#you know who else is embarrassingly relatable

[medusaesque]

Kim Kitsuragi and the pale-

Kim has a unique relationship to the pale, I tried dissecting it and making sense of it. Reposting with more thoughts after some good conversations with @binomech.

Warning- it's insanely long.

1. After life, death

One of the first thing you can learn about Kim is that he would hurl himself in death's way to save you. From the very first moment, Kim is related to sacrifice and death, it follows him wherever he goes-

The slaughterhouse.

He lost his parents at two years old. He worked a year in Processing (here's good post about that by @renmorris and @spilledkaleidoscope). He lost his partner, Eyes. People have taken a bullet that was meant for his more than once. His survivor's guilt is insane. He's killed six people. He's afraid of killing recklessly, and has a deeply unhealthy relationship with his gun (made another embarrassingly long post about that).

Kim also hears pale 'ghosts' on the police radio all the time, talks about it like it's normal, and says he doesn't believe in ghosts.

If harry is with Noid during the Moralist dream quest (more on it later), Harry can even wonder if Kim himself is a ghost, prompting this beautiful exchange-

And he's not entirely wrong. When Harry gets shot, after Kim fulfills Espirit's promise and stands in death's way for him, you can ask as you fall into darkness what will happen to you-

It's the living who are ghosts. You can leave them behind and rest. Go into the wild pale yonder, along with everyone else Kim has ever cared about. Or at least you can try to.

When death is at the door, you have two options-

2. After death, life again

Kim might associate himself with death, but Harry associates him with life again and again- Death is darkness, Kim has a light bulb halo. Death is a sunset, Kim is a sunrise. Death is where you are when the game start, it's ready to take you, and then- a clarion call, the sound of a motor carriage, a detective arriving on the scene, and you open your eyes.

Of course Kim is no actual saint, no guardian angel, but it's really telling that even in harry's deification the symbols of Kim's holiness are worldly, almost mundane, the matters of every day life- a celling's fan lightbulb, the engine of a car..

Or the way @binomech said it when discussing Kim's portrait: this is the only thing keeping you from the full brunt of the world in your mind #but truly you are already in the world #and he is just a man #and that's just a car and that's just a ceiling fan

The game is very clear about Harry being a ceaseless agent of the world, but he's not the only one. Harry stands at death's door twice, and Kim is his way back to the world both times.

3. After the world, the pale

So what is Kim's relationship with the pale?

As casual as he might try to appear, Kim is clearly uncomfortable with the pale, afraid of it even. When Harry brings up the pale, he intervenes, genuinely worried for the fragile stability of his mind, trying to protect him-

It's no more terrifying than water or death or that we're stuck behind our eyes for all eternity?? Sounds pretty terrifying Kim...

I think the key is in the moralist vision quest, When Harry attempts to reach the Committee of Responsibility, and he hears the pale crosstalk coming through the radio, when suddenly-

"Pale is a shroud of memories and it doesn't really distinguish to whom those memories belong to. You could hear anything." You could hear anything, but you hear Kim. Soona even says that the odds of us hearing him, out of all the voices in the pale, are astronomically low.

We know the past has not been harmless to Kim, we know it's full of ghosts and cold winters, but that's not the thing that's eating at him-

Kim is afraid of forgetting. He's constantly writing, he thinks through his notebook, always recording, so he wouldn't lose anything. That's why the pale is so terrifying to him.

4. After the pale. the world again

The world is what it is. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

That leads me to the expeditions through the pale-

Volta do Mar is a skill unique to Kim, according to the stats of this pilot jackets, and it's a Physique skill.

It's driving me crazy to think how Kim wanted to be revolutionary pilot as a kid, and is walking around dressed like a pilot as an adult, to give himself the ability to navigate the pale. To return from the sea-

DISTANT ENEMY OF HIMSELF?? kim....

Seeing how Volta do Mar is strengthened by his jackets, and the items' descriptions point out that most of the people who used to wear this jacket are long gone (alongside what they represented) and considering that the only real advance in pale transit is the speed with which an aerostatic craft can pierce it, is seems fitting that returning from the 'sea' requires the kind of armor that ghosts wear- the ghost of who you wanted to be but never could, of a home that was never yours. Glory to them.

@binomech said it best in this conversation we had about Kim's skills: "your traitorous race. your traitorous job. your traitorous parents. your traitorous senses. distant enemy of yourself: seolite, communist, cripple, faggot. and you wear it as armor"

Kim is equipped for Volta do Mar, he armors himself for it every day, for the thing that makes it possible to return sane, and discover a new world-

This is one of the most touching Kim moments in the game to me- putting his hand in the rain, looking up to the sky, mouth open, welcoming the spring rain, even knowing it'll bring death and destruction with it. He is devoted to this world and the role he has to play in it, or at least the role he thinks he has to play-

But we know Kim has a bigger role to play, he's trying to do his part right there, getting Harry to stay-

His connection to Harry can keep him on this world once again- keeping the two of them together. Their real work is down here, him and Harry are Revachol's only hope. If they stick together they might be able to keep her on this earth.

UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT.

I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT.

I LOVE YOU.

[kiwriteswords]

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

Part I in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I can't stop writing Hotch x 'someone from his past' stories. I loved writing this one, though. I'm really excited to share this one with you. I have taken a break from some of the shy!reader fics and really, truly leaned into a reader (I probably embarrassingly identify with too much)...the bold, unapologetically-flirty!Reader, who tends to let her mouth get her in trouble more often than not! Also, thank you to @spoonpine for walking through this idea with me in the comments of my o.g. post!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 11k

Tags/Warnings: Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Sexual Tension, Undercover Mission, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Banter, Teasing, Emotional Vulnerability, Flirting, Team Dynamics, Slightly Suggestive Themes, Brief Mentions of Violence (related to the case), Tension Build-Up, Slight NSFW, professor!reader if you squint

Sypnosis: After years away from the BAU, you return to the team you once called home. Some things feel familiar, but your dynamic with Aaron Hotchner has changed. What started as playful banter now carries an undercurrent of something more, and the line between professionalism and desire begins to blur. In a world where control is key, the tension between you and Hotch is about to reach its breaking point.

It had been years since you last walked the halls of Quantico. 

Back then, things were different. You were a profiler, standing shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Agents Gideon, Rossi, and Hotchner. 

You had a deep understanding of how the human mind worked—specifically, how it could be unraveled and manipulated. Your background in psychological torture had set you apart from most, and it wasn’t long before your work at the BAU made you a name within the Bureau.

But as the years went on, you found yourself taking a different path—one that led to the world of academia. Teaching at an Ivy League university seemed like the natural next step. It gave you the chance to share your knowledge, write books, and shape the next generation of criminologists. But as fulfilling as it was, something was missing.

The adrenaline. The stakes. The feeling of being out in the field, making a difference in real-time.

At the BAU, Rossi had seen it for a while now: the way Hotch carried the burden of the job, rarely letting himself relax. 

It wasn’t about setting him up with someone; it was about challenging him, waking him up again. You—sharp, confident, and always able to push his buttons—had a way of doing just that. 

Years ago, there had always been a fire between you, something unspoken yet undeniable. 

Rossi didn’t need to fan those flames—he just knew that having you nearby would reignite something in Hotch, force him out of his controlled, measured existence. You were one of the few who could challenge him in ways no one else could.

It wasn’t just about making Hotch feel young again but making him feel alive.

When Rossi reached out, you hadn’t needed much convincing. The new age of teaching wasn’t what it used to be anyway, and the BAU--it had always felt like home.

“Come on, kid,” Rossi’s voice crackled through the phone. “You know you miss the action. Sitting behind a desk teaching criminology to a bunch of Ivy League kids? That’s not you.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair. “Don’t knock it, Rossi. There’s a certain charm in watching them squirm when they realize the real world isn’t as glamorous as they thought.”

“Maybe,” Rossi replied with a laugh, “but you belong in the field, not in front of a chalkboard. The team misses you.”

You smirked, unable to resist teasing him. “The team, huh? Or is this your way of saying you’re getting old and need someone to keep you on your toes?”

“Please,” Rossi shot back, “I’m timeless. But we could use a little more… fire around here. You always had a way of lighting things up.”

“Is that your way of saying you miss me, Rossi?”

“Maybe,” he replied smoothly. “And maybe Hotch could use the challenge, too.”

“Ah, now I see. You’re just trying to stir the pot,” you teased, your voice light. “Fine, I’m in. But don’t think I won’t be bringing my own brand of chaos.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Rossi said, a smile in his voice. “Welcome home.”

When you worked together years ago, before Hotch became Unit Chief, there had always been something between you—unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. The chemistry was undeniable, though you both kept it buried under layers of professionalism. 

At the time, Hotch was married to Haley, and you had been in a relationship of your own. The affection you had for Haley, knowing how much she meant to him, made the idea of crossing that line impossible. There was a mutual understanding that, no matter the tension between you, it couldn’t be acted upon. 

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to play around. 

You were always a natural flirt. Charisma came to you as easily as breathing, and sometimes, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. 

But with Hotch… it was different. He was reserved, controlled, and steady in a way that made the small cracks in his composure so satisfying to witness. And it became impossible to resist pushing him, just a little. 

Watching him squirm under the weight of your words and subtle glances became a game—a game where you were always two steps ahead. 

You knew how to push his buttons, and he let you.

He always had.

The distance between you, built by circumstance and respect for your respective relationships, had kept everything in check back then. It was that very distance that allowed the two of you to maintain your professional connection without ever letting the attraction get in the way.

The two of you had kept in touch over the years--various bureau events…the typical bureaucratic crap that you two would often bond over rolling your eyes at. 

But now, things were different. There were no more barriers. Haley was gone, your own relationship had long since ended, and that old chemistry still lingered—stronger, maybe, after all the time and distance. And this time, there was nothing to stop it from burning brighter.

There was something freeing knowing you could push a little further. The idea of it, acting on this attraction you couldn’t even deny you’ve had over the years, was thrilling.

On your first day back, the team gathered in the briefing room. Rossi had greeted you like the old friend you were, a sly smile on his face as if he already knew what was coming. Hotch stood off to the side, arms crossed, his eyes catching yours as the rest of the team exchanged introductions. He stepped forward, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed.

��It’s good to have you back,” Hotch said, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if acknowledging the weight of the years that had passed since you last worked together. “Things have changed a bit.”

You shook his hand, feeling the weight of familiarity settle between you, his grip warm and steady. “Yeah, I noticed. You’re the boss now,” you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone playful but your gaze steady. “Guess I’ll have to get used to taking orders.”

Hotch didn’t respond immediately, but his brow lifted just slightly, a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. His thumb brushed across your hand before he released it, stepping back. “We’ll see how well that goes.”

The others—Morgan, JJ, Reid, and Prentiss—had heard of you, of course. Your name was well-known in FBI circles, especially since you’d been one of the few women to pave the way for others in the Bureau. They respected you immediately, not just because of your accolades, but because of how you carried yourself—confident, self-assured, commanding respect without demanding it.

The case briefing began, and Hotch, ever the professional, gave the rundown of the unsub’s profile. You couldn’t help yourself. As he stood in front of the team, rattling off key details, you crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Still delivering profiles like they’re carved in stone, Hotchner?” you teased casually, just loud enough for the others to hear.

Hotch’s eyes flickered toward you, a brief flash of something behind them before he cleared his throat. 

“I prefer to think of them as accurate,” he replied, his voice smooth but with an edge. “Just like always.”

The corner of your mouth lifted into a knowing smile, and you saw it—the tiniest twitch of discomfort in his jaw. 

Oh, you still had him.

Rossi, sitting nearby, chuckled softly. “Watch out, everyone. The professor’s back.”

The rest of the team exchanged glances. JJ leaned toward Emily, whispering, “Is it just me, or is there something… more there?”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “You’re definitely not imagining it.”

In the days that followed, it became clear to the rest of the team that there was a thick tension between you and Hotch—an almost palpable current that crackled whenever you were in the same room. 

You couldn’t help the way you flirted with him. Sometimes, it was a subtle comment, a lingering glance, or the way you stood just a little too close during case briefings. Other times, it was more overt—a casual touch on his arm, a playful quip when you knew the team was listening. 

You’d always had a rebellious streak when it came to authority, sometimes you wondered how you got as far as you did in your career with that mouth of yours.

Hotch—rigid, rule-following Hotch—was just too tempting a target. You’d once jokingly referred to yourself as a “brat” when it came to pushing buttons, and in your case, that usually meant defying authority with a smile on your face.

But something was different now. Back when you worked together years ago, Hotch would brush off your teasing with calm professionalism, barely giving you a reaction. He’d remain composed, seemingly impervious to your provocations. Now, though, he seemed more willing to engage, to push back just a little more than you expected. 

You weren’t often surprised by people, but Hotch’s newfound ability to meet your wit with his own had caught you off guard.

