#it's also fear about what he's doing to the people around him

[honeydewandcake]

TW — Asylum/Hospital setting, mental disorders, medical malpractice

Inspired by Fran Bow, Sparklecare, Pure Trance, and other such things; I had an idea for a Dandy’s World AU that centers around a hospital setting

I feel like a lot of people don’t like asylum or hospital AUs because they are full of exaggerated or misinformed ideas of what mental illness is. I tried not to do that, though I’m not a professional so I still might be wrong about some things. I don’t want to take this idea too far in fear that it might be distasteful, but I do want to share this idea to see if others like it too.

Dandy’s Care is a separate world where, instead of a museum, Dandy and his friends were meant to be for a children’s hospital to treat the sick and ill. They were meant to be comfort characters to patients and were meant to support them during their stay. Like in Dandy’s World, the hospital shut down due to unspecified sanitation issues. Dandy, also known as Dr. Dandicus Dancifer, slowly became more and more starved for activity. He started targeting his friends, making the hospital into an asylum for them. He changed their characters, changing his friends into patients. The toons have no memory of their former self, only knowing their diseased and ill present self.

The staff is made up of the main toons. All of them are nurses and Dandy is the main doctor. They all act like their former selves, though they have no memory. I didn’t want to draw all of them so just imagine Astro and Vee in these uniforms.

Read more to see other toons (not all of them drawn or thought of yet, don’t attack me ;-;) ↓

Razzle and Dazzle, the only ones that I thought of completely because I already drew them before. They’re the reason why I made this entire thing anyway.

They are just experiments by Dandy, who wanted to see if the two could live together if they were attached. They used to love each other, now they don’t. Razzle is no longer looking for comedy, Dazzle is no longer looking for hope. Both are only set on the idea of revenge against Dandy for making them this way.

Life is hard when you can only feel the sensations on one half on your body, they can barely walk and can only stand or sit. They take many painkillers as their wounds take a long time to health properly. They wish they could escape this place and just die already, but they’re stuck and forced to live for as long as Dandy wants.

Razzle is a lot more violent now. He is prone to biting and scratching the staff. He hates doing all the lab tests and medical procedures, he hates being near Dazzle, he hates being stuck in this living hell. Razzle is the reason why they’re not allowed near sharp or blunt objects.

Dazzle became paranoid, scared of any noise that happens. He’s terrified of Razzle because of how violent he can get, he hates him too. Dazzle cries a lot, he cries until he can’t everyday. Dazzle wishes he could just die already, he thinks everything is scary and out to get him.

Shrimpo is thought to be a patient that had anger issues and aggressive tendencies. According to Dandy, he was admitted for being violent in public, although this is only part of the fake story that Dandy gave him. Shrimpo was forced to get a lobotomy, unethical but who cares. Dandy sure didn’t.

He’s still in the recovery phase, so he might be a bit loopy. Once those bandages are off, he’ll be as right as rain. Shrimpo is a wanderer around the hospital as he’s no longer a threat. He’s allowed to leave his room and go out in the play yard but only if a nurse is with him.

Shrimpo doesn’t really have much going for him. His thoughts are scrambled and he only cares for things in front of him. Although the lobotomy made him more passive, it doesn’t mean he’s any better in terms of motivation. Shrimpo certainly has no drive for anything anymore, he doesn’t mind but it gets in the way of his health as well. The staff needs to remind him to go to the dining room to eat or to go take a shower, because otherwise he’ll forget.

Boxten was made to believe that he has had problems with insomnia ever since he was little, of course it’s not true. He takes sleeping pills and melatonin, but it only seems to worsen his nightmares. This makes him skip his doses to avoid sleeping, repeating the cycle over and over.

Boxten is afraid of imaginary things that might get him. He thinks they’ve already in his head, eating away at his brain and giving him nightmares. Of course the only thing the nurses can see is his music box. Boxten has lost all trust in the staff since they couldn’t see or feel the things he can.

In my original notes, it said that Boxten might have psychosis.

Well that’s all the once I’ve drawn, I don’t really have the motivation to make every single toon. I have a couple of ideas though

— Goob somehow survived a terrible accident, but both his arms needed to be amputated making him armless. He suffers from brain damage and internal bleeding. He doesn’t seem to have any change in his personality, still as joyful as ever. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism

— Tisha has severe OCD which damages her mental health. She’s constantly worried about everything that happens around her, making her super aware of her surroundings. She could be a danger to herself and others as she sometimes has very aggressive thoughts but can’t control her actions. She unintentionally hurts herself because of her OCD, such as washing her hands so many times that they start to bleed.

