#sometimes it's hard to actually think of them and have them on hand

[inkspiredwriting]

Playground Pandemonium

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I imagine that five would be a great dad. But I also think that he is insecure and is sometimes afraid of becoming just like Reginald. What do you think?

Warnings: None

It was a rare sunny Saturday afternoon, and Five Hargreeves had finally found a day to spend entirely with his wife Y/n and their four-year-old daughter Maddie. They decided to make the most of it by visiting the local playground. Y/n, ever the planner, packed a picnic basket full of Maddie’s favorite snacks, while Five’s contribution was ensuring they arrived early enough to grab the best spot.

As they walked hand in hand through the park, Five scanned the area. “I haven’t been to a playground since, well, ever,” he admitted.

Y/n laughed, squeezing his hand. “You missed out on a quintessential part of childhood, Five. But don’t worry, Maddie will show you the ropes.”

Maddie, bouncing ahead of them with an infectious energy, turned around and called, “Come on, Daddy! You’re gonna love the swings!”

Maddie made a beeline for the swings, and Five found himself being roped into pushing her. “Higher, Daddy! Higher!” she shrieked with delight.

Five, slightly uncertain but determined not to disappoint, gave her a solid push. Maddie soared into the air, laughing gleefully.

“Careful, Five,” Y/n warned, settling on a nearby bench with a watchful eye. “We don’t want her launching into space.”

Five smirked, “I’ve seen worse launches.” He gave Maddie another push, but this time, his mind wandered to a particularly explosive time-travel incident.

Distracted, he pushed a bit too hard. Maddie shrieked—not in delight, but in mild terror—as she swung higher than intended. “Whoa! Okay, not that high!”

Y/n stifled a laugh as Five, looking mortified, rushed to catch the swing on its way back. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, steadying her. “Daddy’s still learning the basics.”

Maddie giggled, her fear quickly forgotten. “It’s okay, Daddy. Just don’t push me into the future!”

After the swing incident, Maddie led them to the sandbox, where she promptly began constructing an elaborate sandcastle. Five and Y/n joined in, Five more reluctantly.

“Why does this remind me of building fortifications during the apocalypse?” Five muttered as he helped shape a sand wall.

Y/n chuckled. “Probably because you’re overthinking it. Just have fun!”

Maddie, her tongue poking out in concentration, sculpted a turret. “Look, Daddy! A tower!”

Five nodded, actually impressed. “Nice work, Maddie. It’s almost as secure as some of the bunkers I’ve seen.”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe we can skip the part where it gets blown up by time-traveling assassins.”

As they worked, a group of kids approached, drawn by the impressive sandcastle. One boy, clearly the sandbox bully, sneered at their work. “That’s a silly castle,” he said, kicking sand at the base.

Five bristled, ready to give the kid a stern talking-to, but Y/n put a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Five. Let Maddie handle it.”

Maddie stood up, glaring at the boy. “My Daddy can travel through time and fight bad guys. What can your daddy do?”

The boy, taken aback, mumbled something about his dad being a lawyer and scampered off. Five chuckled, giving Maddie a high five. “That’s my girl.”

Y/n called them over to the picnic blanket for snacks. As they sat down, Maddie’s excitement was palpable. “Can I have a juice box, Mommy?”

Y/n handed Maddie a juice box and gave Five a sandwich. “Try not to eat it too quickly,” she teased. “We don’t have a lot of supplies here.”

Five took a bite, nodding appreciatively. “Better than cockroaches.”

Just as they were settling in, a squirrel darted towards the picnic blanket, clearly eyeing their food. Maddie squealed, and Five immediately went into protective mode.

“Back off, rodent!” Five growled, standing up to chase the squirrel away.

The squirrel, unperturbed, grabbed a stray cookie and scampered up a tree. Five glared after it, shaking his fist. “This isn’t over!”

Y/n laughed, pulling him back down to the blanket. “I think we’ll survive without one cookie.”

Maddie, giggling, took a sip of her juice box. “Daddy, you’re so funny when you’re mad.”

Five sat down with a huff, brushing off the dirt. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

The playground centerpiece was a tall slide, and Maddie insisted that her parents try it with her. Five eyed the slide warily. “Are you sure about this? I mean, what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’ Five,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing his hand. “It’ll be fun!”

They climbed the ladder, Maddie leading the way. At the top, Five hesitated. “This is higher than it looks.”

Y/n, already halfway down the slide with Maddie, called back, “Don’t chicken out now!”

With a resigned sigh, Five sat at the top of the slide. “Here goes nothing.” He pushed off, the slide’s angle steeper than expected. As he hurtled down, his typically composed expression twisted into one of surprise.

He shot off the end of the slide, landing in an undignified heap on the ground. Maddie burst into laughter, running over to help him up. “That was awesome, Daddy!”

Y/n, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, helped him stand. “See? Fun!”

Five dusted himself off, trying to maintain some dignity. “Maybe for you.”

As the sun began to set, the Hargreeves family packed up their picnic and headed home. Maddie, tired from her day of adventure, held each of her parents’ hands, swinging between them.

“That was the best day ever!” she declared, beaming up at them.

Five, despite his usual stoicism, smiled down at her. “I’m glad you had fun, Maddie.”

Y/n leaned her head on Five’s shoulder as they walked. “You know, for someone who’s never been to a playground, you did pretty well.”

Five chuckled. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

As they reached their car, Maddie climbed into her seat, already half-asleep. Five and Y/n shared a look, both of them tired but happy.

“Same time next week?” Five asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Y/n laughed, kissing his cheek. “Absolutely. As long as you promise not to get into a fight with any more squirrels.”

Five grinned. “No promises.”

As the Hargreeves family drove home, the playground behind them, they couldn't help but smile. It was the perfect blend of laughter, love, and just a bit of Hargreeves-style mayhem.

[lost-in-fandoms]

do you have any Tarzan!Max thots to help me get through this weekend?

oh haven't thought about Tarzan Max in a while!

I'm thinking about Max being very curious about all the things in Daniel's camp. The tents are easy to understand, because they're shelter, and he comes to grips with the concept of clothing quickly enough (even if he isn't too fond of wearing them) but there's just. so much going on. he's always touching things, from things like radios and cameras and pens and notebooks, to less safe things like knives and hot pans.

the food they eat is pretty similar to what max is used to, but he is perplexed for a bit about the concept of cooking it.

one time though they make soup and max LOVES it. he doesn't particularly like forks so it's nice that he can just pick up the bowl and slurp the food and it tastes so good! the word for soup is one he learns very quickly.

I also thinks he brings things to the camp himself. he climbs trees to get the best fruit and the prettiest flowers. sometimes he just. guides animals over. one time he comes to the camp with a bird in his hands to show it off.

and i think that one time he takes daniel to one of his sleeping places. he's very protective of his secret spots, because it's important to have safe places to sleep in the jungle, but he trusts daniel and daniel lets him sleep in his tent, so max wants to reciprocate. he has a little cave on the side of a cliff, kind of hard to get to (he has to carry daniel there using some roots and vines), but it is surprisingly dry and cozy. not as much as an actual tent but daniel feels very honored anyway.

[literary-motif]

Hiiii!~ :DD I just can't believe no one has asked for this yet, but ISAAC AND PICKLE GARDENING TOGETHER!! <333 I think they would be just ADORABLE!! Maybe both of them will have a little picnic together near the lake... (I think Saku mentioned that he owned one...) Pickle making a flower crown for Isaac :33 And Isaac reminiscing about his mother!

Enjoy The Silence

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: grief

Isaac was a little nervous. He was very nervous, actually. 

There was a strikingly clear reason why he always hired a gardener. There were two reasons, buried in the ground under the little blue flowers that grew by the headstones. 

Why he had agreed to this, he did not know. The thought of having you in the garden — the garden, the one where he had lost half his heart and the majority of his years alive — made his stomach clench in painful knots. It made him anxious, threatening to pull him into the very depths of a panic attack because only the possibility of losing you to a shot fired from the trees beyond made his eyes tear up as a painful lump formed in his throat.

You had asked him for it, though. You had suggested tending to the delicate blue flowers together — with your eyes glinting in compassion, begging him to allow you this grand gesture of affection that would ease his pain like the first time you had visited their graves together. 

His blood had frozen. The firm, absolute, and forever unchanging ‘no’ stuck on his tongue as he took in your expression of gentle hope. 

I can’t live my life trapped in this house, Isaac. I can’t, no matter how much I love you. 

He swallowed thickly and conceded. 

You had been so happy, turning the whole day into a little event to ease his mind from the heaviness of tending to the flowers growing on his family’s graves. There was a picnic basket, complete with a blanket, standing by in the kitchen for when you were done. The very idea of sitting outside — waiting like sitting ducks to be shot — made him shudder. 

