#and the handle only means something in fandom

[dearweirdme]

.

[webothblackedout]

“in your brother. you live in each other’s body.”

querelle of brest — jean genet / the white lotus — mike white / the ballad of reading gaol — oscar wilde

[maxdibert]

Sirius Black calling Snape “Snivelly” when Snape, with not a penny to his name, had to keep living in that shitty slum he grew up in, in a rundown Muggle neighborhood, without complaining once, while Sirius was crying in his mum’s room after two weeks in his family’s posh London house because he couldn’t stand hearing her voice—that’s one of those ironies in their dynamic that cracks me up. Honestly, outside his role as a school bully, Sirius was just a posh kid with first-world problems and thin skin, throwing tantrums over things that, for the guy he thought was a whiny, soft crybaby, were just another Tuesday.

[jinxed-sinner]

So lots have mixed opinions i wanna know yours, do you like/are you ok with the radiohusk ship or any opinions you have on it

I've elaborated on how I personally interpret Husk and Alastor's current dynamic here, but the summary is that I don't think how Alastor and Husk's dynamic is portrayed in the first season is really abusive (which is an argument I see a lot and seems rooted exclusively in that hallway scene from Dad Beat Dad).

With that out of the way, I don't enjoy it personally just because it's not my thing. I enjoy Husk and Alastor's dynamic platonically (especially because Husk very obviously cares about Alastor's safety and how toxic his friendships are, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to him to tell him Mimzy was probably bringing trouble because that's what she always does), but I don't really see it romantically. I'm like that with quite a few ships, because I tend to gravitate towards ships where I can easily project myself onto one or both characters, which is why I like Radioapple so much (I relate to Lucifer a lot and it makes it easier for me to project onto him, which makes me gravitate towards dynamics involving Lucifer. I also really love exploring platonic dynamics between him and Angel and him and Husk).

I don't have anything against Radiohusk (nor any other Alastor ships, my issue comes when people actively mischaracterize Alastor for the sake of shipping. I won't name any ships here but there is one specific one where I see a lot of Alastor being mischaracterized. Usually I just ignore it). I just have preferences for ships that allow me to explore some aspect of myself as I draw or write the ship. Radioapple allows me to simultaneously explore my asexuality and my autistic traits, as well as how I respond to trauma. I wrote an entire chapter of the Radioapple fic I'm working on that is me exploring my relationship with pain through Lucifer, for example.

I've always done this too because I find writing fanfiction more fun than writing original fiction. When I was writing Sonic fanfiction I gravitated towards Espilver (Espio/Silver) because I relate to Silver, so I could explore certain parts of myself using Espilver. When I was writing D&D Honor Among Thieves fanfiction I gravitated towards Xedgin (Xenk/Edgin) because I relate to Xenk (and Xenk actually partially inspired one of my D&D OCs, and is an important part of that OC's backstory). When I write Ninjago fanfiction, I gravitate towards Gemstoneshipping (Cole/Plundar) because I project onto Plundar (I also gravitate towards ships that involve Zane and Jay because they're also characters I relate to and project onto).

I don't personally mind most Hellaverse ships though, depending on how they're portrayed. BlitzFizz? Love it, I think it's pretty cute. Val/Angel? I think it's interesting to see people explore how abusive and toxic Val is towards Angel (and I just ignore anything that makes me uncomfortable regarding them). Staticmoth? Finest of toxic old man yaoi. Radiostatic? I have an entire headcanon centered around Vox and Alastor having been in a toxic and abusive relationship before Alastor left for 7 years. Lucilith? I love me some wholesome pre-split Lucilith (I've kinda ruined Lilith for myself though lol). Guitarspear? Their dynamic is WONDERFUL, give me all the Adam and Lute content.

There aren't a lot of ships I actively dislike but it very much depends on the execution. If I don't like it I just block or ignore it (because genuinely if you see something you don't like that's what you should be doing). My relationship with shipping amounts to "I like what I like and it's usually because I can explore part of myself by writing fanfiction featuring this ship, and if I see something I don't like I'll just block/ignore it" because I'm 20 and I can't be assed to engage in discourse unless it directly affects me or my mental health (which is why I get so heated about what asexuality actually is and how it applies to Alastor from what we've seen within the show; being asexual myself and having the mentality of "asexuals can't have a libido and are always sex-repulsed" was legitimately damaging for me).

This spiraled out of control but basically, my opinion on Radiohusk is that I don't mind it, I think people need to stop saying Alastor's abusive towards Husk, and it's not personally my thing because I gravitate towards ships with projection/self-exploration potential. If you like it, good for you! I'm not gonna get upset over it because I think that's dumb. I don't know why someone enjoys the ships they do and it's none of my business anyway.

[gothic-chicanery]

A third of my brain is having a panic attack, a third is thinking about my oc Dorian having a panic attack, and the last third is excited about interview with the vampire.

[castielscaplan]

Braids and Soft Things (Billy Hargrove)

Summary: Billy watches as you braid his sister's hair.

Warnings: all the fluff, billy's not a douchebag in this

WC: 1.5K

Read on ao3!

A/N: dedicated to my fellow Billy lover @fandom-princess-forevermore

--

Billy’s legs were stretched out on your bed, one arm slung lazily behind his head, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers, though you’d already given him The Look for lighting it inside.

“Seriously, ash on my comforter and I’m throwing you out the window,” you’d muttered.

He just grinned, half-lidded and smug, watching you reorganize your bookshelf for the third time that week. It wasn’t even really about books anymore. You just liked when he was there, watching you like you were something worth staring at.

“Y’know,” Billy drawled, “You could come lie down and entertain me instead of alphabetizing Stephen King.”

You rolled your eyes but were already about to respond when the door creaked open and a small voice cut through.

“Y/N?” Max poked her head in, her expression a little sheepish.

Billy groaned instinctively. “Jesus, what now—”

“Billy,” you warned quietly, and then turned to Max, your voice warm and open. “What’s up, Max?”

Max stepped in holding a brush and a few scrunchies in mismatched colors. “Can you braid my hair?” she asked, cheeks a little pink like maybe she thought she was interrupting something.

Your face lit up. “Of course I can, come here.”

Billy scoffed, but not as harshly this time. He sat up a little straighter, leaning back on his elbows as Max climbed onto the bed beside you. You gently pulled her hair over her shoulder and started brushing through the red strands, careful, slow.

Max closed her eyes and relaxed into the motions, the room going quiet except for the soft tug of the brush and the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

Billy watched.

He meant to look away—meant to keep up the whole too-cool-for-this act—but something about the way you handled Max made his chest feel too full.

You were so damn patient. Fingertips gentle. Voice soft. You talked to Max the whole time, asking about her day, what book she was reading, if she wanted one braid or two. She laughed once, and it was the kind of sound Billy rarely got to hear from her.

And just like that, the annoyance ebbed.

He stubbed out the cigarette, not wanting the smell to ruin the moment.

Max caught his eye and blinked in surprise. “What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothin’. Just... didn’t know you liked being babied.”

Max opened her mouth to snap back, but you pinched Billy’s leg without even looking.

“Don’t be mean. She’s allowed to want a braid and some peace.”

Billy glanced down at you, your fingers now moving through Max’s hair in practiced rhythm, and something warm curled under his ribs.

“…Looks good,” he muttered finally.

You smiled.

“She’s a good canvas.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re good at that.”

“At braids?” you teased.

He shook his head, eyes soft now, unguarded in the way only you ever got to see. “Nah. At takin’ care of people.”

-

Max had gone home not long after, walking away with her braid swinging over her shoulder and a handful of your leftover gummy worms in her hoodie pocket. She’d muttered a half-hearted “Thanks” to Billy on her way out, which—for her—was practically a warm hug.

Now, the room was quiet again. The kind of calm that settled thick in the summer air after a small storm of laughter and kid sister energy.

You were back on your bed, curled near Billy, a book propped open but forgotten in your lap. He’d been silent for a while. Not in a moody way—more like he was turning something over in his head, and you knew better than to poke at it too soon.

“Hey,” he said eventually, voice low.

You looked over. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the now-empty space where Max had been. “So, uh… could you show me how to do that?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“The braid thing.” He shifted, suddenly way too interested in a rip on your blanket. “Not sayin’ I wanna do it all the time or anything. Just… maybe she’d let me do it for her. One day. If she wanted.”

The corners of your mouth tugged up, but you didn’t smile just yet—not because you weren’t delighted, but because you knew if you gushed, he’d retreat into a defensive shrug and a grumble about how it was “no big deal.”

So you nodded slowly, gently. “Yeah. I can show you.”

Billy looked relieved. “Cool. Like… now?”

“Sure.” You shifted to sit in front of him, grabbing the brush and a long strand of ribbon you’d left nearby. “You’re practicing on me, though. I’m not giving you a mannequin.”

He gave you a look that was half-scoff, half-smile. “Guess I can deal with that.”

You sat between his legs, your back to his chest, and handed him the brush.

“Start by brushing through a section. No yanking, or I’ll kick you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but his touch was gentler than you expected.

As he worked, you felt the shift happen—the tension slowly bleeding out of his frame, replaced by quiet focus. You guided him step by step: dividing the hair into three parts, showing him how to cross them, how to keep the tension even. His fingers were clumsy at first, rough from years of fights and fixing up his car, but he was trying. Really trying.

“Like that?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Almost. Hold this piece tighter—yeah, just like that. You’re a natural.”

He snorted. “Don’t get carried away.”

You laughed and leaned back into his chest just a little, letting yourself relax fully into the moment. “You’re sweet, Billy.”

He paused, hands still tangled gently in your hair.

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

Silence settled again. Then, in a rare, unguarded whisper:

“I just… want her to know I care. Even if I suck at saying it.”

You closed your eyes, fingers curling around his where they rested near your shoulder.

“She’ll know. Especially if you do her hair. It’s not about getting it perfect—it’s about showing up. That’s what you’re doing.”

Billy pressed a quiet kiss to the crown of your head, just once.

“…Thanks,” he said.

And you smiled, eyes still closed, braid a little uneven but perfect in every way that counted.

-

You were in the kitchen when it happened—rooting around in the fridge for something snack-worthy and debating whether string cheese counted as a real meal—when you heard it.

A very familiar voice from the living room.

“Okay, hold still. Jesus, your head’s like… slippery.”

You peeked around the corner.

Max was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a comic book resting in her lap, expression unreadable. Billy stood behind her, tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on twisting sections of her red hair into something vaguely resembling a braid.

It was lumpy. Uneven. Too loose at the top and way too tight by the bottom. But it was unmistakably a braid.

You leaned quietly against the doorframe, arms crossed, heart about ready to melt right through your ribs.

Max finally spoke, dry as ever. “You’re bad at this.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t act like you didn’t ask me.”

“I did not,” she shot back.

“You walked in here and dropped a hair tie in my lap.”

“That was not asking.”

“Felt like it.”

Max was silent for a beat. Then: “…It’s not the worst braid ever.”

Billy blinked. “Thanks, I guess.”

You stifled a laugh, watching as he tied off the end of her braid with the bright blue scrunchie Max had tossed at him earlier. He stepped back, surveying his handiwork like a mechanic judging his own engine fix.

Max craned her neck to get a look in the mirror across the room. “It’s a little jacked.”

Billy threw a cushion at her. She dodged it easily, grinning.

But she didn’t undo the braid.

She didn’t even touch it.

You stepped in then, casual. “Looks cute,” you said, brushing a bit of hair off Max’s shoulder as you passed.

Billy gave you a look—half sheepish, half smug, like see, told you I could do it. You raised an eyebrow. “Not bad for a first time.”

“I had a good teacher,” he muttered, bumping your hip as you passed.

Max looked between you two, clearly suspicious of whatever thing was happening but too cool to comment on it.

Instead, she said, “Next time, you’re learning fishtail braids.”

Billy groaned dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for a salon.”

You just laughed, grabbing a bag of chips and flopping down next to Max. She leaned her head on your shoulder, still wearing that uneven braid like it was a crown.

And Billy?

He sat down beside you both, close but casual, arm thrown across the back of the couch—watching his sister with something new in his eyes.

Something soft. Something real.

And for once, everything felt easy.

[moonlight-joy]

Unveiled Secrets

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: The BAU was stunned to learn Hotch had been secretly dating you, a high-profile lawyer. When you arrived at the office, their teasing only intensified—especially after you revealed how much Hotch actually talked about them. Despite his attempts to stay composed, his fond looks and hand-holding gave him away. The team? Never letting this go.

Pairing: Reader/Aaron Hotchner

Aaron Hotchner had always been a private man. He wasn’t one for sharing personal details—not with strangers, not with acquaintances, and certainly not at work.

So when the team stumbled upon your name in connection to a high-profile case, the reactions were… dramatic, to say the least.