Not for a toon, but I did have an idea for an added addition to the hospital. Maybe there’s a twisted reform center where the staff try and heal twisteds back to their normal self. They would clean the ichor from them but since the ichor is also inside of them their personalities don’t change as much. Twisteds such as Finn and R&D might be too far gone though, they would have to be disabled for life. I might draw this idea because I think it’s kind of cool, I definitely will if people also think this is interesting.

[abiatackerman]

I don't know if you guys have noticed or not but Levi's stoic personality totally changed when the war ended. For me it was like he was maintaining this stoicism for the sake of his position as a captain.

Levi was the captain of the survey corps. And not just "some" captain, he was actually the leader of the soldiers. Also he was the strongest soldier so far. So if he would have acted softly around the soldiers there might have been a possibility that the soldiers would have disobeyed him. Also the fact that he was short and was from underground didn't help the fact at all.

So I think he used to act rude and stoic around the soldiers to maintain an intimidating posture. If the soldiers wouldn't have feared him then they wouldn't have obeyed his orders or took him seriously. And it's not actually uncommon between Army leaders. I have some relatives who work in the Army as commanders and they said it's normal because if you won't be strict, you won't be respected.

Also if we're gonna mention no regrets Levi I would say that he was a bit arrogant (he was in his early twenties and he was the strongest and famous, can you blame him?) back then. And not to mention he used to maintain his rude personality back then too. I mean he was the leader of the thugs, what do you expect? He had to for him, along with Isabel and Furlan's safety. If he was a softie around the thugs there were a lot of possibilities of him getting hurt. But that never changed how gently he used to treat Isabel or his loved ones.

And in the anime we can see how soft Levi has become, after the war. Honestly I think this is the actual Levi Ackerman! He had to hide this soft side of him due to survival and for various reasons. I still remember how Kenny said the first thing he taught Levi was how to grip a knife and in the end Levi was shown holding a candy. Knowing Isamaya, it's probably another symbol. A symbol to express that Levi actually never wanted to grip a knife but he had to, due to the circumstances.

Also the fact that I've seen a lot of people say they're disappointed about the fact that Levi has turned into a softie, actually hurts me. I mean it's not like I hated his strong self but the fact that Levi is finally relieved from all the duties and pain and that he's actually showing his true self, calms me down. I'm glad that he can finally be himself, the true Levi Ackerman.

Tags: @laevieee @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @anti-cupid @meowmewow7 @mikabella7

🩷If you want to be tagged let me know🩷

[buckgasms]

Ok let's talk about Dark!Cowboy Bucky shall we......

Expect dark themes ahead y'all 🧡

Here's what I'm thinking:

He is a bounty hunter in the early days of the wild west and sadly you have a bounty out on you.

Maybe you were caught up in a crime but you are really innocent, but no one seems to care about a young woman, or the truth for that matter.

You already felt like the unluckiest person on earth, but when you overhear in a bar one night that the infamous bounty hunter Bucky Barnes is looking for a pretty little runaway, your stomach churns. And it hasn't stopped since.

🧭

Bucky hates the rain. It makes things so much harder. His horse is more grumpy and less willing to obey. People don't hang about to share tidbits of information. It's harder to get a drink.

However, it also makes his prey act silly. Especially pretty girls on the run. They aren't made for the rain. And they are so easy to spot, running across open fields in a dirty white dress, seeking shelter in a barn.

He chivves his horse onward, a wry smile on his face.

🧭

You are sitting on a bale of hay, wringing out your hair when you hear a horse approaching. Your blood runs cold as you hear the door open. You dash as quietly as you can into a dark corner and hold your breath as a man walks his horse in, talking to it gently as he guides it into a stall.

He removes his hat, gloves and shrugs off his wet coat.

"I know you're in his little darlin'"

Your eyes widen and you squeeze your arms tight to keep you from moving.

""If you come out now, it'll be easier. I'll put in a good word for ya..."

You debate it, but you can see him through a hole in the wood. And his face, however handsome, is plastered with a cruel smile. You don't believe him.

He huffs after a moment of silence. Looking around the barn, assessing how good it'll be for the night. He sits down and starts running a thin rope through his fingers.

"Gettin impatient now sweetheart... Don't like to be kept waitin..."

