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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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“If buying isn’t owning, piracy isn’t stealing”

20 years ago, I got in a (friendly) public spat with Chris Anderson, who was then the editor in chief of Wired. I'd publicly noted my disappointment with glowing Wired reviews of DRM-encumbered digital devices, prompting Anderson to call me unrealistic for expecting the magazine to condemn gadgets for their DRM:

https://longtail.typepad.com/the_long_tail/2004/12/is_drm_evil.html

I replied in public, telling him that he'd misunderstood. This wasn't an issue of ideological purity – it was about good reviewing practice. Wired was telling readers to buy a product because it had features x, y and z, but at any time in the future, without warning, without recourse, the vendor could switch off any of those features:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/12/29/cory-responds-to-wired-editor-on-drm/

I proposed that all Wired endorsements for DRM-encumbered products should come with this disclaimer:

WARNING: THIS DEVICE’S FEATURES ARE SUBJECT TO REVOCATION WITHOUT NOTICE, ACCORDING TO TERMS SET OUT IN SECRET NEGOTIATIONS. YOUR INVESTMENT IS CONTINGENT ON THE GOODWILL OF THE WORLD’S MOST PARANOID, TECHNOPHOBIC ENTERTAINMENT EXECS. THIS DEVICE AND DEVICES LIKE IT ARE TYPICALLY USED TO CHARGE YOU FOR THINGS YOU USED TO GET FOR FREE — BE SURE TO FACTOR IN THE PRICE OF BUYING ALL YOUR MEDIA OVER AND OVER AGAIN. AT NO TIME IN HISTORY HAS ANY ENTERTAINMENT COMPANY GOTTEN A SWEET DEAL LIKE THIS FROM THE ELECTRONICS PEOPLE, BUT THIS TIME THEY’RE GETTING A TOTAL WALK. HERE, PUT THIS IN YOUR MOUTH, IT’LL MUFFLE YOUR WHIMPERS.

Wired didn't take me up on this suggestion.

But I was right. The ability to change features, prices, and availability of things you've already paid for is a powerful temptation to corporations. Inkjet printers were always a sleazy business, but once these printers got directly connected to the internet, companies like HP started pushing out "security updates" that modified your printer to make it reject the third-party ink you'd paid for:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Now, this scam wouldn't work if you could just put things back the way they were before the "update," which is where the DRM comes in. A thicket of IP laws make reverse-engineering DRM-encumbered products into a felony. Combine always-on network access with indiscriminate criminalization of user modification, and the enshittification will follow, as surely as night follows day.

This is the root of all the right to repair shenanigans. Sure, companies withhold access to diagnostic codes and parts, but codes can be extracted and parts can be cloned. The real teeth in blocking repair comes from the law, not the tech. The company that makes McDonald's wildly unreliable McFlurry machines makes a fortune charging franchisees to fix these eternally broken appliances. When a third party threatened this racket by reverse-engineering the DRM that blocked independent repair, they got buried in legal threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Everybody loves this racket. In Poland, a team of security researchers at the OhMyHack conference just presented their teardown of the anti-repair features in NEWAG Impuls locomotives. NEWAG boobytrapped their trains to try and detect if they've been independently serviced, and to respond to any unauthorized repairs by bricking themselves:

https://mamot.fr/@[email protected]/111528162905209453

Poland is part of the EU, meaning that they are required to uphold the provisions of the 2001 EU Copyright Directive, including Article 6, which bans this kind of reverse-engineering. The researchers are planning to present their work again at the Chaos Communications Congress in Hamburg this month – Germany is also a party to the EUCD. The threat to researchers from presenting this work is real – but so is the threat to conferences that host them:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/researchers-face-legal-threats-over-sdmi-hack/

20 years ago, Chris Anderson told me that it was unrealistic to expect tech companies to refuse demands for DRM from the entertainment companies whose media they hoped to play. My argument – then and now – was that any tech company that sells you a gadget that can have its features revoked is defrauding you. You're paying for x, y and z – and if they are contractually required to remove x and y on demand, they are selling you something that you can't rely on, without making that clear to you.

But it's worse than that. When a tech company designs a device for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades, they invite both external and internal parties to demand those downgrades. Like Pavel Chekov says, a phaser on the bridge in Act I is going to go off by Act III. Selling a product that can be remotely, irreversibly, nonconsensually downgraded inevitably results in the worst person at the product-planning meeting proposing to do so. The fact that there are no penalties for doing so makes it impossible for the better people in that meeting to win the ensuing argument, leading to the moral injury of seeing a product you care about reduced to a pile of shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

But even if everyone at that table is a swell egg who wouldn't dream of enshittifying the product, the existence of a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature makes the product vulnerable to external actors who will demand that it be used. Back in 2022, Adobe informed its customers that it had lost its deal to include Pantone colors in Photoshop, Illustrator and other "software as a service" packages. As a result, users would now have to start paying a monthly fee to see their own, completed images. Fail to pay the fee and all the Pantone-coded pixels in your artwork would just show up as black:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

Adobe blamed this on Pantone, and there was lots of speculation about what had happened. Had Pantone jacked up its price to Adobe, so Adobe passed the price on to its users in the hopes of embarrassing Pantone? Who knows? Who can know? That's the point: you invested in Photoshop, you spent money and time creating images with it, but you have no way to know whether or how you'll be able to access those images in the future. Those terms can change at any time, and if you don't like it, you can go fuck yourself.

These companies are all run by CEOs who got their MBAs at Darth Vader University, where the first lesson is "I have altered the deal, pray I don't alter it further." Adobe chose to design its software so it would be vulnerable to this kind of demand, and then its customers paid for that choice. Sure, Pantone are dicks, but this is Adobe's fault. They stuck a KICK ME sign to your back, and Pantone obliged.

This keeps happening and it's gonna keep happening. Last week, Playstation owners who'd bought (or "bought") Warner TV shows got messages telling them that Warner had walked away from its deal to sell videos through the Playstation store, and so all the videos they'd paid for were going to be deleted forever. They wouldn't even get refunds (to be clear, refunds would also be bullshit – when I was a bookseller, I didn't get to break into your house and steal the books I'd sold you, not even if I left some cash on your kitchen table).

Sure, Warner is an unbelievably shitty company run by the single most guillotineable executive in all of Southern California, the loathsome David Zaslav, who oversaw the merger of Warner with Discovery. Zaslav is the creep who figured out that he could make more money cancelling completed movies and TV shows and taking a tax writeoff than he stood to make by releasing them:

https://aftermath.site/there-is-no-piracy-without-ownership

Imagine putting years of your life into making a program – showing up on set at 5AM and leaving your kids to get their own breakfast, performing stunts that could maim or kill you, working 16-hour days during the acute phase of the covid pandemic and driving home in the night, only to have this absolute turd of a man delete the program before anyone could see it, forever, to get a minor tax advantage. Talk about moral injury!

But without Sony's complicity in designing a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature into the Playstation, Zaslav's war on art and creative workers would be limited to material that hadn't been released yet. Thanks to Sony's awful choices, David Zaslav can break into your house, steal your movies – and he doesn't even have to leave a twenty on your kitchen table.

The point here – the point I made 20 years ago to Chris Anderson – is that this is the foreseeable, inevitable result of designing devices for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades. Anyone who was paying attention should have figured that out in the GW Bush administration. Anyone who does this today? Absolute flaming garbage.

Sure, Zaslav deserves to be staked out over an anthill and slathered in high-fructose corn syrup. But save the next anthill for the Sony exec who shipped a product that would let Zaslav come into your home and rob you. That piece of shit knew what they were doing and they did it anyway. Fuck them. Sideways. With a brick.

Meanwhile, the studios keep making the case for stealing movies rather than paying for them. As Tyler James Hill wrote: "If buying isn't owning, piracy isn't stealing":

https://bsky.app/profile/tylerjameshill.bsky.social/post/3kflw2lvam42n

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/08/playstationed/#tyler-james-hill

Image: Alan Levine (modified) https://pxhere.com/en/photo/218986

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #playstation #sony #copyright #copyfight #drm #monopoly #enshittification #batgirl #road runner #financiazation #the end of ownership #ip

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 5 months ago

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“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

part two

#steddie #pre steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #i was watching a romcom

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itcsssolutionandstaffing · 1 year ago

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Building network infrastructure requires wired connections – but that’s the traditional way! Now, you can increase your business capabilities and flexibility with wireless networks and infrastructure. Read more about its benefits below.

#Cybersecurity Practices #Network Security #Security Issues

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michaelgabrill · 2 years ago

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NASA Issues New Space Security Best Practices Guide

As space missions and technologies grow increasingly interconnected, NASA has released the first iteration of its Space Security Best Practices Guide to bolster mission cybersecurity efforts for both public sector and private sector space activities. The guide represents a significant milestone in NASA’s commitment to ensuring the longevity and resilience of its space missions and […] from NASA https://ift.tt/rBZ5CMm

#NASA #space #NASA Issues New Space Security Best Practices Guide #Michael Gabrill

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virtualizationhowto · 2 years ago

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Raspberry Pi Firewall Command Line Configuration Step-by-Step

Raspberry Pi Firewall Command Line Configuration Step-by-Step #homelab #selfhosted #rapsberrypi #RaspberryPifirewallguide #UFWsetuponRaspberryPi #SecureRaspberryPinetworking #RaspberryPiUFWconfigurations #TroubleshootingUFWissues #RaspberryPifirewall

Raspberry Pi OS is an extremely popular self-hosting platform many use for running services. Let’s set the tone for Raspberry Pi firewall configuration via the command line and see what we will learn. Raspberry pi os What: A step-by-step how-to guide for UFW (Uncomplicated Firewall) on your Raspberry Pi Where: You can use this on native Raspberry Pi devices or other platforms like virtual…

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#Easy firewall setup on Raspberry Pi OS #Essential UFW commands #Protecting Raspberry Pi with UFW #Raspberry Pi firewall best practices #Raspberry Pi firewall guide #Raspberry Pi network security tips #Raspberry Pi UFW configurations #Secure Raspberry Pi networking #Troubleshooting UFW issues #UFW setup on Raspberry Pi

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astrologydray · 5 months ago

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Venus through the Degrees 💕💋

Venus represents love, beauty, relationships, values, pleasure, and artistic expression. The degree of Venus in your birth chart refines how you experience and express these themes.

0° Venus – The Pure Romantic

• Embodies the raw essence of Venus’ energy.

• Attracts love naturally but may be naive in relationships.

• Strong creative or artistic potential.

1° Venus – The Passionate Initiator

• Bold and confident in love and attraction.

• Takes the lead in romance but can be impulsive.

• Highly independent but seeks deep affection.

2° Venus – The Loyal Devotee

• Strong desire for commitment and stability.

• Expresses love through actions rather than words.

• Can struggle with possessiveness or fear of change.

3° Venus – The Playful Charmer

• Lighthearted, fun, and flirtatious in relationships.

• Loves excitement and variety in love and aesthetics.

• Can be indecisive or drawn to multiple options.

4° Venus – The Heartfelt Guardian

• Expresses love through nurturing and caretaking.

• Finds security in tradition, home, and deep emotional bonds.

• Can struggle with emotional dependency.

5° Venus – The Artistic Creator

• Strong sense of beauty, fashion, and creativity.

• Drawn to artistic partners and luxurious experiences.