It all started when Garcia pulled up the case details on the conference room screen.

“A well-known CEO is being blackmailed,” she began, scrolling through the information. “Their lawyer is heavily involved in handling the case. They’re one of the most high-profile attorneys in the country, known for representing some of the biggest names in business. Their reputation is—”

She stopped.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mouth falling open slightly.

Morgan frowned. “What is it, Baby Girl?”

Garcia blinked at the screen, then looked at Hotch—then back at the screen.

“Uhh…” She bit her lip. “Guys, we may have… a situation.”

JJ leaned forward. “What kind of situation?”

Garcia hesitated for half a second before enlarging the lawyer’s name on the screen.

Your name.

The room went silent.

Dead silent.

Emily was the first to react. “Wait. Y/N L/N? As in the Y/N L/N? The one who’s been on Forbes’ power list? The one who has an entire wing of the courthouse named after them?”

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Damn. I didn’t know we were dealing with legal royalty.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Not just legal royalty. Hotch’s girlfriend.”

The entire team turned to stare at Aaron.

Hotch, who had been completely calm up until this moment, simply exhaled through his nose.

“I was going to tell you eventually,” he said, voice even.

Garcia gasped. “You were dating one of the most powerful lawyers in the country and you didn’t tell us?!”

Hotch gave her a pointed look. “I don’t discuss my personal life at work.”

Emily crossed her arms, grinning. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been secretly dating a high-profile, ridiculously successful lawyer, and we’re only finding out because of a case?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘secret,’” Hotch said smoothly.

“Oh, I would,” Morgan smirked. “Damn, Hotch. You really had us fooled. You leave work like a machine—no hints, no clues—and the whole time, you’re going home to one of the most well-known attorneys in the country?”

JJ was still processing. “How long has this been going on?”

Hotch didn’t answer right away, which only made the team collectively lose their minds.

“Oh my God,” Garcia breathed. “It’s serious.”

Rossi smirked knowingly. “It must be. Otherwise, Hotch would have shut down this conversation ten minutes ago.”

Hotch remained calm, as always, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—a tell that only Rossi seemed to catch.

Then—before the team could grill him further—Hotch’s phone buzzed on the table.

One glance at the screen, and his entire expression softened.

Emily caught it immediately. “Oh my God. That’s her, isn’t it?”

Garcia practically lunged across the table, trying to peek at the screen. “Does she call you ‘Aaron’? Or do we get something cuter? Like ‘honey’? Or ‘babe’?”

Hotch calmly put his phone in his pocket.

“I’ll meet you all at the jet in an hour.”

And with that, he walked out—leaving chaos in his wake.

The team erupted the second the door closed.

“Okay, I need details!” Garcia practically shouted.

JJ shook her head in disbelief. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

Morgan grinned. “Oh, I can. I mean, think about it—a powerful lawyer and an FBI Unit Chief? That’s a power couple.”

Emily nodded. “And you just know Hotch tries to act all serious and professional at home, but she probably teases him constantly.”

Rossi just chuckled, shaking his head. “This is going to be fun.”

The case required your involvement, which meant you had to come to the BAU to review evidence.

Hotch had warned you that the team knew about your relationship now.

What he hadn’t told you was how dramatic their reactions had been.

So, when you walked into the bullpen in your impeccably tailored suit, heels clicking against the floor with a confidence that only came from years of courtrooms and high-stakes negotiations—

All eyes were on you.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered under his breath. “She’s even more intimidating in person.”

You smirked. “You must be Derek Morgan.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You know me?”

“Oh, I know all of you,” you said smoothly, setting your bag on the conference table. “Aaron talks about you more than he realizes.”

Garcia practically squealed. “He talks about us?!”

You nodded. “He pretends he doesn’t, but trust me—he does.”

Emily grinned. “Please tell me he complains about paperwork.”

You laughed. “Endlessly.”

JJ, still slightly in shock, shook her head. “I just can’t believe this. You’re… you’re Y/N L/N. And you’ve been dating Hotch this whole time?”

You glanced toward Aaron, who was watching the entire interaction with a slight smirk—his version of amusement.

“Well,” you said, “we weren’t exactly hiding it. We just didn’t announce it.”

Morgan shook his head. “Man. We’ve been working with Hotch for years, and somehow, you cracked the code.”

You turned toward Aaron, smiling softly.

“He’s not as complicated as you all think.”

And that? That made Hotch’s expression shift—because you weren’t just saying it. You meant it.

Rossi, who had been watching the whole interaction with quiet amusement, finally spoke up. “Alright, now that we’ve all processed the fact that Hotch is dating a lawyer who could probably destroy us all in court—”

“Definitely could,” you interrupted, smirking.

Rossi chuckled. “We should probably get to work.”

The team reluctantly shifted gears, but as you took your seat beside Hotch, Garcia whispered not-so-quietly to Emily:

“I still think she calls him babe.”

Hotch sighed.

You just smiled.

And when Aaron subtly reached under the table, intertwining his fingers with yours, you knew—

The team was never letting this go.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Please support my work with like and comment

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

I love those posts about what a character is actually like. I feel like ness gets mischaracterised a lot and sometimes bachira

thank you! the mischaracterization in the bllk fandom has always pmo…

bachira isn’t some meek and quiet kid who can’t fight back when someone bullies him; he just doesn’t really care. but if it’s something extremely personal or if someone pisses him off enough, he is perfectly fine with getting violent. (light novel, manga)

ness is not much of a gentleman, and doesn’t really know how to handle his emotions. however, this does not mean that he’s obsessively toxic and attached to whoever he is in love with. this is only with kaiser from the manipulation kaiser has done. (egoist bible, manga)

otoya doesn’t have malicious intent when he cheats on girls (im not defending him; he’s literally my most hated bllk character). he just does whatever he wants, including cheating. he doesn’t mean to hurt the girls he cheat on, he’s just bored. (egoist bible, episode nagi)

sae is someone who cares about his family and is a nostalgic person who loves home. many of his favorite things involve his childhood, such as his favorite show being “maruko chan” or his favorite foods constantly being shipped from home. (egoist bible)

despite being polite, yukimiya actually seems to be one of the meaner blue lock players. other players often comment that “his smile doesn’t reach his eyes” and he does often make snide or crude remarks to isagi, especially during the nel. (egoist bible, implied in manga)

[ithebookhoarder]

(BAU Headcanons) If you fell asleep on them

A/N: So... guess who fell into another fandom? I blame everyone on here and their amazing fics for convincing me I need to give this show and wonderful cast a chance. I may have binged 13 seasons in like a month... oops? I'm also looking at my fav BAU bunch here but I'm open to writing for other characters from the show

Aaron Hotchner

Just like some of the other members of his team, Hotch has a hard exterior that very few people manage to crack through. 

If you and he are in a relationship then I can bet you’ve already had to chip away at it, so you’re already pretty intimate with one another. Falling asleep on him is nothing to bat an eyelid at. If anything, he would welcome the opportunity to relax and hold you close to him.  

It also gives him an excuse to steal a few moments of sleep himself, not daring to move and wake you from your rest. 

He loves holding you close, letting himself listen to the steady beating of you heart as it gently lulls him to become calm enough to shut his eyes. 

However, if you weren’t in a relationship or if it happened in front of the others at the BAU then you know he’d immediately react by saying something about ‘work place conduct’. 

However, he’s clearly saying it for the sake of it as he’d make no effort to wake you or remove you from him. 

In fact, he makes sure to stay still and let you rest peacefully, making sure your neck isn’t bent so you don’t wake up in pain. 

He’d also make sure to lay his jacket over the top of you, a clear sign that you are not to be disturbed - under pain of death. 

David Rossi 

Rossi would be the first to complain if you ever fell asleep on him but it’s all good natured. In fact, he only ever complains about it to you after you’ve woken up and only as a joke between the two of you.

“What am I? Just a pillow to you? Are you trying to say my cooking has made me plump?” 

It’s hard to resist his charming smile, especially when he actually is rather comfortable to lean on. His expensive shirts are always soft to the touch, and the cologne you’d brought him last Christmas lingers as you nestle in close. 

He always make you feel safe, and that is an honour greater than any he’d ever been awarded. 

If it happened in front of the others you know he’d roll his eyes and mutter about the cheek of it all. However, his smile would be enough to tell the others he didn’t mean it. 

“I started reading my manuscript and this is what happens… guess that’s one way to leave a review.” 

He’d be sure to shoot daggers with his eyes at anyone else nearby who looked like they would wake you up. 

He’d also shoot down any possible jokes being made at your expense, his parental nature coming out in full force. 

Derek Morgan

This boy would be so smug if you ever fell asleep on him. Like, if you imagine a Labrador’s tail wagging with one of those big dopey grins, then that’s what he is. 

He is keen to try and capture the moment with a picture, setting it as his phone background to prove to himself it really happened. 

If it happens in front of the rest of the team then you know he is going to keep reminding you and everyone else whenever he gets the chance. 

However, you know that for all the bragging and teasing Morgan is actually super touched by the fact you fell asleep on him and he is keen to offer you a place to lay your head whenever you look like you need to take a beat. 

He even has a blanket and pillow in his go-bag especially for you. 

“Only the best for you, hot stuff.” 

He will never complain about it and - considering how much torture and pain we know this man can endure - he is more than capable of handling any cramp or pins and needles he gets as a result of you lying against him. 

Eventually, he would take the opportunity to try and sleep as well. With his job and his manic lifestyle, if he gets the chance to close his eyes he knows better than to waste it. 

Emily Prentiss

She would be shocked at first, especially if it’s early-on in your relationship. She isn’t really used to public displays of affection and you sleeping with your head on her shoulder is pretty public. 

She would stay as still as possible, though, scared of disturbing you or ruining the moment. She’d also probably be panicking internally, unsure what she was supposed to do. 

However, she soon takes a breath and relaxes. After all, you look so cute when you’re asleep and she is honoured you feel comfortable enough to relax around her like this. 

She doesn’t often get the chance to just sit and be peaceful so she savours the moment you’ve given her. 

She’d end up watching you for a while before relaxing and trying to adjust you so that you’re both comfortable. 

She would also take the opportunity to be affectionate, loving that she can run her hands through your hair and kiss your head without any fear of being embarrassed or rejected. 

After all, we know Emily has a soft centre underneath her tough, bad-ass exterior. She just needs to know she is able to express it. 

JJ

JJ is such a mom to everyone including you, so is over the moon the first time you fall asleep on her. She welcomes it with open arms, happy to melt into the embrace. 

It doesn’t matter if you’ve been together long or not, or if you’re in public. Either way, it feels like a personal badge of honour to be trusted in such a way, whether or not you meant to do it. 

She has enough patience not to move a muscle in case she disturbs you and ruins the moment. She knows that if you fell asleep like this then you probably need the rest. 

JJ would totally form a blanket cocoon around you to keep you warm and toasty as you sleep, wrapping her arms around you and cradling you close.

She’d smile the whole time, pressing kisses to the crown of your head and gently murmuring in your ear whenever you seem to stir. 

“Ssssh, Sleepyhead. It’s ok. I got you. Go back to sleep, honey.”   

If it was just the two of you then she’d be sure to try and move you somewhere more comfortable after a while, like the sofa or your bed. 

However, if you were in public then she would turn into a full mama bear and threaten anyone who came close or tried to disturb you. She has that angry mom look down to a fine art and has made grown men wither with it.

Penelope Garcia 

This beautiful baby angel would be so delighted if you fell asleep against her that she’d probably wake you up by accident after squealing a little too loudly. 

“Oh, oh, sorry. Sorry! Go back to sleep. I’m staying as still as a statue, you precious angel, I promise. So you just close your eyes and let me hold you.”

She’d probably manage like five minutes before she moves again and wakes you up, but it was enough time for her to steal a few private photos to commemorate the moment. 

They will most definitely be the background on her computer the following morning, and possibly yours too.

She would also be sure to make sure she has a blanket and pillow stashed away for you if you ever felt like taking an impromptu nap again when you weren’t at home. 

If you worked at the BAU they’d be kept in her lair - or your private napping room, as she tells you. 

They’d also be brightly coloured and super soft, chosen specifically by Penelope to make you as comfortable and as happy as possible, even whilst at the government building. 

“Just so you know, I gave them a spritz with this gorgeous lavender mist spray to help you knock right out the moment your pretty head hits the pillow. So, sweet dreams honeybun.” 

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer is a precious boy and would be utterly baffled at first if he looked down and realised you had fallen asleep on him. 

He would be surprised he hadn’t noticed you drooping against him sooner, or that your breathing had slowed as you fell asleep. 

At first he thinks it must be a mistake, immediately trying to ease you off of him. After all, he wasn’t the most comfortable person to sleep on and people are far more likely to find his company irksome rather than soothing. 

However, after you start doing it more often he realises that isn’t the case. 