You shiver in the cold, your body dripping with sweat and rain. Maybe you could run out while he was distracted? You were pretty fast and you really had nothing to lose at this point.

You took a quiet, shuddering breath before dashing out from your hiding space. Despite feeling the wood of the barn door it was futile.

A tight, sharp object wrapped around your ankle and you felt the floor give way beneath you. You managed to roll over and watched as he dragged you backwards, pain tearing though your limbs as you were pulled along the floor.

"There you are" he mutters, pressing his boot onto your tummy, as he looks down at you. You suppose it would be to prevent you from fidgeting, but you are frozen in fear.

"My, my. Those wanted posters don't do you justice little darlin'. Don't quite capture that pretty face..."

You whimper as he kneels down, starting to wrap the rope around your other leg to tie you together, before looping it around your wrists.

"Please... Please sir I didn't do anything. It's a big mistake. Please...?"

He ties you off with a bow and chuckles. "Oh I know. I'm not as stupid as your neighbours, thinking a little flower like you could be involved in a bank robbery. Fuckin' dumb as hell..."

Your relief at his statement is short lived when he stands up and leaves you on the floor.

"Well then... Can't you help me? Let me go?" You wriggle and writhe, trying to keep him in your eyeline. Maybe he could be reasoned with?

He chuckles and sits himself on a bale. "Well I did think that, but there are two problems. First is that I've been chasing you for 5 days, in a storm and you've kinda pissed me off..."

You gulp, tears pricking at your eyes as he smiles at you.

"And the other problem is, now that I've gotcha, I don't think I wanna let you go."

You let out a shaky sob, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping as you have for many times in the past week, that this is all a dream. When you hear his boot scuff near your head you know it isn't. He kneels down next to you and takes your face gently between his hand and turns you to look at him.

"All I keep thinking is how I'm ready to retire, head up to my little cabin and have a pretty little housewife all to myself. Cook my dinners and have my babies hmm?"

Your eyes glisten as he talks, blurring vision as you begin to panic. You shake your head and mumble a weak 'no'. It makes him tut and squeeze your cheeks tighter.

"I know darlin', you're gonna fight me ain't ya? God knows you don't do anything the easy way huh? It's ok though. I'll have you convince by mornin'."

🧭

Convinced might be simplifying the situation, but by morning you are certainly not putting up a fight anymore.

Overnight as the storm raged outside he took you apart piece by piece. There was no part of your body that was now foreign to him.

He'd carefully removed your dress and kissed you all over. It was almost like a lover would. Sucking and biting gently at your soft skin, leaving marks all over you.

You shout and cry as loud as you can but he just smothers your cries with kisses. You tried to roll away, fight despite your bound state but he just chuckled and rolled you back where he wanted you.

He'd gotten very cross though when you tried to keep him from your heat. He'd had to find more rope to tie you open and spanked your heat until you were red and puffy.

"Wives aren't supposed to hide what belongs to their husbands darlin'. So don't you be hidin' from me..."

He resumed his gentler approach after, claiming your body with unexpected softness, kissing your tears away and praising you for taking him so well.

Hours passed and he barely relented. He let you rest a little, providing you with drink and a warm blanket. You slept when you could but were often woken by his lust, kisses and bites on your neck and chest.

"God you're beautiful yknow? So good for me... You gonna be my little housewife? Let me hide you away?"

He smiled wide when you nod. What else could you do?

I literally couldn't say no....

[merilaurecus]

Companions reactions to finding out Modern!Tav can't return to Earth and is stuck in Faerûn for good

This was on my mind for a while. It's post-game, a while after the defeat of the Netherbrain but before the reunion party. The group is still together.

Gale (Professor Dekarios ending)

Already thinking about a spell that actually can do it.

Can't help but feel a little hopeless when even Elminster said it's not possible.

But this man won't give up until he really runs out of options (ambition™️).

One of the few companions that can offer you a place to stay.

Also will offer a hug or an evening together (certified Gale girlie here, if that was me I'd probably confess to him; not that night because I'd be too overwhelmed with leaving what I knew behind, but the next night I'd be like "fuck it, I had a feelings for him before anyway, might as well").

Compassionate and understanding, though he'd try to be around to make sure you are doing well enough not to do anything stupid (yes, I mean the worst option here beginning with the letter S).

Meal cooked with love is on his to-do list (homemade hundur sauce I'm looking at you).

Even when he's down in his research he'll look out for you from time to time.

Also doing the sad eyes when he thinks about the situation. When he was told it wasn't an option he was rather terrified.