He dreaded this day. He hated that he did. 

“Ready?” you asked, smiling brightly at him as you pulled on gloves for gardening. You had had many occasions to demonstrate your varying skill with plants, although you supposed ridding the flowers of weeds and trimming the bush a little was different from tending to houseplants. 

He stood staring at the front door, trying to hide the shaking of his hands. 

“Isaac?”

“Do we have to?” he whispered, the vulnerability seeping into his tone wiping the smile from your face. He sounded close to tears. “Do we have to? I— I’m so scared something might— might—”

You pulled off the gloves, letting them fall to the ground. “Hey, look at me,” you said, resting a hand on his cheek. Isaac turned to face you, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears of fear and, you supposed knowing him, shame as well. “We don’t have to do anything if it hurts you this much, sweetheart.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into your touch. “What if I can’t?” he croaked, tears escaping his eyes. “What if I’m never ready? What if this always happens? What if I can’t keep it together at the thought of us going outside? I— I don’t want to lose you. I can’t—”

“Isaac, look at me,” you requested, raising your other hand to his cheek as well. Your fingers played with the strands of hair at his temples, thumbs wiping away the tears trailing down his cheeks. When he slowly opened his eyes, searching your gaze with eyes full of sorrow, you continued, “It’s alright if you’re not ready. It’s okay. Overcoming trauma is hard, I get that — I know that. Healing takes a lot of time, love. The important thing is that you try, and I know you do. You’re so brave every day for me, love, and I will never leave you because of this. Alright? Never, Isaac. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I know you are doing your best.”

“My best is not enough sometimes,” he admitted quietly, the words tasting like defeat. 

“Don’t even think that!”

“But it’s true! Look at me,” he cried, stepping away from your soft touch to bury his face in his hands. “I can’t even keep my word because I’m so scared. I— the fear feels like it’s eating me up, gnawing away and keeping me paralyzed. I’m forever stuck in this— this house because they are outside and I can’t— I can’t tear myself away and nowhere else is safe.”

Your heart shattered. “Come here,” you said, keeping your voice airily light. It cut through the spiral of his thoughts like a knife, and he crashed into your open arms as if they were his lifeline. You held onto him tightly, running your fingers through his hair in a gesture you knew helped him calm down. “Small steps, Isaac. Yeah?”

“Steps?” he asked incredulously, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “I’ve been immobile for years!”

“That’s not true, love. These things take time,” you said, listening to his breathing slowly even out. The tears stopped, although the patch of wetness on your shoulder would remain a moment longer. 

Isaac slowly raised his head, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, his voice strained. He hesitated before retrieving his phone and checking the CCTV. “Just give me a moment, yeah?”

You blinked in surprise. “A moment for what?” you asked, already knowing the answer. 

“A moment to make sure nobody is there to— to hurt us. I checked already, but I want to make sure again before we go out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Pickle.”

“I don’t want to push you, Isaac. Maybe it’s best if we put this off—”

“No! I need to do this,” he said, his tone firm despite the tremor in his voice. “I need to! I can’t stand this anymore. I need to face this. I— I don’t feel ready, but— but I want to.” His eyes roamed over the footage, analyzing every rustling of leaves, checking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. Isaac swallowed, closing his eyes to compose himself before plunging into his deepest fear. “You’ll stay by my side, yes?” 

Your gaze softened. “Of course,” you said, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “I promise.”

He bent down, picking up your gloves. “Alright,” he breathed, waiting for you to reappear at his side with the picnic basket and gardening tools in hand. “Alright, alright.” His hand hovered above the doorknob.

I want you to know your parents would have been proud of the man you have become, little one.

There was no big event. There was no gunshot — thank god. There was no sound out of the ordinary.

The birds continued chirping. The sun, although occasionally hidden behind a cloud, did not change color. Nothing changed at all as you both stepped outside. Isaac was weary, his eyes darting across the garden in search of something. He barely realized that he was outside at all, that he did it, with your hand tightly clasped in his while his other rested on the gun he couldn’t feel safe without.

“They don’t look so bad. I think a little trimming on the sides is all they need. Look, there are barely any weeds.”

Isaac looked down. After all these years, reading the names on the headstones still knocked the breath out of him. It was also the instance in which he realized — fully and without argument — that he was outside with the love of his life. The realization made him squeeze your hand harder, the feeling of having something incredibly valuable in a place where they were not safe was nearly enough to plunge him into a panic again. 

But he had also faced his fear. He had kept his word, well, half of it. The first step was done, now he only needed to follow the path. 

“You alright?”

He thought for a moment. “Yes,” he replied, surprised that he meant it despite his heart racing. “Do you want to trim or free them from the weeds?”

Gardening was surprisingly relaxing. You were carefully ridding the beautiful bush of flowers from its outreaching branches while Isaac plucked at the weeds growing beneath it on his knees. The conversation turned light, and for the first time in a decade, he forgot the overwhelming fear that came with being beneath a clear sky and allowed himself to chuckle fondly at something you said. 

He paused, practically feeling the flower petals glow with happiness. 

Yes, mom. I miss you too. It hurts every day that you’re not here — I miss you so much it burns a hole in my chest when I breathe. It has gotten easier with them. I love them, and I wish more than anything that you could have met the person who fills the void in my chest with love. I miss you every day. Tell Dad I miss him too and give Grandpa a big hug. I think I missed my chance when he was still here. I love you, take care.

“Isaac?”

He had not even realized that he was crying. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks in rivers that felt like they would never end. His hands were balled into fists, clutching at the earth beneath the flower bush, reminiscent of the time you had prompted him to talk to them for the first time. 

God, it still hurt so much. Why did it still hurt so much?

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping at his eyes. It was useless, the tears would not stop falling. “I— I haven’t— the flowers and— I miss them. I miss them so much.”

You knelt beside him, gathering him into your arms again. Isaac slumped against your side, his blurry vision rising towards the headstones with the names of his family. The sight made his lower lip wobble, the feeling of drowning in his grief and sorrow overwhelming. He thought he would have if you had not been there to hold him together. 

There was a reason he had never allowed himself to feel the extent of his pain when he was alone. He could not have born it. The misery and grief of his life would have crushed him, leaving him untethered in an unforgiving world with people who relied on him, expecting him to carry on his grandfather’s legacy like he had promised he would. 

He had never allowed himself to feel the extent of his loss, and now that he knew he could — no need to hide from it behind whiskey glasses and ceiling-high towers of paper — it devoured him whole. He let it because he knew you were there to anchor him.

The flowers were done, and once the sun had begun its descent and noon turned into late evening, you found yourself spread out on the picnic blanket by the lake, plucking the daisies with the longest stems as Isaac’s head rested on your thigh. 

He was eating one of the chocolate muffins you had baked, his tears long since dried. There was a slight downturn to his lips, betraying his somber thoughts despite the peaceful scenery around you. 

“She hated baking,” he admitted quietly. 

You halted your weaving, glancing at him. Instead of the bleak, sorrowful expression you had been expecting, there was a fond smile on his face. 

“I used to make cookies with my father. We would— we would spend hours decorating them with icing and putting little designs on them. My mother liked cooking. She— she tried teaching me, but I wasn’t very interested. I mean, I was a kid. I preferred baking, but— You know, I wish I would have listened to her more. I wish I— I had appreciated them all more and now—” he broke off with a sigh, the fond memory charing at the edges as he was reminded of the harsh reality that they were gone. He would never again roll out dough with his father, or listen to his mother’s gentle instructions on how to make the perfect Goya.

You finished the flower crown, turning it around in your hands before placing it on Isaac’s head gently. He looked up at you, the expression of melancholy fading as he gave you a sweet smile. 

“We’ll make the most of our time as well, love.”

[ddlcbrainrot]

sorry if this has been asked before,,, but how good do we think the dokis are at singing. like ranking them best to least best. i don't think anyone is actually bad, just not as good as the others maybe

i like to imagine either yuri or monika, yuri because its the classic "shy girl has a beautiful voice" trope and monika because it's canon (kind of???)

i actually dont think ive been asked this which is kind of funny considering i started this blog posting about a band au lol

anyway, i think it makes sense for monika to have the best voice. its probably very pretty and the others (sayori) ask her to sing all the time. also she has perfect pitch bc ofc she does

i think natsuki's and sayori's voices would be on the same wavelength in terms of how good they are. so, nothing special but definitely not bad. the main difference would be the confidence levels they have when it comes to singing. i think natsuki doesnt mind singing, especially if she's with her friends and they are all having fun. actually she and monika probably drag the club to karaoke nights sometimes. sayori on the other hand doesnt feel as comfortable singing. i said this before, but sayori is definitely the type to do silly voices when singing bc she's insecure about her voice

yuri is the one im on the fence about bc on one hand, the "quiet girl has a beautiful voice" cliche is a nice one but on the other hand, as a completely tone-deaf person myself, i think tone-deaf yuri has unlimited comedic opportunities. like imagine the girls are convinced yuri is just shy and try to get her to sing. and she eventually gets the courage to do and afterwards the girls stare in disbelief bc they dont know what to say, they dont want to hurt her feelings bc they know how hard it is for yuri to put herself out there like that but also they r pretty sure the neighbour's dog is barking bc she reached frequencies only it can hear and NOT in a good way

[ssa-dado]

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she… well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

[sweetbillwriting]

The Key To His Heart - I

Description: As a hard-working novelist and single dad, Bill hasn't had much time for dating but gets an unorthodox chance to meet women when his friend persuades him to be a part of a dating TV show. 