In fact, he feels rather proud that you’ve got the point in your relationship where you aren’t afraid to relax around him. 

He also learns how not to let it over-stimulate him. It takes some time to train his mind to not think about the possible pathogens that could be passing between you or the way your hair tickles his face. He’s also able to talk to you about positions to curl up in if you ever want to sleep against him again, that he feels more relaxed in. 

He’d also totally be happy to tell you all about whatever his latest hyper-fixation is, knowing the sound of his voice helps you settle better than any lullaby. 

Masterlist

[evieelyzabethh]

"what dreams are made of"

⭒"sunsets or something, aren't you lovely" ⭒~ crush phase Arcane head cannons {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw fem!reader, massive amounts of fluff, slightly pervy jayce, not beta read

an ☞i know this blog has been very Buffy related for a bit but i wanted to try something new. Not that Buffy is abandoned forever, i just wanted to write for more than one fandom

♞Vi ♞

♞Vi tells herself she doesn't have a crush on you, nay, she doesn't even believe in crushes. She thinks they are childish and beneath her and would never even admit she has one. That being said, she is definitely "sweet" on you as Vander would've called it. Vi when having a crush would be an absolute disaster, and this she would be more than willing to admit on her own. Her words never seem to come out right, and even when they do, they're never taken the way she means. She said it herself, when presented a set of options, she somehow always manages to chose the wrong one. For a relationship with Vi to work, you would have to be patient.

♞She certainly doesn't know when enough is enough. She will hang outside of your place of employment, be it the Last Drop or Babette's and insist you allow her to walk you home. Her fists are the one thing she's confident in because there is no nuance in fighting. She doesn't think it's possible for you to be upset with her for beating the shit out of the guy who looked at you funny and would be confused when you get mad at her for this. It's not even that she thinks you are incapable of taking care of yourself, that's just the only way she can think to protect you without it going wrong (and it sometimes still does)

♞She would be into old school chivalry. In a modern, less serious AU, I think she would be the type to stand outside your house with a boombox to apologize because she accidentally shrunk your favorite expensive sweater in the wash. Even within Arcane, I think if she was feeling soft and comfortable enough, she would be the type to carry you over puddles so your shoes didn't get wet or throw stones at your window to get your attention. Not even to go on a big adventure, just to sit on a rooftop and to listen to her hum.

♞I don't think she'd be into getting her crush flowers. She's one of those types who is already hyper exposed to death and wouldn't want to get you anything that has the potential to die. She's not above having Jinx make you some trinket and trying to lie that she made it to impress you, but you know that it's not her handiwork. She does try, though, her and her sticky fingers. Anything your gaze lingers too long on somehow finds its way into your room with a handwritten note from her (her handwriting is shit by the way)

♞As stated above, she is terrible with words yet is most romantic in the most unexpected moments. She is totally the type to hang around doorframes just to lean on them and subtly flex. Does this work? No, but it's funny to see her try and be suave. She succeeds in smaller ways. She is always watching. She notices the small changes in the ways you look at her, knowing when you're trying not to laugh or need her to rescue you from a terrible conversation. The slightly deeper baritone she puts on when she asks, "you alright, pretty?", the way she guides you by the small of your back on instinct. She one of those people who is naturally hot and doesn't realize she doesn't need to try (and don't let her find out she'll be insufferable).

♞I don't think she would confess on her own, it's far more likely you'll have to do it yourself. She would get in her head too much, and her communication skills are awful. She worries that she'll hurt you and won't know how to fix it. She knows relationships are harder work than friendships and she is not confident in her abilities to handle all the responsibility that comes with that. She's reckless with her livelihood, but never you and your wellbeing. Even after a confession, it would take a lot of reassurance that she wouldn't destroy everything.

✭Ekko✭

✭I don't think a crush phase with Ekko would last all that long, especially if it's developed after the Firelight society. I think he's far more self-assured than Vi is and wouldn't see the point in dancing around a relationship. If he wants you and you want him, why make things complicated if they don't need to be. For these reasons, I think he would crush from a far rather than it being a friends to lovers type relationship.

✭Ekko is sappy, let that be known. The first time he sees you time stops. If he's figured out his machine, he may just rewind time to stare at you for a second longer. He becomes a mini-stalker, not breaking into your house or anything, but slyly asking if anyone knows you, where you came from, why he's never seen you before, if you're single? Scar makes fun of him for this, of course, but encourages and indulges him with all he knows

✭The glimpses he sees of you make his whole week. Those short moments you pass by him in a crowd, or he sees you playing with children or passing around food, and he curses himself every time for freezing instead of taking action. And when he does take action, Scar is somewhere around the corner eavesdropping on the conversation and nearly choking on his own laughter when he hears Ekko's opening line, "Tree." Just "Tree". He had meant to say more than that, but when you looked at him, his mind went blank and all he could manage was "Tree" and died inside as you looked up at him confused. Like Vi, he too would stumble over his words at first, or even worse, fall victim to a terribly timed voice crack. He tries to cover it with a cough, but there's really no coming back from that.

✭Lucky for Ekko (who still lays awake at night because of your first interaction), you liked his tree a lot and you talked for hours under it. He walked you home like a gentleman after and shows up the next morning to give you an exclusive tour of the entire place and treats you to lunch

✭After that he pops up everywhere. You need company on an errand, he's some how at your door, checking his watch trying to look nonchalant when he is one of the most chalant people to walk the earth. You get caught in the rain, your eyes aren't deceiving you, that is indeed Ekko in the misty distance with an extra umbrella he 'found' lying around somewhere. You wanna go out one night, that's hilarious because Ekko had the exact same idea and if you're both going out might as well keep each other safe at night.

✭Don't be mistaken, he allows you space. He himself is a man who enjoys solitude, but what is the point of a commune if not community. He can do things alone, and he does, but if he's craving company and you are too, why bother with it. Being together isn't often a big ordeal anyway, sometimes its lounging around in his lab reading a book while he's tinkering away with some good music playing in the background. And sometimes, if the stars align and the moon allows, you slow dance to whatever's playing while talking about your day, even if you spent it together.

✭Ekko can certainly cook. He got quite good at making something out of nothing before his tree, but after, you try convincing him every day to open a restaurant should he ever need some cash on the side. He likes his kitchen a lot, actually, its his private sanctuary. A place where his love of the arts and science come together. In a modern AU, he would totally be on the track to have a degree in biochemistry and plan to open his own restaurant.

✭You two would hang out in his kitchen a lot, and out of the kindness of his heart, he would allow you to lick the spoon anytime he bakes something. It would also be where he confesses, a candlelit dinner for two already set up while both of you prepare what will be your first meal together as a couple.

❂Jayce❂

❂Probably the only one (and Mel) who can pull of being suave. Though he can pull it off, it is not authentic at all. He certainly woos you with it though!! He is a very classic romantic, buying you dozens of roses and wine-and-dining you with fancy champagne and furry rugs, but it's all a facade. He's a really big dork. Unlike the previous two, being suave is the defense he plays rather well. He's a bit scared that when you realize he's really pathetic deep down, you'll be disappointed. He's the man of progress and built like a brickhouse and he is slightly very insecure that's not his personality deep down

❂He enjoys walks in the gardens once you get a bit closer to him. Usually you two will talk in his lab or in your place of work and he'll drop a few cheesy pickup lines with a charming smirk and you'll both laugh it off. You think he's just a flirt for a while and he's really trying to work on you (just very unsuccessfully). It's not until he (very inorganically) tells you he's tired and wants a change of scenery and asks if you'll accompany him to the gardens. For the first time ever, you get one of his toothy smiles instead of those stupid forced smirks and you're really fond of it.

❂From then on, things start progressing much faster. He starts to tell you about Hextech and his theories about the runes and how it all works and babbles about scientific drivel until the sun goes down and, unless you're one of the sciency-types, it goes through one ear and out the other. He's ok with this, he likes having a sponge around to talk things through with, but if you can actually engage, he'd probably get a boner.

❂I feel like out of everyone, after you got close enough, he would do relationship things, creating a very vague space that can leave you questioning whether or not you're together or if you're reading into things too much. This is entirely because he wants to ask you out and he is like 90% percent sure you'll say yes but he's worried about the slim chance you won't and wants you to take the leap for him because he's too scared to.

❂He's a big physical touch guy. Like the type to leave his hands in your back pocket, not even because he's trying to grab your ass, but because he wants to touch you (and your ass). He likes hugs!! He gives such good hugs. While it's usually him leaning on you for touch, placing his head in your lap, grabbing your hands, or letting his hands linger on your hips to rub little patterns, he is beyond excited when it's you are initiating. What do you mean you want a hug from him!!! What do you mean you want to hold his hand!! He is so over the moon excited.

❂Slight side tangent, but if you went out in something low cut he would constantly be staring at your chest. Not even in a perv way (most of the time), but to make sure it doesn't fall down. He has gotten very sly at pulling it up for you in an unnoticeable way. There are a lot of similar acts with him, casual touches here and there. Unsticking your hair from your lip gloss, pulling stray leaves or flower petals out of your hair, making sure the clasp of your necklace stays in place at the back of your neck.

❂I know he smells nice. Dior Sauvage warrior right here!!! He would go slightly overboard with it on the day he confesses just because you said you liked it. He would plan everything to an absolute 't'. A walk in the gardens where you had what he considers your first date, a written speech that become illegible because his hands were sweaty while he was holding it, a specific spot to eat dinner so you got a perfect glimpse of the stars. He would even wait for the day that a specific constellation was in place to perfectly set the mood. He asks you to be his girlfriend like he's proposing, with a single rose and matching bracelets to commemorate the occasion.

☽Viktor☾

☾Viktor is another one I don't really see having a crush just because he is so busy all the time, but I don't think you'd need to work in the lab to catch his attention. I think simple things, like kindness, would really be all he needs. He appreciates someone who doesn't coddle him or look at him funny because he's from Zaun or because of his leg. Someone who is considerate to his disability while also treating him like a person, not like some porcelain doll

☾I think once he found you, he would find it slightly hard to know what to do next. He likes your banter when you come around and he knows he likes you, it's the pursuing part that gets him tripped up. He is someone who likes to have it planned out and he has no idea where he would take you on a date or what you enjoy or who you are really

☾Every hang out would eventually turn into a game of 21 questions. What's your favorite color? What do you like to do in your free time? What's your least favorite chore to do? It all seems very random you two jump from topic to topic when the conversation stills. He also just adores hearing you go on and on about things. They could be the simplest of things, like going into very heavily deep detail as to why your favorite colors purple, or something more substantive, like a full and deep analysis of your favorite book, or just gossip. This man is a D-1 gossiper!!

☾He likes having you around in general. Like Jayce, he enjoys having someone to bounce ideas off of or just being able to hear them out loud. He also feels more at ease around you. Unlike pretty much everyone else, he wouldn't freeze up around his crush. If anything, he's more prone to fault without them there. He gets too wrapped up in work, he forgets to take breaks, he forgets to eat. You're always there to remind him to do what he forgets to the point that you don't even have to say it anymore. He's gotten so good about it, sometimes he makes lunch for the both of you.

☾He absolute adores your banter. He's not as serious as people think he is. He can crack a joke or two. He's sarcastic and witty and a leader of the sassy man apocalypse. He would absolutely die without hearing your laugh at his stupid jokes.

☾On a different note, he would start using pet names so smoothly. It would start slowly with a simple nickname and then eventually progress into one of those old, classic nicknames. Dear or darling would definitely be his go-to's and he would only get bolder as you start to blush more. He's cocky too, he is very aware of the effect he has, and he likes pushing your buttons. It's like a game, the more he picks and prods, the greater his reward is.

☾I also have a feeling he'd be a slight neat freak. Like his lab is a different story, his work is chaotic, but he cannot come home to chaos. I think if you let him into your space, he wouldn't definitely tidy it up subtly. Wiping dust off books and slightly moving objects on your desk so they look more orderly. I feel like this carries over to appearance too. He has a specific way of tying his shoes and he's very meticulous about what ties he wears and knows how to do like every type of knot.

☾He also definitely smells good. You can't convince me he doesn't have like a 12-step shower routine and takes advantage of all of Piltover's fancy soups and colognes. In contrast to Jayce, however, his smelling good is him smelling super clean. Like it's not a scent out of a bottle or anything, nor does he smell exactly like soap, he smells distinctly like himself and very clean.

☾I think he would confess very simply and nonchalantly. It would be a late night in the lab by candlelight or some sort of low lighting has him feeling romantic and bold. He peppers it into conversation smoothly, something like "It's too late tonight, but tomorrow we should go on our first date." And you are taken aback, which he knew you would be. You do ask if he was officially asking you to be his girlfriend and he tells you "he doesn't really like labels", but the wide smile and kiss he gave you said otherwise.

