#he would try to do things fairly or not at all
Text
Protector
summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)
wc: 9.8k (oh my god)
cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously
a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on
“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.
Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.
His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”
You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.
You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.
The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.
Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.
“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.
You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”
“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”
“Sounds good.”
You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.
“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”
You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.
You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.
“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.
Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.
------
“Hotchner.”
You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.
“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”
You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.
“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.
You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.
------
The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.
The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.
Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”
“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”
“Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”
“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?
The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.
You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”
“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.
“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.
“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”
You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.
Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.
Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.
You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.
As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.
You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.
“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.
You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”
“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.
“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.
“What’s your book about?”
Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.
“It’s a romance,” you confessed.
“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”
You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”
You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.
“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.
You smiled at his words.
“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.
“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”
You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.
“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”
You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.
“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”
“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.
“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”
“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.
“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”
“My dad said all that?”
“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.
Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.
“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”
“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”
“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”
“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”
He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.
“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.
“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”
You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.
“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”
You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.
------
You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.
You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.
“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”
He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.
“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”
“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.
You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”
“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.
You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.
As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.
The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.
“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”
“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.
-------
In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.
“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.
“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.
JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”
You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.
“No, I slept fine. I swear.”
“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”
“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.
“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”
“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”
“Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.
His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”
Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.
“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”
“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.
Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”
The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”
“Y/N,” Reid said.
All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.
“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”
“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”
“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.
“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.
“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”
-------
For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.
You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.
“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”
You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.
You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.
Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.
“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.
“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”
You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.
“Put it on.”
You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.
“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.
“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”
“That’s it,” Morgan said.
“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”
On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.
“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I got it.”
“We’re counting on you.”
“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.
Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”
You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.
------
You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.
Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.
“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.
You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”
“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”
The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”
“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”
“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.
“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.
Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.
“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.
------
The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.
------
You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.
Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.
“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.
“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”
“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”
Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.
“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.
Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.
Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.
“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”
You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.
When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.
“How are you?”
“Everything hurts.”
“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”
“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”
“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”
“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”
“Yes?”
“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”
Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”
“Hotch. Please.”
Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”
You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.
“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”
He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.
“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”
You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.
“It was you?” you asked.
Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”
“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”
The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”
Hotch shook his head no.
“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”
Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”
“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”
Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.
You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”
The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.
“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.
“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.
Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”
The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.
“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”
“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.
“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.
Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.
Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.
Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.
“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.
A few of them chuckled at your antics.
“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”
“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.
“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.
“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.
“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.
A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”
“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.
You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.
“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.
Imagine how Hotch must have felt.
“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.
The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.
“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”
“You need sleep, sir.”
“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”
You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”
“It’s why I offered.”
You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”
“What can I do?”
“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”
“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”
When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.
“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.
“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”
You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”
He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.
“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”
Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”
He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.
You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.
“Goodnight, Hotch.”
“Goodnight.”
------
You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.
The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.
“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.
“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.
You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.
“How can I help?”
You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”
His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.
“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.
“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”
“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.
“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”
All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.
“Wait,” you said.
He froze.
You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”
You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.
“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”
You nodded.
He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.
------
The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.
When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.
“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”
“I can get my things just fine.”
“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”
You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.
The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.
Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.
“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”
You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.
You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”
“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.
You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.
Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.
Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.
“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”
“Hotch, what is all this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”
“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.
“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”
Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”
“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”
“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”
Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”
You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”
“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.
“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”
“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”
“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”
“I would do that for anyone.”
“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.
“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.
Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.
“This morning…” you said.
“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”
“Then what did Reid mean?”
Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”
“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”
“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”
You looked at him in shock.
He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”
“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”
Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”
“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”
“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”
“Stop it, now.”
“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”
“Hotch, I swear to god—”
“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”
“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”
“But he’s not just mean, is he?”
The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.
“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”
“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.
Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”
You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”
Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”
“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”
His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.
He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”
“This is ok,” you said, breathless.
“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”
A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”
You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.
“Your room. Now.”
His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.
Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.
“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.
You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”
“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.
You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.
“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.
“You, first.”
Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.
“Your turn,” he said.
You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.
“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.
You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.
“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.
“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”
Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.
“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.
You nodded.
“Use your words, honey.”
Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”
He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.
“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.
“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”
Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.
Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.
A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.
“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.
“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.
“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.
“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.
When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.
Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.
“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.
“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.
“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”
He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.
“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.
Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.
“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”
“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”
Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.
“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.
You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”
Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.
Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.
“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”
“Faster, please,” you said.
His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.
“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”
He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.
“Just like that!” you blurted out.
He did just that, slamming into you again and again.
“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.
“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.
He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.
“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”
You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.
“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”
“Chest!”
He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.
Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.
“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”
“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”
Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.
“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.
“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”
“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”
In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.
“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.
“The team’s gonna know,” you said.
Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”
You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”
“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”
Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.
************
ForeversTaglist:
@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds#bau team#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner fluff
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I'm up way later than I need to be and listening to music while I draw and this song gives me SUCH Sabo feelings and I would love to hear your opinions!! (Never Love An Anchor by The Crane Wives)
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Y07xArvIvjw&si=ffMbMHTWuHHnxY2C
You dare bring. The Crane Wives. Into this peaceful household.
Never Love an Anchor no less.
RELATING THE SONG TO THE BLORBO FROM MY SHOW NO LESS
The audacity.
Anyway.
youtube
Yeah it makes me think about how Sabo left Ace and Luffy on his own accord at the end. Of course it was a last resort but he left them because he knew that this was the only way for them all to be free.
He left knowing that he would probably not see him until they were 17. Or maybe even never again.
He left them so that they could be safe. Because as long as long as he was with him, as far as he could see, hands would still try to claim him, resulting in the ones he loves getting hurt.
There was no winning for Sabo or any of them. As long as he tried delaying the inevitable, it just never would have happened.
He had to give up what he loved so he could keep it.
And then after he regains his memories, him thinking how much he’s changed. His claws might hurt the one he loves so dearly, even though at this point he doesnt even know him anymore. What if when Luffy finds out that he was alive, it only hurts him deeper. Knowing that there was someone who would have made a difference that day wasnt there. Reliving not only that day in the moment of reuniting, but the say he lost Sabo, too.
I dont find it strange that Sabo didnt try to reunite with Luffy until dressrosa. And in fact i think that reuniting with luffy is something he did as an absolute last resort. I think he truly didnt want to meet him that day at all.
In the anime alone, it doesnt much show it, but in the manga and the Episode of Sabo his hesitance and nerves are really clear to me. He takes a second before he starts walking to talk to luffy. His hand is clutched and shaking. He walks as slowly as he can. And also he only does it after he knows that Luffy cant get the fruit.
They both need that fruit safe. An heirloom of their precious brother, the only thing they have left that can life on from him.
If Luffy could’ve finished that tournament, im fairly certain Sabo would’ve never revealed himself.
I think he feels like he might hurt luffy if he did, but i also think that he didnt feel he deserved it. To reunite with Luffy after all that time. After all that happened.
Going back to the song, the lyrics
“So, I did the only thing that i could And severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor.”
Even though it was Sabo who went sailing from the harbor, what he was doing was sever the rope from his connections with luffy and Ace so that they could grow and be free without worrying about being held back by him and the weight of his life keeping him suffocating at the bottom of the harbor he’s being drowned in.
If sabo had successfully left Goa that day, and he had reunited with Ace or Luffy somewhere down the line, i think he would act the same way he did in dressrosa that day. I think he would feel his baggage is too much, someone could be after him. And he wouldnt want to reunite. Especially after how he left them.
To me, that letter didnt read as a “i hope i see you again”, but a “goodbye forever”. Which i mean,,,, it was one, at least in Ace’s case, so … 🤷♀️ kill me
Anyway, the sentencing of your crimes of Crane Wives-ing me will be capital punishment, i hope you understand.
Thanks for the ask!
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The Twitter Mess is Suspicious
So going through all the information that has been sent and shared with me today about Lou's twitter post I'm fairly sure it was a hacking. Obviously, we can't know either way and it's likely never going to be publicly addressed but that seems to be where it's pointing to.
I will say there is a lot of information out there that seems to just be made up so I'm only talking about what I have been able to confirm.
We know last night that Lou's twitter account followed an anti-BuckTommy, Buddie stan who had previously posted the old Instagram posts. His account also tweeted a random screencap of an Instragram profile that had an abliest joke about blind children in it. Shortly after the tweet was deleted and Lou's account blocked them. All of this was confirmed with by the owner of the twitter account his account responded two. I do not think the owner of that account has anything to do with the hacking because he seems equally confused by this behavior.
The first reason I think this is fake is because the account followed the anti-account. Which would make little to no sense for Lou to do. However, if you wanted to make sure that account saw and screencapped the response and shared it to their decent size following? Replying and following tracks.
The response is weird for two main reasons. The first being the fact that it's an ableist joke. The tweet was responding to criticism of Lou's previous posts. Even the account holder pointed out that this was a strange, strange way to respond. It wasn't an insult, it wasn't a response, it was a joke. If this was Lou responding to the criticism, you would think it would be more direct.
The second reason this response is weird is because it's a screencap of a profile on Instagram that has zero followers and no posts. The joke wasn't even a post, it was their profile message. To me, this seemed like someone was trying to replicated the style of early 2010s meme culture that was a lot of screencaps which include posts, usernames, etc. instead of just the actual image but wasn't around for it so they didn't fully understand it. People weren't screencapping profile messages, they would just screencap a post they wanted to share to make it their own that showed up on their feed. So this seems like a failed replica to me.
The quick deleting and blocking of anti-Bucktommy fans makes sense if this was a hacking. Lou is a verified account and I'm not sure how long he has been. But this means either he got verified because he's an actor (which proves he owns the account) or he pays for it (which is easy to prove by providing your credit card number to customer service). Either way, he was likely able to get it back pretty quickly, deleted the post in question and blocked people.
I know a lot of people are saying he would have said if it was a hacking but I disagree on that. To start with, it would have simply brought more attention to this and there truthfully doesn't seem to be a lot of traction around this. Second, if he did apologize it would draw attention to the original instagram posts (which are now deleted) and that wouldn't be good PR. So likely this just won't get mentioned moving forward.
Other weird thing I noted is both the anti-BuckTommy user and the screencapped acccount both have similar Chuu/Cuuh in their username. Which does make me think there might be some other options for what happened but I don't have enough information on that at the moment to express those.
Overall, I don't think this is the major issue that some people are making it out to be. I'm leaning towards hacking but there are a few other options. None of which are these awful, horrible things that some antis are making them out to be.
