me a bittersweet ending and I think this one was successful. Hawkeye beats the charges, but is confronted with the conditionality of his friendships and cowed into hiding himself a little more along the way. Love that kind of shit.

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Mindless Kindness (Freakshow!Funnybunny)

(Pomni is still favored by Caine in this fic, but, not in a Showtime sense. He’s more on just making sure his shiny new addition, isn’t getting ruined too soon.)

Forgive me if they’re out of character, or I got something wrong. I wasn’t sure how to make this work. The characters personalities are moslty from my personal headcannons, and assumptions about them.

Also, while I think hootbon stated Caine is more lenient with both Pomni and AIngle, for this, he just likes Pomni a little bit more.

Jax x Pomni aren’t canon in the AU. I just like the ship.

Freakshow belongs to: @hootbon

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Pomni was never one to speak her mind.

Well…maybe she was. But, not anymore.

Because, apparently trying to express your human feelings, can get you killed or demented. (Or in Ragatha’s case; permanently silenced).

Although she’ll just come back, because death isn’t possible in this world (except for one type of dying…), it’s still not a pleasant thing to experience, whether it be by an accident during an adventure, or by the hands of the ringleader, or by the hands of the other trapped members.

After her first encounter with the twins, Pomni avoided Gangle like the plague. The living teary eyed porcelain mask, turned out to be just as violent and murderous as her ‘sister’; resulting in the wooden ballerina’s first ‘Game Over’.

And she never wanted to repeat the mistake she made ever again.

But at the moment; there she was, confused with her own internal debating, of whether to approach the twins once more or not.

Pomni was just planning on sleeping for the rest of the leisure hour, until Caine called them up for showtime again. She wasn’t expecting to pass by, a scene like…. this.

Right before her eyes, were the twisted twins. Gangle wasn’t really doing anything, only silently watching behind her conjoined sister, as she carried on with her sadistic joke.

AIngle was once again puppeteering the lifeless Kaufmo with her ribbons. Making him dance, smile, and wave, at an uncomfortable Jax, who was trying to be nonchalant about the cruel joke.

“Jax ol’ buddy! It’s me! Wanna joke around?” AIngle said, using her Kaufmo voice. “C’mon, let’s do something together!”

“Come on, bunny rabbit. Don’t you think it’s rude to ignore you best friend?” AIngle said using her regular voice, as she shook the clown around.

Gangle tried to intervene, “I-I don’t think you should—“

“I don’t think I asked you to speak.” AIngle cut off her timid half.

Gangle squeaked and stayed quiet.

Jax rolled his eyes to hide his discomfort. Just the thought of his dead friend, being puppeteered for shows made him sick in the stomach. And now this twisted ribbon freak, wants to fuck with his head, even off stage.

“I’m not… in the mood for this…” He tried to sound less in pain, and attempted to walk away.

But just like that, the ribbons holding the clown up, carried him over the rabbit’s head, and blocked his way.

Jax passing through the right, but Kaufmo was dragged and used to block that way as well. He tried to take a step to the left, but it resulted in the same way.

“Not until you gimme a good hug!” After saying that, the clown’s arms were spread open slightly leaning towards the rabbit, who instinctively leaned back.

“Kaufy and I don’t hug.” Jax said, a little too aggressively, when he turned back to the twisted twin.

“Well, Kaufmo back then didn’t. This one does!” AIngle said, inching Kaufmo closer to Jax, who stepped back even more. “I can make him do whatever I want. Including hugging and kissing his pathetic pet bunny.”

As she says that, she dragged the body closer to Jax. The lifeless arms almost touching his shoulders.

Jax, moved back again, unknowingly backing himself against the body of ribbons, until he was trapped in between her and the clown.

AIngle started making kissing sounds, that made Jax cringe, “Mwah mwah! Come on buddy, lemme pet behind your ears! Don’t you miss me?”

‘Kaufmo’ started getting closer, Jax gritted his teeth, and turned his head away.

Pomni continued to watch, her face scrunching in disgust, as she watched the incredibly fucked up scene. A part of her felt bad for the rabbit. Though he wasn’t, nor will ever be, Pomni’s favorite person in the circus, this was too far of a joke. Whether a jackass like Jax deserved it or not.

Nobody deserved to be taunted, with the corpse of someone they were close to.

She wouldn’t want to see this happening to Kinger with his wife, or Gangle with Ragatha, or herself with anyone she might consider close to to her.

You know what? Fuck it.

She died once, it’s bound to happen again.

May as well try and get used to it.

It might even save her of what’s left of her sanity, if she tries to adapt to the feeling.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, she made her way to them.

Pomni admits, part of her wished she was less brazen with her words, but that spur of the moment part of her, spoke without thinking. “AIngle. Fuck off.”

Understandably caught off guard, the AI sister stopped with her taunting and turned her head to the ballerina.

Gangle and Jax, who were also equally surprised, looked at Pomni with wide eyes.

Confusing changed to irk, as she raised her eyebrow at the wooden doll. “Excuse me? I must’ve misheard you back there.”

“Then let me repeat myself. Fuck off.” Pomni said, more aggressively. No turning back now. It’d be more embarrassing to take it back.

“Puppeteering these bodies are for the show. Not for your entertainment. Put the clown back with the other bodies, and stop messing with Jax.” Pomni said, in a commanding tone.

“And why do you suddenly care about the bunny? Doesn’t everyone hate him? I say, I’m doing something nice for everyone else he messed with.” AIngle said, her lips curling up in a smirk. Though, anyone with eyes could tell, she was still pissed.

“He’s already fucked in the head as it is. There’s no need for you to make him an even bigger psycho, and an even bigger problem.” Pomni replied.

She wasn’t sure if that was her reason. Actually, she not even sure, what her reason for defending Jax could be. Sure she felt bad, but she’s not usually risking her life to defend someone. Even if she won’t be dead forever. Still, that didn’t stop her.

AIngle let go Kaufmo’s body and let it drop to the ground. “And what makes you think, you can tell me what to do?” She jabbed her ribbon hand, at the center of Pomni’s face, where her nose should be.

“You’re not abstracted yet. But, I can still take over your body, and turn you into a real ventriloquist dummy. The best part? You’d be conscious to see how I can easily control you!” She threatens the brunette doll, grinning evilly at her.

“You can….” Pomni said, her voice cracking, her nervousness showing. But quickly as it slipped, she put her brave face back on. “But, you won’t!”

“Remember? I’m Caine’s favorite. If you try to do anything to me before I even abstract, he’d be really pissed at you for ruining his prized possession.”

Pomni internally cringed at herself for that one. She doesn’t usually like playing that card. She never really cared for the favoritism. So long as she’s not on Caine’s bad side, that’s enough for her.

But at this moment, she was doing and saying the exact opposite of what she would usually do.

“Oooh~! Prima Failerina’s suddenly using her princess privileges~?” AIngle said in a mocking tone. Still, Pomni didn’t miss that eye twitch.

She brought her face closer to the doll, staring her down. “Little bitch, suddenly wants to use the ringmaster as a shield, huh.”

She moved her face away, but her eyes remained on her. And continued, “You’re only favored for your pretty face. You’re lucky to be brought into this world, in this body. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be interesting in any way to him. You mean as much to Caine, as a brand new doll means to a child. Once you get tattered and depreciated, he won’t care if you’re safe or not.”

Jax had already moved away from the mask, but was too intrigued by the scene before him to leave.

AIngle let out a dry laugh, “But, you’re right…” She said bitterly. “As Caine’s precious doll, I can’t hurt you on purpose.”

She shrugged. “But, I can ignore you. And do whatever I want with the others. Since, I won’t be in trouble for messing with the already depreciated toys.”

She turned away from Pomni, and picked Kaufmo back up. “Ohhh bunny boy~!” She called out, as her ribbons wrapped around Jax and pulled him back in for another game of dead dolls.

“Would you get off me, freak!” Jax tried to wriggle out of the ribbons.

“Why should I? I’m giving you more time with your friend.” AIngle started letting put sadistic giggles, and she continued her own self-entertainment.

“Let go of him, and put Kaufmo back.” Pomni butted in once again.

“And what are you gonna do? Little miss wooden joints?” AIngle taunted again, looking down at Pomni. “I may not be able to do whatever I want with you, without getting an earful from Caine. But, what can YOU do other than yap at me like a stubborn chihuahua?”

Pomni silently glared at her for a couple of seconds, her eyes narrowed and face infuriated. Her fist clenched and shaking.

She then moved her eyes to an object on the ground.

It was Jax’s bat. A large piece of wood with a disturbing amount of nails hammered into it. He must’ve dropped it in the middle of the trying to avoid Kaufmo’s body.

Pomni didn’t know why, but she walked towards it, and picked it up. She then made her way back to the grinning twin.

“Haha! You wouldn’t.” AIngle said with a confident voice. “Not after the last time.”

Acting without thinking, Pomni replied, “If it’ll get you to finally fuck off… then I’ll take my chances.” And she swung the bat towards the grinning piece of porcelain.

The force of the bat cracked the twin into several pieces, the nails also cutting into the ribbons restraining Jax, setting him free.

Pomni immediately pulled Jax away from Gangle and shoved him away as hard she could.

Just as she had already anticipated, Gangle started having another meltdown. Her face contorted into a horrific frown, and her ribbons lunged at Pomni, wrapping around her neck and waist.

Pomni was brutally thrashed around a few times, before the corrupted Gangle dragged her off somewhere else to slowly murder.

Jax was just there… on the ground. Staring off to where the ballerina was dragged off to.

He looked at Kaufmo, whose body was abandoned on the floor, and little bits of porcelain next to him.

The rabbit stood up and walked towards lifeless clown, picking him up and positioning him in a piggyback ride.

As he carried his friend, the image of the wooden doll’s face flashed back in his mind.

Eh….

He wasn’t good at saying ‘thank you’, nor did he like saying it. So, he won’t be thanking Pomni.

But, he’ll be sure to say something to her when she comes back.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I’ll probably make a part two.

Tbh, it was pretty hard trying to make them in character in this AU, while still shipping them. I’m a Funnybunny shipper, but when it comes to the Freakshow AU, I lean more towards Showtime. But, I wanted to take up the challenge of trying to make them ‘shippable’ even in this AU.

So what do you guys think….?

[borzoilover69]

Dirkjake fic recs?

THE GRAND FIC LIST:

calvariae - tony artreactor cw for talks of suicide, average toxic yaoi, epilogues-ish. starts off with a spectacular rant from dirk strider abt how platos a little bitch and ends in a way that had me sitting on the sidewalk on an afternoon remnicising like an old war veteran

empty nester - conejita cw for grooming mention, toxic yaoi, alchohol, so on so forth. literally the brograndpa fic of all time hands down, this fic is one of the best dirkjake fics this year. literally could not recommend more.

integuement -drew lifevoid jake eats a deer. dirk likes breaking into houses. somehow, this started a rather heated debate between me and my friends about how to get blood out of a cableknit sweater. what else do you need to know to get to read this? please read this. 10/10 fic.

head over heels - space gays that arent in space cw for lobotomy and suicide attempt, unhealthy relationships also nsfw. also onesided dirkjake. Dirkcentric. i really do NOT recommend reading this if you arent in the right headspace. otherwise its great.

bones of black marrow - aka that one insane html dirkjake fic CW for a lot of things including cannibalism gore nsfw weaponry seizures just a whole handful of stuff. heed the tags. interesting story story though i read this during work because im not a pussy. Really long.

upgrade - hotelroomservice & rykitty cw for suicide attempt grievous injury err death and fucked up ness. will have you sitting back in your chair by the end staring up at your ceiling. based on the movie of the same name. really really really awesome.

lunar calendar - tony artreactor cw for mentions of sex as selfharm, selfharm, alchohol consumption, REALLY unhealthy relationships, post-epilogue stuff, so on so forth. this fic was genuinely my fucking 9/11 dirkjake wise. like everything was different after reading that fic. literally everything. It probably made me insane.

and last but not least... shag, emotionally devastate - tony artreactor this is up there in the hs fanfiction bible for shit youve just GOT to read. it deals with post-canon in the most ripsnortingly funny way ever and is what made me genuinely love the idea of dirk and jake absolutely taking the mic out of each other both physically and verbally. it had me snickering and sending this to my friends like "OH MY GOD" and served as inspo for some of the facade and points i want to eventually make with LE jake when i get around to it. im so serious i cannot recommend it more.

New additions!

Its not enough to love the unreal - sloan twistedglossographer.

CW for attempted murder. Jake thinks dirks going to leave him and does something about it. Most BPD jake thoughts ever that latched in my brain like parasites

one of us was supposed to kill the other- sloan twistedGlossographer

CW For cannibalism and outright murder and gore.

Jake actually kills dirk and delivers a stunning brain process on how cannibalism links around to love and other shit dirkjake genuinely is like babies first spoonful of canmibalism love metaphor inspired by some posts i made. It really builds off of cannibalism as love its so awesome.

godspeed and happy readings.