• May idealize love or struggle with practicality in relationships.

6° Venus – The Empathic Lover

• Deeply intuitive and emotionally in tune with partners.

• Values harmony, kindness, and spiritual connections in love.

• Needs to establish boundaries in relationships.

7° Venus – The Independent Romantic

• Attracted to unconventional relationships.

• Needs a balance between closeness and personal freedom.

• Can have sudden changes in love interests.

8° Venus – The Magnetic Power Player

• Love is intense, passionate, and sometimes obsessive.

• Attracts powerful or transformative relationships.

• Can struggle with control issues or emotional extremes in love.

9° Venus – The Free-Spirited Lover

• Seeks adventure, excitement, and passion in love.

• Attracted to exotic or unconventional partners.

• Needs a relationship that allows for independence.

10° Venus – The Loyal and Stable Partner

• Committed and dependable in love.

• Prefers stability and long-term relationships.

• Can be reserved in expressing emotions but deeply devoted.

11° Venus – The Visionary Romantic

• Seeks a love that is unique and mentally stimulating.

• Attracted to progressive, unconventional partners.

• Can experience sudden changes in relationships.

12° Venus – The Dreamy Idealist

• Highly romantic, imaginative, and sensitive in love.

• Can be drawn to fantasy-like relationships.

• Needs to stay grounded in emotional reality.

13° Venus – The Intense Lover

• Passionate and emotionally deep in relationships.

• Can experience extremes in love—either all-in or detached.

• Needs to balance intensity with emotional security.

14° Venus – The Social Butterfly

• Charismatic and attractive to many people.

• Loves socializing, beauty, and art.

• Can be prone to superficial relationships if not careful.

15° Venus – The Harmonizer

• Seeks balance, fairness, and peace in love.

• Has a natural grace and diplomatic approach to relationships.

• Can struggle with indecision or people-pleasing.

16° Venus – The Devoted Lover

• Love is tied to deep personal meaning and commitment.

• Strong desire to nurture and support a partner.

• Needs to ensure they don’t lose themselves in love.

17° Venus – The Loyal Protector

• Highly devoted and protective in love.

• Attracted to strong, reliable, and ambitious partners.

• Can be possessive or struggle with jealousy.

18° Venus – The Thoughtful Partner

• Deep thinker in love, values intellectual stimulation.

• Can overanalyze relationships or be too cautious.

• Needs to embrace spontaneity in love.

19° Venus – The Daring Romantic

• Attracted to excitement, thrill, and adventure in relationships.

• Love life may be full of highs and lows.

• Needs a partner who can match their passion.

20° Venus – The Structured Lover

• Seeks order, stability, and long-term commitment in love.

• May approach relationships with logic over emotion.

• Needs to embrace spontaneity and emotional depth.

21° Venus – The Expressive Charmer

• Loves to communicate and express feelings openly.

• Attracted to creative, artistic, or poetic partners.

• Can struggle with emotional depth versus surface-level attraction.

22° Venus – The Master Builder of Love

• Relationships play a significant role in personal success.

• Has a strategic and long-term approach to love.

• Can struggle with rigid expectations in relationships.

23° Venus – The Bold and Fearless Lover

• Loves passionately and fearlessly.

• Takes risks in love and follows their heart without hesitation.

• Needs to ensure emotions don’t override logic.

24° Venus – The Deep Romantic

• Feels love intensely and values meaningful relationships.

• Can be drawn to transformative love experiences.

• Needs to balance vulnerability with emotional security.

25° Venus – The Devoted Guardian

• Highly protective and nurturing in relationships.

• May attract partners who need emotional healing.

• Needs to avoid co-dependency.

26° Venus – The Silent Lover

• Deep but reserved in expressing emotions.

• Love is shown through actions rather than words.

• Can struggle with emotional openness.

27° Venus – The Visionary of Love

• Love is tied to personal growth and long-term visions.

• Attracted to intelligent, forward-thinking partners.

• Needs to balance ambition with emotional intimacy.

28° Venus – The Restless Heart

• Has a strong desire for new experiences in love.

• Can struggle with staying in one place or committing long-term.

• Needs a partner who supports growth and adventure.

29° Venus – The Karmic Lover

• Relationships are deeply karmic, often teaching major life lessons.

• Love can be intense, transformative, or tied to fate.

• Must master balance between passion and detachment.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology degrees #astro #decans

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xiaowhore · 5 months ago

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happily ever after.

premise. perhaps in your last life, you wished for an extraordinary romance; a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, a dashing prince to kiss your hand, and an eternal love that could only be found in fairy tales. now, as you acknowledge that this story is not yours, your greatest desire is to remain out of the limelight while you watch your dearest protagonist twirl in the ballroom with the man of her dreams.

and just like every other time, fate has other plans.

word count. 7.8k

note. i honestly thought i wouldn't be able to finish this, but here we are. i hope you enjoy!

“The duke of Marechaussee is looking for a bride!”

The news spread far and wide, each new piece of gossip shared through word of mouth more convoluted than the last. But the gist of it essentially remains true—the reputable head of the most prestigious duchy in Fontaine, Neuvillette, whose abstinence from marriage had nobles speculating his intentions to practice celibacy, has now unfounded those rumors.

For others, this is an opportunity. For you, this is a cause for a headache.

Let's have a brief recount of your second life thus far. Ten years ago, you found yourself in a body that was not yours, one that was far too dainty and sickly for your liking. You were born to a powerful aristocratic family, your father bearing the title of Marquess. It was your greatest joy to find this new family of yours was loving and affectionate, bursting into tears of relief upon your return to consciousness the very first time you opened your eyes in this world. You were told you had nearly fallen to disease, and your parents spared no effort in finding the most knowledgeable doctors across the continent. Their embrace was incredibly warm, hands clutching your small body so tightly as if once they let go, you would be lost to the winds.

And, well. As far as you’re concerned, it isn't the worst life to live in. Your eldest brother is almost overbearingly protective, but he’s beyond considerate and cared for you greatly. Your second brother isn't honest to a fault, and you heard he often played tricks on you before, but ever since your worst fit of sickness, he's been incredibly careful in his treatment around you.

Life passed peacefully like this, adored and doted on by your beloved family. To repay their kindness, you wish to aid your eldest brother in the future and pursue your studies, but your parents assure you you don't have to do anything you don't want—including being bound by marriage.

For any other aristocratic family, it is a daughter's duty to secure a beneficial relationship with other houses of similar prestige. But your family spoils you rotten, and they hold no greed; why would they wish for more power when they already have everything they could possibly want in the kingdom as a Marquess family?

It is for that reason you are able to avoid the biggest red flag that could potentially lead to your demise: the engagement with the House of Marechaussee.

With how much you used to read webtoons and played otome games with the “I died and woke up in the romance novel I used to read” premise, you aren't all that surprised to realize you found yourself in that very situation. What did surprise you is the lack of daddy issues, and how easy you have it as a villainess.

You woke up in the world of “My Royal Darling,” an otome game with a plot as creative as its title. Cliche as it is, you ate that shit up back in your previous life and knew the story like the back of your hand. Your character [Name] Silva mainly appeared in the duke's route, a villainess who loved him deeply for his kindness and gentleness beneath his cold facade. As far as villainesses went in this game, you are certainly not the worst; the girl in the prince's route actively schemed against the protagonist and received a befitting punishment as a result. The worst [Name] Silva did was beg her doting parents for an engagement with the duke and use her sick sob story to garner pity.

All you have to do is avoid the duke at all costs, and you won't be part of the drama at all.

...That was what you thought before you went ahead and befriended the protagonist. Goddamn it.

“The duke is searching for a bride-to-be. Can you believe it?” Lumine giggles in all her protagonist glory, twinkling laughter as pleasant as the song of birds. Her etiquette is impeccable as ever, starting from her straight posture down to the elegant curve of her fingers as she raises her cup to sip tea. Her dress is not nearly as intricate as yours, the difference between your status glaringly apparent, but it's easy to envision her as a perfect princess. It would soon come to reality, you realize.

“And because of that, just about every girl I know is flocking to tailor shops to prepare for the social season.” You grimace, picking up a chocolate cake from the cake tower laid before you. You are currently having tea with Lumine in your rose garden, a bi-monthly arrangement where you shared gossip and traded information. “I fear I will be ridiculed for not following the latest trends soon. All of the shops are probably too busy to accommodate my order.”

“You must be joking. Who would dare refuse you?” Lumine shakes her head. “And even if they dressed up to the nines for the duke, they couldn't possibly compare to you.”

“I'm not trying to gain his favor,” you counter, poking at a strawberry on your plate. “I simply want new additions to my wardrobe, and the banquet hosted by the imperial family is coming up soon. My parents indulge me, but even I can't skip out on it.”

To avoid the love interests as much as possible, you minimize the frequency you go out to parties. Using your weak constitution is enough of an excuse to decline the invitations that pour out in the mail each day. But refusing an invitation from the imperial family is equivalent to a death sentence to your social standing, and even the protectiveness of your older brothers couldn't spare you from that.

If you have it your way, you absolutely would not go. The royal ball is where the official story starts, the prologue to a fairytale romance. All the love interests will be present, and the routes will branch out according to who Lumine will choose to talk to. Though you have no idea who Lumine will pick and you’re certain you were already ruled out as a villainess character ever since you made yourself her close confidant, you don't want to take on any risks. Alas, reality is unkind. You suppose you'll just see it as an opportunity to see the drama up close.

“Forget me, do you already have something to wear?”

“That is...” Lumine appears to be forlorn. “I plan to wear a dress I've worn before. We deemed it more favorable than purchasing a new dress I'll only wear once in my life. Besides, I doubt anyone would remember me wearing it already.”

She places too much faith in people. Nobles thrive on gossip—they find every possible flaw in everyone to gain leverage over them, and you've seen them ridicule Lumine in the game enough times to know. As the daughter of a humble Baron, she's already being picked on by the upper ranking ladies. If she goes to the banquet hosted by the imperial family wearing a gown that's already fallen out of trend, you have no doubt she will be regarded with derision.

But you won't allow that to happen.

“Do you have time this afternoon?” You smile. Lumine tilts her head in confusion yet nods nonetheless. “Let's find you a dress in the commerce street. We'll test out that theory of yours that they won't refuse me.”

Immediately, her eyes widen. She knows what you're planning. This is far from the first time you would be treating her. “No, it's fine! We don't have to go there!”

“Oh, c'mon, Lumine. Your birthday is coming up. Just think of it as me giving you your birthday present a few weeks in advance.”

At that, her shoulders slump. This is not the first time, and so she knows well there's no arguing with you once you put your mind into something. “If you insist so much…” She tries for a grateful smile, but it looks more guilty. When will she accept that she deserves nice things like this and so much more?

Just like Lumine said, you shot up the priority list of the tailor shop without much of a fuss. You make her try on numerous dresses, forbidding the tailors from telling her how much they cost if she ever asks. You end up choosing a pale blue dress that accentuates her good figure and complements her skin, and you manage to grab a couple of matching jewelry when she isn't looking.

Hopefully soon, you think as you begin to scarf down what remains of the cake tower, eager to go shopping. If she goes with the prince route, he’ll give her an entire castle. I should probably tell her about that cage in the basement from the yandere bad ending, though.

Lumine looks good in everything anyway, so it isn't a very time-consuming affair. You even have some time left to check out the merchant stalls before curfew arrives and you have to send her to a carriage back home.

