#cd: Alignment and Morality

[bardic-tales]

I figured today I would focus on some facts about Bianca that I have been developing recently or over the last few months. They are going to range from romantic to the mundane. Also, there is mention of BDSM practices below.

While Bianca is a demisexual, I also label her as pansexual, too. Bianca does not care what anyone's orientation is. As long as a person developed an emotional bond with her, she could become attracted to them.

Bianca is also demiromantic. She made her living for six years as a romance author. I am a sucker for sticking an author / writer character into my stories.

Both Sephiroth and she are touch-starved, but to varying degrees. Sephiroth is not use to physical contact. When Bianca first hugged him, he was stiff and leaned away from her touch.

However, they do engage in BDSM practices. He is the dominant partner. Bianca would be considered an alpha submissive. She enjoys her bratty role.

Sephiroth will manifest his wing as a sign of dominance when she is too out of line with her brat persona. He has also used his telekinetic abilities to hold her down. This is never down in an abusive way. She consents every time. Sephiroth is the only being she trusts, which is ironic in its own way.

However, one of her 'rewards' is she gets to brush and style his hair. It's a bonding experience between the two. He also likes to brush and braid her hair, placing flower crowns on her head in their dreamscape. This keeps the Hades and Persephone theming of their relationship.

Bianca sees herself as an avenging angel, as well as the self-imposed title 'Priestess of Jenova' to honor Sephiroth and their plans. She harbors a hatred for humanity after everything that happened in her life.

Bianca prefers to wear Sephiroth's clothing when she can. He does NOT mind sharing his clothes, as he sees this as claiming her in a way. She loves to envelop herself in his scent, as she has heightened senses due to her demonic heritage. His scent provides her comfort on those days when her past is just a little too much for her. She boasts that she can smell him 100 miles away. This has lead to a nickname 'his bloodhound'.

Fun fact. I was going to make FWC an isekai in this newest rewrite. I found it funny that with Bianca's reality bending powers that she could have made 'One-Winged Angel' play on the Planet when Sephiroth fought Cloud. There are times when she does play music from her world, but seeing that they are on a different planet, Cloud, Sephiroth, and the rest do not understand the music.

Her favorite music is gothic rock and darkwave, industrial rock and metal, alternative rock, trip-hop, and symphonic metal. As she was teleported onto Gaia in '96, her musical tastes stay stuck in the 90s.

Bianca is 5 foot even. I often head canon Sephiroth to be 6'5". Since she is so much smaller than him, she will often levitate off of her feet to hug him or give him a kiss.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @glbettwrites

@seastarblue

[bardic-tales]

Bianca does not consider herself a good person. In fact, she embraces her role as an agent of chaos, the harbinger of destruction and rebirth, and the Angel of Vengeance. She views her actions as necessary for the greater goal of destruction and rebirth, aligning herself with Sephiroth's vision of godhood and annihilating the Planet. She even approaches him with her own goal: destroying Creation to pave the way for something new. This is a prophecy she fought against all of her life until she fell from Grace.

Although she once sought peaceful ways to transcend her past trauma, she now leans into her darker nature, using her corrupted powers and volatile emotions to fuel their journey to rule beside Sephiroth (and, at one point, Jenova) as his Dark Queen. Her obsession and unwavering dedication to him have led her to forsake any moral compass, pushing her further away from traditional notions of goodness, much to the chagrin of the heroes of the Planet. For Bianca, her purpose and bond define her existence, as he is the other half of her soul which was split from her during creation and sent to Universe B by the Creator to prevent the prophecy from happening.

Does your character think of themselves as a good person?

[ssa-dado]

23 - Ethics

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn (though at this point, the ragù has been simmering so long it's practically ready to serve), hurt/comfort, miiiiiild angst Summary: Hotch somehow finds himself standing in the middle of a winter night, wearing a short-sleeved polo, all because you called (read: expertly manipulated) him into joining the team at the bar. He hadn’t wanted to come. And yet, between the past few weeks of damning evidence he’d been collecting against himself and the undeniable proof unfolding right in front of him, he’s just cracked the hardest case of the last ten years: his true feelings for you. Warnings: alcohol consumption, some cuss words here and there, mentions of what happens in 3x19 and case talk involving SA, Hotch steals a bite of your cheesecake Word Count: 16.6k Dado's Corner: This is the first part of the Act Two finale (yayyyy), the second part will be up in a few hours, as soon as I finish editing (and hunt down some S3 Hotch pics/gifs for the thumbnail - help a girl out if you’ve got any I can use in sequence like these two). Some details aren’t meant to be overlooked… and the same ones remain unresolved. Never trust an unfinished case

masterlist

In Stoic philosophy, ethics (ethikē) examines the principles of virtuous living, focusing on how individuals can align their actions and character with reason and nature, ultimately achieving a harmonious life.

For the Stoics, the pursuit of virtue was essential, emphasizing self-discipline, moral integrity, and the cultivation of wisdom to navigate life’s challenges.

The Stoics believed that apatheia - freedom from destructive emotions - was central to living virtuously. By cultivating rational detachment and understanding the nature of desires and fears, individuals could transcend emotional turmoil and align their inner state with the rational divine order (logos).

It was all your fault.

His fault, technically, for now being stuck in DC’s late-night traffic at 11 PM, singing - more like yelling - along to a mishmash CD he’d burned himself: everything from The Beatles to random musical soundtracks, and - he fully blamed the divorce for this one last addition - Taylor Swift.

But the rest? That blame fell squarely on you.

You, who’d managed to yank him out of his solitary cocoon with a single phone call - wielding the same authority he’d use to haul you out of your pajamas for a case at ungodly hours, except your urgent mission revolved around meeting the rest of the team at a bar.

“Come on, Aaron,” you’d insisted over the phone, timing impeccable as always - right after he’d swapped his work slacks for his own pajama pants. “You haven’t left your house in two weeks, it’s not healthy. The only social contact you’re getting is from serial killers and uncooperative detectives.”

And, apparently, a nagging life coach he didn’t remember hiring.

“Don’t forget Strauss,” he’d muttered, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Worse than psychopaths,” you’d quipped. “Do it for my peace of mind, please?” you’d added, with a note of genuine concern creeping in.

He was grateful this was all happening over the phone - you couldn’t enhance your request with those devastating puppy eyes he could imagine far too clearly.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. “I’m fine. Really. Maybe next time.”

“Exact same words you told me last Friday,” you shot back without missing a beat. “Aaron, please, I’m on my knees here.”

He really did not want to picture it... too late.

“I’m already in my pajamas,” he replied cheeks blushed, hoping you’d give up - only for you to burst his eardrum with a deafening “OH!” that made him freeze.

“Rossi just texted me he’s coming too,” you pressed on, clearly not letting this go. “You have to be there. Derek is ovulating and will be glued to the dance floor. That leaves Rossi alone with Spencer. With alcohol. Aaron, alcohol. You don’t want Rossi to quit again do you?”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he caved, already twisting the shower knobs. “I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best,” you cooed. “I’m texting you the address now. And, of course, the first round’s on me - my apology for so heartlessly interrupting your thrilling evening of pajamas and solitude.”

“Oh, you’re spoiling me,” he replied dryly, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him - not that it had anything to do with you, of course. “Bye, see you soon.”

“See you!” you chirped brightly, and just before the call ended, you added with a playful, heartfelt, “I love you, bye!”

He told himself the reason his heart skipped - not one, but two beats - was because the shower water was still running, and the bill would be astronomical if he didn’t get in soon.

Yet, it still took him a minute to step into the shower and another ten to wipe the ridiculous, boyish smile off his face.

Details. Minuscule, insignificant details.

As insignificant as the fact that, even though he’d wanted nothing more than to stay in, he ended up taking his sweet time getting ready, using a little less gel in his hair and swapping out his usual zip-up for a black polo that fit just a little too well. Short-sleeved too.

And now, here he was, stuck in traffic - less than usual, but still traffic - drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, singing his heart out to a soundtrack from a musical.

Not 70s rock. Not The Beatles.

Loud enough to rattle the windows, his voice carrying the tune with no regard for key or pitch.

For once, he didn’t care. Not about his hair, ruined by the head-bobbing, or his volume, which would mortify him in any other context. He was too caught up in the rare freedom of it all, the raw, unfiltered honesty of being alone in his car.

And by the time Aaron stepped into the bar, the scene was exactly as he’d expected - or, more accurately, exactly as you’d described it during your excruciatingly persuasive phone call.

On his left, Penelope and Emily were swaying to the music, drinks in hand, throwing occasional glances at Derek, who was - using your precise words - ovulating on the dancefloor. Aaron could barely make him out through the crowd of women gathered around him.

But his eyes didn’t linger there.

They found you quickly - though apparently, it took you even less time to spot him because you were already standing up from your seat and waving with a smile so warm it made the crowded bar feel a little less suffocating.

From the moment he saw you, Aaron couldn’t decide whether to be grateful you’d dragged him out of bed or curse you for subjecting him to the sight of you in that dress - without so much as a warning.

It seemed to conspire with the dim bar lights, luring his gaze far too easily to every curve it chose to flaunt or hide just enough to drive him mad.

He told himself he was just trying to figure out the color - that was the only reason his eyes lingered, surely, to where the hem flirted with the middle of your thigh, hovering just close enough to tempt but never quite touching because, unlike his thoughts, your dress had boundaries.

Or why he felt a flicker of embarrassment - no, mortification - when his gaze, against every ounce of his better judgment, dropped to the necklace you always wore.

Somehow, today, it looked… different. Distracting. Suddenly worthy of deep, thorough analysis.

And by deep, he meant he’d probably memorized the exact number of loops in the chain, the way they caught the light, the faint sway against your skin… not that he was staring.

It wasn’t the faint curve of your collarbone the chain rested against that caught his attention.

Definitely not.

And it wasn’t the faintest suggestion of cleavage beneath it that made his mouth go dry.

Absolutely not.

No, clearly, this was about something else. Something important. Pressing. Like… the chain itself. Yeah. It was just a nice chain. Very symmetrical. Perfect craftsmanship, really.

At least, that’s what he told himself, and maybe it was time to move on. His mind should’ve been occupied with something else, anything else. Like… murder investigations. Team dynamics. Bureau politics. You know, actual priorities.

Except, wait. The color of your dress.

Right. That.

He hadn’t quite cracked it yet. What a coincidence. Probably worth another look.

Maybe two.

By the time he reached the booth where you sat with Spencer and Rossi, he was proud - no, smug - to say that he could, with almost scientific certainty, declare that the dress was black. Definitely black.

Just to confirm it wasn’t some tricky, dark navy blue, he stole another glance.

Maybe two, again.

...Nope. Black. Absolutely, positively black.

“Grazie a Dio, Aaron, you’re here!” Rossi groaned the moment Aaron reached the table, grabbing his face with both hands like a long-lost relative and planting two theatrical kisses on his cheeks, Italian style.

Aaron barely flinched, turning toward you instead. He didn’t even think about it, his eyes just started seeking yours like a reflex, searching for the one person who could make the absurdity of this greeting feel even remotely bearable.

And there you were.

Your eyes met his before he could even fully look, as though you’d been waiting for it.

The twitch of your lips, the teasing sympathy in your smile, was all it took to push him to the brink of laughter.

He caught himself, barely. It wasn’t supposed to be this funny, but somehow, it was.

Rossi patted Aaron’s shoulder, as if testing whether he was truly there to save him or just another hallucination brought on by sheer desperation. “If I hear one more random fact from this drunk kid,” Rossi said, gesturing toward Spencer, who was slumped in the booth, cheeks flushed and waving sloppily in Aaron’s direction, “I’m going to throw myself in the fryer.”

“Are you alright, Reid?” he asked cautiously as he slid into the seat next to yours. You shifted slightly to make room, your knee brushing his in a way he tried very hard not to notice.

“Alright?!” Spencer giggled, eyes wide with unrestrained glee. “Phenomenal!”

Then, without missing a beat, he turned to Rossi, leaning in with an exaggerated wobble. “Ooooooooooh, Rossi, speaking of drinking - did you know that the concept of 'drinking to get drunk' is a uniquely modern phenomenon? In Ancient Greece - hic - they diluted their wine with water. If you drank it undiluted, you were considered barbaric. So technically - hic - we’re all barbarians right now. Except for you, Hotch! You…you just arrived.”

Aaron stared, his lips pressing into a flat line to suppress a laugh. Phenomenal. Sure, that’s one word for it.

“How many drinks did he have?” Aaron asked, glancing sideways as he felt your arm brush his.

“Technically one,” you replied with a pitying smile that somehow made his chest feel both lighter and tighter at the same time.

Aaron raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s impossible. How did-”

You cut him off, leaning in closer, resting your elbow lightly on his shoulder, your breath brushing his ear as you spoke. “He just wanted to loosen up a bit… Derek told him his mission tonight was to ‘find him some.’”

You paused to take a look at his reaction, pulling back just slightly, which made him instinctively turn toward you.

He hadn’t realized how little space you’d left until your noses touched… fuck.

“…And he got nervous,” you continued back in his ear, as though the proximity hadn’t left you as flustered as it had him. “So he ordered the cocktail that, according to his ‘scientific and cultural data,’ had the least amount of alcohol.”

Aaron turned his head just enough to speak, the movement brushing his nose against yours again. “Well, he’s more than just loose.” The corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest smirk, though his pulse was anything but steady.

He half-expected you to pull away now, to laugh and break whatever spell was weaving between you. But you didn’t. If anything, you seemed just as still, as if you hadn’t noticed - or didn’t mind - how close you were.

“Let’s just say the bartender was very generous with the vodka,” you said softly, your hand patting his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Except it wasn’t.

Your touch burned in a way that felt entirely unfair.

“So, uh… here we are.” You said, finally pulling back from him.

Your eyes met, holding for just a moment longer than necessary, the bar suddenly so quiet he swore he could hear his pupils dilate. “Don’t worry, he ate all of mine and Rossi’s fries. He’ll hopefully sober up soon.”

“Did you know, Hotch,” Spencer slurred, his voice brimming with childlike enthusiasm, “that your brain processes alcohol at an average rate of one standard drink per hour? But genetics, age, and body mass - hic - can totally change that. You might process it slower because you’re, uh…” He squinted, his face scrunching in concentration. “Old.”

The look Aaron shot him was enough to make even a tipsy genius backtrack immediately. Spencer immediately flailed into damage control, his hands waving erratically. “Older! Older…er!” he stammered, his voice pitching higher in panic. “Like, statistically, your metabolism is probably, um, slowing down a tiny bit. Nothing drastic! Just, you know, the natural process of… life.”

Sure, ‘popular…lar’.

Aaron arched an eyebrow. “Fascinating, Reid. Anything else you’d like to analyze?”

Spencer, who barely understood sarcasm when sober, let alone in his current state, widened his eyes, thinking Aaron had actually prompted him to elaborate for once. “You know… there’s this thing called nonverbal communication. It’s like… 60-65% of all human communication. And yooooou’re… you’re doing a lot of it right now, Hotch.”

Aaron froze, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about, Reid?”

Spencer tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “With the professor! It’s fascinating!” he insisted, now fully in observation mode. “The eye contact! Did you know prolonged eye contact – hic - increases oxytocin levels? That – by the way – it’s also called the cuddle hormone. It’s sooooo cool. Your brain could actually be tricked into thinking you’re falling in lo-”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, your voice pitched higher than usual, “I think it’s time for more fries. Want to come with me?”

Before he could even reply, you grabbed Spencer’s arm and practically hauled him out of the booth, your pace hurried enough to suggest you weren’t about to take no for an answer. As you reached the edge of the table, you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes landing on Aaron. “Aaron, want a beer too?”

“Yes, thanks,” Aaron replied automatically, already beginning to rise from his seat.

But you stopped him with a light press of your hand to his shoulder, the touch so casual, so natural, that it sent his brain skidding into a corner. “No, no,” you said quickly, “you stay here. You and Rossi can… talk about that sport where 22 grown men chase a ball around for 90 minutes.”

...Soccer?!

Aaron didn’t want to be left alone with Rossi.

By the way the older man was already giving him that look - the one that made him feel both exposed and deeply irritated - it was obvious Rossi had no intention of letting him off easy. It didn’t help that you were still standing there, waiting for him to respond while his thoughts were stuck looping around the fact that your hand had just been on his shoulder.

“Soccer?” Aaron asked finally, arching a brow in an attempt at nonchalance.

“Yes, that,” you said, flashing a quick smile before turning toward the bar. As you walked away, dragging a wobbly Spencer under your arm, you threw a mischievous glance over your shoulder at Rossi. “I heard someone’s favorite team didn’t qualify for the Champions League semifinals.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Rossi shook his head, swirling the last of his bourbon with a smirk. “Cheeky.”

The best. How someone like you even existed, Aaron had no idea. And how lucky he was - unreasonably, undeservedly lucky - to share the same earth, the same air, the same fleeting moments as you.

“She’s relentless,” Aaron replied, his tone carefully neutral, though by the smitten look he had on his face he certainly wasn’t fooling anyone - not Rossi, but hopefully still himself.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Rossi quipped. “Relentless suits her. Works on you, clearly.”

He started stroking the side of his index finger with his thumb - an unconscious habit he was positive Rossi had already clocked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s the only one who could drag you out of the house tonight, and we both know it,” Rossi said, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of his glass.