[irukaka]

third chapter of the kakairu coworkers romcom fic is up!! featuring not particularly responsible drinking decisions after hours with your boss, scenic routes that are debatably stalking routes, and an aloof, cool jounin not doing a good job of being very aloof and cool. in other news, the sky is blue. hope y’all enjoy :) <3

a sorry sabbatical (10341 words) by flipthebits Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Naruto (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Umino Iruka, Mitarashi Anko, Sarutobi Asuma Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Rokudaime Hokage | Sixth Hokage Era (Naruto), Timeline What Timeline, This is a coworkers romcom first and partially sort of canon compliant second, But Asuma lives because Iruka needs a big brother Summary:

When the Rokudaime finds himself without an assistant, Iruka begrudgingly steps up to the plate as a replacement. He convinces himself of two things: that the position is only temporary, and that his long-harbored feelings surely won’t get in the way of serving his new hokage.

…Exactly how long he can keep up that charade is another matter entirely.

[verdantmeadows]

Settling the (Non-existent) Debate—Gary Prince is Taller Than Marshall Lee!

In the new Adventure Time Series, Fionna and Cake, we are introduced to many new characters that come from the original Fionna and Cake series within Adventure Time. With that, we are introduced to both Gary Prince, the human version of Prince Gumball, and Marshall Lee, who shares his name pretty much exactly with Marshall Lee the Vampire King.

However, with them, they brought a new debate.

Who's taller?

At first, most viewers assumed it to be Gary.

After all, you can see him here in episode 6, clearly above Marshall Lee in height. But wait! You might say. Marshall Lee is doing that weird little stance! It's making him shorter! Maybe he's slouching in all the times we see him close to Gary!

Perhaps you could argue that. However, we can even see Gary slouch right here.

And he's still above Marshall Lee's height! Maybe Marshall Lee's legs are giving him a LOT of height.

Although I somehow doubt that, if he is slouching here, which he was slightly before straightening his back, it's hard to imagine he'd manage to make up for the height difference between them by standing up even straighter.

Regardless, let's move onto their next episode, episode 7.

This episode makes things...confusing, as well. Marshall Lee is visibly slouching here, which seems to be putting him at the same height as Gary.

Standing up pretty straight here, they both seem to again be at the same height. But! Something important to notice. Gary's legs seem to be significantly longer than Marshall Lee's! They don't stop until much higher on his body.

Now, onto episode 9.

What...what is happening here? Marshall Lee is clearly taller than Gary in this.

Marshall Lee seems taller again here, but Gary is slouching a little...

From this positioning, Gary seems to be taller...again...

But then, towards the end of the episode, we get this!!! This shot of them gives us a LOT to go off of! Both of them are sitting at about the same position on the bed, but Gary's legs are hanging off a significant amount more. Even though Marshall Lee is shown slouching, Gary is a bit too, and, if he slouched more, he would almost definitely still be taller. This also makes it more obvious that his proportions are, overall, generally longer than Marshall Lee's. And, considering that Marshall Lee isn't wearing shoes, but Gary is, and they were out on their date earlier...we can infer that Marshall Lee being closer to Gary's height came from his shoes!

So! Who is taller?

Well, in all honestly, despite episode 6, I initially thought Marshall Lee was taller, due to their height on their date in episode 9. In fact, I believe on an earlier post about their height, I hesitantly proclaimed that Marshall Lee was taller than Gary.

Before I say more, I'd like to say that regardless of what's canon, any headcanons on their height are completely valid. Even if they conflict canon! I personally have many height-based headcanons in other series that conflict with canon. I just want this post to clear things up for their canon designs.

So far, we've had evidence for both sides of the debate, although it seems to be leaning in Gary's favor. And at the end of this post...I'd like to solidify that, with evidence that isn't shown on-screen!

Gary's concept art!

Although this is clearly not what he looks like in show, and he definitely isn't this tall in show, thanks to the "conspicuously tall" note and his conceptual height next to Fionna, we can deduce that the most likely intention is for Gary to be tall. Not just taller than Marshall Lee, but generally speaking. His various positioning next to Marshall Lee solidify this, and any discrepancies can clearly be connected to the additional height of shoes (which we then see Marshall Lee shorter without). Gary's concept art is the icing on the cake, proving that he has always been and likely is still intended to be a tall character.

So, to conclude...

Gary Prince is taller! And tall in general! (Although if your headcanons are different, that's of course valid!)

Thank you for reading!

[lucagray813]

The Tang Chronicles - Chapter 4

Rating: G

Word Count: ~1,893

Characters: Tang, Pigsy, MK, Pigsy's Grandmother

Summary: We really need to do something about this "not enough bedrooms" situation.

Additional Tags: Slice of Life, Pre-Canon, Pigsy's Grandmother is called Xiùyīng

CW: None

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next

----

Tang froze as he opened the door to Pigsy's Noodles and was greeted by the sight of a tearful MK clinging to an uncomfortable looking Xiùyīng while a quietly furious Pigsy glared at her.

Unfortunately it was far too late to back out unnoticed, the blasted bell above the door making sure of that. But still he did his best to escape the situation, pointing outside, he awkwardly tried, "Er, I'll just come back later..."

But Pigsy waved him over, "Oh no, Tang. Please, come in. My grandma here is just so excited to share her wonderful news."

Xiùyīng hissed at him, and while Tang couldn't understand the language, he was almost certain it was the equivalent of "Shut up.", possibly with some expletives thrown in for good measure.

Not at all wanting to be a part of whatever this was, he tried again, "No, no, I just realised that I, er... Forgot my laptop charger! Silly me! Can't study without it! So, I'll just..."

Xiùyīng tried to take a step towards him but was halted by the child clinging to her dress, but regardless she addressed him a little desperately, "No need to leave for that, Mr. Tang! I'm sure we have one you could borrow! Please come in! Don't mind, MK, he's just feeling a little sensitive today!"

Pigsy was incredulous, "And whose fault is that?" Thankfully however he turned to him and waved him away, "Get out of here, Tang. Come back in, like, an hour if you want to miss the shit show."

Despite clearly being the one in the dog house at the moment, Xiùyīng still snapped, "Don't swear in front of MK!"

Yup, ok, he was out of here.

His goodbyes and final excuses were ignored as Pigsy and Xiùyīng glared at each other.

Well, it'd been a while since he'd been to the Korean restaurant next to his university. They were pretty tolerant of him stealing a table for the day. Maybe if he was feeling brave he'd pop back in and see Pigsy for dinner.

----

Several hours later, he walked back through the front door to Pigsy's Noodles, and when a cursory glance around the restaurant revealed no Xiùyīng or MK he made his way to his usual seat, nodding to a couple of regulars he recognised along the way.

He had long since been bereft of Pigsy's customer service face and instead of a smile and "I'll be right with you.", he got a huff, an eye roll and was then promptly ignored while Pigsy finished what he was doing.

Deliveries ready to be picked up, he finally walked over to greet him, "Well, look who's back. Where'd you end up, traitor?"

He rolled his eyes, "Piáo's. That ok with you?"

Pigsy could be a tiny bit sensitive about him going to other restaurants sometimes and was in the habit of hounding him for details of where he'd been, what he'd eaten and, most importantly, how it compared to the food and service here.

Pigsy could, and often would, start ranting about how Pigsy's Noodles was superior in every way to this perceived rival that was trying to poach his favourite customer, regardless of whether it was actually comparable or not.

Although Heaven forbid that Tang actually went somewhere Pigsy held in high regard, because the sulking was almost unbearable.

Pigsy clicked his tongue, "Why go there when Nanakusa is right next door?"

A short debate about price, preferences and how long was an acceptable amount of time to hog a table later and Pigsy finally got off his case and asked for his order, which was takeout for two.

As Pigsy got to work, he glanced around once more to double check the coast was clear, before starting, "So... What happened this morning then?"

Pigsy heaved a heavy sigh, "Yeah, sorry about that but my grandma, in her infinite wisdom, announced this morning that she was moving out."

He did a double take, "She what? Why? Where would she even go?"

Pigsy's tone was full of false cheer, "Oh, she's got it all figured out. A friend of hers is in need of a new housemate and if she moves in with her then MK could have her old room - two good deeds for the price of one! How could she resist a bargain like that?"

Bewildered, he asked, "A housemate? How does that work? And what about MK? I get he needs a room of his own but not more than he needs someone to watch him while you're working!"

Pigsy waved his knife about as he responded, "Oh, don't you worry, she's thought about that too. It'll only take thirty minutes to get here on the bus every day so she'll still be able to babysit."

Pigsy then grumbled something in another language under his breath that was no doubt very unflattering about his grandmother before complaining out loud, "As for this housemate situation, technically it's fine but, as usual, it's me that has to do all the fucking work for it."

He proceeded to explain that the reason this friend of Xiùyīng's needed a new housemate was because her old one had had to move in with her son because her health was rapidly declining. In theory, it should be pretty straightforward for Xiùyīng to move in but there were a handful of practical issues.

Firstly, Xiùyīng's pension wouldn't quite cover all the associated expenses so Pigsy would need to make up the monthly difference, which while doable was understandably more than a little annoying, especially as Xiùyīng hadn't run any of this by him before agreeing to move in.

Next, Xiùyīng's friend had no family to support her, and her old housemate's son had been her go-to for any help she needed with bills, repairs, technology, and so on. Chances were very high that these responsibilities would now fall to Pigsy because he couldn't very well turn a blind eye now, could he?

And lastly, there was the physical labour of just moving Xiùyīng and her things, as well as setting up her old room for MK. Who Xiùyīng, in an attempt to calm him down, had promised that he could decorate the room however he liked.

All of it was time, energy and money that Pigsy just didn't have but he really didn't seem as angry about it all as Tang thought he would be.

When questioned, Pigsy explained, "I can be angry all I want, and trust me, I am, but it doesn't change the fact that this is happening. And if I'm being totally honest, I'm sort of coming around to the idea. I get my room back and I won't have to see her face first thing everyday? Almost sounds too good to be true."

Pigsy and Xiùyīng did seem to have a fairly antagonistic relationship at times, maybe a bit of space from each other could actually be beneficial for them but still he couldn't help but frown, "Yeah... But she's dumping you with MK. Aren't you worried that it might be a bit much?"

Pigsy snorted, "If the kid wakes up in the middle of the night, I'm the one he runs to. And I basically handle everything in the morning before work anyway. The only thing that's going to be difficult is him moping over the fact "grandma'" isn't here. But he'll get over it eventually."

He hoped Pigsy wasn't underestimating how much Xiùyīng actually helped out but he had a feeling he wouldn't respond well to that kind of comment, so instead he offered, "If you say so... When does she move out then?"

"Monday."

Concerned, he responded, "Monday? But that's so soon! Does she really need to move out straight away?"

Pigsy shrugged, an undercurrent of his irritation seeping through into his voice, "She wanted to move out? So she's moving out. Why put it off?"

A little unsure, he tried, "I don't know, it just feels a little rushed, don't you think? What does Ms. Chén think? It's not going to be a problem for social work, is it?"

Reluctantly, Pigsy admitted, "Overall, she's not against the idea but she does think it would be better for it to be a gradual change. With my grandma still staying over most nights to begin with and then slowly reducing it until she's permanently moved out."

Feeling obliged to point it out, he said, "Well, don't you think you're being a little bit hasty then...?"

Pigsy's shoulders sagged as he sighed and quietly confessed, "I know. I gotta do what's right for the kid and I will... But I just want her gone, Tang."

He sounded so guilty and he was powerless to try and reassure him, "Hey, I get it. I love my grandmother but I couldn't imagine living with her full time." He paused for a second before adding a little sheepishly, "Actually I think she would say the same for me. I'd probably last a week before she kicked me out."

Pigsy snorted, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Mock offended, he responded, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Pigsy walked over to him and placed his order on the counter, "It means I know what a lazy bum you are. You're lucky Mǐnyǒng is a weak man, you bat your eyelids at him and he'll do just about anything you ask."

What slander! Laying it on thick, with the appropriate gesturing, he retorted, "First of all, I'm not lazy. Look at me, look at these noodle arms and these weak ankles, I was cursed with this frail body! And if I want to live a long and prosperous life then I need to take it easy!"

Pigsy was unimpressed, "Uh-huh."

He huffed as he picked up the takeout bags and shook them slightly for emphasis, "And Mǐnyǒng gets just as much as he gives! He should be so lucky as to have someone as generous and charming as me around!"

Pigsy just rolled his eyes, already walking away to stick some dishes in the dishwasher, "Well, don't let me keep you from gifting him with your presence then."

He hesitated before saying goodbye, "Hey, if you need help with the move, I'm sure Mǐnyǒng and I could help out. Pretty sure his uncle even has a van he could probably borrow."

Pigsy snorted, "Oh yeah, you'd be a real big help with that "frail body" of yours. Stop offering Mǐnyǒng's services without even asking him first."

Generally, he didn't but Mǐnyǒng actually really liked Pigsy, the two of them getting on well on the rare occasion that he came with him to the restaurant. And if he found out after the fact that he could have helped but no-one asked him then he'd be pretty sullen about it.

He waved him off, "You know he won't mind. Honestly, it'd probably be a welcome distraction from all the homework he's had recently. Just think about it and let me know."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. I appreciate it, Tang. I better see you for your shift tomorrow by the way."