Characters: AU Bill Skarsgård, where his life changes in 2013 and later 2019. 

Setting: L.A, 2024, but in an alternative universe with Bill having a completely different life.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes. 

Notes: I changed the title of this story! This is just a fun story; please don't overanalyze too much haha. Here is the teaser.

Bill would never confess how much he missed a woman in his life. He wasn't the type to talk loudly about his feelings with friends or family, so instead he carried the loneliness by himself. He did everything by himself and even for his daughters because he wasn't just a separated dad; he was a widower. He didn't have anyone else to parent with, but he didn't have anyone to be a man with either. He needed a woman in his life that could lift him up, share the good and the bad with, and snuggle up with at night. He was ready now, ready to let a woman into his and his daughters' lives, but he felt it would be hard, he had already had a big love.

He stood in front of a full-length mirror in his walk-in-closet. His bedroom had it when he moved into the mansion, but he didn't have enough clothes to fill it, so more than half of the shelves were full of books and movies instead. He wore a dark blue suit with a light luster in it, paired with a crisp white tee. His hair was combed messily back and to the side.

Bill knew he was handsome. He was tall, had an athletic build, and features that fit a high couture model. He rarely felt self-conscious about his looks; instead, it was his way of being that could make him doubt himself. He was a thinker, and because of it, he was not always fully present within the presence he actually was in. He got nervous in the spotlight and could be so goal-oriented he could sometimes stomp on others feelings, never on purpose; he just liked honesty and open communication, but not everyone could handle his ways. He was not a charming prince. He didn't have American charm and timing, he had Swedish awkwardness and ironic humor. Why he would participate in a dating program on TV confused him more than the people surrounding him, but his friend, Herman, had persuaded him it was a great idea that he could bring something new to the format. Similar programs had been made for years, but it had more or less been men shaped in the same mold.

Herman sat behind Bill on a bench with an emerald green velvet cushion and agreeably nodded towards Bill.

“You look great, man,” he said, and stood up from the bench. He cleared his throat to stress Bill a bit; both of them knew twelve women were waiting on him downstairs along with a film team. Bill swallowed hard; his chest even pained with nerves, and for some seconds he thought about refusing to go down. It all was so silly, and that twelve women would want to date him felt impossible; they would leave the first week when they realized he was a workaholic just thinking about his daughters and new projects. He had never dated, he didn't really know how you did it, and he didn't have female friends; he wasn't such a man twelve women would fight about.

“Time to meet the chicks,” said Herman playfully. He was a producer for the program, and it was important for him that Bill performed. Bill nodded and laughed nervously before going to the stairs. He could see how the cameraman, behind the camera pointed towards the stairs, started to film. He took a deep breath before walking down the broad staircase with a straight back and a hand in his pants pocket.

It started now, the adventure. He looked out over the sea of women standing by the end of the stairs, waiting for him; most of them were dressed in cocktail dresses and heels. They applauded when they saw him, and he smiled, embarrassed, looking away so they could see the deep dimple in his cheek. He could hear some giggles of endearment of seeing him blush lightly. A servant came up to him with a silver tray holding champagne flutes. He gave the glass a displeased look. It wasn't the glass he had said they would use. Champagne shouldn't be served in flutes, but he still gave the server a small smile before taking a glass.

“Ehm, Yeah, welcome to my place. I hope you will feel at home. I look forward to getting to know all of you. Cheers!”

He wondered if he sounded awkward, like a nervous teenage boy, but he could see Herman behind the girls smiling pleased. The girls lifted their glasses and cheered with him. Bill smiled wide at them because they actually looked at him like he was extraordinary, and some of the girls were so fine he could feel his heart beating with attraction. This would be interesting.

×××

It was not as bad, as he had thought it would be being the center of attention of twelve beautiful women. It was a cocktail party with just him, the women, and of course the camera team, but they kept their distance even if he knew they captured everything on tape. Wherever he was, the women looked at him, even if they talked to each other. It was strange, but he also felt himself grow a few inches. He talked lightly with some of the girls, but there were a bit too many impressions to take everything in. He was talking to two women about their hometowns when suddenly someone took his hand and pulled him out on the deck surrounding that part of the house. It was a woman with long raven hair and golden eyeshadow. She was probably some years older than himself.

“Maria,” she said confidently and stretched out her hand to him. Bill smiled, impressed by her self esteem, and shook her hand.

“Bill.” She laughed softly and nodded.

“I know that.”

“You do?” Bill said playfully and took a sip of the old-fashioned drink in his hand.

“Mhm, you know, you might be the reason I'm here.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was a flirty vibe between them at once, and Bill really liked it.

“Yeah…” She gave him a teasing smile before changing the subject. I'm a writer too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“I write for teens, like teen noir.”

Bill nodded; he had heard about the genre but couldn't really say what it was, and at that moment he didn't feel he needed an explanation.

“I guess I haven't read anything by you then.”

Maria shrugged her shoulders as a joke, and Bill smiled.

“I think we could be a fantastic team…” Her voice was low and she looked at him with big eyes. She was no longer as flirty; she looked more at him like she already had a crush, and Bill felt the nerves go up at once.

“Yeah, yeah…” He drank up his drink. “Time to find a new drink,” he said, and he showed her his empty glass. Her soft eyes became a bit much for him, but he also knew his assignment for the night was to talk with the women, as many as possible.

×××

“Violet,” she said with a giggle. She looked like that girl he would call an American “girl next door." They stood by the bar the production had put up in the living room while he waited on his Negroni, and she just had gotten her Cosmopolitan. She looked really young, and he was right.

“I'm 22. That's not a problem, right? You felt so open in that interview.”

“No, no… But I should be honest and say I've never dated someone so much younger than me.”

He gave her a quick glance. Her legs were long and golden and looked so smooth.

“I'm mature for my age. I have my own company, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” He said interested but started to imagine it was something silly, like selling unicorn keyrings.

“Yeah, I sell environmentally friendly plastic products to hospitals, like gloves and mugs, and so on.”

Bill looked at her, surprised. It wasn't what he expected from a 22-year-old.

“That's, that's impressive.” He smiled at her and she giggled proudly.

“Yeah, it actually works really well.”

“When did you start it?”

“Two years ago. I studied to be a nurse but saw how many plastic products the hospital used and felt I wanted to make a change.”

Bill couldn't stop smiling because the more she talked, the more impressed he got.

“I think it's my turn now,” said a girl next to them. She was short, so he needed to drop his gaze. He looked at the girl's face for a few seconds, then wiped the corner of his mouth while swallowing hard. Wow. Wow. He had said Ana De Armas was beautiful in his interview, and here was her lookalike. He turned to Violet with a smile, trying to mask his feelings.

“Thank you for the conversation, Violet.” She smiled disappointedly and looked at the girl who had enough guts to lay her hand on his arm and steer him away from her and the other girls. She steered him to the hallway where no one was and stood a few steps up the stairs to be as tall as him but also have her arms around his neck. Bill had his drink in his hand, but he also felt it would be a bit much for him to feel the girl's midnight blue chiffon dress with his fingers.

“I read that you're a leo,” she said sensually, and Bill smirked in attraction. Her name was Camila, and she radiated sexiness in such a natural way.

“Yeah?”

“That's why all of us look at you like you're a god. We want to worship you, and you love it, right?”

Bill laughed and snapped his neck as an answer.

“And you deserve the attention. You're really ambitious, creative, and full of passion.”

He just stood and smirked, especially because she dragged her long nails through the hair on his neck, and he could feel it tickle all the way down to his cock.

“What's your sign?” He said and took a sip from his drink.

“Scorpio.” It didn't say Bill anything, but even that sounded sexy, so he licked his lips and gave her a pleased nod. His full attention was on the sensual brunette in front of him, so he didn't notice that two women walked by the hallway and looked at them. They were on the way to the bathroom, talking about his latest book, when they saw Camila standing with her arms around Bill's neck. The redhead, Sandra, looked at them with big eyes while Maria looked away.