Still he prepares a worst case scenario books to teach you stuff about Faerûn. Prays he doesn't have to ever use them.

Karlach (yeet into Avernus with Wyll)

Yo this girl will be your shoulder to cry on.

But she'll probably cry with you together.

She knows how it feels more than she'd like.

But she can leave Avernus from time to time, can't imagine being stuck there forever.

After crying together she'll remain strong for you, probably won't leave your side in fear of you doing something stupid too.

Can't help much with magic but cheering you up? You've got this. Long chats to drive your mind away from the situation about any topic other than that, cuddles, that sort of things.

Also helping you gain some physical strength so you can survive here.

Hugs. Hugs. And once again - hugs.

Will look out for you most of the time if she can't be near.

Astarion (vampire spawn in Baldur's Gate)

He won't even dare to make a joke about it.

I mean it.

He may not know being stuck in other world, but being a slave with no way out of it gives him an idea of what kind of situation you're in.

Won't be the cuddliest or shit, but will keep your Earth clothes in a good shape (tailor time). Just so you have something from there to last longer.

Much like the others, he'll look out for you in the night, but will do it his sneaky way. Just enough for him to know you're alright without you noticing.

He'll say how he feels about your situation in time though. May even offer a hug. He's not Karlach but after all the events he's more open to physical contact with his friends.

Ready to teach you more stuff about Faerûn if nothing works to get you back to Earth. Especially archery. And sneaking. And stealing.

Shadowheart (Selûnite edition)

Let's be honest, all of these people were torn apart from their homes in one way or another.

Shadowheart can relate to you, though her experience is different too.

She doesn't remember much, but you do.

Approaches you with good (but weak) wine and allows you to pour your misery out.

Tells you you have a place to stay with her parents (let's go the happy endings route).

She's not a wizard, but will keep an eye out for every piece of knowledge about travelling through different worlds.

You've been to Shadowfell and Avernus after all.

Will talk you out of sacrificing your memories to Shar. She knows all to well she'd take everything from your little desperate soul.

Flowers are her language of love.

Will also animal speech Scratch and the owlbear to play with you instead of her, telling them how bad you feel.

Soon you can't get them off you, but it does put a smile on your face.

When no one is looking she'll pray to Selûne to guide you your way back home.

Much like everyone she looks out for you, ready to teach you about Faerûn as well (if she hasn't already she'll teach you how to heal yourself when you're alone).

Lae'zel (Freeing Githyanki/Orpheus sacrificed)

At first she found your tears weak.

Then she realized what it would feel like not being able to return to her people.

She felt that to the gut.

She'll show you more tricks to make your enemies fall quick (lmao I rhymed this one).

Also will keep an eye out for a knowledge that could bring you back to Earth (you know, Githyanki and their tons of knowledge).

Not much talkative but you'll see understanding in her eyes soon enough.

If you're a sword fighter she'll give you one of her sharpest ones. Githyanki language of caring is either combat or weapons you know.

(Daddy) Halsin

He also remembers being somewhere else against his wishes, though as a slave.

A single thought of not seeing sun again if he was to stay in the Underdark forever gives him creeps.

You need a hug? A cuddle? He'll be there for you in either form you choose.

You're not escaping whittling and druidic magic lessons. Just so you can get your mind off things and also heal/defend yourself should the situation call for it.

Offers you a place to stay, you're welcome anytime.

Not much of a cook but will pick the finest berries and find the biggest honey comb in the forest.

Looks out for you in some small wildshape (raven or a squirrel probably) when you sneak in the night to cry alone. Should he see situation is bad will approach you in his usual bear form.

Strongly believes there's a way - you've done much that was thought to be impossible. Especially you, someone who had almost no previous experience with weapons or magic.

He's old and wise - will keep thinking about it in hopes some solution will remind itself.

Wyll (yeet into Avernus with Karlach)

Banished from his home he understands a bit of your situation.

Haven't been to other world with no way back, it was his decision to go to Avernus with Mommy K, but he knows Karlach and it helps him understand it.

Another shoulder you can cry one, the Blade does not judge.

Still you're fresh to Faerûn and he'll hate to see you dead before your time, so he'll offer you fencing lessons (I can hear that eyeroll, Lae'zel).

Asks about the dances back in your world and gladly learns them (belgijka jumpscare).

Looking out for you when you go somewhere alone (especially at night).

In Avernus he'll look for some knowledge about travels to different worlds. It's another plane of existence after all.