It wasn’t just his typical stoic self anymore—there was an edge to his responses, a glint in his eye that made it clear he wasn’t just enduring your teasing; he was playing along. And it threw you off balance in a way you didn’t quite anticipate.

It wasn’t just in front of the team, either. In private, away from the others, Hotch’s responses had started to take on a different tone—quieter, more personal, laced with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. There were times, especially late at night when the office was nearly empty, when his voice would drop low as he answered one of your playful jabs, turning the tables on you in a way that made you squirm just a little.

And that was something new. You weren’t used to being the one caught off guard. Hotch had always been steady, collected. But now, you noticed the way his eyes would flicker down to your lips when you spoke, the way his voice dropped just a little lower when he addressed you directly. He never let it show, at least not on the surface, but you knew. You always knew.

It was late, the bullpen quiet save for the soft hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers. You had finished most of your report and were about to call it a night when you spotted Hotch still in his office, the faint glow from his desk lamp highlighting his focused expression. Naturally, you couldn’t resist.

You knocked lightly on his door, smirking as you leaned against the frame. 

“Burning the midnight oil, Hotchner? You know, even you need sleep sometimes,” you teased, the playful lilt in your voice familiar.

Hotch didn’t look up right away, but you saw the small smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

You stepped into his office, crossing your arms as you leaned against his desk. “Well, unlike you, I still know how to have fun. Late-night drinks can be productive, you know.”

This time, Hotch raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression calm but something else lurking behind it. “Is that an invitation?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the unexpected shift in his tone. “I—what?”

He closed the file in front of him slowly, standing up from his desk to face you fully. His voice was steady, a quiet challenge in his words. 

“You said late-night drinks could be productive. If you’re offering, I might just take you up on that.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words, something that almost never happened. You could feel your pulse quicken, the confidence you usually wielded slipping as Hotch’s eyes stayed on yours, unflinching.

Recovering quickly, you gave him a slow, teasing smile, though your heart still raced. “Are you sure you could handle it, Hotch? You don’t strike me as the type to let loose.”

Without missing a beat, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ve underestimated me.”

There it was. The subtle, confident way he turned the tables, leaving you scrambling for a response. You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of this kind of banter, especially not from Hotch.

You felt a flush rise in your cheeks, and Hotch’s eyes flickered down, just briefly, as if noticing. When he looked back up, there was a slight smile playing on his lips, but he didn’t push further, leaving the weight of the moment hanging between you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice a touch quieter than you intended, the flirtation still there, but now with an undercurrent of something else. Something deeper.

Hotch simply nodded, his expression softening, though his gaze didn’t falter. “Good night, then.”

You turned to leave, feeling the warmth in your cheeks as you walked out of his office, your mind spinning from the unexpected encounter. You had always been able to push his buttons, but tonight… it seemed Hotch had learned how to push yours.

Over time, the team grew used to the rapport between you and Hotch, much like how they had come to accept the flirtatious banter between Penelope and Derek. But with you and Hotch, it was different—sharper, more restrained, but no less intense. 

The others would exchange knowing glances when your conversations got a little too charged, but they respected the unspoken boundaries you and Hotch danced around.

And the truth was, those boundaries wouldn’t stay unbroken forever.

There was this push and pull—a game of tug-of-war. You both knew how to push each other's buttons, but you also knew when to let go before the rope broke or one of you fell flat on your faces. It was a delicate balance, and somehow, neither of you ever crossed the line. At least, not yet.

It was late, and the harsh lighting of the local police station did nothing to alleviate the exhaustion that hung over the team. 

The case had finally been wrapped up, and now it was just a matter of packing up and heading home. Everyone was scattered around the room, collecting files and closing laptops, the weight of the long hours evident on all of your faces.

You were finishing up, leaning casually against one of the cluttered desks near Hotch, who was meticulously stacking paperwork into his briefcase. He always took his time—never rushed, even at the end of a long case. It was one of the things that both fascinated and frustrated you about him.

“Come on, Hotch,” you teased, watching him with a smirk. “You ever think about leaving the paperwork for tomorrow? Or are you afraid the world might end if you don’t have everything perfectly organized before we leave?”

Hotch looked up from his task, his expression as stoic as ever. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can all go home,” he replied, his voice even and calm.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Home? You mean you’re actually going to leave this place?” you asked, your tone playful. “I always thought you just… stayed at the office, brooding until the next case rolled in.”

Across the room, Morgan and Prentiss were packing up their own gear, but your voice was loud enough to catch their attention. Morgan glanced over, smirking. “Brooding’s definitely on-brand for Hotch,” he muttered to Prentiss, who hid a smile behind her hand.

Hotch closed his briefcase and stood up, straightening his posture as he turned to you, and this time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that caught you off guard. 

“I don’t brood,” he said, his tone just a little too smooth. “And I think you’d be surprised at how well I can unwind.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected comeback. “Oh yeah?” you challenged, crossing your arms and leaning against the desk a bit more. “Guess I’ll need proof of that. Can’t have the Unit Chief pretending to be fun when there’s no evidence.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat. He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough that only you could hear, though the team was watching from across the room. 

“Careful,” he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. “You might not be able to keep up.”

Your breath hitched slightly, your pulse quickening in response to the subtle challenge in his words. You weren’t used to Hotch pushing back like this, and it caught you off balance for a second. You had always been the one to make him squirm, but now… now, he was the one getting under your skin.

“Did Hotch just—” Prentiss began, her eyebrows raised as she glanced at Morgan, who looked just as surprised.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I think Hotch just played her at her own game.”

Prentiss smirked, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. “I didn’t know he had a game.”

Morgan chuckled. “Oh, he does. He’s just been keeping it locked away until now.”

Across the room, Rossi, who had been quietly observing the exchange, gave an almost imperceptible nod, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. He had known you would be good for Hotch, and seeing the dynamic between the two of you now only confirmed it.

You quickly regained your composure, leaning in just slightly as you shot back, “I’m pretty sure I could handle it, Aaron.”

Hotch’s lips quirked in a subtle smile, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped back and grabbed his coat, leaving the challenge hanging in the air. 

“We’ll see,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a teasing undertone to it now.

As Hotch walked toward the door, the rest of the team finally let out the breath they had been holding.

“Wow,” JJ said, eyes wide. “Did we just witness Hotch flirting?”

“I’m not sure I believe it,” Reid chimed in, looking genuinely puzzled.

Morgan crossed his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face. “It’s about time someone shook things up around here.”

Rossi walked past you, slapping a hand on your shoulder as he did. “Keep it up, kid,” he said with a satisfied grin. “Looks like you’ve got him right where you want him.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I think he’s the one keeping me on my toes now,” you muttered under your breath.

As the team gathered their things and headed for the SUVs, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at Hotch. The way he had engaged with you tonight—subtle, teasing, but undeniably flirtatious—left you with a strange mixture of excitement and surprise. You’d always known how to push his buttons, but now? Now it felt like Hotch was finally ready to play the game.

And for the first time in a long while, you weren’t sure who had the upper hand.

Weeks had passed since that night, and though the tension between you and Hotch still simmered beneath the surface, the team had moved on to a new case, throwing you both back into the rhythm of work. The dynamic had shifted, but the game remained—unspoken but always present. Now, out in the field with Morgan, the familiar tension crept back in as you prepared to relay critical information to Hotch.

The case had taken a sharp turn, and every second mattered. You dialed Hotch’s number, knowing the information you were about to relay could be critical. But, as always, the tension had you slipping into your usual rhythm of teasing—almost like second nature when things got stressful.

Hotch answered on the second ring. “Hotchner.”

“Hey, got something for you,” you said, catching a breath. “We spoke to a witness. Black SUV, partial plates, seen leaving the scene about an hour ago. I’m starting to think I’m carrying this whole case. You sure you don’t need me running things for you while you take a day off?”

Morgan shot you a sharp look, trying not to laugh. The timing wasn’t great, and he fully expected Hotch to cut you off with a firm, no-nonsense response. After all, this was Hotch.

There was a brief pause on the line, and Morgan mouthed at you, “He’s gonna kill you.”

But then, Hotch’s voice came through, low and steady. “Careful,” he said, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable note of amusement. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll start thinking you’re trying to get yourself reassigned to paperwork duty.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. That wasn’t what you expected at all. Was that… Hotch teasing you? It was subtle—typical Hotch—but unmistakable. Your mouth opened to respond, but for once, words didn’t immediately come.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, clearly floored. “Wait, did Hotch just—” he started, but you waved a hand to silence him, still processing the fact that Aaron Hotchner had just flirted back, in his own serious, dry way.

“Well,” you finally managed, “as long as I can file it in your office, I’m sure I’d manage just fine.”

Another pause. “I think you’d find my office much less entertaining than you imagine,” Hotch replied smoothly, the same playful edge to his voice.

Morgan let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

“I—uh, yeah, I’ll get those plates to you,” you said, trying to regain control of the conversation, but there was a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t from the work. “I’ll, uh, check in when we’ve got more.”

“Understood,” Hotch said, his tone back to business, though you could still hear the amusement lingering beneath the surface. “Keep me updated.”

Something shifted. The playful banter that had always come so easily felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. For the first time, you both sensed it—this wasn’t just a game anymore. The teasing, the flirting—it had blurred the line between fun and something far more real. Neither of you said it out loud, but you could feel it in the weight of every word, in the way the silence lingered a second too long after each response.

When the call ended, Morgan stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You gotta be kidding me. Hotch? The man barely cracks a smile, and here he is giving you hell?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the lingering warmth in your face. “He’s still my boss,” you said, playing it cool. “He’s just… keeping me in line.”

Morgan snorted. “Yeah, right. If I said half that stuff to him, I’d be doing desk duty for a month. You’ve got some kind of magic over him, I swear.”

Meanwhile, back at the local precinct, Hotch ended the call and glanced up to find Rossi watching him with a knowing grin. Rossi had caught the tail end of the conversation and didn’t need to ask to know what had just happened.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at him. “Something you want to say?”

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing at all, Aaron. Just nice to see you loosening up.”

Hotch gave him a steady look, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Someone has to keep her in check,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Sure,” Rossi replied, clearly enjoying the exchange far too much. “Though I don’t think you’re trying that hard to stop her.”

Hotch didn’t respond, but there was a quiet understanding between them. Rossi had always known how to read between the lines, and Hotch’s small smile confirmed that Rossi’s instincts were right.

Back in the field, Morgan still hadn’t let it go. “I seriously don’t know how you get away with it,” he said, shaking his head as you both climbed into the SUV.

You shot him a sidelong glance, the smirk creeping back onto your face now that you had recovered from the surprise. “What can I say? I’m special.”

“Yeah, well, you better be careful,” Morgan teased, pulling out of the lot. “Because if Hotch ever does snap, it’s going to be spectacular.”

You laughed, leaning back in your seat. “I think we both know he likes playing this game as much as I do.”

Morgan chuckled but didn’t disagree. As you drove away, you couldn’t help but think back to Hotch’s voice on the phone, how he’d turned your usual banter right back on you. For once, he had left you the one a little off balance.

Later that day, as you and Morgan returned to the bullpen, Penelope swirled into the room with her usual dramatic flair. 

"Well, well, well," she began, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I heard a little birdie tell me there was some serious verbal sparring going on between you and the boss-man in the field today. Dare I ask how it ended?"

Morgan chuckled, throwing you a knowing glance. "Oh, it ended alright. But for once, I think Hotch had the upper hand."

Penelope gasped in mock horror, her eyes widening. "Our resident queen of sass, left speechless by Hotch? This I have to see."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "It’s nothing I can’t handle," you said, but the truth lingered in your mind. This was only the beginning, and even you didn’t know where it would lead.

As the days passed, you found yourself thinking more and more about that shift with Hotch, but before you could dwell on it too much, the next unavoidable event crept up on you—a formal Bureau gala.

It was a rare occurrence—one of those formal Bureau events where the invitations were non-negotiable, the kind you couldn’t avoid no matter how much you wanted to. This time, it was a benefit gala, an annual gathering of Bureau brass and political figures. Most of the team had managed to find a way out, but you, Hotch, and Rossi had drawn the short straws.

Rossi, ever the diplomat, had no issue attending these sorts of events—especially since Strauss had already invited him as her plus-one, an arrangement that left you and Hotch both slightly bemused.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” you teased when you and Hotch were left figuring out your own arrangements.

Hotch looked at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, to your surprise, he said, “You could come as my date.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. Hotch rarely flirted so openly, and the ease with which the words left his mouth left you momentarily speechless. 

“Your date?” you repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I think the better question is whether you can behave,” Hotch replied, his tone measured but carrying that dry, teasing edge you were beginning to recognize more and more.

You raised an eyebrow, recovering quickly. 

“Behave? Where’s the fun in that?” you quipped back. “Alright, deal. But you better not leave me to fend off the Bureau’s old guard on my own.”