“I don't know about you, but I'm craving some donuts.” You're raring to go to the best bakery in town, and Lumine laughs at your eagerness. Your family never looked upon fried food kindly, and you only have a chance of eating them when you're not within their supervision.

“Aren't you full from the pastries we ate earlier?”

“Hardly.” You grab onto your inconveniently long dress, prepared to race. “Come on, Lumine, we better hurry up before they run out!”

In your haste however, you fail to notice a child walking towards the opposite direction as you. She crashes to your leg, the impact sending her to the ground. You gasp, wasting no time in crouching down to her eye level and helping her up, uncaring of how the hem of your dress slides against the dirty floor. “I'm terribly sorry! Are you hurt anywhere?”

You pat away the dirt on her skirt, searching for any sign of blood. “No, I'm okay! I'm sorry too, miss!” The girl does a little cute bow, one that would normally make you coo if only you didn't feel so guilty. When she gives you a reassuring toothy grin, eyes shining bright with innocence, you can't help but pat her on the head with your clean hand.

“Did you get lost? Where are your parents?” You bring out an embroidered handkerchief from your pocket, wiping her hands free of grime. Lumine scans the nearby area and notices a man running over.

“Mister!” The child exclaims happily, pointing at him. You look up at his direction, momentarily at ease, until you actually see who she's pointing to.

Apprehension pools at the pit of your stomach. The man is the very picture of someone that children should be taught to avoid. Draped in a dark cloak that conceals half of his face, his attire is practically the standard getup for kidnappers in an abduction scene, the type that says cheesy lines like “hand over the gold or I'll kill your girl right now” and ends up getting decked in the face by the prince that saves the heroine.

Before you can say anything, the little girl runs toward him, her arms outstretched for an embrace. The man is quick to lean down and cradle her in his arms, reprimanding the girl for his carelessness. The severity of his words is utterly lost when he's too busy scanning the child's body up and down in search of any injuries to be intimidating.

“Didn't I tell you not to run? You could get into an accident,” the man admonishes gently as he uses the napkin in the girl's hands to wipe away the remaining dirt on her palms. “Not everyone is as forgiving as this kind lady. Did you apologize to her?”

“No, it's fine, it was my fault,” you interject, doing a quick curtsy reflexively. “I got too excited about buying donuts that I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings.”

The man pauses when he gets a good look at you, making you shrink to yourself. You put on commoner clothes to blend with the crowd better, but you wonder if you have something incriminating of your status on you.

“Did you get hurt?”

You blink at the unexpected question. How could bumping into a tiny child cause you any injury? “...Not at all.”

His lips curl into a smile, still visible under the shadows of his robe. “Then that's a relief. We apologize for this incident. I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but I'm afraid we have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, of course!” You laugh awkwardly, raising a hand to wave at the child. “Be safe on the way there.”

The older man bows his head and the little girl yells an endearing “farewell!” as she's carried away by her guardian, spinning on his heel to turn to their destination.

In doing so, you catch a glimpse of the ornate sword strapped to his waist. A silver dragon wraps around the hilt, its scales gleaming under the sun. The sapphires in its eyes are a deep blue, the color as vibrant as the sea, a contrast to the dull shade of its scabbard.

You swear you've seen that sword before.

“[Name], we should hurry. The sun will set soon.” Lumine snaps you out of your thoughts, reminding you of the direness of the situation.

“The lady was really pretty!” The little girl—Mamere—begins to ramble as she fiddles with the handkerchief you left her. She's walking on her own now, but the man makes sure to match her slower pace. “I thought she would get mad when I bumped into her, but her voice was so nice and soft. And she patted my head!”

“My donuts!”

“She was very kind,” the man agrees, remembering the genuine worry on your face when Mamere fell to the ground.

“But what do I do?” Mamere pouts, staring at the intricate embroidery on the napkin. “I don't know how to return this to her.”

Her companion hums. “I don't think she's expecting you to return it. Didn’t she give it to you?”

“But I feel bad…” Mamere admires the careful stitching, her fingers lightly tracing its shape. “It looks so beautiful… she must've worked hard in embroidering it, didn't she?” Suddenly, her eyes sparkle with realization, an idea popping into her mind. “Mister, if it's you, you can return it to her, right?”

The older man blinks. “I suppose so. However-”

The girl offers the handkerchief to him. “Please give this to her when you see her, Mister!”

Conflicted, he stares down at Mamere, but he eventually folds when she puts on her best puppy dog eyes. He takes the handkerchief from her hands, his thumb brushing over the meticulous embroidery.

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the insignia of the Silva House.

A strong gust of wind pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing long hair the color of moonlight. The golden hue of the sunset basks his pale skin in a bright glow, his eyes soft as he gazes upon the handkerchief.

“I have a good idea when I may see her next,” Neuvillette assures Mamere, causing her smile to brighten even more.

All too soon, the day of the imperial banquet arrives.

Though whether she wants to see me or not is a different matter.

Natully, your escort to the event is none other than your protective second brother, but you'd argue he's a better choice over the eldest who'd probably glare daggers at anyone who comes within five meters of your vicinity. It's not even like you have other men in your life aside from your family and the knights at your service.

You intend to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but the nobles' curious gazes still follow after your shadow. Consequences of your actions, you suppose. You managed to dodge that eventful first meeting with Duke Neuvillette since you knew you would bump into him at a social gathering, but you had to go through the extra mile to avoid attending every party you could skip because the game was so goddamn vague and only described the scene as “The lady of House Silva fell in love with the duke the moment her eyes landed upon him at a banquet.”

Thanks to that, you’re rarely seen by nobility and thus attained a ridiculous nickname along the lines of “the precious flower of Silva” for being thoroughly pampered by your family, hidden from the rest of the world. Embellished tales of your beauty spread across society, and you can only hope they weren't disappointed to see the real thing in the flesh.

Damn it, you think grimly, the downturn of your lips hidden beneath the intricate fan you've taken to using in order to hide your expression. It's hard to approach the buffet table when they're all staring at me like this.

Truthfully, you’re grateful all they're doing is staring. If not for your eldest brother’s protectiveness, you’re sure more than a crowd of men would be vying for your hand in marriage, flooding your house with mail and wedding offers. Your second brother is not so fortunate, pinned by pointed stares from all sides by unwed women waiting for the right moment to pounce on him.

He pinches the edge of your sleeve before you can attempt to sneak your way towards the buffet table. “And where exactly are you going?” Amazingly enough, his pleasing smile doesn't falter even as he grumbles out his admonishment, still as flawless as ever.

“To eat. The catering is wasted on you socialites, no one bothers to take a bite just to talk to other people.” You’ve learned a thing or two from your brothers, and so your own polite smile doesn't twist into something more fitting for the tone of your voice.

His mouth opens again, definitely some spiel about how you should try making other connections because as much as Lumine is pleasant company, she will not be of any help to your trading endeavors, but a girl adorned in frilly lace tries her luck in hitting on him and you slip away when he's not looking.

As expected, the feast on the buffet table is untouched. You help yourself to a few plates, searching for Lumine all the while. As per true protagonist fashion, she’ll arrive fashionably late at the banquet and bring attention to herself when the grand doors reveal her in a stunning dress. Had you not intervened, she would've gotten a pretty dress some way or another anyway—it’s bound by the law of the universe. In the original game, she helped an old lady cross the street and she turned out to be the owner of a high-end boutique.

But time goes by with no sight of familiar blond locks, and you’re getting pretty full from the steak served. You’re thinking about going to your brother to spare him from the women when someone approaches you, a series of footsteps gradually becoming more audible—from a respectable distance, of course, but near enough to know they came with a purpose. You stop yourself from sighing, taking a moment to collect yourself and school your expression into something more elegant.

Your efforts are rendered useless when your jaw immediately drops upon seeing the figure of the very person you were trying to avoid.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Standing before you is Neuvillette himself, the crowd behind him parted like the Red Sea. He’s finely dressed, crisp suit accented with his House’s signature colors blue and gold, and his long hair is fashioned into a low ponytail that rests on the side of his chest. His intimidating air rivals that of the royal family, a commanding presence that drives people to bow to him at once. Yet this time, the crowd instead unashamedly stares at the spectacle the pair of you must make, both parties that are often absent in galas now crossing paths.

The etiquette lessons hammered into your body makes you curtsy in a show of respect, starkly contrasting the crude expletives roaring in your head as your eyes lock onto a vague figure behind him. It’s hard to meet his eyes. “Good evening, Your Grace. I believe this is our first encounter.” But I worked really hard to make it never happen, you know?!

In turn, Neuvillette bows his head in greeting. “Indeed. I’ve heard much about my lady, so I am glad I have the opportunity to meet you at last.”

The smile on your face twitches, the fabric between your fingers wrinkling under your tightening grip. “Pardon?”

“Your older brother is quite fond of you. He’s been telling me stories of your family whenever we have tea.”

Which brother is he talking about???

If it was your eldest brother, he would at least take care not to harm your clean reputation, but his gushing about his cute younger sister could be embarrassing. However, if it was your much more tactless, stupid brother who still holds a grudge over you eating the last tea cake given by foreign ambassadors from a neighboring country, he’d probably tell Neuvillette everything that would make your “precious flower of Silva” title entirely undeserving.

“A… haha… is that so…” you begin fanning yourself harder, trying to keep your nervous sweating at bay. Neuvillette turns his head, looking around your surroundings.

“I believe you were escorted by your brother. Is he preoccupied?”

The corner of your mouth curls into a slight smirk. “Certainly. Women have been trying to pique his interest since the banquet began.”

At that, Neuvillette’s smile turns wry. You’re sure he relates to that a little too much, the poor guy. Even at this very moment, there are countless women observing the situation, attempting to find the right chance to jump in the conversation and steal him away. Though you do feel bad for him, you’re also wishing to find a good opportunity to leave without looking rude. After all, in the possibility that Lumine happens to like him, you’d soon be acquainted with him as his significant other’s closest friend.

Just as you’re cheering on a lady that’s beginning to approach the duke, he starts speaking. “If that’s the case…” Bowing once more, he outstretches his arm gracefully, offering his hand. The sight looks like a sparkling CG, and you’re not sure if the flowers surrounding him are really there or if you're starting to hallucinate. “Would my lady mind if I escorted you for the time being?”

Your fanning hand comes to a sharp halt. “Pardon?” you say for a second time, sounding more disbelieved than the last.

“I happen to be in a similar predicament as your brother,” his voice lowers to a hushed tone. “Though we haven’t known each other for long, I hope you can lend me a hand.”

Why is this happening to me…

And as if his pleading tone isn’t enough, he tops it off with a charming smile truly befitting a love interest in a dating simulator. “I’d also like to take this opportunity to be closer to you, my lady.”

You bite back the urge to sigh, lest Neuvillette think you thought he was an utter bore as a dance partner. Really, he’s nothing like that–there’s no way getting to see that handsome face up close could ever be boring. He’s a nice partner, actually; he leads the dance in a way that makes you comfortable, and you’re no dance prodigy, but you feel like you can close your eyes and dance just as well as long as you follow his lead.

Another point of thrill is the incessant glares you can feel on your back. Truly, Neuvillette’s more ambitious fans are terrifying. As the one in charge of the territory covering the boundary between the kingdom and the land of monsters, Neuvillette must be used to frightening creatures, but lovesick women must be a whole ‘nother terror for him altogether for him to ask for your help to avoid them.