☼Mel☼

☼Probably one of the smoothest talkers out of everyone here. She would have absolutely no problems charming anyone into a relationship. Similar to Jayce, it would be a bit superficial at first. Feeling like she would need a relationship to feel complete, not in a self-esteem way, but rather in an aesthetic way. She is always trying to look very put together and like she has everything under control, and the "complete" life looked like one with a significant other. She eventually realizes a complete life doesn't need a partner, but her complete life wouldn't be complete without you.

☼Mel would feel like she's being obvious towards her crush when she in reality is not. She has this very professional tone about her, and she eventually has to learn that even the sweetest things sound manufactured in that manner. She would talk very softly with her crush, a lot of whispers during council meetings and sweet mutterings while it's just the two of you. This reminds me, if you're shorter than her, she has the very attractive habit of leaning down to speak to you.

☼Big on eye contact. She could talk you unto circles, your pupils dilated and just nodded at anything she says. She finds this very amusing. She is aware of the effect her voice has on people, and she would be lying if she said she didn't put into hyperdrive when it came to you. It's not even a different voice she put on, it's just the way she speaks and looks you in your eyes that's so captivating. She also gives it right back when it comes to listening to you. Though she has the habit of wanting to fix your problems for you, she's gotten good at asking if you even want her advice or just want her to listen.

☼She would love matching with her crush. Once again, someone who visuals are very important to, she likes the idea that you look together, even if you aren't. This also applies to her finding any way for you to be together at public events. Inviting you as her date to a gala or not wanting to do a grocery run alone, she would ask you to come with. She loves looking like you two are dating.

☼Gossip sessions would go insane. It's definitely a scheduled weekend event with face masks and nails, she'll braid your hair and in return you'll pick out new charms and styles for her to put hers in. Part of it is because she likes being well informed about what everyone is up to and part of it is bonding over despising the same people in the council (this is directed at Salo). Her favorite part of it is being around you; it's a very intimate activity that she can't get enough of.

☼I feel it in my bones that she's the type to open doors for you. Car doors, carriage doors, your hand will not grace a single doorknob or handle around her. She would also be on top of the weather, festivals and fun events happening, and things concerning to your interests. You will never regret not wearing your rainboots because she would've told you the forecast the morning. Your favorite music artists are coming soon, good thing she told you like a month ago so you could get tickets before everyone else.

☼She is another chef, but of the comfort food variety. Her food just tastes like a warm hug, and she is the first you go to when feeling under the weather. She takes great pride in this. She doesn't cook often and she doesn't even enjoy the activity that much, preferring to eat out or have a private chef, but she likes that she has something that she can do for you.

☼I don't think it would take her very long to ask you out, especially if she felt like the feelings were reciprocated. To her, there's no point in prolonging the inevitable and she really likes the way your names sound together. I think she is also sappy; she is just incredibly well at hiding it. All of the acts of service mentioned above are usually done casually. She wins the nonchalant Olympics even when she's not trying to. She thinks it's incredibly clear, but the way she comes across doesn't convey that. Thus, her sappy moments are few and far between and she gets very bashful when they're mentioned.

☼Definitely has a scrapbook of your times together as well as a diary where she talks about you for pages on end. The discovery of this would lead to the confession. It would be uncomfortable for her just because it would be so impromptu and that is not how she likes to do things. She would be very vulnerable and honest about her feelings and would call this your "unofficial" confession. She would later go all out as she had always intended during her confession

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Pick One: Magical Girl Show or Rom-com. You cannot be both.

Early in season four we get the episode Gang of Secrets. An episode that ends with Marinette outing her secret identity to Alya. A touching moment that sparked outrage across the fandom because it meant that Marinette had made the choice to reveal her identity to her best friend while keeping her hero partner in the dark.

This choice spat in the face of the exceptions that many fans had for the series. Thousands of pre-season-four fanfics feature moments where Ladybug and Chat Noir promise each other that they'll be the first to know each other's identities. After the Alya reveal, scores of fanfics were written to salt on Marinette's choice to tell the "wrong" person.

Most of these fics feature a betrayed Chat Noir quitting or otherwise punishing Ladybug for breaking their promise to be each other's first, thereby destroying his faith in their partnership. But that promise was never made on screen. It only existed in the realms of fanfic and, when Chat Noir finally found out in canon, his reaction was largely neutral. He never once blamed Ladybug for her choice or pushed for a reveal or even asked for the right to tell one of his friends.

So what happened here? Why did the fans have such wildly unrealistic expectations of canon? Were their expectations even unrealistic or did canon betray them? The answer to that is not as straight forward as you might think because it all comes back to one of Miraculous' many, many, many writing problems: Miraculous is trying to be both a Magical Girl Show and a romantic comedy, but those are not genres that mesh. You can only be one (or you can be a third thing that we'll get to at the end as it's the easiest way to fix this mess, but I want to mostly focus on where the anger is coming from and why the writing is to blame.)

To discuss this mismatch, we're going to do something that breaks my heart and talk about some of Origins flaws. While I love that episode and unironically refer to it as the best writing the show ever gave us, it's not perfect and its flaws are all focused around trying to set up both genres. Do note that I'm going to use a lot of gender binary language here as magical girl shows have a strong focus on gender segregation and rarely if ever acknowledge gender diversity.

Let's Talk Magical Girls

Magical girl shows are shows that center on young women and their friendships. While male love interests are often present in these shows, the boys tend to take a backseat and function primarily as arm candy while the girls save the day and carry the narrative.

A great example of this is the show Winx Club. This show features a large cast of teenage girls who save the magical universe from various threats with their magical powers. Each girl has a love interest, but the boys are usually off doing their own thing and only occasionally show up for a date or to give the girls a ride on their cool bikes or magical spaceship. I don't even think that we see the guys fight or, if we do, it's a rare thing. They are not there to save the day. They are there to be shipping fodder.

Like most magical girl shows, Winx Club starts with the main character making friends with one of the girls who will eventually become part of her magical girl squad. This brings us back to Miraculous.

Did you ever find it weird that Origins implies that Marinette has no friends? She doesn't even have a backbone until new girl Alya shows up to become Marinette's First Real Friend:

Marinette: I so wish I can handle Chloé the way you do. Alya: You mean the way Majestia does it. She says all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing. (pointing at Chloé) Well, that girl over there is evil, and we are the good people. We can't let her get away with it.

This is a bizarre opening because Miraculous is not about Marinette making friends or learning to stand up for herself. If you skipped Origins and just watched the rest of the show, then you'd have no clue that Marinette wasn't close with her classmates before this year. You also wouldn't know that Alya was new in town and you definitely wouldn't know that Marinette had never stood up to Chloé before this year. So why is this here? Why waste screen time setting up elements that aren't actually important to canon?

Miraculous did it for the same reason that Winx Club did it: magical girl shows traditionally start with the main character making friends with at least one of her eventual female teammates because Magical Girl shows are all about the girls and their relationships. The boys are just arm candy.

But Miraculous isn't a magical girl show. The writers have explicitly stated that it's a rom-com and romantic comedies aren't about female friendship. They might have female friendships in them, but that's not where the focus is. The focus of a rom-com is on the romance and Origins is very clearly all about the romance.

Origins as a Rom-com

Origins has a lot on its plate. It has to establish the villain's motivation for the first time, show us how the heroes got their miraculous, show us how the heroes first met on both sides of the mask, show us how they met their respective best friends, and show us how the heroes dealt with their first akuma. It would be perfectly understandable if this 40 minute two-parter didn't do anything with the romance. They have a full show to give us that!

In spite of this, Origins has some incredibly touching moments for both Ladynoir and Adrienette because romance is the heart of Miraculous. It is the main focus of the show. The driving motivation for both of our leads and the majority of the show's episodes. To tell the story of how their journey started without at least one of them falling in love would feel wrong. That's why we see both of them fall in love!

First we get Chat Noir giving his heart to his bold and brilliant lady, then we get Marinette's heart being stolen by the shy sweet boy who never once thought to blame her for her snap judgement of his character. We even get a touching moment where Chat Noir inspires his lady to accept her role and be Ladybug, leading her to boldly face their enemy and call him out:

Roger: I have a new plan, unlike you! Move aside and let the pros do their thing. You've already failed once! Ladybug: …He's right, you know. If I'd captured Stoneheart's akuma the first time around, none of this would have happened! I knew I wasn't the right one for this job… Cat Noir: No. He's wrong, because without you, she'd no longer be here. (they look at Chloe) And because without us, they won't make it, and we'll prove that to 'em. Trust me on this. Okay? Ladybug: Okay.

I love this moment, but it does lose a little of its power when you remember that we had an Alya-driven variation of this exact same thing five minutes prior:

Alya: HELP!! (Marinette suddenly gets filled with courage. She gets the case out of Alya's bag and puts on the Miraculous. Then, Tikki appears, happy to see Marinette again.) Tikki:(raising her arms) Mmmm! Marinette: I think I need Ladybug! Tikki: I knew you'd come around! Marinette: Well, I'm still not sure I'm up for this, but Alya's in danger. I can't sit back and do nothing.

This scene initially confused me because - if Miraculous is a rom-com - then why would you make Alya the reason that Marinette became Ladybug? Why wouldn't you have Chat Noir be the one in danger so that Marinette chose to fight because of her love interest and then encourage that bond with the later scene of him encouraging her? Why split the focus like this? Why give Alya so much attention?

In case you haven't figured it out, it's because Origins is trying to establish two different genres of show. Two genres that will continue to fight for the rest of the series (or at least the first five seasons).

Magical Girls Vs Rom-com

Why is Alya the one to shake off the nightmare dust and inspire the others during the season five finale? Why is Alya the one that Marinette trusts with all of her plans while Chat Noir is kept in the dark? Why does Alya and Marinette's friendship get so much more focus than Adrien and Nino's? Why was Alya the only temp hero who got upgraded to full time hero?

It's because Alya is Marinette's second in command in a magical girl show and magical girl shows focus on female friendships while the boys are just there to be cute and support the girls.

Why do most of Marinette's talks with Alya focus on Adrien? Why is Chat Noir the only other full time holder of a Miraculous for the first three seasons and then again for the final season? Why do Marinette's friends become more and more obsessed with Adrienentte as the show goes on? Why is the love square's identity reveal given so much more narrative weight than any other identity reveal?

It's because Miraculous is a rom-com and the love square is our end game couple, so of course the story focuses on their relationship above all else!

Are you starting to see the problem?

Circling back to our original question: no, it was not unreasonable for the fans to expect that the Alya reveal would have massive negative consequences for Ladynoir. That is what should happen in a rom-com and Miraculous is mainly written like a rom-com. But the writers are also trying to write a magical girl show and, in a magical girl show, Alya and Marinette's friendship should be the most important relationship in the show, so it makes perfect sense that the show treats the Alya reveal as perfectly fine because the Alya reveal was written from the magical girl show perspective.

When it comes to Miraculous, if you ever feel like a writing choice makes no sense for genre A, re-frame it as a thing from genre B and it suddenly makes perfect sense which is fascinatingly terrible writing! It's no wonder there are people who hate the Alya reveal and people who will defend it with their life. It all depends on which genre elements you've picked up on and clung to. Neither side is right, they've both been set up to have perfectly valid expectations. Whether those expectations are valid for a given episode is entirely up to the mercurial whims of the writers!

How Do We Fix This Mess

At this point, I don't think that we can, the show is too far gone, but if someone gave me the power to change one element of Miraculous, that element would be this: scrap both the magical girl stuff and the rom-com stuff and turn Miraculous into a team show where the friendships transcend gender.

At this point, I've written over a quarter of a million words of fanfic focused on these characters (the brain rot is real) and one thing I've discovered is that it is damn near impossible to keep Adrien and Alya from becoming friends. They're both new to their school while Marinette and Nino have gone to the same school for at least a few years. Alya and Adrien are both obsessed with Ladybug plus Adrien is a natural hype man who loves to support his friends and Alya loves to talk about her blog. Alya is dating Adrien's best friend. On top of that, Alya, Adrien, Nino, and Marinette are all in the same class, meaning that they pretty much have to be spending time together five days a week unless French school don't give kids a chance to socialize or do group projects. If so, then judging them for the first issue, but super jealous of the latter.

Given all of that, why in the world is does it feel like Alya is Marinette's close friend while Adrien is just some guy who goes to Alya's school? Along similar lines, while canon Marinette barely talks to Nino, I've found that Marinette and Nino tend to get along smashingly, especially if you embrace the fact that they have to have known each other for at least a few years.

If you embrace this wider friendship dynamic and scrap the girl squad, replacing it with Alya, Adrien, Marinette, and Nino, then the fight for narrative importance quickly goes away. It's no longer a question of is this episode trying to be a magical girl show or a rom-com? Instead, the question is: which element of the friend group is getting focused on today? The romance or the friendship?