“So typical it's her he stands like that with...” said Sandra, and rolled her eyes. Maria didn't say anything but looked at Bill disappointedly.

×××

Bill saw a pair of eyes behind a camera that stared at him. It was Herman who, with a head movement, told him it was time to go to the next woman. Bill didn't feel the need though; he liked being worshiped under Camila’s gaze.

“Ehm, hm, I must give the other women my attention now…” he said. The sigh was close. He wanted to stay there.

“Do you?” She said it teasingly and dragged her hands over his shoulders. Bill nodded a little with a strained smile. “But thank you for your time.”

Camila released him slowly and turned on her heel. Bill looked her up and down while they both walked up the short stairs to the rest of the big hallway. Maybe he already knew who he would choose in the end.

While walking into the living room, several of the girls smiled at him to allure him to talk to just them, but Herman, behind a camera, nodded Bill towards a bleached bottle blonde by the fireplace. She looked like his own age, but not at all his type. Her dress was strapless and made of burgundy faux leather.

“What's your name?” He asked her kindly while she played with her bleached hair.

“Victoria,” she said with a sweet smile. Her voice was soft as silk and nothing he had expected. “We have actually met before.”

“Have we?” Bill furrowed his brows but also felt stupid that he didn't remember her. Victoria smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“My dad owns a bookstore close to Central Park, and you were there to sign some books... I understand you don't remember me; it was a long time ago, and I had another hair color.” Bill nodded, trying to remember her or even the bookstore, but he couldn't find anything in his head. He did so many signings, especially in New York, so he couldn't remember.

“What hair color did you have then?”

“Light brown, sort of, the boring kind.”

“Like me?” Bill quipped with a smirk.

“What? No, no. Yours is much more chocolate; I was just… Like a rat.” He smiled amused and took a sip of his drink.

“What do you work with?”

“Ehm, I actually work at the bookstore. It's fun because my dad lets me try all kinds of business.” Bill didn't want to be the person judging her for her work, but standing behind a counter in a store felt really uninspiring. He was himself super ambitious and wanted a woman with similar attributes.

“I'm sorry, Victoria, but it's time for me to give the other women a chance.” Victoria nodded.

“Of course, of course.”

But Bill didn't go speak with another girl; instead, the team led him to an armchair between the plants out in the orangery. He knew why they wanted him there; it was time for him to receive questions about the girls that they would edit so it would seem like it was his own thoughts. It would be cut into the show so the viewer could follow his feelings and thoughts.

“Camila is something else… I can't deny I already like her,” he said with a smirk and dragged his hand over his thighs. “I like Maria too; I think she might be intelligent, and we would have much in common. Violet is impressive for her age…” Bill got lost in his own thoughts, thinking about the girls, but mostly Camila.

“What about Victoria?” Asked Herman. Bill knew the viewer wouldn't hear the question, so he must answer it like it was his own words.

“It doesn't feel like Victoria and I have so much in common.”

Bill nodded to himself but then realized he didn't know a thing about Camila but still had her as a favorite. Was he just shallow?

Bill was questioned on whether he believed his soulmate was there. He wasn't really that sappy, talking about soulmates, but he knew what was expected of him.

“I think my soulmate can be here; I look forward to getting to know them all.”

×××

Two girls with similar looks stood and looked up the big stairway leading up to the second floor, where they didn't have permission to be. By the first look, it looked like the brunettes looked at it dreamily, imagining themselves walking up the stairs with Bill, but it wasn't what they looked at. On the wall by the stairs was a big family portrait. Bill looked skinnier with a young girl in his lap; next to him sat a woman with dark blonde hair, heavily pregnant. The couple looked at each other with small, loving smiles while the child smiled big at the photographer. The girls look at Bill's wedding band, then at the woman's big diamond on her finger.

“Isn't it a little bit strange he let it hang there? I mean, it is his ex,” said Julie.

“It's not his ex; it's his late wife. His daughters’ mom,” said Esmeralda lowly and gave Julie an annoyed look.

"Yeah, but couldn't he have taken it down for now? It feels like he’s picking a mistress when she's up there.”

Esmeralda didn't say anything, just crossed her arms and shook her head. Just then they heard footsteps from the top of the stairs, and they both looked up, seeing Bill walking down with elegant loops. He smiled at them and wondered if they stood there waiting for him. He didn't notice how they were looking at the picture, he was so used to it hanging there he didn't really think about it.

“Hey?” He said and walked down to them. Julie blushed and smiled. She felt stupid for commenting on the portrait now when he stood in front of them and gave them a look a married man wouldn't. Esmeralda smiled a bit nervously but answered his hey with a hello.

“What were your names again? I'm sorry, there are so many names.”

They were the girls he had talked about their hometowns with. Both of them answered with sweet smiles, hoping they gave a better impression than the other.

“But both of you're models?”

He said, and looked at them up and down. It was just a reflex, their most important tool was their bodies, so it just went that way.

“Yeah, but with quite different things, I think? I do mostly lingerie shoots.”

Bill looked at her pretty face, trying not to look at her body. He wanted to imagine what she looked like under the black dress, but he didn't want to be that sort of pig and just smiled and nodded. Esmeralda didn't say anything and let Julie continue to talk.

“Are you interested in fashion? Maybe you have seen something with me then?”

Bill laughed uncomfortably and scratched his jaw.

“No… I'm dressed more or less the same way every day. I'm completely lost when it comes to fashion.”

He turned his gaze towards Esmeralda too, but she looked away. He got the feeling she might have lost interest in him all ready. Julie laughed and took a step closer to him, so she stood a bit in front of Esmeralda.

“I could help you with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

Bill smirked, and without thinking, he got that feeling he wanted to tease her.

“I think there’s a fashion designer here, isn't there?”

Julie looked at him a bit irritated and put the tip of her tongue against her top lip. It was unnecessary, and maybe she would take offense for real, but it has just come as an impulse to tease her a bit. It didn't seem like it was appreciated, though.

“Bill?”

He turned towards Herman's voice, who stood at the entrance to the big living room.

“Time to give the keys.”

×××

In a popular TV show, the man gave the girls roses as a symbol they could stay; Bill would give them the keys to his house. They were just symbolic keys because his manor had fingerprint locks on every door, but it looked nice that he gave them each a golden key. He thought it was silly; why couldn't he just say who got to stay?

“It's better TV,” said Herman, but Bill still thought it was silly. Oh well, he would just play along.

This time all the girls would get a key. It was only more than right because he hadn't even had time to talk with them all. It wouldn't be fair, not to himself either. He would call them up in order of his interest. The first being who he was most interested in, then continued down to the one he was least interested in. He looked at the girls standing in front of him expectantly, like he had their lives in his hands. He took a key in his hand, looked at its old style but in shiny gold, then up towards the girls.

Camila.

He smiled big when she walked up to him, feeling a tickling feeling in his lower belly, but when he looked behind her, he could see several girls looking at each other pointedly. He felt his throat dry up. He knew they thought he was predictable. Maybe they had even seen them in the hallway. He turned his gaze towards Camila again and smiled warmly at her. She didn't seem to notice the girls judging stares, and he wouldn't let her know about it. He gave her the key, and then she walked away to the side, being an audience to the rest of the ceremony.

Maria.

Julie.

Violet.

Odette.

Tiffany.

Sienna.

Sandra.

Rose.

Brigitte.

Victoria.

Esmeralda.

×××

The camera team also took some of the girls to the armchair in the orangery, one by one, to see what they were thinking about the man they would move in with. Bill pretended he didn't notice that it happened, but in reality he was completely aware of who they brought with them, and it stressed him a bit.

Rose: He's super handsome! But still cute with his big eyes.

Victoria: I don't know why he didn't think I made a good first impression. I don't know; he's hard to read.

Sienna: He seems sweet; maybe even a bit shy?

Camila: I think we have some sort of chemistry. It feels good.

×××

Bill stood in the closet again, but now dressed down to his boxers. He hung up the suit again and then stretched out his back so it cracked satisfyingly. It had been a long day with many impressions, and more would come. Twelve women lived under his roof, and it made him a bit nervous. Five of them lived in the mansion, while seven of them lived in the guest house on the property. Some of them shared a room, and he wondered if it might have started some drama between them. He wouldn't have liked sharing a room with a stranger either. He laid down on the bedroom floor and stretched out before starting to do his obligated pushups. It was especially important now because he couldn't sag up when they would film him every day. While doing his workout routine, he thought back on the women. Several of them had Hollywood good looks, but he wondered if they were more than that. He needed someone who could challenge him intellectually and who could inspire him. A pretty face would maybe be interesting for a few weeks, but in the long run, other things were more important. He thought about Camila. Sexy, sexy Camila. He hadn't even asked her about her profession or her age. He felt ashamed while thinking about it. 