Still…

He’s the only person I’m trying to avoid at this place, and now I’m dancing with him. Haha. What am I even doing here?

You feel him squeeze your hand softly. “Is something on your mind?” Neuvillette’s voice breaks you out of your trance. You look up at him, noticing he looks worried.

“I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” You shake your head, giving him a small grin.

He frowns. “It’s not that. If you feel tired or unwell, please tell me.”

“I’m fine! Very much so!” You suddenly feel bad for cursing him, albeit indirectly, in your head. You understand why the original villainess liked him so much, but you should avoid interacting with him unless strictly necessary… once this dance ends. “I must say, Your Grace has quite the number of admirers. This is the first time I’ve been stared at so intensely by a crowd of women.”

He hums thoughtfully as you twirl away from him as part of the step sequence, and he catches your waist with ease when you return. “I could say the same for you. Gentlemen we pass by have been eyeing me with hostility ever since we started dancing.”

“What?” You look around the ballroom, making a sound of surprise when you see multiple nobles eyeing Neuvillette with some amount of envy and detestation. You’ve been so caught up with the attention Neuvillette’s been getting that you overlooked your share of trouble.

“The son of the viscount in particular seems to be the most eager to ask for a dance.” He averts his gaze to the man standing by the buffet table who’s been glaring at the pair of you pretty hard. Farthest thing from your type.

“I suppose I’ll have to find my brother when this song is over, then.”

Silence ensues in the remaining duration of the song, but it’s a comforting one. You’re not much of a talker anyway, and it’s hard to think of things to talk about when practically everyone in the audience is looking for a chance to steal both of you away from each other. Eventually, the last notes of the violin are played, and you finish the dance with bows of courtesy.

“Thank you for complying with my request.”

“It was nothing. I’m glad I could lend a hand.” Your eyes roam over the area, securing the shortest route to get to your brother. “Our encounter was brief, but you were truly pleasant company, Your Grace.”

You plan to leave it at that, the heel of your foot already spinning to turn in the opposite direction. Okay, good. That’s just an irregularity. It’s too bad I couldn’t completely avoid him, but as long as we don’t get too involved with each other, it should still be safe-

But then you feel a gentle hand wrap around the tips of your fingers. You turn back, the initial confusion wearing off to shock. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Slowly, he brings it closer to his face, and for a moment, you think, Oh, his eyelashes are pretty long, before you feel him press a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You hear a gasp. Numerous, you correct yourself, on varying levels of shock. You hope that god-awful dramatic one didn’t come from you, but you aren’t too sure because the only things on your mind are Neuvillette’s hand around yours, his irresistible smile, and the words that leave his lips.

“If my lady doesn’t find my company disagreeable, would you consider meeting me on another occasion?”

In your time living as a noble, you’ve somewhat gotten used to speaking in formal language. In nobility terms, that’s basically Neuvillette asking you out on a date.

“...Pardon???”

Word spread quickly throughout the social network. That’s within expectations, knowing how nosy nobles can get. By the time the imperial banquet ended, everyone in attendance already heard that Neuvillette had taken interest in a woman, and that woman happened to be the daughter from the Silva family.

Objectively speaking, it isn’t a bad match. Both families have something to gain from a marriage union, which is why the original duke from the game agreed to the engagement in the first place.

Subjectively, however…

“I’ve gathered you all here today to have an important discussion.”

Presently, you are situated at the family dining table. As usual, there’s a heavenly feast spread out on the table, but all the food remains uneaten because there’s apparently a more pressing matter at hand.

“...The duke has spoken his intentions to court our [Name],” your eldest brother says grimly, hands locked together and placed under his chin.

“You’re overreacting, he just asked me if I wanted to meet him another time.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the garlic bread appetizer. He promptly swats it away. “Hey!”

“That’s basically the same thing,” your second brother argues. “Not that I don’t like His Grace, but it’s so sudden. Nobody has caught his eye until now, and I find it hard to believe you’re the first one ever.”

“Now you’re just dissing me.”

“I don’t see why you’re all unhappy about this,” your mother cuts in, smiling pleasantly. “The duke is an honorable man, one of the few I think are deserving of our [Name]. If he shows his loyalty and dedication to her throughout the courtship, we’ll see how well he’ll treat her.”

“That is if [Name] likes him. If she doesn’t and he continues to bother her, I’ll have to step in, status aside.” Your ever protective father frowns as he slices the steak on his plate. “Do tell us if he’s making you uncomfortable, honey.”

“Uh, no, I wouldn’t go that far…”

The only issue you have with the duke is that he’s a love interest. In the original game, him and your character would have nothing to do with each other if it weren’t for the original you insisting on being engaged to him. You don’t know what happened to her in the bad endings, but the situation probably wasn’t ideal. You thought as long as you avoided him, you could steer clear of trouble…

But if he’s the one running after you, what are you supposed to do…?!

“At the very least, you don’t dislike him, do you?” Your second brother cocks up an eyebrow.

“Not really, no.”

“Then hypothetically, if he invited you for a boat ride in the town today, would you go?”

“Hold on a second!” Your eldest brother interrupts. “We still haven’t discussed whether or not he’s worthy of [Name] yet, have we?”

“I thought we were past that.”

“We need to discuss it in detail.”

“Discuss what? The duke’s abundant treasury, contributions to the war against the dragon lord, or his reputation of being a gentleman towards all women?”

“...There has to be something he lacks.”

“What he lacks is a wonderful, caring wife,” your mother says. “And if [Name] is interested in the duke, we shouldn’t get in their way. I know you’re worried, dear. [Name] has always been stuck in the house because she’s sickly, but if a man wants to take her out to have a fun excursion, you should let her. His Grace is also very considerate of the people around him. Surely, if he notices her feeling unwell, he’ll take care of her.”

I haven’t said anything about wanting to go on a date with him though?!

“Fine. I don’t disapprove of him, but…” Your brother eyes you warily. “You best be home before sundown.”

A day passes. You hear three knocks on your door. When you allow the servant to enter your room, a maid rushes to you in a hurry, a letter sealed with the insignia of the Marechaussee House in her hands.

“Brother, I haven’t even received an invitation yet…”

The cake tower in front of you is magnificent. The fresh fruits topped on whipped cream are vibrant pops of color, and the frosting is piped beautifully in intricate swirls and shapes. The cakes pair well with the tea served, too, and you’re already planning to bring Lumine here the next time you’re both free to talk about the imperial knight she ended up talking to at the banquet. That route is definitely your favorite and you can’t wait to hear about the details.

Damn it.

There’s nothing wrong with the food. This pastry shop has been making its rounds in the newspapers for its delectable new additions on the menu, and they didn’t disappoint your tastebuds.

Though you have to say they’d be a lot more enjoyable if you weren’t surrounded by women eavesdropping on your little meeting with Neuvillette.

“This strawberry shortcake is delicious,” Neuvillette notes. “I’m not too fond of sweets, but they taste great. You should give it a try.”

“Oh, yes, when I finish this one…” The mango cheesecake is to die for, but it’s kind of hard to swallow with the death stares pinpointed at your direction. You hope the pastry shop allows takeout. “Thank you for inviting me to come here, Your Grace.”

“I noticed you mostly ate desserts at the imperial banquet, so I thought you would enjoy trying the food here.” He’s smiling, but when he glances over at your unwanted audience, his eyes gloss over and appear colder. “I didn’t anticipate there would be many people today. I’m sorry for that.”

Some of the women visibly twitch. They weren’t exactly caught red-handed, but it does prove that they’re guilty. Someone probably saw us here and told everyone else… Gossipmongers are scary.

“This situation is out of your control, you don’t have to apologize. And, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something, so your invitation came at a good time.” You fiddle with the edges of your sleeve, plucking at the lace.

Sensing the mood, the duke places down his fork to give you his full attention. “What did you want to talk about?”

Well. Here goes nothing. “Um… your invitation back at the imperial banquet… are you referring to a friendly chat or…” It’s sorta hard to say “Do you want to date me?” straight to his face. In the small chance you’ve gotten the wrong idea, you’d hate to appear presumptuous, so self-absorbed to think the highly-praised Neuvillette fell for you of all people. Lumine, you’d understand–the girl has a knack for melting the coldness of your heart and taking down people’s walls, and it’s why you became friends with her despite the odds. You, though… Nothing specific comes to mind.

Unexpectedly, a soft chuckle reaches your ears. You raise your head, surprised to see Neuvillette laughing. It’s possibly the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. When he catches you staring, he composes himself, but the dazzling smile remains on his face. “I was certain I made my intentions clear, but I suppose I’ll have to be more forward next time.”

A flush crawls up to your cheeks, burning hot. “No, I swear I know what you mean- just making sure, you know? I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume the duke is interested in me without knowing for certain-”

You stop yourself from rambling, feeling you’ve said too much. Fuck. Is it just you or is Neuvillette’s smile a bit wider now? You stuff your stupid mouth with the shortcake he placed on your plate. It’s good. Your acting is very much not.

He clears his throat, getting back to business. “I understand you don’t see me that way. I would like to court you, but if you tell me to stop now, I will.”

Isn’t he backing off too easily? I mean it’s great he respects my decision, but if I turn him down now, it’d probably be bad for his reputation…

“Before we… have that discussion, I still have more questions to ask.” You sip on your tea to wash down the sweet taste on your tongue. It’s silent once you put the cup on the table. Placing your hands on your lap, you look directly into Neuvillette’s eyes, searching for an answer. “May I ask Your Grace why you took an interest in me?”

The silence persists for a few seconds more. It doesn’t seem like he’s thinking of the perfect words to swoon you over; he’s thinking about how to verbalize what he truly thought of you.

He opens his mouth after careful consideration. “...It began as curiosity,” he starts, tapping rhythmically on the table. “I had my own reasons for turning down invitations to parties, so I wondered what were yours.”

You swallow. Officially, you turned those down using your health as an excuse. But your constitution has improved greatly compared to when you were young, and evidently, you’re almost just as healthy as any person. At the very least, you’re not at risk of passing out or losing breath in the middle of an event anymore. He must’ve picked up on that.

“I’ve heard about you from other people. According to their words, you were ‘the loveliest flower’ in the kingdom, with unparalleled gracefulness and beauty… but your elder brother’s stories suggested otherwise.”

I’m kicking his ass when I get back home.

“And yesterday, I met you myself. I thought you differed from how they described you.” He pauses, drinking his tea. “I’ve heard many say you were quite the stoic character, always hard to read. But you make a lot of interesting expressions behind your fan. You don’t hide your true thoughts when you speak, or perhaps you’re simply bad at hiding them. I previously found your brother’s stories unbelievable, but now I can see that the colorful personality he was talking about wasn’t very far off.”

??? “Colorful personality”?? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“...I understand.” You really don’t, but you won’t bother asking him for more details. Everything he said thus far lowkey sounds like a diss. “Let me rephrase my question, then.”

It’s okay. This isn’t unfamiliar territory, and you’re not stupid. Obviously, if you do different things from the original, the story will derail from its original course. That’s what always happens in transmigration manhwas, after all. You noticed that early before the plot could truly change. If so, perhaps you can control the amount of change that will happen.

You sit up a little straighter, eyes laser-focused on his reaction to what you’re about to say. “What are you after, trying to get closer to me?”