Hotch gave a small, amused smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The night of the gala approached faster than you expected, and soon enough, Hotch was back in his office, preparing for the evening ahead.

As Hotch finished straightening his bow tie, he heard the familiar knock on his office door. Rossi stepped in, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes sharp as ever.

“You clean up nice,” Rossi said with a smirk. “But that’s not what’s got me concerned.”

Hotch looked up from his desk, brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rossi stepped closer, his tone softening just slightly. “Aaron, I’ve been watching you. You’ve got that look—like you’re fighting something inside.”

Hotch sighed. He didn’t have to ask what Rossi meant. “It’s complicated, Dave.”

Rossi gave him a pointed look. “It’s only as complicated as you make it. Look, I know you. You’re holding back because that’s what you do. But maybe this time, you don’t have to. Let loose. Lean into it. You deserve that.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “I’m not sure I can afford to.”

Rossi smiled knowingly. “You deserve to feel alive again, Aaron. Don’t miss your chance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, but the words stayed with him long after Rossi left the room. He just continued to run through his thoughts as he grabbed his keys and made his way to the SUV to go pick you up. 

You’d never have imagined Hotch picking you up in a tux, let alone for a Bureau gala where you’d be going as his date. 

It had started as playful banter, something you never thought would lead to more. But the moment you accepted his offer to be his date, something shifted. There was a weight behind it, an unspoken connection that ran deeper than either of you had let on. 

And now, as you smoothed your dress one final time before he arrived, a flutter of nerves settled in your chest. This wasn’t just flirting anymore. You could feel it—something real, something that went beyond the game you’d been playing for months.

When Hotch pulled up in front of your place, he stepped out of the car to greet you, and the sight of him in a sharp black tuxedo made you momentarily lose your train of thought. He was always put-together, but tonight? Tonight, there was an extra edge to his appearance, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Right on time,” you quipped as he opened the door for you. “Very punctual, as always. Does that come with being Unit Chief, or is that just your way of keeping everyone else on their toes?”

Hotch gave you a small smile, his eyes flickering over your dress for just a second longer than usual. “Some habits are hard to break,” he replied evenly. “You look great, by the way.”

You slid into the car, throwing him a playful glance. “You too, Hotch. I didn’t even know you owned anything that wasn’t a suit. What, no bulletproof vest tonight?”

He chuckled under his breath as he started the car, his hands gripping the wheel in that familiar, controlled way. “I figured it wasn’t necessary for a Bureau gala.”

You leaned back in your seat, smirking. “Well, you never know. Some of those higher-ups look like they could start a fight at any moment. Good thing you’ve got me as backup.”

Hotch gave a small shake of his head, amusement flashing in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be able to handle yourself just fine.”

As the car sped through the city streets, you couldn’t resist pushing him a little more. “Come on, Hotch. You’ve got to be at least a little excited. Big fancy event, all dressed up. We might even see you smile tonight.”

He glanced at you, his expression calm but with that familiar, dry edge. “You might want to lower your expectations.”

You grinned, leaning a little closer to him as you teased, “What, are you saying I’m setting the bar too high?”

His eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road, and you caught that subtle tension in his posture. “I’m saying you always seem to enjoy pushing limits.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the way he’d turned the banter back on you. You opened your mouth to respond, but his quiet confidence left you feeling like he had gained the upper hand.

“Well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting,” you muttered, trying to regain your footing.

For the rest of the drive, you continued to pepper him with lighthearted comments—teasing him about his serious demeanor, joking about the politics of Bureau galas, you even talked about Jack a few times—but underneath it all, there was a tension growing. Each time Hotch shot back with his calm, dry responses, it felt like a game you were both playing, and you were starting to realize you might not be in control of it anymore.

When you arrived at the gala, Hotch stepped out of the car and opened the door for you, offering his hand as you stepped out. You were about to throw another teasing comment his way, but when you looked up at him, standing there in that tux, the words caught in your throat.

He met your eyes with a steady gaze, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The teasing, the banter—it all fell away, leaving behind the raw tension that had been building since he picked you up.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the sounds of the city around you.

You blinked, quickly recovering. “Yeah, just… surprised that you’re really here, taking me as your date.” Your eyes flicked over him, taking in how good he looked, even though that wasn’t the real surprise. “But, I mean, you do clean up nice, Aaron.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Surprised I asked you?” His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I thought it was about time.”

You smiled, the tension between you thickening. “Maybe I am

Inside the gala, the atmosphere was elegant, with the sounds of soft music and quiet chatter filling the room. You and Hotch had already made your rounds, engaging in small talk with Bureau officials and shaking hands with people you didn’t particularly care for. But through it all, the tension between you and Hotch lingered.

After an hour or so, you found yourselves at the bar, taking a moment to escape the crowd. You leaned against the counter, watching Hotch as he ordered a drink for himself and one for you.

“See?” you said, giving him a teasing smile. “This isn’t so bad. You’re surviving, and you even managed to crack a joke or two. I think we can count this as a win.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who said I needed to loosen up,” he said evenly, his voice carrying that quiet, playful edge. “I’m just following your advice.”

You grinned, the energy between you shifting, the tension you’d been playing with all night coming to a head. Now was as good a time as any to test his limits a little further. 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of advice for you, Hotch,” you said, leaning in just enough to catch his full attention, your voice dropping to something more suggestive. “And I bet if I really tried, I could get you to loosen up a lot more.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened, lingering on yours longer than before. There was a flicker of surprise there—just for a second—but it quickly turned into something else. Amusement. Challenge.

“You might want to be careful,” he replied, his voice still smooth but now edged with something darker, something more dangerous. “You’re playing a game you might not be ready to finish.”

You laughed softly, unbothered by his attempt to warn you off. If anything, it only made you push harder. “I don’t think you’d mind that one bit,” you said, your tone bold. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s holding back.”

Hotch’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he wasn’t going to let you off that easily. “Is that what you think? That I’m holding back?”

You tilted your head, “Oh, I know you are. You’ve been doing it all night.”

For a moment, there was silence between you, the tension thick enough to cut through. Hotch’s eyes flicked down to your mouth for a second before returning to meet yours, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a growl. “You might be playing with fire.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time that night, you wondered if you had pushed him a little too far. But then again, that’s exactly what you’d been trying to do, wasn’t it? Test the waters. See how much you could make him bend before he snapped.

But Hotch didn’t snap. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not the one who’ll break first.”

Your breath caught, and before you could respond, the bartender breaking the moment. You took a step back, trying to compose yourself as Hotch straightened, his expression calm and controlled once again—though the look in his eyes told you the game wasn’t over.

“Here you go. Anything else for the happy couple?” The bartender placed the glasses in front of you both.

You froze for a second, the bartender’s words hanging in the air. You were about to correct him when you glanced at Hotch, curious to see his reaction.

Hotch, to your surprise, didn’t immediately deny it. Instead, he gave the bartender a polite smile and said, “We’re fine, thank you.”

As the bartender moved on, you turned to Hotch, raising an eyebrow. “Happy couple, huh?”

Hotch shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “It seemed easier than explaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned in closer. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

He met your gaze, his expression calm but with that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe.”

The air between you felt heavier now, the flirtation and tension building to a point where it felt like something was bound to break. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the banter without it tipping over into something more.

“You know,” you said softly, your voice dropping, “if we’re going to play the part, we should at least make it convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second before meeting your gaze again. “Is that what you want?”

For once, you weren’t sure what to say. The teasing had turned into something real, something you hadn’t expected, and now you were standing at the edge of a line neither of you had crossed before.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

Hotch didn’t move, but the weight of his gaze stayed locked on yours, the tension between you stretching tight, waiting to snap.

“Are you ready for what comes next?” he said quietly, his voice soft but firm, and you knew—whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be able to go back.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but before either of you could act on the weight of the moment, the evening continued on, pulling you both back into the motions of the event. 

As the night was winding down, you and Hotch found yourselves standing with Rossi and Strauss near the exit. The tension between you and Hotch had been brewing all evening, and Rossi, as always, hadn’t missed a thing.

With a dramatic sigh, Rossi glanced between you two before smirking at Strauss. “You might want to start drafting those HR consensual relationship forms, Erin,” he teased, eyes twinkling. “Looks like there’ll be a couple on your desk by Monday.”

Strauss rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, and what about your paperwork, Dave?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow at their own not-so-subtle fraternizing.

Rossi grinned, unbothered. “I’m grandfathered in. But these two?” He gave you and Hotch a knowing look. “Better watch out.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, while Hotch remained calm, though you saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Duly noted,” Hotch said, his voice steady, but you could feel the charge between you.

Strauss sighed, giving one final glance between you and Hotch. “Just make sure I’m not dealing with fallout from both of you by Monday.”

Rossi patted her arm, chuckling. “Only if you sign the forms first.”

As Rossi and Strauss headed out, you turned to Hotch, smirking. “Looks like we’re on notice.”

Hotch’s lips curved just slightly. “Seems that way.”

You both shared a brief, knowing look, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

The night had stretched on, and as the crowd in the ballroom began to thin, the tension between you and Hotch had reached a breaking point. 

The teasing glances, the subtle brushes of his hand, and the simmering heat had become too much. Hotch, ever composed, had kept his professional demeanor in front of the others all night, but you could feel the pull between you both—like you were walking a tightrope.

You both stood off to the side after the last round of handshakes, observing the room in comfortable silence. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Hotch glancing at you, his expression unreadable, though there was something different in his gaze tonight—something less guarded.

“Need some air?” he asked quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I think I could use a break from all the small talk.”

Hotch didn’t say anything more, but you followed him as he led the way toward a quieter part of the venue, away from the buzz of the event. 

It was a subtle move, deliberate yet not rushed. You could feel your heart beating a little faster, though neither of you had said anything more.

He pushed open a door to a quiet, unused room, likely an office set aside for event staff, and gestured for you to follow him inside. You did, your breath catching slightly at the realization of how close you were now to being truly alone.

Once inside, the door clicked softly behind you, and the hum of the gala faded into the background, leaving the two of you standing in the dimly lit space. Hotch remained still, keeping a respectful distance, though the tension in the air was palpable. His body language was controlled, but the way his eyes flicked to yours made it clear he wasn’t unaffected by everything that had passed between you tonight.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was a subtle edge to it—like he was testing the waters, gauging where you stood.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze. “Just… a lot tonight.”

Hotch nodded, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, his voice quieter now, low and controlled. There was no accusation, just a quiet acknowledgment of the game you’d both been playing.

Your breath hitched, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You seem to be holding up pretty well.”

“Barely,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your lips. His response surprised you, but also intrigued you. 

He moved in closer, his presence almost overwhelming as he pressed you gently against the wall, his hand bracing beside your head.

For a second, neither of you moved. His body was just inches from yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The tension, the push and pull of the game you’d both been playing, was about to snap.

Before you could say another word, Hotch’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips, lingering there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was soft but deliberate, and it took every ounce of restraint not to close the small gap between you.

Just as you leaned in, lips almost touching, Hotch’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the sound cutting through the moment like a knife. He sighed, the frustration clear, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he fished out his phone with his free hand, glancing at the screen.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice immediately shifting back to its usual authoritative tone, though his body stayed pressed close to yours, his hand still resting on your face.

You thought he might step back, put some distance between you, but he didn’t. 

Instead, as he spoke into the phone—likely discussing the logistics of the case—his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, soft and slow, like he couldn’t help himself. 

It was such a contrast to the professional tone of his voice that it made your head spin.

You tried to focus on what he was saying, but the heat from his touch, the way he stayed so close, made it impossible to think clearly. You felt every breath he took, the tension between you even more potent now that you were both so aware of it but unable to act.

After what felt like an eternity, Hotch finally hung up the phone, but he still didn’t pull away. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of the moment thickening all over again.

“We’ve got a case,” he said softly, his voice a little rough, like the weight of what almost happened hadn’t left him unaffected.

You exhaled, a frustrated but soft laugh escaping your lips. 

“Figures,” you murmured, your heart still pounding.

Hotch’s thumb brushed over your lip one last time before he finally stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. But the tension between you remained, unbroken.

“We’ll finish this later,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer before he turned toward the door.

As you both walked out of the room and back into the world of the FBI, you knew he wasn’t making an empty promise. Whatever had started tonight, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Whatever was staring you two in the face was too good to ignore. 

Within the hour, the team gathered in the briefing room, the atmosphere charged with the usual mix of focus and adrenaline that came with starting a new case. You were still thinking about the gala—about how close you and Hotch had come to crossing that line before the case pulled you away. Now, the professional walls were back up, and things were business as usual. Or so you thought.

Garcia had laid out the details of the new case on the screen, and you listened as she explained the suspects and their patterns. The unsub was targeting high-profile events, blending in by posing as part of the upper-crust social scene while his victims were unaware. 

The most recent lead? A high-end party happening the next evening, where undercover agents would need to infiltrate to catch the suspect in the act.