Amazing. Subtlety, as usual, was nowhere on Rossi’s game plan.

Aaron shot him a warning look, but Rossi, as always, pressed on. “The rest of us have been trying to get you to come out for weeks, and you’ve shot us down every time. But her?” He nodded toward the bar, where you were now laughing at something Spencer said - or, God help him, did. “One phone call, and here you are.”

Aaron clenched his jaw. He’d shut you down before. Several times, in fact… and every single time, he’d felt guilty about it. He’d almost called you back afterward, too – almost though.

“She caught me at the right time,” he said finally, his tone flat, though his thumb hadn’t stopped brushing against his index finger. He kept his focus on the fake wood grain of the table, pretending it was infinitely more interesting than Rossi’s smug expression.

Right time. Sure. That’s what it was. A half-truth was still technically a truth.

And yet, before he could stop himself, his gaze lifted toward the crowd, scanning the bar until he found what he was looking for… not you. Definitely not you.

He was just… checking if Derek had started one of his signature dance moves yet. That was it. Because it wasn’t a night out until Derek was doing the spin or the body roll. Just keeping tabs on his team. Responsible leadership and all that.

With the very corner of his eye, maybe, he caught a glimpse of you at the bar. Pure coincidence. A side effect of good peripheral vision.

Rossi snorted beside him. Aaron didn’t need to look to know the man had caught him mid-definitely-not-checking-on-you “Sure kid,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Did she also catch you at the right time when you casually decided that tonight was the night to show off those biceps you’ve been hiding under your button-downs all winter.”

Aaron shook his head, exhaling sharply. “You’re reading too much into this.”

“Am I?” Rossi countered, his grin softening into something closer to understanding. “Or are you just trying too hard to pretend you don’t feel anything for her?”

Aaron didn’t respond, just tensed, jaw tightening as he reached for his glass of water - the one you had left for him before he even got here, because you knew his throat tended to go dry after car rides. Weren’t you just the most thoughtful person on the planet?

He took a slow sip, pointedly avoiding Rossi’s gaze.

“How long are you planning to keep this up?” Rossi continued, his voice gentler now, though still laced with exasperation. “It’s already been ten years, Aaron.”

Oh, fantastic.

Ten years.

Thanks for the reminder, Dave.

Of course, he knew. He’d been planning to ask you to dinner to mark the milestone, even going so far as to dial your number - only to chicken out halfway through because, heaven forbid, you might think it was something more.

Actually, scratch that - he wasn’t just afraid you’d think it was something more; he was terrified you’d reject the idea that it could be something more and vanish from his life entirely. Because, you know, losing ten years of friendship over one misstep made perfect sense.

So here he was: milestone uncelebrated, phone call abandoned, still trying to think of a way to commemorate the occasion without it coming off as a grand romantic gesture.

Devious? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

Likely to end in disaster? Well, that was the theme of the decade, wasn’t it?!

Aaron froze for half a second, his grip tightening on the glass. “It hasn’t been a decade.”

Rossi arched an eyebrow. “Oh, no? She walked into the BAU ten years ago. Sat down at that desk right in front of yours. And you’ve been looking at her the exact same way ever since.”

“That’s not true,” Aaron said quietly, though even he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

Rossi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his tone softening further. “Aaron, you might be fooling the others, but not me. So, what is it? Why are you holding back?”

Aaron sighed, setting the glass down. “Because it’s complicated, Dave. You know that. She’s… she deserves better than this. Better than me.”

Forty-two - just old enough for the years to start showing. A single father who barely saw his son once a week. Divorced. Obsessed with his job. Exhausted. Guarded. Haunted. Broken. Your boss.

Rossi hummed, sitting back again. “And you think ignoring how you feel is what’s best for her?”

Aaron didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the table - locked in, really, to the point where he was actively analyzing the artificial wood grain, bitter.

Years of progress in manufacturing, and they still couldn’t make it look real… oh. Rossi was staring at him.

“I get it,” Rossi said after a moment, his tone softer now. “You’ve been through hell, and I know you don’t want to risk losing her if you take the big step. But the way I see it, you’re already losing her - piece by piece - every time you convince yourself to keep quiet.”

Aaron’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening as his fingers curled tighter around his glass.

“Don’t overthink it, kid. Just… stop fighting it.” Rossi added, his voice almost gentle. “Before you let another ten years slip by. And maybe think about telling her the truth about what happened two weeks ago.”

Aaron’s eyes snapped back to Rossi, his posture stiffening instantly. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” Rossi said, feigning exasperation. “You don’t think I know about the Rocher interrogation? The trip up to Riverhead to pick her up? Whatever that was?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his mind flashing back to the moment—standing in your doorway, the look of confusion and sleep still etched into your features.

“She told you about that?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“She didn’t need to,” Rossi replied. “I saw the way you were when you got back. The way you looked at her. Like you’d been reminded all over again why you feel the way you do.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “So, what happened?”

Aaron hesitated, his throat tightening. “Nothing happened.”

Exibit A: Gregory Rocher ☆ ★

You loved your job.

Maybe if you kept repeating that to yourself, the phrase would eventually trick your brain into ignoring the fact that your phone was ringing before sunrise - on your day off, no less.

“What do you want?” you grumbled, your voice still thick with sleep, raspy enough that you secretly hoped Hotch might mistake you for someone else and end the call.

“I need you.” His voice was steady, firm, and yet his choice of words couldn’t have been more… devious.

Anyways, you loved your job.

You loved how it gave you a hero’s excuse to avoid your mom’s bland Christmas dinner, complete with undercooked turkey and her interrogation about why you’d dropped the engagement to “one of her most brilliant students.” A student who, coincidentally, had also been the most pompous ass you’d ever met.

But you didn’t love being summoned at four in the morning.

“At four in the morning?” you shot back, your inhibitions still fast asleep, leaving your attitude free to roam - hopefully not too much, or he’d start comparing you to Rossi. “I’m in Riverside, Hotch. It’s going to take-”

Six hours.

It was going to take six hours to get to Washington, assuming the traffic gods were merciful and you magically developed the ability to teleport into clothes instead of the mismatched pajamas you were currently wearing.

“I’m coming to get you,” he cut in, his voice sharp and decisive. “You have one hour.”

You had never been more awake in your life.

He didn’t tell you why it would only take him an hour - because he wasn’t driving from D.C. That would’ve meant he left at 11 PM, and surely Aaron Hotchner had better things to do with his evening at that specific time.

No, he wasn’t in Washington. He was driving from New York. Specifically, Long Island City. Kate’s apartment.

Not that he’d ever tell you that. Heaven forbid you learn he was starting to see someone after the divorce. It wasn’t like it mattered or it was a big deal - according to him, anyway.

Instead, you were treated to updates about Jack’s latest obsession with olives - because that, of course, was vital information. Why? Because Jack’s father lived in constant fear he’d choke on one.

“What? Did you even sleep? What time did you even get out of your apa-”

Ten minutes ago, but of course, he wasn’t about to admit that. Still, you weren’t wrong - he hadn’t slept.

“I’ll wait for you outside your door,” he said briskly, his voice as clipped as ever. “Be quick.” And just like that, he hung up.

You loved your job.

You loved that your boss was such a gentleman to pick you up himself, unprompted, at four in the morning - truly, the epitome of chivalry.

You’d have to thank him for his thoughtfulness by offering him one of your mom’s infamous homemade Christmas cookies, knowing full well they could double as blunt-force weapons. The image of him trying to bite into one, only to realize he’d underestimated the hardness scale of baked goods, was enough to make the early wake-up call almost worth it.

He needed you? Well, you needed to see the look on his face when reality - and your mother’s culinary prowess - hit him square in the teeth.

You loved that he didn’t even bother to tell you what this was about. Instead, you were stuck in the passenger seat of his car, trapped in the limbo of the unknown for the next hour, trying to decipher if whatever he “needed” from you would require leaving an apologetic note for your mother.

Not that you cared what she thought - though her constant jabs at your career choices were getting painfully unoriginal. At the very least, you’d be giving her some fresh material to work with.

Instead, Hotch figured that shoving the file of one of the country’s most prolific serial killers into your lap would save him from enduring your commentary on the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The situation being, of course, that he’d let himself take advice from your nosy, wise-beyond-her-years neighbor Mrs. Lee. And maybe, she was right. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Because it wasn’t just the big things, it was the smallest things that sent him spiraling. Like how his heart raced every time you walked into the bullpen, the way he couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances, or - God help him - the fact that he caught himself smiling like an idiot just because you’d shown up wearing a brand-new shirt.

It wasn’t rational.

It wasn’t like him to feel this way, to lose focus over something so mundane, to feel his chest tighten when you were around as if the very air you breathed was somehow different from everyone else’s. He was better than this.

He had to be.

It wasn’t because of feelings.

Of course not.

That would be ridiculous.

It wasn’t because he’d look for you in every room, or because he felt lighter when your laugh broke through the tension of yet another exhausting day. No, it wasn’t that.

It was something simpler, more primal, more explainable. Something like the fact that it had been far too long since anyone had touched him - not a handshake, not a brush on the shoulder, not anything. That’s what it was.

It wasn’t that he was unraveling because it was you. No, it was the absence of human contact.

The way it made every small gesture you threw his way feel magnified a hundredfold, leaving him raw and exposed.

It was about sex. Plain and simple.

That’s why he’d started cancelling on the team’s weekend plans. Not because he was rotting away in solitude, staring at the four walls of his house. No, it was because he’d started spending those mornings in someone else’s bed.

Kate. Quiet, predictable, uncomplicated Kate.

It was funny how, when he woke up in her bed, the ceilings always looked the same. For a brief moment, his mind would trick him, letting him believe he was back in his old house and Haley was still sleeping on his chest.

But some mornings, his mind played crueler tricks. Some mornings, it made him think it was your ceiling. That it was you shifting closer to him in the sheets, your arm brushing his as you searched for warmth.

Of course, it wasn’t you.

It could never be you.

Kate barely talked, and when she did, it was only about the job. That was fine. They didn’t need to talk. They didn’t have the time, and, frankly, they didn’t have the desire. They had better things to do.

And it worked.

It worked because now he didn’t unravel when your hands brushed his. He didn’t falter when you and he sat far too close at yet another precinct, staring at yet another case board. He didn’t catch himself lingering when he leaned over you, his arm brushing against your legs as he reached for the markers on your side of the table.

It worked because he could tell himself none of it mattered anymore. At least, that’s what he kept trying to convince himself.

Because if it wasn’t just about touch, if it wasn’t just the absence of connection, if it was something deeper, something more dangerous - then it would destroy him. And he couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not with you.

“I assume you brought coffee,” you teased, rubbing your hands together for warmth as you slid into the passenger seat.

Without a word, Hotch reached into the cupholder and handed you a steaming cup, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Oh, you truly are the love of my life,” you joked, taking a noisy sip. It was perfect - exactly how you liked it, without even have to tell him.

Hotch instead stayed silent, focusing on the road ahead, more intense than usual.

Why did your words ache and swell in him at the same time? They were a joke - of course, they were a joke. You hadn’t meant anything by them.

But the quiet of the early morning, the faint glow of the first rays of sunlight spilling over the horizon… it amplified everything.

That it was just the two of you.

Alone in his car.

You were clearly dressed for work, but the early hour lent the kind of casualness that felt almost disarming. Like this wasn’t a job, but a road trip. No one else on the road, the occasional twinkle of Christmas lights still flickering from the houses you passed.

You broke into the infamous tin of cookies, offering him one like it was some peace treaty. He took it reluctantly and discovered that, when drowned in coffee, they were… tolerable. Barely.

It was warm, but not the warmth of coffee. Not the air conditioning humming in the car. Definitely not the double layers of undershirts he was wearing.

It was you.

You were a kind of warmth he didn’t know how to define. It was in the way your eyes lit up as you gazed out the window at the familiar landscapes of your childhood, pointing out places he hadn’t thought twice about. To him, they were just small-town markers: a gas station here, a church there, but you narrated them with the same enthusiasm his son had when describing his favorite superheroes.

Would you have been this close if he’d met you before? Like… when you were six?

Oh. Right.

He’d been eighteen then - one of the top students at GWU, buried under a mountain of coursework and juggling internships. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, nothing more than a distant blur. The only tangible reminder of that chapter was an old t-shirt he hadn’t laid eyes on in years.

And you? At six, you were probably busy mastering your third language – because everyone on this Earth knows 3 languages fluently at that age - and putting everyone else in your class to shame. Basically what you still did nowadays. Especially with Morgan.

Twelve years of age difference. Yeah.

On second thought, this whole scenario was horrifying. He’d have been a stressed-out college freshman, and you’d have been… what? Some tiny, smug, baby genius correcting his grammar with crayon-stained fingers?

Absolutely not. Forget he even thought about it.

And so he reached behind his seat, pulling out the file. The reason - the only reason - you were in the passenger seat beside him. Not because he needed an excuse to spend time with you. Definitely not.

Gregory Rocher.

This wasn’t a road trip. This wasn’t casual. This was work.

Your fingers hesitated before flipping the file open. “What’s this about?” you asked.

“Rocher claims there are more bodies,” Hotch said, his voice steady, but slightly tense. “He’s asking for a meeting.”

Rocher wasn’t just prolific - he was vile. His victims - women, all of them - had been strangled, violated, and discarded like garbage. Classic misogynist.

Unsurprisingly, you remembered the case as if you’d been there yourself. Hotch had made sure of that. It was one of the first unsubs he’d caught without you, and clearly, he hadn’t been handling it well.

The letters he’d sent about it read less like updates and more like a full-blown PhD thesis, packed with so many details you half-expected an appendix and a bibliography. It had been his way of coping, drowning you in enough information to make it feel like you were right there with him.

Sweet, when you first received them.

Almost sweet, looking back now.

My dearest, philosopher,

I miss you. Though I’m told this is a natural side effect of tolerating someone for so long, I can’t say I approve.

My new partner snores. Loudly. I’m fairly certain the sound violates several Geneva Conventions, but HR disagrees. He also insists on “bonding” over lunch, which I suspect is a euphemism for wasting my time.

It’s strange solving cases without you. This one - a nightmare of strangulations and discarded lives - had me up for nights. If you’d been here, I might have slept more. Or less. Let’s be honest, knowing us, probably less. But at least you’d have been there with some infuriating insight, turning the whole thing into a metaphor for humanity’s collective failings. You’d have annoyed me. And, somehow, made it better.

I hope Europe is treating you well. It better be extraordinary, or I’ll have to take issue with an entire continent. Write back soon, if only to remind me there’s someone out there who can still hold an intelligent conversation. Until then, I’ll just keep surviving this... barely.

Take care of yourself. I mean it.

Yours,

Aaron.

And if at the time, the sentence for Rocher was life without parole, recently, the courts had upgraded it to the death penalty. That change sparked all kinds of debates - within the team, the system, everywhere. Rocher didn’t care, though. He never cared.

He’d been taunting the justice system since the day they locked him up, and now, with his execution looming, he was claiming there were more victims. His final power play.

What always stuck with you, though - what made your skin crawl - was how he didn’t flinch when they handed down the death sentence. Not a twitch, not even in his eyes, no tremble in his hands, not even a flicker in his gaze. He gave no one the satisfaction of seeing a monster come undone.

You’d called that apatheia.

The Stoics had this concept, this ideal state of being, where you freed yourself from destructive emotions - excessive anger, fear, grief, or pleasure. Apatheia wasn’t about feeling nothing, but about staying so unshaken by success or failure, by fortune or tragedy, that you became untouchable.

That was Rocher. Or at least, that was the face he wore - unbothered, calm.

It was twisted, wasn’t it? The same man who had committed his murders in explosions of emotion, drowning in irrationality, now stood there in coldness.

And yet, maybe that was what had made him so dangerous - even in death, even at the mercy of a system he couldn’t control, he had still tried to grab the reins, to steer the narrative.

Requesting that interview? That had been his final-

Wait was that…

“Why’d you stop?” Hotch’s voice broke through the quiet of the car, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror before he turned his head slightly, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I-” You faltered, your thoughts scattering as you noticed the faint curve of his lips. “You were smiling.”

“Was I? Really?” His brows lifted slightly, genuinely surprised.

His hands tightened just a fraction on the wheel, barely noticeable - just like the subtle flush creeping up his neck, blooming beneath the collar of his shirt.

That man was so ridiculously easy to fluster, which would’ve been endlessly entertaining if he didn’t immediately cut your fun short by pivoting to “important matters.” Suddenly, it was all about interrogation tactics and the riveting nuances of Rocher’s profile.

As if you hadn’t already skimmed the backstory a dozen times while he nitpicked through mock-interrogation scenarios like this was some FBI debate club. Really, your boss truly did suck.

Because by the time he’d finished dissecting every possible angle, there were still two hours left to endure… now what Unit Chief?!

“How’s your mother?” Hotch asked suddenly, his voice so soft it almost sounded like he was apologizing for bringing it up.

“Oh, she’s fine,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “In less than five minutes after I got there, we’d already hit the classics: worrying about my job, reminiscing about my failed engagement, and of course, lecturing me about how I don’t visit often enough. Because, you know, even when she’s not working, she’s still a professor.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, a near-smile that quickly faded. You’d told him about her before - how she was relentless, how she’d shaped you into the person you were today, constantly pushing you to know more, achieve more. And in the end, it worked, true.