A lot of hero shows do this and do it well. I think that one of the most well known examples is Teen Titans. That show has five main characters and the focus is usually on their friendships, but there is a very clear running romantic tension between the characters Robin and Starfire with several episodes giving a good deal of focus to their romance. I'd say that this element really starts in the show's the 19th episode - Date with Destiny - and it all culminates in the movie that capstones the series: Trouble in Tokyo. The character Beast Boy also gets a romance arc and, while it's more short lived, it's further evidence that you can have strong romances and strong friendships in the same show and even the same episode. You just have to own the fact that boys and girls can be friends with each other, a very logical thing to embrace when your show has decided to have a diverse cast of heroes instead of imposing arbitrary gender limitations on its magical powers.

I couldn't figure out a way to work this into the main essay, but it's relevant so I wanted to quickly point it out and give you more to think about re Origins. Have you ever found it weird how Origins gives both Adrien AND Marinette the "I've never had friends before" backstory and yet wider canon acts like Marinette has this strong amazing friend group while Adrien doesn't seem to care about making friends and instead focuses all his energy on romance? Why give both the protagonist and the supposed deuteragonist this kind of origin if it's not going to be a major element of the show? It makes so much more sense to only give one of them this backstory and then focus that person's character arc on learning about friendship.

[pastara-cell]

In light of recent events with iskall85 (+stressmonster?) i’d like to take a moment to thank around 98% of the community. I know its rough, and some people are upset or curious, but the community is handling it wonderfully right now, and I’m extremely proud of everyone who is taking a step back and not harassing creators. Heres a list of things we, as a community, can do to help!

1. Please don’t harass any of the Ccs! By that, I mean Hermitcraft AND vault hunters. I know that you’ve heard it a billion times by now, but I do want to emphasise that they have said they cant say much now, and they’re probably taking it more rough than we are. We aren’t owed any information, even if we would like it, so harassing people will only make the situation worse.

2. Comfort your friends with iskall or stress introjects, irls, fictionkins, alters, etc. reminder that none of this is their fault, and they should NOT be harassed for living their lives as they are.

3. Keep speculation private, or to a minimum. Its human nature of course, to be curious, but discussing it in publicly is a BAD idea. Keep it to the dms, or if you’re going to speculate in your blogs, I recommend not maintaining iskall, and putting the discourse tag in so that people can filter it out.

4. Keep your fanarts and fanfictions up until the situation is clearer, or if you don’t want them up, send them to @pearleisuma to be archived. Just because someone did something does NOT mean that you need to delete anything you worked hard on, it just means be wary making things in the future, involving them, about it, until we get more information.

4. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, Watch ANY commentary youtube channel videos about the situation. This is how false information spreads, and youtubers are going to look to make a quick buck off of anything they can use to blow up. Please only get your information from trusted sources, such as CC’s twitter pages, any videos released by Ccs/streams, or if iskall or stress make a statement themselves.

5. Dont jump to conclusions! Luckily, mumbo has tweeted out that the situation has nothing to do with minors. Jumping to conclusions will lead to misinformation, so do sit back and wait a bit before any assumptions or conclusions.

6. Take care of yourself. Its okay to be sad about them leaving, its okay to be sad that Iskall apparently did something, and its okay to be curious as to what it is about. As a fandom, try to lift eachother up and comfort eachother, rather than bring eachother down about the situation.

Keep being awesome hermitblr, and stay strong 🫶 we’ll get through this

[limethefirst]

Hi! How are you? I was looking for people writing movie shadow after I saw the movie and hoped I could submit a request for you? Can we maybe have shadow with a reader who is a alien hedgehog like him found after him? Shadow when he met the reader takes her in as his own and helps to in a way raise them. After the accident they both were put under statis and met up again in the base 50 years later after he and she had escaped?

Remember Me

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x Hedgehog!reader (platonic)

warnings: spoilers

summary: Shadow takes it upon himself to look out for you even after being frozen for 50 years

a/n: slowly getting back into the writing groove yes!! if i wrote things for other fandoms would you guys burn me at the stake or not❤️

Shadow was used to feeling alone, being the only alien hedgehog constantly surrounded by scientists who saw him as some type of experiment was draining. Of course he had Maria and for her he was forever grateful but she didn't understand how he felt, no one really could. Until you came along, another alien hedgehog that arrived the same way he did, and was now viewed just like he was.

By all means, Shadow, was not considered approachable. He was only ever willingly around Maria and Gerald, and even Gerald was often pushing it, but when you showed up it was hard to catch him alone. He was basically your caretaker, a task he gave himself after seeing how nervous you felt around everyone and how you weren't exactly sure how to regulate the powers you also had.

You sat next to Shadow as Maria put on a new movie she'd found, 'Godzilla', it was called. You didn't like it, it was about an alien, an evil one who destroyed a place on earth called Japan. It made you feel slightly, self conscious? Even though you yourself wouldn't do that or ever thought of committing violent acts against people. Shadow seemingly noticing your discomfort nudged you, drawing your attention away from the self deprivation you were feeling. He looked down at you, giving you a gruff nod, almost like he could read your mind.

His gaze never left your eyes, silently communicating. It was easy to tell what he wanted to say, 'You're not a freaky monster alien who will go and tear up Japan.' Or something along those lines.. the latter was funnier though. Maria glanced over at you two, noticing the subtle communication but also the slight sadness you both had inn your eyes. Although he didn't show it as much, Shadow felt slightly the same upon seeing the movie.

He knew that feeling all to well, he'd seen it, in the eyes of the scientists, guards, everyone who worked here. They thought he was dangerous, and he hated it. Which was why he was determined to make sure you didn't feel the same, because he wasn't sure if he could handle knowing that you also felt like you were a danger, something that was a weapon.

The nights dragged on, and he made sure to keep an eye on you, silently at least. He will never openly show how much he cares. He just will care, and that's good enough for him, although Maria could tell he cared.

Then that night came, where Maria was gone, and so were you. They'd taken Maria from him and grabbed you, pulling you away from him. God, he couldn't stand it, the tears that fell as you screamed for him. He would've tried to do something if it weren't for the fact he was in shock, he'd witnessed one of his closeted friends die in front of him and now he had to watch as they dragged you away, putting you in a small cage as your small hands tried to reach out to him.

Finally there was silence, it was restless, a restless silence that he had to endure for 50 years. Until he was woken up, and all that consumed him was rage. While on the other side of the containment chambers, you'd also woken up, but instead of feeling anger coursing through you, it was fear. You looked around the barren room, the alarms were sounding, and everything was flashing red, suddenly a loud thud broke your nervous train of thought.

You're eyes widened slightly as something punched down the wall, you stepped out of the tube that held you, the liquid used to keep you asleep was drained, leaving your quills wet. The dust slowly began to clear revealing a figure you longed to see since that dreadful night.

"Shadow?.." You're voice slightly trembled as you spoke that name, trying to see him through the red flashing room. Shadow looked at you, his gaze was unwavering but it slightly softened seeing that you were still alive, and unharmed.

He let out a small sigh, his shoulders untensing at your voice, "Let's go," it was rough but his eyes betrayed him. He was grateful, happy to see that you, at least, had survived. He wasn't going to let what happened to Maria happen to you, he swore on that, nothing would harm you.

[hell-fm]

As someone who is NOT touch-averse and moreso sex-favorable or sex-neutral (depending on my hormone level) and still discovering themselves when it comes to what my needs and wants in life are even though I am in my mid30s, I find The Ace Discourse around Alastor very stressful and unhelpful.

How both ends of this discourse talk about it and choose to portray Alastor feels very black and white to me, when that doesn’t reflect my experiences of romance and sex at all. And by this I don’t mean that theres a valid way of doing it and a nonvalid way of doing it. I think it’s more about how I would love people to understand relationships the way I see them and to explore the literal grey areas there.

I guess at some point we as a community need to spell the problems out, so I’ll try..,,

I think the biggest issue here mostly is that plenty of ppl who are ace and even sex-repulsed irl feel attraction to fictional characters and in many such cases that character is Alastor, they want to see him fuck or get fucked. So they like sexual and romantic content with him and try to write him to be demiromantic or sex-favorable or both or whatever else… and that is very valid and fair, because that does reflect the reality of many aroace people. Sometimes people completely erase the nuances there for the sake of smut and romance and I do not particularly like that, but I also lowkey just don’t care? My personal mantra after many years of being a messy fandom bitch is don’t like don’t read. People who like sexual and romantic content with Alastor often say they experience harassment from others who are lowkey just homophobic but use the fact that Alastor is ace as a reason to verbally attack them or threaten to dox them. The claim here is that those people are always allos, which I don’t think is necessarily true. However, I definitely have seen allos do this.

Other aces who are sex-repulsed even in fiction see Alastor as sex-repulsed and romance-repulsed ( I don’t even think theyre wrong at all, that is a very accurate observation from what you see in canon) and get annoyed because so much content with Alastor doesn’t reflect that at all. And that is also a very valid thing to be upset about! It is very unfortunate that Alastor is one of the few ace characters that fans get at all and he happens to be the most shipped guy. I understand why that is annoying, upsetting and feels unfair. I just also think that to claim the problem are allos and this is how allos mistreat ace representation not only erases aroace ppl who are Alastor shippers, but also conflates fanmade, transgressive content with the show. I just don’t think it’s healthy to get mad at people for liking the blorbo differently, especially considering that the ace spectrum is actually fairly wide and thus includes many, many different forms of handling sex and relationships and there simply isn’t just one way to represent it.

The issue here is getting into The Discourse about it, because it wont lead anywhere. Hence why people usually recommend that everyone stays in their lane, which I think is the startest thing you can do. At the end of the day it often seems like semantics to me anyways. One group claims *they said drawing Alastor smut is wrong because he is ace, but ace people can fuck!!!* and the other group claims *Claiming that it’s wrong to say this character is sex-repulsed because some ace people fuck is stupid!!!* and I think both are right. I just think you need to agree to disagree on this one, my dudes. Theres literally no way around it.

However, interestingly what oftentimes falls flat here is the most underrepresented form of aroace realities in fandom, which is the *somewhere in between*. The Alastor that I rarely see in fanfics or fanart, the one who fucks not for sexual pleasure, but to gain something. Or to be entertained. Or out of a masochistic of even sadistic desire. Or to form bonds, to maintain a relationship.

Point 1: sex-favorable doesn’t necessarily mean demisexual. And this is where it gets tricky.

I feel like many aces who maybe are younger, or have always been aware of being ace and/or who grew up with the identity labels maybe can’t imagine sex to be anything but something you consent to with great enthusiasm and desire for sexual pleasure. Many people who are so indifferent to sex or even repulsed by it consider this the only valid form of consent, because that is the line they would never cross. The problem just is that this is not what it’s like for many sex-favorable aces.

Point 2: Sexual attraction is not the same as a libido. You can be ace and not feel sexual attraction, but have a functioning libido

The reason why Heat/Rut works so well as a trope for aces who ship Alastor is because sometimes that is what it feels like for us. Hormonal fluctuations causing your body to seek out sexual stimulation while you personally really wouldnt know who to go to for it, because arousal is just a bodily reaction to you, not something that you want to happen. This might be confusing for many allos, because they also have a concept of difference between attraction and libido, but it’s important to point out that aces experience NO attraction. Or in the case of demisexuals, just very little attraction. Many aces experience attraction to concepts or if they are sexually experienced, they might have physical Pavlovian responses. But there’s no day to day attraction to people in the same way allos experience it.

Point 3: sex-neutrality and the problem if seeing sex as either inherently positive or inherently negative

Something I find myself relating to the most is a very neutral relationship to sex and I feel like that it something I never be talked about online. Not in fandom, not on Instagram. It feels like being a unicorn because if you are not either avoiding sex like the plague or enthusiastically consenting, you are not able to consent to sex somehow.

Idk if this has to do with people either never having had sex, or only having bad experiences or being a young allo and not understanding that sex is more than just plap plap plap uhn uhn SPLOURCH, but there’s a lot of reasons to have sex with someone CONSENSUALLY without it being about sexual pleasure. In my personal experience, I found the physical connection during sex very unique and powerful, it feels like a very neutral way of connecting to someone. It is very hard to explain with words, but I think it’s mostly about trust building and getting to know your partner physically in the most intimate way possible. Especially aces who arent aro often say this is why they have sex. It’s not something they need, but it’s about counting freckles, smiling at each other and feeling skin and just intimacy in general.

Having peaked into a few texts about psychoanalysis makes you realize that both allos and aces have sex for many reasons other than just sexual attraction.