Rossi glanced around the room, his gaze landing on you and Hotch, a spark of amusement in his eyes. 

“Well, looks like we need a couple,” Rossi said, his voice casual but with a teasing edge. “A couple that can really sell it. High-class, a little… steamy.”

You felt your stomach flip slightly, the underlying tension from last night creeping back in. Hotch remained composed beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. But before you could respond, Morgan leaned forward, grinning like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

“You know,” Morgan began, his eyes darting between you and Hotch, “I think we’ve already got the perfect pair for this.”

You blinked, your eyes widening slightly as the attention in the room shifted toward you and Hotch. “Wait—us? No.”

Morgan leaned back, smirking. “You two would be perfect. Got that whole chemistry thing down already.” He gave a mock shudder. “Not sure I’m ready to see what happens when you actually lean into it, though. Might witness something real go down out there.”

Hotch shot Morgan a brief but sharp look, clearly unimpressed with the teasing, though you could see the faintest hint of discomfort in his posture. 

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Hotch said, his voice calm but firm.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression amused. “Come on, Aaron. You and her? The chemistry’s already there. Plus, you’re both the best at keeping your cool under pressure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, unsure how this had suddenly turned into you and Hotch going undercover as a couple, but JJ spoke up before you could.

“They’re right,” she said with a soft smile. “You two could pull this off. If anyone can make this look convincing, it’s you two.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, but he said nothing. You, on the other hand, decided to lean into the banter, if only to diffuse the tension.

“Well,” you said with a grin, glancing at Hotch, “I guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior. Don’t want to push your buttons too much while we’re out there.”

Morgan let out a low chuckle, and even Reid smirked behind his stack of files. “I think the real question,” Morgan said, glancing at Hotch, “is whether he can keep it together when you start leaning into the role.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his composure remained intact. “I’m perfectly capable of maintaining professionalism,” he said, though the tension in the room suggested that everyone—including Hotch—knew this undercover assignment was going to be anything but easy.

With the decision made, the plan was set: you and Hotch would pose as a couple attending the high-end party, posing as wealthy socialites while the team monitored from a distance.

As the meeting wrapped up, you caught Hotch’s gaze, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling back in. This assignment was going to test both of you, and it wasn’t just about catching the unsub—it was about how far you could push the chemistry that had been simmering between you for months.

As the team dispersed, Morgan walked by, shooting you both a playful glance. “Good luck out there. Just don’t make it too real, alright?”

You shook your head, giving him a light punch on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to break your Unit Chief.”

Morgan laughed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice piped up from behind, her eyes wide with dramatic flair. “Oh, sugar, please keep it together out there. I don’t think the universe can handle you two actually playing couple for real.”

Emily smirked, glancing between the two of you. “I have to admit, I’m almost curious to see how well you sell it. Key word: almost.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll behave. Promise.”

“Better you than me,” Emily added, giving you a playful wink before heading off with Garcia in tow.

Morgan chuckled as he walked away, leaving you and Hotch standing there for a moment. The teasing from the team faded as the reality of the situation set in, the tension between you suddenly palpable.

“You sure about this?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying more weight than before.

Hotch’s eyes softened just slightly as he looked at you, but his voice was steady. “We’ll make it work.”

There was something in the way he said it that made you believe him, even as your heart raced at the thought of what was about to unfold.

The small, dimly lit prep room had been quiet as you finished getting ready for the undercover assignment. 

You adjusted the delicate lace garter holster on your thigh, securing the small, discreet weapon inside, while slipping the matching lingerie into place. The deep red fabric, though meant to be functional, added an unexpected level of sexiness to the outfit—a necessary piece of your undercover role, but one that made you feel the weight of the assignment in a different way.

You were just about to slip on your dress when there was a soft knock on the door. “It’s me,” Hotch’s familiar voice came through, steady and calm as always.

“Come in,” you called, expecting him to go over last-minute details. But when the door swung open, Hotch stepped inside and froze.

His usual calm composure faltered for just a moment as his eyes fell on you, standing there in nothing but your lingerie and garter holster, the silk and lace framing your body in a way that was far from professional. 

He didn’t speak right away, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you with a stunned silence that was so un-Hotch it made you smile.

“Cat got your tongue, Aaron?” you teased, feeling the tension rise between you like a thick fog. The way he looked at you—completely unguarded, caught off balance—was more of a reaction than you’d ever expected.

He cleared his throat, his jaw tightening slightly as he tried to regain his composure, but the subtle flush in his cheeks told you all you needed to know. 

“We have… ten minutes before we leave,” he said, his voice sounding a little rougher than usual.

You smirked, turning to grab your dress from the hanger. 

“I know. Just finishing up,” you said casually, like the air between you wasn’t crackling with tension. 

You slipped the dress over your head, the soft fabric falling against your skin, but the zipper in the back was out of reach.

Without missing a beat, you turned your back to him, lifting your hair with one hand and glancing over your shoulder. “Help me with the zipper?”

Hotch hesitated for a second before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the smooth fabric of your dress as he reached for the zipper. His touch was light but deliberate, and as he slowly pulled the zipper up, you could feel the tension building with every inch.

The proximity was dizzying, the heat of his body just behind yours making your pulse race. You could sense his restraint, the way his breath caught slightly as his fingers brushed the bare skin of your back.

When he finished, his hands lingered for just a moment too long, and you turned to face him, the atmosphere between you thick with unspoken desire.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your eyes locked on his. You could see it—he was fighting it, the same tension that had been building between you both for months.

Hotch stepped back, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable but his eyes giving him away. 

“We need to stay focused out there,” he said, his voice low, though there was an edge to it now, a struggle between control and something else.

You smiled, that familiar spark of playfulness returning to your voice. “Relax, Hotch. We’ve got this.” You took a step closer, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “Unless you want to practice playing the part before we go out there? You know… make sure we’ve got the chemistry down.”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t move, the weight of your words hanging between you like a challenge. His eyes flicked to your lips, his breath steady but shallow. The tension was unbearable, thick with everything unsaid.

He leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We both know there’s no time to finish what you’re starting.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could say anything else, he stepped back, the tension breaking just enough for him to regain his composure.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning toward the door, though his voice carried the weight of everything still lingering between you.

You smiled to yourself as you followed him out, knowing that the real game was just about to begin.

The ride to the event was quiet, the tension between you and Hotch hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you both stayed focused on the task at hand, but every glance he threw your way only reminded you of the moment back in the dressing room.

The team had set up their surveillance positions nearby, and you both stepped out of the car in full undercover mode. 

The luxurious mansion in front of you was buzzing with high-profile guests, and as soon as you stepped into the party, you both had to sell your roles.

It wasn’t hard for either of you to slip into your roles. The emotions you had to display today felt natural, blurring the lines between the act and the very real tension coursing through both of you.

Hotch offered you his arm, and you slipped your hand through it with a practiced ease, the two of you moving through the crowd like you belonged there. But as you leaned in to whisper in his ear, part of the act, the tension returned full force.

“You’re playing the part well,” you teased softly, your lips brushing just close enough to his ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Hotch didn’t falter, but you could feel the slight shift in his body. “Just doing my job,” he replied smoothly, though there was an edge of heat in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you mingled with the guests, you stayed close, playing the part of the affectionate couple. His hand rested on the small of your back, his touch burning through the thin fabric of your dress, reminding you of every charged moment you’d shared.

At one point, you found yourselves standing at the bar, close enough that your bodies brushed together as you ordered drinks, keeping up the charade. Hotch leaned in, his voice low in your ear. “We’re being watched. Stay close.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, the moment too intimate for comfort—but necessary for the mission. You leaned into him, playing along, your fingers lightly trailing down his arm as you whispered, “I’d say you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

You couldn’t resist the teasing grin that spread across your face. “Should we put on a show?”

Before Hotch could respond, a voice crackled through your earpiece—Morgan's voice, full of amusement. “Easy, you two.”

His gaze flickered, caught between amusement and caution, and he opened his mouth to respond—but then your eyes caught a sudden movement in the corner of the room. Your heartbeat quickened, not from the tension between you, but from the job itself. One of the suspects.

You straightened, your body still close to his but your focus shifting, your muscles tensing. “Target spotted,” you said softly, your eyes never leaving the suspect.

Hotch’s hand lingered for a second longer before it withdrew, his expression sharpening, professional mode slipping back into place. His eyes met yours—still aware of the heat simmering between you both—but the job came first.

“Let’s move,” he said, his voice low and controlled, his attention now fully on the mission.

Just like that, the tension between you was replaced by the sharp focus of the mission, though the heat between you never fully disappeared. It was there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next moment you’d be forced to confront it.

As you and Hotch made your way back to the car after the undercover operation, the air between you felt different—heavier, quieter. The playful tension from earlier had faded, replaced by something more serious. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, the sound of your footsteps filling the space.

Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice low. “You played the part well.”

You glanced at him, searching his expression. His usual guarded demeanor was still there, but the weight behind his words told you there was more he wasn’t saying. “So did you,” you replied softly, your own voice a little more vulnerable than before.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “It felt… real, at times,” he admitted, his words careful, like he was testing the waters.

You swallowed, feeling the gravity of what he was saying. “Yeah,” you said quietly, the teasing tone gone from your voice. “It wasn’t just an act, was it?”

Hotch stopped, turning to face you. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no pretense. No game. “No. It wasn’t.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding, and for once, neither of you felt the need to fill it with banter. This moment—whatever it was—was real.

The drive back to the BAU had been quiet, filled with unspoken words that neither of you seemed ready to address, but now, with the case behind you and the rest of the team gone, the tension that had built throughout the night felt heavier than ever.

The rest of the team had gone home, leaving the building unusually still. Hotch had stayed behind to finish reports, the soft glow of his office light spilling into the empty hallway.

Standing outside his office, Hotch paused, his hand hovering just above the door handle. For months, he’d kept this quiet, simmering tension between them at bay—tucking it away into the same compartment where he'd stored every personal feeling since Haley’s death. It had been easier that way. Safer. But now, with the team gone, the quiet hum of the building around him, and the weight of tonight pressing on his chest, it felt impossible to ignore.

Maybe he was tired of being safe.

Maybe, after everything he’d lost, he deserved to feel something again.

He pushed the door open.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, a knowing smile playing on your lips as your eyes met his. The sight of you—so calm, so collected—sent a shock of tension straight through him.

“You’re here late,” he said, his voice low and steady, though the crackle of something darker threaded through it. He closed the door behind him, the lock clicking softly as if sealing the two of you in.

“I figured we had some unfinished business,” you replied, your fingers lightly tracing the polished surface of his desk. “And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sit here.”

Hotch didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes darkened as he took a few slow, measured steps toward you. He kept his composure, but you could see the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw. He stopped just in front of you, his presence overwhelming, but still he held back.

“Why my desk?” he asked, his voice even quieter now, as if afraid of where this might lead but unable to stop it.

You leaned back, resting your weight on your hands, your gaze unwavering. “It just seemed… fitting,” you said softly, your voice filled with the same playful edge you’d always used to push him. “I’ve imagined this. Right here.”

Hotch’s breath hitched just slightly, his control slipping as he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk beside you. “You’ve imagined this?” His voice was deeper now, his eyes searching yours as if he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t happening.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow smile. “Haven’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. The tension in the room was palpable, the space between you charged with all the things neither of you had said for months. He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of his hesitation hanging in the air—until finally, the walls he’d built around himself crumbled.

Hotch’s hand slid to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing your reaction. When you didn’t pull away, he stepped even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours. “I shouldn’t,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your hip, though the way he looked at you said something entirely different.

You leaned in, closing the small gap between you, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took. In an instant, the restraint he’d been holding onto for so long shattered. His hand slid up your back, pulling you toward him as his lips crashed against yours, the months of tension between you igniting in a kiss that was both hungry and desperate.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly so that you were perched on the edge of the desk. His kiss was firm, controlled at first, but as you responded, matching his intensity, it deepened, the urgency between you building with every second.

His hands moved over you—up your sides, along the curve of your back—claiming every inch of you as if he was trying to make up for all the time he’d spent holding back. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing your body against his as the kiss grew hotter, more demanding.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breath ragged as he looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unguarded. “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “Good.”

Without another word, he kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, as if there was no going back now. He moved you farther onto the desk, stepping between your legs as his hands roamed your body, your lips parting for him as the kiss deepened.

The world outside his office disappeared, the only sound the soft, ragged breaths you both took between kisses. Hotch’s control had always been something he prided himself on, but now, in this moment, with you, that control was gone. The only thing left was the heat between you, the connection you had been avoiding for so long.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as he trailed slow, heated kisses along the side of your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine. The feel of him, so close and unrestrained, made your mind race, the fantasy you had harbored for so long now becoming a reality.

When you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” his movements paused for just a second. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath ragged as he took you in—your flushed skin, the hunger in your eyes. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, dark and filled with desire.