He grinned, and gave a mock salute, "You got it, boss. You know how much this job means to me."

Pigsy just shook his head fondly, "Alright, get out of here before your food gets cold, you bum."

--Chapter End--

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[toxictoad]

The Geometry Anomaly twins from Route 5!

I was mostly joking when I said it was just the parent trap. The only real similarity is that they're twins that both go with one parent respectively.

Slightly more in-depth explanation of this Route under the cut :D

(Also @acerobot suggested that Juno have a princess scepter and that was such a good idea that it's what prompted me to draw this lol)

Nicknaming this route the division AU because I think I'm clever.

After the Breakup™️ Bill takes Juno with him to the Nightmare Realm. Ford keeps Quentin and is holding him when he gets portal-ed.

Canon progresses otherwise as normal, with the twins and their weird aging making them teenagers by the time Weirdmaggedon happens.

This Route gives me an AWESOME opportunity to contrast Bill and Ford's "parenting" styles.

Juno grows up getting basically everything she wants whenever she wants, as long as she also does what Bill tells her to. It's basically golden handcuffs as a parenting style. She's his little princess! His darling daughter who can do absolutely nothing wrong! Unless she tells him no. Juno grows up being told that Ford (and by extension Quentin) betrayed them, and that they need to use force to make them a "real family" again. She feeds on approval and outside validation, and cannot take genuine criticism at all. To Bill she's just an extension of himself, and so any deviation she makes is treated just as harshly as he would treat himself for it.

Quentin grows up being dragged across the multiverse with Ford, and while he's an objectively much better parent than Bill, he isn't... great. Quentin grows up less being parented and more being ordered around. He needs to listen to what his father tells him because they're trying to survive. He's just an addition to Ford's single-minded quest to defeat Bill and take Juno back. Chin up, soldier. We don't have time to be afraid when there's work to be done. He loves his son, but also he subscribes to the method of Emotional Repression™️. So Quentin doesn't value his emotions, and is even more stoic than he is in the other routes. He's convinced that if he just does everything right then people will love him, and nothing bad will happen (Of course he's wrong about this).

The thing about this route is that it's the only one where the twins aren't together, so they can't temper each other the way they usually would. Juno can't speak up for Quentin when he's being quiet, and Quentin can't calm down Juno when she's mad. They're both alone with one parent who is doing their best (Debatably, in Bill's case) and they feel like they're missing something without their twin. Juno can kind of check in on Ford and Quentin, but she's explicitly forbidden from contact with them. Quentin only knows about his sister from what Ford can tell him- which isn't much, considering that he hasn't seen her since she was less than a year old- and news about Bill and the Henchmaniacs, which obviously doesn't spark much optimism.

When Weirdmaggedon finally happens they end up on opposite sides. Quentin doesn't get captured with Ford, so Bill sends Juno to hunt him down.

They definitely fight, and Quentin wins, and tries to sway his sister over to their side. Now, I don't think this would go too well, but I do think that she would go along with it at first.

Cue a faux-redemption arc where Juno pretends to be a good person, and then actually becomes a good person. And then during the showdown in the Fearamid... there is a choice to be made. And she either has to save the rest of her family... or side with the demon who raised her.

And she chooses her family.

[perseidlion]

Cat and Ghost (39371 words) by perseid_lion Chapters: 15/15 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV), The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Cat King | Thomas/Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland Characters: The Cat King | Thomas, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU), Crystal Palace (DCU), Desire of the Endless, Death of the Endless Additional Tags: Touch-Starved Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne Loves Charles Rowland, the cat king - Freeform, Seduction, Teasing, Flirting, Magic, Touch-Starved, Forehead Touching, Touching, Overstimulation, Guilty Pleasures, Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Dating, Boys Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Case Fic, Secrets, Secret Relationship, Catwin - Freeform, First Time, Non-Graphic Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Minor Crystal Palace/Charles Rowland, Coming Out, First Relationship, Detectives, supernatural mystery, cat king's name is not Thomas in this because it's not canon and I don't think it suits him, Jealousy, Cat's background in this is about 85 percent my own creation, Started off writing a cute story and whups suddenly a lot of plot, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Platonic Soulmates Series: Part 1 of Perseid_Lion's Dead Boy Detectives, Part 1 of The Ballad of Edwin and Cat - Catwin Continity Summary:

A few months after their return to London from Port Townsend, the Cat King shows back up in Edwin’s life. He’s bent on courting Edwin, and has somehow acquired a magical collar that allows them to properly feel each other. Edwin meets him in secret, unsure of whether he’s ready to tell Charles about the relationship.

In the meantime, business at the Dead Boy Detective Agency continues. They receive a case where a woman is trapped between life and death, tethered between the mortal realm and the beyond by a cursed sorcerer.

But there may be more going on than meets the eye, and an Endless pulling strings from the shadows…

---

Part Edwin/Cat courtship, part casefic. Now complete!

Chapter 1

The night was thick with fog and drizzle as the remnants of a storm made its way out of Port Townsend.

Detective Edwin Payne made his way down the dock toward the throne of The Cat King. The large colony of said King’s subjects that milled around kept a wary eye on the ghost detective, but neither spoke nor approached. They did keep a wary eye on him, dozens of furry faces following him as he walked.

Edwin worried the invitation printed on rough stationery between his fingers. The invite had come through Dead Mail from the Cat King himself. He’d debated answering it, but when he’d mentioned it to Charles, he said he’d come along. It was a good opportunity to stock up on a few things from Tragic Mick, whose prices were far better than shops in London for certain items.

Edwin suspected Charles simply missed Port Townsend, or perhaps he didn’t trust the Cat King. Not that he could blame him. The feline spirit was as difficult to pin down in motive and allegiance as the creatures he ruled. That mystery intrigued the scholar in Edwin, even though his abundance of caution told him that he was bad news and likely to get him into trouble.

But, as much as he tried to deny it, Edwin found he missed the attention of the admittedly very attractive Cat King. As a ghost, he didn’t sleep and therefore didn’t dream, but he did find himself daydreaming about a gently predatory smile, split pupils, and bared calves and thighs in kilts and skirts. 

No matter how attracted he was to some other men, the bulk of his affections would always remain with his best mate. Charles had taken his love confession with all the kindness and understanding that had made him fall in love with him in the first place. Things had been…a little awkward since returning to London, but the pile of cases waiting for them had kept them busy. They had grown closer now that the air had cleared, but there was an awkwardness there as well. Charles didn’t say he returned Edwin’s affections, but he hadn’t said he didn’t reciprocate, either. 

Edwin thought it best to give his best mate some time rather than push him for any kind of answer. 

But then, the letter and its intriguing invitation came, sprawled in inky handwriting as if written with a quill and inkwell, which Edwin read again.

I have a surprise for you. You know where to find me.

And then a pawprint dipped in the same ink. 

For a moment, Edwin considered fleeing and finding Charles at Mick’s shop. His curiosity and a newfound surge of confidence after escaping Hell a second time made him straighten up (which, considering his posture was always immaculate, was a feat) and he passed spectrally through the door to the empty warehouse.

The space, which was usually dilapidated, decaying, and full of the scent of fish guts and damp wood, was barely recognizable. It had been transformed with fairy lights and draped fabric. Wooden palettes had been artfully arranged, and the space almost looked…clean. The most obvious new addition was a bed made out of wooden palettes on the platform where the Cat King’s throne normally stood. 

If Edwin still had a heart that beat, it would be thundering in his ears. He swept his eyes around the space. More cats milled in and out of the shadows, but all kept a distance that almost felt…respectful.

“You came.”

Edwin spun around to find the Cat King standing there with a Cheshire grin. 

He was shirtless and bekilted, with a fur-collared long sweeping coat made of what looked like patched-together deer hide. He was short enough that the coat dragged along the floor as he stepped up to Edwin and lifted his chin. 

One corner of the Cat King’s mouth curled up in a half-grin, and for the first time, Edwin noticed that his canines were subtly pointed. 

“I did. I received your invitation,” Edwin held up the piece of paper that he was still holding. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” The Cat King prowled around him, sweeping his slitted yellow eyes up and down Edwin’s body with absolutely no shame or attempt to hide it. “I’ve missed you. How’s London? Damp?”

“We’re in the Pacific Northwest, the absolute gold-standard for damp and rain,” said Edwin as he tugged down the edges of his tweed coat. “London is practically the Sahara by comparison.” 

“Ahh, that’s that English wit. I’ve missed it,” drawled the Cat King. He held up his arms and gestured around. “Well?”

“I like what you’ve done to the place,” said Edwin in a manner that came out far more sarcastic and dry than he’d intended. “Is your home renovation the surprise I’ve come all this way for?”

The Cat King was not a creature to stay still. He kept moving, at first in a circle around Edwin, then forward and back again with slinky steps. “Not quite.”

Edwin opened his mouth to say something, stopped, re-thought it, and then got the words out. He managed to say them confidently despite the sudden bundle of nerves in his stomach. “I’ve been wondering what to call you. The Cat King is quite a mouthful. And Your Majesty seems quite pretentious and unequal.” 

The question seemed to please the spirit, who sauntered back and slinked within Edwin’s personal space. He slid a finger along his collar and gave it a gentle tug. “Well, that seems quite hypocritical for someone whose country is holding onto the monarchy like it’s a liferaft.” He tilted his head, lifted his eyebrows, then said, “Why don’t you just call me Cat?”

“Cat,” said Edwin as he tested the name. He wobbled his head. “All right. Cat it is.” 

Cat sauntered back toward his throne-turned-bed and sat on the end of it, arms splayed out, legs apart. Only the length of his kilt kept the pose from being wholly indecent. His body was an invitation, and Edwin’s name was sprawled on every inch of it. “I won’t bite. Or scratch. Unless you ask me to. Come closer.” 

Edwin took a few mincing steps forward.

Cat looked at him expectantly.

Edwin summoned courage and got closer. He had spent so much of his life and a good chunk of his death denying how he felt about other men. But recent events and confessions and his second brush with Hell had made him face those parts of himself. “I’m…not quite sure why I’m here. Do you have a case?”

Cat slid a box from behind him. It was wooden and engraved and looked quite old. “No, no case. This is strictly a social call. But I think you know that.” He stood up again and stepped down toward Edwin. He opened the box and swung it around for him to see.

Inside was a leather collar that looked quite old but in excellent condition. The leather had been recently conditioned and it was shiny and full of character. It had brass finishes, and in place of studs were a series of white gems. It was also fixed with a small brass bell that tinkled in a deep, almost meditative chime. 

Cat pulled it out and with a wave of his fingers, the box vanished in blue light. He unfastened it and then held it up against his neck expectantly.

Edwin swallowed as he realized Cat was inviting him to fasten it around his neck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but his curiosity burned deep in his gut. Now it was his turn to circle behind his host. He slid the leather strap into its space on the loosest hole.

“Tighter,” purred Cat. 

Edwin, ghostly fingers shaking, did as he was told and fastened it until there was only a finger of space between the collar and Cat’s neck. As he was finishing the job, his fingers brushed the back of his neck. The sensation that trickled up his fingers made him pull back in alarm and stagger to the point where he fell back against the bed. 

Cat spun around, hip cocked, golden eyes full of cat-got-the-canary pleasure. 

“I…I…” Edwin stammered. He looked at his fingers, then at Cat. “I felt you!”

“Neat, isn’t it? Took me forever to source the stones. Then I had them set into this collar. I got that from somewhere else. Felt it needed to be a bit extra. Just for you.” Cat slid his fingers over the gems, then braced his hands on either side of Edwin’s hips and leaned in. He didn’t touch, but it was clear that he was inviting Edwin to do the touching.

Edwin stared in disbelief. Ghosts could interact with the world around them, but they couldn’t feel the world. But when he’d been fastening the collar, he’d felt the warmth of Cat’s skin and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. “How?”

“You’re the detective. You know that just about anything can be found with a little tenacity and the right connections.” Cat shifted forward and the bell sounded again. “Besides…” he sucked air between his teeth. “I felt like I needed to make it up to you. When Esther had you, your friends came to me for help.”

“They mentioned,” said Edwin, who was barely able to contain himself. But he dug deep into his well of English decorum and did his best to school his face and body into one of control. “You turned them down.”

“I…” Cat balled up his fists and punched the ends of the makeshift bed. His temper surged. “She’d just beaten me to death and threatened to do it again. I’ve only got so many lives, you know.” Then he pulled himself back and forced his tone into something softer. “But I gave them information that helped them. That’s got to count for something, right?”

“It does. Not a lot, but there’s a reason I haven’t cut you out. And…why…” Edwin lifted his chin, “...why I’ve come here now. How did you find those gems? They must be magical in nature. Something that taps into another plane, or a simulacra of skin-to-skin touch. It’s utterly fascinating. I haven’t even read of such a thing.”

Cat slid his fingers over the collar, “I’m not sure how it works. I’m sure with that big brain and all those books, you could figure it out. But that doesn’t matter to me. All that matters from my perspective is that it does.” He sat back and reached out to take Edwin’s hand. He sandwiched it between his own and rubbed slowly and gently. When he spoke again, his voice was quite low and intimate. “I thought you deserved to feel something other than pain for the first time in a hundred years.” And then he gently kissed his fingertips while keeping eye contact. 