Jaheira, Minsc & Boo

Minsc is happy to have his friend here forever only to understand the situation after either Jaheira or Boo explains it to him.

Jaheira feels for you more than she'd like to show, but you'll see care in her eyes.

Just like Halsin she'll research her memory for anything that may allow you to return.

Minsc apologises to you after the scolding.

Won't help much tho, he'll be just an emotional support (together with Boo, of course).

Jaheira asks all the Harpers to keep an eye out for any book or a scroll related to your problem. Also will ask any of her old friends to do the same, even if it means her repaying that favour. She can still go fast when she wants to!

[rayroseu]

Rambles about Book 7 lol

AAAAAAAÀAAA 😭😭😭 THIS IS SO AUGHHH THE MEANING BEHIND THIS INFO !!!!!! knowing that the first thought of Lilia in encountering Silver was that he should kill him to avenge Meleanor and Levan and that his purpose of adopting him is that he wants to believe he can love a human as well AND LILIA TEACHING THIS HUMAN BABY HOW TO LIVE DESPITE THE MANY CHANCES HE GOT TO GET RID OF HIM AUGJAURIWUTJW AND MAY I SAY LILIA WENT FROM DISTANTLY BEING ATTACHED TO THIS BABY AND THEN TRANSITIONING UNTO WANTING FOR HIM TO LIVE AND WITNESS HIM GROW UP AAAAAAA😭😭✨✨✨

IF I CRYYYY MELEANOR HAUNTS THE NARRATIVE 😭💞💕💞✨

LMAO not the faes snitching this info to malleus ofmg 😭✨

lowkey this is me as well i think babies are kinda ugly too KDHJAEJ especially when they cry 💀🔥🔥

YOU CALL THIS ADORABLE HELPPPP 🤣🤣🤣okay but in all seriousness, we rarely get this easy sarcastic Malleus, he's always too formal around NRC and often his humor lands amiss to other charas which doesnt prompt him to present this trait, but its so sweet that he seemed to be "truly himself" in the cottage scenes where its just him Lilia and Silver🥺✨ his voice doesnt feel "authoritative" too like a dorm leader, its just malleus and his difficulty in getting along with the random baby lilia caught lol

I remember this line was translated as a flower nectar?? but they kinda saying the same and i like this paraphrase that Lilia thinks of Milk as nectar for baby humans, like how Malleus often relates tech to some magical ritual lol

crying at this line, knowing that Malleus says this because he has broken several many things bcs he couldnt control his strength and perhaps there were things that Lilia owns that he accidentally destroyed as well so he tries to mend this uncontrollable strength of his in order to not be an inconvenience😭✨

NURSEMAID???? YEAH NURSEMAID CALLED LILIA VANROUGE 😭😭💔💔💔 and AAAAA not once did Malleus search for this tune??? not even sing it to Maleficia and Lilia so as to inquire about it 😭✨💔💔 this is when you know this lullaby IS truly MELEANOR'S LULLABY because everyone of the characters only heard it from her !!!😭😭😭💔💔

I love this response from Malleus lol, also i feel like some situation will challenge Lilia's love for humans again, like can you still love humans if they commit the same crime again to Malleus as they did with Meleanor?? Twisting their personality and actions so as to validate their fear?? Can you still say that faes should make an effort to make peace with them when repeatedly it was the humans who wasnt willing to udnerstand faes to begin with ? 😭✨ its a realistic worry fitting for a king that'll rule for centuries, maybe bcs he has this instinct that humans are epehemeral and so are their promises.

Thinking about it a bit more, its true that what Levan does is futile effort because the issue between humans and faes, Briarland and Silver Owls is too much that it cant be resolved by just understanding each other.

Levan wants the war to stop but obviously that can't happen because the bigger factions of each natioj are resolute at their stance that Briarland is owned by faes or humans, no in between. He can't immediately fix the mentality of higher faes and Meleanor with their hatred of humans and vice versa with the human officials like Henric,

but what he can do to decrease the casualties of this conflict is to pave way for the COMMON folk to understand each other, if he can make way for the common fae and the common human to talk to each other, then it might decrease the misunderstanding between the common fae and common human (assuming that both parties arw willing to be understanding)

its really a long shot and a gamble to aspire for considering his country's situation, and its effects would take a while to impact and honestly it took so much important people and years just to have his dream of peace, i wish we could get an input about what he feels about this