In less romantic cases, ppl have sex because they enjoy the power dynamic, sometimes it’s to get your mind off of other things or because it’s a means to an end. Maybe even because you enjoy the vulnerability. Some people have sex because they think it’s just what you do, even if you technically don’t have to do it. And none of these scenarios happen nonconsensually to these people, because they just don’t think much of it and sex isn’t a big deal to them. That is the Definition of being sex-neutral. It’s also why some sex workers are ace and only find this out about themselves when they stop sex work and realize they don’t really miss having sex at all, but also don’t feel particularly bad about having done it.

Point 4: Aces love kink

I could write an entire essay about being ace and BDSM, this is still one of these topics where theres so much ressources online and people still get surprised when you tell them about it, but I already spend a lot of time on this post and would like to either never talk about this or maybe make a big post sometime in the future when people least expect it.

But just so you know: BDSM isn’t about sex, sex can play a role in it and does so for many people, but especially no-touch domsub, bondage, sadism and masochism can be activities that happen without sex being ever a part of it. Not even an afterthought.

I have read quite a few fanfics where any of these 4 points were explored with Alastor and I think it would do good for people to consider these options more for cool and interesting dynamics that are more unusual, especially considering the specifically weird flavor of Alastor. But at the end of the day people can write whatever they want and it’s not my business. If this post reaches even just one person and they feel like they gained new insights, that’s a win for me!

[writing-the-stars]

Unspoken, Unheard

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader; Platonic!Morgan x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a high-stakes case, you face the terrifying task of being bait for a dangerous unsub. As the mission spirals out of control, the unacknowledged bond between you and Hotch is tested, forcing him to confront the risks of letting his heart lead in a world where vulnerability could mean losing everything.

Warnings: Angst (It's Who I Am), Emotional Distance (On Hotch's End. Go Figure), Canon-Typical Violence, Body Injury (Very Minor), No Use of Y/N or Physical Descriptors, Happy Ending. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 6.6k (This was a BEAST)

A/N: Happy New Year!!! This is my very first Criminal Minds fic EVER AND my first story of the new year!! I have been a fan of this show for such a looong time. So I'm really excited to be introducing this as a fandom I write for. I have been hyperfixating on Hotch for a while now (something about stoic, emotionally unavailable people really gets me). Anyway, this really was a labor of love and a passion project. Thank you all for reading! I truly hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

A sudden sharp, insistent knocking echoes through the quiet hotel room, jolting you from your restless sleep. Adrenaline surges through your veins, heart thrumming in your ears, as you instinctively reach for the weapon on your nightstand. Blinking against the fog of your interrupted sleep, your mind races, trying to make sense of what ripped you from your sleep.

You listen carefully, waiting to hear if there is anything that could give you context to your current situation. But the silence returns, as if it had never been broken. You approach the door cautiously, your fingers curling tightly around the handle of your gun. Pressing your eye to the peephole, you freeze when you see Hotch standing on the other side. Relief floods through you and you exhale shakily, but only for a moment as you come to the grim realization that there must be another victim. You set your weapon down, running a hand over your head as you prepare yourself for the bad news and a new case development.

But as you open the door, your rehearsed professionalism falters.

Hotch is far from the professional, composed self he presents to the world. His dark hair is unkempt, the gel that usually holds it perfectly in place seemingly forgotten. His v-neck shirt hangs loose around his clavicle, giving you a glimpse of his defined pectorals, and his pajama pants pool awkwardly at his feet, as if he didn’t pull them up all the way before reaching you. The typical mask of calm authority he wears is nowhere to be found as he stares at you with wide, haunted eyes, face pale and glistening with sweat.

There is clear tension in his posture, his breathing a little too shallow and his expression a little too tight. You’ve never seen your friend like this before. Something unnerved him and quite frankly it was starting to rattle you too. 

Hotch hadn’t really thought any of this through. The visceral image of your body disfigured and mutilated just like the victims of this case filled him with raw terror. He needed to see you.

He had to make sure you were safe. He needed to know that you were alive and still intact. To know that you will still look up at him with that wide-eyed gaze filled with so much trust and quiet adoration that it makes his guarded heart falter. To know that when a case is too heavy and you all are exhausted and frayed at the edges, you will still throw him one of those smiles— one that tells him you still believe in him, that you know he will get you all through it. That you are still his team. To know that he will still hear the warmth of your laughter around the bullpen, cutting through the darkest of days at the BAU because you just had that way about you. That quiet, effortless brightness that made the worst days bearable. And he knew it wasn't just the job you were good at; it was the way you kept everyone together.

Most of all, he needed to know that you would still be you. That this job hadn’t taken you away from him— that it hadn’t stolen one more thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

But as the seconds stretch on, the initial terror that gripped him so tightly begins to subside and his mind begins to regain control. The logical Hotch starts to take over, reminding him that everything is fine. That it was only a dream, an irrational fabrication, and he is not the kind of person to allow emotions to overrun his decisions. 

He’s being reckless and this moment of weakness could jeopardize the team, and everything he has worked so hard to build. He needs to turn and leave before this situation gets any more out of hand, but it’s too late. The lock clicks. The door swings open and there you are, alive and whole. His breath catches. He had feared the worst— no, not feared, he’d seen the worst in his nightmare— but you’re here, standing right in front of him. The sheer relief almost makes his knees buckle. 

“Hotch?” 

Your voice is soft but laced with concern, the sight of him so disheveled, so unguarded, sets off a ripple of panic in your chest, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He stands there, staring at you as though he can’t believe you are standing in front of him. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and his eyes dart across your face, taking in every detail as though memorizing it.

“Hotch?” you repeat, your brows knitting together, “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hoarse, a shallow attempt at the calm, authoritative tone he usually uses. 

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re alright. We’ve been up late. Thought you might need to check in."

His words are careful, almost rehearsed, but you still hear the vulnerability he’s trying to mask. His eyes dart away from yours, down to the floor, and you can almost see him retreating into himself, as if he’s trying to hide from you. 

"Are you sure you’re okay?" you press a little, unable to ignore the worry curling in your chest. This isn’t just about the case. Something deeper is going on, and you aren’t going to disregard it. 

You step out a little into the hallway, bringing yourself closer to Hotch, trying to gauge if you’re reading him wrong. But this isn’t like him— Hotch wouldn’t show up at your door in the middle of the night without reason.

He looks as if he is barely holding himself together. You know him well enough to know when something is wrong, and in this moment, everything about him screams that he is on edge. It isn’t just exhaustion or stress— it’s something more that seems to be warring with him.

His lips press together in a tight line and you can see the muscles in his neck contract. "I’m fine," he says quickly, urgingly, as if he is trying to convince you and himself. 

The wall of his facade is fissuring and, for the first time since knowing Aaron Hotchner, you feel like he might finally let you in. You push a little harder, hoping that acknowledging the crack in his armor will finally shatter the whole illusion. 

“Hotch, you’re not fine,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper, “Why don’t you come in for some coffee? I still have some of the good stuff Rossi bought me for Secret Santa.”

Hotch opens his mouth, but the words get tangled, and he immediately closes it again. His throat is tight, seemingly collapsing on itself. There are so many things he wants to say to you. Truths he wants to reveal, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to venture into that unknown territory, to cross that line that’s already too blurry. There are too many things at stake, too many risks he can’t afford to take. He can not allow his feelings to complicate things any further. 

He takes a step back, and in doing so, you watch him fully retreat into himself, restructuring the wall you had come so close to tearing down. Perhaps you pushed too hard. 

He regains the professional composure you have grown accustomed to seeing. His usual authority slips into something sharp, more distant. "We’re on the job," he says, his voice harder, defensive, "There’s no time for that."

His words sting and you feel a pang of hurt as he continues to shut you out. But you remember who Hotch is. This isn’t about you. This is about him, about whatever had shaken him. Hotch has built walls higher than you can scale. Walls that even you—someone who knows him better than most—aren’t allowed to breach.

"Get some rest," he adds, the words flat and sterile, "We’ll need you ready tomorrow."

Your window for something more is closing, and you can’t bring yourself to stop it. You know what’s happening.

He’s scared. Scared of what? You don’t know, but you have a feeling that you’re the cause. Or at least a part of it.

“Good night, Hotch,” you resign, hoping to mask the disappointment of being kept at arm’s length. 

He gives you one last brief nod before he turns away, heading down the hallway with that same brisk, purposeful stride he always uses when he is trying to put distance between himself and whatever feelings are bothering him.

You stand there, the door half-open, watching him go. Your chest aches at the thought of what could have been. 

Closing the door softly and locking it behind you, you begin to process everything that unfolded. Questions pace your mind as you crawl back into bed. What just happened? What just really happened? The moment felt like a confession of sorts. An almost admission of something Hotch has been holding on to, but doesn’t want you to know. 

And maybe you just imagined it, but you feel like you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. An indication that the connection you have been feeling is not one-sided, a hint that you mean more to him than just a colleague, more than just a friend. You close your eyes, but the image of Hotch at your door stays with you, etched into the corners of your mind. An unanswered question you’re too afraid to ask. 

-*-

The local precinct hums with its usual activity— phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the low murmur of officers exchanging updates on ongoing cases. Yet, the energy is tenser than the previous days of this case. 

Hotch’s behavior has been off all morning— sharply professional, overly focused on the case, and oddly reserved. It isn’t just his terse responses or the way he’s deliberately avoiding meeting your eyes— it’s the heaviness in the air every time you are in the same room. The warmth you usually share with him is gone and his quiet intensity has evolved into a coldness that has made you uncomfortable. 

An awkward distance has grown between the two of you and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s your fault. 

It hurts, but you try to brush it off. You know the job has a way of consuming him. You try to focus on the case, bury yourself in the details, but the weight of Hotch’s distance is becoming impossible to ignore. And you aren’t the only one to feel it. 

“Hey Sunshine,” Morgan approaches your work station, voice quieter than usual, “Everything good with you?” His tone carries a warmth that welcomingly contrasts with the chill you’ve been receiving from Hotch today. 

You look up at him, trying to mask your unease, but Morgan isn’t fooled. 

“You seem a little… off today,” he says, eyes scanning your face with that trademark perceptiveness, “What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, glancing over at Hotch across the room. He’s engrossed in the case files, his posture stiff, his face unreadable. But you feel the weight of his distance press heavy on your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you tell him, trying to diminish the effect Hotch’s behavior is having on you, “Just… tired. The case is taking a lot out of me.”

Morgan doesn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice Hotch getting all icy on you today?”

You still. You didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. All of his standoffish behavior is directed at you. The distance, the sharper words, he’s isolating himself from you. And it doesn’t take a profiler like Morgan to see it.

You glance back at Hotch before returning your gaze to Morgan. He’s known Hotch for a while. Longer than you. If there is anyone you can gain insight from, it would be him. Lowering your voice, you confide in your teammate, “I don’t know, Derek… it’s like… he’s pulling away. Like something’s changed. I don’t know what happened last night, but whatever it is, it’s different. I can’t shake the feeling that I did something wrong.”

“What happened last night?”

“He came to my room.”

“Hotch?” He asks astonished, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Yeah, he said he wanted to check in with me, but… I don’t know, Derek, something was off. It was like he was hiding something from me.” 

Morgan leans in closer, his expression softening with sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Hotch is going through something. I’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s bottling things up.” 

You appreciate the comfort in Morgan’s words, even if they don’t entirely ease your concern. You just wish Hotch would open up to you. Let you be there for him and carry some of the weight of his burdens. 

Morgan sighs, seeing the crease still planted in your brow. “Look, he’s been carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders for a while now,” he states, voice turning more serious, “This job— it changes him. Sometimes it makes him pull away from the people he cares about the most, even if he doesn’t mean to. But I’ll talk to him, alright? I’m not gonna let him shut you out.”

You smile up at him, feeling some of the weight lift off of your shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” he continues, voice morphing into a more professional tone, “We’ve got a case to finish, and we need to focus. But after all this is done, you and I are gonna have a talk, alright?”

You nod, giving him a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Derek.”

Soon after, the reality of the case takes over again. An officer charges in with a disturbing update: a new victim has been discovered. The pattern is clear, the unsub is escalating. The cooling-off period, which had been a crucial factor in the previous profile,  has shrunk dramatically, and you all are running out of time to prevent another murder. The urgency in the room is palpable. The team crowds around the whiteboard and, after analyzing the victims and the unsub’s pattern, you all come to a grim conclusion. You need someone who looks like the previous victims to bait the unsub into a trap.

There is an oppressive silence as the team’s eyes flick to you. The weight of their saddened, knowing gazes is almost unbearable. The fact that you share similar features with the victims of this case had not gone unnoticed by you. In fact, it was one of the first things you noted about the unsub’s victimology. It had been an unsettling realization. One you’d been working through for days, trying to figure out how it would affect your role in the investigation. Now you know. 

The air is heavy with the unspoken implication. You had expected this. It’s part of the job. But nothing can prepare you for the moment when the possibility becomes real. Your gaze flicks to Hotch, but he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the board, on the files, on anything but you. He was desperate. Looking for an out, for a solution that did not involve putting you in harm’s way. 