You know these tropes. If you give him what he needs, you can separate soon, no strings attached.

Neuvillette makes an expression of confusion, his brows knitted. “Your hand in marriage,” he says it like it’s the obvious answer.

“Not that! Is there anything you need help with?”

“I did say I was having trouble with the women at the banquet, but that was more of an excuse to talk to you.”

You sputter, “W-well, you need someone to fake-date or fake-marry then?” Fake-dating often leads to them actually dating, but if you’re careful, you can probably keep that from happening, right?

The furrow in his brow deepens. “I don’t want to use you to stop women from chasing me. I want to marry you.”

Goddamn it. Does this guy have his own set of dialogue choices and he keeps on picking the one that raises affection? “…Okay, I get it! You need something from my family! What is it? We don’t need to be married for me to help you.” You cross your arms triumphantly. That should do it.

Instead of agreeing, Neuvillette looks forlorn. “Lady [Name], is it really that hard to believe I want to marry you without something else in mind?”

Now Neuvillette looks like a kicked puppy and you’re solely to blame for it. Fuck!

You sigh, rubbing circles on your temple. “I just… fail to see why Your Grace is interested in me.” You’re not talking yourself down, nor do you have low self-esteem. You simply don’t recall doing anything that would make him fall for you at all. Logically speaking, there’s just no reason behind his actions.

Your eyes widen when you have a moment of eureka. Maybe talking yourself down is actually the way to get him off your trail?

“I’m sure Your Grace is aware, but I have a weak constitution…” you begin your pitiful tale, coughing softly to prove your point. “I can’t work very long, and I require plenty of rest to function in daily life. In the case that we marry, I might not be able to keep up with the tasks the lady of the house is expected to handle. Rather than support you as your wife, I might merely become a burden to you. And most importantly…”

A lot of what you just said aren’t complete lies, but you did exaggerate them greatly. Even if he isn’t convinced with those, you still have a hidden card up your sleeve, one that’s sure to discourage him.

“...With my feeble body, it would be difficult to sire you an heir for the duchy,” you state firmly, placing emphasis on this one point. Successors are absolutely a requirement for each family, because who else will inherit the title and everything that comes with it when the current head comes to pass? For this, you’re not even sure if you’re exaggerating anymore. The future of the original [Name] Silva was left unclear, so who knows if your body will improve or deteriorate with time?

Neuvillette’s face becomes stoic. This much is expected. Any moment now, he’ll take back his words…

…As you’re thinking that, you feel him touch your hand once more, not unlike the time at the banquet. You don’t know when you started fidgeting with the napkin on the table out of anxiety, but he’s rubbing a thumb over your knuckles to soothe you now, gentle touches that verge on ticklish.

“I’m prepared for that,” he says softly. “I won’t spare any expense on your treatment, of course, and in the case your condition worsens, I won’t stop finding ways to make you feel better. But I would never make you do anything to push you beyond your limits. I’ll take on everything you can’t do. Eventually, we’ll need to talk about successors, but I need you to know that I won’t force you or put you in any risk. If needed, I’ll talk to my relatives and figure out something from there.”

???!?!?!?!?!!!?! He wants to pass on the title to someone who’s not a direct descendant?!?!?

Your mouth is agape. You’re sure your jaw-dropped face doesn’t look very pleasant, but the affection in his gaze doesn’t dwindle. Heavy. Everything he just said is so heavy. The future is scary to think about, but when he says it like that, why does it feel like you can lean on him freely?! This is no time to be getting swept off your feet, [Name]! Focus!

“Are you still not convinced?” He moves his face closer, concern in his eyes.

“No, I get it! I get it already!” You take your hand back, but his warmth still lingers. You hold your fingers like they’re scorched, yet pain is the furthest thing from what you’re feeling, and your heart flutters traitorously in your beating chest. “You’re being unfair. If you go that far, there’s no way anyone could turn you down.”

The smile returns to his face as he takes his hand back as well. “I take it that you’ve given me permission to court you, then?”

!!! Sly! That’s what this person is, sly! He knew what he was doing!

You make a face. “Ugh… maybe persistent guys are too dangerous for me…”

“Lady [Name], you’re speaking your thoughts out loud again. Not that I dislike it, though.”

The duke of Marechaussee has found a potential bride.

“I-! Nevermind…”

That’s putting it lightly because everyone that has heard of them is certain that they’ll marry in the near future. With the amount of flirting the two have done (leaked by the eavesdropping jealous-admirers-turned-shippers), it’s a mystery why they haven’t made the announcements yet.

Notably, the pair of them frequented restaurants the most, visiting the shops highly regarded for their sweets. Chatting in slow boat rides seem to also be one of their most favored dates, and at one particularly disastrous time when the boat tipped over by accident, the duke had fretted over the lady while she merely laughed in joy, insisting she was fine and her partner was being too much of a worrywart. Both started to attend more gatherings, almost never spotted to be straying from each other, and it was more or less their indirect way of telling the public eye they were exclusive.

Their romantic dates are all common knowledge to anyone nosy by now, but there’s one thing they absolutely cannot spread.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” a woman whispered to her loyal companion. “And I truly mean that this time. Don’t do it.”

“What is it? Is it something really bad? ‘Some high-ranking noble has a secret love child’ bad?”

“No!” This time, the woman took care to whisper her words even quieter, “I heard the duke requested a jeweler to craft an engagement ring…!”

Things I couldn’t fit into the fic:

Neuvillette already met you when you were younger. In one of the first gatherings you attended, you talked to each other because you were near in age. However, you collapsed due to your constitution and he was the one to alert the adults and carry you to a sick room. He used a handkerchief embroidered with his initials to wipe away the blood you threw up, and you hid it away in your bedside table after cleaning it in hopes of returning it (if he still wanted it back, soiled once and all) when you saw him again. Unfortunately, your family members were worried and didn’t let you outside for a long time to avoid having you perform strenuous activities, and you didn’t recognize him at a later gathering when he tried striking a conversation with you. He noted you were slowly getting better, but wondered why you weren’t attending parties if you were relatively well now.

You probably interacted with him when he was pretending to be a normal commoner several times already before your “first meeting.”

You didn’t fall for him immediately, but it was a slow progression until you forgot about the whole ‘I’m in an otome game world’ thing completely.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #genshin impact fic #genshin impact scenarios #genshin scenarios

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dcxdpdabbles · 6 months ago

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DCxDP fanfic idea: Beyond the Grave

Danny Fenton gets the surprise of his life when the Justice League accepts a mission in Amity Park.

No, they were there for ghost issues. lt turns out that if people aren't exposed to shock waves of Ectoplasm radiation, they don't get fun side effects like seeing the dead. That's why the town people had called his parents loons up until the portal was open.

There hadn't been enough death energy to make them visible, let alone corporeal enough to touch the human world. Even Danny had thought his parents were chasing an unrealistic dream until that fateful day when Sam convinced him to walk through the portal.

What the Justice League was there to do was stop this company that had been kidnapping meta children all over the country. They had hidden them a little outside Amity Park, where people rarely drove by. Danny had only gone through those back roads twice, and he's lived in Amity Park all his life.

No one had the slightest idea that a secret lab was operating underground, forcing experimentation on children. Danny felt horrible he had missed this, as the self-proclaimed hero of the area, but his expertise was in ghosts. They were pretty straightforward and loud in their evil plots.

Something like this required resources, training, and detective skills that Danny didn't have. What made him feel a little bit better about all this was that Danny had found the children before the Justice League.

He just won't tell them that because it made his own kidnapping rather embarrassing. Somehow, the scientists- if that can even be called that- had detected Danny's hidden powers. While he was busy crawling out of a dumpster- Dash had thrown him in there- a van had pulled up and thrown a collar onto his neck.

Danny was so stunned by the action that he could not stop a taser to the neck in time. His entire body had cramped up, but not before he had sent a burst of energy to the broken security camera, tuning it on and broadcasting the video to Tucker's laptop.

He got a bit better at controlling technology using ectoplasm, especially after the many fights with Technus, and his friend had set up a laptop in a close circuit that could tap into Danny's frequency.

The kidnappers probably thought that they were in the clear when making grabs at meta children since most came from areas that didn't have surveillance. Tucker had gotten home to a three-hour-long video from Danny, clicking it open and spitting out the ramen he was eating when the first few minutes of it was Danny getting educated.

He panicked and called Jazz to ask if his friend had gotten home. When she denied seeing her brother, Tucker contacted Sam and informed her what was happening.

The pair had immediately mobilized, tearing through the city on the hunt for the van. Jazz had joined them after letting her parents know Danny was missing. They had gone straight to the police station to report that their son was gone.

Tucker had sent them the video, claiming it was from a Panic App. The pair had been in the beta stages, which was why no one had such a helpful app, but it was enough for the Fentons to make their case. The police had placed an Amber Alert and had practically locked down the city.

In a small town like Amity Park, getting the people to band together to help each other was relatively easy. Even Flash, the last person to have seen Danny, had called his football friends to get in a car and help them find the youngest Fenton.

Sadly, by then, the scientists had taken Danny well out of the city, even with multiple people calling to place tips on the black van. Four days passed, and with each passing hour, the likelihood of Danny returning home alive grew dimmer.

No one thinks they have ever seen Jazz Fenton cry that much before. Jack and Maddie were on a rampage, tearing through the city for hints of their son. They had even ignored a ghost attacking the mall, too busy stopping every black Sprinter van they could find for clues of their son.

The video was somehow leaked to the public - Tucker and Sam had allowed it to slip into public domains with a scrambled VPN, hoping to get someone to report anything- and this video had made its way to a certain billionaire in Gotham.

Batman had been working the case for months, looking for a pair of twins that had vanished from Daminan's class. They had gotten the boys back, now able to see in the dark as their meta genes had been forcefully unlocked, and realized they were rescued before they were able to get to the primary base.

The only clue the Bats had was a symbol of a two-headed snack on the collars found around the twin's necks. The same collar that had been forced upon Danny Fenton when he was taken in the video.

Bruce had called his co-workers the second he noticed the mark. They had geared up and gone to Amity Park to investigate. Clark, Diana, Billy, and Bruce had arrived at Amity Park in their civilian personas. They came separately to avoid suspicion, hoping to use Billy as bait.

The Justice League was still coming to terms with Captain Marvel being a fourteen-year-old kid, but none could call into question the good work Billy did.

The three had different stories about why they were in the middle of nowhere in Amity Park.

Bruce had been in town to set up a new outreach for the Wayne Foundation. Clark, a news reporter investigating the missing child case of Danny and Diana, had chosen to tour the most haunted cities in the United States for her museum curator.

Like a charm, Billy had gotten the attention of the kidnappers, and only three days after arriving in Amity as a homeless kid, he had been taken. The moment Billy pressed the button on his bracelet, the three were notified that he had been kidnapped.

Clark kept an ear of the van, listening to the bracelet's beeping that no human could pick up. Just in case, the Leauge had embedded a tracker into Billy's left arm, and Bruce had followed it to the secret Lab.

A message to the Watch Tower had backup zapping down in seconds. They waited until nightfall before springing a rescue mission. Flash, Black Canary, Red Tornado, and Vigilanete had been sent in to find and bring the children home while Bruce, Clack, and Diana worked on taking out the guards.

Danny had woken in a test tube with multiple needles and wires digging into his skin, facing a group of superheroes that stared back at him in horror. The last thing he remembered had been the passing cells of meta children before he was taken to a room with a glass tube.