Until I get more information I'm opting not to give this anymore attention. It isn't picking up traction and it likely won't and most people will have probably moved on in another day or so.
If you have more information please reach out and share it with me.
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I hate the people who say the final battle in Ragenarok was too easy. It wasn't easy, it was a hard battle, but the Bad Kids/Intrepid Heroes did everything right.
There were 8 combatants on the field at the start. 6 of the rat grinders, who had low health but the high level abilities of their classes, and 1 high level full PC, and 1 high level paladin/barbarian multiclass with resistance to everything, legendary actions and resistances, who could deal force damage.
On the Bad Kids side, they were level 14 who had just gone through a battle that exhausted a lot of resources, Fig and Fabian used a couple of spells and bardics and their limited amount of spells, Gorgug used a couple of his rages, Adaine used all of her portents and a bunch of spells, and between ice feast, healing, and removing levels of exhaustion, Kristen and K2 were love on spells. Riz was the only one who was looking pretty decent because he can use sneak attack all day, and even he used one of his 2 3rd level spells.
They were smart though, they Ice Feast was a broken ability for the final battle that Brennan didn't think through when he home brewed it for Ally. Not only did it block Porter's stun which would have been devastating, it made them immune to fire damage on a map with a lot of lava. He didn't think it through and the Intrepid Heroes used it to full effect. Still, it was good for them, but Ice Feast is still just a reskin of Heroes feast with better options but more detrimental effects.
As for the battle itself, the Bad Kids played it smart, it was only due to good initiative rolls that they managed to stomp the rat grinders so hard in the first round. If Oisin got a chance to go, if Mary Ann was outside the range of slow, things would have been different since they had low stats, but level 20 abilities and spells could have wreaked the Bad Kids. It wasn't an easy fight, but it was a fight with an intentional purpose, the Bad Kids are good at being adventurers while the Rat Grinders took the easy way out and showed the different between being powerful and being strong. They took out the primary caster first as you should do in big pc vs pc battles like this, they made sure to target groupings of enemies with AOEs and crowd control, they made sure to support each other and disrupt their enemies support. It wasn't easy, but they are good at dnd so they made it look easy.
I've seen people say, 'Brennan should have x' and no he shouldn't have. He created a hard combat encounter, but his players did everything right this season, a DM shouldn't punish or railroad their players just because their players are good at the game. No, the players stop the big bad from being released so they don't have to fight them, the DM shouldn't just make the Ancient God break through the bindings just because they planned for that encounter. The players won before it started and they should be rewarded for that.
'the rat grinders should have had a back up plan.' The Rat Grinders did have a backup plan. The initial plan to get Kipperlily fairly elected failed, and the back up plan, when that didn't work, the backup plan was to get Kristen expelled so she couldn't run. When that didn't work they sent the Bad Kids, their allies, and anyone who would vote for Kristen into the sky, flew them miles away, and sicced a horde of dragons and a goddess on them to kill them or at the very least get them out of their hair for 1 night so their plan could work. The Bad Kids beat their plans every time so no, there was no reason to have a 4th backup plan in the final battle. Brennan is a good DM, he didn't make the Rat Grinders and Porter's plan work because it was stopped before it started with the fake goddess name. He didn't punish his players for being good at the game and their strategy is great.
Things could have gone so differently with a slight change or a big change. If Fig didnt' decide to try and be a paladin on a whim, things would have been completely different, they wouldn't have had a connection with Ankarna. If Adaine didn't take Legend Lore they wouldn't have found out about Porter, maybe they would have still gotten the background on Ankarna, but not about his family revealing the Big Bad early on. If they chose to do something else with the power they got from the pride armor, they wouldnt' have the gem to free Bakur or save Lydia meaning no back up in the final fight. What if Gorgug rolled lower on one of his artificer tracks, they might not have passed the last stand. What if Fabian choose to keep pursing Ivy instead of Mazey, would have have been killed by the Rat Grinders or would Mazey have been compelled to their side if he didn't try and romance her. If Riz ran for president instead of Kristen would he have been less stressed or more inclined to focus on that instead of mystery his true love. What if Kristen didn't eat the eye of the Vulture king at the right time and catch Kipperlily about to murder Gavin forcing her to change her target to Buddy.
And it worked against them too. What If Fig didn't inspire Cassandra and knock her out leading her to become the Nightmare King again? What if Adaine didn't counterspell Grix's disintegrate on Ruben, he might have been a pile of dust that would have been hard to impossible to bring back to life disrupting the Rat Grinder's plan. What if Kristen decided to not get upset at Cassandra forcing the Goddess to recreate Kalina. What if Adaine didn't say Ankarna's name outloud the first time she saw it? What if Fig didn't make the deal to have a second chance sealing the Night Yorb? What if Riz and Gorgug did relationship tracks with their families making it harder to do their other tracks. What if Fabian cleaned his house even once and got rid of the pingpong balls that Oisin enchanted to screw them over. What if Riz had time to focus on mystery from the start instead of running Kristen's campaign for her and taking more stress.
There were so many times that things could have gone so much better or so much worse, but that's what the game is. There is no script that says the good guys have to keep losing until they win. It's decisions and dice, luck and wits that make the game. It was a very hard season, the battles were very hard, just because they made the right decisions to make things easier on themselves doesn't change that. It doesn't make the season bad. You're welcome to not like it, but nothing about it was easy and people shouldn't pretend like it was because they don't like it
#fantasy high#fantasy high spoilers#fantasy high junior year#fhjy#adaine abernant#fig faeth#kristen applebees#fabian seacaster#gorgug thistlespring#riz gukgak#dimension 20#d20#long post
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There is a “would Dean kill Cas to save Sam” poll going round I think you’d find interesting and which compelled me to unleash thoughts at you. I often wonder why fandom (both hellers and bronlies) ignores the fascinating examples in canon where Dean’s “Sam before anything else” ideology is threatened by Castiel. the BEST example of this is when Cas premeditatedly and with full agency breaks Sam’s wall as collateral damage — and Dean forgives him in the blink of an eye! If that were anyone else who’d done that to Sam they would be a dead man. Yes Dean was mad about it, yet the next season (BEFORE Cas redeems himself by taking on Sam’s hell trauma) Dean literally tells Cas “you were doing the best you could” (girl…).
Other key examples: Dean staying in Purgatory for an additional year to find Cas (rather than prioritising going back to find Sam, and this is after Cas broke Sam’s brain mind you); deciding to basically kill himself in s13 after Cas has died (despite Sam being alive and well); telling Chuck he’s wiling to kill Sam if it’ll bring Cas back. If the Bronly tenet that all Dean needs to be happy is Sam then hell, why does Dean beg Sam to let him die in the series finale.
I will note that Dean kicking Cas out of the bunker in s9 is thrown around constantly but there was literally a gun to Sam’s head at that point. Dean was tormented about it and still snuck off to see Cas although it may have been unwise in that situation.
Also interesting to note that Sam isn’t the only one; Castiel has also served as a threat to Dean’s other representations of family. in s6 Cas ~betrays Dean by colluding with Crowley, who kidnaps Lisa and Ben, which eventually leads to Dean deciding to memory wipe Lisa. In s14 Dean literally *blames Cas in part for Mary’s death*! And yet still forgives him?? (As s13 showed, Dean can live better without Mary than he can without Cas.) This is really intriguing/toxic element of Destiel that is hardly explored in fandom, which is that Dean associates Cas with danger to the rest of his family/his role as protector of his family and therefore his relationship with him is a weakness that he will regret. Add to the fact that Cas has proven time and again to not be a safe/reliable object of affection (see above examples, and also repeatedly leaving/dying) and it’s very plain why Dean would have reason to fear/suppress/compartmentalise romantic feelings between them — because they would be an even greater source of pain.
Curious to get your thoughts on this!!
Thank you for the message!
Regarding the first point: I think there's a fairly typical thing going on of fan simplifying characters and their motivations. Does Dean love and care about Sam? Yes. Was Dean's duty to Sam something that was drilled into him as something that he had no choice over? And something that was reinforced through their forced isolation from the rest of society? Also yes. So what happens when Dean has someone that he has grown to love on his own terms? And who he never has to worry about alienating, someone who could actually be part of his life? Something very interesting!
I looooove the s6/7 example so much, because Dean really isn't ever angry at Cas for hurting Sam, he's angry at Cas for not listening to him. And even then, not really - his anger at Cas in 7x01 is much more something that Dean is using as a sheild, something to cover his own hurt, than anything else. And then the second it looks like Cas is going to turn around and come back to him, all that anger evaporates.
s8 was soooo vindicating as well when it aired, because all summer the bronlies were like, "Dean's motivation in Purgatory will be that he's trying to get back to Sam!" And then it WASN'T. This is another thing too, that bronlies will try to make it out like Sam is the only one that Dean will go to extreme lengths for, that Dean isn't a *generally* nurturing type of person who *wants* a bigger family and to not be so socially isolated. But throughout the entire show, Dean is constantly drawing people around himself. And we do see how Dean is willing to go to great lengths for Cas. Of course, a lot of the time, Dean is convinced that he's powerless to do anything when it comes to saving Cas, but Purgatory was one time when he wasn't, and we see what happens.
(And the thing is I do get where the bronlies are coming from in their understanding of the show, in an abstract sense. Like objectively, if someone were to tell me that there's a story about two brothers, that only have eachother against the world, and they have a super-intense relationship, and all they care about is each other and fighting monsters, and there's a dark, gothic vibe to it, I could see why someone would be into that. Like it's not my jam, but abstractly, I see it. But the thing is, that reading of the show does not hold up to contact with canon - and none of them want to admit that.)
The series finale is so weird when you think about it. Because bronlies hold it up as a win. But it is Dean taken down to a place where all he has is Sam and hunting, and then deciding that he has nothing to live for.
s9 was just a mess. Kicking Cas out of the bunker was so contrived. And then what everyone forgets is how incredibly happy and jazzed Dean was when he thought Cas was going to be living with them. The thing I'm most bitter about is that they couldn't have given us at least one episode of Dean and Cas being absolutely goofy happy around each other before constructing a situation to get Cas out of the picture.
Your last paragraph is interesting, and something to think about. The way I see it, is that Cas has entered a special tier of relationships with Dean, where Dean will hold on to him no matter what. I don't think Lisa and Ben are a good example for your point, actually, because I think Dean blames himself for what happened to them more than anyone else, which is reflected in his final interaction with them when he says he hit them with his car and is happy they can go on with their lives (or something of that nature, I forget).