Edwin closed his eyes to savor the sensation of warm hands and soft lips. When he did, he also realized he was able to feel the heat thrown off by Cat’s body. After a moment of eyes closed, he opened them and stared as he continued to kiss his hand and sandwich it, creating warm currents of sensation that skipped down his arm and through the rest of his spectral body. Slowly, he shifted back to sit more properly on the end of the bed. 

Cat gently nudged Edwin’s knees apart with his legs, then stood between them, gazing down at him with radiant affection. He slowly guided the hand he was holding up to his face. “Go on.”

Fascinated, Edwin set his hand on Cat’s cheek. He slowly caressed, feeling a series of fine hairs that weren’t even visible. His fingertips trickled up to his hairline, then along the side of it. The texture was not human, but instead like the thick fur of a black cat. It had once been more ginger and wavy, but his reincarnation after Esther’s attack had changed it. His other hand then joined the first, cupping Cat’s face. He bent his fingers under and slid them around the curve of his jaw and the planes of his face, picking up all the information his fingers had forgotten they could gather. He could feel a pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. 

“I’ve been missing so much,” said Edwin breathlessly.

Cat rolled his shoulders back and dropped the fur-collared coat off his broad shoulders, putting his fit and lean body on full display. He pressed his thumb against Edwin’s bottom lip, then touched it to his own. He licked the edge of his finger, then slid it along Edwin’s jaw.

The slick of saliva might have seemed a move of pure kink, but what it did was change the temperature of Edwin’s skin, revealing that the collar’s power was affecting them both. 

Edwin found himself deeply overwhelmed. Every part of him, including his scholar’s mind, urged him to explore more directly, to touch Cat and to feel and to be felt. The ache of existing with attraction to other men had been tempered by decades of pain and the barrier between the living and the dead. But now, it came rushing back to him, and for a moment he almost felt alive again. 

“I know. It’s a lot,” Cat lifted his hand and then gently slid his fingers through Edwin’s hair in a soft stroking motion. He trickled gentle touches along his temple, but also occasionally tugged his hair to prove that all levels of sensation were now available to them. “I had to turn in a lot of favours and a fair bit of cash to find this little trinket. But what can I say?” he leaned in and whispered right into Edwin’s ear, “I’m a sucker for good boys.” 

Edwin felt Cat’s breath hot against his ear and heard the long, almost moaned exhale. He looked down at his torso, at the sculpted pecs and abs. He summoned courage and flattened his palm against his chest, pressing firmly, feeling the tension of muscle and the yielding bits of soft flesh. He felt the gentle pulsing of his heartbeat deep in his ribcage. 

Cat lingered near his neck and pressed a soft kiss just below his earlobe. Then he nibbled the ear itself and extended his tongue to slide around the base of it. He kissed again, moving around his jaw, then he cupped his face and looked him in the eye. “I find it’s very sexy to check in on your partner. So…how are you feeling, champ?” 

“Overwhelmed, if I’m being honest,” stammered Edwin. “But you will note that I am still here.” 

“Yes, yes you are,” said Cat as he smiled with feline delight. “You’re being very brave. I commend you.” He slid a hand up his own knee and pulled up the bottom of his kilt, revealing a thigh just as well-muscled as his torso. 

Edwin had a moment of panic a second before Cat’s motions would reveal just what he was packing between his legs. He reached out and grabbed his wrist, then pulled it down, head dipping and breath he didn’t actually need to inhale suddenly ragged in what felt like lungs. It was all suddenly far too real and too powerful. His mind didn’t know how to process the flood of sensations that had been unavailable to him for so long.

“Ah, I see,” said Cat after a moment. “Not quite ready for the unwrapping, are you?” He sighed dramatically. “Fiiine. I can be patient.” He dropped the edge of his kilt and stepped backward. He walked away a few steps, then spun on the spot. “Maybe next time.”

Edwin sat there on the end of the bed, his hair ruffled and his bowtie askew. His whole body was tingling from just being near Cat, and the parts he touched were still exploding with sensation. “I’m sorry, I…I…”

“No no, no need to explain. It’s been a long time for you. I get it.” Cat smiled. “I’ll give you a little time.”

Edwin scrambled to his feet and tried to close the distance between them. Now that he’d touched and felt, he was like a man in the desert who’d forgotten what water tasted like. A drop had hit his tongue and now he was dying of thirst. “Wait. I was just, I needed a moment, that’s all.”

Cat swung around, his kilt’s many pleats flaring out around his legs before slapping heavily against his knees. “This is my fault. I should have started a little bit slower. I’d imagine it’s sort of like jumping into cold water on a hot summer’s day. Too much sensation all at once. Overwhelming. Or so I imagine.” 

Edwin realized then that Cat was toying with him, and he knew the power the collar had given over him. He had realized that the teasing was a form of payback for not returning his affections all those months ago. “Cat. Are you really going to leave it like this?”

Cat looked Edwin over, tapped his foot, then leaned his head back and whuffed in annoyance. “God! Why do you have to be so handsome and adorable and…” he made a face, then bit his fist. He spun around again, then marched with purpose up to Edwin. 

Before Edwin could fully process what was happening, Cat had an exceptionally strong arm wrapped around his waist, and the other braced against his cheek. He pulled him in for a deep, soft kiss and rocked side to side. For all his pent-up feline energy, the kiss was surprisingly sweet. 

Edwin had only kissed Monty, and that was quick and without sensation. In contrast, he tasted Cat, and felt the warmth and wetness of his mouth. He felt his body as they pressed against each other, each muscle flexing and relaxing as he moved and changed positions. It took him a moment to understand the rhythm of a kiss, but then he returned it with absolutely no experience but plenty of enthusiasm. 

Cat pulled back and grinned. His strange eyes glinted in the ambient light, his normally split pupils much more saucer-like. He looked utterly pleased with himself. “Happy now?”

Edwin, who had gotten up the courage to rest his hands against Cat’s hips, nodded. 

“Good.” Cat rested a hand against Edwin’s collarbone, then tweaked his chin. “That’s still all you get for now. I want you to daydream about me. And about what we could do together. I don’t want you rushing into this because you’re all high on new sensations. I want this to be real for you, not just the byproduct of magic.”

“Oh do not worry. It feels quite real to me,” said Edwin in a droll manner.

Cat bit his lip and lifted his chin up at the much taller Edwin. “Still.” He pushed off his chest, bell collar tinkling as he moved. “You know where I’ll be when you’re ready for round two.” 

Edwin reached out toward Cat, trying to catch his shoulder, to feel one more time. But before he could, he disappeared in a ripple of blue energy, leaving him alone in the warehouse with not even cats for company. He stood there for a long moment, mind racing, cataloging the shape and hue of the stones, searching his memory for mentions of similar gems. That academic exercise was a distraction from the powerful feelings Cat’s kiss and his touch had unearthed in him. 

Finally, Edwin smoothed his hair back into place and passed through the wall of the warehouse back onto the docks. He was startled to see the shape of Charles up ahead, who was flipping a coin, backlit by the streetlight. He cut a handsome, lean figure.

“Oi, mate. I was wondering how long you’d be in there for. What did old whiskers want, anyway?” 

“That’s not your business,” said Edwin defensively. He straightened himself once more. “Why are you waiting out here? We were supposed to meet at the remains of Jenny’s shop.” His words were slightly stammered and he was struggling to put himself back into the box where he’d spent so many years.

“All right, all right. No sense getting your knickers in a twist,” said Charles as he held up his hands. “Just thought it might be related to a case, is all.”

“No case,” said Edwin as he marched past Charles. “Let’s get home, shall we? We didn’t pick up any work here, but there are plenty of cases at home that need our attention. I trust your trip to Mick’s was fruitful?”

Charles hefted his infinitely expanding backpack on his shoulder and pointed to it. “Loaded for bear. We should be good for quite a while. Didn’t have a few things on him, but said he’d ask around. So we’ve got a reason to come back later.” His eyebrows lifted as he fell into step beside Edwin. 

Edwin stole a look at Charles’ grinning face. He had to look away immediately, lest his mind go places that would distract him from walking, let alone holding a conversation. “Well. Good. Better to support a small business than to give money to the magic cartels of London after all.”

As enticing and intoxicating as the interaction with the Cat King had been, Edwin couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if one of them wore the gems. Could he feel Charles? Could he caress his cheek? Could he hold him as a storm raged outside? Could they feel the things they missed out on in life with one another? 

The thought had already begun to haunt Edwin, and pierce his guts with guilt. Guilt for wanting more from Charles. Guilt for wanting less from Cat. Guilt for wanting them both for different reasons and in different ways.

As they reached an old mirror tucked into an alleyway ready to be hauled away for trash, Charles cast a look back toward the dock. He caught sight of Cat standing there before he disappeared in a roll of fog. 

“C’mon,” Charles beckoned and held out his hand, part of his body inside the mirror.

Edwin reached out and gripped Charles’ hand. When he did, he felt nothing. 

And everything. 

Continue reading.

[journodale]

Fan Theory: The miniaturization race

Ever since the JJ Abrams Star Trek film came out in 2009, I’ve been thinking a lot about the very different scale of the ship, the decision to use a power generation station and a brewery for different engine rooms, and why the USS Enterprise in that timeline would have been so much bigger than the one in the Prime Universe. Certain fan sites like Ex Astris Scientia went absolutely apoplectic about it, but I started thinking about what could have caused the differences in those timelines.

And then came Discovery, and after it Strange New Worlds, which introduced a whole host of much larger ships than we used to see in both the Original Series and the Star Trek movies, and the expectations that were raised in The Next Generation. To many fans, the progression of Enterprise designs getting progressively larger from the -A, -B, -C, -D, and -E suggested a linear pathway that as starships became more advanced, they got larger. But what if that’s not the case? And certainly, the fact that the USS Kelvin being a very large ship in the Prime Universe (again, to the apoplexy of EAS) suggests that the pathway was not, in fact, linear, and that we should consider what changed in the divergence of the timelines.

My theory: The miniaturization race.

In the prime timeline, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers began a program of trying to miniaturize its technology so that ships became more efficient, and that meant that they didn’t need the enormous powerplants that we saw in the USS Kelvin, and ships could get smaller and more streamlined as a result. There is some suggestion pre-2009 film that this was already happening. In “The Cage,” the USS Enterprise had a crew of 203, whereas by the time Kirk took command, the crew complement was over 400. This suggests that equipment had become less bulky and there was more room for crew aboard. I will note that Deep Space Nine’s “Trials and Tribble-ations” episode had Dax remarking that they “really packed” the ships of Kirk’s era with crew, but again, that may have been possible with smaller equipment.

The USS Kelvin had an enormous powerplant, in part because JJ Abrams used the Long Beach Generating Station as the engineering section, to “give credibility to the engine room of an older Starfleet ship.” If we follow that the NX-01 Enterprise underwent a refit mid-life to include a secondary hull with a larger powerplant (which Picard Season 3 essentially made canon), that begins the notion that as ships got faster, they needed larger power plants to push past Warp 5, until we got to the monstrosity of the USS Kelvin.

The NX-01 Enterprise engine room

The USS Kelvin's engine room

But this is where Starfleet started focusing on making things smaller and more efficient. By the time we get to the first season of Discovery, the USS Kelvin is no longer wildly out of scale, but ships are around its size, but in some cases, getting smaller and more efficient. While there is some debate around the various refits of the Constitution-class, given that the USS Enterprise is larger in Discovery and Strange New Worlds than it was in the original series, there can be some assumption about refit cycles.

The Eaglemoss book on the Illustrated History of the USS Enterprise and USS Enterprise-A suggests that after “The Cage,” the ship underwent a major refit for its next deep-space mission, where the nacelles were reinforced and featured additional hull plating to give them a bulkier outline, necessitating reinforcing the pylons, and that other dimensions were increased in order to install the new equipment. Strange New Worlds indicates that this program seems to have been implemented across not only Constitution-class ships, but also Sombra-class ships (which used many of the same components), but it was also suggested in the Short Treks episode “Q&A” that the larger configuration was original to Pike’s mission, that we retcon the appearance in “The Cage,” and that after Pike’s mission that the refit was to a smaller silhouette, such as the USS New Jersey seen in Picard Season 3. In either case, the upgrade cycles were nevertheless evident in what we saw onscreen.

In the Short Treks episode “Ask Not,” we saw an expansive engine room aboard the USS Enterprise, which had been refit before Strange New Worlds to a much smaller space, with a smaller and more efficient warp core (though in the first episode, “Strange New Worlds,” we did get a glimpse that the core extended a few more decks upward, with fewer open areas and catwalks), which fits the theory of miniaturization. That again got even smaller by the time of TOS, and the lore would have it that the warp core was changed from a vertical to a horizontal one under the floor of the engineering set, but would again be vertical following the refit of The Motion Picture. This is also where the limits of the miniaturization program were reached, and things started to get larger again (but not brewery larger).