On the surface, you always joked about it, like it was no big deal – even now. But he knew better. He knew what you meant when you said things like that – that if you ever stepped outside her carefully crafted expectations, you weren’t enough for her.

And while you’d perfected the art of shrugging off her comments, throwing back one of your usual biting remarks to dismantle her criticisms, he was sure it wasn’t that simple. He’d seen the way they lingered, even if you didn’t realize it yourself… you wouldn’t bring it up if it didn’t sting not even a little, right?

Or maybe that was just him being overly perceptive. Or worse - overprotective.

Him? Overprotective about you? No. He was just… looking out for you.

Like an older sibling would. A sibling who, admittedly, sometimes let his imagination wander into places it shouldn’t.

“Of course… I’m guessing you handled it with your usual grace,” he said dryly, already bracing himself for whatever sharp response you had locked and loaded. When it came to the things that came out of your mouth, “grace” was often a loose interpretation at best.

“By ‘grace’ - do you mean biting my tongue to avoid commenting on the absolutely astounding leap she made from talking about biologically cultivated vegetables to my ‘biological clock’? Then yes, Aaron. Loads of grace.”

Hotch let out a huff of air, something caught between a sigh and a laugh, shaking his head. “Why does she still press you like that?”

After all, you were in your thirties, with more degrees and certifications than he had fingers on one hand. You were financially independent, had built a career that people admired, and, honestly, you were the most incredible woman he’d ever met.

One of the most. You were a great friend. An invaluable colleague. An efficient subordinate. Subordinate.

Because he was your boss. And you were off-lim-

“I think she’s just bored,” you continued, glancing out the window at the passing scenery. “She’s semi-retired, her favorite golden boy student turned out to be a disaster, and I’m not exactly giving her grandkids to micromanage. So, she channels all that leftover energy into reminding me, repeatedly, of my poor life choices.”

“They’re anything but poor choices,” he said firmly. “Do you know how many agents I walked through the BAU last month because of a certain professor who inspired them so much they decided this was a career worth pursuing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you turned your gaze out the window, shrugging in an effort to downplay his words. “Could’ve been anyone. Not necessarily me.”

"After the fifth one in a row quoted Plato at me when I asked them why they wanted to be a profiler, I’m positive they got that from you." He countered.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re just trying to cheer me up because you had the nerve to call me at 4 a.m. to help you interview a psychopath.”

“If that were true, I’d have said something much more flattering," he said, too offhandedly, like it wasn’t even something he had to think about.

You arched a brow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Such as?”

He shot you a brief glance, raising an eyebrow, having already profiled your blatant attempt at fishing for compliments. "Nice try, s-"

He bit his lip just in time.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed. “This is a safe space, it’s just the two of us. You can let it out.”

"You really think I’m going to fall for that?" He shook his head, praying to every deity ever worshiped by mankind that you weren’t referring to what had been seconds away from slipping past his lips.

“Fall for what?” you asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “My charm?”

Hotch chuckled, his eyes still focused on the road ahead, even though his fingers were tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Much more than your charm.”

Much more?

Weird.

Very weird.

And it wasn’t the only thing off about him that day. It got progressively more odd, more noticeable, especially when you were both sitting across from Gregory Rocher.

He had personally requested to speak with Hotch, insisting he would only cooperate with him. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising - at least to Hotch - was that the moment you both stepped into the room, it was you Rocher greeted first.

“Oh, that’s the teacher?” he said sheepishly.

Before you could react, before you could even fully register the recognition in his tone, Hotch was already stepping in front of you, his arm coming up instinctively, shielding you.

“It’s professor,” he corrected, his voice flat and deadly. “Sit back down.”

And Rocher obeyed.

But his wording stuck with you, even as Hotch launched into the preliminary questions. Teacher - not agent, not even professor. Strange.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it. Rocher wasn’t going to give up the location of the extra body without a performance, dragging you both into whatever twisted fantasy he had planned - a game of control. No surprise there. You had prepared for this. Over-prepared, maybe. If only Hotch were sticking to the damn script.

Because the moment Rocher’s focus landed on you - his gaze drifting back to you more than once, even while Hotch was speaking - the Unit Chief shifted. He started talking more, cutting in faster, interrupting where he normally wouldn’t.

And Rocher noticed.

“How is it like to work with someone like him?” he asked you, slipping the question in the middle of detailing location specifics, as if he wasn’t aware of what he was doing.

Hotch barely let you breathe before biting back, “Don’t waste our time, Rocher.”

“See?” Rocher grinned. “Isn’t he way too controlling?”

Funny, coming from a man who strangled twenty-seven women with his bare hands.

You exhaled slowly, refusing to take the bait. “Where’s the body?”

But Rocher was enjoying himself now, stretching out as much time as he could, his focus was more on how the two of you were conducting the interrogation rather than the questions themselves. “She’s completely different from you, Agent Hotchner,” he mused, again, completely ignoring your question. “How does it work between you?”

“It’s none of your business,” Hotch said, his voice sharper now, edged with something harder. “Answer her question.”

Rocher ignored him, gaze still locked onto you. “Do you know what they say about opposites, Professor?”

For the sake of-

You tilted your head slightly, unimpressed. “There are completely contradicting interpretations throughout history and culture. You might want to be more specific.”

At that, Hotch turned his head sharply toward you, his posture tightening.

Rocher noticed. He grinned wider, feeding off the shift in energy.

“Oh, look,” he cooed, mockingly delighted. “The protector is mad that you’re engaging with me.” His eyes flicked back to Hotch, studying him. “Why don’t you scold her, Agent Hotchner? Bring her out of here, discipline her for misbehaving with her superior.”

“Really?” You sighed, unimpressed. “Are you also going to suggest he strangle me? Like you did with the other twenty-seven women?”

Rocher’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

“Oh, that’s hard, Professor,” he taunted, voice sing-song. “Considering he can’t even look you in the eye since you came back from Europe.”

Hotch’s entire body went rigid.

Rocher leaned in slightly, head tilting as if savoring the reaction. “Tell me,” he murmured, watching Hotch carefully, testing him, “Did he have to take an issue with an entire continent to be like this now?”

You froze. Choice of words – again - familiar.

Something at the back of your mind was screaming at you, urging you to put the pieces together, but Hotch was already moving.

“This ends here,” he said, voice flat, final. He rose from the chair, his hand pressing lightly against your back, signaling you to get up.

You didn’t move.

You were still hardly staring at Rocher, still listening, still piecing something together, something that wasn’t just a power play. Rocher exhaled, amused, shaking his head as his gaze flicked back to Hotch.

“She’s smarter than you,” he commented lazily.

Hotch barely reacted, but you heard it. The way Hotch said your name again - soft, almost pleading. You felt it. Soft... and hard? Opposites-

You turned back to Rocher. “What were you saying about opposites?”

His eyes glinted, gleeful. “What do people say about opposites?” he prompted.

Clearly, all those hours spent studying philosophy had been leading up to this - a discount fortune cookie moment with a serial killer. Truly, a proud academic achievement.

“Opposites attract,” you answered, immediately regretting it - because, fantastic, now you sounded like one of those corny motivational quotes slapped onto a coffee mug, probably collecting dust in your mother's kitchen cabinet.

Hotch called your name again, firmer this time, but even he hesitated when Rocher’s grin turned knowing. “Do you believe that, Y/N?”

Speechless.

Hotch stiffened.

His voice dropped, threatening. “You don’t get to call her that.”

Rocher chuckled. “Jealous you’re not the only one who can?”

His hand slammed down on the metal table, the crack of impact ricocheting off the walls and straight into your ears. Rising from his chair, he leaned over the table, his frame so massive that it cast a shadow over Rocher.

"Shut up."

Goosebumps.

Hotch was one of those people whose voice didn’t need to be loud to be lethal.

But this time, it was.

For the first time since you’d met him, you heard him raise his voice too.

Although Rocher was still smiling.

Hotch stared him down for a few seconds, the lights in the room only making his face look harsher - his eyes darkened, accentuating the bags beneath them and the sharp line of his brow bone.

His nostrils flared, his mouth slightly parted, and then he said, “I don’t play games, Rocher. You collaborate, or you go back to rot. Now.”

“Funny, Agent Hotchner. I am cooperating. You’re the one getting all worked up.” Rocher’s tone was infuriatingly smug, but then his gaze slid back to you. “One of you is actually listening. The other is too emotional to see what’s right in front of him.”

You knew you’d hit rock bottom when, against all logic, you actually felt a flicker of pity for a serial killer - because he had just made the monumental mistake of calling Hotch emotional.

Without even a second thought. Without realizing what that meant.

What Hotch would do with that.

What Hotch would do to him.

No - you were terrified. And, somewhere deep inside, maybe even slightly tur-

“You’re stalling,” Hotch bit out, still leaned over the table.

“Oh, come on. I can’t spoon-feed two grown adults.” Rocher lifted his hands. “I already gave her something 'vital' - let’s just say that.” His smirk sharpened as his eyes flicked back to Hotch. “But at least she’s trying. You? You’re absolutely blind.”

Did it mean you were getting closer?

A flicker of something cold crawled up your spine. Opposites. A push and pull. You and-

The realization crashed into Hotch first, though. “There are two bodies.”

Rocher’s smile widened.

Oh, fuck him.

You and Hotch reached the same inevitable conclusion. Duality. Equilibrium.

The fundamental nature of opposition. Nothing exists in isolation - light is meaningless without darkness, fire without ice, predator without prey.

That’s why Rocher had been so fixated on it.

Why he had pushed you so relentlessly.

Why he had asked you - again and again - to define opposites.

Because one cannot exist without the other.

Because contrast is the foundation of meaning.

Because the presence of one demanded the existence of its counterpart.

Which meant-

Your throat tightened. “A woman… and a man.”

Rocher’s grin split open like something rotten. “Surprise.”

Surprise his ass.

The blood in your veins turned to ice. This wasn’t just different. This wasn’t just a twist.

This was a complete deviation of his M.O.

Rocher killed for sexual gratification. That was his entire pattern, his entire psychological makeup. He had a very clear type, a very clear need - and men weren’t part of it.

So, why?

You shot Hotch a look, and he was already thinking the same thing.

“Need a moment alone?” Rocher grinned.

Before you could respond, Hotch grabbed you by the wrist - completely unnecessary, honestly - and pulled you out of the room.

“Why the change in M.O.?” you asked at the exact moment he said, “Are you okay?” His hand settled on your shoulder - gentle, steady, ever so caring, apparently.

You blinked. “I’m fine, Aaron. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

Because, honestly? The image of him completely losing control out there was still playing on a loop in the back of your mind.

But for some reason, he didn’t answer.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head, back to business. “It doesn’t make sense. He has a very specific victim type - all single women in their thirties. He finds them, seduces them…”

“Lures them to dates,” you continued, your voice quieter now, like saying it aloud made it heavier. “He needs control so badly he violates them before and after they’re dead. Strangulation - it’s not just about the kill, it’s about feeling the life leave their bodies. He wants to experience everything.”

Hotch’s expression hardened, his voice dropping to a murmur. “A serial rapist doesn’t just become an omnivore.”

“No… and we’re also assuming he used strangulation on both victims,” you pointed out. “For all we know, he could have changed his method.”

Hotch nodded along, already processing it. “He must have focused more on the woman. Maybe the man was a casual vic-”

“Philosooopheeer.” Rocher’s voice rang out from the monitor in a sing-song tone.

Your breath caught.

What the hell?

And yet - despite the weight pressing down on your chest, despite the sudden static in your mind - his name still slipped past your lips.

Barely a whisper. Barely a breath. But it was there.

“Aaron-”

Rocher’s voice hummed through the speakers again. “Philosopher, the opposites.”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs.

Loud. Drowning everything else.

“Aaron-”

Softer this time. Shaky. Uncertain.

Then - warmth.

The solid, steady warmth of his hand on the curve of your back.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” You swallowed hard, not even glancing at him, eyes locked onto the monitor. “How does he know?”

Hotch’s fingers curled just slightly against your back. “Don’t let this affect you,” he murmured.

But even he wasn’t unaffected.

Even he wasn’t untouched.

Because now, beneath the steady mask, he felt guilty of bringing you there with him in the first place.

At this point, Rossi made a mental note to reward himself with that indoor pool he’d been dreaming about - because if he managed to get even one step forward with Aaron Hotchner, Denial Incarnate, he deserved a damn medal.

“It’s crazy. They’ve been grid-searching an entire forest for a week, and still - no bodies,” Rossi declared, shaking his head.

“I fear it’s only going to get worse now that Rocher’s dead,” Aaron said, voice low. “Everyone’s starting to believe it was his last move to buy himself more time.”

“To feel in control one last time,” Rossi mused.

He caught how it took a second too long for Aaron to respond. “I guess so…”

Except, judging by the way Aaron was suddenly hyper-focused on Rossi’s hair - definitely not admiring its painstakingly maintained perfection, which, by the way, was an absolute waste tonight, considering he’d already lost the woman he’d been eyeing for the past five minutes thanks to all this foolery - Rossi figured something else was going on.

And sure enough, when Aaron parted his mouth, Rossi was pretty damn sure it wasn’t to ask about the elite hair-gelling techniques he’d been mastering since the '70s.

No, it was because, right behind him, at the bar, a man - a male specimen - was currently eyeing you and Spencer.

Rossi sighed, barely hiding his smirk.. “You’re an ass-clown, Aaron.”

Just a clown in a short sleeved polo and jeans, watching a circus only he cared about.

“Can I pay for what that lovely lady and her magic broomstick ordered?” a voice drawled behind you, oozing with the kind of misplaced confidence that could only belong to someone deeply unburdened by self-awareness.

Spencer froze mid-sentence.

You turned around, only to be met by a tall, dark-haired guy, probably around your age. Objectively good-looking, sure - too bad he’d skipped cologne and decided to marinate in eau de fragile masculinity before stepping out tonight. A bold choice. Didn’t suit him. Didn’t suit anyone, really.

“Damn, the front view’s even better,” he smirked, his gaze shamelessly scanning you from head to toe. Funny how his ‘scanner’ seemed to jam conveniently at your cleavage, lingering just a second too long - one second away from you deciding to poke his eyes out yourself.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that should’ve sent him scurrying back to whatever hole he crawled out of. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that if you just tell me how much it was.”

He chuckled, leaning a little too far into your personal space. “Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart. Just letting you know what I see. And what I see…” His gaze dipped again, lower this time, his lips curving into a grin that made your skin crawl. “…yeah, worth every penny.”

You set your jaw, your voice firm. “The bill.”

The human dumpster tilted his head, his smirk widening, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Aw, come on. Don’t be so cold. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with him anyway?” He gestured lazily toward Spencer behind you, who was watching the exchange with wide, nervous eyes. “Bambi doesn’t even know how to treat you right.”

Spencer opened his mouth, his face reddening as he tried to stammer out a response. “Well, actually, the concept of ‘leagues’ in relationships is a social construct based on arbitrary perceptions of-”

…attractiveness and compatibility. In fact, research suggests that successful relationships are more strongly correlated with shared values and emotional intelligence than with surface-level traits… if only he’d let him finish.

“That’s enough,” you snapped, your hand twitching toward the pint of beer next to you - the one that was supposed to be Aaron’s.

Not that he’d technically mind if you repurposed it as a blunt-force weapon, but a small, rational voice in the back of your mind reminded you that he’d probably prefer it stayed in the glass rather than all over this idiot’s face.

Probably. Maybe. Jury was still out.

“Oh sweetheart don’t talk to me like that, I think of something a whole lot better to put in that mouth of yours.” He leaned in closer, his breath heavy with whatever cheap whiskey courage he’d choked down earlier.

He was dead.

“Get out of my face before I find something to shove into yours,” you snapped, your voice icy, “like my fist.”

And honestly, you weren’t just threatening.

You were ready.

Hand cocked, trajectory planned, already envisioning the satisfying sound of his ego shattering like glass.

But before you could even lift said fist, Spencer, sweet, wonderful Spencer, decided this was his moment to intervene, bless him. He probably thought he was saving this guy from imminent destruction, or maybe just delusional a warning might actually work to make him shut his mouth.

“Sir, I think you should-” Spencer started, his voice trembling slightly.

“Stay out of it, Einstein,” the man snapped, dismissing him with a lazy wave. “I’m just messing around. Though, I gotta say…” His voice dropped lower, his gaze doing yet another thorough inspection of everything except your face. “I kinda like it when you’re fiery.”

Oh, he was really begging for it now. Just as you were about to test out the self-defense moves Derek had been teaching you - already savoring the thought of your fist making satisfying contact with his smug face - you heard it.

A steady, deliberate rhythm approaching, marked by the kind of authority that sent most people scattering before they even knew why.

“Apologize,” came the voice from behind you.

Aaron. And you didn’t have to turn around to confirm it. You’d know that voice anywhere - overprotective party pooper.

The man scoffed, trying to laugh it off, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Hey, man, I was just joking around-”

“No, you weren’t.” Aaron cut him off. “It was predatory.”

The man probably just learnt a new word judging by the look on his face. “What the fuck do you mean, buddy?”