Mary's death is interesting though. The only thing comparable to something like that happening before is when Dean blames Sam for Charlie's death (and what Dean says to Sam - "I think it should be you on that pyre instead of her" - is actually way more harsh than what Dean says to Cas). But Dean does forgive Sam, and he does forgive Cas - again, they're on a special tier, where Dean values them no matter what. And you see that throughout the divorce arc, where Dean keeps checking in on Cas and showing concern for him, in spite of how he feels at the moment - like he knows througout that the rift him and Cas are going through isn't going to last forever.
I think all of Dean's closest relationships are toxic, just as a result of the way he was raised and the kind of life he leads. With Sam, John, Mary, Jack, and Cas. The relationships that aren't toxic are the ones where they aren't physically around each other that much (like Charlie), or with Bobby, who has the level of experience to not get caught up in bullshit. With all of them, the death toll doesn't really matter (like Mary endangered Cas too, and Dean forgave her). Dean just tends to not let go of the people around him.
I think a big barrier for Dean and Cas is actually neither of them having any kind of reference model for what they are to one another. All of Dean's romantic relationships have been filled with secrets, and the knowledge that his partner cannot share his life with him. Dean calls Cas his "brother" in s6 and s11, because to him, that's the closest you can be to someone. That changes to "best friend", which is better, because it doesn't have the same connotation of obligation and responsibility - your best friend is someone you actually like being around. And it's a title that is uniquely Castiel's.
And in general he has trouble categorizing Castiel. Like he keeps trying to put Cas in human boxes that he doesn't actually fit within. He repeatedly indicates that he thinks of Cas as just a guy, and then Cas acts in ways that defy that category.
So yeah, I guess I don't really think that Dean sees Cas as unsafe. It's more that Dean just isn't thinking of romantic relationships as a possibility for himself. And he doesn't quite know how to categorize what he and Cas are to each other (and the fact that Cas is a dude may or may not play into that, depending on how much you think Dean grapples with internalized homophobia). And they're both generally fucked up.
It's an interesting idea, though, that Dean sees Cas as a danger, that I'd be interested in seeing explored more in posts or fic.
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Could you do a Lookalike reader getting his hooves or ears brushed / cleaned by Alastor in a similar vein to the antler one?
Maybe a standalone mini series of 'Parts I wanted to include in the main series but couldn't find space for it.'
I would be so up for that.
Hey man, thanks for the ask! I think I went a bit off-topic here, but I still think it's hot so I'm gonna post it. I've put a line for the more squeamish readers to stop at. Caveat emptor and all that.
Pairing: Alastor X reader
Wordcount: 2.2k
Warnings: they/them pronouns, reader is a hermaphrodite, Foot stuff, Hoof stuff, scent glands, DEER THINGS, slight sexual content, Alastor being fucking weird
You didn’t know what was wrong with you at first. You’d held a variety of jobs during your mortal life, but vet wasn’t one of them. What you knew about medicine you knew from backwoods surgery, and what you knew about deer physiology was limited to the things that made their meat unsafe for consumption, the telltale lesions and growths on a carcass that meant it got burned or buried rather than butchered. This wasn’t one of those things.
There was a hard lump on the front of your leg, above where the keratin of your two standing nails ended and below the level of your dewclaws, close to the webbing of skin where your two toes joined. On a human this would have been the shin, but for you it felt more like your tarsal.
It had been small at first, and you had ignored it. Then it had grown larger, painful as it had rubbed against the tongue of your boot. Today you had limped your way through your shift at the hotel, your smile more of a grimace than anything that could genuinely be describes as cheerful, and retreated to the room you shared with Alastor as soon as your contract no longer compelled you to work.
Now you lay in the four-footed bathtub in Alastor’s ensuite bathroom, examining your hoof more thoroughly. Was this an abscess? Did you need to lance it? Your skin graded to a dark grey towards your red nails, so it was difficult to gauge the lump’s condition from color as it would be on a paler part of you. You were pushing at the lump with your fingers, feeling the heat of inflamed flesh when Alastor materialized from the shadows at the bathroom door, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“What are you doing here?”
You hadn’t expected him to return to the room for hours, and even then, he generally gave you privacy when you were cleaning yourself. Fear shot through you like a cold wave in your stomach, the feeling of being caught, and you fought the reflex to hide your leg from Alastor. Your career as a serial killer would have been short-lived if you weren’t able to hide guilt, after all. “Do you mind?” you said, broadcasting annoyance.
Alastor looked unimpressed, taking a step closer. “I asked you a question,” he said.
“I would think it’s fairly apparent, but right now I was thinking of cutting my nails,” you lied, smoothly. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, looking for you,” said Alastor, his gaze settling on the red tips of your hooves. “I was about to cook dinner for everyone, and I could do with a sous chef who doesn’t try to boil themselves every time I set a pot of water on the heat or drink all the wine before it goes in the sauce.” He moved closer, arms behind his back. “Though I suppose those are getting rather long,” he said, eyes still on your standing nails, the two red points on the end of each of your hooves. “Let me help you with that.”
“No, I couldn’t put you out,” you raised a hand in protest, but Alastor was already in the space with you, bending to fetch a pedicure kit full of small knives, curved clippers and different grades of files from the cupboard that stood next to the basin.
“Nonsense, my dear, pure nonsense.” Alastor took a seat on the painted metal stool that lived next to the tub and looked down at you, teeth gleaming. “I hope you don’t mean to say I’m not up to the task.”
“Of course not,” you frowned, and Alastor clicked his tongue in disapproval as he took your good leg in his hand.
Disapproval at your facial expression did nothing to stop Alastor’s roving hands, however, the hand that was holding your leg stroking down the arch of your foot to the pads beneath as he fetched a pair of clippers from the box at his feet. The touch was pleasant, and deliberate, and the clippers resembled a pair of secateurs more than anything else, the sort that could easily remove a thumb if applied correctly.
“If you cut to here-” Alastor took your hand, pulling it to the pad of your hoof, where the flesh was attached to the backside of the nail, and traced a line, dragging your finger alongside his. “-the hoof will be too short, and you’ll injure yourself walking-” You listened carefully as Alastor talked, moving your fingers over your hoof so that you would know his instructions by touch. It would have been a relaxing, bonding activity, if it weren’t for the aching lump on your leg, and your growing anxiety at it being discovered. Alastor’s hands were gentle on the pads beneath your hooves, holding your leg perfectly steady as he made each cut.
He moved to your other leg, and you were sure he would notice the lump, but he said nothing, either ignorant or letting you stew in your own embarrassment as you lay in the warm bathwater, his skilled fingers squeezing the arch of your hoof, thumb brushing against your dewclaws as he repeated the process, leaving you enough length in your nail that you would be able to walk comfortably. Sweeping the red slivers of your hooves aside, Alastor took a pair of files from the box, one coarse, one fine, and you felt the vibrations through the nail and through the bones of your leg as he filed down the rough edges. He did it slowly, watching your face as he drew the file back and forth with a gradual movement, the sensation something like a shiver as the metal abraded the surface. When he was done, he ran a thumb over each edge, feeling for imperfections.
Alastor brushed away the fine pink dust with his hand and smiled at his handiwork. “There. That’s better, don’t you agree?”
You nodded, something like relief flooding through you when Alastor hadn’t addressed the problem. You were free to deal with it. Privately.
[nb: if you just wanted hoof clipping, stop reading here]
“And it’s high time we did something about that,” said Alastor, gaze sliding over your bad leg, and your sense of relief shattered. “After all, you didn’t really think there was any part of yourself that you could keep a secret from me, did you?” Alastor’s smile turned cruel, his finger tracing a gentle line up between the two toes of your cloven hoof to the lump, even the light pressure he applied excruciating, and you held your breath to not cry out. “You were limping, darling,” he continued, voice chiding. “I was worried.”
You blinked away tears of pain, studying Alastor’s expression. Really, you’d been embarrassed more than anything- the horror that the strange lump might be due to a failure of basic hygiene on your part, but the way that Alastor examined it without surprise told you that it was an issue he was at least familiar with. Maybe something he’d dealt with on his own body, in his early days in Hell.
“You know what it is?” you asked.
Alastor hummed, his fingers trailing down the freshly pedicured red keratin of your nails and round to the soft pads of flesh that sat behind them, pressing and probing. Oh, that felt nice. “You’ve field dressed a deer before,” he said, chiding. “You really should know this yourself.”
You sank a little deeper into the bath, pouting. “I was a hunter, not a veterinarian. I cut the hooves off before skinning. Dried them sometimes.”
“And I thought you were a curious person.” Alastor smiled to himself, seeming to enjoy having such an advantage over you. “But I suppose I should educate you.” His fingers ceased their massage of your spongy underfoot, and he parted your toes, his touch on the web of skin where the two of them joined. “You have a scent gland here,” he said, pressing his finger against a narrow vertical slit on your dark skin, less than an inch in length. Like the lump above it, it was tender. “It’s blocked. You should have come to me sooner.”
“I’m sorry.” You felt your ears drop, your leg relaxing a little in Alastor’s grip,
“That is quite the hangdog look you have.” Alastor’s smile grew thin, and he reached over to cup your cheek. “Fear not, I know a remedy.” His fingers lingered, tracing the grim line of your mouth. “It will be painful though, you think you can grin and bear it?”
Alastor always wanted a smile from you, but especially in difficult situations. You weren’t sure if it was sadism, a test, or some twisted beneficence on his part. “Of course,” you said.
“I will hold you to that, dearest,” said Alastor, raising your hoof to his lips. It was all you could do not to gasp when he ran his tongue between your two standing toes, laving the pad of each, a pleasurable but alien sensation. It made it easy to smile for him, and his eyes met yours, the corners creasing with approval. His hand cupped the back of your leg, the part that your brain still fuzzily equated to the arch of your foot, long fingers stroking the lines of the tendons. You had been intimate with him enough times that there was no terror for you in his teeth, only the disconcerting sensation of sharpness as he pressed his mouth to your spread toes, his lips a seal around your scent gland, and sucked.