Bill did his nightly routine but couldn't stop thinking about the girls’ looks behind Camila during the ceremony. They had judged him so hard. Sandra, Maria, and Esmeralda had looked at each other like he was a pig. Was he? He had never seen himself as shallow, but Camila was just too good to be true. While crawling down into bed, he instead thought about how nicely the dress had fallen over her curves and how erotic she looked when she licked her blushed lips. What did she wear under such a tight dress? It didn't look like she wore a bra, and he couldn't see a visible panty line. Did she wear underwear? If he had been so sneaky and let a hand move in under her dress, had his fingertips met a wet pussy? He would have petted it like it was the sweetest little kitten. 

Fuck, he was a pig. He looked down at his erection like it had betrayed him. It wasn’t starting well if he was already getting hung up on one of the girls. He needed to get to know Camila instead of just thinking filth. She would be his first evening date. He nodded to himself and looked up at the ceiling. 

She looked horny. She had wanted him. She was probably that sort of girl who loved sucking cock. She would deep throat him completely and look up at him with tears in her eyes while he hit the back of her throat over and over. 

Bill didn't feel ashamed when he pulled out his cock and dragged his hand over it harshly; he just thought about how he would have thrust his cock hard into her mouth and made her feel distress for a few seconds by the suffocated feeling. When he came over his stomach, he felt ashamed though and took a napkin out from his nightstand table and wiped his stomach, grossed out by himself. It wasn't okay that he sexualized her like this already. He needed to treat these women with respect and not reduce them into sex objects when he was alone. He could do better. He was better. 

×××

The alarm clock rang at 06.30, but Bill shut it off and turned to the other side. He had two more alarms, so he never listened to the first one. He wished he could just sleep until 11.00, but he hadn't been able to do that for five years. When the alarm clock rang again at 06.40, he turned it off, but sat up on the edge of the bed with a loud grunt. If he wanted to go out for a run, his chance was now. At nine, they would all meet for a shared breakfast, and he needed to take a shower before that and make himself presentable for the girls, but also the camera. 

Once again, he stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He flexed his stomach a little but felt so stupid that he looked around to see that no one was looking. It would be impossible, but still he felt watched. He flexed his stomach again. It looked good. Actually, really good. He had worked out hard before the show and would continue; he would not look like some tired old dad. 

After putting on his running gear, he walked down the stairs, but realized then he wasn't the only one up early. A blonde was just on the way out through the entrance door, but she turned around when she heard Bill's heavy steps behind her. Rose looked at him surprised. 

“I thought I was the only one up,” she said with a smile, even if the both of them could see the cameraman in a corner. 

“I thought the same. Are you always up this early?” Bill walked down to her. She was tiny, and he almost laughed when he realized their height difference. Her hair was long and golden, gathered in a high ponytail. She looked up at him, then laughed a little. 

“This height difference…” 

Bill laughed a little too. 

“Yeah…” He looked at her running gear and opened the door. 

“Do you want to run with me?” 

They ran in silence; often Bill ran a bit in front of her because he had such long legs and she couldn't keep up, but he waited for her before running around a corner. 

“Problem keeping up?” he said teasingly.

“Fuck you! It's because you have legs like a damn giraffe!” She laughed when she came up to him. They stood panting together by a little park while Bill smirked at the blonde. 

“Would you just have guessed your way if you were out alone, or do you have a GPS?" He looked at her wrists but couldn't see a watch.

“I just guess. I don't like running with all this technical equipment. I just want to run. Like Phoebe in Friends, you know?” She joked and corrected the high ponytail. Bill made an amused nod. “I always find my way home; that's my talent.” 

“Even to my home?” 

“It's my home too right now.” 

They looked at each other with big smiles for a few seconds before running back to the house together. 

“I can help you stretch if you want?” said Rose when they stood outside of the manor. “I don't mean that in such a suggestive way as it sounded like. I'm a personal trainer,” she said with an embarrassed laugh and looked down at her running shoes. 

“Sure, okay,” said Bill, and he led her to the side of the house where they could be on the deck. He looked at her a little amused because of her size, but when she started to stretch out his muscles, he realized there was more power in her than it looks like. 

“Do you have problems with your left shoulder?” She asked and dragged her hands over his broad shoulders when he sat on the floor in front of her. 

“Yeah, I got it in a mountain bike accident, actually. I wasn't as great as I thought I would be.” He looked up at her with big eyes but was forced to squint because she stood close to the morning sun. She was beautiful like that—rosy cheeked and healthy-looking. She didn't wear any makeup. 

“You must take care of yourself,” she said sweetly. And massaged his shoulders lightly. Bill nodded and looked down at his bare knees, where he could see the scars laying on top of each other. Taking care of himself was not his specialty. 

“I should go and shower... So I don't smell like sweat all day,” giggled Rose and made Bill stand up, towering over her again. 

“I think you smell great.” He smiled kindly; it wasn't even flirty, just his thoughts. Rose looked away a little embarrassed, and it made Bill feel a bit confident, so when she was about to walk away, he took her hand in his and pulled her into a soft hug against his warm chest. Rose giggled and looked up at him, still pressed against his chest. 

“I didn't think about how sweaty I am.” He laughed, embarrassed, and released her. 

“No worries, I like it,” she said with a flirty smile before walking through the house to the entrance door. Bill stood and looked out over the lawn for a while with a small smile. He thought he probably would need just a few minutes of alone time before meeting all of the women again; what he didn't know was that several of them were already awake and planned how to get some time alone with him. One of them even stood by the window watching him when he thought he had some privacy.

×

The girls: 

Maria: Writer, 38. 

Violet: Entrepreneur, 22. 

Camila: Engineer, 31. 

Victoria: Shop assistant, 34. 

Sandra: Fashion designer, 36. 

Julie: Model, 25. 

Esmeralda: Model, 27. 

Rose: Personal trainer, 22.

Odette: Pediatrician, 33. 

Tiffany: Actress, 30. 

Sienna: Painter, 28. 

Brigitte: Chef, 29. 

×

[monstersandmaw]

Stark trying so hard to be Big Mean but only coming up with Big Soft is killing me.

Also I have a question that you're free not to answer but how long of a time span is there between Big Red's story and this one? And how long do not-yautjas live? Asking for no particular reason...

Hehe, Big Scawy Stark thinks he's So Mean and So Angy, but he's really just So Protecc (also of himself) and that comes across as So Snappy haha. Sometimes the Biggest Softies have the toughest outer shells though. It's how they stay Big Soft inside, after all.

I'm imagining it's set before Big Red's story. I think I said in that story that contact had been known between them for about five years at that point(?), so maybe it's about two or three years before Big Red's crew arrived on Earth? It's all a bit hand-wavy though 😅

Not-yaujta can live for a really long time, but they also mature a lot more slowly than humans do, so a not-yautja wouldn't be considered a full adult until they're about fifty Earth years old. Elder is probably around five or six hundred years old. Runt and Alchemist are probably around sixty, with Cannon and Stark around 100, give or take.

Again, I did not intend for this to take on such a big life of its own when I started it. I was just gonna write some reverse harem smutty scenes with some 'legally distinct, definitely-not-yautja' aliens and be done with it, but the darned thing sprouted enormous great plot legs and ran off with me still on board, with the bit firmly lodged between its teeth, so to speak... 😅. It was actually inspired by this very old drabbly prompt thing I wrote ages ago with some character names the same but slightly different natures/personalities. It also (very briefly) features a female not-yautja captain called Boxer. Maybe she can get her own story and reinvention in a future story too...

Reader's POV is up going shortly, and it's finally got a smutty Runt scene :). Elder's POV is after that...

(Catch up on the series here (free to access) on Patreon)

Here's the very quick comparison doodle I shared on the Patreon Discord for height refs and colours, btw:

[nuria-schnee]

Hi everyone! ❤️ In this week's sneak peek, the boys are having an emotional conversation in the cupboard.