“That you’re pathetic.” Aaron said, giving him one of his best stares. “That because your mother never bothered to hang your drawings on the fridge when you were a kid, you’ve spent your entire life demanding validation from people who want nothing to do with you - just like her. Pathetic. And predatory.”

Damn, brutal - judging by the way the guy flinched, Aaron had nailed every single assumption. Truly, the best profiler you knew. “What the fuck are you? A shrink? You don’t know me, man!”

Aaron didn’t flinch. “I don’t?” he said coolly, tilting his head slightly. “I know you’re addicted to porn because it’s easier for you to objectify women than to accept that no one can stand to be around you in for more than five minutes. The only people who tolerate you are the three equally repressed guys you met at the gym - guys as shallow as you are.”

And speaking of porn, that was officially the hottest thing you’d ever heard come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth. It ranked right up there with “We can take the rest of the weekend off” and “You’re right.”

And he even kept going “You’re the reason the average IQ in this country keeps dropping. And guess what-”

Oh, my God. Say more things. Call him shallow again. Please.

“What you just said constitutes sexual harassment under federal law.” Aaron turned slightly to Spencer, who straightened immediately, as if on cue. “Reid, would you mind explaining the legal repercussions for this kind of crime?”

Spencer despite being still a bit dizzy, started. “Suuure. Under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act and most state laws, sexual harassment is a punishable offense, particularly when the behavior is hostile or unwanted - like in this case.” He made sure to raise his finger at that, just to be clear of course. “Penalties can include fines reaching thousands of dollars, and in some cases, jail time, especially for repeated offenses or behavior involving threats.”

“And rest assured, I will personally ensure you face the maximum penalties,” Aaron said, his voice smooth and deadly. “Every aggravating factor: your persistence after being told to stop, your blatant disregard for boundaries.”

Oh, wow.

Hot.

Even hotter because you knew how meticulous Aaron was about getting every detail perfect.

You shouldn’t have been thinking it - not now, not here - but damn. His tone. His precision. The sheer, undeniable power behind every syllable.

Impossible not to notice. Impossible not to feel.

You could practically see it: in his office late at night, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, meticulously piecing everything together. File after file laid out in perfect order, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. He’d pause only to sip his coffee, the tension in his frame so palpable it made your stomach flip just imagining it.

And no, you really shouldn’t be sexualizing your best-friend-that-also-happened-to-be-your-boss-haha-so-funny in the light of day.

Or night.

Or ever.

Anyways - whenever Aaron spoke like that, it was objectively impossible to ignore how magnetic he was. You could try to deny it, lie to yourself, pretend you were above it.

But deep down? He could get it.

Anytime.

Your respect, of course.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen.” he said, his voice cold and commanding, “You’re going to look her in the eye and you’re going to apologize. Then, you’re going to walk out that door and disappear. Because if I ever hear your name in connection with behavior like this again, I will ruin you. And trust me - I’m very thorough. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nodded hurriedly, his head bobbing like a puppet on strings. “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Aaron’s gaze hardened. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry!” the man practically shouted, his voice cracking under the pressure.

“That’s a start, but you owe him an apology too.” You nodded toward Spencer, who had been standing slightly behind you, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

The man blinked, his head snapping toward Spencer. “I-I didn’t-”

“Oh, but you did,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. “You insulted him, called him names, and dismissed him like his voice didn’t matter. That’s harassment too, in case you didn’t realize.”

The man hesitated, looking like he’d rather crawl under the nearest table than follow through. Aaron shifted slightly beside you, crossing his arms. “I don’t think she was asking.”

The man’s face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation, but he turned to Spencer, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” he said, though the words still sounded like they burned his tongue on the way out.

Spencer nodded, then, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, popped a fry into his mouth. “Aww, thank you,” he said, voice dripping with exaggerated politeness. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were having a perfectly pleasant evening before you decided to ruin it.”

The man and his fragile masculinity didn’t need any further encouragement. Still, Aaron’s eyes stayed on him until the bar’s entry door slammed shut behind him. Without even turning, he extended his fist toward Spencer. “Thanks for the backup, Reid.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he bumped it awkwardly with his own, the exchange so stiff and adorable that it was officially the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

“Are you both alright?” Aaron asked, his eyes lingering on you just a second longer than necessary.

Spencer, still gripping his fries like a lifeline, blinked up at Aaron with wide eyes. “I think I’m sober now,” he said matter-of-factly, shoving another fry into his mouth like it was a medical prescription for trauma.

“Leave it to you to use fried food as a coping mechanism,” you teased, though couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, it’s scientifically proven that carbohydrates can temporarily reduce stress,” he replied, ever the scholar. “And given the situation, I think this is a perfectly rational response.”

Aaron’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile as he looked at Spencer. “Whatever works,” he said, his tone quieter now.

Without thinking, you rested your hand lightly on Aaron’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “For everything.”

Aaron started to respond, but you barely caught it. Something along the lines of apologizing for stepping in when you could have handled it yourself - but he’d done it anyway because, apparently, you were about three seconds away from punching the guy.

You nodded along, but the words barely registered because your mind was already spiraling.

Don’t do it.

Don’t say it.

You’re going to make it awkward.

Yes, he’s your best friend, but also your boss.

Your very capable, very professional, very in-control boss. And when he went all out like that – damn - it was so ridiculously hot that you wanted to - NO. STOP IT.

Too late - you cleared your throat. “We’re off duty, right?” you asked, your voice more casual than it had any right to be.

Aaron blinked, slightly thrown, but nodded anyway. “Yes… why?”

You hesitated for a split second, your better judgment screaming at you to back out, but you ignored it, throwing caution straight into the wind. “Is it awkward if I say out loud that what you just did was extremely hot?”

You immediately regretted your word choice.

You should have said “said” instead of “did.”

You absolutely should have said “said.”

Aaron blinked – again - his lips parting slightly… probably because you hadn’t reached for some obscure 18th-century adjective like you usually did. Maybe because - oh.

His cheeks were turning pink.

Aaron Hotchner was blushing.

“That depends,” he said smoothly - too smoothly for someone whose face was actively betraying him - “how ‘hot’ are we talking?”

Oh. Oh.

He reused your stupid adjective. On purpose. Just to shove it back in your face.

Classic Hotchner.

And there it was again - that casual, teasing push and pull.

The ephemeral flirting that was supposed to be a joke. The kind that had been happening a little too often lately.

You grinned, leaning in slightly, lowering your voice to a whisper, playing the game. “You don’t want to know.”

“If you say so,” he replied, and made it worse by flashing you his dimples.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something clever - or, at the very least, something that sounded clever in your head, but all of a sudden-

“OOOOOOH! Teach, Hotch!” Spencer’s voice sliced through the tension like a buzzer going off at the worst possible time. “Did you know that the term ‘hot’ as an expression of attractiveness has roots in medieval metaphors? They often associated passion with heat, and by the 19th century, it evolved into a colloquial term for desirability.”

Aaron cleared his throat, sitting back slightly, though the faint blush on his cheeks lingered. “Thank you, Reid”.

Spencer nodded earnestly. “Well, I figured since you were discussing the term, it was relevant.” He popped another fry into his mouth, clearly pleased with his contribution.

Aaron turned to you, his lips twitching again. “Educational and perfectly timed.”

A joke, as usual, a much more felt in your chest kind of joke.

“Right,” you replied, fighting back a laugh. “Nothing like a bit of etymology to really set the mood.”

Spencer blinked, tilting his head. “Set the mood for what?”

And that’s when it all started going downhill.

Because by the time you got back to the booth, Rossi had already vanished - true to form - leaving behind nothing but an empty glass, a generous tab for someone else to pick up, and the faintest whiff of cologne that somehow still managed to reek of wealth and desperation.

The entire team, instead, apparently driven to madness by the frustration of the past week, had decided to collectively ovulate.

You barely had time to sit down before Derek swooped in, snatching Spencer by the collar of his shirt.

“C’mon, Pretty Boy, found the one for you,” he announced, dragging a very confused - but at least mildly more sober - Reid toward some unsuspecting woman who, by some miracle, actually seemed to enjoy his rapid-fire tangents about quantum mechanics.

Oh, how you loved women in STEM.

“Good luck, Pretty Boy!” Derek called over his shoulder, already abandoning Reid in favor of sweeping his babygirl onto the dance floor. Penelope had been waiting all of five seconds before declaring, “Finally! Our song!” and yanking Morgan into a routine that was absolutely choreographed.

No way it wasn’t.

Emily, to her credit, lingered just long enough to trade a few snarky remarks with you and steal a sip of your drink before the woman she’d been eyeing all night finally gathered the courage to summon her over.

“Go get her,” you encouraged her, raising your glass in mock cheers.

“Don’t wait up,” Emily quipped, slipping out of her seat, but before she could take two steps, Aaron chimed in, his tone entirely too dry.

“Work at 8 a.m. tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Emily stopped mid-stride to roll her eyes before, for some reason, winking at you. “Yes, Sir,” she mocked, before sauntering off - uncharacteristically giddy.

And just like that, it was you and Aaron, sitting in a room thick with mating hormones. Not exactly ideal.

You’d survived through worse, at least. And still had nightmares of what happened a week ago.

Exibit B: Charcoal Grey ☆ ★

Never in your life had you been so thoroughly out-lawyered as the day you went to witness Hotch’s testimony in the trial of Brian Matloff - the unsub who’d awakened from a coma that had kept him blissfully unconscious since 2004. Now, armed with focal retrograde amnesia, the man claimed he didn’t remember committing the crimes. Convenient.

And because of that, along with a healthy dose of masochistic curiosity to see Lawyer Hotch in his natural habitat, you found yourself sitting next to Spencer in the courtroom, breathing the same oxygen as not one, not two, but three lawyers.

First, the defense attorney, who would inevitably deploy every slimy lawyer trick in the book to defend a man who killed innocent girls.

You could already feel your blood pressure rising just imagining how he’d try to mess with Hotch’s head, distorting the truth under the guise of legal gymnastics. All perfectly sanctioned by the law, of course, which made it even more infuriating.

Then there was Cece Hillenbrand, the prosecutor.

She’d just called Hotch to testify, and honestly, it went so well the jury looked about two seconds away from throwing roses at her feet. Too bad she was still a lawyer, and your opinion of lawyers hovered somewhere between mild distrust and praying for the meteor.

The blonde bob didn’t help either at all – for some reasons it felt way too reminiscent of Haley. Maybe that’s why Hotch was looking at her with what you could only describe as way too much eagerness, which she’d obviously mistaken as her golden ticket to his ride. Literally. That kind of ride.

You could also pretty much tell she was smitten.

Not that you could blame her.

Objectively speaking, Hotch was perfect.

Tall. Dark hair with those infuriatingly handsome streaks of gray that somehow made him look even more distinguished. That one single white eyelash on his left eye that was unfairly cute. Long eyelashes. The adorable crease in his brow whenever he was focused. A side profile Michelangelo would’ve killed to sculpt. That deep, warm voice capable of commanding a courtroom into instant silence. Veiny forearms. Big hands. Hairy hands.

And… other intimate physical details that you were definitely not going to let your brain linger on right now.

Oh, and yes – smart, of course. Brilliant, actually.

So perfect it almost made you want to warn her off. About how You’d been fooled by those kind, relentless hazel eyes yourself. But then again, she was a lawyer. And lawyers didn’t deserve such precious life-saving advice.

Or maybe it was because you simply did not have the guts to tell a complete stranger something like that without sounding like an absolute creep.

Over a man, of all things.

Worst of all possible fates.

And to complete the dreaded lawyer triumvirate - last but certainly not least - there was Hotch. Aaron. Lawyer.

If you started unpacking your thoughts on that man, you’d probably end up writing a book longer than War and Peace. Though one recent chapter might be titled: “How the numbers didn’t add up.”

Why, exactly, did he insist on dragging you to Virginia with Spencer and himself for this trial?

You hadn’t worked the original case back in 2004, and you definitely didn’t have any legal expertise to speak of. And yet, here you were.

But hey, whatever the Unit Chief wanted, the Unit Chief got, right?

Maybe it was because of the PhD you shared with Spencer in psychology - though if tactical strategy was the goal, the smarter choice would have been to leave you back in Quantico, far away from the courtroom circus.

Not that you were making the calls here. Clearly, this was all part of Hotch’s master plan to make you suffer among a sea of insufferable lawyers. Brilliant move, really.

“Now, my client ran from the police, A behavior that you called” the defence attorney stated as he looked into the file on the table “’A strong indicator of his guilt.’”

“Yes, that's correct.” Hotch confirmed.

Why was he even always so proper…

“Were you aware that he had an outstanding warrant at the time of his arrest?” the defense attorney asked, striding toward the testimony stand where Hotch sat, calm and composed.

“Yes. I believe it was for an automobile accident, a hit and run,” Hotch responded.

“So isn’t it possible that Mr. Matloff fled, not because he was guilty of murder, but because of this other warrant?” the attorney pressed.

You almost wanted to stand up and applaud the sheer stupidity of the question. Really, it took a special kind of talent to ask something that idiotic.

Unfortunately, Hotch couldn’t call him out for it - officially, anyway. “There were eight law enforcement officers in bulletproof vests. I doubt any reasonable person would assume-”

“A yes or no answer will do,” the attorney interrupted, smugly cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Fuck him,” you muttered under your breath, bristling as Hotch was forced to answer, “Yes, it’s possible.”

Beside you, Spencer turned, his eyes wide with shock. “Language!” he whispered harshly.

“I just can’t stand when rhetoric is used to distort the obvious,” you muttered defensively.

“They didn’t seem to bother you much earlier when it was Lawyer Hillenbrand using it,” he pointed out, voice barely audible but definitely smirking for reasons you were ignoring on principle.

“Because she’s supposed to be on our side,” you shot back. “I’m morally obligated to support this lawyer madness when it benefits us.”

“Are you sure it’s not about the fact that he interrupted Hotch?” Spencer pointed out quietly.

Well. Yes, of course… but it wasn’t just that, was it?

How could you be this mad over an arrogant idiot cutting someone off mid-sentence? Must be something more. Must be all these lawyers overcomplicating something so simple.

…As if you could talk.

“Are you sure it’s not cumulative frustration?” you shot back with a smirk.

Spencer tilted his head, considering. “Statistically, it could be both.”

You barely suppressed a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek as you turned your attention back to the stand.

Hotch, as always, remained calm and collected - but you still caught it. That faintest twitch in his jaw. The only visible sign of frustration as the attorney continued talking down on the very thing that had shaped all of your lives.

The very thing that was the reason why a ring was missing from Hotch’s hand.

The reason Spencer barely got to see his mom.

The reason you were alive today - and also why your life was constantly at risk. Opposites.

But sure. Let’s frame behavioral analysis as a pseudo-science. Let’s ignore the countless lives it had saved, the crimes it had prevented, the killers it had caught, just so this smug bastard could spin a cheap courtroom trick, already sensing the “If the FBI has gotten profiles wrong before, how can they be trusted now?” incoming from a mile away.

Oh, truly. Suck it.

But what really burned was the fact that to make this argument, he was standing there undermining Hotch’s credibility in a room full of people.

Hotch - who was the best profiler you knew. Bias or not, that was just a fact.

And now, you had to sit here, behave decently, and watch this clown parade his bullshit like it meant something.

“Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” he attorney pressed on, undeterred.

“No,” Hotch replied simply.

“The fact is,” the attorney continued anyways, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.”

Hotch shot him a look that could have frozen water, and it almost made you laugh. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him, you thought, seething internally.

Oh, how you wished you were a carnival psychic right now. They always had crystal balls, and one of those would be just perfect to shove right up-

“Charcoal gray,” Hotch said.

You couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t even matter if he was right or not; it was so Hotch – that determination to prove he was right, no matter what. And of course, he had to do it with that understated sass.

God, you loved that about him.

The attorney, however, wasn’t as charmed. He spun on his heel and raised the hem of his pants, exposing his socks to the jury. “Well, look at that,” he said smugly. “He got one right.”

Hotch barely blinked.

“You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and have had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you're frugal, but in fact, you're having financial difficulties. You wear a fake Rolex because you pawned your real one to pay your debts. My guess is to a bookie.” His tone was calm, measured - but the glint in his eyes told an entirely different story.

And God help you, you couldn’t look away.

This was the Hotch you first met.

The man who never held back when proving a point, who used logic and intellect as a weapon without ever raising his voice. Who didn’t need theatrics, just cold, undeniable facts to dismantle someone completely.

It was a pity, really - how he let others do most of the talking these days. How he stepped in only to make the big decisions, rarely taking the floor himself. You'd almost forgotten this side of him.

The side that made him who he was.

And watching him now - fully in his element, effortlessly dismantling someone with nothing but facts and razor-sharp precision - it was intoxicating.

And there was no point in even trying to deny it.

The attorney bristled, his face reddening. “I took this case pro bono. I am… one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state,” he shot back defensively.

You nearly rolled your eyes.

Amateur mistake.

If there was one thing you’d learned in nearly a decade of bickering with Hotch, it was that the second wave always hit harder than the first.

And, predictably, it did.

“Your vice is horses,” Hotch continued, unbothered. “Your BlackBerry’s been buzzing on the table every 20 minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results. And every time you do, it affects your mood in court. And you’re not having a very good day.”