After being shoved into it, Danny was put to sleep with a gas. He had not been conscious for the entire time he was taken. That means he was not awake when the scientists had accidentally caused his heart to flatline.

They had thrown his body into an unmarked grave, intending to bury him with the three other nameless victims. Danny had not been awake when his survival instincts had triggered his shift to Phantom and floated out of the grave.

Like a balloon with helium, Danny had drifted far from the grave, flouting in the wind unconscious due to the gas.

He had awakened for only a few seconds, floating above the road that led to Amity, confused about how he got there. Sadly, the very same van that had just finished burying him had driven down the street, spotting him in the air and choosing to capture the famous Phantom.

They had stolen some Fenton Tech on a stakeout while waiting to take the Fenton Boy and were happy to see it had knocked out the ghost. The men had taken Phantom back to the lab, setting him up in a tube so their scientist could pull out his green blood for tests.

The Justice League had broken in that night. After the raid, Bruce hacked the computers, looking for clues about the missing children. His heart fell to his feet when he read the reports.

The children had died in the experiments. Danny Fenton was on the list of failed experiments, his time of death marked in the conclusion section of a report like he wasn't a young boy who had just finished his first year of high school.

Bruce had only been able to pull himself together long enough to find information about Phantom being held in a deeper part of the lab. Clark, Barry, and Bruce had gone to the lower levels, intending to set the ghost free.

What they found was Phantom in his most basic form. A young ghost with his jumpsuit cut open, showing the same markings the other rescued children bore.

Lichtenberg scars around the neck, torso, and arms.

Phantom had been a new ghost. Bruce and Clark had verified that in their investigations. They had never thought to question what had created him, only that he had appeared a few months ago wearing a hazmat jumpsuit and seemingly unable to leave Amity Park.

The same jumpsuit the other meta children were forced to wear to contain their experiments.

Phantom had been a meta child that had been killed by these people. He was recaptured and placed in a strange ghost coma, leaving the Justice League baffled about how to help him.

Besides blinking, his eyes opened for only a few seconds when he was rescued; he had remained unconscious after muttering, "There are more. Fifty-seven kids....help them, please."

The League had taken him back to their headquarters while working through the labs and digging up the bodies of the other victims. The people involved with this heinous crime had all taken their lives, having snuck a cyanide tablet into their teeth.

None of them faced justice properly, not for the deaths they caused or the angst that Phantom had been dragged into. The ghost had been unable to move on, sticking around even after everything they had done to him.

He had likely been attempting to get help for the remaining prisoners because every place he had attacked had been involved with this lab.

The Justice League would later reveal this information to the horrified townspeople.

Valerie Gray would be throwing up in the bathroom after watching the news. Her father's previous employers had been half on staff with the people who had killed Phantom.

They made a list of potential children to test for the meta gene. She had been on there, and had Phantom not gotten her dad fired when he did, she would have been kidnapped. He saved her life, and she had shot at him in return.

Dash Baxter would be found drinking and sobbing in the school parking lot. He had been drowning in guilt for dragging Fenton behind the mall, where he had thrown him in the dumpster. He had nothing to do with the kidnapping, but he blamed himself nonetheless.

Those people had been attempting to take Fenton for weeks, and he created the perfect opening. Now Danny Fenton was dead by the same people who made his hero. Dash vowed never to bully anyone again, even as Kawn took him home and helped nurse him through his hangover.

Sam Madison and Tucker Foley moved about like zombies. They kept sending messages to someone who would never answer, searching the sky for Phantom's glow, or had their phones on just in case they found Danny. With each uncovered grave, the pair grew hopeful as Danny had not been among the recovered bodies.

People were slightly heartbroken for them. They would wait on a best friend that was never coming home.

Not to mention the Fenton's reaction to Danny's fate. The funeral had been one of the hardest ones any of them had ever attended. The cries of the three remaining Fentons had echoed in their nightmares.

Worse, they had closed their portal. The Fentons had sealed everything to do with ghosts away, no longer able to stand the research now that they knew Phantom had been attempting to prevent Danny's death.

Maybe if they had stopped to try and communicate with him, they might have been able to save their son.

Jack and Maddie were still certified geniuses and were able to fall back on working for Wayne Enterprises as engineers. They moved away, with Jazz looking lifeless without her brother.

People in Amity Park passed by the old Fenton Works sign, never to see it glow again. They also realized that Phantom had vanished, many assuming that now he was at rest due to his murder being solved.

They were unaware he was floating above them in the Watch Tower's medical wing, locked away in slumber.

John Constantine had noticed his ectoplasm levels had not moved since his rescue. For some reason, Phantom's body was not producing it properly like other ghosts- most likely due to experiments they had forced him through.

This caused a coma, with every Justice League Dark member scratching their heads. In every way, Phantom seemed fine, but his core did not react correctly.

It was almost as if it had never been adequately formed, as if Phantom was still alive somehow.

After months of trying to figure out how to stabilize the ghost's core, John contacted a ghost doctor from the Infinite Realms. It took calling in a few favors to get the information, let alone the actual communication with the ghost doctor, but he could do it.

He was a magic expert, not a medic. This was the only chance Phantom had to ever wake.

Thankfully, Frostbite seemed to know exactly what to do when his large eyes landed on the floating figure in the medical incubator the League had placed him in.

He had assured them he could help Phantom but needed to take him back to his hospital to properly treat the ghost. After the Yeti agreed to an Oath Vow stating he would not allow any harm to fall upon Phantom while under his care.

Another agreement of having John present for Phantom's treatment had solidified Justice League into letting the being move Phantom into the Far Frozen.

A year after Danny Fenton's death, Phantom's eyes snapped open to the relieved Frostbite and the beaming trench coat man.

He had never been so confused when the first thing his doctor said was, "Great One, I am sorry to say the humans believed Daniel Fenton has passed while you were in a coma."

Well.

How was he going to bring himself back to life?

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Beyond the Grave #Part 1 #tw: Kidnapping #tw: human experimentation #tw: child abuse #Tw: child death #slight angst?#Misunderstandings #Danny slept though his furneral #He now has to “find” Danny Fenton #The Justice Leauge thinks they sloved his death #My cousin had a charger that fit my laptop!!!

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luneariaa · 24 days ago

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❝ THINKING ABOUT .. bob reading and you two cuddling together . ❞

MASTERLIST .

"That sounds.." You would say 'ridiculous' out loud, but knowing you would probably do the same thing in real life, you didn't.

"If she loves that guy, and she's gonna leave soon to someplace, she should've hugged him longer."

It's been a comforting evening for the two of you. You had been resting just cozily close with Bob.

One of your legs tangled up with his, and your head is just resting on his chest as he reads to you— peacefully, undisturbingly quiet so.

His voice is quite soothing to be listened to. It just has that calming effect on you, which allows you to be more relaxed, and not wanting to even think of unwanted things at the moment.

One of his hands would find its' way to rub the side of your body, as if wanting to mentally remind himself that you're there with him right now as he reads. He's not alone, and knowing that you truly enjoy and loved the way he reads to you.

Peace. This is what he wanted for so long— something that he truly have longed for. He manages to push all his pent-up issues aside, trying his very best to relish this special moment with you.

"Their love story seemed so tragic.."

You managed to utter out, all while enjoying the mere sound of his calm breathing, and even his occasional gentle touches.

It didn't take long for him to nod slightly in agreement over your own words; his expression pensive. "It is, honestly.."

"But I feel like, despite everything— their efforts for each other feels so personal, willingly to face everything with one another."

"I find that beautiful."

You buried your face on his chest with a nod and a quick hum, already feeling the drowsiness beginning to catch up on you— his arms would securely wrap around you, albeit loosely, and one would placidly stroke your hair lovingly.

It didn't take long before he could faintly hear the light snore from you, which is a clear indication that you have fallen asleep.

Setting his book aside, Bob readjusted his position for a bit, comfortably so, without really letting go of you; pulling the blankets even more to make sure it's enough to keep you both warm for the night—

— to which you snuggled closer to him in your sleep, much to his mild surprise, but it's quickly being replaced with a look of pure adoration.

He's just happy to be there with you like this, all snuggly and warm beneath the covers, with no one else around to bother the both of you.

"Barnes, I think we should—" Yelena stopped on her tracks halfway, which earned a puzzled look from Bucky, who's not too far behind her.

"What is it..?"

She shushes him before his gaze darts toward the two familiar figures on the sofa, cuddling so close— so peacefully. Bob's chin is practically resting atop of your head, while you're nestling on his chest, sleeping soundly together.

A small, satisfied smile would appear upon Yelena's face ( Bucky low-key did too ), before deciding to leave you two alone for now— the mere sight warms their heart, genuinely so.

. A/N : this is so crappy i'm sorry 🥹

#written by aria 💌#luneariaa 💫#sfw 🗡️#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds #sentry #thunderbolts #marvel fanfiction #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel x you #lewis pullman

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theambitiouswoman · 4 months ago

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How to heal your nervous system after a lifetime of abandonment

If you’ve only ever experienced abandonment—whether emotional or physical—your nervous system has likely been in survival mode for most of your life. This means your body and mind have adapted to expect instability, making safety feel unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Healing isn’t just about “thinking positively” or “moving on” but about rewiring your nervous system to feel safe in connection, in stillness & within yourself

When abandonment becomes a pattern, your body learns to stay hyper vigilant, always scanning for signs that people will leave. It will emotionally shut down to avoid further pain. You will attach yourself quickly to people because you are scared that if you don't, you will lose them. You will feel unsafe in healthy relationships and sabotage them

This isn’t a mindset issue—it’s a nervous system issue. Your body is conditioned to see abandonment as inevitable, which is why true healing must happen on a physiological level

So to take control, you have to teach your body that safety exists (even if you don't believe it). And since you probably don't know why that is, you have to start small

I have spoken about these things before, but I am going to explain what they actually do, so that you see that even though they seem silly and pointless, they are very important. You thinking everything has to be a struggle and difficult is just you thinking from a place of survival

Grounding exercises - Grounding actually engages your sense to bring you back to the present moment and help reduce anxiety. Walking barefoot, holding something warm, or pressing your feet into the floor sends signals to your brain that you are physically here and safe. It activates the prefrontal cortex (the rational part of your brain) and quiets the amygdala (the fear center) helping you feel more in control

Weighted blankets- Trigger the release of serotonin (the "feel-good" neurotransmitter) and reduces cortisol (the stress hormone). Deep pressure mimics the calming effect of a hug, which lowers heart rate and blood pressure. It helps regulate the autonomic nervous system, shifting you from fight or flight mode to a state of rest and relaxation

Breathing exercises - They activate the parasympathetic nervous system (PNS), which counteracts stress and signals safety to the brain. Inhaling for 4 seconds, holding for 4 and exhaling for 6 stimulates the vagus nerve, which lowers cortisol and increases feelings of calm. Longer exhales specifically slow your heart rate, reinforcing a sense of control and relaxation

These small habits may feel insignificant at first, but over time, they help retrain your brain and body to recognize safety—not as something foreign, but as your new normal

Abandonment leaves deep emotional wounds, often from childhood. If no one ever soothed you, you must learn to soothe yourself

Affirmations for safety: Instead of just saying “I am worthy”, try “I am safe in this moment” or “I do not have to earn love”

Inner child work: Imagine speaking to your younger self. What would they need to hear? Start telling yourself those things daily

If you’ve only known unpredictable or inconsistent love, you may chase people or push them away before they can leave. Start practicing security within yourself first by keeping small promises to yourself. Surrounding yourself with emotionally safe people, even if it's just online or even books at first. Something that feels SAFE to you

Your nervous system might be wired to assume people will leave, so you either cling or detach first. Instead, start training yourself to trust in small ways by watching for people who are consistent, emotionally available and respect your boundaries. You are taking back control by paying attention to their actions and deciding if you want them in your life. When something feels safe, let it last as long as it should, don't sabotage it just because you are expecting the worst. You are worthy of good connections

Teach your nervous system that love doesn’t have to be earned. That you don’t have to fight for people who are meant to stay. You are not broken—you are healing

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monzabee · 3 months ago

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the cold shoulder - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: hotch’s nanny has been icing him out, he can’t figure out why!