To describe the sensation as pain was technically correct, but it would be like describing standing within a meter of a working jet engine as loud, or the sea as wet. It was a nerve pain, a primal sensation of wrongness. Pain conducted through the bones of your leg to your stomach and your spine, making you queasy and tearful all at once. But you had promised you would smile through this, so you fought for conscious control of your face, forcing your breathing into a slow, steady rhythm, pushing the tension that had collected in your shoulders down as you lay back in the bath, the corners of your mouth up. You spread the fingers of your hands over the lip of the bathtub, palms outward, arms trembling, and Alastor clasped one of your hands in his, squeezing.
Tears rolled hot down your face as Alastor continued, the sensation unrelenting, the only sound in the room your breathing and the low frequency hum from the lights above you. You were still smiling when Alastor’s thumb hooked around your leg, pressing into the cyst above your scent gland. More pain. A whimper in your throat that you could no longer suppress, the curve of your mouth a forced one. Alastor squeezed your hand tighter as he pushed, or perhaps you were squeezing his, and you felt movement in the gland, the inflamed tissue shifting as the blockage was pushed out. You sobbed once and it was gone, replaced by the sensation of pressure being released, Alastor’s tongue moving between your toes.
Alastor raised his mouth from your hoof, his eyes half-lidded and sultry. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he said, sweetly, and all of a sudden it was easy to smile again, his hand no longer in yours as he used both hands to handle and inspect your hoof. “Nearly done now.”
You peered at your hoof, the toes still splayed as Alastor massaged the cyst with his thumb. Your scent gland wept, oily yellow fluid spilling from it. It stank, an earthy, musky smell filling the room. Alastor could smell it- anything with a nose would be able to, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as Alastor kept your leg firmly in hand. He had probably tasted it, too.
“Guess I should rinse that off,” you said, your smile turning wry as you wrinkled your nose, trying to hide the mix of horror and shame that you felt.
“Absolutely not,” said Alastor firmly, lowering his head to your hoof and lapping at the mess with his tongue, his breath hot between your toes. Fuck. Your stomach tightened at the sight of it, the noise of his tongue almost obscene in the quiet of the bathroom. It was disgusting and erotic all at once, Alastor’s eyes fixing yours with a fervid intensity as he breathed in your scent, and you found yourself hard, the throbbing pain that you’d felt moments before receding to arousal like a curtain revealing a stage.
If Alastor noticed your state, he chose not to acknowledge it, instead teasing the last of your scent from your gland with his mouth and his thumb and planting a soft kiss over the abused tissue; one that was painful by most people’s definitions of pain, but from him it was almost romantic, his lips the barest pressure. You knew better than to raise the matter- that would make him tease you, at best, leave you aching and unfulfilled. What Alastor gave was on his own terms.
“Incomparable, as ever,” Alastor murmured, as if what he had eaten had been drizzled across a plate in a Michelin starred restaurant and not licked fresh from between your toes. “You will come to me for these things in future, hm?”
“Is that a request?” you asked, a rough edge to your voice.
“Given your reaction, I don’t think it’s too tall an order, do you?” Alastor flashed his teeth, flirtatious and sinister all at once.
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Happy Mermay, Amaze Shaez! Have a fishy AU!
Techno moves to a small college town while he works on his degree. It is an idealic little town right near the beach with seemingly very kind people.
Seemingly.
Technoblade is his normal introvert self, waiting around for an extrovert to adopt him. So he keeps to himself a lot. One of the things he has found that he enjoys is walking along the beach and just letting the breeze blow against him.
A lot of the town seems to go out by the beach. There is a man with a strange green bucket hat who is often fishing from the beach. These same three teenagers always seem to be scream laughing while chasing each other up the beach. She often catches sight of a woman with bright pink hair searching for shells with her bald friend. Its peaceful.
The people sometimes wave, but mostly they ignore him.
Honestly, that can be said of most of the locals.
There is a hard line between the students that attend the college and the locals of the town. Sure, they interact, but the locals never let the students get to close. Never too familiar. Always at arms length.
A bit odd.
A massive storm hits the town. It honestly fucks it up quite a bit, buildings actually collapsing in the storm. So much damage.
Classes are canceled for a few days, so Technoblade does what he enjoys.
He walks the beach.
There are still people on the beach, but they almost seem frantic. They are looking for something. The man with the green hat looks particularly upset, seeming almost close to tears as he whispers with the pink haired woman. Technoblade almost considers asking them what's wrong, but then he remembers he's an introvert and can't cross that social barrier.
So, Technoblade walks on until he gets to a rocky section of tide pools. The pools were also very messed up from the storm, but they seem to be recovering.
He hears a voice.
Technoblade turns, trying to find the voice and then it comes again. A woman's voice. He couldn't tell what she said, but it seemed strained. Technoblade walked closer.
He finds a crack in the rocks, and looks down to see a small enclosed cavern. A brownhaired woman half submerged in seawater inside. She is glaring at him.
Technoblade takes a moment to panic before he immediately starts looking around. He calls out for help, for someone to come give him a hand in rescuing the lady, but everyone is too far away.
Technoblade hesitates on what to do, before he leans down into the hole and reaches out a hand. The lady in the hole looks at it skeptically, but eventually grabs the hand. Technoblade is able to pull her up with a lot of effort, helping her through the crack and onto the shore of tidepools. Its only when she is completely out that he realizes that she has a long, deep purple, tail.
Technoblade just stares at that in shock for a moment. The mermaid snorts a laugh, drawing Technoblade's attention. She says something, her voice musical, but Technoblade doesn't understand.
Then he noticed the MASSIVE cut on her arm. He rushes to get his jacket off and put pressure on the cut. The mermaid looks at his suspiciously as he approaches it, but allows him to try.
Technoblade is readjusting his whole world view internally while Kristin is just looking at him with all the suspicion in the world.
Eventually Technoblade sighs and looks out toward the ocean. Its low tide. It will be a long time before the water gets close to the tide pools. And Technoblade was FAIRLY sure it would be a bad idea if someone saw an actual real life mermaid. So Technoblade asks Kristin if she can make it to the sea herself or if she needs him to carry her. Kristin looks at him confused and he starts adding hand gestures to get his point across.
(Kristin understood what he was saying, she just wasn't expecting him to be kind).
Technoblade is getting desperate trying to figure out the best way to convey to a MERMAID that she needs to either move or be moved. Kristin eventually smiles slightly mischievous, making a move like she needed to be carried.
(She absolutely could have made it to the ocean on her own, she just also thought it would be funny to make Techno carry her.)
Technoblade is very careful about picking her up and carrying her to the ocean. He doesn't want to trip with her in his arms. So he doesn't notice her studying his face with a widening grin.
Technoblade walks until he is a little over knee height in water before he puts her down. He feels things brushing against his legs the whole time which was DISTURBING. It was like the ocean itself was wrapping around his legs.
Before she is in the water, Kristin carefully kisses his cheek. Technoblade nearly drops her in surprise, but then she jumps out of his arms and immediately swims away.
His jacket gets dropped in the water and completely soaked.
He tells no one.
After that, the locals...change around him. The watch him as he walks by. The approach him more and speak to him. They call out to him when he walks on the beach, which startles him.
Eventually, they start to befriend him. He meets Phil and Niki and Jack and Ranboo and Tommy and Tubbo and Puffy and Wilbur and-
So many people.
They start to become his friends.
One night, Phil invites Techno to a party. It was something only locals could go to. Techno almost refuses, not fond of Parties, but Phil convinces him to come along. Its not a traditional party. More like just a family get together, except with the locals. Technoblade is coerced into going.
He regrets it a little when its in some random cave. He has to walk across a sandbank at low tide to get there. Phil leads the way into the cave, flashlight in hand as the make turns in the system. They actually walk DOWN for a bit before turning back up. Technoblade really hopes that Phil knows the way because if Techno was forced to recreate it, he wouldn't be able to find his way out.
But once he gets to their destination, its nice. Niki obviously decorated as there are so many nice streamers and food scattered about. Little lanterns lit up the whole cavern. There was music, but it was soft. Not blaring and hurting everyones ears.
Technoblade has fun. Everyone is kind. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
Eventually, his social battery runs out and he asks Phil to help him leave.
Phil just smiles at him, asking him to wait at least an hour more. There was someone he hadn’t gotten to meet yet. His wife would be there in about an hour.
Techno is curious because Phil always talks about his wife. He agrees to stay longer, even though he was getting tired.
Around half an hour passes and Techno notices something strange. He looms at the path they entered through and it is submerged in water. He feels anxious at this and voices it. Niki assures him that they have a way out. Its just the tide coming in. They were perfectly safe.
Techno feels dread settle in his stomach and he once again asks Phil if they can leave. Phil tries to calm him down, but then there is splashing behind him. Technoblade turns back to the entrance.
And sees the mermaid, smiling brightly at him.
Phil calls her Kristin.
Technoblade is reeling about how Phil is married to a mermaid? What? How could that be? Phil laughs and says that Kristin isn't a mermaid. Not really. She is more of a seagoddess than anything.
Technoblade doesn't see why his choice in words matter.
Phil says is because the rest of those there were mer. It would be confusing if they lumped Kristin in with them.
Technoblade is having a time coming to terms with this when he feels his water against his shoes. He looks down to see less than an inch of water starting to cover the whole cavern floor.
Technoblade starts to panic. He demands to get out. Everyone tries to help calm him down, saying everything is fine. They are just so excited to have him. It won't even hurt to become mer, so there is no need to worry. Technoblade doesn't want to become mer. He's human. He doesn't-
The water pouring in is slow. It takes a while for the tide to come in. And each inch that creeps up Technoblade's leg is causing him to hyperventilate. He is waiting to DROWN.
The mer feel a bit bad for his panic, so they decide it would be better if he didn't have to wait for the whole cave to fill.
Multiple people grab him and push him into the water next to Kristin, his head submerging. Before he can pull himself back to the surface, hands wrap around him. A long tail keeps him in place as he struggles to get back to air.
The water keeps pouring in, Kristin pulling him further into the cavern as it gets deep enough for her to freely swim. The others surround them, now sporting tails and fins and looking at the pair as Technoblade slowly but surely loses consciousness.
When he wakes up, he is still in the cavern but its slightly different. The party supplies have been removed and the only light available is from sporadic glow lichen.
Technoblade is laying on something soft, but his whole body aches and he can't quite move. He tries to move his legs.
He doesn't have legs anymore.
Kristin is there, right beside him, and he can understand her now. She tells him how it will be at least a year before he can switch back to having legs. And it will be at least five years before she feels comfortable leading him out of the labyrinth. But he didn't need to worry, his new family would take care of him.
Have a good one!