The USS Enterprise's engine room from "Ask Not"

The USS Enterprise's engine room in "Strange New Worlds"

The USS Enterprise's engine room in TOS season one

The USS Enterprise's engine room in TOS season three

The refit USS Enterprise's engine room in The Motion Picture

I would also posit that the Klingons were also engaged in the miniaturization race around this time, given that the original D-7 and K’tinga cruisers seen in Discovery and Strange New Worlds also started out much larger than they did in the TOS and The Motion Picture, and we could suppose that the early prototypes of those classes were larger but as the newer tech came into place, they were able to substantially reduce the cross-sections of those ships while still retaining their general configurations, leading to the smaller versions as they went into full production.

So what about the Kelvin-universe and the much larger USS Enterprise from those films? Well, after the Narada emerged and created the separate timeline, Starfleet was spooked at how powerful that ship was and how easily it destroyed the USS Kelvin, and focused their energies on building up their weapons and defences based on the detailed scans they took of the Narada, and not on the miniaturization of technology. That meant that the powerplants of ships stayed large (brewery large), and the ships stayed big and got bigger rather than smaller and more efficient.

The Kelvin timeline USS Enterprise's brewery-style engine room, which allegedly contained multiple warp cores

Lots of catwalks and pipes in the brewery-style engine room

The Kelvin timeline USS Enterprise's second warp core from Into Darkness, filmed at the experimental nuclear fusion reactor at the National Ignition Facility.

The Klingons, who captured the damaged Narada and had it in orbit of Rura Penthe for those twenty-some years would also have been learning the secrets of its technologies (which may or may not have included Borg tech, depending on how much lore you treat as canon). Yes, that also means the USS Vengeance from Into Darkness is ridiculously large, but again, that timeline focused on bigger and more power, and not on efficiency. It's my theory on how the two timelines' technologies diverged so significantly, and I hope that it makes sense.

[nomnomdiary]

Introducing My OC ^_^

⚠️ Mentioning physical illness, mental illness and suicidal thought. ⚠️OC x Canon related ⚠️Death of Alive Character

*I updated the biodata. I have deleted the old post because it underwent some changes*

Enjoy :)

Constance Emily Wood

~

General Bio :

Name : Constance Emily Wood Age : 25 (In the story events), 33 (marrying with Arthur :v) Birth : Concordia, 12 January 1873 (in my HC, the setting is 1898) Origin : Concordia, US Ethnicity : Anglo-American Pronouns : She/her

Personality :

MBTI-Enneagram : ISFJ 6w5 Characteristic : Heartwarming, kind, emphatic, but she has some trust issue with commitment. Likes : Chocolate, flower bucket, ball gown, novel book Hates : betrayal, seeing other people get hurt, incompetence colleague

Physical traits:

Blood type : AB+ Height : 5'1 ft/155 cm Eyes : Brown Hair : Darkest Brown

Family and Love Interest :

Love interest : Arthur Wright

Family : Ernst Wood (Father) ✝, Amelia Wood (Mother) ✝, Edward Wright (son), unnamed grandchild, Constantine Wright (great-grandson)

Affiliation :

Concordian Police Department : Officer (1893-1896) Detective (1896-1898)

Concordian Flying Squad : Detective (1898-1919), Captain (1900-1903), Chief (1919-1929)

Concordia University : Lecturer (since 1910) Professor (since1918)

Characteristic :

Constance is known to be quiet women. Due to her past as an orphan and being shunned by friends, Constance became accustomed to being alone. Her trait faded when she joined The Flying Squad, where she was invited to have lunch with her colleagues while she was used to eating alone.

Because of her past for being black sheep, she has trust issues and like to against authority. She’s so idealistic that led to debates with Chief Wright when her first time in joined the flying squad. She did have a bitter view of the world, but she didn't act cold. She covered it up with professionalism, competence, and the ability to work with other officers. The cases she handled and the people she met taught her the meaning of life. At least, there are still good people who appreciate her behind the cruel world.

Since she was a child, Constance grew up with a million of dreams. Her father always taught her to be optimist and never giving up on dreaming even though they were from the working class. She proved that she worked hard to save money, attend courses, for go to the police academy. Constance shattered the argument that the working class can be anything.

In addition, Constance has a great sense of empathy. Being an orphan and having been bullied in her childhood, she cannot stand to see others suffer. This is disturbs her in working a detective sometimes.

Background story :

Born into a working-class family, little Constance lived with her father, who worked as a construction worker. Her mother passed away during childbirth. Constance became obsessed with becoming a police officer when she saw some police had better live than her when she works to shining the shoes. Her father always taught her optimism and never giving up, despite coming from a working-class background.

Unfortunately, her father died in a fire in their house when she was 5 years old. This horrific event traumatized Constance, especially when she accidentally saw her father's charred body. She developed a strong aversion to eating meat because of it.

There are no family members willing to take care of her so the local police placed Constance in a catholic orphanage in New Haven. She was in a state of deep grief and refused to interact with anyone. Then, she met her first friend, Josephine. Josephine was cheerful and had many friends. She comforted Constance and invited her to play.

After being visited by the police, Constance remembered her dream again. She started working part-time at a textile factory in New Haven. She saved money for her police education and other needs. Unfortunately, this made Josephine jealous of Constance's increasing income. Josephine stole Constance's money and got caught. With her manipulative abilities, Josephine framed Constance as the villain, turning all the people in the orphanage against her. Constance became a public enemy since that.

Constance was bullied by everyone. She was often beaten by her friends who got manipulated by Josephine. There was a time when Constance couldn't take it anymore and fought back against Josephine, easily defeating her and making her nose bleed. This resulted in Constance being punished by the nurturing nuns.

From then on, Constance was frequently punished by the nurturing nuns, always being falsely accused by Josephine. Her back was repeatedly beaten with a stick until it bled and left scars that lasted into adulthood. There was no one who stands with her. Almost no one.

Until one day, she couldn't take it anymore. She decided to attempt suicide by jumping from a building. She was inspired by a girl from the orphanage who had died due to similar act some time ago. When she attempted it one night, her action was stopped by a nun, Aunt Schulz. Constance rebelled and bit Aunt Schulz's arm. She no longer respected anyone, as she felt that it was pointless since she was always blamed even when she didn't do anything. But instead of punishing her, Aunt Schulz embraced her tightly. Surrendering, Constance could only cry loudly in her embrace. Aunt Schulz promised to free Constance from bullying and find her opportunities to reach her dreams.

The next day, Constance's room was moved to the building where the babies were kept. She was free, no longer with the friends who tormented her. She only needed to work to calm the babies there. Soon, Aunt Schulz found an opportunity to earn money again. Constance worked as a nanny at Lady Georgina Uppertown's house. She was thrilled to be able to observe and learn the etiquette courses held there.

Her life in the orphanage continued until she was 17 years old. She left the orphanage and enrolled in the police academy. Of course, Constance faced ridicule because she was a woman and came from a working-class background but she was strong to face it. This bullying was nothing compared to what she experienced in the orphanage. Additionally, she was also deeply shocked that she had to deal with corpses in the police field, where she had trauma related to it. She fought hard to overcome her trauma and succeeded.

She graduated from the academy at the age of 19 and started working as a police officer. At the age of 25, she was selected to be one of the members of the Concordian Flying Squad, an elite police unit specially formed to handle serious cases with selected police officers.

Relationship to other characters : *It's talking about the relationship and some HC from me so it will be different from the game canon*

Isaac Bontemps :

Their relationship is quite good as colleagues. Constance is supportive of him. She comforts Isaac when he is sad to see Marla making “something” with another man due to her financial problems. She also helps treat Isaac's trauma with horses.

Maddie O’Malley :

Like Isaac, their relationship is quite good as colleagues. However, Constance gets annoyed when she sees Maddie with absinthe in her hand. At the end of the main event, Constance visits Maddie's house, comforts Maddie and her baby after Charles' death.

Bernadine Rochester :

If asked who Constance's closest friend is, the answer would be Bernadine. Their meeting began with thwarting Bernadine's suicide attempt. Constance saw that Bernadine was suffering in the same way. Their lives were shattered after being left by their parents (both parents and uncle) and often being slandered, making them a public enemy of evil people. Constance was determined to protect Bernadine and help her destroy the Rochester family. In the end, Bernadine had to die by Horatio to protect her lover, Arthur. Her death made Constance depressed because she lost her only friend who accepted her as she was, unlike her friends at the orphanage. Since then, Constance started wearing a black skirt. She didn't want her grief to be visible because of her job.

Arthur Wright :

Initially, their relationship was like cats and dogs. Constance was idealistic and Chief Wright was a little bit pragmatic leader. As the case ended, their relationship improved. They learned from each other, respected each other, and were willing to work together. Sometimes Chief Wright asking to Constance about his depression due to the loss of her lover, Bernadine. They both are losing Bernadine. Their relationship as colleague continued until Chief Wright's term ended. He became a senator for the Concordia district. Seven years later, Arthur began to recover from his depression and suddenly fell in love with Constance. The tragedy makes his hobby of socializing with the upper class is getting faded away, and he start fell in love with a girl who had a working-class background. He saw Constance as a hardworking and empathetic girl. Constance's lack of confidence and trust issues made it difficult for her to approach him, but she eventually succeeded. Constance realized the depth of Arthur's love and realized that she deserved to be loved. They finally got married a year later (yes, it was forced by his parent because he’s getting older).

Viola Pemberton :

Constance was very angry to find out that Viola had betrayed them in order to be recognized as a member of the Rochester family. As an orphan, she was furious to see Viola caring more about her biological father who had raped her mother more than her stepfather who loved her heartfeltly. In the end, she had to make peace for the sake of professionalism in their work. Over time, their relationship improved.

Justin Lawson :

Initially, their relationship was good. Justin admired Constance for her bravery in criticizing Chief Wright's pragmatic attitude. Justin and Constance were both idealistic and justice-oriented. However, in the end, Constance was horrified to see Justin Lawson's ambition, his hypocrisy, and she starts to hate him.

Marla de Paradis :

They are quite close. Constance was amazed by Marla's caring spirit in adopting some kids. After the main events of the game, they made donations to several orphanages.

Fun facts :

The story of Constance has a connection with Cinderella. She was given an expensive Cinderella storybook by her father and it created a connection with Cinderella. After becoming an orphan, Constance was placed in an orphanage, which is equated with Cinderella's stepfamily as her new family after her father death. Constance was treated poorly by almost everyone in the orphanage, just like Cinderella was mistreated by her stepmother and stepsisters. Then Constance fought back against Josephine, symbolizing Cinderella's courage to attend the party clearly disliked by her stepfamily. When Constance was at the height of despair and finally tried to commit suicide, her attempt was successfully stopped by Aunt Schulz, symbolized by the fairy godmother that saved Cinderella from her despair. Aunt Schulz helped her find connections to achieve her dream of becoming a police officer, like the fairy godmother who created the glass slipper that created connections and privileges to achieve Cinderella's dream of a better life.

She always wears gloves to recovered the scars from whip she got when she was in the orphanage.

She fights using street-fight. Apart from Josephine, she also fought with Fiona Flanangan which caused serious injuries to both of them

Although she was raised in a Catholic orphanage, she is Protestant but she is not so religious. She witnessed puritans ravaging her orphanage and was repeatedly beaten by the Catholic nuns in the orphanage. She's not anti-religion, just not very religious.

She loves cooking

She always advising Evie to organize her files. She little bit doesn't like some messy

Usually girls in orphanages are taught household skills. Constance had this ability so she was assigned to go undercover as a maid at Rochester Castle.

Her hobby is reading novels. When she feels sad or uncomfortable, she starts reading novels. This hobby developed when she was little. Her father gave her a Cinderella book at Christmas. She also likes reading some non-fiction books and has shown an interest in the world of criminology since college. She has published several books based on her experiences as a detective.

Constance once cried when arresting a man from the working class. His daughter ran to him and cried over her father's arrest. Remember of her father, Constance ran out of the crowd and cried in the back. She was reprimanded by Isaac because she had to act professionally as a law enforcement officer.

She’s good in financial management. As people from the working class, she manages finances to survive and achieve her dreams.

Rather than jewelry, she would rather buy a beautiful gown

She dislikes socializing with the upper class because she knows she will definitely be looked down upon by them due to her working-class background.

Even so, Constance really likes dancing, especially with her lover (ex-)Chief Wright. She felt like a princess overnight and felt the romantic love she never felt before. Of course she learned to dance before.

She speaks a little Irish Gaelic and makes Maddie jealous sometimes. She got it when she was in an orphanage where there were lots of Irish children. She also grumbles in Irish Gaelic after arguing with Chief Wright *yes I change it. Being fluent in Irish Gaelic from the orphanage is not makes sense I think*

After the game event, Constance enrolled at Concordia University in the Criminology department with a scholarship from Lady Highmore for her services in saving Concordia. Several years after her graduation, she pursued further studies to obtain a master's and doctoral degree, eventually becoming a professor in the Criminology department at Concordia University.

Her undergraduate thesis focused on the Rochester scandals. The thesis received a high grade.

After becoming chief of the Flying Squad, in 1929 she decided to leave the police and focused to be a professor at Concordia University.

She died in 1962 at the age of 92.