“Is this what you imagined?” Hotch asked softly, his voice thick with heat as his hands slowly slid up your thighs, teasing, testing your resolve. He lingered close, the teasing tone in his words a rare show of vulnerability mixed with control.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of the moment deepened. “It’s better,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly, your fingers tangled in his shirt as you tugged him closer. “But I was hoping we’d get to… the next part of my fantasy.”

Hotch’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, and he let out a low, deep hum, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling beneath him. “The next part?” he murmured, his lips grazing yours as he spoke. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips as you held his gaze, the tension between you electric. “I’ll show you,” you breathed, your voice filled with a teasing edge, daring him to let you take control.

Hotch’s eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and desire, and he shifted slightly, his hands roaming back to your waist, pulling you closer. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, “show me.”

The challenge was clear. He wasn’t going to stop you. He was going to let you guide him through the very fantasies you had imagined on so many long nights.

And with that, whatever was left of the restraint he’d been clinging to dissolved completely.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

[andre-and-cal]

Homophobic andre who cant help but feel excited whenever cal points a gun at him or raises his tone ever so slightly.

Zero gay.

YES. YES YES YES. ANON I SEE YOUUU !!

Zero Gay…

wanna bet?

Calvin behaves as though he’s already wiped out his classmates when he sticks Chris Kriegman’s automatic pistol up to Andre’s forehead, the barrel kissing his speckled acne scars.

Andre’s eyes are locked on Cal’s finger tapping on the trigger, as if teasing him— the older teen’s hands are noticeably trembling a little, he wonders if he’d actually do it.

Cal’s practically yelled at him to sit down and shut the fuck up, but Andre briefly stands in shock, blinking dumbly like a deer caught in the headlights.

He drops down to his knees and says nothing. He doesn’t know what to say. His mind has gone blank, he’s wondering why he’s obliging by Cal’s commands. He figures it’s some instinctual root in place of the diminished fight or flight response he’s supposed to have.

He can’t make accommodations for it. Quite frankly, he feels little; he’s not scared. Perhaps his palms are growing slick with sweat due to pleasant adrenaline rather than a terror-fueled reaction.

Cal thinks he’s on drugs. Andre doesn’t do drugs. He quickly realizes Andre’s just all bark no bite. At least— with him he is.

Admittedly, he’s a little tense, a little afraid that the gun will somehow go off by itself. He knows that possibility is slim, but the pressure weighs heavily on his shoulders. He could easily die right now, right in this moment— and who knows what Cal would do with his body if a bullet sprang out and lodged itself right between his eyes?

He has to suppress a smile nonetheless. What the fuck?

He doesn’t want to think about why his knees are growing weak, why Calvin could possibly be holding him at gunpoint. To gratify his own disgusting desires, perhaps. Andre thinks he’s lost his mind. But then again, he misplaced his own a long time ago.

The thrill makes him feel crazy.

“Jesus Christ— what the fuck’re you doing??” Andre demands.

“That’s not my name.” Cal mocks.

“What? Just put the fucking gun down, man!” Andre hisses, but he doesn’t lean his head away.

Some sick part of him doesn’t want Cal to withdraw the pistol yet.

Yet it’d be utterly humiliating if Cal killed him with his cousin’s weapon.

“Not until you say sorry.” Cal sneers and stares down at him with that look he always gives him when he knows he’s dangling his dignity high above his head, like he’s a dog waiting for a treat.

“Say sorry for what, exactly?” The brunet argues.

“For liking dudes,” the blond retorts. “You’d probably suck my dick right now if I asked you to, you know.” He smiles.

Andre’s mouth dries out like a desert. He’s always tried to defend himself, tried to bounce back his peers’ claims relating to him and homosexuality. But hearing those words come from his best friend tells a whole different tale.

Cal knows him better than anyone else— surely he knows he isn’t gay.

“That’s nasty, you’re nasty,” he chokes out, voice crack embarrassingly unmistakable. “Why’re you even…?? I’d only suck your dick ‘cause you’re holding a goddamn gun up to my head!”

“See? That’s promising,” Cal sneers. He cuts off Andre when he begins to protest, when he begins to weaponize his denial. “Every other straight dude on this planet wouldn’t let another dude near them with their wiener. But not Mr. Proud-Straight-Guy-Andre-Kriegman.”

“Then you’re gay, too! You’re gay for even saying that!”

Cal gently bumps the barrel of the pistol against Andre’s frontal bone, so the older teen’s abruptly reminded about the situation he’s stuck in.

Maybe he should offer Calvin head to prevent him from pulling the trigger.

Even though he knows Cal would never.

Not unless he really wanted him to.

Andre swiftly shoved those thoughts out of his head.

“Wanna bet?” Calvin speaks up suddenly. “Like, uh, if you suck me off and you get hard, then you’re gay— but if you don’t, you’re not.” He doesn’t budge with his equipped firearm, however.

Andre exhales sharply and scoffs, but he doesn’t back out. He’s no chicken, after all. “Alright.”

He refuses to tell Cal that his pants are tight from being held at gunpoint alone.

[milkiisss]

Shouto x Reader Fic Drabble

I've been brainstorming ideas for my Shouto x Reader fic, and I just wanted to share one of my latest drabbles for the story. This is just an idea, so it's subject to change.

You don't know what you were thinking when you bolted.

Well, maybe you did...

But you panicked.

Because how else is someone supposed to react when the number 2 pro hero himself—the same man the entirety of the internet adored—a literal work of art that looked like he was sculpted by the gods—

Turned out to be your fucking soulmate.

It all happened so fast. One second you're staring at Shouto Todoroki, completely and utterly frozen as you stare at each other in disbelief, and the next, you're shooting out of there so fast that your brain doesn't even have a chance to fully catch up.

But in your opinion, it could have gone worse.

Because the subsequent media storm was insane.

Every social media platform had practically exploded, and thousands of people were trying to figure out who the girl who resonated with the Shouto Todoroki was. Someone had apparently filmed the entire thing, catching the last few seconds of your quirks malfunctioning, but your face, thankfully, was way too pixelated and blurry to discern.

You had quickly become the most sought after person all across the nation.

And no one knew it was you.

But now?

Well, you knew the truth.

It was a mistake.

It wasn't real. It couldn't have been. Soulmate resonance like that doesn't just happen out of nowhere!

Clearly, someone else's quirk must have gone off nearby and caused the whole misunderstanding in the first place.

And now that it had been over a week, with no official statement from him or his media team, and the media frenzy beginning to quiet down—

You could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that it was most definitely just a mistake.

Life is normal again. Or, at least, that's what you keep on telling yourself.

You've got bigger things to worry about now anyway.

Like your new internship.

The one you worked your ass off to secure. The one that's absolutely essential for your law degree. The one that had you embarrassingly crying tears of joy when you got the news over the phone.

So as you finally enter that sleek modern building, you feel as if you're walking on air. Your new ID badge is clipped to your shirt, and you feel giddy and nervous all at the same time. For the first time in days, you feel like everything is finally going back into place.

Stone & Steele Law Firm was a pretty small firm, but it was relatively known for heavily involving itself in hero-related cases and quirk law. Their reputation for handling high-stakes legal matters—everything from pro-hero contracts to cases involving quirk-related criminal activity—had earned them a solid name in the industry.

It wasn't at all a flashy or large building, but as you entered, you couldn't help but a little lightheaded.

After scanning in, you step into the elevator, pressing the number floor that you were told to head too, biting back an excited smile. Stepping back as the elevator doors close, you adjust your bag and run through your mental checklist of everything you want to accomplish today.

It's a new start, and as you fidget with the button on your blazer you can't fight the feeling that everything will be great, the sound of the elevator dinging drawing your attention, eyes naturally following the sound.

But when you look up, your heart stops.

Because to your horror, a man steps in, him, freezing at the sight of you.

Red and white hair.

Mismatched eyes.

The pro hero you swore you'd never see again.

Shouto Todoroki.

He's standing there, staring at you with the same wide-eyed, stunned expression you must be wearing. He recognizes you—there's no doubt about it.

And in that moment, all your rationalizations crumble, because that look can only mean one thing.

The resonance wasn't a mistake.

It wasn't a misunderstanding.

And this time? There's no running from it.

Or from him.

© milkiisss 2024. Please don’t plagiarize or feed my works into ai.

[citricacidprince]

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

[tako-cafe]

Omegaverse AU

ground work: Betas = they are just a guy. They get to have average sex and development. You also can exhibit traits physically and in personality of one or the other. Omega does = having pussy in this,but gender and genitals are not related. The boys are still boys basically. Heat and rut are on a once a month cycle like a period. Alpha -> Omega is a spectrum in this. also im not adding in ortho, he couldn't have one anyway

Staff:

Trein is an omega but he hasn't been able to have a heat in a few years by now. He raised the girls still as always. Though him being heatless has not stopped Crewel from cornering him many times over.

Crewel is an alpha and I feel like it was so obvious. He is peak material for going all in on the animal instincts too. He hasn't claimed anyone as his partner but does kinda sleep around to keep his rut in check (including bending over Crowley and Trein) He can be a little more aggressive and strict but he isn't cruel. He just likes obedient subs.

spoilers Crowley is an Omega yeah. His headmage work is him trying to compensate by being in a position of power, but he also refuses to do anything to help or suppress his heat so Crewel ends up in his office every time.

I was between what to do with Sam but I leaned to Alpha with a lighter rut. He is one of the few who can actually work through his without much of an issue. Lower sex drive + he's just good at staying busy.

Vargas is a beta. Everyone stereotyped him as an alpha. No, He's just kinda like that...

Heartslabyul:

Riddle is a beta and everything he does in canon was him thinking he had to compensate for not being the best at birth (alpha) like his mom was.

Trey an alpha and we all know it. I'm just correct.

Cater is an omega but he has something wrong where he goes into heat double the amount he's meant to. Instead of once a month his is twice a month. (Trey being his roommate is very helpful in this) Cater and Trey have somewhat synced up cycles. Trey is synced up to the early on in the month one, he chooses to help Cater through the one later on.

Ace is an omega and he is pissed about it. He hates it. His brother is an alpha and absolutely puts down omegas so it gave Ace a lot of issues around him being one.

Deuce is an alpha only because I thought it was funny since Ace would hate it. Deuce and Ace have accidentally synced up heat and rut cycles being roommates. Ace tries to play it off that he can handle his heat alone but ends up having Deuce help him every month.

Savanaclaw:

Leona is an obvious alpha but he's an example of a power bottom one. He doesn't really top much/at all. He is in control, but just from under his partner.

Speaking of partner his current one is omega Ruggie. Ruggie doesn't mind doing so much work because he can sometimes convince Leona to let him use a strap. Leona won't admit he does like it a lot.

Jack is not only an omega but that man is destined to be a house husband one day. Whoever he bonds with is lucky because he will be super dedicated and loving to his mate.

Octavinelle:

Tweels are both alphas and the ones who ended up the most aggressive in rut out of anyone. the mermen have a little quirk as well that they aren't limited to one bond so each of them seek out multiple partners like prey. little spoilers but they do share Azul. Floyd has hands and everything else in Ace and Jamil. Jade has a slightly smaller sex drive so he's only sought out Epel when he can't have Azul. Both of them are synced up.

Azul like I said is an omega the tweels have claimed from very early on (and someone else has as well but we will get there) He started his heat fairly young and the tweels found him knew they'd never be bored again. Embarrassingly for Azul seeing them in that state made him ink..which the tweels never let him live down. Mermen also have their own cycle which has them working on a 3 week schedule. Azul while seeming like someone who would take a suppressant only doesn't because the tweels got it in his head he's just be weak again if he can't work through his heat. After all what if he can't fill it one day? He needs to learn to handle it and stop being so pathetic and whiny when it hits. (He does not learn)

Scarabia:

I'll start with Jamil since I already said he's an omega. He is our first one who's on some form of suppressant. He just forgets to take it more often than not from working so much. Between school and Kalim he neglects himself fairly often in this aspect. These times are when he regrets it since Floyd always seeks him out..

Kalim is another beta. I'm going as far as his whole family always has been too. They are a rare family who has only ever been beta's. They only remained in power off their impressive wealth really. I did keep the magic system in this so his families rise to wealth is the same as canon.

Pomefiore:

Vil is an omega and also on heat suppressants and has been since his first one. He keeps a strict schedule on taking them because of his work. The only time he can't is if they can't be filled on time which has caused a rare issue.

Epel will be an omega..he just is a late bloomer. He's hoping he gets to go into rut but he won't and he is going to hate going into heat. His heat is going to start during spelldrive of all places as well so he's in for a real fun time when he finally has his first one.

So I debated between alpha or beta for Rook..both have merits for me but I landed on alpha if only for the idea he would be terrifying. You think his senses are scary strong now? He can smell across the whole campus and tell you who's in heat at any and all times. He's fairly soft with Vil, but oh he is rough on Epel. Rook is one I don't think he's going to bond with a mate..he is however going to hunt down any omega like prey. The hunter prefers a game over being settled down.