Happy Mermay!!! This shows how long I tend to keep the lenn AUs hostage in my inbox LMAO but they're just so tasty I want to read them a bunch of times before sharing them with others hehe
BUT YES, dark sbi mermaids is sooooo tasty and we love some non-consensual body modifications
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Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 7 Ruki ☽ SKiT Dolce・Rejet Shop Tokuten Drama CD ☽ Absurd Lesson ♪
Original title: 理不尽レッスン♪
English translation by @otomehonyaku
Click here for the audio. CD owned by me.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I reached 1000 followers last week, so here’s a special treat: one of Ruki’s Daylight tokuten CDs, plus a translation which you can read below the cut╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ This was yet another short but sweet one with a surprisingly wholesome message. I hope you enjoy!
Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
00:00
Hey. Have you finally finished getting ready?
[You apologise for taking so long.]
Heh. It’s alright. We still have some time before we have to go to class.
Besides, Kou and the others are still busy preparing.
Have a seat, too. It seems like it’ll take a while longer.
[You sit down.]
I thought I’d prepare tea, so I boiled some water. Would you like some?
[You suggest getting the tea for him.]
No, I’ll pour it for you. I have only just cleaned the kitchen, after all.
I would like to have it as tidy as possible before we leave.
[Ruki walks to the counter.]
Come to think of it, they’re being so rowdy that we can hear them all the way from here. Are they bickering again?
Kou and Yuma tend to fight over who gets to use the bathroom first, right?
[You confirm his suspicions.]
Hm. So they were, even though that only chips away at the time they actually get to use the bathroom to begin with…
They never learn, do they?
[Ruki pours the tea.]
Every time we wait for them to get ready, we head out late.
[Ruki brings the tea to you.]
Here’s yours. Be careful not to burn yourself.
We should be able to head out by the time we finish drinking the tea.
[You compliment him on his time management.]
You know I always like to have ample time before going out.
[You tell him that he’s much quicker than you are.]
It’s not as if I’m particularly quick to get ready. The four of you are slow.
You always take way too long, even though your routine is the same every day.
It’s only school. There is no need for such lengthy preparations.
[You tell Ruki he does much more before class than you do.]
Well, that’s true. I have many things to do, but none of them are major tasks.
When you make a habit out of cooking and cleaning, you get the hang of it quickly, and it all goes smoothly before you know it.
Even if I actually were to be burdened with more tasks, I would still be done before you guys.
[You ask him why he thinks that.]
It must be because I’m skilled in time management.
I plan out all of my tasks for the day in advance.
What I am trying to say is: you simply have to calculate the amount of time you need for each of these tasks.
[You tell him you wish you were more like him in that regard.]
Like me, you say?
Well, alright. I will do you a favour and teach you some of the tools of the trade.
[You ask him if that’s alright with him.]
Yes. If you learn to divide your time more effectively, you will have more time to help me out with running the household, right?
If we can successfully distribute the household chores, we will both have more free time.
I see no disadvantages.
[You tell him you will work hard.]
03:50
That’s the spirit. I wish Kou and the others would follow your example.
If you help me out with the chores, I might have some time left to prepare a dessert for you.
[You’re happy about that.]
Heh, you silly girl.
You are much too happy about such trivial things.
However, if you are a good student and learn how to manage your time more effectively, I will make whatever you request.
Would you like blancmange, panna cotta, or rather pudding?
These are fairly straight-forward desserts, so I could easily make them for you.
After all, it’s my job as your master to discipline you.
[You get flustered.]
You look like your mind is wandering.
I always intend to discipline you thoroughly, but no matter how much time passes, your reaction is always the same.
I thought you would have gotten used to it by now, but…
[His remark makes you a little shy.]
You are truly hopeless.
Well, all the more reason for me to discipline you.
Anyway, we have limited time before we have to go to class, so I should quit the teasing for now.
Seeing you so flustered only makes me want to tease you all the more, though.
That’s no good, is it?
[You make a face.]
What, does that displease you?
The face you were making earlier told me otherwise.
If you want, we could continue this after class.
You like it better when I take my sweet time to torment you, right?
[You keep your mouth shut.]
I will take your silence as a yes.
Well, fine by me.
Your face is like an open book, anyway.
06:28
Well, then, it is my duty as your master to teach you what I know.
I will explain things in a clear order that will be easy for you to understand, so listen carefully.
[You respond enthusiastically.]
Heh. That’s what I wanted to hear.
Let’s start with time management, then.
You know most of the things you need to do in a day, right?
You must have daily habits and other recurring tasks.
You have to fit these tasks together like a puzzle and think about which ones you can carry out at the same time.
[You ask him what he means.]
Right…
For example, I do the dishes while I’m cooking, or I make a side dish(1) while I’m heating up soup.
I actively try to perform tasks at the same time whenever possible.
What’s important is to not waste time.
[You ask him to elaborate.]
07:07
Well, if you act without using your head, you tend to waste time much more easily.
You should make a habit out of acting with intention.
If you do that, you will be able to divide your time more effectively in general, not just when getting ready to go out.
[You tell him that Ruki is much better at it than you are.]
It’s not as if I do anything difficult in particular.
You can do it too. It just takes practice.
First, tell me the things you need to do in a day.
[You tell him.]
Hm. Washing your face and brushing your teeth are things you should do at the sink.
It is best to do the various things you need to do in a given place all in succession.
Moving from room to room to do something is a good example of wasting time.
Are there other things you do near the sink?
[You tell him.]
08:05
I didn’t expect you to have so much to do.
So, hair styling and skincare—they each have an order to them too, right?
Try to think of whether there are any unnecessary steps in these actions.
[You start listing the steps in your hair care routine, but…]
Wait. You do all that just for your regular hairstyle?
I can understand combing your hair, but is applying hair oil and using a hair curler really necessary?
[You nod.]
I see. If you say it’s necessary, then it must be.
Looking after your appearance is not a bad thing, after all.
But if your hair styling alone consists of so many steps, your skincare routine must have even more.
[You start to tell him, but…]
09:04
No, I’ve heard enough.
I understand very well that you need to do many things in order to get ready.
Are there any steps in your hair styling and skincare that you could perform at the same time?
[You’re unsure.]
I see.
If that’s the case, then you should try looking to improve elsewhere.
But even then…
[You ask him whether something’s wrong.]
No, I’m actually kind of impressed.
There is much more to your morning routine than I thought.
I knew women always took some time to get ready in the morning, but I did not expect this.
As a man, it barely takes any time. To do all of these additional things must take considerable effort.
You do all of these steps every day, right?
[You nod.]
I see. That is quite admirable.
[You’re surprised.]
Why are you so surprised?
[You tell him it’s because of his compliment.]
Is it that unusual for me to praise you?
As your master, I assumed it was only natural to reward you when you deserve praise, but…
It must not have been enough for you.
If you wish, I could give you a more obvious reward.
[You get flustered again.]
10:38
Heh. Your cheeks are red.
What did you imagine just now?
I figured that it would suffice to pet your head or pamper you from time to time, but to you, that is only a half-hearted reward, isn’t it?
[You deny it.]
Heh. If you shake your head so vigorously, the hairstyle you spent so much time on will go to waste.
After all, considering all the time and effort you put into your hair, I should refrain from petting your head, too.
I should think of other methods to reward you.
[You’re a little disappointed.]
Heh. No need to be so sad.
I did not say I would never touch you again.
I should merely touch you carefully so as to not ruin your hair and makeup.
Besides, we’re only talking about before you get ready, right?
When we’re at home, it doesn’t matter how messed up your hair gets…
[Ruki holds you close.]
Next time I reward you, I am sure it will be to your liking.
Look forward to it.
And from now on, I will factor in the time you need to get ready when we make plans to head out together.
Because thanks to you, I fully understand how much effort women put into their appearance.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
1. Honestly I just wrote ‘side dish’ here because I could not decipher for the life of me what word he used instead lol
#we love a bloodsucking king who respects women let's be real#and h o n e s t l y this is a man after my heart especially when it comes to the planning stuff. im genuinely surprised he's not a virgo to#diabolik lovers#dialovers#diabolik lovers translation#diabolik lovers translations#diahell#otomehonyaku#my translations#mukami ruki#ruki mukami#diabolik lovers drama cd#diabolik lovers drama cds#diabolik lovers drama cd translation#diabolik lovers daylight
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Now that full moon has come out, how do you think apology tour will play out, with clips from the trailer that seem to be from that episode? We know now how their conversation went after the crystal which was about 75% what most fans thought. Whether stolas was invited by verosika or not, he will sing a song about Blitz, at a concert called Blitzo Sucks. For me, after this episode, stolas singing a song bashing blitz seems unfair. And I’d hate for it to be seen as character development for stolas to feel empowered by saying he’s better off without blitz.
Hum ok so here's the trailer without full moon.
(sorry it makes the sound a bit garbled)
So yer we can assume all stuff with Verosika, or them in the same outfits is going to be apology tour. 🙂
Wait didn't we see Stolas calendar.
This half of the season has been fairly close together.
Humm ok going to guess that whatever gets Stolas to Voroskia's show is the scary thing with 2 !!
Heh he also put a dick on the calendar, these two are so alike. 😆
Hang on, I'm about to fall down a rabbit hole. So Western Energy and Oops are a week apart, with Mammon's Magnificent Musical Mid-Season Special shortly after.
Going to guess Western Energy is on the 4th with the 5th and 6th blacked out with Blitz's freekout to find Barbie.
Can see the 5th says 'kill all!!' and 'check the van!!'
Humm can see why it'd need checking after that.
Could be Oops was on the 15th with 'Call Fizzarolli" being the day after?
Not sure where Mammon's Magnificent Musical Mid-Season Special would be though. Maybe 21st if 'kill that fucking guy's is about the creepy stalker?
Ok, back on track.
Going guess that Blitz goes to talk to Stolas in his garden.
Trying to pretend nothing happened, that they can just go on as normal like they did in seeing stars.
And gets snarked at because Stolas isn't having it. Something he says makes Blitz need to talk with Voroskia.
Possibly the "any kind of remorse for what you do?" bit. (Honestly still sounds like a line to Stella, but they played the other bits straight so now less sure).
Think Blitz sneaks in, looks like he might have hidden under a drop cloth from backstage. Gets into a fight with Verosika before the show " the everyone in hell is shity" bit. Possibly mentioning the breakup with Stolas.
He ends up ticking around for the show when he sees Stolas there.
Voroskia does her normal Blitz sucks song (effigy cake cutting in it);
then invites Stolas to also dump on him because of what Blitz says.