Trivia :

I was inspired by Judy Hopps (Zootopia), Johan Seong (Lookism), and ofc Cinderella.

I am also inspired by one of my family members. They often tell stories of their childhood suffering as an orphan, experiencing loneliness and discrimination. It truly inspires me, both for myself and for shaping the character of Constance.

I was also influenced by K-drama The Glory, The Mask Girl and K-Movie The Handmaiden lol *I’m so obsessed with them*

In the development, she got many changes. Initially, Constance was a cheerful and enthusiastic girl. As time went on, without realizing it, I made Constance into a Byronic character.

Where did the name Constance come from? Yeah actually this is a bit ridiculous. I am obsessed with a German Journalist, Constantin Schreiber and usually when I like someone, I also like their name. And… I got the Constance name. Moreover, the Constance name is suits with her nature, steadfast and constant.

[linklethehistorian]

Linkle’s Fazbear Frights & Lore Insights YouTube Video Script #1: Into the Pit

[Video Link]

[YouTube Channel]

[Masterlist of completed Fazbear Frights articles on Tumblr]

(The following is the script of the YouTube Video linked above. In order to encourage watching the video in order to receive early access to new content, all YouTube Video scripts will be released at roughly one month or more after the posting of a new video. Thank you for your understanding.)

Hello, everybody! It’s Linkle and, this will be my first video on this new channel! Yay! 

If you’ve been following me for awhile on my other accounts, you know that I put out a poll asking people if they would like to hear my thoughts on the Fazbear Frights books, and any potential lore relevancy they may have to the main canon universe of FNAF (AKA the universe that most, if not all, of the mainline games take place in — as well as some of the non-mainline games, too, like FNAF World).

With the ‘no’ option taking up just 15% of the final results, the answer was an overwhelming and resounding ‘yes’.

Well, after a little while of getting into the flow of releasing those articles in written form, I have finally decided to get over my stage fright and also begin recording them in the form of public YouTube videos, where I know a majority of the FNAF community congregates.

Disclaimer & Important Notes

Since this will be an on-going series that may take many months or even years to fully complete, and I obviously cannot expect everyone who chooses to watch one of these to first pause the video and go watch another that contains the important pre-article notes and disclaimers, I have decided that I will instead be stitching this section into every single video I create, as well as adding additional, story-specific notes and disclaimers at the tail end of it.

While I intend to break this video up into chapters to begin with, I will also try to leave a timestamps in the description for you to click, in order to jump to the unique part of the disclaimers and notes for each story should you already be familiar with the generic ones, as well as timestamps for other sections of the video you may be interested in jumping to. 

That being said, I would be grateful if you would watch the whole thing through, as I someday hope to have this channel monetized, and from what I know, watch time is very important when it comes to YouTube.

Now, with that out of the way, please bear the following information in mind:

1: I feel it very important to note that I am a ‘Frights Fiction’ truther, and my videos will be written from that perspective, as such.

If you don’t know what ‘Frights Fiction’ is, it is a very specific position in which some people stand that states that while the books are canon to the main game universe, they are canon only in the same sense that the video games commissioned by Fazbear Entertainment LLC were — that is to say, they are an in-universe Goosebumps-like book series created by the company in order to help profit off of and continue to discredit the actual tragedies that occurred within the world, by mixing up truths with untruths and exaggerating events they then sell as fiction, slapping a name reminiscent of the former attraction — Fazbear’s Fright — on the cover, just for extra effect.

If you are not a subscriber to ‘Frights Fiction’ and are not willing to remain to the idea, please be respectful and just click off of the video. I am not interested in seeing people starting some grand debate over whether or not you subscribe to it; I’m just here to share my thoughts with those who are interested, so I would be appreciative if you did not try to start arguments in my comment sections over it. I’m sure there are very many great FNAFtubers out there who will agree with you on your stance and be more to your liking, and if there aren’t, then I wholly encourage you to be the one to start the tradition and film your own video that better suits your own perspectives.

2: I do not particularly intend to get into explaining or defending the concept of Frights Fiction as a whole in these posts, so if you are genuinely interested in the concept, but have never heard of it before, there are many good videos out there which explain the concept quite well; my personal recommendation if you’re interested in the topic is GiBi’s Horror Homestead, who is not only a fantastic FNAFtuber in general, but who is going through each book bit by bit and pointing out all of the evidence to support the theory. 

Given that his 9 hour main canon lore video was the entire reason I fell so deeply in love with FNAF in the first place, I would be remiss not to plug and recommend him at every chance I can get. Although he may not yet carry the big name of those like Game Theory, Dawko, or FuhNaff, he is truly one of the most thoughtful and insightful FNAFtubers out there who actually elevates others within the community (even those he disagrees with), and I truly believe he deserves much more notoriety than he gets for it.

3: These analyses will inevitably hinge on my personal understanding of FNAF canon lore regarding the games, and, yes, will include both theorizing with facts and evidence, and likely a lot of speculation, as well. If you disagree with a stance I have regarding canon, again, I refer you to matter #1; please be respectful and move on. I’m not here to discuss anything except the relevance that the books could have in regards to the lore, in accordance with the Frights Fiction stance, and I would thus appreciate you keeping things on topic.

4: There will be spoilers for the Frights Fiction stories discussed in each video, along with the games from the mainline canon. Obviously. If you don’t want to be spoiled on a specific story or on any of the games, don’t watch the video in question until you’ve read the story you want to read or played the game you want to play.

Certain videos may also contain spoilers for other games and/or stories or books. In each case, those warnings will be added to the tail end of this section on the individual videos in question. You can look in the description for a timestamp to jump to the unique notes and disclaimers that will contain these things if you don’t want to wait through this entire section.

5: I’m calling the Crying Child “Garret”. It’s the only name he canonically has in any form of the series that doesn’t require puzzle solving to come to the conclusion of, and it’s my preference. If you like any other name, just mentally replace it in your head when you read it.

I don’t want to wade through thousands of comments telling me, “Actually, the crying child’s name is Dave”, or “I call the crying child Evan” or anything of the like. I know. I know basically every name out there under the sun that exists. I just don’t want to use those names — plain and simple. 

I respect your own picks; all I ask is that you don’t try to force them onto me.

6: It should be noted that, as Scott has confirmed in a decently recent interview with Dawko that he just writes down the basic plot of his stories and all the important points he wants to cover, and then lets the another author flesh it out more fully, we have no way of knowing outside of the main plot exactly what details are his ideas and which aren’t; therefore, there’s a good chance that a few, or even multiple, of the things I bring up are just massive coincidence and have no meaning whatsoever in reality. I do think there’s value in discussing it nevertheless, but still, that inherent uncertainty is why I will often try to provide more than just one or two details to back up most of my more elaborate interpretations and ideas; if we can’t be sure that any one single minute detail within the books has value — unless of course it’s something Scott has specifically said is important — then I find it a little shaky to place too much importance on them individually.

7: While I will be giving my general impressions of each book as I go along and probably sharing where it ranks currently out of all the stories I’ve read, I do not have any serious intentions to do a deep dive on them beyond how it regards the lore implications of the games. If you’re looking for someone who’s going to break down the books word by word and analyze, in a meta way, what they could be trying to say and possible interpretations of their messages in terms of being a standalone story, this series of posts is probably not for you. For that, I again will recommend GiBi’s Horror Homestead, as he is currently doing the deep dives of exploring themes and general symbolism and interpretations outside of just the FNAF lore, as well as looking for evidence of the Frights Fiction stance he already currently takes, and it’s very interesting and thought-provoking.

Into the Pit-Specific Notes

Today, we’re going to be kicking off this video series by talking about Into the Pit (the story, I should clarify, not the entire Fazbear Frights volume).

For Into the Pit’s analysis, I’m going to need you to note the following:

First of all, I will be discussing the video game adaption version of this story to a limited degree, since, as per ‘Frights Fiction’, it would be a video game that exists in-universe in the main FNAF canon as an adaption of the fictional horror story by the same name, and thus is equally important to examine when talking about potential lore relevancy. If you don’t want spoilers, save this video and come back later after you’ve experienced the game for yourself.

Secondly, I will (mostly) be dismissing any Easter eggs throughout the game version that do not have a crucial part in the story, since Frights Fiction would largely dictate that — unless they do not conflict with the main canon and would genuinely bring something of value to the table in terms of discussion — these merely exist because the game was made within the context of all of the various in-universe fictionalized stories. In other words, most of the Easter Eggs that exist out-of-universe are still just Easter Eggs in-universe, too.

And among all of those, there are two in particular that I do want to knock out of the running for very specific reasons, but since discussing individual Easter Eggs within the game would technically be considered spoilers, it will have to be saved for the actual main analysis section of the video, instead of being thrown out here.

Lastly, apart from where I feel it relevant, I will not be doing a deep-dive into the changes between the book and the game, either, since they are both fictional media within the FNAF universe, and thus the retcons and changes mostly have no value in the discussion of the lore or canon. If someone else wants to scream about how they feel the book was done dirty because of how much they got wrong in the game or something, I absolutely encourage you to go write your own article or make your own video! There are definitely a lot of not-insignificant changes between the two, so I can understand if someone was bothered by that. This video just isn’t about that.

…And I believe that will do it for the disclaimers and notes section. If you haven’t left already and you’re worried about spoilers for anything, this is your final warning to click off the video and come back later. 

I’ll give you a good few seconds to make up your mind and leave if necessary.

…We good? Alright, let’s dive into the main bulk of the video, then.

Into the Pit Analysis

Alright, since this is the first video in the series, let me briefly explain how this format is going to work:

Each analysis is going to be broken up into two major sections: ‘Overall Impressions’, where I talk about my general feelings on the story outside of dissecting the implications it has on the lore, and ‘Lore Relevancy’, where I’ll be talking about everything potentially lore-related.

In both of those sections, we will then have a couple of sub-sections: for the ‘Overall Impressions’ section, if a particular story has any adaptations outside of the original book, there will be subsections dedicated to each different form of media it appears in. In the ‘Lore Relevancy’ section, we will have two subsections — with one being ‘The Lies and Half-Truths’, where we will discuss both anything that we know is definitely not relevant to the FNAF main canon lore and anything that is somewhat based on true events, but confirmably not entirely, and ‘The Truths and Likely Truths’, where we will discuss anything that we can confirm or otherwise be reasonably certain is true, as well as things that seem likely to be true but are not as easily comfortable – which, for ease of determining which is which, will each be divided into two respective sub-subsections.

And now that you understand how this is going to work, let’s get to discussing and analyzing!

Overall Impressions

The Book:

I mean, I liked it. Because I wanted to go into it without any preconceived notions about the story, I had been waiting until after I finished playing the video game adaption to read this, and I’m glad that I did, it’s just… getting used to the formatting of the books was a bit…unusual, for me.

I had seen the comic version of Fetch prior to all of this, but I’d never read the actual story, so there was a lot I really didn’t know to expect with the Fazbear Frights books, in those regards? For example, the constant use of ‘said’ is definitely not to my particular writing style tastes, and there were several times when I thought denoting who the speaker was wasn’t necessary at all, but, thankfully, when you’re consuming it in the form of an audiobook (which I did), you can usually tune that sort of thing out and not notice it as much as you would if the words were staring you in the face all the time.

As for the story itself, yeah, I’d say I enjoyed it! Oswald, on the whole, is a very likable kid with sympathetic plights, his mom is cool, and his father seems like a good and surprisingly not one-dimensional character, for as little time as he’s actually present in the book; throughout the story, we get a pretty good feel for who his family is and how much they care for each other, in spite of the fact that the slow death of the town they live in has left them struggling, and some of the choices that were made in the aftermath were not exactly the best. 

One thing I particularly appreciate is that no character feels out of place or unnecessary in the book version of the story, which, as I’ll get into in the next subsection, I unfortunately can’t really say about the game.

I admittedly do feel that having Oswald immediately find his father again with minimal trouble once he got back to the ballpit was a…bit of an anticlimactic thing to have happen, when I believe it had only been a day since he was kidnapped in the first place; however, I know that this opinion was partially influenced by the fact that the game adaption was my first foray into the story, and, in reality, the book actually makes phenomenally more sense for its choice and raises far less difficult-to-answer questions, so it probably just comes down to a matter of personal preference, in the end, in regard to this — especially when the two are so wildly different in so many other ways, as well. 

I think, overall, I do like the book version the most, in terms of the story, but I appreciate more what new things the game brought to the table in terms of lore relevance (which I’ll discuss in the ‘lore relevancy’ section, obviously).

They’re both good in their own ways.

The Game: 

I don’t have a lot to add here in terms of the characters or their personalities, since, for as many differences as the two renditions may have, a lot of this particular aspect of the story is the same. 

The only character that I’d say somehow feels both slightly more irrelevant and slightly also too relevant in the game version is Dylan Cooper, the bully at Oswald’s school. This may just be me, but the reason that I say this is because they make quite a very big deal about the fact that Dylan finds Oswald at the dump on the second to last day of the game. Not only that, but during this scene, they have Dylan laugh and act very suspiciously, in an oddly menacing way — so much so that I thought for a moment that they were going to have him get directly involved with the main plot in some manner, which he really didn’t.  I think it would’ve been better to just keep his role exactly the same as it was in the book, rather than adding more to him and playing it up in a way that lead one to think that something bigger was going to happen.