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: the word shit is used like twice, silent treatment, jack is on reader’s side, clueless hotch

Author’s Note: okay i was supposed to get out some requests tonight, but i am so sick that i can barely think, so this is my i'm sorry fic to all of you!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Ever the man of order, you know Hotch likes to have a set order in his life—and at his house. Not the military kind which would raise all the little hairs on your neck, no. But the kind where everything is set to a routine. It’s something he has asked you to implement with his son.

It’s something you’re not particularly fond of, especially being the spontaneously chaotic person you are in Hotch’s eyes, but you suppose it provides a security blanket for Jack. Jack knows his routine well. He knows that on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, he needs to get ready for soccer practice. He knows that his homework needs to be done before 6 PM, so that he can watch some TV. And most importantly, he knows that he should be in bed by 8.30 PM, even if his father is away though he also knows that his dad will probably wake him up if he’s late just to ask him about his day, but if not, he will at least give him a goodnight kiss.

And so, Aaron Hotchner likes order and routine. So does his son. You don’t particularly care for it, and so you decide to make it his problem.

The house is quiet, way too quiet when Hotch makes it home. He looks at his watch to check the time—12.07 AM. He’d expect you to be watching TV in the living room or perhaps reading one of your romance novels he likes to tease you about, but you are nowhere to be found. You are not in the kitchen, or the laundry room, or anywhere else Hotch can think of other than your room. And since barging into your room to check if you are okay or not is not an option, he retreats into his own room after giving Jack a goodnight kiss.

The next morning, however, he wonders if he’s entered an alternate universe. To start things off, Jack is giving him the cold shoulder—which is weird, considering he never does, and so are you. He watches the both of you eat your bowls of cereal and sharing Jack’s comic book. He’s telling you about the context, and what happened in an earlier issue, and you’re listening to him with your undivided attention. Secondly, you are dressed. And though Aaron Hotchner is the epitome of propriety, he is also a man. A man, who has seen you in your dressing gown every morning since you’ve started working for him. Hotch stares for a moment longer than he should. He’s not used to seeing you like this first thing in the morning—fully dressed, hair done, looking like you’re ready to walk out the door instead of lounging in your usual dressing gown, making coffee while teasing him about his stern morning face. It’s unsettling.

Hotch clears his throat, setting his coffee mug down a little louder than necessary. Neither of you look up. Jack continues flipping through the pages, explaining every little detail to you in a way that makes Hotch’s heart soften—except for the fact that it’s usually him Jack tells these things to.

He watches as you nod along, smiling at Jack’s enthusiastic explanations. “That’s pretty cool, buddy,” you say, ruffling his hair. “But what about this guy? He looks kind of shady.”

“Oh, he is,” Jack replies seriously, turning another page. “But he’s not really a bad guy, just misunderstood.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. How ironic. “Jack,” Hotch tries again, keeping his voice even. “You almost ready for school?”

Jack hums, not looking up. “Yep.” A pause. No ‘good morning, Daddy.’ No excited chatter about his day. Just ‘yep’. Hotch’s brows furrow. His gaze shifts to you, but you’re not even pretending to acknowledge his presence. He takes another sip of coffee, his mind scanning over the last few days. Had he done something? Forgotten something?

It must be obvious that he’s staring because you finally glance up, meeting his eyes for the briefest second before turning your attention back to Jack. Jack, who after a moment of silence mutters, “Actually, I want Y/N to take me to school today.” He turns to you, puppy eyes in full effect, “Can you?”

Oh, this is definitely intentional.

“Sure thing, Jack.” You agree, still not throwing even a single glance at Hotch’s direction.

Hotch’s jaw tightens, though he keeps his expression neutral. He may be an expert in profiling, but even without any specialized training, it’s painfully clear that both his son and his nanny are icing him out on purpose. And the worst part? He still doesn’t know why.

He exhales slowly, placing his mug down on the counter with deliberate patience. “Jack,” he starts, keeping his voice measured, “I always take you to school.”

Jack shrugs, flipping another page in his comic. “I want Y/N to take me today, she already said she would, so there shouldn’t be any problem,” he says simply, as if that explains everything.

Hotch’s gaze flickers between you and his son, trying to piece together the silent rebellion unfolding before him. Jack’s stubborn set of his jaw, the way you won’t even look at him—it’s all too methodical, too intentional. He’s spent years interrogating criminals and reading between the lines, and right now, the message is loud and clear: He messed up.

But how?

Jack suddenly slides off his chair, grabbing his backpack from the floor. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he announces, running off toward the bathroom.

Now it’s just the two of you.

Hotch waits a beat, watching as you casually continue eating your cereal like you haven’t been icing him out since last night. “Did I do something?” he finally asks.

You don’t look up. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hotch exhales sharply, setting his mug down again. “I would like to know, actually.”

“Hmm.” You tilt your head, as if considering it. “Too bad.”

Hotch narrows his eyes slightly. “Y/N.”

You finally look up at him, expression neutral. “Aaron.”

The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine, and not in the way it usually does. He’s used to your teasing, even occasional flirting that he so indulgently returns sometimes. But right now, your voice is cold, and even uncaring. “I get the feeling I’m in trouble,” he says slowly, carefully.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wow, you are a profiler.”

Hotch presses his lips into a thin line, his patience thinning. He watches as you get out of your place and bring both bowls to the sink. Hotch crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter. “So you are punishing me.”

You shrug, still not looking at him. “I just think it’s funny.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Funny how?”

You hum thoughtfully, finally shutting off the faucet and drying your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just funny.” You glance over at Jack in the other room, then back at Hotch, a ghost of a smirk on your lips. “You’ll figure it out.”

That is not what he wants to hear. “Y/N—”

Jack comes bounding back into the kitchen before he can press further, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Ready!”

“Let’s hit the road then,” you say, ruffling his hair before grabbing your keys.

Hotch watches as Jack slips past him without so much as a goodbye, the silent treatment continuing in full force. He clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to call his son back. Instead, his gaze flickers back to you. You offer him a parting smile—sweet, smug, and just a little too satisfied. And just like that, you and Jack are out the door, leaving Hotch standing alone in his own kitchen, frustration brewing.

He hates not knowing. But one thing is certain.

He messed up. And now he has to figure out how.

After a long day of paperwork, and Dave’s unrelenting teasing, he is glad to be back at home. Though after what happened earlier in the day, he is still frustrated because he is nowhere close to figuring out what he has done wrong to warrant a cold shoulder from not only his son, but also you. He’s not used to feeling like a stranger in his own house, but that’s exactly how he feels right now.

Jack’s school bag is tossed on the living room couch, and the TV is playing some old movie on low, the sound barely reaching him. He doesn’t see you at first, but then he hears the soft sound of your voice from the kitchen. He hesitates for a moment at the doorway, just watching. You’re standing with your back to him, rinsing out a mug, the gentle sound of water filling the quiet space between you as you continue talking to Jack about his day. He is standing on a step stool next to you, dutifully drying the items you place onto the drying rack.

You don’t turn around when you hear his footsteps, but the smallest shift in your posture tells him that you’re aware of him. Jack, at least acknowledges him by giving him a shy smile, but then he silently giggles as he hides his face on your shoulder.

“I thought you’d still be working,” you say, your tone casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes him bristle slightly.

“I finished up early,” Hotch replies, his voice coming out flat despite his best attempt at sounding normal. He steps further into the kitchen, watching you carefully, trying to gauge the situation, but you continue washing the dishes as if he hasn’t just walked in after a long day.

You let out an acknowledging hum, turning to Jack as you mumble, “Why don’t you wash your hand before dinner, buddy?”

Hotch’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything as you continue to direct Jack through the small tasks of getting ready for dinner. It’s clear that you’re not rushing to acknowledge him, and it’s starting to gnaw at him. He’s trying to keep his frustration in check, but the silence between you two, the distance, is apparent.

Jack obediently hops off the step stool, his little feet padding across the floor toward the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. The sound of running water follows Jack’s footsteps, but neither of you move. Hotch clears his throat, trying to shake off the unease that’s settling deeper into his chest. “I’ve been thinking about this morning.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you place a dish into the drying rack, your movements deliberate, a little slower than usual, as if giving yourself time to consider how you want to react. Finally, you turn to face him, but your eyes don’t quite meet his. They flicker just past him, the tension between you two growing thicker.

“I’m sure you have,” you say, your voice now cooler than it was earlier that morning.

“Have I done something wrong?” He asks, the frustration he’s been bottling up all day creeping into his voice. “Are you mad at me?”

You take a step back, leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “I don’t know, did you do something to make me mad?” You ask, confusing him even further. “Because then, I am. But if you didn’t I am not.”

“I... didn’t?” He says, though it comes out more as a question, rather than the answer you are looking for.

“Then I am not mad, Mister Hotchner.” You turn back, moving along the counter to focus on attention on the salad you’re making, but he hears the faint words you murmur under your breath.

Grump.

Hotch exhales through his nose, pressing his lips into a tight line. This is getting ridiculous. He’s interrogated criminals with less patience than this, and yet, here he is, standing in his own kitchen, being toyed with like a rookie. “You’re punishing me,” he states. It’s not a question.

You barely react, slicing a cucumber with precise, measured movements. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “And I still don’t know why.”

You hum, noncommittal. “That sounds like a you problem, boss.”

Not ‘Boss Man’. Not ‘Mister Hotchner’. Boss.

Hotch narrows his eyes. Oh, you’re enjoying this. That little smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, it’s subtle, but it’s there. You want him to figure it out, to put the pieces together like one of his cases. But unlike his cases, he doesn’t have evidence to go off of, just silence, side-eyes, and Jack’s very deliberate allegiance to your cause. He thinks back to the last few days, replaying conversations, interactions—anything that might have set this in motion. But nothing stands out.

“What did I do?” he asks again, voice lower now, controlled but edged with frustration.

You finally look at him, really look at him, and for a split second, he thinks you might crack. But instead, you shake your head with a soft, almost pitying sigh. “I expected more from you.”

Ouch. That lands harder than it should. He doesn’t know why, but it does.

Before he can press further, Jack’s footsteps echo back into the kitchen, and just like that, the moment is gone. “Can I help with anything else?” Jack asks, grinning up at you.

“Nope, we’re all set, buddy,” you reply, ruffling his hair. “Let’s get dinner on the table.”