Stolas song starts off about how his life was crap before Blitz (parles with You will be ok),
that he loved this guy who made him happy, but who never wanted him back,
that their relationship was just coursing them both pain, that Blitz was never happy with him,
and that the image in his head of them has been shattered.
Looks like Voroskia comes to twist the knife at how badly Blitz screwed up a really good thing.
Hopefully with them talking and her getting real closure? While Blitz finally come to see Stolas.
Blitz breaks into Stolas' bedroom after the show and they both talk. (Can see they're on his bedroom sofa).
With them agreeing to give it a shot but not really defining what that is. (What can I say I still think they'll be dummies).
(Sorry this tuck a bit to get back to you. My draft got eaten by save errors grumble).
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So this might be an odd one, but I cannot stop thinking about it, so here you go. How would the celebrity characters (Vox, Velvette, Charlie, Lucifer, Angel Dust, maybe Alastor and Valentino) fare on a show like Hot Ones? (Explanation below if you're not familiar. It's on YouTube too if you're interested.)
It's basically an interview show where the guests and the host eat chicken wings with 10 progressively hotter hot sauces. Typically, guests descend into various flavors of mania as the sauces get hotter.
Vox would act nonchalant but be out fairly quickly. He likes spicy food but his processors aren’t built to handle so much at one time, especially if it’s only getting worse. He’d likely glitch and spark before crashing.
- “Hot? What, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m fine. Tastes great! What do you mean I’m glitching out-”
Velvette wouldn’t even comment on the spice- try asking her questions and she’ll insult your clothing choice. She’s taking it slow and identifying every nuance of the flavor of each sauce before moving on, just to be petty because she likely didn’t want to be there. I think she’d get to number seven?
- “Mm, yes. It has a bit of a savory feel to it, doesn’t it? Really brings out the hints of desperation, sadness, and a profound taste of time wasting. Are we done here?”
Charlie, incredibly nervous. Out at around 3 or 4, eating any piece of bread she can find, probably crying. She’s dramatic but she’s trying.
- “Hoolllyyy shit- fuck, hold on, I am so sorry- gah! Why is my mouth on fire? Water, I need water! Oh shit that made things worse! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I NEED- YOU ALREADY HAD ALL THE BREAD AND MILK? I’m doomed. I’ll die to a hot sauce challenge. Check my will, I’m giving everything to Vaggie, Razzle and Dazzle.”
Lucifer, like Vox, would act nonchalant. Except he’s good at it. He’s been around since forever, and he’s likely had plenty of chances to get used to all sorts of food. He’d look at the bottle, take note of how it was made, how long the company has been around for, and dive into a short but sweet lecture on the history of the company, most popular flavors, etc. he’s probably pulling half of it out of his ass, in an attempt to impress Hell or look like a cool dad for his little girl. He’d be out of the game between 6 and 8.
- “Oh yes this is a family recipe! Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting a living member of said family, but I know it’s made with both love and care. Yeah, I know! John is such a good man, and his wife? Makes the best chicken buffalo casserole you’ll ever have. The sauce isn’t particularly spicy, but the dedication and history behind it, the love this family holds for eachother, is really what brings tears to my eyes.”
Angel Dust is an immediate lose. He’s charismatic but absolutely unhinged, he probably doesn’t follow the rules. Asks if he can mix the sauces, then ends up chugging the whole bottle (number 2) for ten dollars. He does it, gets his money, and is disqualified immediately after. Insults everyone’s sense of style, their boring topics of conversation, etc.
- “Enough about the sauce, tell me, hot stuff, do you have someone waiting for you at home? Cus I’d sure like to sample this hunk of meat…”
Alastor is completely unphased by the sauce but extremely irritable. He finds it all completely abominable. From the cameras and the picture boxes it’d be seen on to the sheer disappointment and lack of spice in the sauce. He’d asked if the wings are even seasoned, when everything was made, how fresh it is, etc. He glitches out the footage so he can’t be scene and the host (or hells equivalent- look, I headcanon it’d be Tom trench just for the shits and giggles) is pissed at him for it. He makes it to 9 before he ends up killing someone and getting kicked off.
- “My mother was quite a good cook! Have I mentioned that before? She made the best jambalaya, the recipe was to die for. No, of course I’m not telling you! What would you do with it? Take out all the seasonings and add this poor excuse of a hot sauce bought from the store? No, no, no. I’d rather keep my dignity and reputation as a well respected man, thank you. (Scoffs) share the recipe? As if I’d ever do such a thing to my mother…”
Valentino is nothing but insults the whole way through. Cussing people out, making snide comments on the set up of the cameras, outfits, the hosting skills. He doesn’t even have the sauces in order, he chooses whichever one he wants and just sort of goes for it. He wins with ease. Nobody can get him off set, he’s mixing the sauces together, somehow brings his own?? He forces production crew members to join in and try the sauce so he can insult them, specifically on their tastes and lack of ability to handle it. He’s a menace, to say the least. Gossiping, talking about clothes and fashion, texting, etc. he wins but everyone is pissed because of it.
#this is hilarious#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox#vox hazbin hotel#vox hazbin#vox the tv demon#angel dust hazbin hotel#angel hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel angel dust#alastor hazbin hotel#hotel hazbin#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin#hazbin alastor#hazbin lucifer#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin lucifer morningstar#charlie morningstar#lucifer morningstar#hazbin valentino#valentino hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#radio demon
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...hi guys :]
so uhh. folie a deux posting again-
this issss the first chapter i wrote for this!! cookie and i split the chapters among
ourselves specially based on their content and when pitching the idea for this one cookie said they felt sick while reading my idea so. i was chosen to write this one for his sake -v-
SO!! sit back, relax, and enjoy the horrors my friend B]
(also sorry about the bracket bits at the start, we havent made placeholder town names yet or anything ;v;)
FOLIE À DEUX - CHAPTER 5, DRAFT 1
big tw for: graphic depictions of violence, cannibalism, dark themes(?? its freaky idk what youd call it)
I’ve once again found myself in the dark, suffocating woods surrounding the towns of Eastridge. Realistically, I could’ve stayed in [town name] for a bit longer– I had only just started living there before moving out again. Despite that, something in my head is telling me that I have to leave. Telling me how that place is too close to my old home, how easy it would be for Lankmann to find me there.
That voice has been leading me fairly well so far, so I have no reason to stop following him now.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a bit doubtful, though. I have no reason to believe he’s right or wrong, but a voice telling me to walk endlessly through the wilderness with unconfirmable reasoning isn’t exactly easy to believe. What other choice do I have, though? Stay put and see if it’s proven right, only to risk being put back into that hellish asylum?
No. That isn’t an option. We– I’m not going back there.
God, I’m hungry.
Still, I keep walking, ignoring how much my stomach growled. If I just make it to the nearest town soon, I can get something to eat. I think I still have enough money left to buy something. If not… hopefully they have a soup kitchen. I never imagined I’d end up in a situation where I would depend on something like that. I guess I never considered how people end up homeless or unable to feed themselves.
It feels odd calling myself a “person” now. I don’t know why, but it just seems… wrong in some way.
…I smell something. What is that smell? It’s visceral, almost like raw pork, and yet oddly sweet. I feel drool well up in my mouth and drip down my chin. I quickly wipe it off with my sleeve as I feel my heart begin to pound. Why am I so shaky? And why am I so much hungrier than before?
I look around for the source of the smell only to see a person walking not too far off in the distance. The trees make it hard to see them very well, but I can tell it’s a person. I know it doesn’t make sense for them to be the source of the smell, and yet something’s telling me that they are.
I find myself unable to look away from them. I don’t know why, but I just can’t.
Something about them makes me feel even hungrier.
Why am I hungrier? That’s a fucking person, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just look away– I keep trying but I can’t get myself to look anywhere else but at them. My jaw falls open, letting more saliva spill out. They start walking farther away, I should walk away too.
But I can’t stop staring.
I can’t stop drooling.
I can’t…
I can’t…
stop…
…
…What...
What’s…going on..?
I can’t remember…how I got here…
I feel something in my mouth…I’m chewing something. It feels like steak, yet tastes more like ham. There’s so much of it, I feel it spilling out over my chin. It’s so warm… and wet… Is it covered in blood..? Was this even cooked at all? What the hell am I eating!?
I look down and–
And–
Fuck. Fuck, I–
I choke on what I was chewing, covering my eyes.
This isn’t fucking happening this isn’t happening–
I uncover my eyes and look down again. I see the same thing.
That person I saw. They’re right here, laying right in front of me. They won’t move, there’s a tear in their neck and they’re bleeding. They’re bleeding a lot.
Their leg’s bleeding too– there’s a deep gash in it. It looks as if an animal had torn it open with its teeth.
There’s blood on my hands. And my face, and my clothes.
There’s so much blood.
A sob pushed at my throat as I willed myself into looking at the person’s face. Another slipped out as I saw them staring back at me, making me look away again. I can’t bear looking at them like this. I can’t believe they’re even alive, let alone conscious.
It would’ve been so much easier if it wasn’t…
…What do you mean, “it?”
They aren’t an “it,” that– that’s a person that’s not–
I shake my head and look back down at its– their leg. The wound left in it is so deep, almost reaching the bone. For some reason, when I looked at this…
When I looked… I felt so, so hungry.
I swallow what remained in my mouth. It tastes… good.
Why does it… taste good..?
Without thinking, I lean down, hold the person’s leg in place and tear off another hunk of flesh with my teeth. The person doesn’t even resist or scream. It just lays there, whimpering in pain.
Its meat tastes so, so good.
I quickly chew up the viscera between my teeth and gulp it down along with the blood it was drenched in. I lick my lips to take in the mess on my face. It was oddly savory, even sweet. I tore off another chunk from its leg.
“I…I-I’m so…I’m sor…ry…” I choked out between chews. “I’m so… so, sorry…”
I swallowed down the mush in my mouth before croaking out another “sorry.” I couldn’t stop repeating as I ate, “sorry,” “sorry,” “I’m sorry,” as if it would do anything. It didn’t take long to notice the person stop responding. It finally died off as I sobbed pointless apologies, devouring what was left of its leg.
My sobs became incomprehensible blubbering after this. I couldn’t bring myself to eat anymore. I just buried my head in my hands, muffling the nonsense tumbling from my throat.
…It’s so odd.
In less than a week, I’ve transformed from a deer in headlights into a predator– a beast perhaps even more frightening than the one I had been running from all this time.