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law,” Hotch concluded after a brief pause, his voice dropping ever so slightly. “By always taking the long shot.”

Next to you, Spencer whispered in awe, “Wow, that was so-”

Hot. Panties dro-

“Fascinating,” you cut in quickly, glancing at Spencer as he gave you a curious look.

The attorney, meanwhile, looked like he’d been sucker-punched. He opened his mouth, floundering for a response, but Hotch wasn’t done.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Hotch said, his gaze calm but piercing, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Right on cue, the BlackBerry on the attorney’s table buzzed loudly, the sound slicing through the silence in the courtroom.

“Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?” Hotch asked smoothly, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

Because that – that - was your move.

He had picked up your habit—the one he teased you about constantly - of ending arguments with a question.

It was something that had been ingrained in you for years, thanks to an almost obsessive love of Socratic gnoseology - the idea that knowledge is not something you hold, but something you uncover through dialogue.

And your personal interpretation of it in which truth exists in the space between two minds, constantly shifting, constantly evolving.

So when a conversation ended, it didn’t really end - because there was always a question left hanging in the air, an invitation for the next step in the process.

And you did it all the time.

"That’s not how psychopathy works," Hotch had told you once, after you’d suggested a suspect might be forcing himself into emotional relationships as a way of imitating normalcy. "True psychopaths don’t feel the need to mimic emotions that serve no function for them."

"But if the imitation itself brings him a sense of control, doesn’t it serve a function?" you had countered, arching an eyebrow at him.

Hotch had opened his mouth, closed it again, then just shook his head.

"You always do that," he had muttered.

"Do what?" you’d replied

"Leave the conversation open-ended." He’d observed, looking into your eyes

“I do?” you’d replied, leaving him inhaling through his nose to avoid the urge to… do something about it… take the matter in his own hands.

Or there was that time on the jet, after a particularly difficult case.

You’d been sitting across from him, still dissecting the nuances of the unsub’s psychology, pulling apart the threads like you could unravel the truth if you just tugged hard enough.

"He killed because he needed to prove his own autonomy," you mused, more to yourself than to him.

"Or he killed because he was incapable of existing outside the parameters of control," Hotch countered, leaning back slightly, arms crossed, ever the counterweight to your theorizing.

You nodded, thoughtful, then tilted your head at him.

"But if control is a construct, then what does that say about our ability to assign guilt? Can you truly be responsible for something if the very foundation of your actions was never yours to begin with?"

The second the words left your mouth, Hotch exhaled sharply through his nose, then scrubbed a hand down his face.

"You know what it feels like talking to you sometimes?" he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow. "Do enlighten me."

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Like I can physically feel your fingers poking around inside my brain."

A slow grin spread across your face. "Did I rub the spot that itches?"

The look he gave you could’ve scorched metal. "No."

His glare was so Hotchner™ that it sent you completely over the edge. You laughed – loudly - and the unexpected force of it was enough to make Derek, who was sitting across the aisle, rip off his headphones with a frown. "Did - did Bossman just make a joke?"

Hotch turned to him with the exact same withering stare, as if that alone was enough to erase the last minute from existence. Which only made you laugh harder.

You wiped a tear from your eye, struggling to breathe. "He’s hilarious, isn’t he?" you managed between gasps, leaning back into your seat, while Hotch sat there looking like he was seriously considering whether the seat next to Rossi was available - and if relocating mid-flight was a viable option.

And yet -

Here he was now.

Doing the exact thing he’d always scolded you for.

Ending with a question.

Leaving it open-ended.

Again - like truth itself was something that couldn’t be pinned down - something that lived in the dialogue between two forces rather than in any single answer.

Like the moment you were sure you’d found it, it had already shifted into something else.

And much to your utter surprise - Hotch was looking directly at you as he said it. Was it acknowledgement?

Or maybe he’d finally started to see what you’d always known.

The best arguments never really ended, they just evolved.

Much like this cross-examination.

“Your honor, this is-” the attorney began, his voice strained.

“What do you want me to do?” the judge interrupted, giving him a stern look. “Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

The attorney swallowed hard, his confidence now thoroughly shattered. “Nothing further,” he muttered, retreating to his seat.

“Wise decision,” the judge said dryly. “Court will be adjourned until 9 a.m. tomorrow.” The gavel came down with a sharp crack, signaling the end of the session.

As the room began to empty, you stole another glance at Hotch, who was helping Cece Hillenbrand to gather their notes, completely unbothered by the absolute public execution he’d just performed. If you weren’t careful, you were going to need a good excuse for why you couldn’t stop smiling.

When the case finally wrapped, a few days later, you, Hotch, and Spencer were busy putting files back into the box for the drive home when Cece made her way over, phone in hand.

“It’s over,” she announced, a satisfied smile on her face. “Matloff’s pleading out.”

“Congratulations,” Hotch said, his tone polite but neutral, as she stepped closer - closer specifically to him, as if the rest of the room – ergo, you and the Doctor - didn’t exist.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she added, voice warm, eyes locked on Hotch like he was the only person in the room.

Which was fascinating, considering you and Spencer were also standing right there.

Not that she seemed to notice - because apparently, furniture didn’t get acknowledged. You shot Spencer a side-eye just to confirm he was catching this absolutely shameless display.

He was.

"First round’s on me," she added, flashing an even wider smile, completely ignoring the fact that -unbelievably you and Spencer had also worked on the profile. But sure. All Hotch.

He barely held back a laugh, suddenly finding a very unnecessary interest in the files in front of him.

Meanwhile, Hotch didn’t miss a beat. "No, we’ll take a rain check. We’ve got a long drive," he said casually, already reaching for the evidence box. "Maybe another time."

A long drive?

Sure. If you considered three hours and forty minutes long.

You’d done worse on less sleep. Honestly, if Hotch wasn’t so insistent on driving all the time like it was some kind of sacred duty, you could’ve shaved at least forty minutes off that easily. And if he got tired, he knew you’d switch - just like you always did.

No. This wasn’t about the drive. Definitely not.

And the realization made your heart feel just a little lighter.

The moment Hillenbrand was out of earshot, Hotch turned back to you and Spencer with the nonchalance of a man who definitely hadn’t just sidestepped the most obvious invitation to spend the night with a woman who, by all accounts, was exactly his type.

"Where are we staying for dinner?" he asked, tone all business.

You raised an eyebrow. "Here?" You gave him a look that, if translated, would read: Are you serious?

"If it gets late, I can drive on the way back so you can rest," Hotch said, so earnestly matter-of-fact it was almost convincing—almost.

Either he completely missed your point, or he was choosing to ignore it.

Thankfully, Spencer wasn’t one to let things slide.

"Didn’t you just implicitly tell Mrs. Hillenbrand you couldn’t stay up late?" he asked, brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

You bit back a laugh, leaning casually against the table. "Yeah, Hotch," you echoed, tilting your head toward him with exaggerated innocence. "I thought we had a long drive ahead of us? Wouldn’t want to keep you up past your bedtime."

Hotch shot you and Spencer one of his looks, the desired effect unfortunately ruined by a twitch of his lips. “I figured you’d want a real meal before we hit the road”

Before you could throw another quip his way, Hotch lifted the evidence box and reached the door first, holding it open for you and Spencer. As you stepped through, you felt it - his hand, settling lightly at the small of your back, guiding you forward.

Brief. Fleeting. But it sent a shiver down your spine you tried to brush off the best you could.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done it – all of these overly-polite, instinctive gestures like that seemed second nature to him - but lately? It had been happening a lot more.

"Thanks, Hotch," you said, not sure whether you were thanking him for the touch or for the fact that chivalry just seemed to effortlessly exist within him - either way, you didn’t dare look at him.

"Of course," he replied.

Weird.

Again.

Still - not as weird as when he seemed to completely break character at the diner later that night.

It had started off normal enough - ordering, small talk, Spencer rattling off statistics about late-night dining habits until Hotch shot him a look that had him switching to stirring his coffee instead.

And then? Then Hotch had stolen a piece of your dessert.

Just casually reached over with his fork, sliced off a bite of your cheesecake like it belonged to him, and popped it into his mouth before you even had time to register what had happened.

"What the-" you stared at him, utterly scandalized.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look remotely guilty. Just set his fork down neatly and said, "To celebrate the victory."

You blinked. "That was my celebration."

"You were taking too long," he said, so matter-of-fact you almost choked.

Spencer, across the table, looked back and forth between the two of you like he was watching an alien encounter.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Hotch leaned back in his seat, sipping his coffee, and went off on a full tangent about his time in law school.

As if you hadn’t had enough of lawyers in the past few days because of him.

As if he hadn’t just stolen your damn dessert.

And yet - you let him talk.

Because there was something almost soft about it, the way his voice dipped slightly as he recounted late nights, textbooks, memorizing case law until his head ached. He wasn’t bragging - just reminiscing. Something about the way he spoke made it feel less like he was listing facts and more like he was inviting you into a part of his life that he rarely, if ever, shared.

And then, just as you were starting to enjoy it-

"You know," Spencer interjected, "technically, eating from someone else’s plate without permission is a form of food aggression, commonly observed in pack animals."

Hotch didn’t waste a second. "If you want a bite too, Reid, you can just ask the Professor."

Spencer went bright red.

You grinned, rolling your eyes. "Sure," you said easily, nudging your plate an inch closer. "And while you’re at it, go ahead - take another bite yourself. Since we’re apparently just ignoring the rules of polite society now."

Hotch met your gaze, unreadable for a moment. Then—without breaking eye contact—he reached forward with his fork, deliberately sliced off another bite of your cheesecake, and ate it.

Slowly.

Your jaw dropped.

You gasped, scandalized. "Aaron."

He barely blinked. "It’s a very good cake."

Your outrage. Your absolute disbelief. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to fight him or-

No. Fighting. Definitely fighting.

"So uncivilized…," you muttered.

You had never hated a man more in your life. He would pay for this. Someday.

"Well," you said finally letting out a nervous laugh, acknowledging the obviously abandoned booth empty except for you, Aaron, and was that… yes. Emily’s scarf. "Looks like it’s just the two of us."

Aaron smirked, looking straight into your eyes. "So it seems."

And of course you had to smile back, trying to keep things casual despite the very real, very undeniable fact that his gaze lingered just a second too long. Or maybe two – or three.

Must have been the beer - even though you knew far too well it would take a lot more than a few drinks to knock Aaron Hotchner into nonsense.

Especially when the silence that followed felt… weird.

Not uncomfortable, just strange enough to make you want to do something about it - something you’d been itching to do all night but hadn’t been able to, because apparently, you had to unpaidly babysit Spencer and entertain Rossi until the very man sitting across from you finally graced everyone with his presence.

"So…" You exhaled, tilting your head toward the dance floor. "Are we just going to rot in this booth all night, watching everyone else have fun?"

Aaron shook his head, already defensive. "I don’t rot."

"Oh, forgive me," you said." Incorrect wording choice, my dearest sir. Are we to simply remain here, languishing in solitude, whilst the rest of our merry company partakes in revelry and joyous abandon?"

Although, judging from the look he gave you, despite the linguistic accuracy, he wasn’t really fond of your impeccable sense of humor.

You sighed and gestured toward the dance floor, further solidifying your case. And - just in time to really drive your point home - even Spencer was now being dragged into the chaos in real-time. The Unit Chief truly could not rely on semantics this time.

A phenomenon so shocking that Aaron actually sat up slightly, his mouth opening as if to intervene, even before you could ask, "I don’t dance," he said.

You scoffed. "Liar."

Because oh, you would never forget the day you first found out that him, of all people, was actually a very good dancer.

Which was exactly why you should have known better.

If only you had been thinking with your brain instead of getting distracted by the way his biceps and veiny forearms flexed when he leaned his elbows on the table, you might have realized what he was actually saying:

"I don’t dance… with you."

Not tonight.

Not when he was still, every once in a while, subtly checking to see if your dress had somehow shifted a shade darker shade of navy blue - or if it was still black.

So thorough, Aaron. Really.

And so, instead of admitting any of that, he just huffed, reaching for another excuse. "They don’t play old songs for old people like me."

An impressive effort - really. Especially considering the Rihanna song currently blasting in the background.

Even more impressive? The fact that this exact song - the one he had just written off as not for his demographic - was one of many he had been singing at full volume in the car on the way to the bar.

And he had felt so relieved that you’d never come to know that particular detail. Which made it all the sweeter when, instead of humoring him, you simply-

Stood up.

No teasing. No cat and mouse. Just turned on your heel and disappeared into the sea of sweaty, dancing bodies.

That…

That wasn’t the plan. Or, at least, it was supposed to be his win.

Except now, he was the one sitting there.

Alone.

In that rotting booth.

Watching the dance floor.

Watching for you.

Catching glimpses of you as people moved, blocking and unblocking you like a shifting tide.

And he hated it. Truly.

So when, inevitably, a song old enough to be considered "an old song for old people like him" - despite being a timeless disco classic and released eleven years after he was born (but hey, that’s the oldest a bar DJ could get) - started playing through the speakers…

He knew his fate was sealed.

Dancing Queen. How ironic. This must have been the national holiday of "let’s all make fun of Aaron Hotchner."

And so, because his earlier conditions had been rendered completely inefficient, you were back at the booth within seconds, ready to claim your hostage.

Quite literally the happiest hostage.

"I do not dance," he tried again, but it was already too late, you were grinning, already tugging him up by the arm.

"Come on," you insisted, already swaying, already singing - "’Cause you can dance, you can jiiiiiiiive…’"

You linked your arm through his, looping it like something straight out of a Regency-era ball, because if the man was so insistent on playing up his age tonight, then he might as well fully commit, embracing some proper old-fashioned social etiquette while you were at it.

He half-protested, half-laughed - despite himself - as you dragged him toward the dance floor.

On the outside? He looked like a dried prune.

Scowling.

Trying desperately to suppress every ridiculous flutter in his stomach as you danced right next to him - casually grabbing his shoulders, sliding your hand along his biceps, anything, really, just to let him loosen up.

And, most importantly, since you were a rancorous little thing, to embarrass him.

So, carefree, you pointed straight at him during the chorus, belting out, "Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!"

…Really?

Aaron faltered, frowning. "I’m forty-two."

And somehow, that tiny moment of confusion cracked his defenses.

He laughed.

And just like that, you had him - always had him, if he were honest.

It’s just that this moment - maybe in its genuineness, in the memories that pulled him back - was making it so much harder to fight.

Because just like now, you had dragged him onto the dance floor nine years ago, on that ridiculous night when you had somehow convinced him to dance to that choreographed routine of "It’s All Coming Back to Me Now."

Again, how ironic, because now- as he danced with you, nowhere near as gracefully as that night, but laughing anyway, belting out off-key lyrics with you, twirling you just for the joke-

It was all coming back to him.

No need to fight the fall anymore.

You were both undeniably off-key, the dance moves were questionable at best, and there were far too many exaggerated hand gestures and mock performances happening between the two of you.

But for once, he wasn’t overthinking.

Wasn’t pulling away.

Wasn’t bracing himself against the idea of enjoying something just because.

Because, just like he could be himself alone in his car, singing off-tune with the windows rolled up, so could he be himself with you.

No fear, no hesitation. Just this. Falling for someone in a way that wasn’t grand or poetic.

Not a bunch of doves trained to spell your name in the sky.

Not a dramatic sunrise over a canyon shaped like a heart.

Not a sweeping declaration in the middle of a rainstorm.

Not the kind of love that finds its pleasure after pain.

Just a bar, a stupid song and you.

He was yours.

But would you be his?

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

I MIIIIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME NEW TAG SORRRYYYYY I'M DUMBBBBB, tell me if I did AAAAAA SORRYYYY

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter two: used to burn cds full of songs i didn't know summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/price previous chapter | next chapter

would u believe me if i said part of the reason this fic exists in the first place is because i was listening to the mean girls remix and i placed price in the perspective of julian casablancas divorcedly singing about his failed relationships while thinking of the reader frolicking in the back as charli goin "THIS ONE'S FOR ALL MY MEAN GIRLSSSSSSSSSS" 😭😭

-----------------

Price was old.

He was well aware of this.

Whether it was the lumbering and lingering ache of a strained muscle from a campaign that greeted him upon waking up in the morning, or Johnny and Kyle snickering together of his first job being the lad who told Scrooge that it was Christmas Day, Price was well aware of the crows feet by his eyes.

And the refined and honed strength of his backhand across the back of Johnny’s and Kyle’s heads that only decades of experience could provide.

He wasn’t one to keep up with trends, but he was at least aware that buying music wasn’t the same either.

Instead of having his choice of Virgin Records or HMV to stroll up to on a Saturday morning, there was now Spotify or Apple Music on his phone.

It was a curious and nice thing however, to see that you–as a current artist–were still keeping the lost art of physical releases alive with your music.

While standard for you as a pop star, there was something kind and nostalgic to be able to pop open a CD case and pluck a thin shiny disc from within.

Though, here he was with a celebratory cigar in hand at a local pub not too far from the Shangri-La with the others–one that aligned more with their average shared tax bracket–, befuddled at the album that was handed to him, one that looked to be more the size of a Bible than the thin plastic cases of before.

Your first solo album. 