Hotch clenches his jaw, watching as Jack pulls out plates and hands them to you, watching as you smile at his son while still barely acknowledging his presence. He watches the two of you chat jovially over dinner about your day. He can’t figure out what he did, and he can’t get answers from either of you—it's ridiculous. He’s interrogated grown people, hardened criminals, the worst of humankind, actual serial killers, yet he’s defeated by his son and nanny.

Hotch spends the rest of dinner in frustrated silence, chewing over the events of the past day like a case file he just can’t crack. You and Jack chat like normal—well, mostly normal, considering that ‘normal’ would typically include him. But tonight, it's like he’s on the outside looking in.

And he hates it.

After dinner, Jack clears his plate without being asked and, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t ask his dad to help him brush his teeth. Instead, he turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me get ready for bed?”

Hotch doesn’t miss the deliberate way his son avoids looking at him. The kid is committed. “Of course, buddy, I’ll come up,” you reply, sending Hotch a quick glance, one that carries the unmistakable glint of you still don’t get it, do you? before you follow Jack up the stairs.

Hotch exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. The interrogation tactics continue. Fine. He collects the dishes, rinsing them with the efficiency of a man who needs to do something with his hands, all while replaying every interaction he’s had with you and Jack over the past twenty-four hours.

And then it hits him.

The cookies.

More specifically, the cookie disaster. Last night, you and Jack had decided to bake cookies. From scratch. A seemingly innocent activity, except it had unfolded like an organized crime scene—flour dusted over the counters, chocolate chips everywhere, and Jack, laughing the entire time as he got more ingredients on himself than in the mixing bowl.

And Hotch… had not been amused.

He had walked into the kitchen, exhausted from case reports, only to find his once-pristine space looking like a sugar-fueled tornado had torn through it. He’d sighed, run a hand through his hair, and muttered something about how some people actually like having a clean kitchen.

Jack had immediately looked guilty. You, on the other hand, had raised an eyebrow and said, “Some people actually like to have fun, too.”

And that was it. No yelling, no actual scolding—just Hotch being the grumpy, tired, neat-freak dad, accidentally dampening the excitement of a six-year-old and the very fun nanny who was clearly keeping score. Hotch exhales through his nose, pressing his lips into a thin line. Well. That explains this little rebellion.

Later that night, when the house is quiet, he finds you downstairs in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone as you sip from your usual mug. You don’t acknowledge him when he walks in.

That’s fine. He has a plan.

Wordlessly, Hotch reaches up to the highest cabinet, where Jack can’t reach, and pulls down a Tupperware container. He sets it on the counter with a quiet thud before popping off the lid.

Inside are the cookies from last night. The ones he had, admittedly, grumbled about. The ones Jack had been so excited to make. The ones you had deliberately left untouched on the counter after dinner.

You finally glance at him, unimpressed.

Hotch picks up a cookie, inspecting it like he’s analyzing evidence. Then, he takes a slow, deliberate bite. And—okay. They’re good. Not just edible, but actually really good. But that’s not the point.

He chews, swallows, then, without looking at you, he mutters, “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“You’re full of shit.” He hides his smirk behind another bite. “You’re so full of shit,” you repeat, but your voice is lighter now.

“Language,” he murmurs, which only makes you roll your eyes. But then, finally, you smile. It’s small, but it’s there. A crack in the ice. A sign that the war is almost over. Hotch picks up another cookie, handing it to you. You hesitate for a second, then take it. “So…" he starts, feigning innocence, "does this mean you’ll stop weaponizing my own child against me?”

You take a slow bite, considering. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He raises an eyebrow.

You shrug, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends.”

"On?"

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “On whether or not you help clean next time.” You pause for a second, “And you have to apologize to Jack, too.”

Hotch exhales a laugh, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter. “Done.”

You smirk, holding up your cookie in mock cheers. "Then I suppose I could forgive you, Mister Hotchner."

The war is over.

For now.

#monzabee #requests open #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #nanny!reader

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hoe4hotchner · 6 days ago

Note

Hi! I just read you blurb about Hotch with gen z reader and I absolutely love it, it's hilarious! ♡

Can I please request Hotch struggling with technology/apps and gen z reader helping him?

Thank you so much ♡♡

Terms and conditions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-Z!reader | WC: 1.7k | CW: Fluff. I feel like I might have made hotch into a whump in the second part of the fic (he's a little pathetic)

A/N: Tyyyyyy 💕💕

You could sense it the second you walked into the bullpen, something was wrong.

Not murder-in-Mississippi wrong, but Hotch-is-glowering-at-his-phone wrong. Which, all things considered, was still code red. You paused by your desk, coffee in hand, watching your unit chief stab at his screen through the open blinds of his office, like it owed him money.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn into a furrow that could’ve doubled as a trench. You’d seen him face down unsubs with less venom.

Rossi sauntered past with a file tucked under his arm. “He’s been at it for ten minutes,” he murmured, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk. “Try not to laugh too loud.”

You snorted softly, already knowing that it was a losing battle. Hotch’s technological struggles were the tales of BAU legends – whispered about in the break room like campfire stories.

The man could profile a psychopath in his sleep but ask him to navigate an app store, and he looked like he was defusing a bomb with a paperclip.

Adjusting your grip on your coffee, you strolled up to his office with the casual confidence of someone who’d grown up with a smartphone practically grafted to their hand.

“Morning, sir,” you said, popping your head through his open door. “Everything okay?”

Hotch didn’t look up. His voice was a low growl, clipped and precise. “No. It’s not.”

That stopped you. Aaron Hotchner didn’t admit weakness, not to unsubs, not to bureaucrats, and certainly not to his team. For him to let that frustration slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade was as rare as a sunny day in Quantico without a murder call.

You tilted your head as you moved closer to his desk, catching a glimpse of his screen, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

“Are you… trying to download an app?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

He finally looked at you, and for one glorious, fleeting moment, Aaron Hotchner – elite profiler, veteran federal agent, and the BAU’s resident stoic leader – looked utterly, hopelessly lost.

His eyes held a mix of exasperation and something that might’ve been embarrassment, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m attempting to install the airline app,” he said, each word measured as if explaining a tactical maneuver. “We have a connecting flight through Dallas next week since the jet is still out of commission, and the travel department suggested I… ‘check in on mobile.’” The air quotes were practically audible, laced with disdain for the very concept.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. “Okay. What’s the issue?”

He turned the phone toward you, revealing the problem in stark white and gray: Your Apple ID password is required to proceed.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to stop the grin now. “You don’t know your Apple password.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed into the patented Hotchner Glare, the one that could make a hardened criminal confess in under ten seconds. “I didn’t realize it required a password just to check into a flight,” he said.

You nodded like you were diagnosing a patient. “Well, technically, it’s for downloading the app. It’s a security thing, two-factor authentication, biometrics, the whole deal.”

He blinked at you, slow and deliberate, like you’d just recited quantum physics in Klingon. “Two-factor… what?”

You couldn’t help it, you beamed. “Don’t worry, sir. I got you.”

Dragging a chair over to his desk, you plopped down with the enthusiasm of a tech support guru about to perform a miracle. You rolled up your sleeves dramatically.

“Alrighty, let’s start from the top. Do you know your email?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of offense, like you’d asked if he knew his own name.

“Great. Baby steps. Do you know the password for it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why would I need that?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. “Oh boy.”

What followed was a twenty-minute odyssey through the labyrinth of modern technology. You guided Hotch through resetting his Apple ID, navigating the recovery process, and answering security questions that seemed designed to torment him (“What was the name of your first pet?” “I don’t remember.” “Okay, what’s the name of your favorite book?” “Why does this matter?”). By the time you’d successfully reset his account, installed the airline app, and added three others he grudgingly admitted might be useful (calendar, notes, and a weather app, because “it’s practical”), you felt like you’d earned a medal.

“Now for the fun part,” you said, leaning closer to show him Face ID. “You just look at the phone, and it unlocks. No typing required.”

He squinted at the screen as it scanned his face, then unlocked with a soft click. “You mean I don’t have to type anything anymore?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief like you’d just revealed the secret to eternal youth.

“Welcome to 2025, sir,” you said, leaning back with a grin.

Hotch stared at the phone for a long moment, then looked at you. His voice softened, just enough to catch you off guard. “That’s… actually impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Careful, Hotch. That almost sounded like praise.”

The barest flicker of a smirk crossed his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You tapped his screen one last time, double-checking the airline app. “Okay, you’re good to go. App’s installed, accounts are logged in, and flight alerts are on. You’re officially a digital native.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, a rare moment of visible relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you all keep up with this.”

You shrugged, deadpanning, “Years of trauma, TikTok, and depression memes. It builds character.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amusement and fond exasperation, the kind of look that made your stomach do a little flip. “I worry about your generation,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.

You smirked. “That’s fair. We worry about you too.”

Two weeks later, the BAU was airborne again, returning from a case in Arizona. The jet was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of conversation between Reid and Prentiss across the aisle. You were seated next to Hotch, who was, predictably, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So if I press this…”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “You trying to check the weather?”

He nodded, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “The app says there’s a storm on the way, but it won’t load the updates.”

With an easy grin, you reached for his phone. “I got it.”

He handed it over without protest, and that small gesture hit you harder than it should’ve. Hotch didn’t trust easily, not with cases, not with people, and definitely not with technology. But here he was, letting you take the reins, watching you in a way that made your heart skip.

You showed him how to refresh the app, toggle the alerts, and even sign up for text notifications so he’d get updates without wrestling the app into submission. “That should cover you,” you said, handing the phone back.

He studied the screen for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. “You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice low.

Your brows lifted. “Tech stuff?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something else in his tone, something heavier. “But… also, you’re patient with me. Most people aren’t.”

You softened, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s because you’re trying,” you said, matching his tone. “That’s all that matters. I mean, yeah, you kind of suck at it–”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in warning.

“–but you’re learning,” you finished, grinning. “You don’t give up. That’s admirable.”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then, quietly, “You remind me of Jack’s babysitter.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Romance me, why don’t you.”

His eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “That wasn’t-”

You laughed, waving him off. “Relax, Hotch. I know what you meant.” You nudged him with your elbow, lightening the mood. “Next lesson: memes. You’re way behind.”

He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuine. “Do I have to?”

You grinned, undeterred. “Terms and conditions, sir. You want my help, you’re gonna have to suffer through at least three ‘Vine’ references a week and the dog of wisdom.”

He sighed, long and suffering. “I have no idea what that means.”

“And that’s how I know we’ll make a great team.”

Later that night, as the team disembarked the plane and shuffled toward the parking lot, Hotch fell into step beside you. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence in the chilly air outside the private terminal the jet had landed at.

The rest of the team was ahead, somehow still bickering about who’d lost the rental car keys back in Arizona (it was definitely Morgan).

“I looked up what Skibidi Toilet was,” Hotch said, his voice low, like he was admitting to a crime.

You gasped, delighted. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. “…I regret everything.”

You cackled, loud enough to earn a glance from Rossi up ahead.

“Welcome to my world, old man.”

But then he turned to you, and his voice softened. “Thank you,” he said, “for not making me feel stupid.”

Your heart tugged, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not stupid, Hotch,” you said quietly. “You’re just… analog in a digital world.”

That earned you a smile, a real smile. “I suppose I could stand to be a little more digital,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “If it means I get to keep up with you.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second, your breath catching. Then you grinned, nudging him again. “Careful, sir. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but think that maybe the gap between analog and digital wasn’t so wide after all. Not when it came to him.

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