Melancholy had been ever-present since he died. In all honesty, admitting it was even more complicated than bearing it. Only by thinking about it something actually seemed to crack and shatter inside his mind, in his chest. He couldn't allow himself to look into it, knowing he would find something ugly and contorted behind it. That night, the evening before their travel, Charles had found himself alone, which hadn't been usual in the last months. Edwin was at Crystal's, finishing up the preparations for the following day and assuring everything would go smoothly. Charles had stayed at the agency, in charge of checking they had the correct supplies stored in his bag. He had checked twice already, but Edwin hadn't returned yet. This had left Charles with too much time to think, which was precisely what he didn't need then. In the end, he couldn't help to get sucked into his own thoughts. The agency seemed too empty when he was by himself. Restless, he tried to distract himself and failed in every attempt. Admitting his defeat against his mind, Charles dared to look this melancholy in the eye. He walked around the agency, taking in every bit of it, every corner, every memory snatched into it— Of course, he knew everything by memory. However, he did it all over again, slowly, just in case. Just in case was becoming a motto for him lately, and he hated it. Every time he did or said something just in case he couldn't have the opportunity later, the reminder that such a thing was a tangible possibility haunted him for hours after the thought popped into his mind. It was a curious terror to have, being already dead and all.

In Port Townsend, Charles had actually feared to lose Edwin. They had been facing every kind of danger for decades, so being in risky situations wasn't a novelty. Besides, they had been running from Death all that time, and sometimes, it had been a close call before they had escaped. So, he had felt traces of that anxiety, that fear of losing Edwin forever, other times. Nothing like losing him to Hell, though. Not like the fear of being too late, chained in a kitchen for hours, hearing him scream while Esther Finch tortured him. Not to that extent. That night, when the Summoner had appeared and attacked them, Charles had sensed Edwin's energy flickering out. It lasted less than a millisecond, but Charles noticed anyway. After so many years protecting him, he had a sixth sense in that regard, and he knew the Summoner had tried to drag Edwin away, pull him into wherever he was stuffing ghosts into. The look of panicked confusion in Edwin's eyes had been enough confirmation. Even so, Edwin still had to talk to Charles about it, and, considering how things were, he wouldn't until e they were back from the mission. He couldn't shake the worry away, no matter how hard he tried. After a while, Charles dragged himself to the cupboard and lingered there. That was how Edwin found him, tracing one of their Cluedos as if he could sense every memory attached to it through the gesture. "Charles?" Edwin's voice sounded behind his back. Charles turned around right away, fining his soft eyes on him, a slight frown marring his forehead. "What are you doing?" Charles dropped his arm, shrugging and put his hands in his jeans' pockets. "Nothing. Just remembering." Edwin arched a brow. "Remembering?" Charles shrugged again, and Edwin softened, his face falling into a gentle understanding. He stepped into the cupboard and stood in front of Charles. "Everything is settled for tomorrow," Edwin informed him, catching him off guard. "Have you checked we have everything we need in your bag?" "Yep. Super checked." Charles gave him a little smile. "Perfect." Silence hovered between them after that. Charles watched Edwin as he dropped his eyes to the space between them for a few seconds. Just in case, Charles kept his mouth shut and stared at his friend for as long as Edwin allowed that moment to last, tracing his features with his eyes for the umpteenth time in almost forty years. However, his gaze caught on the way he blinked slowly, his lashes casting a soft shadow over his cheeks. When Edwin finally fixed his eyes on him, which he received openly, a gentle tingling burst in his chest. Charles smiled at him, but it was too late to rectify when he noticed his sadness filtering through it. "Is something on your mind?" Edwin asked, voice hushed. Charles had the impulse to close the cupboard and turn off the light. There, he could keep Edwin safe and keep them together. No one but Charles would get close to him that way. "I am aware I have not been as present as usual lately," Edwin said, regret dripping through his words. "With the disappearances and now this— I wish you to know I am sorry if I have neglected you in any way." For a few seconds, Charles was speechless, not knowing how to answer. He couldn't imagine why Edwin was apologising. And, alright—Of course, Charles had missed spending time with him and had tried to drag Edwin into relaxing for a bit sometimes (unsuccessfully). But they had both worked on it. Both of them had been too preoccupied to actually worry about finding some time to spend outside the case. "Mate, you haven't. We've been busy with what's been going on. I don't feel left out or something. Why do you even think that?"

Edwin seemed sheepish, which baffled Charles even more. He didn't avert his eyes but clearly fought the need to. "It was only a hunch," Edwin answered. "Since I have found you in the cupboard, stroking our oldest Cluedo." The statement made Charles squirm a little. He bowed his head with a guilty, nervous smile and breathed in, gathering strength before looking up again. "I guess I'm a bit worried," Charles admitted, guessing it would be better to share his thoughts with his best friend, after all. "The Summoner— I know he tried to do something. And after Port Townsend—" After Hell and after Ester went unsaid, but Edwin, considering how his face turned stone serious, Charles knew he had heard the silent part in his speech anyway. Charles gulped, wanting to put his hands on Edwin's shoulders and pull him closer, as close as he could get him, but he had to fight once more the impulse. "I don't know what I'll do if— If something happened to you," Charles added, voice so tiny it almost drowned in the silence of the cupboard. "If I couldn't— If I'm not fast enough to—" Charles struggled, but Edwin understood him regardless. Edwin understood him as if he were a unique language written in a book born from both their souls. Every word and structure was familiar and expected, even when incomplete, and easier to comprehend and use than any other. Edwin stared at him, a reassuring smile curving his lips and his eyes shining with absolute tenderness. "I do not think, Charles, that any entity in the universe will beat the unmovable force that is your resolution capacity once you have put your wit into it," Edwin assured him, joy tainting his tone, making Charles feel a bit like crying. "Just as I am certain you will reach me if I ever find myself in trouble." Charles gulped, trying to answer, to tell Edwin he would, even if he was doubting himself, he would. Always. Instead, he reached for his hand, taking it softly into his, and nodded shakily.

LINKS

Index (AO3) | Read first chapter on AO3 | Playlist | Trailer

[iknwreid]

sweet nothing – spencelle.

“industry disruptors and soul deconstructors and smooth-talkin' hucksters out glad-handin' each other and the voices that implore, “you should be doin' more" to you, i can admit that i'm just too soft for all of it"

wc: 1.1k | disclamers: comfort. im thinking second season spencelle. | a/n: english is not my first language, i just really love spencelle and taylor swift. this song is literally them. text divider by cafekitsune.

It was too much for her. This job was all Elle ever wanted: make her father proud, to do good, to arrest some crazy sons of bitches. But sometimes, just sometimes… It was too much. When she got home, she'd sit on her couch and stare off into the distance, her gaze lost, only her mind working, wondering if it was really worth it. It was hard to give up and it was not like her. She would never do that. Being the first female profiler in the BAU was not something to give up. And that's why she couldn’t afford to show her weakness to anyone. They would certainly misjudge her, she wouldn’t be good enough. Too soft.

Elle was soft. Tender, friendly, sweet. Sometimes a little awkward. Spencer could see that through the mask she wore. He could notice all her little details. She was too important to him, of course he would know her. Elle made Spencer feel like a whole person and not a crazy nerd with only that to show. She listened to him when he talked about anything, – “What a mind, Reid.” – even if she did not really understand, and he sat by her side when she wanted company but was not brave enough to say so. They were good for each other like no other. There were only a few words in the air, but it was just perfect for their connected minds.

Every now and then, one case would get rougher than the other, and it was inevitable not to let it affect her. Perhaps even impossible. Elle sat at her desk, Spencer in a chair beside her. They were silent for a moment, looking at the case file and writing all the horrors back into their memories. Spencer looked at her, tracing all her features and looking at her mysterious face that was glancing at what seemed to be nothing. She had recently cut her bangs. Reid found that lovely, it really suits her, he thinks. 

“Elle.” A voice they recognize echoes through the bullpen. Hotchner stands on the steps of the staircase with a serious look on his face. She stands up before answering. “Yes, Hotch?” she swivels her hips and walks towards him. Spencer watched the scene not quite so discreetly, his eyes fixed on the two familiar faces. He could see Hotchner opening his lips to say something, but he couldn’t hear what he was actually saying. He knew, however, that these words absolutely crashed Elle’s mind. She was an expressive person, and he definitely inferred the topic of conversation when her face turned into a miserable expression as her hands grabbed at her arms to hold onto something to keep herself from falling. Reid stood up without moving, but he was ready to if he had to. Not even a second later, all he saw was Elle leaving the bullpen, faster than ever before. Even faster than when they had vacations. His eyes searched for her, not wanting her to leave.

Spencer walked up to her and touched her on the shoulders as she stood in the hallway. “Hey, Elle?” His voice was soft and low, he did his best not to startle her. She turned to him, her eyes moist and an astonished expression on her face. “What happened there?” he dared to ask. She was silent, open-mouthed, as if searching for the right words.“He said I should have done more.” Greenaway said at the moment a tear welled up on her face. Spencer stared into her eyes, not knowing exactly what to say, in fact, not even knowing what he wanted to hear. “You've done more than enough, Elle.” His hands softened the touch in her shoulders, sliding down her arms and then over her hands, touching them lightly before crossing his arms. She looked down at the floor and nodded her head slightly. She was disappointed with herself. And she knew she should be doing more, but hearing that from another person was soul wrecking. Hotchner's words were like waves crashing on the shore. “No, he's right, Spencer.” 