Ignihyde:

Idia is a fun case for us. He's an alpha with an omega personality. He is just as pathetic and whiny as Azul but in a way he comes off so self-deprecating instead. He hate's he isn't a beta because it would be so much easier than this stupid rut. His curse renders all suppressants useless so he can't even take anything to help. He's taken his rut out on Azul more than he's like to admit but really is it his fault Azul smells so good? He isn't proud of it and he doesn't like it and he makes it known. Calls himself "filthy" "a disgusting otaku" "just a perverted loser" He's such a boyfail and Azul hates its hot. They aren't together though, Idia isn't sure he can bond and Azul sure as hell does not want to be bonded when he's so ambitious.

Diasomnia:

Getting our beta out the way. It's Silver. No funky pheromones for the princess boy I'm sorry guys.

Sebek though? Omega and PISSED. It was bad enough he isn't even fully fae and now hes also not the alpha? He does however lean more to the alpha personality but some of that was a product of how he was raised. It's more common for his type of fae to be alphas so even when an omega pops up they tend to still have a few lingering personality traits of an alpha.

Lilia is an omega that old man twink is breedable baby. Or I should say used to be breedable he stopped getting heats about a hundred or so years ago. Bat fae are nearly all omega's so it wasn't a shock that he was, but it was deeply loved by Baur who definitely had his fun with the general~ Old man yaoi for the win

Predictably Malleus is an alpha but because it wasn't someone from his family who finally hatched him but instead Lilia he ended up with some omega personality traits. He can get a little sentimental about his object of affection. He's a little pathetic as a treat.

[sgiandubh]

When Cait married Tony she said they would honeymoon in Italy when it, meaning OL, was over. Good way to get it paid for by OL related appearance next March. Too bad she has to put up with Sam for a couple of hours. Sam, who said many times how he hated S2 costumes and was teased much by Meril, because he didn't like the feminine look. Too much like his true nature. He will certainly bring one of his prostitutes over past 3 years, Ashley being the latest, if her unnecessary week in UK last week for for anything else. 4 trips to Scotland for her in a year. It's clear which business she's really in.

Dear Business She Is Really In Anon,

I think you should be ashamed of yourself, for writing plain libel with no other arguments than your own twisted, bitter and irrelevant world view. If you consider that Ashley Hearn is a prostitute, just because she traveled four times to Scotland since late May 2024, then you are nothing more than a sad, sad troll, who thinks thousands of other women who happen to work in the marketing and sales sectors, all over the world, are also whores, right? You know very well all her trips have been more than thoroughly documented and you also know they did have a tangible impact, as far as that company is concerned. You should also get your fucking timeline straight before you treat us to your word vomit, because even the hatred you gratuitously spread around must have, technically speaking, at least some modicum of plausibility. She did not start to work for SS one year ago, punk: she started to work for them on May 21st 2024, which is exactly six months.

When C married McGill there is no way for you to tell what she said. You weren't there, you are a damn Social Zero and you just rely on word-of-mouth and ridiculously contradictory press releases and interviews. A honeymoon takes a week-end perhaps only in your shanty town and making the ball's organizers 'pay for it' is beyond ridiculous, including as far as C herself might be concerned (what is she, a cheap profiteer?) - supposing that 'relationship' would be anything more than a mutually convenient arrangement of sorts, of course. Sorry, but not the case.

Yeah, too bad she had to put up with S, against all odds, for eleven years, now. This is what really wrecks your pea brain, right? That, and being proven wrong and embarrassingly dumb, over and over again.

For your next endeavor, I suggest you'd turn your attention to your homeland telenovelas (you misspelled Maril Davis' name like a Brazilian and that is a dead giveaway).

Talvez Escrava Isaura seja uma substituição decente e mais acessível? Há reviravoltas baratas (gaslighting, veneno, delírio) o suficiente para mantê-la ocupada por um bom tempo.

You may wonder why I still answer your tragically ridiculous comments? Well, because it is time for someone to shame you and also show the true, dull and derisory colors of your stupid monomania.

[Later edit]: in no way did I want to imply anything negative about Brazil or its culture. I could have definitely better used one of the bajillion other Globo productions, dealing with Carioca intrigue and/or football wives. If I haven't, it is just because Escrava Isaura was a huge international success even in the Nineties, and remembered as such by many. While I am sensitive to the social and political inacceptable problem of slavery, I maintain that the 1976 adaptation of Guimarães's novel is simplistic and formulaic enough, hence more appropriate for Anon. I am sorry if my poor joke was construed differently and I apologize to all the people who might be offended. If you know me, you'd also know I am probably the last person to disrespect your country and culture.

[discountlittlebro]

Costume Party part 1

Andrew leans against the lockers, watching how the cheerleaders and other girls fawn over his little brother. Some boys too, everyone knows he’s bi and they’re falling over themselves for a chance. They touch his shoulder, lean against him, twirl their hair and giggle. They say what they think he wants to hear, but his eyes are locked on his big brother. Smiling at Andrew, at his Andy.

And it’s not Isaac’s fault he’s good at sports, it’s not his fault he’s fast and strong, and that his arms are well defined. It’s not his fault that he has pretty eyes and a strong jawline, and perfect hair that looks good no matter how much you mess it up. It’s not his fault that he’s gorgeous.

And it’s not Andy’s fault that he feels jealous. His brother acts like he doesn’t notice the attention, maybe he really doesn’t. Isaac is always so wrapped up in Andy it wouldn’t be surprising if everyone else around them was just background characters and background noise.

“Andy!!” His brother comes running towards him, dark curls and bright eyes, smiling wide and waving his hand in the air.

People look, but they’re looking at Isaac. Nobody noticed Andy, not unless Isaac is wrapping him up in his jacket or picking him up and spinning him around in the hallways. Isaac is two years younger than Andrew, but he’s still 3 inches taller. Andy has had to deal with more than one jealous admirer who’s embarrassingly stumbled over their words when faced with the fact that’s his big brother. If only they knew that being blood related meant their suspicions weren’t unwarranted.

“What do ya want?” He asks, fake annoyance dripping from his voice. He’d never be annoyed with Isaac, he adores him too much.

“We got invited to a party! A Halloween party. Everyone is dressing up.”

Andy knows by now that “we” means Isaac, he just extends any invitation given to him to his big brother aswell. Nobody really knows who Andy is or cares if he does or doesn’t show.

“Sounds thrilling. Have fun.” Andrew doesn’t like parties. They’re just not his scene. If it was a party in the middle of the woods thrown by some of the back alley kids, yeah he’d go. But he already knew this party is going to be at some rich assholes house with overly expensive alcohol that tastes like shit.

“Come on! Come have fun with me. I’m your little brother, it’s your responsibility to come with and watch over me. What if someone tries to take advantage of me?”

Andrew stops in his steps, looking between his thin twig arms and Isaac’s thicker, more muscled arms.

“Right, I’ll just swoop you up and whisk you away. Better be atleast ten guys if they think they’re getting through me.” Andrew deadpanned, flexing his muscleless arm in a show of how useless he would be.

Isaac rolls his eyes. His brother is small, and it doesn’t look like he has much muscle mass, but he knows his brother can get in a good left hook. He’s seen his brother pin men twice his size before, has seen his brother stand infront of him with his fist clenched ready to fight even when Isaac was towering over him from behind. Andrew would always take the punches, and deal them when he had to, especially if it came to Isaac.

“We both know you’re not weak, come on. Atleast be there to drive me home? I can’t drink and drive, Andy.”

As if there was any universe where Andrew ever tells him no. No matter what it was Andrew always found a way to make it a yes. Isaac wanted to join sports? Andy got the money for his shoes, for his uniform, for away game travel. Isaac wanted to drive Andrew’s old beaten up jeep? Well…it’s falling apart anyway, and yeah he hit a mailbox but Andy fixed it. He always found a way to make it a yes. But he could atleast pretend that he planned to say no for awhile.

“Yeah, alright fine. But I’m only going because you can barely drive sober. My poor jeep still doesn’t turn the same.”

Isaac grinned, wrapping his brother up in a hug. It makes butterflies float around in Andy’s stomach, he never imagined his little brother would be able to lift him up so easily.

“You’re gonna dress up with me too, right? Make sure to do something fun!” Isaac is walking in the opposite direction now, calling over his shoulder.

“Yep…I’ll do that.”

In the end he does end up dressed up, but only because he complained about it his friends during lunch. That was his mistake. That and being friends with girls, they got way to excited at the aspect of dressing him up, swearing that he would love his costume he saw it on.

Looking in the mirror just made him more mad than anything. He was dressed in a cow print one piece. There was a bell around his neck, and the shorts barely covered his ass. The middle was cut out to expose his stomach and just barely had enough fabric to keep his tits from falling out. His hair was pushed back with a headband with ears. This was less of a costume and felt more like lingerie.

“Where did you even get this?” He asked, spinning to look at his ass in the too tight too short design.

“I go to a lot of raves. This was one of my first outfits before I discovered what I liked. Trust me it’s the perfect costume for you!” Rose says, grinning at her handy work.

It wasn’t like he had time to change anyway. Isaac was blowing up his phone, asking when he’d be there. Telling him he better not bail because he knows where he sleeps. He rolls his eyes at the texts and sends back a quick “on my way.”

The party is exactly what he expected. It’s boys and girls getting way to drunk and making out against walls while the shittiest of pop music blares and some asshole has turned of flashing LEDs that just make Andy’s head hurt. Sweaty bodies are pressed against each other and Andy is trying to squeeze his way through the crowd, to find his little brother. He almost does a double take when he finally does see him.

He’s dressed as a cowboy. A brown vest that’s open exposing his body to everyone around them, some fake holsters for guns and a hat. He’s chugging back some type of drink and Andy is awe struck watching the way his Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. There’s a group around him, honestly there’s always a group around him. He’s just about to make his way over, to let him know that he’s here when someone grabs his wrist and spins him around. His face bumps into someone’s chest, almost gagging at the over use of cologne mixed with the fruity drink that’s radiating off this man.

“Haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name?”

Andy pulls back to glare up at the guy, not in the mood for this. This is exactly why he prefers his low class friends and their parties, even without the fancy prep schools and money atleast they have better ettiquette. When the man gets a good look at his face his eyes go wide.

“Andy? Holy fuck! I didn’t recognize you without your hoodie. So this is what you’re always hiding under there, huh? You know you’d be a lot more popular if you showed off like this more often.”

If that’s supposed to be a compliment, Andy doesn’t take it as one.

“It’s Andrew. Only my friends and brother call me Andy.” He’s about to turn around when arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer.

“We could be friends.”

Im gonna finish this I swear there will be a part two but if I didn’t post this then I’d never finish it bc it would get lost in my drafts and hhhh yeah I dunno guys motivate me to finish!!

[steamingstewchunks]

I feel like Bumblebee would get babu Sari a little bee onesie

So they could match

Oh yes he does, he so so does it, makes sure the others can see how she makes the little grabby hands for it.

It's a competition to see which one of their colors/themes she likes the best when they all go out together so she has "interact with the outside world" time.

Each and every time, they hit up a clothing store, never to get anything for themselves no, they can just make any outfit they want with their holoforms, it's all for SARI, and DOMINANCE within their group.

Who is the favorite? whos colors does she love the most? Who gets her the best stuff?

It's as one does when a baby chooses something uniquely you, I know me and my family flaunt the superiority when the baby chooses one of us over the other (lesser) choice, ((the not me choice)), so within the store, Bumblebee is the most obvious. I mean, he's already got the yellow, she already loves yellow, so automatically he's got majority points! She just needs the stripes!

Queue a very young looking boy(teen? Man? Eh, the cashier doesn't care) slamming his hands down on the counter talking about "every bumblebee or bee related piece of clothing you got", staring at them like they don't get paid fifteen dollars an hour.

Meanwhile prowls trying looking at the golden bracelets, and maybe that tacky little onesie that says "mamas gurl" in gold letters on the back, but it's main color is... Pink. Pink and gold. Even in his holoform he doesn't think he can pull that off without looking like Patricia. She rocked the pink and gold jewelry like it made her queen of the world. He put the onesie back, no way was she going to have Sari resemble Patricia of all people. Maybe they can get matching bows, Sari likes to mess with the one on her collar when walking around.

She picks out a little black bow and ties it to one of her pigtails. Prowl will take it off when they need to pay for it. It matches with the glasses they share.