“Hotch,” Morgan says, cutting through the silence, “We need someone who looks like the unsub’s previous victims. We don’t have time to waste.” 

He glances at you, eyes softening, then back to Hotch, sensing the unspoken hesitation. Hotch’s expression darkens. He looks between Morgan and you, his mouth set in a tight line. You can see the internal battle in his eyes—he wants to object, to find another way—but the case can't wait.

“Alright,” Hotch concedes stiffly, his voice potraying none of the inner turmoil he’s feeling, “We’ll set up the trap. We don’t have time for anything else.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment, pushing away the surge of panic that’s threatening to take hold of you. You know it’s the best strategy. It’s what has to be done, and you will do it. But you don’t have to like it.

“You good with this?” Morgan asks, his tone far more personal than professional. He wants to make sure you’re okay, wants to be sure you aren’t being pushed into something you aren’t ready for.

You give a small nod, more for your own sake than his. “I’m good,” you lie, voice steady even though your insides feel anything but.

After your confirmation the team is immediately on, discussing the logistics of setting up the trap. Your gaze flickers to Hotch once more, and for a moment, you think you see something shift in his eyes— something that isn’t just professional concern. It almost looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. He just turns back to the board, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.

His mind races, unable to focus on the task at hand. His thoughts are consumed with you— the thought of you being so close to danger. He can’t stand it. The very idea that you will be bait— the possibility of you being exposed to the unsub, potentially hurt— makes his insides twist with dread. But he can’t show it. Not now. Not when the mission is the priority.

He focuses on the details, assigning roles, making decisions. But every time his eyes shift to you, his stomach tightens. Bait. It’s a professional term, a necessary risk. But to him, it feels like a betrayal—one he couldn’t afford to confront.

-*-

You stand near the edge of the scene, trying to focus on the instructions being relayed through your comms. The humid, night air clings to your skin— another layer pressing on the building panic in your chest. You watch as your team slips seamlessly into their positions with practiced precision. You all have done this before, it isn’t unfamiliar territory; however, it’s different when it’s your life on the line.  

You’re the one baiting the unsub, alone, vulnerable. There’s no guarantee of your safety, no script to follow that ensures a happy ending. You’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way, and that knowledge frightens you more than you’d like to admit. You try to steady your breathing, but your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts. This is the moment when everything could go wrong, and that thought sets fear, real visceral and terrifying fear, the kind you’ve been pushing down for hours, alight in your bones. 

You feel him come up behind you, his presence heavy, solid and grounding. You feel the weight of his eyes on you. The tension from before charging the air around you. Up until now, his focus has solely been on the operation. You know he is just as worried as you are, maybe even more so, but his stoicism doesn't allow him to show it. You wonder if his concern is more focused on the mission going well or on the risk this poses to you. Regardless, he is a comforting presence, one you feel safe to confide in. 

“Hotch,” you murmur, almost too quietly for him to hear, turning to face the man who has grown so dear to your heart. 

He looks at you, expression unreadable, but his quiet intensity soothes some of your panic. 

“Are you sure about this? I- I don’t know if I can do this,” your voice shakes, highlighting the fear you’ve been holding back all night.

Hotch struggles to give you an answer. You are looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and all he can think about is last night— the image of you mutilated, the fact he couldn’t save you. 

The overwhelming need to protect you surges through him again. He can’t—he can’t let this happen. But he is the leader of this team, it is his duty to see this mission through. To bring this case to a close. He can’t allow his personal feelings to change anything, to interfere with this job. 

He forces his voice to remain steady, professional, “It’s the only way.”

You concede with a nod of your head. You don’t argue. You never do. But Hotch studies you, sees the slight tightening around your eyes, the sharp rise in your chest. It makes his heart ache. He feels the weight of this moment. Knows this is a critical point— not just for the case, but for you. He sees how hard you’re fighting to hold yourself together, and for a split second, the professional facade cracks. He takes a step closer.

“You’re not alone in this,” Hotch says, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your arm, gently squeezing the flesh there. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve been trained for this. You can do this.”

His words settle over you, your heart rate slowing, and for the first time since this operation started, you can breathe again. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeats urgingly, his voice low, protective. It’s a promise. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you two. Hotch’s presence, the way he’s always steady, always calm—it gives you the strength you need.

"Alright," you whisper, your voice steadier now, "Alright, let's do this."

As the team readies themselves, you remain in place, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting. Adrenaline courses through your veins, but it’s not just fear— it’s the anticipation. The waiting. You’ve been taught by Prentiss how to manage these moments, how to keep your emotions in check and your senses sharp. You channel every lesson she taught you— stay calm, stay focused, keep breathing. You’ve studied the unsub’s patterns, and every part of you is ready to play your role.

You survey the area, locating your team’s positions. Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss are stationed inside as backup, Rossi and Reid near the exits, and the remaining local officers are stationed discreetly around the perimeter. You look towards the nightclub, the neon lights, the rhythmic thrum of music faintly audible even from outside. Static crackles in your ear, and you hear Hotch’s voice, calm and steady, “All units are in position.”

The signal to proceed.

You take a deep breath, trying to control your shaking hands. You’re ready. You have to be ready. With one final glance around the perimeter, ensuring your team’s at your back, you steel yourself, stepping into the lion’s den. 

The pulsating beat of the music encapsulates you, the bass reverberating around your body. The flashing lights cast strobe-like shadows across the crowded room. It’s loud, chaotic, and full of life— but that only makes it more dangerous. The lights are meant to disorient and the noise to drown out your thoughts. You see how it is easy for the unsub to get away with his victims. 

You stand in the middle of it all, heart pounding in your chest as you pretend to enjoy the music, to be just another partygoer in the crowd. Prentiss’s voice crackles in your earpiece, barely audible over the music, “You need to relax. You look stiff.”

You nod to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the role. You watch the crowd around you, mimicking their movements. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Hotch standing across the club, blending into the shadows near the back of the bar, dark and brooding. He’s close— but not close enough. He can’t be. You can’t afford to look too conspicuous.

The rest of the indoors team is hiding in plain sight. Prentiss is near the restrooms and Morgan is in a corner booth. And Hotch is watching from the shadows. He’s waiting, calculating—but something in the way he’s watching you makes your heart rate spike.

You catch his eyes and everything feels different. The professional wall between you two starts to crumble. You feel yourself becoming looser under his watchful gaze and you dance. You dance for him, you dance as if you’re the only two people in the room. And Hotch can’t take his eyes off you. 

But then you feel it. A shift in the crowd. 

He’s not the tallest man in the room, but he has a presence that immediately commands attention. His gaze is cold, calculating, but there’s something oddly magnetic about him. He moves through the crowd with purpose, like he knows exactly what he’s looking for. His eyes flick over the people around him, assessing each one with the precision of a predator.

As he approaches you, you feel a rush of adrenaline, but you push it down. Emily’s training coming back to you. He stops in front of you, gaze flicking to your face, studying you for a beat longer than necessary.

He smiles— a dark, knowing smile. “I’ve been watching you,” he says, his voice a hair louder than the music, his tone carrying an eerie calm.

You force yourself to keep your composure. "Have you?" You raise an eyebrow, playing the part. The unsub takes a step closer, his eyes flickering down to your body, sizing you up. You know what he’s doing, know exactly how he’s visualizing your body and all the horrific things he’ll do it— just like the previous victims. It makes your skin crawl. 

“You’re not like the others,” he says, his voice lower, whispering in your ear, but thick with amusement. He’s toying with you.

You manage a small smile, “What makes you think that?” You tease, pretending to be at ease. 

His hand snakes up your body, eyes never leaving yours, “You’ve got a different look to you. You don’t belong here.”

The trail of his hand on your body sends a chill down your spine. He’s not being aggressive— yet —but the interaction feels like an invitation to a game. He’s testing the waters. 

“I belong where I want to belong,” you reply, lifting your chin up to appear more confident than you actually are.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with something darker. “Maybe you do,” he says, voice quieter now, “Or maybe you're just pretending.”

You take a step back freeing yourself from his grasp, his imposing presence becoming overwhelming. The unsub’s smile falters just a fraction. A flicker of suspicion, quick but undeniable, passes over his face. 

You take a breath, keeping your face neutral, trying not to let anything slip. “We all pretend sometimes,” you answer smoothly, “What about you?”

For a moment, his eyes narrow, the two of you engaging in some kind of silent battle, each trying to read the other. He’s intrigued, but he hasn’t made up his mind about you yet.

“I’ve seen your type before,” the unsub says, taking a step closer to you, shortening the distance you previously implemented, “You’re always looking for something. People like you—”

You cut him off quickly, hoping to regain control of the situation. “People like me? And what exactly is that?”

He leans in a little closer, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “The ones who can’t find meaning in their lives, so they run to places like this thinking they can find answers. They never do.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as his eyes move over you again, this time lingering on your eyes, like he’s searching for something in you— something real. But you know what he’s doing. He’s trying to find a weakness. A slip.

The air between you two grows heavier, and despite everything you’ve been trained to do, despite the calm that you’re trying so hard to project, you feel the pressure building. Your heartbeat picks up, but you push it down. You can’t let him see you panic.

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re looking for,” you say, your voice more uncertain than you want it to be. You quickly mask the hesitation with another smile, but this time it doesn’t feel as convincing.

His eyes flicker— just for a moment— across your face. Something about the way you said that, the slight nervousness that edged into your voice— it’s enough to make him pause.

For just a split second, he looks confused, as though something doesn’t add up. His eyes narrow, and you see the shift in his demeanor. The playful curiosity turns into something more calculating.

“You don’t talk like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His voice is softer now, more contemplative. 

You feel your stomach flip, but you don’t flinch. Not yet.

“You have a very... observant eye,” you reply, forcing the words out with more confidence than you feel. You quickly change the subject, hoping to redirect his attention. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter? I can show you just how different I really am.”

The unsub hesitates, his brow furrowing as he watches you a little too closely. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he’s starting to doubt that you’re just another unsuspecting person in the club. The air between you thickens, the tension building.

The unsub steps back slightly, eyes scanning you again, this time with deeper suspicion. It’s like a switch has been flipped— he knows something is off. 

“Sure,” he sneers, grabbing your arm roughly and jerking you forward. The action pulls you into his chest as his free hand comes up, producing a blade. The cold metal feels heavy as it presses against your throat— the sharp edge digging into your skin. You freeze, pulse pounding as your fear of this operation plays out before you. One quick jerk and your whole life is over in the middle of a second-rate night club. “What is this? Some kind of trap?” He demands angrily, pressing the knife harder. You can feel the tip against your skin, its sharp edge threatening to break the surface. Every small breath you take makes the blade press in deeper, but you don’t flinch. 

Hotch’s voice rings clear through your earpiece, sharp and commanding, “Move in. Now.”

The team springs into action, bursting from their scattered positions, guns drawn, closing in quickly. Chaos erupts as the crowd disperses from the growing conflict— a cacophony of panic and fear echoing around you, mirroring the terror gripping you inside. The moment the unsub sees them, his eyes widen in recognition, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen. He pulls you in front of him like a shield, his body tight against yours, the knife still pressed to your neck. Panic flickers in his eyes, and he becomes more desperate, realizing the window of escape is shrinking. 

“Stay back!” He shouts, his voice shaking with rage and fear, “One move and it’s over. You hear me?” His grip on the knife is trembling now. He’s scared, unhinged, not thinking clearly. You swallow, trying to stay composed. You’ve been trained for this, but the simulation is nothing compared to the real immediacy of danger. 

“Stay calm,” Hotch instructs, his gaze locked on you. His voice is sharp, but there’s a layer of raw tension there. He’s not just worried about you as a team member; he’s invested. This isn’t just another case— it’s you. He won’t let anything happen to you.

The unsub’s grip on you is relentless, and the weight of the knife against your throat is a constant reminder of how quickly this can turn deadly.

“Why don’t we just talk about this?” You manage to say, your voice steady despite the panic raging inside, “I can help you. We can work this out.” But the unsub isn’t listening. His eyes gleam with madness as he presses the knife harder against your throat. 

“You think I’m stupid?” His voice is low, guttural, “You think this is going to end well for me? For you?”

The tension is unbearable and you know it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move, one way or the other.

“You don’t have to do this,” you try again, voice trembling but steady. His grip on the knife shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for you to seize the opportunity. You feel the unsub shift slightly, his weight moving in such a way that it opens up just enough space for you to act. You shift your body weight quickly, slamming your elbows into his ribs. The move is sharp and sudden, and you feel him stumble back, losing his balance for a split second. His hold on you loosens, just enough for you to wrench free from his grasp.

In that split second, everything changes. 