It was natural for him to embrace her. He didn't even think about it, he just hugged her and tried to comfort her in a better way than with words. Spencer felt that words were a good way to comfort, but right now he needed the feeling that Elle was safe in his arms. The feeling that she wasn't going to leave and stay alone in her house thinking about leaving for the best of it. She didn't say in words that she had done this before, but he knew it was true. He had done it before, too. And they were so much alike that he could sense that his hunch was right. Elle didn't immediately respond to the hug, but just seconds after she felt him hugging her, she couldn’t resist the urge to feel him too. Her hands ran carefully over his upper back as she breathed in his scent, a mixture of black coffee and wood. It was so comforting, it felt like home. Not her house, but home, like going back to New York City after so many years. 

Spencer ran his hands briefly through her short hair after she released the hug; he wanted more, he felt so comfortable with her touch that he craved more. Every time he felt her close to him, he didn't care about the rest of the world, he didn't care if the end was coming or if everyone was up to something, he only cared about Elle. More than anything, he wanted her to be well. In fact, he needed her to be well. Despite that, Spencer didn't expect her to be fine. How could she? How could Elle be fine after everything that had happened?

“You're incredible, Elle. Don't let anything convince you otherwise.” He said, looking into her eyes again. It was a mesmerizing sight, Elle’s eyes. “Please.” Reid added with an almost stupid face, he liked her so much it was painful.

Elle didn't say anything, she just hugged him again because she wanted that feeling once more. Spencer never wanted nothing from her. It was a strange feeling when someone didn't always want 100% from you. All those things he said, not only today, but everytime she needed, – sometimes even when she didn't need it – Elle had never felt so loved. She trusted him so much. Every time she felt insane, Reid’s voice was in her head, whispering sweet nothings to her.

“I think I'm just too soft for all of this.” She said, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his skin. Spencer pressed her against his body and sighed as he lightly stroked her back.

Spencer wanted to tell her how much he liked her, how much he loved her, despite what anyone said to her, being soft in this job wasn’t a flaw, it was actually a virtue. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to. She knew it, Elle knew it. It was their sweet nothings.

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

can anyone recommend cartoons or shows for a 12-year-old with a lot of time on her hands to watch with her teenage and adult siblings? she likes gravity falls, bluey, spy x family, infinity train, avatar the last airbender, monk (yes monk 2002 starring tony shalhoub), and murder drones, although IDEALLY we're sticking to PG and mild PG-13

[milkweedman]

bugs are so cool because most wild animals arent really chill with a human staring at them close up and moving around/doing things, but a lot of bugs will just watch you back. or wiggle around. we love to see it

[blluespirit]

I sort of like the thought that Zuko and Aang take the Sun Warriors' warning not to tell anyone about the dragons a little more seriously… and they keep it between them. Of course, they trust Sokka, Toph and Katara. Of course they know they wouldn’t tell anyone, but now three people (including Iroh) know the truth about Ran and Shaw. And that’s three too many when you’re trying to keep a secret.

(and there are other people at the temple as well - like Haru, Teo and The Duke - who, while trustworthy, aren’t as close to them as the others, and when it comes to secrets with as much consequence as this one, you can’t afford to take any chances.)

Furthermore, the culture within the Fire Nation since Sozin’s rein has been warped. The culture is not to respect the dragons as the original firebenders, it’s to conquer and kill them. It’s the ultimate proof of your strength as a firebender. All it takes is one mistake before rumour spreads, and people go looking for the ultimate hunt. It’s not something Zuko or Aang can risk.

Whether Katara, Toph and Sokka (and Suki) ever find out the truth is up to you. But post-war, after Zuko returns from a strange, poorly explained trip with a dragon, and eventually develops the ability to use rainbow fire, either the others have some questions about Aang’s knowing look, or they are finally let in on a monumental secret.

[dnangelic]

btwwww even if you have nostalgia for the series or think you know my muses because of it please don't try to project that onto my portrayal... there's been this phenomenon over the past few months where occasionally people seem to forget that i'm still an actual person(tm) behind all the dnangel stuff and therefore feel i should be obligated to entertain or write with them (as a mun, and having had many, MANY bad experiences on tumblr, i can in fact be extremely selective, things are happier when they're smaller but intimate for me) OR people don't pick up that my portrayal is in fact only semi-canon and is therefore unique and hand-built. if you come in constantly swinging with your own idea of my muse without being willing to ever actually actively listen to me about how my portrayal actually is, (even just a little or in general, i don't ask for total understanding!) i'm not really going to be happy about the difference. especially when 99% of people who go through dnangel don't actually pick up on some of the details (this is ok btw the manga is somewhat sloppy and esoteric and most people only read it in middleschool) or they haven't gone through the other formats of media (drama cds, light novels) for it. let me do my own thing but also recognize it as my own thing too!!

[krys-loves-otome]

Stolen from Scummy's reblog because I wanted to do it too!

Note that most half-filled squares are ones that are technically true, but it's under specific circumstances and rules, will explain below

So, for now, some Blorbos from me:

-Intense in loves and passions (for Nobunaga, for MC once they get together, for trying to get Mitsuhide to take better care of himself, in his care for others, dude is just passionate for his loved ones!) -His love for Nobu and his interactions with Mitsuhide can get a little fruity, not gonna lie. -Technically orphan since we don't really hear much about his family aside from his poor upbringing and having to be a bum to get by until Nobu came into his life. Agas in discord has also told us about RL Hideyoshi and how much his mom loved Kennyo and I think that's funny to think about sometimes. -Frequently violent but only when it comes to protecting his loved ones. He thinks one of them is in trouble and the man will go feral trying to find a way to help them. Overall speaking, he's not particularly violent, I don't think though.

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-Nothing anyone says is gonna make me change my mind about this man being bisexual. Nope, not happening. -Technically a tragic backstory as he frequently does Team Oda's dirty work of spying and torture, but his tragic backstory is not quite to the extent that some other characters go through, like poverty, figure-headness, and killing a loved one.

-Technically frequently violent, but it's mostly in the pranks he pulls. Not ferally violent, in a sense. He's sneaky about his violent tendencies. You don't want to mess with his wife, after all. -Divorced? He's a double agent that always goes back to his ex (Team Oda).

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-Being an immortal vampire means you must have some complexities and that doesn't excuse you being fruity, monsieur. -Technically an orphan as I don't think we hear much about his birth family as we do Leonardo and Vlad. They're mentioned sometimes but no word on their current status as he tends to focus more on his found family. Until I get confirmed status, he's orphan status to me, thus why the creation of his found one. -Divorced from Vlad, duh.

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-Listen. Listen. Devon/batteryrose was onto something with shipping Nokto and Slivio. Plus, been thinking of finding ways of shipping my OC and him with Rio. Just something about Nokto and the Bentonite princes does something to my mind, okay?

-Technically an orphan after what happened to his and Licht's mom, plus the whole reason for the Belle procedure is because his dad died. Maybe it doesn't count because he was an adult when his dad died, but, technically speaking, both his parents are dead, so... -Murderer by technicality because of Blood-stained Roses Day (all the princes at the time were said to have participated, so, technically speaking). He also tried to poison some merchants for a business deal, so attempted murderer too, technically?

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-Have you seen this demon when his family is in danger (actual, perceived, or otherwise)? He will go absolutely bat-shit feral when his family is in danger! Once you're under his wings, nothing will stop him from going to the absolute limit and beyond for you.

-Technically divorced from the Celestial Realm because of Circumstances™️, not from a specific person.

-Also on a technicality, because of that... whole war with the Celestial Realm, so some angels were more than likely killed, right?

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Thoughts~

Bonnie being angry and disappointed at Freddy when Cassie helps bring him back only for him to see the destruction and decay of his family and home that Freddy allowed to happen because of Gregory, and breaks up with him.

Bonnie later slowly starts falling in love with Proto Freddy (maybe a bit of it is Bonnie projecting but he's def falling) instead.

And Freddy can see it happening from where he is.

Gay drama~

(Long post. I went off on one lmao and can't use read mores on my phone, sorry mobile users)

Ohhh that's a fun one! Bonnie rebounding onto Protobear and after a while those feelings become real... he deserves it honestly. He deserves a happy ending after everything, and so does Protobear! Bet that's an emotional rollercoaster to get through though... That party doesn't sound fun... For them anyway. Very fun for us though! Sucks to be them!