…
I can’t remember exactly how we- I got rid of the body. I just remember panicking, dragging the corpse for hours without thinking. I can’t remember where it is now. I think I stepped on something. Just above my ankle, there’s a bloody gash that must’ve been there for a while now. It’s from a bear trap I think. I probably shouldn’t be walking with a wound like that in my leg. I probably shouldn’t be able to walk with that in my leg. It stings, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it should, I don’t think.
I’m still damp from washing in a river. I think it was a river. It might’ve been a lake, actually. I can’t really remember that, either. I just know I was covered in blood, then went somewhere that had water and left without any blood on me. I couldn’t get the stains off of my clothes, though.
Hopefully no one noticed.
I’m in an apartment now– a small, run-down one, but an apartment. I’ll be stuck living here for a while so I need to get used to it. I’ve been staring at the same spot on the beige, hole-filled wall for a few minutes now, standing just in front of the door leading outside. My bag is lying next to me, having been dropped just after walking inside and closing the door.
I should go to bed.
I should unpack.
I should take a proper shower.
I should turn myself in to the police.
I should
I
don’t
I don’t. Know.
What do I do now?
Where do I go from here?
What… what do I do..?
I… I killed someone… I can’t even remember where they are now…
I just… hid them… like it was nothing and walked away.
I ate their fucking leg.
Why… why did I… Why…
Why…
I…
Can’t… breathe…
I fall backwards against the door. I can’t breathe. I choke on nothing. I can’t stop shaking.
My eyes start to sting from the tears forming in them. My fingers curl against the floor. My nails dig into it as they do.
Inhuman sounds bubble in my throat.
I feel something heavy wrap around me but nothing is there.
It becomes easier to breathe somehow.
The invisible weight around me grows heavier, pushing me down to the floor.
I curl into myself, lurching with each choked sob of a breath. Despite there being no source of it in the room, I swear I can hear music.
I really have lost it, haven’t I.
#scheduling this so i can jumpscare myself with the notifs later#also to clarify i dont. condone cannibalism-#sorry if this is too much it just felt right for the story we're making and im ill-#doai#dreams of an insomniac#alex williams doai#doai walex#doai folie a deux au
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now and then | b.b.
pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc
summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.
series masterlist
n. interlude: violet
violet has always been a strong woman. to take care of seven children and another one on the way, there was no questioning her abilities. just like how a wise wife makes for a strong husband, a loving husband makes for a happy wife.
and violet is beyond happy with her family right now.
with the addition of the silvas, she found a new friend of her own. the adults met in a ball hosted by the queen. the silvas were fairly new in central london just months after arriving from the countryside with a thirteen-year-old boy and a four-year-old little girl.
the patriarch is a military general, she learned. it must be hard for the children and his wife. and so, she bonded with the viscountess silva—sharing her worries and moments in the married life and vice versa.
the boy, she has met. he was an outgoing child and played with her two eldest sons the most. lance was a smart one—very knowledgeable about politics and its science but not offending. he would join her sons whenever their father would discuss about the duties of a viscount and all that it entails.
the little girl, she only met after a year. violet expected her to be a shy, reserved child. oh, how wrong she was.
on their first meet, loraine had no problem in directly asking why she has six children. she was not offended, of course. the girl was simply curious, and violet answered that it is what happens when two people love each other so much.
she did not expect, however, that little loraine would turn to her parents and ask them, do you not love each other so much? violet did not know how to react. fortunately, armand ruffled his daughter's hair and replied, you should thank the heavens the walls are thick.
his wife slapped his arm immediately with a laugh of her own. oh, how quirky the silvas are.
the peculiarity of the said child did not end their as they currently find themselves at the bridgerton's garden. the now six-year-old girl neared the viscount and viscountess on the side as she lost in the game against the bridgerton daughters. the sons and lance were playing cards on the next table.
raine sat on the grass as she looked up to the adults, "lady bridgerton, your husband is lovely."
violet smiled, reaching for her husband's hand as the man laughed at the child's remarks.
"I want to get married." she added with a pout.
"oh? who do you have in mind?" the viscountess asked the little silva.
raine looked up and away as if contemplating hard, "someone like your husband."
edmund laughed at her response as he brushed her hair, "darling, i am afraid there is only i."
the girl clicked her tongue and let out a small groan, mimicking an adult, "no one alike at all?"
"well," he began, trying to think of who could possibly be like him, "my eldest is probably the most similar to me."
at the mention of the eldest, raine grimaced immediately, "anthony? eugh..."
she did not think twice to express her disgust despite the fact that they were just on the adjacent table. the said son turning to her and spoke in a teasing tone.
"as if i would marry a cheeky brat like you."
"as if i would marry an old rake like you." she did not miss a beat in replying, sticking her tongue out to mock.
the adults were nonetheless shocked at the girl's words, their brows raising followed by a soundful laughter from edmund.
"raine!" lance called her for a scolding. he has no problem of her sister calling them rakes because they honestly are. it is only because of the parents present.
anthony placed his cards down instantly and stood up, set to chase the girl as the latter scrambled to run herself, using benedict's seat as a shield.
"ben! stop your brother!"
he snickered at the panic of the little one facing his eldest brother, "oh, no. you are not involving me on—"
"have you no guts?!" she challenged and he immediately found himself putting an arm in front of her to block anthony away with a laugh.
violet, on the other hand, laughed at the whole exchange as well before whispering to her husband, "are we going to ignore how the girl knows the word?"
edmund only chuckled with a nod to their third son, "she learned it from colin."
the viscountess had to close her eyes. of course she would learn it from her own sons. yet, a smile was tugging at the ends of her lips.
her family was quirky as well in their own way.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
with nothing to do, most gathered in the drawing room: violet having her tea while listening to her daughter, francesca learning the pianoforte, eloise reading a fairytale, daphne teaching francesca, colin and his newspapers, and benedict with his paint and canvas.
out of all of them, raine took interest in whatever the second eldest son was doing.
"ben, what are you doing?" she said as she peered from his front behind the canvas.
"i am trying my hand at painting." at the mention of art, she immediately went to his side to see him in action.
upon observing the canvas though, she frowned, her face contorting almost in disgust.
"rubbish. it's just messy lines."
"it's—" benedict turned to violet at once for help, "mother, do you hear her? are you letting the child talk like that?"
just to tease her son, she chuckled with the girl, "loraine's not wrong, dear. they are lines."
he sneered at his mother, "i am getting to it. this is the process."
raine continued to observe his piece in a very contemplative and serious manner, putting her fingers on her chin in thinking. in just no more than fifteen seconds, she shook her head sidewards disapprovingly.
"do not pursue it, ben." the mentioned man glaring at her intensely.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
it was a fine afternoon, with no issues so far. thank god! she cheered. it was rare to have a moment of silence in their home with her children.
rightly so because just as she was about to take a bit of a biscuit, eloise came running inside with immense hurry.
"mama, come!" she exclaimed, dragged her mother without any warning.
"what is happening?" violet asked with worry.
her daughter exclaimed, "raine climbed a tree!"
"what do you mean she climbed a tree?"
she exited their house, only to be greeted by his sons gathering near the tree. violet looked up and lo and behold—there indeed sits at a branch of quite a high tree a seven-year-old loraine.
"oh god," she placed a hand on her chest in concern.
benedict can be heard persuading the young silva to come down, "raine, get down. it is dangerous."
the girl looked down on them with a cheer in her voice, "have you seen how it looks up here? it's amazing!"
he exhaled tolerantly at her excitement, "yes, i have. come down now."
"no, everything looks more wonderful here." she stubbornly replied.
benedict had no choice but to tap anthony, gesturing for him to position himself directly below the girl. the latter nodded, understanding what he is planning.
he patted the trunk a couple of times, finding where he can settle his grip. as soon as he did, he climbed it with ease, reaching the girl on the left branch. he settled beside her, trying to find the right chance, looking at anthony below them.
"see?" raine turned to him with the widest innocent smile he has ever seen, "this way, you can be a few feet closer to your father."
he paused, not knowing what to respond. it was childish, really, but it was also one of the best things someone has ever said to him. and so, he raised his hand to her head and ruffled her hair.
his warm feelings did not last long though as the girl opened her mouth to speak once again with a grin.
"i doubt you can paint something like this."
he glared at her intensely, "stop talking about my painting."
"stop painting."
he gritted his teeth at that, placing a hand on the young silva's arm, "good bye."
"ben—"
and she was not able to continue what she was about to say when it was immediately replaced with a yelp as she fell. anthony caught her with ease, letting her down as she was struggling against him.
"that was uncalled for!"
violet let out a breath she did not know she was holding during the entire exchange. that trio will be the death of her.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
armand has arrived back from his duties after two months. the viscountess silva wasted no time to invite the bridgertons for a sleepover in theirs. the silvas may be just a family of four, but they certainly had a lot of room in their home.
the bridgertons arrived in the afternoon—violet insisted that they will have lunch at theirs prior because it would be too much for the silvas to shoulder four meals.
after they have settled and dispersed to do their own things while their parents bonded, the eight-year-old marched to where they were in the leisure hall, finding violet's second eldest too with his pad and brush.
"benedict, you fool!"
he turned to her with a look of clear confusion, "what now?"
"why are you using my equipment as models?"
ah, yes. across benedict were raine's glasses, flasks, tubes, and beakers, arranged carefully in an aesthetic manner.
he looked back in front and realised that it was hers. at first, he really thought they were lance's and the latter even allowed him to use them when he asked permission.
he turned back to her and shrugged, "i have been painting flowers and vases and fruits. i would like to try a new one and glasses are perfect to experiment with since they are transparent."
"what did my innocent tools ever do to you..."
she walked towards her things and returned them carefully to their respective places before she turned to grab a stool. the young silva placed it in front of him at the right distance, sitting with her back straight
"now, go on."
benedict raised a brow on what she was tryimg to do, "do you want me to draw you?"
she gave him a sarcastic smile, not wanting to concede, "no, you want to draw and i just happened to be here."
he conceded but not without a shot of his own, "if it comes out plain or unpleasant, know that it is not my talent but you."
she let her mouth fell at his comment, only picking it up when she turned to her mother for support.