Bulkhead is just as obvious as Bee, but less so with the competition part. He goes, surprisingly enough, with what she already has in her closet. Hes trying to make complete outfits, he likes to match his own with Saris, little green shoes with a yellow dress and green jacket? He's wearing a yellow undershirt and shorts, a green letterman Jacket, and a pair of sneakers cuz they are comfy and basic and versatile. No, Bee, he won't wear Crocs, fundamentally, they're not as versatile as he needs sports mode be damned

Ratchet is really good at it, necessities like bibs and socks, they have his colors. I haven't really noticed but on non gendered stuff for babies, red and white are actually very common colors. So long as the red is an accent and not a main color. (And not Elmo.) He doesn't brag about how much she really really loves the doctor toy set he got her a few weeks ago, he does grin smugly at Optimus when his thing is set aside for a few moments to play doctor with grandpa Ratchet though.

The prime, well, Optimus doesn't know how to go about it. The one thing they've got in the whole "favorite" category would have to be the red little truck that she loves to carry around everywhere. He made it, actually. The kid in their favorite store, Miko, was making something at the counter one day, needles thread, little beads and stuffing, the whole shebang.

He would have asked about it if Sari wasn't cranky-- nap time was something nobody tried to put off when it came to it So instead, he set her down with Ratchet a block or two away, asked if he could watch her while he.... Investigated something.

"sure kid, I'm not doing much here anyways, might take the stasis nap with her."

Holoform active, Optimus speeds back to the shop, worried that maybe she wasn't there or he missed it or-

"What are you doing back here? Need something else, Ori?" It takes him an embarrassingly long time (and a bit of money(little sweets are going to be in the candy jar for MONTHS)) for him to muster up the courage to ask about it.

He comes back to a snoozing Ratchet and Sleepy Sari, just sitting near them as he fiddles with the soft, hopefully well made plush in his hands. It wasn't good, not by a long shot, his holoforms digits had plenty of holes in them from how much he'd accidentally poked himself, luckily covered by bright neon and patterned bandages. Hesitantly, he placed the plushie next to Sari, just nervous and worried, in a way, that she just wouldn't like it.

Nothing can compare to how relieved he felt when her little eyes opened, tiny slivers of red and white seeing what he made, and latching on immediately, holding onto it the same way she would hold him while being carried.

Each and every time he saw her with the toy truck, which lasted way, wayy longer than most others, his spark sang with joy.

The fact that it looked like his alt-mode was simply a plus, to her loving something he made so soso much, and he kept on learning to sew. For when it might finally tear, or break.

[zelbits]

Koroks, Kikwis, and Kokiris: Are They the Same?

In short, no, absolutely not. But they are related, and here's how.

In almost every Zelda game, there has been one people or another living in the Lost Woods. These can be Koroks or Kokiris in any form.

Let's start from the very beginning.

Yep, we're going all the way back.

Skyward Sword introduces us to a land before Hyrule was ever founded, when Hylians lived in the Sky and the Surface was only a vague myth. When Link, on the hunt for Zelda, is thrown from his Loftwing and ends up in a heavily-forested area, he encounters a strange little being, under attack from some Bokoblins.

David Attenborough voice: This, is a Kikwi. A pudgy, plant-like creature that hides by falling over and showing feathers that resemble a bush.

When I first started playing Skyward Sword, I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time with the Kikwis because I love them so much. I mean look at them, aren't they just the sweetest thing you ever did see? Besides their abundance in adorableness, they're a very important creature within the Zelda universe.

Kikwis reside in Faron Woods. At this point in the series there isn't really such a thing as Lost Woods yet, and it's kind of all simply one large forest. They are (vaguely canonically) the ancestors of the Kokiri in Ocarina of Time. At some point throughout the ages, they evolved into the Kokiri and became Forest Children who guarded the Lost Woods.

At this point in time, they're more childlike; perhaps they had to evolve to resemble Hylians in order to avoid predators. They're watched over by the Great Deku Tree, who grants each of them a fairy to guide and protect them. And yet still, after another age, they evolve again.

Their hand forced by the flood in Wind Waker, the magical forest-dwellers changed once more into buoyant little creatures made of what appears to be animate wood with leaf masks. Some point along the line, their magic allowed them to become more entity than anything else, unable to be seen by Hylians and with menial powers.

This is their current form, and how they've remained for the last millennia. It seems that out of all the forms their kind has possessed, this one-- invisible but to a few and magical-- works the best.

In future Zelda games, who knows what they'll look like. What do you think?

Sorry this one's so short, I didn't have a lot of time to write it :(

Have something you'd like to add? Reblog with your thoughts or submit an ask! If you'd like to join the tag list, you can submit an ask or request it directly on a post.

[medusaesque]

Lt. Kim Kitsuragi and the pale-

Warning- it's insanely long.

1. After life, death

One of the first thing you can learn about Kim is that he would hurl himself in death's way to save you. From the very first moment, Kim is related to sacrifice and death, it follows him wherever he goes-

The slaughterhouse.

He lost his parents at two years old. He worked a year in Processing (here's good post about that by @renmorris and @spilledkaleidoscope). He lost his partner, Eyes. People have taken a bullet that was meant for his more than once. His survivor's guilt is insane. He's killed six people. He's afraid of killing recklessly, and has a deeply unhealthy relationship with his gun (made another embarrassingly long post about that).

Kim also hears pale 'ghosts' on the police radio all the time, and talks about it like it's normal, and says he doesn't believe in ghosts.

If harry is with Noid during the Moralist dream quest (more on it later), Harry can even wonder if Kim is a ghost, prompting this beautiful exchange-

And he's not entirely wrong. When Harry gets shot, after Kim fulfills Espirit's promise he'll stand in death's way for him, you can ask as you fall into darkness what will happen to you-

It's the living who are ghosts. You can leave them behind and rest. Go into the wild pale yonder, along with everyone else Kim has ever cared about. Or at least you can try to.

When death is at the door, you have two options-

2. After death, life again

Kim might associate himself with death, but Harry associates him with life again and again- Death is darkness, Kim has a light bulb halo. Death is a sunset, Kim is a sunrise. Death is where you are when the game start, it's ready to take you, and then- a clarion call, the sound of a motor carriage, a detective arriving on the scene, and you open your eyes.

The game is very clear about Harry being a ceaseless agent of the world (here's a good compilation by @junawer) but he's not the only one. Harry stands at death's door twice, and Kim is his way back to the world both times.

3. After the world, the pale

So what is Kim's relationship with the pale?

As casual as he might try to appear, Kim is clearly uncomfortable with the pale, attempting to protect Harry from it. When Harry brings up the pale, he intervenes, genuinely worried for the fragile stability of his mind.

It's no more terrifying than water or death or that we're stuck behind our eyes for all eternity?? Sounds pretty terrifying Kim...

The key is in the moralist vision quest, When Harry attempts to each the Committee of Responsibility, and he hears the pale crosstalk coming through the radio, when suddenly-

"Pale is a shroud of memories and it doesn't really distinguish to whom those memories belong to. You could hear anything." You could hear anything, but you hear Kim. If he isn't with you, Soona even says that the odds of us hearing him, out of all the voices in the pale, are astronomically low.

We know the past has not been harmless to Kim, we know it's full of ghosts and cold winters, but that's not the thing that's eating at him-

Kim is afraid of forgetting. He's constantly writing, he thinks through his notebook, always recording, so he wouldn't lose anything. That's why the pale is so terrifying.

4. After the pale. the world again

The world is what it is. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

Volta do mar is a skill unique to Kim, according to the stats of this pilot jackets-

It makes sense, seeing how the only real advance in pale transit is the speed with which an aerostatic craft can pierce it.

His Black jacket is a bit more complicated-

DISTANT ENEMY OF HIMSELF?? kim.... The connections to Seol is intriguing here, considering how Kim tries to distant himself from it. I'm also not sure what 'sitting down for volta' would mean in this context, would love to hear some of you guys' thoughts.

It's driving me crazy to think how Kim wanted to be pilot as a kid, and is walking around dressed like a pilot as an adult, to give himself the ability to navigate the pale. To return from the sea and fulfill the role he has to play in the world, the thing Harry thought about a million times-

But we know Kim has a bigger role to play, he's trying to do his part right now, convincing Harry to stay-

His connection to Harry can keep him on this world once again. Keeping the two of them together. Your real work is down here, both of you-

Kim was right, each of them has a role to play in the world, but it's not a minor one. Him and Harry are Revachol's only hope. If they stick together they could keep her on this earth, stop the end of the world.

UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT.

I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT.

I LOVE YOU.

[bedtimegiraffe]

Did Aurinae intend for Aerin to become the power behind the throne?

Aurinae values her own status and power above all else- all the maneuvering and betrayal makes that very clear. So her priority in every interaction is on how she can use others to maintain that. Including her family.

But as far as she's concerned, she didn't have much to work with. Sure, Arlan had the title, but he was a useless coward who forced her to do all the work of running Morella. And she probably realized Baldur was an easily led idiot, certainly not capable of exerting precise control over the country like she wants. So who should keep Morella on track long-term, cementing her legacy?

It could be a queen, like Aurinae was, but that's a bit if a gamble that you'll find the right fit. And wouldn't it be better to have someone who's part of Aurinae's bloodline? Like... a second child, one who would hopefully take more after her than her husband.

We get a pretty good idea of Aurinae's plan from her nickname for Aerin, the one she's used since he was a baby.

Aurinae had a very clear vision of what she wanted Aerin to be from the beginning- another manipulator, pulling the strings from the shadows. Someone to control Morella during Baldur's reign, like Aurinae did during Arlan's.

She was negligent as a mother, not giving Aerin the kind of attention or affection he wanted. But I think that didn't matter to her plan. We know she started teaching him about alchemy, laying the groundwork for a way to be popular at court and silence people. Aurinae was around just enough to make sure he was devoted to her and trusted her- what use would she have for actual affection and connection with her child? The higher level manipulation, the dark side of it all would have to wait until Aerin was older. And then she died, project unfinished.

Honestly, Aurinae was probably just jealous the Dreadlord had more time to mold Aerin into the kind of tool he wanted than she did. (Though she was surprisingly on board with Aerin overthrowing the Morellan government as long as he maintained control. Maybe that's what she would have done, given the chance.)

**Wild speculation time**

It's genuinely odd to me that Aerin is the last Valleros. No aunts or uncles, not even any distant cousins who could feasibly take the throne (unless Morella has some hyper specific requirements for taking the throne we're not aware of). Given the value of marriage alliances and making sure you don't die without an heir, I would expect there to be more Valleroses. In most similar settings, the nobility is full of people with a vague blood relation to the ruling family.

The main incentive not to have more people with a royal bloodline around is to stop claims on the throne and subsequent civil wars. So the lack of Valleroses could be the result of a series of misfortunes or an intentional effort to have as few children with a claim to the throne as possible.

In Aurinae's case, my theory is that she had one child, hoping that would position them best. But when she realized that he would do an embarrassingly bad job, she decided to have another. (Given the whole family structure/all the unprotected sex MC can have, birth control seems to be a thing in this world. And Aurinae is an alchemy master who could have very reasonably engaged in family planning.)

Baldur and Aerin seem to have a sizeable age gap (in the confrontation toward the end of Book 1, Baldur references 'roughing Aerin up' when "he" was little, implying Baldur was not). They also give off very different age vibes, though that's less solid. I'd guess Baldur was 4 or 5 (old enough to get a good sense of his personality) before Aurinae got pregnant with Aerin.

I think that if Aerin had been born first, he would have been an only child.

[jomiddlemarch]

without reference to you

Later, much later, it would be a small consolation that he had had no intentions other than to retrieve the next volume of the agricultural treatise he had found in the Netherfield library, having discovered the author cogently and thoroughly addressed several issues related to crop yield and various rusts Darcy and his steward had been wrestling with over the past eighteen months. It was an absolution he would grant himself repeatedly, one both Bingley and Fitzwilliam had referenced in attempts to soften the blow of the rushed wedding by special license to a gentlewoman whose family was undistinguished at best and embarrassingly silly far more often than he could wish.

He'd come into the library so caught up in his own thoughts, he almost had not noticed Miss Bennet standing at the window, her face in profile against the rain-streaked pane, the heavy grey clouds a subtle relief. It was the strangled sob she made that caught his attention, her anguish undisputable, reminding him of Georgiana’s grief after her return to Pemberley; there was a hopeless quality to the swallowed cry, a despair that did not expect comfort. It was isolation which drew him to her side.

“Miss Bennet, I cannot fail to observe you are distressed and I should like to assist in any way within my ability. I am your servant, ma’am,” he said. It was clumsy, he knew that as he heard the words uttered, too formal, too easily misconstrued or waved away, but it was what he had said and he must wait for her response.

“You are kind, Mr. Darcy, but there is nothing you can do,” she replied, her voice low, her fine dark eyes downcast. He had not seen her so pale before and the hand she raised to dab at her tears trembled.

“Perhaps you are mistaken,” he essayed.

“My sister is ill and you are not a physician. Even a physician will say there is nothing he can do, it is God’s will to decide and she did not even want to come here, not like this. It was all Mama’s foolishness and now Jane is insensible, burning up with a fever, she does not even know me and for what?” she said. 