Furthermore, the lack of inclusion of any mention of Oswald’s best friend, Ben, removes some of the feeling behind why Oswald is so frustrated with his life situation and his Dad, which I think is a bit of a shame after reading the book.

On the plus side of characters and their development, though, the added ability to pick up the Dad’s items and view little stories about Oswald and his family is a really nice touch that I appreciated, and Oswald thinking in one of them about how much his Mom losing her husband would devastate her was absolutely heartbreaking. 

As for some of the other changes the game made, I have very mixed feelings; although I did think it was cool to have the search for Oswald’s Dad extend for a few days and give us a longer glimpse into the past in doing so, it also raises many more questions in terms of a) why there were several additional kids that Oswald had to rescue, b) whether the kids in the Party Room at the beginning of the game were even dead in that version, because it was never properly addressed like it was in the book and thus left room for doubt, and c) the actions of Spring Bonnie (or the Yellow Thing™️, as it is called in the original story) throughout, which I could also get into, but I feel might warrant an entire video itself. (If you’re interested in that, maybe drop me a comment and I’ll cover it sometime.) 

Also, all the random Easter eggs are super cool, but I feel like anyone who somehow thinks the books and the games based on them are actual 1:1 events that happened, and not just in-universe books and games, are going to use tons of these to go wild with theories about retcons and all of that sorts of stuff that is just…clearly not the case, so…meh. I’m divided.

As for gameplay, it…it’s good! It’s the first FNAF game to have different difficulty settings at the start (except UCN), which is awesome, though I feel like quite honestly, it’s the easiest game of them all, as well. I have no difficulty whatsoever beating it on Frightening mode (the normal mode), and can barely tell the difference from Creepy (easy mode), which…I haven’t played the other modes yet, so I can’t comment on those completely, but I suspect I could easily beat the hardest one with minimal issue, to be honest.

Now, whether that’s a good thing or not is probably going to vary by personal opinion, but…I don’t know, for me, despite being an easy mode lover in most games, not having any level of tension while playing this game somehow just…made it feel very much not like FNAF for me, and not necessarily in the most positive of ways.

Now, that isn’t to say I didn’t like the game, but, it did take a little bit of the essence of FNAF away, and…I feel like in horror games, you should not be able to feel like there is never any real tension involved while playing. Again, this is just personal opinion, but, that’s my stance, at least.

But! I think we all know that’s not really what you’re here to have me go on about, is it? You all want to hear about lore relevancy, so…let’s just get on with that.

Lore Relevancy

In what is an extremely ironic turn of events, despite this story — out of all of the four I’d listened to at the time of writing this, at least — having the most blatant connection to the game’s canon lore, I honestly think that this will probably be one of the books that I have the least to say about in terms of breaking that down and going over it, mostly because I feel that it being so heavily tied to a specific part of the canon we know a lot about from the games just….really makes it blatantly clear which parts we definitely can’t trust.

So, most importantly, I guess let’s start with some examples of the one advantage Into the Pit has over nearly every other book in the series that I’m aware of thus far: the things it tells us that we can know aren’t true.

The Lies and Half-truths

Funnily enough, the thing we know we can absolutely discard the most is any of the details of the murders that happened in 1985 — at least, in the way Into the Pit presents them.

In the book (and perhaps the game? The image isn’t clear enough to be sure), there are six victims — not to mention the game adding a whole potential four other children whom Spring Bonnie tried and failed to kill thanks to Oswald — but we know for a fact that, while William had six victims total when we’re including Charlie Emily, there were only the five at most who died inside the restaurant during that year. So can we trust the number of victims? No.

Can we trust the method they died in, then…? Also no; in both the book and its game adaption, we are painted a scene of families and kids running and screaming in terror from a monster that was mass nabbing and killing kids, but we know for a fact, from multiple canon games both old and new, that William lured the children into the back before killing them covertly, and was never actually seen doing it except in costume via cameras. Furthermore, this must have happened one by one and not all at once, contrary to what Into the Pit purports, as the order in which they died is brought up several times in the more recent canon games as being in some way worthy of mentioning — which it most definitely would not if their deaths only varied by a matter of seconds or minutes at best.

So what can we trust in and rely on about the MCI (Missing Children’s Incident) murders? Well, honestly, just that it takes place in 1985. That’s literally it. That’s all that’s definitely relevant to the canon of the main games from this story in any way, when it comes to the MCI itself.

Now, that’s not to say there’s nothing else in the story that’s of note at all, though; there’s actually a lot that I think is worth paying attention to and speculating on, it’s just that very little of it actually has to do with the crime that was committed, as most of that is, unsurprisingly, heavily played up, exaggerated, and sensationalized; after all, that’s the entire in-universe purpose of these books and games existing — to discredit and make light of the real events by turning bits and pieces of them into spooky fictional stories.

Before we get into what I think is of value, though, let’s just rule out two more things from the game version of Into the Pit that I think we need to firmly take off the table — namely, the toy airplane from the FNAF movie which is on a table in the room where Oswald’s Dad is being held captive, and the photo taken from the Silver Eyes trilogy of Henry beside a fully mascot-costumed William, which was placed in the shadows on the wall in the same area.

These are literally both just Easter Eggs referencing alternate universe stories with no relevancy to the lore, and I want to make that very clear before we begin to move forward.

How do I know this for certain? It’s very easy, actually.

With the airplane, there is literally no way that this has any implications on the lore, because Garret — the one whom the plane belonged to — was not one of William’s victims within the canon of the main games; he was William’s son, who died tragically from an accident that occurred during one of Michael’s pranks, and became the catalyst for everything that William did in FNAF in the first place.

And as for the photo, we already have a brand-new picture of William and Henry that is acknowledged and picked up by Oswald in-game, not to mention crucially recognized by Spring Bonnie himself and absolutely required for the true ending. And in this photo — both in black and white within the in-game and out-of-game trophies achieved when picking it up, and in color in the unused data — the two look entirely different from how that alternate universe portrays them, with Henry maintaining his design from the official Encyclopedia, and William possessing a (as far as I am aware) mostly new and unique design of his own. I apologize to anyone who actually likes the Silver Eyes trilogy’s designs for them, but seriously, there is just no reason to assume that we should trust something that is barely visible and placed on a random wall in shadows, over something that actually has plot relevance to the game itself and is required to get the true ending.

If William and Henry are being given a canon design for the main universe, it’s absolutely the new photo that we were shown, not some other old one tossed in as an Easter Egg.

Oh, and lastly, but definitely still very importantly, in the game version of Into the Pit, there’s also some implication that Oswald’s dad may very well have been the Freddy Bully, one of Michael’s friends, who participated in the prank that led to Garret’s death. Considering Oswald’s Dad’s unwillingness to talk about what happened in regards to Freddy’s in the book, and the fact that Help Wanted 2 strongly implies Cassie’s father is Bonnie Bully, this makes it very likely that we are now being given information in some form about Michael’s various former cohorts when he was a teenager, and how William seems to hold a grudge against all of them in some shape or form, and they frequently met bad fates. 

Obviously, the events of the story couldn’t have played out as they did in the main canon, because of the numerous impossible discrepancies we’ve already discussed, but it does make me wonder if Oswald’s dad really did in some way meet a terrible fate or have a brush with William in some context, at some point in his life.

It’s a very interesting thing that I have seen the more recent FNAF games delving into, and it is something that I am very interested in.

The Truths and the Likely-Truths

So, we’ve talked about the lies, but what about the story do I think does have relevance to the lore of the main canon? What do I think the story is trying — or could be trying — to tell us?

Let’s dive right in.

The things I KNOW are True

Well, first of all, as I said before, that the MCI takes place in 1985. Within the FNAF fandom, dates of various important events are constantly being discussed and speculated upon to death, even when the answer seems blatantly obvious, so I absolutely believe that this was Scott stepping in and waving a hand in front of everyone’s face again in order to fully confirm that this was the year these victims died.

Secondly, and perhaps most excitingly for me personally, the plot-relevant photograph used to get the true ending has finally given us canon designs for the main game universe version of William and Henry, after ten years of them not technically having any fully confirmed physical appearances. It may not seem like much on the surface, but this really is a monumental milestone in FNAF, and I absolutely think it should be celebrated.

Both of those things are pretty on-the-nose, though. I don’t think anyone really needs convincing of those facts, and, if they do, me pointing out the obvious again probably isn’t going to be the big thing that convinces them, so…moving on, let’s see what else we can glean or make note of in the story that we haven’t already discussed in a previous part of the video.

Well, we can definitely infer, looking at it from the perspective of Frights Fiction, that the IPs referenced in the books which are familiar to us must also exist within the main FNAF universe, since these stories are in-universe tales being made for and marketed to the people of that world. It’s not really a big or ground-breaking detail, but I do think it’s a pretty cool little side note to consider for those of us interested in the greater world-building of FNAF.

We can certainly confirm, if nothing else, that some of the posters and drawings shown in the game version of Into the Pit were real, since they were in some of the canon main games, too, but I think there might also be more to the value of the games’ visuals; obviously, this can’t be said with absolute certainty, and I encourage someone to correct me if I’m wrong on this particular subject, but I think we can reasonably come to the conclusion that the MCI took place in a building that likely looked a lot, if not exactly, like the 1985 version of the building we get to visit in the game version of Into the Pit, back in its heyday. I don’t usually want to put things I’m not 100% certain of in this section, but I think that it matches up pretty well enough with what we know of the place to say that this is a decently accurate depiction — probably, anyway, unless there’s something I’m forgetting about.

Furthermore, it’s…quite likely that this story confirms that Foxy had already been temporarily retired in 1985 in preparation of making the failed Toy Foxy that became Mangle, since it’s mentioned in the Into the Pit game (I can’t recall if it was the same in the book) that he wasn’t in use and would be gone for awhile, and there’s no reason in particular to doubt that this is true, as it doesn’t conflict with any known information.

The way that Spring Bonnie goes unnoticed by everyone but Oswald in the story is….also interesting; I definitely feel that the intended “cause” of this that the book is playing off of is an illusion disc, and that, from an out-of-universe perspective, this is Scott once again drawing us back to this concept to remind us that it exists, especially since it seems highly likely based on FNAF 4 and UCN that the Nightmare Animatronics were, in fact, the FNAF 1 animatronics effected by illusion discs. (If you’re interested, I recommend checking out GiBi’s long FNAF video here. The video will be linked above, if I figure out how to do that, in the information tab in the upper-left hand corner of the video. If I haven’t figured it out, then it will be linked down in the description.)

Having the privilege of having listened to a few stories already at the time of writing this, I can say that this is something that is present in at least one other story so far, too, even within the very same book. Just something to note, I suppose.

And then, lastly, we have the general…theme of wills and wishes that seems to keep popping up in most Fazbear Frights stories I’ve read.

I know it’s explicitly stated on the back of this volume that the theme of every main story in Into the Pit delves into exactly that — getting what you wish for, but maybe not in the way you actually imagined it being — but having read as much as I have at the point of re-scripting this for a video, I can absolutely say that it runs much deeper than just the one volume. 

The concept of someone’s will being able to shape reality to some extent is such an underlying, intrinsic part of FNAF that it isn’t just Into the Pit or even the Fazbear Frights books as a whole that it permeates — it’s at least the Silver Eyes trilogy, too, with Henry’s pain and sorrow — and even later his anger — over Charlie’s death having the power to essentially bring her back to life in the form of a living doll, through his own tears.  I’m not 100% clear yet on what it is that’s trying to be said here, but I know that something is being said, and I know that it’s important. I do have some theories on what that could be, but I’ll get to those another time. Just…bear that in mind for now.

For now, all that matters is that you understand that it is there. In this story, Oswald wished for something more interesting to happen, and oh boy, did it happen. The inclusion of it in this story may be a little subtle comparatively to some others, but it’s there; it’s supposed to be there.

I know that in his analyses of this volume, GiBi later states that he feels the stated “theme” of it was just tacked on at the last minute to tie these stories together, but believe me, it’s not. There’s an entire story at the beginning of the very next volume that proves that it’s not.

You just have to trust me on this for now. Keep it in mind. It’s important. It’s so important.

And, on one other but similar note, this particular entire book — including Into the Pit, To Be Beautiful, and Count the Ways — for reasons you’ll see going forward as we review each story, definitely also have a theme going on of “Feeling unlovable, unwanted, and like life is meaningless in its current state”…. This will come up eventually in a future post. I promise. Just bear it in mind for now. 

The things I FEEL are True

Okay, now that we’ve talked about the absolute certainties, let’s get a little bit more into the still solid but nonetheless speculative, and the personal interpretations.

There aren’t many things I want to cover in this section today, because, as I’ve said, a lot of the things that Into the Pit talks about are very easily better slotted into the more definitive category, but, there are a few things that I do want to bring up, and some of them are still very important and meaningful — at least to me.