"mother! are you really going to let him speak like that?!"
armand, along with the two viscountesses, laughed at their banter.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
it was fairly a normal night, unless you take in the fact that it was the death anniversary of her mother. it has been six years, and while it has been long since she could laugh again, an air of longing still remains.
and so, the fourteen-year-old asked daphne and francesca to play the piano of a concerto they all wrote together—raine wrote most parts, considering that it is a tribute for her mother. she took her violin and stood beside the piano, the family gathering close to hear them play.
it was not a single-themed piece. all throughout the music, you could hear notes that dripped of grief and loneliness, yet of joy and relief at the same time. the three of them were playing flawlessly, embodying every message and emotion they wanted to convey.
"do not look at her like that. she is a child."
violet muttered as small as she chould after noticing her son's gaze at the young silva.
"i am not." he turned to her mother right away, denying what she said with a fearful look at the same time—as if he was caught doing something he should not, "i am simply wondering."
he turned back to their performance, trying to control his expressions as what his mother said shook him even after his denial.
"she is interesting, smart, and funny." he complimented with awe to dismiss the previous idea, "and quite artistic too, it seems."
he laced his voice with a familiar smirk on his lips just as they ended their piece, "god really has his favourites."
the lady in question smiled serenely, walking to her father and hugging him in a comforting manner. with lance away on his duty, it was only him and her. however, right now, the bridgertons are proving to be a good source of solace.
violet pushed the topic behind, following her son's humor, "are you now envious of the child?"
"no," he said, eyes never leaving her form, "i am admiring."
the matriarch could do nothing but trust his son—trust that he knows what to do, understands it cannot be now, and cares to wait for the right time.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
they have gathered at the bridgerton's garden once again for a fine day. this one is surely void of any problems, i assure—if you could just please ignore gregory and hyacinth chasing each other, colin and eloise arguing about social matters, and benedict glaring at anthony's back.
honestly, violet is grateful for at least two children of hers that could converse peacefully with one another.
"stop staring daggers at your brother." she said discreetly, trying not to move her lips in fear of the pair in discussion hearing. she sat with her tea settled on the table, observing her children with benedict beside her, sketching on his pad.
"i am not." he firmly denied once again, eyes going back to his drawing as if invested on it.
she hummed dismissively, completely not believing him this time, "anthony is simply teaching her his duties."
he dropped his pad on his lap and turned to his mother, "what for?"
recounting what the girl's father and her talked about days back, she divulged, "armand will pass the title again to her when she debuts."
benedict was honestly surprised by that. lance, who has been the viscount for three years, died two years past, making armand the viscount again during this time. now—or three years from now, to be exact—he would be passing the title to his child again.
"why? it is not a duty for someone so—" he paused, trying to find the words as he turned to her as if she was the answer itself, "pure."
violet understood what he meant. however, she would also beg to differ. the girl was a bundle of things. she was almost frightening—a jack of all trades and master to all.
"she is quite capable, i can see. if anyone is going to be it, it is her."
lady bridgerton continued as benedict ultimately closed his pad and placed it on the table. before she could do anything, he was already well on his way towards the pair.
they both raised their heads from the papers they were discussing and turned to him, anthony asking him, "what are you doing here?"
he raised his eyebrows, pitch going high as he defended himself, "can't i be interested of my brother's tasks as well?"
"you never are." the elder indifferently shrugging.
he insisted, "well, i am now."
raine narrowed her eyes at the man interrupting what she likes to call as her 'time to be pretentious'. she dismissed as well, "stop bothering us, ben."
benedict scoffed and let out a mocking chuckle at that, "oh, i am bothering you now?"
she nodded with ease, clueless of his internal emotions. she grinned at the idea that just came to her mind.
"unless you are going to marry me... because i would gladly let you whisk me away."
"no!"
benedict firmly rejected after a short pause, retracing his steps back to his mother again. he left them be, but not without tapping his brother's arm in good nature. a gesture that says he is not taking it seriously. yet, there was a grumble in every step he took away from them. his mother, however, knows best.
violet certainly did not miss the way her son's mouth stammered before saying no without conviction.
taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x oc#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#violet bridgerton
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what do you think Peter’s hair would smell like?
Sweat 😂
If it looks like this:
100% sweat. Rolling up to your window, pulling his mask off, covered in dirt and blood, stuck to his forehead…sweaty af.
If we’re talking this:
High school Peter. Fairly clean. Coiffed hair. Probably has whatever May buys in it. Drug store shampoo and some kind of cheap hair gel to get it to do the swoopy thing. He totally pretended that his hair “just does that” but we all know he’s spending a good twenty minutes in the bathroom every morning trying to get it to look perfectly messy. Why do I feel like he’s still using L’OReal kids shampoo or Johnson and Johnson or something?? He’s just a baby.
Adult Peter:
He’s finally out here buying his own products because he’s a big boy now. Buuuut money is tight because Spidey doesn’t pay the bills so he’s doing Old Spice or something similar. Or stealing his girlfriend’s hair products. I can’t see him caring too much about his personal appearance. He feels a bit scatter brained and all over the place and someone who would totally wash his hair with a bar of hand soap if he had to 😂
So, most of the time, his hair smells like sweat, blood, and tears.
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Astarion, his siblings and his "victims"
I wrote a blog about how I really do not get those folks, who do honestly in their heart believe that Ascending Astarion is the "good" ending. And frankly, the comments that AA fans left underneath really make me just shake my head.
One of the people understanding my point also put a really good comment underneath:
Because I really get the feeling that the AA fans do not even consider the siblings and the "victims" of Cazador as actual characters within the story.
And yes, sure. From a writing perspective they are not big characters. I mean, the siblings do have very little in terms of background. Some have a bit more (mostly Leon and Darylia), the others a bit less, and then there is Yousen, about whom we know nothing but the name. And out of the other 7000 we obviously only really do know Sebastian in any regard. Which from a writing perspective is absolutely fair, because the focus definitely is on Astarion. Yet, the interactions you do have with the siblings - and with Sebastians - are meant for the player to understand that this is about empathy.
It is very likely that pretty much all of the siblings got abused just as much as Astarion - or at the very least lived in the same fear of abuse as Astarion. They are all the victims, even though it is fairly likely that they also abused each other. That is just something that abusers use in their advantage: Trying to get their victims to abuse each other. BUT that does not stop them from being victims.
And yes, it is absolutely heavily implied that some of Astarion's "Victims" also have raped him (same with the other siblings). Because as he was ruled by the order of Cazador to bring him victims he had not even a lot of chance to fight back. But we know that is not true for all of those 7000 souls. Some of which will just be purely innocents, who got seduced or kidnapped, and who have at times been made to suffer endless hunger in that dungeon for at times 100 and 200 years!
This means that to ascend Astarion, what you do is to kill a lot of innocent victims of abuse. More than that, you are with it condoning the abuse their abuser had put them through - because you are quite literally enacting the plan this abuser has come up with.
I feel this is a big thing that is also missed with the Vellioth memories. While Vellioth obviously would have prefered to live and go on abusing Cazador for years and years to come - he is also proud for Cazador to defeat him and then continue the circle of abuse. Because in Vellioth's minds he has "taught him well".
While yes, Cazador wants to ascend himself, at least if Astarion ascends all the planning for the ritual, and all the "lessons" he has taught were not for nothing. Astarion will continue Cazador's legacy. He will simply become the next Cazador, until inevitably one of his own spawn will rise up against him and so on and so forth.
If Astarion ascends, Cazador lives on through Astarion. Because in that case Astarion does all the things Cazador would've wanted to happen.
Of course we as players are biased for Astarion, because not only is he the one vampire spawn we know, but we really get to know him really good. Not the very least given the fact that Astarion also is literally the companion with the most playtime for his companion quest. But just for a thought experiment imagine that by sheer luck one of the other spawn also has gotten loose from Cazador and was doing a quest with some of their own companions, while Tav/Durge, Astarion and other companions were doing theirs. And now imagine that other spawn - no matter who of the other six it might have been - went in wanting to sacrifice everyone else, including Astarion, to ascend themselves.
I can guarantee you, that each of them could have made as much of an argument for it, as Astarion.
Would you still think that would be a good thing?
By all means, argue about the fact of how good the relationship between Ascended Astarion and your own Tav/Durge might be. How it is totally not an abusive relationship despite the non-consensual choking...
But that does not change the fact that the ascension itself is a bad thing that is going to continue Cazador's plan and Cazador's legacy.
And no, there is simply no world in which killing 7000 people, of whom all have been abused before, while at least several thousand of them are innocent, is "the good thing".
... Also, I just want more fandom content about the vampire siblings, because I just think they are neat.
#baldur's gate#baldurs gate 3#bg3#astarion#astarion ancunin#the pale elf#cazador szarr#bg3 cazador#bg3 aurelia#bg3 yousen#bg3 leon#bg3 petras#bg3 darylia#bg3 violet#vampire spawn#analysis#media analysis#cw abuse#abusive relationship
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I’m sorry you can’t convince me that Red son would cheat at anything. He literally tried to win the great wall race fair and square like u know he would 100% be sobbing and crying because he just cant seem to win the ring toss game at the fair and he refuses to let Mei cheat at it even though it’s rigged.
#text#monkie kid#im sorry i cant believe that red son would cheat at anything#he would try to do things fairly or not at all#anyone even mentioned cheating and he's like HAVE YOU NO PRIDE? HAVE YOU NO HONOR? DO YOU WISH TO DISGRACE YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY?
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honestly, though. sometimes when the drakes are discussed it does seem a little "oh, they never would never do <insert terrible fanon trait here>, they just <insert a different trait they....also never really did and is actually kind of contradicted by canon? here>"
#honestly i'm usually fairly forgiving about the second because i'm sure i'm guilty of it too lmao#and it's also like. that's usually more of personal intepretation/reading thing which should have different viewpoints#variety is the spice of life and all#& i like defending the drakes AND talking about how they failed#but sometimes the thing that is confidently stated they do instead is something canon directly contradicts.#they never would force feed him something he's allergic to#they would just have super strict expectations of his behavior & not be affectionate#meanwhile the expectations are limited to don't wear a t-shirt to a wedding rehearsal and jack is shown hugging tim like every 5 issues#(and janet is dead and can have no expectations but the only time we see her she's like “you can be whatever you want to be sweetie :)”)#and they are shown having a very iconic outing with him and they treat him nice & want him to have a good time & are very loving#i too want to swing the pendulum the other way but that second one does apply to both good and bad traits lmao#“jack was just trying to get close to his son” well. no he really wasn't.#or “jack never cared about his son & never tried to listen to him” well that's not exactly true either#god i love them. my polarizing flawed family.
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