A gift from you to him, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon that was given by your manager–Pearl, a woman whose knife-like acrylic nails, insistence on wearing sunglasses indoors, and an air of Dior perfume and cigarette smoke served as a quick snapshot of a no-nonsense industry veteran–on their way out from the hotel. The introductions and pleasantries were short and curt, her handshake firm and cold before she departed to return to her room upstairs.

Inside the ornate packaging of your album included a lyric booklet that looked to be a mini-photo book instead, pictures of your album’s photoshoot within–so unlike the thin booklets of before.

What did stand out most to him was the small card that featured a photo of yourself on the front and a signature printed on the back.

“Ahh got yerself gold right there, Captain! Her fans would kill ya for that,” Johnny chuckled, brandishing the card he received: the outfit was the same but your pose was different and he wasn’t as fortunate to receive a signature on his.

Neither did Kyle and Simon apparently, the former curiously checking your wiki page on his phone while the latter gleamed through your lyric booklet with nary a word.

Price brought his cigar to his lips for a puff, his eyes trained on your photocard, taking in every detail presented.

From having previously seen you so meek, quiet and shy to now holding a card of you dressed in full glamour, doe eyes gazing up to the camera and–

He glanced further down.

–your dress cut nice and low.

His lips pursed slightly in thought.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most professionally appropriate to be ogling his client or morally appropriate to be ogling the young woman who one of his good friends entrusted her safety to.

But hey–Price simply liked what he saw.

“You wanna trade, boss?”

Price’s gaze flickered over to Johnny, who held out his photocard: it was you with your back turned towards the camera, your eyes fixed in a wink and your fingers fixed in a peace sign. While his question was posed in a light tone, the look on his face was more like that of a puppy.

He returned his gaze to his card.

That look on your face, that revealing dress of yours.

Cigar smoke was held in his mouth a second more before he carefully released it from his lips to keep the heady clouds from floating over your card.

Shifting his eyes back to Johnny’s pleading features, he proceeded to flicker some cigar ash over a nearby tray. “It’s a tough economy out in the world, Johnny.” Practically hearing the Scot’s heart break from across the table, he held up your card once more, tapping on the front a few times–right on your cleavage at that–as he affirmed with a nod and his tone light. “I’ll be keeping this should I need to start bartering at Sainsbury’s.”

Johnny was left to seek comfort from Kyle and Simon for a trade.

“Let me save you some time, mate–I’m keeping mine.”

“Kyle, I didn’t even–Fine, fine. Simon let me see what ya got, yeah? Not like yer actually gonna do anything with it.”

“A picture’s worth a thousand words, Johnny. Hers is 10,000–start tellin’ me why I should give mine to you.”

“Dinnae gimme any of that cheek, ya bastard!”

As this went on, Price tucked your photocard away into the pocket of his bomber jacket, letting his hand linger over the printed rectangle for a moment longer.

Your beauty was worth more than gold, that was for certain.

-----------------

thank you for reading!!! for the warm reception upon debut!!! working on this piece has really reinvigorated a passion and drive for writing and i hope you all enjoy what's in store!!! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

and just as a little something something, here's the title of the next chapter:

sweat marks all on my clothes

i wonder who shall be the focus next time !!! 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

[fuckitupfelix]

OH MAN SINCE UR REQS ARE OPEN AGAIN if ur comfortable, cld u write any hq character wiht a transmasc s/o whose experiencing dysphoria :3

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !!!! schools taken over my life •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

sweet comfort ☆

iwaizumi x trans!male reader

FEM ALIGNED DNI

iwa is such a nice guy, lets make that much clear

he's willing to let you borrow his hoodies and go shopping for clothes whenever you want to

he'll sit in bed with you and cuddle after practice

so it's safe to say he cares about you ( ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

he'll invite you to his games and subtly comment that his bf is coming,,

-> cue explosion from the other third years :9

you ask him for clothing recommendations and he just tells you what he wears to the gym..

-> sorry to all u fashion gurus out there I fear iwa is NOT that guy

-> give him a tank top and a comfy pair of shorts and he's set

feeling too dysphoric to leave the house? that's fine! he's over with a bag of snacks and CDs for the Godzilla movies

or if you just wanna sit together on the couch? that's fine too! anything for his sweet boy <3

he might be quiet at times, but him being there physically, holding you close, gives him a bit of reassurance as well

moral of the story 10/10 best bf ever

+ bonus smau!!

testing out some things, might do more smaus... but they're a lot of work and kind of confusing .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠. i hope you enjoyed tho!!!

divider by @/plutism !!

[drdemonprince]

How to be anti capitalist and still invest in the stock market?

The Socially Conscious Mustachians group on Facebook is a great place to turn to, if you want to speak with other people contemplating these questions. There are some forums on the Mr Money Mustache site where people explore alternate options too.And I suppose I should mention that there are index funds that purposefully exclude stock in firearms, tobacco, fossil fuels, and other especially morally galling industries.

Personally, I wouldn't pretend that any investment method can be moral. Holding onto any resources within the imperial core is arguably immoral. I think if you've been around here a while, you might have noticed that my lens of analysis is not one of personal moralization. If someone thinks that me saving for an early retirement is immoral, I can't necessarily disagree with their value judgement, I certainly see the basis of it. My viewpoint is that not being dependent upon an employer for a wage means I can be far more selective in how I spend my time, and not take work that I view as morally compromising, and live more in alignment with my values in a variety of other ways while surviving as a disabled person and supporting my friends from time to time, none of which would be possible if I was dependent upon a full-time wage. But I can see why others would disagree. I would certainly welcome the collapse of capitalist society and lose all my savings if it meant not having to make these awful choices.

If you wish to invest without putting money in the stock market for moral reasons, then investing in a money market is really the only way to go. Bonds and CDs loan money to a genocidal government; investing in the stock market fuels (and allows you to profit from) capitalism. If you can find a banking institution or credit union that does not invest in oil pipelines and political lobbies and keep your money in a high-yield savings with them, that's the simplest, best, and likely more secure way to go.

[cdsillylilyposting]

Looking at Lily's recent works, I wonder why she doesn't just write straight-up incest. It's clear that she wants to

But I guess it wouldn't pair well with her posturing and perceived moral superiority, so all she can do is joke uncomfortably from the sidelines and claim semi-plausible deniability

Its cause it would align to well with what her sibling coming back and saying what they are about CD

Along with the other tubers who've shared her weird incest positive takes

Thats literally the only reason, she was always being weirdly sexual with her audience and videos before, but shy'd away to lean further into the owo smol persona of being victimized by meaners on the internet

[starlessleep]

— Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that SELENE SWALLOW is a a PROSTHETIC ENGINEER that works in SECTOR 7. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of CLAIRVOYANCE. That must be why they’re INSIGHTFUL and ERRATIC. If you ask me, they remind me of pulsating lights, broken cds, & soda can tabs. They are the leader of THE JAGUARS.

basic information:

character name: selene swallow face claim: lily gladstone mutation status: gen ii mutant birthday: sexuality: pansexual moral alignment: chaotic neutral occupation: prosthetic engineer work sector: sector 7 affiliation: the jaguars 3 positive traits: efficient, farsighted, patient 3 negative traits: disruptive, faithless, irritable

biography (tw for medical mentions ):

the oldest daughter of a disgraced doctor. selene only had herself and her twin brother, roman, to rely on. her mother abandoned them both at a rather young age

she also has two younger sisters

her father used to be a grand doctor...but during the days before the cure was administered, he became disgraced after it was revealed he illegally harvested organs from several of his patients. he was fascinated by the mutant virus, especially to individuals who mutated to be immortal

mechanical parts aren't necessarily cheaper than human body parts...but they're not quite as messy to obtain and can be more easily manufactured. selene was pushed by her father to study bio engineering and cybernetics

her father has always been critical of her actions and everyone in her life. in turn, selene would regularly do things against his wishes purely to make him mad, including getting married at the young age of nineteen. she didn't really love him, but her father was angry, and that was enough

a few short months later, her husband became comatose and was eventually pulled off life support. she never had any proof of such, but had a feeling her father had to do with it

her father unexpectedly passed away, and the following day selene discovered a hard drive in her home. some digging uncovered that he had, miraculously, managed to install all of his memories onto the hard drive - or at least so selene believes

equally upset and angry with their father, her brother attempted to burn down their father's lab, which resulted in him being injured in the process

selene hates her father and all he stood for...but recognizes his talent and intelligence, and understands his fear of dying. she pulled some of his old contacts to help form the jaguars, initially so that she could build her father a new body, or at least understand his technology better, and try to save her twin brother.

questionnaire:

how do they feel about living in sol city? have they always lived there or did they travel from another settlement?

selene has always lived in sol city, but she doesn't feel any particular attachment to the settlement

do they trust the council’s leadership? why or why not?

definitely not. but selene typically follows her own rules and guidance anyway. she prefers they turn a blind eye to their activities, so her jaguars can continue on without much worry

if they chose their sector and profession, why did they make that choice? if they didn’t, why not? were they happy with their assignment or not?

her career was chosen by herself, after quite a bit of studying, and influence, from her father

what’s one object that they always keep on their person?

two heart shaped necklaces

what is your character’s ability (or abilities)?

selene is clairvoyant, but she always describes it as getting gut feelings on things. its essentially an extra sense. sometimes she has intimate knowledge on something without being told, or can see connections between two things that aren't obvious

are they gen i or gen ii?

gen ii

what can your character do? what are their strengths?

selene can get gut feelings on different moves or tactics. typically, if something is a bad idea or dangerous, a wave of nausea often rushes over. if something is a good idea, or even just important, she might feel light headed or like there are butterflies in her stomach

what can’t they do? what are their weaknesses?

just because she has a gut feeling about something doesn't mean she knows what specifically the gut feeling is about. sometimes the plan itself is good, but something unrelated spells disaster. things that are bad are often easier to tell than things that are good. also, she can have difficulty determining the difference between what is her gut feeling and what is just normal bodily reactions to things

for strong reactions to things, selene can also become physically ill, including stomach cramps, nausea, and vomiting

she doesn't know specifics, but knows where to look. she may not know the winning lottery numbers, but out of a stack of lotto cards, she could pick a winning ticket, even if the prizes are only a few dollars

[schismusic]

Ripping it up and starting again with Depeche Mode

A version of this post existed a month ago already. It was supposed to be a piece more in the vein of the Lou X one, but I decided not to post it because it was really bad from a moral standpoint. So back to the drawing board we go. Which is very funny to me because Depeche Mode's career seems entirely based on that, trial-and-error, or more exactly successive approximations. Vince Clarke leaves them, they start from square one again with Martin Gore as lead songwriter. Alan Wilder leaves them, they start kind-of-sort-of where they left off. Andy Fletcher dies, they finish up the record and it's actually good, which surprises many, myself included. Andy Fletcher's death, as terrible as it is to say out loud, was that extra push I needed to actually get my ass onto Depeche Mode for real and not just as vestigial remains of something my mom told me once when I was like five.

Rationally, I kind of just thought Depeche Mode were some run-of-the-mill synthpop band who nailed a couple songs here and there, and depending who you ask that might even be the case, so when I was 16 my initial reaction was something along the lines of "okay so aesthetically they're slightly edgier than Talk Talk, aka the renowned and incontestable pinnacle of '80s synthpop, that's cute, anyway back to The Colour of Spring" which in retrospect makes me want to slap myself across the face. And it's definitely not Talk Talk's fault, believe me, not one bad record except maybe The Party's Over but y'know, growing pains! The one thing I'll allow artists, but not myself. Until at one point my mom goes "hey, can you make me a CD for the car? I want Stairway to Heaven in it." For reference, my mom basically had no clue who the fuck Led Zeppelin were until my old band decided we actually were crazy enough to try playing Stairway to Heaven to an actual human audience — and for some reason my mom liked our version better. Damn, being sixteen and vaguely cute really lets you get away with some crazy shit. But yeah, I had seven minutes filled, alright - what do I fill the CD with? I knew that my mom is, usually, more aligned to my music tastes than my dad is (I think I actually showed my mom '90s Swans and System of a Down on two separate occasions, somehow not getting consequently, uh, retroactively aborted) and I knew my mom liked bands like Duran Duran and Depeche Mode back in the '80s, so what the fuck, let's google "depeche mode" and see what pulls up.

Take a wild guess what pulled up.

And ironically, even that didn't entirely stick the landing. I had this whole ass conversation with my friend R. about how Depeche Mode's production decisions were dated "but like in an iconic way and unintrusive" or some backwards ass shit, I don't even know, I guess I was trying to justify myself for not liking a fucking record as much as I expected (????) and into the mnemonic toilet it went. Until March 2023 rolls along and at A.'s birthday, on the Bluetooth boombox that A. never separates from, this plays:

And it was, again, cute, right. It's dated in a very endearing way that makes it somewhat compelling. And so was Strangelove, which for some reason felt like a natural next step to take from there, but nothing else came of it. I never went out and listened to the singles, minus some of the ones I'd known as a kid: in case you're wondering, they were Peace and Blasphemous Rumours, which are definitely not babby's first Depeche Mode songs. For some reason I still couldn't cut the same slack I'd been cutting for — again — Talk Talk, whom I still love dearly. Maybe it was just a question of time, or simply of just learning to get along with the fact that things age. For some reason it took me a good five to seven years to actually realize that, god damn!, I'd never listened to a full Depeche Mode album before. So since I'm a smartass and it has an edgy title, I started out on Black Celebration and it's good, don't get me wrong, but definitely not the best possible starting point for Depeche Mode I think? If you're looking for veritable bangers front-to-back maybe go for Violator, or Songs of Faith and Devotion if you're feeling like some extra zest. But whatever, I don't know what the fuck happened that day in the car. Anyway that's how I came across my favourite Depeche Mode song, which on my worst days still gets me if it catches me off guard.

And that's what made it click, for some fucking reason. Real talk — it barely gets any more stereotypically '80s than the single mix of this song, and yet here I am bopping my shit to the beat, genuinely rocked to my socks and in a frenzy. Add to that this interesting conversation I had with this friend of A.'s, a Russian girl who immediately charmed me with her wits and unique makeup game (on a different occasion she referred to a Soviet-era children's TV show called Приключения Буратино — "priklyucheniya Buratino", which translates to "The adventures of Buratino" — as a major inspiration point for her aesthetic choices). For a very peculiar coincidence, it turned out that most of the people at the party were of Eastern European descent to some degree, and when A Question of Time played literally every single one of these people popped up saying "damn, my mom loved Depeche Mode" and this here girl I was talking about told me that back in the '90s, I'm talking immediate post-USSR years, her mom once got detention because on a school trip to Belarus she skipped class to go buy Depeche Mode posters at a newspaper stand. So since I'm very normal about this kinda stuff, I obviously went back home and googled "depeche mode russia", which led me to this here Dazed article which in turn led me to depeche.ru, a small miracle of a Web 2.0 time capsule where a treasure trove of pictures taken by Russian and Eastern European fans of Depeche Mode from the mid-'80s all the way to 2006 — last update of the site so far.

The beautiful thing about Depeche Mode is exactly this: the fact that they aren't afraid of being endearing and even vulnerable to an extent. It's hard to think of a rock act as big as Depeche Mode are that's able to pull that stuff with aplomb: Springsteen, maybe? I'm not expecting Metallica, Green Day or Kid Rock to ever put out anything that competes with Nebraska — or even Born to Run, just to be fair to everyone involved. And it cracks me the fuck up that someone would think that Springsteen is anywhere close to the hard-rock-minded hard-headed bastard that his fans on average are: which admittedly is a very wooden and unfortunate way of tying together Depeche Mode and Springsteen, but they were for me. Nebraska and Songs of Faith and Devotion came to me almost simultaneously, as the result of a musical discovery that saw me navigating a moment of true crisis, a moment where once again the answer was: ignore the noise. Rip it up and start again. And that third verse on Atlantic City very gracefully paired up with a track like Walking in My Shoes because they are unapologetic in their presentation, direct and deceptively raw — all qualities that all rockers like to pretend they have, but that very few people are able to properly handle, let alone effectively weaponise. They hide nothing, and yet find a specific, unique perspective on feelings that at some point bite any and everyone of us. It's insane to me that the most blue-collar of all the classic rockers, the one guy who never really lost touch with what he represents and stands for, and what some people still derogatorily refer to as "a synthpop band" managed to stumble upon such similarly expressive aesthetic markers at similarly crucial moments in their respective careers. And both things mean the world to all fans involved, because they remain in touch, they know themselves and who's coming to the shows — which warrants a constant stream of new people. "What you see is what you get" is not about repetitiveness: like it was meant to be for Sonic the Hedgehog, it may be a statement of intent and transparency, something simultaneously simpler and deeper than shallowness can ever allow for.

(On an unrelated note, I would literally kill for Springsteen's Butterscotch Blonde Telecaster, and while I perfectly know that's the most basic possible Telecaster color and literally any other American-made Butterscotch Blonde Fender Telecaster would potentially have the same aesthetic and practical functions as Springsteen's, it's a bit like that Borges story where he meets himself but forty years younger: sure, it's the same, but ever so slightly different in a way that feels a bit uncomfortable or counterfeit. Telecasters are great guitars. Rationally speaking if I had the money I would probably go with something with humbuckers on, but fuck me, that twang is something else.)