“You must rest, you are over-wrought,” Darcy said, a peculiar ache in his throat as he spoke. Miss Bennet had said more than she knew but what was most salient was her sister’s failing health, far beyond the skill of even the most affectionate and diligent sister to nurse.

“I cannot. Who else will look after her? I cannot let strangers nurse her, she is the best of us, the best person I know, so good and sweet—she calls for me when I am right there beside her, her voice most piteous, she thinks I have abandoned her, and she can barely swallow a sip of water or broth, and I cannot lose her, I cannot—” she broke off, breathless, all her strength seeming to desert her. In the instant before she would collapse, he took hold of her arm and brought her to rest against him.

“Elizabeth, it will be all right,” he said, startling them both with his use of her Christian name more even than his gentle embrace; any gentleman would keep a lady from falling to the floor in a dead faint, but to address her so was the intimacy of a close relative, a father or a brother or a husband. He could not regret it, not when he saw her reaction, felt a surge of vitality in her weakening form and noticed the ruddy flush across her cheeks. “You will tell me the name of the best physician in the county and I shall send for him, Elizabeth. Whoever you want conveyed from your home to Netherfield I will have brought over by day’s end. You must not make yourself ill nursing her, you will not help her that way.”

“Sir, I am grateful, but I cannot, it is not proper—” she said.

Later, much later, he would recall that she had spoken so. He’d felt her begin to pull away from him and he had tightened his hold, bringing a hand up to rest against his chest.

“She is your dearest sister and I will do whatever I can to help you, Elizabeth,” he said and that was when the door opened for Charles and Caroline Bingley to witness the tableaux, Miss Elizabeth Bennet compromised in every way, her name on his lips very clearly audible given Miss Bingley’s gasp of horror and Charles’s look of disappointment, a slight shake of his head he would apologize for in the days to come.

“Pon rep, Darcy, you must explain yourself,” Charles said as sternly as he was capable of sounding. Darcy was reminded Charles also had sisters he felt responsible for and for all his congenial nature, was strict when it came to matters of honor and hospitality.

“Miss Elizabeth has done me the very great honor of agreeing to become my wife,” Darcy said. Elizabeth’s lips parted as if she would speak and then she pressed them together. “I shall obtain a special license after I send for a physician for Miss Elizabeth’s sister, whose fever is growing worse.”

“She’s that ill?” Charles asked. Darcy would have ordinarily made a point of expecting felicitations, but given that he had announced a wedding without making an offer and Elizabeth’s own anxiety about her sister, propriety could go hang.

“She’s in a bad way,” Elizabeth said softly. “I’ve never seen her so sick—”

“You must know the best physician in the neighborhood, Miss Elizabeth,” Charles interrupted. “Tell me his name and where to find him and I’ll fetch him myself.”

“I shall ride to Longbourn, speak with your father and bring your mother back with me, Elizabeth,” Darcy said. He must impress upon both Bingleys that he and Elizabeth were affianced, must undertake to render their engagement as unremarkable, the product of a brief courtship rather than a rakish compromise.

“Make sure she brings Hill with her,” Elizabeth said.

“You and Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Caroline said, as if she were coming out of a dream, having been deaf to all conversation that had followed his declaration. “But you said she was barely tol—”

“Excuse me, Miss Bingley. You don’t appear to be yourself, perhaps a rest or some tea, in your room,” Darcy said.

“I will go back to sit with Jane,” Elizabeth said.

“Do not overtax yourself,” Darcy said, pitching his voice to be heard solely by her.

“Do not worry about me, Mr. Darcy,” she replied.

“Fitzwilliam,” he said. 

Once again, a few days late for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 13, prompt: Christian name.

[5eraphim]

Would you ever write something about Scout as a rabbit hybrid thingy? This question was inspired from your “Puppy Eyes” fic that I’m in love with

In my head writing this, Scout is meant to be a hybrid, but still goes through transformations cycles like a werewolf would, and isn't exactly in a fully human form when not a werewolf.

Rating: M (MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: rabbit hybrid, yandere, exophilia, taboo fantasies/roleplay (CNC, cop/prisoner, cop/serial killer, incest, abuse of power, revenge sex), reader is kept gender neutral

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

Highly prone to "puppy love," which makes him feel paradoxical guilt for lusting after you so intensely, and he genuinely struggles to work up the courage to ask you out. Partly because, despite his narcissistic personality, the idea of getting rejected terrifies him more than anything imaginable, and he can't help but choke up in the moment.

Because of this, he'll be looking for any excuse to get his hands on you as soon as you give them the green light. The brutal truth here is for your first week or so of hooking up, Scout is horny out of his mind but, unfortunately, unperceptive of your needs. Scout has too much pent-up frustration to give much pleasure on your behalf and can't stop bursting pretty early. It's a learning curve for both of you to get this right, but he's eager to please. (Once he can figure out how, that is.) He's got to do a lot of learning on the fly here because even if it's evident to you that he's pretty out of his league, he refuses to admit it.

He thinks it's cute that you assumed he would be 100% sub, someone you could order around and easily control, but Scout's pretty versatile and prioritizes variety above all else. (Blame his hyper-active imagination for this, as well as a shameful amount of time jerking off and daydreaming about sleeping with you.)

Unsurprisingly, Scout is extraordinarily needy behind closed doors. (He's a very hands-on person in public, too, but there's more desperation when other people aren't watching.) Scout is prone to nightmares about losing you if the two of you are apart for too long.

Gets embarrassingly aroused when you wear anything with a bunny logo on it. The Playboy logo is like crack to him.

When he goes fully cum-brained he'll have some of the most deranged taboo fantasies of the two of you, often gross, or sometimes just flat out weird.

You're a rookie detective agent given the assignment of a lifetime set to assist in the investigation of a serial killer targeting citizens like you alone at night in your hometown. Because you're so new and don't have much experience in the field, you try to catch him all by yourself and are given a grim reality check.

You're a prisoner, and he's a cop in charge of supervising your cell. You were put in solitary confinement for bad behavior, failure to follow the rules, and fighting with other prisoners. You're too far away from the others to call for help, and Scout knows that. At the end of the day, it'll be his word against yours. 

The two of you are step-siblings sharing a bedroom with overprotective parents. He's muffling you with his sweaty palm while using his other hand to keep your thighs apart while he thrusts inside.

He's a jilted lover who's holding you hostage, determined to babytrap you so you'll never have the option of abandoning him freely ever again.

Scout gets really nippy when he first transforms. No matter how many times he goes through all this, the rabbit teeth will hurt when they grow back in, and he goes through a semi-second mini-teething phase to get used to them. They usually won't hurt so long as you don't try to resist too much.

The transformation cycle fucks with his brain chemistry and hormones like crazy. Unfortunately, the main reason behind his intense neediness and proclivity for jealousy is due to factors largely out of his control. 

Related to the insane sexual fantasies he has for you, expect Scout to ask you some strange questions about the relationship, such as,

Would you be mad at me forever if I killed both your parents?

Would you still wanna date me if you found out we were cousins?

Would the two of us have been friends as kids? 

Is there any chance we would've dated in high school?

Would you still want to be in a relationship with me if you were the monster and I were the human?

The very first transformation of his into a rabbit as your partner would be the most painful and intense one of his entire life. At last he finally has met his own mate, someone to help keep his bed warm at night, to protect with his life, and to Scout you are synonymous with the future in life itself. But still, he was scared to death thinking about laying a hand on you in such a state. Despite what you might expect, he would put you and your safety first, at least for the first two or three months. His horniness simply cannot entirely surmount the hypothetical guilt of accidentally killing you or ruining his chance to get intimate in the future.

[short-yandere-stories]

hi!! im not sure if you still do matchups, if not that's okay! i'm interested in a male danganronpa v2 or v3 matchup! im a female, ENTP, i do art, and have a little side job doing manicures, i'm incredibly clumsy from what i've been told, i ramble about stuff/people i love, im kind of impulsive when it comes to decision making, i've been told that im a people pleaser and i have attachment issues, not sure if looks are important but i have long dark hair, 5'3, embarrassingly pale, thank you <3!

Matchups are a lot of fun so I try to do them when I have energy. I'll give you one from SDR2 and one from V3. Hopefully you'll enjoy them.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ Hajime Hinata has nothing but respect and admiration for all the talents that his classmates showcase, and you're no exception.

✧ He loves seeing what you create, and isn't shy on letting you use his nails for practice, praising them and showing them off to anyone interested.

✧ You're just such a nice person through and through that he can't help but get attached... quickly.

✧ And who are you to avoid him? That would make him sad, wouldn't it? We can't have that.

✧ Would you look at that? Suddenly the two of you are practically attached at the hip, Hajime taking up as much of his time as he possibly can, much like a dry sponge absorbing water.

✧ With how clumsy you can be, you need someone to look out for you, and isn't Hajime the best only option?

✧ He does everything with you after all, and lets you practice on and with him any time you want! So just keep doing what makes you happy and he'll be there to support you and keep you safe.

✧ Just... Don't think about replacing him with someone else, okay? If you'd start spending more time with someone else, he doesn't know what he will do.

✧ He just needs you by his side, always.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ Korekiyo Shinguji would find himself fascinated by you.

✧ Your hobbies would interest him, and he'd love to listen to you ramble on about your hobbies, returning the favor by rambling on about anthropology topics related to art and things you like.

✧ He'd be careful about letting you touch artifacts in his Ultimate Lab, though, seeing how clumsy you could be. Accidents do indeed happen, but he did not wish for either you or any artifacts to be damaged when it could be avoided without much issue.

✧ He doesn't expect to get as attached to you as he does, and especially not that quickly. He's an introverted person, unlike you, and doesn't grow close to people easily. He's used to others avoiding him and finding him strange, but somehow you stick around.

✧ Lots of late night conversations with his sister involves you, and her approval of you makes her egg Kiyo on, making him act on some of his... darker impulses.

✧ You've shown him kindness and you're similar to him, so now he's unhealthily attached to and possessive of you.

✧ It doesn't take long before you notice how the other Ultimates start to distance themselves from you, much like how they do with Korekiyo. A few even look... afraid.

✧ When you tell Kiyo about it, he comforts you, using it as leverage to shift you further in his direction. The other students didn't deserve you, he'd say, combing his bandaged fingers through your long hair as he held you.

✧ You'd grow accustomed to be around him and him only soon enough. And if any of the other ultimates were dumb enough to not listen to his warnings, he'd simply have take even more drastic measures to make sure that he was the only one you talked to.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[taehyungfirst]

I couldn't be more glad that taehyung has found his own circle of prestigious actors directors and creatives to hang out with instead of wasting time on disney sponsored cash grabs bc he's got nothing to do.

And all of that stems from the fact that his creative vision and direction is extremely strong. Meanwhile you have the two fandom faves who got no personality of their own except for pandering to the fandom and a company made musical persona bc again no artistic vision of their own. One can barely hold a note 12 years into his career, getting the whole group dragged again and again and the other wants to be a generic western pop star with an album that can only be described as boring bland slop devoid of any soul or artistic vision.

When you understand this it makes sense why they would go straight into making another season of this cash grab right after ms bc they literally do not have the vision to execute an artistic project on their own. and as you said theyre not even good at variety! thats jin's thing but they literally have nothing else to do so might as well capitalize on this slop that the fandom loves.

if you compare their solo works with layover you'd immediately see the difference. everything about layover screams kim taehyung. the music the visuals even the packaging is so uniquely taehyung i don't think anyone else could have made this album, his artistic identity shines through so clearly in this project. and then you look at jkk's solo works and its laughable how there is nothing in those projects that is uniquely them or relates with their artistic identity, specially golden like that album is embarrassingly generic for a singer of his calibre. if you told me any other male idol made that album i would believe you. but since he has nothing in his vision except be justin timberlake 2.0 ofc you would get an album like that.

Anyways im super excited for what tae is cooking, if its an official park chanwook project i will literally scream my head off. cant wait for what my lil superstar is upto whether it is music acting modeling or anything else i know he will shine brightest as he always does <3

Okayy real talk because I’m in a good yapping mood today.

I have always given my opinion about bts members’ artistic identities, I think Tae has the strongest artistic identity, with rapline and sometimes Jk. I don’t see any identity outside the group in Jin and Jm, too generic too easy too boring too bland. Which is not inherently bad, they were born as a group and it doesn’t mean they must have a solo career. Jungkook knows who he wants to be because he has always been inspired by pop artists, but sometimes that idea gets blurred because it lacks of… Jungkook. He can do pop music but not like that, where it doesn’t sound like him, and it has nothing to do with writing credits because Layover has written Taehyung all over it and it’s coherent with who he is, what he likes and what genre he has always loved.

Went a bit unrelated to the ask, but this s2 of that show, to me, has more to do with cash grabbing and hyping a new thing that it’s gonna drop (prob Jk tour, Jm already dropped his second album).

This being said, let’s hope Tae won’t participate in that show and he will keep on thriving <3