You know what else is fun for this? Bonnie falling for whoever Freddy believed deactivated him. Freddy treating someone differently before the events of SB, and side eying them all the time, not trusting them at all because of what the must have done to Bonnie... It must have been them! They're the only one the makes sense! They're the one that made him disappear and is trying to act like everything's normal! They must be to blame! They took his Bonnie from him and won't tell him what they did or where he is! Whether he's right or not is irrelevant, if he believes it's true, he's going to want nothing to do with them! They need to stay away from Bonnie!

And now here he is. Watching Bonnie flirt with that person. Be it Monty, Roxy, Moon, Chica, whoever. Freddy finally saying out loud what he's felt he's known for a long time now, that this animatronic killed him, how could Bonnie possibly even still look at them, never mind fall in love with them after that?!

Bonnie's face falls flat. He turns to Freddy and stares him right in the eyes. "They didn't do it, Freddy." or even, "They did it to save me, Freddy. What did you do?"

Absolutely devastating. The gay drama is so good

On another note, this is making me think of Protobear and Roxy being fucking hilarious. "Hey, you wanna really freak him out?" one of them asks and they start fake dating in front of Freddy to piss him off. Like they're the most over the top, mushy couple with the most insufferable nicknames, trying so hard not to laugh their asses off, and the first one to crack loses. Everyone gets in on it. Whaaaaat?? Roxy and Protobear?? Oh they're sooooo in love so so so in love, they're not pretending, they would never pretend!!

Jskdndk they get Cassie in on it and she starts calling them mum and dad 2 and Freddy is pointedly trying to leave the room as quickly as possible, but as usual, the fucking doors aren't letting him out again. They're always on the blink now, it's absolutely never Roxy using her security clearance to play Musical Doors with him. Nope. Never. Look at their fake mushy romance boy, you can't escape.

Freddy has never been more confused and sickened in his life. He's always hated Roxy and Roxy's always hated him, this is the worst thing to have to watch ever. He's even more upset if Bonnie pretends to be their partner as well, and even more so if Roxy was who he assumed deactivated him. This is a nightmare scenario and he's being so brave about it.

Sat there trying so hard not to say a word. He's so fine. Not glaring at all. No no no, he's not staring listlessly at them, he's just trying to contact maintenance via the network, obviously. He's not resisting the urge to grimace and not wishing the floor would swallow him up right now. Absolutely not. He would never. He's so so so happy for them. Yup. So so happy. Could not be happier. Why won't these fucking doors open?!

You could apply the fake dating to Protobear and Bonnie specifically too. Bonnie's going through a rebound, and he knows it, so he stays away from Protobear for a while. He tries to take care of himself and the others are right there to help him out the best they can. When he's feeling better, he starts gradually spending more time with Protobear (who has had the situation of Bonnie and Freddy explained to him and is very understanding about it) and the two start slowly building a friendship. Slowly, so as to not rush Bonnie through anything. Protobear himself has walked away from several hangouts because he can tell that Bonnie is struggling, even if he won't admit it, they're handling this with the utmost care...

But then Bonnie, Roxy, Monty and Chica, the four that should never be trusted without supervision, get talking. Bonnie is laughing at these three clowns telling him all about how they're fucking with Freddy for fun, and let him in on some of their schemes. They're hilarious, and he would have thought so before everything happened too, even if he did think they were a bit mean at times. I mean, rallying a bunch of kids to gang up on Freddy in their Fazerblast game as a 'super secret mission' is a touch mean, right? Not anymore. He deserves it.

But then they get to thinking. Bonnie wants to try messing with him too. They bring him in on some of their dastardly plans, and come up with several new ones for him, and believe me, at this time, not a single one of them has the braincell, so you can imagine the bullshit they come up with lmao. He finds this weirdly cathartic. The ability to moderately inconvenience Freddy in funny ways is more fun than he thought it'd be. He was worried it would hurt, worried it would make him think about things too much, and while it does hurt to look at him sometimes... Well his heart is more with his friends than ever now. He feels no desire to be nice to him, or to go back to how things were anymore. He's okay now and this is what makes that real to him...

Then one day it hits him. His own plan to mess with Freddy. Completely his own, the three stooges had nothing to do with this one. It hit him when he was hanging out with Protobear and DJ. What if they were fake dating in front of Freddy? Bonnie and Protobear! Madly in love, with the most sickeningly sweet pet names and the worst pick up lines you've ever heard in your life! DJ thinks that would be pretty mean... But would get him so good, he's a surprisingly petty guy sometimes. Protobear agrees and is completely up for this, it sounds hilarious, but... is Bonnie sure he's ready for that? Is he sure he can handle that?

They think on it a bit and talk to the others about it, who think that's fucking genius but have the same concerns as Protobear. Sunny thinks it's a bit much (and he's probably right) but is very excited to play along with this. He loves playing pretend, he's where Cassie gets it from. When they decide they're gonna do it, they set a few boundaries just in case, make a safe word for if they feel they start going too far with it, and swear to eachother to call it off if it all starts getting too much... Or maybe too real.

Oh my god they have so much fucking fun with it. Protobear has never laughed so hard in his life. The others joining in, helping them pull this off, and building on the joke too make it even more fun! They're having a blast and Freddy is suffering greatly! Customer service mode can't save him now!

But after a while, things start to change. Some of the flirting becomes a little too heartfelt. The insistence that they're not actually a thing becomes less frequent. The act starts to spill over into their everyday lives. Suddenly, they're not so sure this is still a joke anymore. Suddenly, the overdramatic cuddles last until long after Freddy has left the room. Suddenly, they're starting to wonder what it be like to be together for real.

Realisation hits and oh god oh no oh fuck this was NOT the PLAN god DAMN IT

So much fun to be had here!

One more funny one: instead of just Roxy or Bonnie pretending to be with Protobear, what if it's everyone? Protobear has one giant polycule going on where everyone apparently adores him and he dotes on everyone cause he loves them all so so so much. Freddy is staring in disbelief at the 'romantic' cuddle pile Protobear is right in the centre of like this is the most normal thing in the world. It's a Plex wide competition to see who can be the most insufferable in a fake relationship and whoever cracks first loses. It's a team effort! A coordinated attack! And sometimes they actually do fluster Protobear and eachother they're all having fun!

I'd like to call this plan the Protocule :)

(Also, hi jellycreamjammedart! This is the first post I've made today so you may wanna check I've not reblogged with more additions later on. I know you get online kinda late in my timezone, or at least that's when I tend to see you around, so saying this is just in case!)

[spotsupstuff]

I feel so bad for zephyr, what are some of her happiest memories? Would it be first meeting the members of her local group? I assume they would be built after her, was she excited about them being built or was she not informed at all?

she wouldn't be very... Present. most likely hadn't managed to be there for every Iterator when they first came online. she is very removed from most of her group because she's unable to stick in the chats for too long with all the damage and her endless attempts to conserve herself as much as possible, so her interactions with others outside of the Anemoi (and this one guy called Orion's Pathway) are extremely limited

Boreas, though, ever the life-saver, updates her on any new Iterator projects being build, how are the already existing ones doing- see she is kind of hard to cheer up and as a rule she never really laughs, but oh hearing about successes of others always manages to make her happy. that has been a thing for her since day one!

so Boreas would make a list of the Eo group's achievements with Euros and Orion's help and he'd read them out for her during their routine calls. those calls are probably one of her happiest memories, since she got so much serotonin and motivation out of hearing about her family (n also just in general- their start might've been rocky but Zeph n B really really love each other [platonically ofc])

they might not Know her, only be aware that their senior is called Abet Zephyr and her appearances are strangely rare, but she loves them all. if she hadn't, it wouldn't be called Mission Self-preservation. it'd be way more revenge focused. her number one priority is the safety of her family even if she doesn't know them personally. she puts them above her anger, physical and emotional trauma cuz she just fuckin loves them that much

her other happy memories include some stuff with Sparrows! after Zephyr allows her opinion about the Ancients develop, she finds herself glad whenever Sparrows would show up to do some more repairs and spend some time with the old humidifier. jgklsdmclk just like with a grandma, Sparrows would show her some stuff on her phone/Mechanic's watch and Zeph would be confused about it but she gets to spend the time with someone she likes so it's okay

along with Euros on a call the three of them would sing folk songs from Sparrows' home with Boreas usually listening in, very rarely joining in

Zephyr wasn't given overseers until Sparrows showed up for the first time, too, so when she synced with the eyes and took a peak outside for the first time in her life, that was... that stuck with her as a strong memory, too. can't exactly say it was a Happy memory, but only cuz there was so much happening in her emotionally in that moment that simplifying it to a singular one wouldn't really represent it right

here's her lighting up while Boreas tells her about positive recent events of the group

her antennas are broken- that's why they are always down like that- but Dammit she is Happy we Gotta wiggle 'em at least a wee bit