Necessarily, this entails the ability to pick up the pieces no matter what gets thrown your way, and rearrange them at the best of your abilities. And it's hard. Legitimately speaking, I don't think neither of the parties involved (including, possibly as the biggest offender, Sonic the Hedgehog) really did it every single time. But putting away our necessarily partial perspective as listeners who are not in the band, does it ultimately matter? Martin Gore's divorce produced a track like Precious, which in the context of any other band would probably have been met with some backlash of the "they've-gone-soft" variety; and yet Playing the Angel is widely regarded as one of their late-era records, because the ability to honestly process emotion was always part of Depeche Mode's vocabulary and tricks of the trade. It's what makes a song like The Things You Said fly, especially in the 101 concert movie. During the film, there's an extreme close-up on a kid with puffy cheeks, messy bangs, clear eyes and a tooth gap singing the most teenaged fucking bullshit ever and still, it flies, because Martin Gore's lyricism — while maybe not as elaborate as Tom Waits*', sure — hits the spot. It's not its simplicity as much as it is some form of universality, perhaps.

Case in point: the latest Depeche Mode record, which came out in March 2023, is called Memento Mori, and apparently the title was chosen before Andy Fletcher's untimely passing. There's a song on it called Always You and it's a very passionate and heartfelt elegy to passing time, and a paean to things that stay. It's easy to think it's a love song of sorts: it literally says "my love" as a constant refrain in verses, so I guess it is, what the fuck can I say guys?, but there are many things that you can love, and many ways that you can love. It doesn't try to be "hip" and "cool", it doesn't sound old-man-yells-at-cloud contrived, it does its thing and gives no fucks and as such it sticks the landing. A little honesty and conviction go a really long way.

*If there had to be a third act with irremovable cred, that's absolutely my man Tom Waits, but that gets a bit more on the intellectual side of things and requires a little bit of irony and suspension of disbelief I'd argue. He deserves his own post, in short.

[originalcheesecakemusic]

What is DevOps and How Does it Work?

In today’s fast-paced software industry, businesses are under pressure to release features faster, fix bugs more quickly, and improve overall application performance. This is where DevOps comes in—a methodology that bridges the gap between development (Dev) and operations (Ops) teams to streamline software delivery and ensure reliability, scalability, and speed.

DevOps is not a tool or a single process—it is a culture shift and a set of practices that promote collaboration, automation, and continuous feedback throughout the software development lifecycle. By integrating development and operations, DevOps helps eliminate traditional silos, reduces manual tasks, and enables frequent, reliable software releases.

Understanding the DevOps Lifecycle

The DevOps lifecycle includes several stages: plan, develop, build, test, release, deploy, operate, and monitor. Each stage is interconnected, forming a continuous loop that ensures faster and more efficient software delivery. Automation plays a vital role at every step—whether it’s continuous integration (CI), continuous delivery (CD), automated testing, or infrastructure as code (IaC).

"DevOps is not a goal, but a never-ending process of continual improvement." – Jez Humble

This lifecycle encourages iterative development and immediate feedback, helping teams detect issues early and respond quickly to changing requirements.

To make the DevOps journey successful, many organizations turn to DevOps consulting services. These services provide expert guidance on tools, automation strategies, CI/CD pipeline design, container orchestration, cloud-native development, and more. For companies at the beginning of their DevOps journey, consulting ensures that the transformation aligns with business goals and is scalable for future growth.

How DevOps Works in Real Life

Let’s consider a practical example. Imagine a fintech startup building a mobile app. Traditionally, developers would write code, hand it over to QA, then to the operations team for deployment—leading to delays, errors, and frustration.

With DevOps, the startup integrates CI/CD pipelines, enabling developers to push code frequently. Every commit is automatically built, tested, and deployed to a staging environment. Operations teams use infrastructure as code (IaC) to manage cloud resources, ensuring consistency across environments. Monitoring tools continuously track app performance and user behavior, allowing real-time feedback loops for developers to fix issues quickly.

This automation and collaboration not only improve software quality but also boost team morale and accelerate time to market.

In fact, startups that adopt DevOps early benefit from faster innovation. That’s why it’s essential to identify what's the best DevOps platform for startups. Choosing the right combination of tools and cloud infrastructure ensures that DevOps implementation is cost-effective, scalable, and tailored to startup needs.

The Role of DevOps Consultants

DevOps transformation isn’t just about tools—it’s about mindset, structure, and workflows. A DevOps transformation consultant helps businesses adopt agile principles, restructure teams for collaboration, and implement best practices like version control, automated testing, and continuous monitoring.

"You build it, you run it." – Werner Vogels, CTO of Amazon

This principle emphasizes ownership and accountability—a core value of DevOps culture. Consultants also help in selecting suitable cloud platforms (like AWS, Azure, or GCP), integrating Kubernetes for container orchestration, and establishing security practices such as DevSecOps.

By offering hands-on support, DevOps consultants accelerate transformation and ensure long-term success.

Challenges and Considerations

While DevOps offers numerous advantages—faster releases, better quality, reduced risk—it also presents challenges. Cultural resistance, lack of skills, and toolchain complexity can slow down adoption. Hence, organizations must invest in team training, leadership buy-in, and robust planning.

Moreover, metrics and monitoring are crucial. Tracking deployment frequency, lead time for changes, change failure rate, and MTTR (mean time to recovery) helps measure the success of DevOps practices.

For businesses aiming to stay competitive in a digital-first world, DevOps is not optional—it’s essential.

Final Thoughts

In summary, DevOps is a transformative approach that merges development and operations to foster automation, collaboration, and rapid delivery. Whether you’re a startup looking for agility or an enterprise modernizing legacy systems, adopting DevOps can drastically enhance software development outcomes.

Visit Cloudastra Technology: Cloudastra DevOps as a Services to learn how tailored DevOps solutions can help your business scale faster and smarter.

[duckpasta-kamonabe]

This is a continuation of this one massive trainwreck of a vent

read that one to get more context about this post.

In short, this is about an unknown dark lore about legend of the blue wolves, but perhaps with careful dissecting, I think it's fake and gay? Amen, hopefully.

But I hated how it became a blight in this already poor, underrated, underappreciated peak of fiction.

TW : contains mentions of inc3st and horrible treatment of character with sexual ass4ult lore. Hopefully it's not canon.

Preface : I'm not into anti/proship wars so 2d morality doesn't apply here. But Holy shit the writing is so trash and OOC and godawful. Like WHO ARE THESE PEOPLES??????? These guys are body snatchers larping as the main characters, or even it might be Continental in his Tanuki leaf disguise

THE LEONARD PEDONARD ALLEGATIONS (beaten)

(this is how a playboy brother predator behaves, according to the booklet /s)

by the way, the lower left scene happened before they're officially a thing, and even it translates literally to "I won't force myself on people not interested with me" in the japanese dialogue

---

Again, I won't leak the booklet content due to even worse copyright and personal reasons.

But there isn't just the drama CD. Remember how I said that "there's also a delulu/interview" by the spokesperson of the fan anthology?

Yeah. Leonard is mentioned in there A LOT. So much that Jonathan was merely reduced to a joke or "Leonard's fuck toy who he uses as a lilbro replacement" (I'm not making this up)

There's 4komas made by the fan anthology spokeperson and it depicted Leonard forcing Jonathan to wear his little brother's clothes when he realized his resemblance (causing Jonathan to panic), it also depicts Leonard being cold uncaring and scary to John, and also Leonard only caring about fucking Jonathan 7x in a row.

And then there's both spokeperson deluluing with another person joking that the seventh man on the anime refers to amount of Leonard's partner, and a much more serious "Omg, Why is leonard so distraught about his otouto chan's death...? could it be.... SWEET HOME ALABAMA ONIICHAN??????"

(fellas, is it gay and incestuous to be devastated and traumatized by the death of your little, underaged sibling which might be accidentally caused by YOUR HANDS and losing your homeland? /s)

"I don't want to focus on the H scenes", ironically said the spokesperson who was interviewing Shinichi Ishihara, the OVA's singer and brainrotting about their ideas for "prequel"

For someone who's not interested in H scenes, they sure speculate about Leonard's sexual prowess so much it defeats the OVA itself!!!

Could it be, the drama CD idea of "Leonard" all came from this one particular person?????

like, shit. I know it's a 4koma joke etc, but considering how it influences the CD drama plan, shit's so unfunny. Get a better fucking joke. Hahahaha -_-

---

"He reserves his smile and love only for the guys he's interested to, Lilbro and Chris-chan"

One could make an argument that Leonard smiles a lot because John looks like lilbro, but at that time, Leonard treats John like a stranger/comrade instead of a lover. Even had to reiterate "I'm not forcing myself on you!!! (or thinking of Jonathan as a love interest)" in unintentionally steamy no homo situation.

For a guy described as cold, reserved, icy in the booklet 4koma, he **sure is talkative as fuck**

(Leonard, please shut the fuck up...)

Honestly his characters are much more aligned with Kelly Layzner or even Anavel Gato in 0083. A career oriented guys who won't shut up about SOLDIER VALUES, SOLDIER CRED so much that Gato prefers to be gay for zeon and his comrades in arm than seeing Nina in bed with a black bra and rose petals.

Kelly might be an asshole at first glance, but earn his respect and he'll be your homie. Otherwise, he's just cold to people he deems loser/not in their place. Even if he ditch his girlfriend for zeon, his motivation centers around protecting his loved ones. So he's definitely not a cold ice king.

Like Kelly, Gato thinks highly of his comrade, and his shitty attitude on Nina was for her sake, for better or worse (since it's the infamous controversial parts of 0083 X_X)

Just more of a macho guy with stereotypically masculine ways of expressing affection. Perhaps this kind of "bro" display came out as rude or cold in the eyes of fujos customized with depiction of already-feminine men in BL? (even in so called men's love BL), thus the OOC icy cold hearted sigma-male Leonard?

I mean feminine/masculine in a stereotypical way. Especially if you consider all of these are works from the nineties, where gender behavior are sadly more strict (it's dumb imo).

If incest means gooning to your SOLDIER COMRADE, WAR BROTHERS IN ARMS, yeah that's leonard alright. Diddling your biological lilbro is cringe though, only villains does that.

Leonard banging Jonathan (lilbro lookalikes) sounds weird at least, but it's rather tame compared to the existence of imouto genres like oreimo, or yosuga no sora TV twincest uncensored seggs scene (while gay anime had to fight for gay kiss. Clown world) , plus getting sibling-zoned is really a problem sometimes in romcoms.

Plus at least Leonard separates his romantic-seggsual feelings towards Jonathan versus his protective big bro instinct (though sometimes PTSD be kickin in)

---

CREATOR'S INTENTION

Even though a work was so bad, there's no doubt an approval of the creator. No matter how bad a work is, if it's canon, then it's canon. "stop bitching" or "cope seethe mald" as they say in dudebro circles

Is it? Though????

(google cringe translated. But you can go to their official website here)

(I get it bud!!! You're NOT LIKE OTHER YAOI!!!!)

so much glazing comes from "realism" "hard sci-fi" "beyond yaoi" "transcending gay anime" etc etc.

now what does the creator says about this anime?

mucho texto, but feel free to translate this.

The creator intends it to be a riff of homosexual subtext in stereotypically manly friendship/rivalry epic movies like Ben Hur, or Lawrence of Arabia, and many other movies dealing about war, adventure et cetera.

Appealing to classical fujoshis was the least of his priority, but in the end being a broke studio that almost went bankrupt twice, I think he had to reconsider widening his audience a bit. But it's always enforced that he always wanted it to be like his vision : a military epic with homosexual relationship and possible char amuro esque rivalry between leonard and jonathan had it got 6 episodes it deserved?????)

I think you could see this worldview in the OVA. Not a single shoehorned love triangle. Continental is still a r4pist and not treated as a love interest. Leonard and Jonathan's relationship are less treated like trashy/scandalous. And even Leonard had to fight those brocon allegations in the end!

(kawaii incest, love triangle, harem and possessive playboy seme, soooooo original!111)

I know those thing happens in real life (and on sad note, the incest stuff. God I saw some cursed things on reddit confession. How could someone be that terminally porn brainrotted)

but realistic or not. It's rather cliche.

To be honest, most of the big popular BL at this time had those cliches too. The oniichan complex, the love triangles (Boku no sekuhara, even in Ai no Kusabi), the possessive seme where everything became a love war if you're men, or playboy seme who beds 100000000696969696969696969 men and women gets converted into monogamy by a twinkling baby kawaiidesu uke's pleading eyes (Fujimi orchestra, Level C) or all at once (Close the last door)

of course not all 90s BL fell into that pit (Seikimatsu darling and be boy kidnappin idol W), but when your genre name back then was defined by fantasy. Well let's say representation be damned.

I won't go into yapping if BL was realistic or not, because all the anti/pro shipwars are sooooooo stupid it bores me to death (AND YET most twitter fell for it), plus I'm a wahmen. What does a stupid fujoshit like me have as credibility.

---

However, there's a lot of disconnect between author's intention and what the drama CD aspires to be. When author intention wants it to be a war epic movie with gay secks, the drama CD aspires to have the trashiest BLCD cliches known to god, mankind and apocalypse.

I think there's a lot of reason why it could be """"canon"""" in a sense. I dug up a bit of information about the producer of the drama CD plans, Toshiki Kazama (or Toshiki Ohnishi)

Apparently he was a second producer in other anime produced by lotbw's studio? He also manages the production of the Ginrei gaiden OVA (a giant robo OVA spinoff to secure extra money), and if you see the leaflet above, he's mentioned on the spine text promoting urotsukidouji's OST

In short, he's definitely not a "nobody", and even had privilege to produce his own spinoffs.

according to this article, lotbw's manga adaptation was troubled and rushed. It's part of an tie-in advertisement for the anime. And guess who was listed as a promoter in the Lotbw OVA credits rolls? (guess)

Tried to search on their other business practices when it comes to drama CD creation. They did made another drama CDs for Ginrei OVA, princess nine and a audio book of super atragon of all things! (in particular ginrei / princess nine was a joke, non canon fanservice)

while they all could be excused that they're funded by third party, but the original anime staffs are always involved somehow.

Lotbw drama CD? ...only on supervision and music (tbh all music in phoenix ent's anime are composed by the same guy)

The rest are unknown. And the creator/producer of the anime isn't involved. Even weirder, it's not mentioned anywhere in the data of this fan-web, approved by official

Its location being promoted in a backwater fan-anthology and not magazines is just one weird fumbles they did. And the fact that they never made the CD despite lotbw having promising market is even weirder too. I thought they're running out of cash and needs income? Wouldn't a simple drama CD would've helped?

I know giant robo episode 7 hinders the production of lotbw's anime sequel. But this one? A drama CD? (Since Jonathan isn't there, and Koyasu was known to avoid uke/bottom roles, shouldn't it be much more easier? And oh Leonard's VA (Morikawa) and Lilbro's VA (Hiro Yuuki) already recorded BLCD together.

(God, I can imagine if lotbw became popular and there's a delulu cancer cult of the fandom, I could imagine it's the Leonard x lilbro shippers)

Strange decision tbh.

I imagine it's something like "God created mankind, mankind created AI and gets fucked" scenario. Creator of Lotbw told their promoters to make as much promotion, only for it to backfire as they don't fully understand the creator's intention.

---

AFTERWORDS

It's nice to get rid of the lump on my throat that have been haunting me for so long. Sometimes I remember this shit trash of a drama CD plans and booklet, and then I rewatched the anime. Like HOW TF DID SOMETHING SO PEAK HAD THIS ASS OF AN ADAPTATION?

It's like seeing heaven and the depths of the hell at the same time

there's a strange pic on the middle, a bizarre scene that never appears in anime. Like who tf is that? Not!Leonard? (I call that guy Casval Deikun 2 to distinguish from Kelly Layzner-gato Leonard). Continental-kun looks different too.

I read that it was a promotional artwork for the Barazoku magazine, which preferred BDSM stuff. So perhaps it exists only for that occasion and not something actually in the anime (misleading marketing. They did it to with makai tensho. Fuckin insane)

that and when they mention lawrence of arabia as an inspiration, I think I get why it existed.

---

I really wanna trust this anime's production. The anime was peak, but this booklet does makes me wary about a lot of things. Perhaps it might not be Leonard diddling his lilbro, but it could be something so stupid like love triangle BS, OOCness or even "Leonard and Jonathan was long lost sibling" shock plot only to parody Tekkaman Blade.

Can I fix the drama CD and include the alabamacest? Beats me. I thought if it was "sadly canon", I'd make it more of a homage to war in the pocket instead of being absolute shit like this.

I guess I never liked the idea of Leonard being the classic seme who had 1901949848984949889298499498942 boyfriends converted into uke-yandere . Of course some people are "open", but Leonard doesn't seem to be that guy. Through the course of the anime, he focuses on Jonathan as his homie, and boyfriend.

He could've have some ex and probably not the dramaticized-exists for love triangle BS plot but instead a flavor text.

In fact, Continental would've be a better contender!!! If they really want alabamacest or hapsburg chin legacy (but gay), they could've just made Continental and Purplehair Twink guy into Degwin and Garma clone and make a story about the evils of nepotism, grooming, and it'll still fit into Lotbw's lore as a prequel!!!

in fact, all the shit I wrote above felt like it was written by Continental himself. Maybe it was all his dirty fanfic he shoved on his tiny USB, writing what if he got Leonard's rizz instead.

who the fuck is Anthony even? Lilbro was never named in the settei, script, storyboards etc. Like who is he?