“Now!” Hotch’s voice explodes. Prentiss and Morgan surge forward, moving swiftly, but not close enough. In a final desperate attempt to regain control, the unsub brings the knife up, swinging it wildly toward you. Your heart stops and you freeze, only for a moment, before instinct takes over and you dodge to the side. The blade grazes your cheek, cutting a shallow line across your skin. The sting is instant, but you don’t focus on the pain. 

With the unsub distracted by your move, Prentiss is the first to close in. She grabs his wrist, wrenching the knife away, while Morgan rushes in, tackling him to the ground. As the remainder of the team rushes forward, the unsub struggles, but he is no match for your team

As soon as the unsub is secured, Hotch is there, rushing towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping you as though he needs to make sure you’re real. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer than it’s been all day, but is still tight with concern. You take a shallow breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “I’m fine,” you answer, though your voice betrays you, a slight tremor you can not control, “Just some scratches.” 

Your fingers graze over the thin line of blood from the knife remaining on your neck, before landing on the shallow wound on your cheek where you swipe away some of the trickling blood. It’s nothing permanent, but the sting is sharp. Hotch’s gaze flicks between the small wounds, and his jaw tightens. 

“You did great,” his voice is low, but laced with something more. There’s a protectiveness in his eyes now that goes beyond the usual command, beyond the professional distance. Your heart is still racing from the close call, but something in the way he looks at you, something unspoken, makes you pause. It’s more than just concern. 

-*-

The case is over. The unsub is in custody, and the adrenaline has worn off, but the weight of the last few days— the close calls, the near-misses— lingers heavily in the air.

The team is scattered around the bullpen, tired but relieved. Some are gathering their things, others are engaged in quiet conversation. But Hotch, who is usually the first to bury himself in case notes and paperwork, is standing near the window of his office, his back to the room, staring out at the city lights in silence.

You’ve just finished checking your emails, last light on in the bullpen, and are about to leave when you notice Hotch still standing there, a silhouette against the dimming light. The intensity of his brooding is almost palpable and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. You approach his office slowly, your footsteps light on the floor, knowing that there’s something unresolved between you— something that needs to be addressed, even if the words seem impossible to say.

When you get to his door, he doesn’t turn to face you right away, but you can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he’s aware of your presence. After a beat, he speaks without looking at you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is low, still carrying the edge of concern. There’s something in the way he asks that you’ve never heard before, a note of uncertainty beneath his usual command.

You stop a few feet away from him, feeling the familiar tension between you two. But this time, it's different— he's different. His usual reserve is slipping, and the emotional weight of the past days is leaving a crack in his armor.

“I’m fine,” you answer, and you mean it, even if there's more left unsaid. The cut on your cheek has been treated, and physically you’re fine.

His shoulders sag slightly, but he still doesn’t turn. He stands there for a long moment, lost in thought, before he finally speaks again, this time quieter, almost hesitant.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Turning slowly, he faces you now, his eyes intense, but there's a vulnerability in them that you’ve never seen before. The walls are down. There’s no hiding it anymore— he’s exposing himself in a way that feels foreign to both of you.

“I...” he begins, but stops. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I... don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you tonight. I can’t— I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you in danger.”

The words hang between you two, heavy and unspoken, as he tries to gather himself. You swallow hard at his words, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s the first time he’s said something this personal, this raw. You can feel your pulse quicken as you wait for him to continue.

“I know we can’t do this... but I need you to know,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I care about you. I care about you more than I’ve let on. More than I should.”

You take a breath, feeling your own emotions rising in your chest. You’ve known for a long time that something was there between the two of you. The tension, the quiet moments of connection. You’ve always felt it, even if you were too afraid to acknowledge it.

“I do too, Hotch. I have for a while.”

His eyes soften at your admission. There’s a tenderness in them that makes your breath catch. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance, and you feel the warmth of his presence envelop you.

He reaches out, his hand resting gently on your arm, as if afraid you might vanish if he touches you too hard. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into it, letting the moment settle between you. This is uncharted territory for both of you, but it feels right.

“I don’t know what happens now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I need you to know... I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You nod, your heart full of so many things— relief, fear, and the growing certainty that this moment is the beginning of something neither of you can ignore anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, voice steady, meeting his gaze with an honesty you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of everything you’ve both experienced together in those few words. And then, ever so slowly, he leans forward, just a fraction, and the air between you shifts. It’s not a declaration, not yet— but it’s a beginning. A slow, careful bridge being built from everything you’ve been through.

And at long last, the walls he’s built for so long have finally come down.

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you!

[kirain]

Part twenty-four of my appreciation project.

@notimetoapologizecomic A fic based on their wonderful comic here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Emmrich's words were quiet, but devastating. "What are you doing?" he'd asked—and in the wake of that reproach came the unbearable dawn of realisation.

What were they doing?

The dining room-turned-war room was tense, no one eager to speak first. Taash leaned over the table, their clawed fingers digging into the wood, muscles taut beneath their armour. Davrin looked away, unable to stomach the sight of Emmrich's broken form, while Neve gripped her thighs to compose herself. Lucanis, as ever, remained still and watchful, though his brows furrowed in concern.

"There are so few of us left..." Emmrich whimpered. He looked from colleague to colleague, his eyes pleading. "Why are you fighting?"

But the question was lost to the rising storm.

"Neve's saying we should leave Rook in the Fade!" Taash growled, fury flashing across their face.

"Taash, I-I'm not—!" Neve tried to explain.

"You can't just say—!" Davrin interjected.

"Let's not—!" Lucanis began.

Voices clashed from every direction, building into a cacophony.

"ENOUGH!"

Emmrich's roar swept through the room like an explosion, glowing green with unearthly rage. Magic crackled around him, spilling from his mouth like a curse, the word striking the air with a force that made everyone shudder.

Then, all motion ceased; the silence that followed was thunderous in its own right. Words died on tongues mid-breath, fingers curled, hearts stopped. Eyes wide, they stared at the man who had never once raised his voice in anger—not like this.

"...E-enough," he stammered, his throat sore, teeth clenched to hold back a tide of pain. "Please."

His shoulders trembled as he lifted a hand to his face, trying to hide his tears—his exhaustion. The green glow dimmed slightly, though it still lingered around him like an aftershock.

"I beg of you. Have we not suffered enough?"

He looked so unkempt, so unwell.

Something was wrong.

"Emmrich?" Neve asked, alarmed.

But he didn't answer. He groaned, swaying on his feet, his breath thick and ragged.

"Please, no more. I—I can't..."

His parchments slipped from his grasp, followed by the hefty tomes he carried—thudding to the floor as his knees buckled.

Neve stood. "Emmrich, are you all right?"

He collapsed, his body folding in on itself like a flower wilting in the cold.

"Maker's breath!"

"Braska!"

"No!"

The team rushed over, stunned into action. Neve was the first to reach him, dropping to the floor and pulling him into her arms.

"Emmrich?" she said, masking her distress with a stoic expression. "Can you hear me? Are you conscious?"

A weak, guttural moan was her only reply. His eyes didn't open; his face was clammy, his complexion flushed. Only the remnants of effort and grief remained.

Taash crouched beside them, their eyes darting over Emmrich's slack features. "What happened?" they demanded.

Neve's fingers quivered as she checked his pulse. "He's overexerted himself."

"The shit's that mean?" Taash snapped.

"It means," Neve said, trying to keep her voice steady, "he's pushed himself too far. His body can't handle any more stress—nor his mind, for that matter."

Davrin crossed his arms, his brow creasing. "I think Lucanis was right. I don't think he's slept since Tearstone."

"He hasn't," the Crow said grimly. "His eyes... dark, sunken. I know tired when I see it—and that man passed it days ago."

"Crying has surely worn him down even more," Neve sighed.

Taash blinked at her. "How do you know he's been crying?"

"His cheeks—look at them. They're raw, swollen. He's been crying so much his skin's chafed."

For a while, the group said nothing, staring at their ruined companion—fragile, unrecognisable. Silence stretched between them; each too heartbroken to speak, too afraid to look away. All they could do was wait—and ache for what he'd become.

"Earlier was a guess," Lucanis eventually mumbled, "but now I'm certain he hasn't been eating."

"How?" Taash pressed.

"He hasn't joined us for a single meal."

"So? That doesn't mean anything. He could be eating alone," the frazzled qunari reasoned—though even they didn't believe their own wishful thinking. "Davrin said his library's on the floor, right? He's been... reading books and shit. Too busy to eat with us. He's allowed to eat alone, 'specially if he's working."

Lucanis shook his head. "On what? No dishes are unaccounted for. I've been washing them every night."

"Yeah?" Taash spit. "And you know exactly how many dishes are in the cabinet?"

"Yes."

The group frowned, then flinched as Neve gently slipped her finger into Emmrich's mouth, sliding it beneath his tongue.

"Vashedan!" Taash lurched back, disgusted. "What are you—?!"

"It's dry," Neve murmured, a tremor beneath her calm. "He's dehydrated."

"Are you saying," Davrin asked, his gut churning, "he hasn't even been drinking?"

"Seems that way, yes."

Again, everyone stilled, at a loss for words.

"Fuck..." Taash grumbled. "Why didn't we notice? Why'd we let it get this bad?"

A sudden, unnatural shadow fell over Lucanis. His spine stiffened, his mouth twisting into a shape that wasn't his own. His voice dropped—altered, deeper, sharper.

"Smells like. Sweat. And guilt," Spite hissed, his voice slithering from Lucanis' lips.

"Guilt?" Taash asked, confused.

"Over Rook," Neve said. "He told her to sever the knife's contact with Ghilan'nain."

"But that's not his fault!" Taash yelled. "He didn't know Solas was gonna trap her!" They looked at Emmrich, knuckles white at their sides. "You hear me, old man?! Stop blaming yourself!"

Neve held him a little tighter. "And they argued the night before the battle. Emmrich meant to apologise, but..."

Taash winced, the weight of it hitting them hard. But before they could respond, Spite leaned in, sniffing Emmrich—then everyone else.

"Smells like. Sorrow. I don't. Like it."

The other three stared at him. For Spite to seize control while Lucanis was still awake—he must have been feeling as wretched as the rest of them. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished. Lucanis gasped and reeled back into himself.

No one spoke.

They didn't need to. Shame had already laid itself bare, in glances averted and breaths bated.

"...I'm sorry," Taash muttered to Neve. "I know you'd never abandon Rook by choice."

"I'm sorry, too." Neve swallowed. "I know this is hardest on you, Taash. You lost Lace. And now..." Her gaze drifted to Emmrich, pale and limp in her arms. "Losing Rook isn't an option."

At the sound of his beloved's name, Emmrich stirred. His fingers twitched as he reached out blindly—searching, eyelids fluttering.

"...Darling?"

Neve caught his hand—a small mercy that soothed the nightmare tormenting him. His grip was weak; his voice, weaker.

"He needs to lay down," she said.

The others nodded in agreement.

"We'll take him," Davrin insisted, nudging Lucanis. "Once he's in bed, maybe Assan will huddle next to him. Keep him company."

"That would be nice," Neve whispered.

Carefully, the two men took hold of Emmrich and began hoisting him over their shoulders. Though he wasn't heavy, his height made the process awkward, and they struggled to find a position that wouldn't cause him discomfort.

"Ugh, stop!" Taash groaned, stepping forward. "I'm not gonna let you drag him across the Lighthouse like he's a sack of turnips."

Before either the Crow or Warden could react, Taash scooped Emmrich into their arms, gathering him with surprising tenderness. His head lolled beneath their chin, his chest heaving—as if that simple adjustment, one he wasn't even aware he'd made, had drained the last of his strength.

"Taash?" Neve said, struck by the protective way they cradled him.

Strange to remember a time when they were at odds.

"Do you need help?" Davrin asked.

"I got him," Taash huffed, shifting towards the hall. "Come on, Neve—you can tuck him in, or... I don't know, whatever people do. Lucanis, you make him something to eat. I'll shove it down his throat when he wakes up."

"Of course," Lucanis said, heading to the pantry. "I'll make him a roasted sweet potato salad. One of his favourites."

"I'll get some pumpkin seeds," Davrin offered. "Couldn't help noticing we're out."

"Thank you. I'll need those to add texture."

"Right," Neve said, rising to her feet. "We get Emmrich settled, take a breather... then discuss what to do about Elgar'nan. Respectfully, this time."

"Agreed."

And with that, everyone turned their attention to the task at hand—Lucanis headed to the kitchen, Davrin to the eluvian.

Neve moved to follow Taash as they left the room, but her boot landed on something—Emmrich's scroll, the parchment crunching beneath her heel. She paused, one brow arching in curiosity, then bent to retrieve it. As she unrolled the edges, her eyes widened: a hastily drawn schematic, crowded with notes on the Fade.

"Is this... a lyrium dagger?"