So, without further ado, here are some things that truly seem like they might have some connection to a canon event or phenomenon and could be useful information to take away regarding it:

Starting off with something I don’t personally subscribe to, but I do feel I would be remiss not to mention, for those who believe in the concept that Gregory is an advanced robot of Garret a la the Silver Eyes trilogy, this story does have some evidence maybe towards that idea?

In one of the Bad Endings in Into the Pit’s game adaption, Oswald appears to have been turned into an animatronic, yet still seems to retain his child form? Now, I’m not sure if that was just creative liberty or perhaps just symbolic of how Oswald thinks of himself, as one of the later Fazbear Frights stories also has a similarly described scene in which that is the case, and the boy is actually revealed to be fully transformed and trapped inside of a Freddy animatronic despite it, but either way, I think it’s certainly food for thought and is worth noting.

Again, I don’t personally subscribe to this theory at this time, but not subscribing to something isn’t a good reason to hide that evidence towards it may indeed arguably exist.

And now, saving the most in-depth and (to me) most interesting for last, I…kind of want to talk a little bit about potential parallels here. After listening to several stories by now, something that’s kind of stood out to me is the idea that a lot of these books could actually have something important to say about — or, even when not exactly about, at least possess a strong and important connection to — one of the Aftons or the Emilys.

Obviously, this is going to rely a lot on personal interpretation, and I know there are going to be a lot of people who disagree with me on this, but…to me, I think Into the Pit — and actually its entire book as a whole, minus the Stitchwraith — is actually sharing insight about Michael, and his relationship with his family and with himself.

I know there are plenty of people who probably think that if anyone’s a parallel to Oswald, it’s Garret, and if anyone’s a parallel to To Be Beautiful’s Sarah, it’s Elizabeth, but I couldn’t disagree more; there’s actually very little alike between these characters at all from how we know them in the game’s canon.

I’ll get into explaining my thoughts on To Be Beautiful later when the time comes to discuss that story, but as far as Oswald and game canon Garret, they only really have three common threads, and even then, that’s only if we dig super deep into things: he’s scared of a golden animatronic, he (in the case of Garret, thinks that he) saw something at the Pizzeria that was terrifying, and he has a bully that sometimes bothers him.

One of these connections, too, is also extremely surface-level: while we could at least make the argument that Garret likely thinking he saw a person being eaten by an animatronic when they were being put into a plush mascot costume and growing to fear Fredbear from it has at least some vague similarity to Oswald seeing the Yellow Thing™️ murdering kids and then fearing it, Oswald’s bully is less of an active tormentor in his life (especially in the book, which is the original version of the story), and more just a general, constant annoyance when he goes to school who has no real connection to the rest of his plight — unlike Michael, who is intrinsically connected to the plight that Garret had and what happened to him, and who was a very, very prominent presence in his life. It’s also important to note that, not only are bullies a common issue to come up for children, but in the FNAF series, so are the animatronics doing scary things and killing people, and the main antagonist in the series is famously a golden one, so it’s really not like this is some big smoking gun.

Meanwhile, let’s look at the parallels between Michael and Oswald in the actual main bulk of the plot itself, rather than random attributes: 

While on the whole, Oswald does clearly love and care about his family, he and one particular family member frequently get into arguments and get on each other’s nerves because they are around each other constantly. They consistently misunderstand each other’s intentions at times, in ways that are quite detrimental to their view of each other, and this culminates one night into him deciding to play a cruel prank on that person and scare him, only for that prank to go horribly wrong, resulting in a golden animatronic taking that family member away from him (and, I might add, also a sustained head injury by said family member).

This is already literally the plot of FNAF 4, according to both it and multiple other games, and that’s not even taking into account the more controversial stance I personally take that the main night sections of FNAF 4 are actually William testing out his illusion disc technology on Michael by attaching illusion discs to his FNAF 1 style animatronics and setting them loose in the home a la The Twisted Ones (as supported by UCN), which we can connect again to Into the Pit and Oswald, as Oswald is, after his prank which ultimately took his family member from him, henceforth tormented by a version of Spring Bonnie that is extremely reminiscent of the nightmare animatronics, and has to set out on a journey throughout the rest of his story to right his wrong in whatever way he can, just as Michael dedicates the rest of his life to helping his lost brother and sister and the other lost spirits (which the game adaption of the book connects to further, by having Oswald save several children throughout many nights). It is also interesting to note that the game version choosing to make Oswald’s father one of Michael’s teenage friends also adds yet another connection to Michael and the incident that I suggest Oswald’s story parallels.

Also, Oswald has the exact toys in his room that Michael has in FNAF 4, if we are indeed to assume, as I do, that Michael is the protagonist of FNAF 4.

And not only that, I would also like to draw attention to one specific line Michael canonically wrote in the Security Logbook, when asked to list his favorite characters from movies, books, and television who showed bravery in the face of extreme obstacles, and talk about how he can relate their heroic journeys to his current experiences, he answers, “Clara, from The Immortal and the Restless, because everything about this place is crazy, and nobody seems to notice except me.” This is a direct parallel to how Oswald is stated to feel about his Dad and his current situation numerous times throughout the book, as he is told by everyone around him that everything is normal and no, there is no giant Yellow Rabbit around and his Dad isn’t missing; that is his Dad right there, even as he sees clearly that it is not.

A few people, including Gibi and…also myself, have noticed that a lot of Into the Pit’s dialogue — in the book version especially -- seems to be able to have a double meaning that could be interpreted as a metaphor about child abuse, or abuse in general, and how people can often appear one way in public, but end up entirely another as soon as they are alone with their victim, and no one else can see the monster they really are behind closed doors. 

While I won’t delve into the specifics of that (you can check out Gibi’s video if you’re interested; I’ll link it in the description below, and perhaps in the information tab above, as well), I do want to speak on how that could symbolism of duality could also pertain to Michael and the life he had with his father. As I’ll get into in a bit (and talk about even further in a future video), Michael out of all of the Afton children did not have the best childhood to begin with, and while I want to make it very clear for reasons pertaining to my personal beliefs that I am not implying that child abuse ever necessarily happened at William’s hand prior to the Bite of ‘83, I do strongly believe that it happened afterward in some shape or form for Michael (which FNAF 4, Sister Location, AND Help Wanted all strongly support in their own ways), and I think that Into the Pit could, in its own way, be seen to be referencing it.

Just…hear me out here. Spring Bonnie taking over Oswald’s Dad’s life after kidnapping him cannot be a coincidence. I mean, just think about it. Sure, maybe Michael and his Dad had their disagreements and troubles prior to the Bite, but it wasn’t until after the Bite of ‘83 that Michael came to see his Dad in a whole new light, because that incident changed his Dad. It made him into something different. Something so twisted by grief and so mangled by resentment for what Michael did that he slowly but surely turned into a monster — a monster that he often became in public only when he was wearing the Spring Bonnie suit, yet a monster that no one else recognized as such. All they saw was William, the loving, grieving father and owner of Fredbear’s who only wanted to make children happy — not the killer who kidnapped and murdered children as Michael would one day find him out to be, and not the man who in one way or another tortured his teenage son for his foolish mistakes at home, as though he wasn’t already being tortured enough by the memory.

In the fictional books, Spring Bonnie may have been pretending to be Oswald’s Dad, but in the real canon FNAF universe, Spring Bonnie was Michael’s Dad, and whether Michael knew it or not for the longest time, he represented everything that was wrong and dark in William.

Okay, so…let’s say it is possible to interpret this as being an intentional parallel to the incident of the Bite of ‘83 and Michael, as I purport; what, then, could the story be trying to tell us about him? What is it trying to get people thinking about that we don’t already know?

Well, firstly, as I said, I believe that every story in this particular Frights book has a strong connection and relevancy to Michael, so I think that the blatant parallel to his situation existing in the opening tale was placed there on purpose to get your attention and get you thinking about all of it, but I do feel it’s also trying to say something about the incident, as well — about part of Michael’s motivation for escalating his pranking towards his brother to the point of the incident which accidentally caused Garret’s death, and a potential glimpse into his general state of mind at the time.

In the book, Oswald had been growing increasingly frustrated with his home situation in general — feeling bored, entirely ignored and abandoned and displaced, and that his father had essentially chosen their entire town and Oswald’s grandma over Oswald himself — when his now-long distance best friend contacted him to coincidentally tell him by contrast how well his own life was going. This led to Oswald and his father getting into a fight in the car on the way to Jeff’s pizza about how much the boy’s life sucked and implying how little he felt his Dad cared about him and his well-being by comparison to everyone else, and once Oswald had been dropped off, this argument was the final straw in making him decide that he was finally going to actually act out in order to force his father to finally, truly acknowledge, put effort in, and show care for him, by hiding in the ballpit and making his dad worry about where he was.

By figuring out the obvious parallels between Michael and Oswald, I feel that we can get a fairly clear and easy picture of what it would say about Michael:

Even if for something of opposite reasons, William and Oswald’s father both would have been very busy with their jobs — with Oswald’s Dad doing it because of their family’s financial troubles, and William doing it because…well, he was a co-owner and crucial worker and performer at a highly successful, award-winning, up-and-coming restaurant and that sort of job is just naturally demanding. 

Combine this with the fact that it’s very clear based on the main games’ canonical lore that Michael was the least favored child of the Aftons in at least Williams’ eyes (no, the Silver Eyes’ lore does not count, as that is an alternate universe story, and, as I will later get into in the post about To Be Beautiful, Elizabeth being ‘unloved’ and/or borderline abused was very clearly not something that carries over from that universe into the games’ lore), and that the (accurately translated) UCN cutscenes very clearly imply that both Michael and Garret were equally suffering in their own ways, yet failed to recognize or turned a blind eye to each other’s pain and took out their frustration on each other in their own ways, and it becomes very clear that Michael’s feelings about his own Dad and his brother were likely the very same that Oswald felt about his Dad and the people around him.

From Oswald’s perspective, his Dad cared more about the town and the inconvenience his grandma would face at having to travel to the next town to visit if they moved than he cared about Oswald and how their current lifestyle was causing him to suffer.

From Michael’s perspective, his Dad cared more about his business (and the town by proxy, as they were the ones bringing in his success) and paying attention to and doting on his other two children than he cared about Michael and how forgotten and sidelined he felt as the oldest sibling.

And just like Oswald had a friend, Ben, from whom he heard about Ben’s ‘better’ life and parents, and whom he complained to about his own, Michael very clearly also had several friends to tell him about their potentially ‘better’ lives and more attentive parents, and whom he likely told about his troubles and how his younger siblings stole the spotlight from him, with Garret being the ‘worst’ culprit of them all, as not only did he prank him back and they got on each other’s nerves from time to time, but he was also William’s ‘favorite’ Afton child.

Putting two and two together, then, it’s fairly clear that the conclusion we come to is, while the two boys did prank each other and annoy each other already, each turning a blind eye to the other’s suffering, it was Michael’s feelings of being the unloved and forgotten child of the family that caused him to start acting out further, believing — like Oswald — that the only way to make his Dad remember he existed was by being a troublemaker (an “any attention is good attention” mindset) until William was finally forced to take notice of him.

That is what, at least according to my own understanding of the novel, I personally believe Into the Pit is trying to say, at least on a deeper level beyond the surface level non-conflicting information, like the year the MCI took place.

Taking it a step further with the William = Oswald’s Dad parallel, we could even say that in a way, Oswald’s Dad preferring in the book to refuse to acknowledge that their dead town was a lost cause and pack up and move on with his family is also a quite interesting and fitting metaphor to William’s later refusal to accept Garret’s death and move forward by focusing on the family and the children that he still had left…

It’s…an interesting thing to think about — how, like with Oswald’s Dad, perhaps if William had just accepted the loss of his son and turned to the family that he still had left, like accepting the dead town and taking the family that Oswald’s Dad had left away, perhaps William might have never done the things that he did; perhaps they might have lived a very happy life, all things considered — although, obviously each would have to grieve what was done. 

Perhaps Michael might have found understanding and not have had to die the horrific death that he did just to feel that he had made up for his mistakes; perhaps Elizabeth would not have to have met her tragic end through her father’s own desperate desire to bring back a child that was already gone, and his failure to look after those that still remained. And, if you believe that Mrs. Afton died, perhaps he would still be with Mrs. Afton to this day, and, she would be alive and happy — or, at least, semi-happy with the family that she had created with him.

However, all that aside, I believe I myself have said all that I wanted to say on the story by now, so I will just leave you with all of these thoughts to ponder on your own time.

Thank you for watching, and I hope you look forward to the next installment, which will be To Be Beautiful. I’m not sure when I will be able to get that scripted and get to working on it just yet, but I will do my best to get these up at a fairly decent pace. Right now, I’m looking at…once a month, if I’m lucky, but I’m not 100% sure; we will have to see how it goes. I…in time, I would like to do it more frequently, if possible, but, as it is currently, I am writing these already on my blog, so if you would like to go over to my blog and read some of the ones that already exist, feel free to do so. I have added parts to this video that were not on that post that this is based on, so bear in mind that there may be things added within these videos that are not in those posts, so it may be worth listening to, anyhow, even if you do decide to go there.

At any rate, ‘til then, take care — like and subscribe if you wish; I would really appreciate it — and, um, I love you all. 💕 Buh-bye.