What drama CD?

Although...

[bardic-tales]

Nurturing November: Day 2: Alignment and Morality

Throughout this month, I’ll be sharing character-building exercises that I have completed that will bring out my ocs’ more tender sides. This can be anything from snippets to oc questions to character analysis.

Content Warning: abuse, betrayal, death, emotional trauma, isolation, loss, mental health struggles, self-reliance, toxic relationships, trauma.

In moments of vulnerability, Bianca wrestles with the dissonance between her steadfast beliefs and the grim realities that define her existence. Her past, marred by betrayal and loss, had shaped a rigid worldview where self-sufficiency is paramount. This independence shields her from the pain of reliance on others, yet it isolates her in a world full of emotional peril.

As she confronts her fears and the harsh truth of her life — particularly the betrayals that led her to distrust even the most sincere relationships — she often finds herself at a crossroads. The moment forces her to reflect on the walls she has erected around her heart, recognize that while those walls may be protective, that they are also her prison.

Despite her instinct to maintain a stoic front, the weight of her experiences compel her to acknowledge her longer for the connection that every being in Fantasy Worlds Collide feels, including celestials. In her heart, she years for the warmth of intimacy and the solace that comes with truly knowing someone else. As she often recalls the emotional bonds she forged with Krista and Mordecai, the memories often evoke an ache within her. The betrayal by Krista particularly serves as a painful reminder of what happens when one opens their heart to someone, but Sephiroth and his devotion to her, even in his madness, illustrates the depth of her own capacity to love.

In Fantasy Worlds Collide, it is forbidden for celestial beings to fall in love with mortal beings. As Bianca fell in love with Sephiroth when he was a mortal, she was exiled from the Celestial Realm. This ethereal space becomes a testament to the possibility of love and trust, helping Bianca reconcile her beliefs about independence, understanding that connection can foster resilience and growth rather than weakness.

Ultimately, these moments of introspection leads Bianca to a tentative acceptance of her vulnerabilities. She recognizes that allowing herself to be open with others is a pathway to healing and becoming stronger. Though few, her relationships are profound, and she learns that each connection carries the potential to transform her from a being of isolation, even though the later Final Fantasy 7 arc has her in complete isolation with only Sephiroth as company, to a narrative of mutual support and trust.

This realization will ignite a glimmer of hope within her, motivating her to confront her fears and embrace the complexities of loving someone like Sephiroth and all of his villainous tendencies, knowing that true strength lies in resilience and the vulnerability she shares with him.

[tonymattny]

No Code Testing: Revolutionizing Automation in Software QA

Introduction to No Code Testing

The demands of rapid product cycles require faster and more efficient testing methods. Modern enterprises focus on reducing manual testing and increasing productivity. No code testing changes the landscape by allowing testers to automate workflows without writing code. ideyaLabs stands at the forefront of this revolution, providing solutions that drive efficiency for quality assurance professionals.

The Essence of No Code Testing

No code testing simplifies the automation process. Its user-friendly platforms empower non-developers to create automated tests with simple drag-and-drop features. Testers no longer depend on complex scripting. ideyaLabs offers a reliable no code environment where testing teams collaborate seamlessly.

Why Businesses Choose No Code Testing

Efficiency is essential in today’s fast-paced market. No code testing provides quick iteration cycles. Teams create tests within hours instead of days. Reliability increases as repetitive tasks become automated. ideyaLabs enables organizations to deploy robust testing pipelines that keep pace with development speeds.

Empowering Everyone: Democratizing Software Testing

No code testing gives power to every member of the software team. Testers, business analysts, and product managers work together on automation strategies. ideyaLabs breaks down technical barriers. The result: more inclusive and comprehensive quality assurance processes.

Reduction in Testing Time and Costs

Manual scripting requires intensive resources. No code testing shortens project timelines. ideyaLabs delivers platforms where tests evolve quickly, minimizing maintenance costs. Businesses reinvest saved resources into innovation and customer satisfaction.

Enhanced Test Consistency and Reliability

Human error can slip into repetitive manual testing. Automation maintains consistency. ideyaLabs anchors all test processes in no code routines that provide error-free, repeatable execution. Bugs get caught earlier in the lifecycle, reducing future workload.

Collaboration Across Departments

No code platforms foster collaboration. ideyaLabs integrates communication tools into testing workflows. Marketing, operations, and customer support contribute to testing criteria. Quality becomes a shared responsibility, not just a development concern.

Scalability and Flexibility in Test Management

Product features expand over time. No code testing scales with them. ideyaLabs supports the easy migration and duplication of test cases. Updating or expanding coverage requires minimal effort, keeping testing aligned with ongoing development.

Adapting to Continuous Integration and Continuous Delivery

Modern software development relies on CI/CD methodologies. No code testing fits naturally into these pipelines. ideyaLabs enables test automation that runs with every commit, ensuring rapid, ongoing validation of code changes. Bugs and regressions surface quickly, preserving software stability.

Transition from Traditional to No Code Testing

Transitioning from coded automation can challenge teams. ideyaLabs provides structured onboarding, ensuring a smooth shift from manual or coded workflows to no code platforms. Companies see improved morale and performance as testers gain more autonomy.

Improving Test Coverage Across Environments

No code testing increases coverage by enabling easy test scenario creation. ideyaLabs ensures coverage across browsers, devices, and platforms. Regression, functional, and integration tests expand without extra development overhead.

Real-Time Reporting and Metrics

Clear reporting speeds up decision-making. ideyaLabs integrates real-time dashboards into its no code platforms. Teams monitor progress, detect trends, and optimize continuously. Data-driven testing fosters trust between stakeholders.

Reducing Skill Gaps in Test Automation

Many organizations struggle to find test automation experts. No code testing eliminates dependency on niche skills. ideyaLabs lowers entry barriers so anyone can contribute to test automation, reducing recruitment pressure.

Industry Adoption Trends

Adoption rates for no code testing increase every quarter. ideyaLabs partners with enterprises across healthcare, finance, and retail, enabling cross-industry transformation. The shift from script-based automation to no code models continues to trend upward.

Security and Compliance in Automated Testing

Security requirements shape testing practices. No code testing aligns with compliance standards. ideyaLabs incorporates built-in audit trails, access controls, and data privacy features. Security teams trust their automated processes and maintain regulatory compliance.

Driving Faster Product Releases

Product launches depend on quick, thorough testing cycles. No code solutions accelerate go-to-market strategies. ideyaLabs minimizes bottlenecks in testing, supporting agile product releases and frequent updates.

A Look Ahead: The Future of No Code Testing

No code testing defines the future of software quality assurance. ideyaLabs pioneers platforms that blend AI enhancements, self-healing tests, and intelligent suggestions. Teams focus on strategy and innovation instead of technical debt.

Conclusion

No code testing reshapes expectations for automated quality assurance. ideyaLabs provides powerful platforms that open automation to everyone, reduce costs, boost productivity, and scale with growing business needs. In the landscape of modern software delivery, no code testing stands as the foundation for faster, higher quality releases. Choose ideyaLabs to start transforming your software testing processes today.

[hypotheticalobjectshow]

where would you place each character on the dnd moral alignment chart

hmm

lawful good: honey, snail shell

neutral good: safety goggles, compass

chaotic good: tire, tv

lawful neutral: dumpling

true neutral: butter toast, bingo

chaotic neutral: cd, baguette, crowbar

none of them are evil though. Host has no motivations or beliefs and so I didn’t include them

[marketingviadigtal]

DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change

One of the most overlooked challenges in DevOps adoption is the need for managers to adapt their leadership style. Traditional models often rely on top-down control, rigid hierarchies, and isolated decision-making. However, DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change requires a more flexible, people-centered approach.

Managers must move from command-and-control to coaching and enablement. That means trusting teams to make decisions, facilitating collaboration, and encouraging open dialogue between departments.

By shifting focus from control to empowerment, managers unlock team creativity, boost morale, and accelerate delivery.

Building a Culture That Supports DevOps

Culture is the foundation on which all DevOps practices are built. Even with the best tools and processes, DevOps fails without the right team mindset. That’s why DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change prioritizes psychological safety, accountability, and shared ownership.

Managers should focus on:

Encouraging experimentation and viewing failures as learning opportunities

Celebrating small wins that reinforce good practices

Setting a clear vision that connects DevOps goals with business outcomes

Creating open spaces for feedback and improvement discussions

A strong culture makes it easier for teams to collaborate, take initiative, and sustain momentum.

Aligning DevOps with Business Priorities

DevOps can’t exist in a vacuum. It must align with your organization’s broader goals, whether that’s customer satisfaction, faster delivery, or product innovation. As a manager, your role is to connect the dots between technical execution and business strategy.

DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change involves translating leadership objectives into meaningful metrics for engineering teams.

For example:

If your business wants to reduce churn, managers can prioritize incident response times and system uptime.

If speed to market is the focus, then delivery frequency and lead time should be your key metrics.

In this way, DevOps becomes more than a workflow—it becomes a business growth engine.

Encouraging Interdepartmental Collaboration

One of the main goals of DevOps is to eliminate barriers between departments. Still, many organizations struggle with internal silos that create delays, miscommunication, and duplicated work.

To address this, DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change calls for managers to be collaboration architects. This can be done by:

Holding joint planning sessions with Dev, Ops, QA, and Security

Defining shared KPIs across departments

Implementing communication channels that promote daily interaction

Assigning DevOps champions to coordinate between teams

When departments align under a unified DevOps vision, results are faster, smoother, and more reliable.

Managing Risk in a DevOps World

A common concern among managers is that faster releases may lead to higher risk. But in truth, DevOps reduces risk when implemented properly. With automation, real-time monitoring, and smaller, incremental changes, issues are identified and resolved quicker than ever.

As part of DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change, leaders must understand how to balance innovation with stability. This involves:

Setting guardrails instead of hard restrictions

Implementing approval workflows that don’t create bottlenecks

Supporting rollback options and feature toggles

Investing in observability tools to detect issues instantly

With the right risk strategies, DevOps becomes both fast and safe.

Training Teams for DevOps Readiness

Technology evolves quickly—and teams must evolve with it. Managers play a key role in upskilling their teams and preparing them for new responsibilities introduced by DevOps.

Your training strategy under DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change should include:

Hands-on workshops for CI/CD, automation tools, and cloud services

Soft skill development like problem-solving, communication, and agile thinking

Encouraging certifications in DevOps practices (AWS, Azure DevOps, etc.)

Regular knowledge-sharing sessions within and between teams

When managers invest in learning, it sends a message: DevOps isn’t just a tool shift—it’s a mindset upgrade.

Creating Accountability Without Micromanagement

As DevOps encourages autonomy, it’s crucial to maintain accountability without becoming overly controlling. Managers often struggle with this balance.

Here’s how DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change addresses this:

Establish clear performance indicators linked to outcomes, not tasks

Use dashboards and visual data to track progress transparently

Promote peer reviews and internal audits as part of the process

Trust teams to make decisions, while providing timely support when needed

This balance allows teams to grow while still delivering measurable business value.

Making DevOps Stick: Long-Term Sustainability

Initial enthusiasm for DevOps can fade without a clear long-term strategy. To ensure DevOps is embedded into your organization, you need continuous alignment, improvement, and leadership visibility.

Managers who succeed in DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change focus on sustainability by:

Scheduling regular DevOps health checks across departments

Encouraging retrospectives that lead to real action items

Keeping DevOps part of executive-level conversations

Refining KPIs as the company grows and evolves

DevOps is not a one-time project—it’s a long-term capability that should evolve with your business.

Final Message to Managers: Be a DevOps Leader, Not Just a Sponsor

The difference between companies that thrive with DevOps and those that don’t often comes down to one factor—leadership engagement.

DevOps for Managers: Leading the Change is a reminder that technology alone won’t transform your teams. It takes committed, informed, and growth-minded leaders to bring about real results.

So ask yourself:

Are you empowering your teams with the right tools and trust?

Are you aligning delivery practices with real business impact?

Are you actively removing roadblocks and enabling success?

If the answer is yes—you’re already leading the change.

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[smartcitysystem]

Build, Test, Deploy—Faster. Smarter. With DevOps Consulting

In the age of rapid digital transformation, speed and agility have become essential for business survival. But with complexity increasing across software development pipelines, how can you ensure fast, error-free releases without compromising stability? The answer lies in DevOps—and more specifically, in expert DevOps consulting services that help organizations implement smart, scalable, and automated development workflows.

In this article, we’ll explore how DevOps consulting accelerates your build-test-deploy cycle, improves collaboration between teams, boosts software quality, and empowers your business to innovate faster.

What Is DevOps and Why Does It Matter?

DevOps is a set of practices and cultural philosophies that unify software development (Dev) and IT operations (Ops). The goal is to shorten the development lifecycle, increase deployment frequency, and deliver robust, high-quality software.

Traditional development teams worked in silos: developers wrote the code, and operations teams deployed and maintained it. This led to delays, miscommunication, and finger-pointing when things went wrong.

DevOps breaks down these silos by encouraging:

Continuous integration and continuous delivery (CI/CD)

Automation of testing and deployment

Real-time monitoring and feedback

A culture of shared ownership and responsibility

When implemented well, DevOps can reduce deployment time from days to minutes, improve code quality, and boost team morale.

Why Your Business Needs DevOps Consulting

While the benefits of DevOps are widely known, successful implementation is not always straightforward. That’s where DevOps consulting services come in. A DevOps consultant assesses your current setup, identifies bottlenecks, and builds a tailored roadmap for success.

Here’s how DevOps consultants help you move faster—and smarter:

1. Assessment and Strategy Development

Every organization is different. DevOps consultants begin with a detailed assessment of your infrastructure, team capabilities, and current workflows. They then build a custom DevOps roadmap aligned with your business goals.

This strategic blueprint outlines:

The best tools and technologies for your environment

Key automation opportunities

A phased approach to CI/CD adoption

Security and compliance integration

2. Automated Builds and Continuous Integration

Manually integrating code changes is not just slow—it’s error-prone. DevOps consultants set up CI pipelines that automatically build and test new code every time a developer commits changes.

Benefits include:

Instant feedback on code issues

Reduced integration headaches

Early bug detection

Faster iterations

With CI, developers can focus on writing better code rather than fixing last-minute integration issues.

3. Smarter Testing with Automation

Testing is often a bottleneck in traditional release cycles. DevOps consultants automate unit tests, integration tests, and even UI testing to ensure bugs are caught early and frequently.

Smart testing practices include:

Shift-left testing (testing earlier in the lifecycle)

Parallel test execution

Real-time test reporting

Quality gates in pipelines

The result? Higher test coverage, fewer regressions, and more confidence in every release.

4. Rapid Deployment Through CI/CD Pipelines

Gone are the days of manual releases. DevOps consulting services help you implement continuous delivery (CD) pipelines that automate the entire deployment process, from code commit to production.

These pipelines:

Deploy to staging or production environments automatically

Roll back changes instantly if issues arise

Support blue/green or canary deployments

Integrate with container orchestration platforms like Kubernetes

The upshot: release more often, with less risk.

5. Infrastructure as Code (IaC)

DevOps consultants introduce Infrastructure as Code tools like Terraform, Ansible, or AWS CloudFormation to manage infrastructure with code. This allows your team to:

Provision environments on-demand

Eliminate manual configuration errors

Version-control infrastructure changes

Scale systems quickly and reliably

IaC also plays a crucial role in cloud migration and hybrid cloud strategies, making your infrastructure as agile as your applications.

Real Business Outcomes from DevOps Consulting

Still wondering if DevOps consulting is worth the investment? Here’s what businesses typically achieve after adopting DevOps with the help of consultants:

70% faster deployment cycles

Fewer bugs in production due to automated testing

Increased developer productivity and happier teams

Stronger collaboration between development, QA, and operations

Higher customer satisfaction with faster feature releases

Choosing the Right DevOps Consulting Partner

Not all DevOps consultants are created equal. When choosing a partner, look for:

✅ Proven experience across industries and platforms

✅ Tool-agnostic approach that fits your tech stack

✅ Expertise in cloud platforms like AWS, Azure, or Google Cloud

✅ Strong communication and change management skills

✅ A focus on upskilling your internal teams

Great consultants don’t just deliver solutions—they empower your teams to maintain and improve them long after the engagement ends.

The Future of DevOps: AI, Observability, and GitOps

As DevOps continues to evolve, consultants are helping organizations adopt cutting-edge practices like:

AI/ML in DevOps (AIOps): For predictive monitoring and smarter automation

GitOps: Managing infrastructure using Git as the single source of truth

Advanced Observability: Real-time insights into application performance and user experience

Forward-looking businesses are already leveraging these trends to stay ahead of the curve.

Final Thoughts: Go Faster. Go Smarter.

Whether you’re a startup scaling fast or an enterprise modernizing legacy systems, DevOps consulting can make a measurable impact on your software development lifecycle.

From faster builds to automated testing and seamless deployments, DevOps consultants help you turn complexity into clarity—and ideas into innovation.

If you're ready to build, test, and deploy faster, don't go it alone. Partner with DevOps experts who understand your challenges and know how to solve them smartly and sustainably.