considering his kindness he might be happy, but im kinda sad its really tragic the implication of how the faes had to earn their peace and atone for a conflict that they didnt even start with,

based on Lilia, it took 400 YEARS just for the humans to sign a peace treaty, maybe in the eyes of the faes, thats just a piece of paper, so they waited and grieved the lost of their Princess Meleanor and many of their fae soldiers and Prince Levan and ALMOST the entirety of their continent, just for these humans to sign an 400 year long overdued peace treaty?? so the faes that died couldve been saved if these humans could spare some compassion and ink to sign a treaty-- It kinda feels like they're insulting their grief (in the faes point of view atleast), whats the purpose of having this paper peace treaty when they have lost so much already?? I WISHHH the story could delve more into the grief of faes,

kinda lowkey mad they just swept Lilia's grief by the humans just cuz he encountered a few good ones, i wouldve love to see him being vengeful then learning how to convert that grief to love again just like Maleficent in the live action, bcs it would be very meaningful on this way, Lilia can truly say he has learned how to love because he experienced real deep hatred---but AAA its whatever this storyline is good as well, just kinda feels general lilia's belief converted to present!lilia a bit too fast to my liking lol

its really intriguing how before book 7 the faes dislike of humans seems so dramatic but now after book 7 it all makes too much sense 😭✨

(can you guys tell i play too much reverse 1999 bcs i ramble too much about morals and politics between different races now JHDJWHRJW)

[raayllum]

Moon Arcanum Callum + Sun Arcanum Claudia in S7?

Callum getting the Moon arcanum has been a fandom... not theory, but shall we say, prospect, since even before S4. Some of this was because of the seeming set up in previous seasons, such as:

Callum having a hunch that the cube wasn't glowing due to the Moon, and being our first hint at illusions on the Cursed Caldera (1x09)

Lujanne explaining the secret of the arcanum (as she understands it) to him in 2x02

Callum doing moon arcanum spells (3x08, Through the Moon) much the way he did Sky spells before unlocking that arcanum

Callum employing aspects of the Moon arcanum in his plans (3x01 with tricking Sol Regem, creating the illusion pearl in 6x01)

His growing relationship and understanding with Rayla, and potential involvement with her family/village

But especially:

This is of course already reflected in spades in his arc as a mage. Everyone, Lujanne included, believes that humans can't do magic. She treats this as absolute fact and destiny, but Callum perceives it as subjective truth; why can't he just make his own connection and do magic anyway? And in doing so, he changes the world. He creates a radically new, better reality.

With season seven's synopsis on sacrifice and life and death, both things we see tied heavily to Moonshadow culture and the Moon itself, I could see Callum connecting to the Moon arcanum next season for a few reasons (and potentially Claudia with the Sun arcanum, which I'll get to after). So let's get into it.

Precursor

Previously, if Callum was going to connect to the Moon arcanum, I'd speculated it'd mostly be around ideas of the consistency of Love (light or dark, the moon is always the moon) and his love for Rayla being his light in the darkness / the one constant truth of his life. I don't think this anymore, obviously, because we got all those things through the Star truth light ritual beat for beat and we're not going to be repeating, but I did think it'd be worthwhile then to revisit what a Moon arcanum could mean for Callum under new context / emotional epiphanies. I've also always thought either Earth or Sun would suit Claudia, but leaned more towards the latter, so we're gonna talk about that, too.

Truth and Lies and Aaravos

As Lujanne explains in 2x02, the Moon arcanum is understanding the true nature of the relationship between appearances and reality, and we can only understand the appearance itself. This feels like a very fitting idea to come back to with Aaravos, who ostensibly never lies but routinely withholds or presents not entirely correct information. "How may I serve you?" when you're just going to be a pawn. Not telling a mourning Claudia that he was indeed the one who killed Viren so that she'll continue to do his bidding, with Claudia asserting that Aaravos "didn't lie" about the ritual in 6x01, and he didn't. We also see him wield the truth as a weapon with people like Khessa ("would you like to know the truth of her fate before you meet yours?") and Sol Regem (more on that here.)

Everything that he says is truth to him, and then he lifts it up as being objectively true (i.e. you're destined to play into my hands) even when it isn't necessarily true. We can also see Callum veering into mindsets that Claudia and Viren have had, where he believes he's past the point of saving ("I'm ruined, it's too late for me" "Promise me you'll kill me") or removing his own agency by admission ("Finnegrin was going to kill you, I didn't have a choice" / "Every step forward is a choice").

Callum understanding Aaravos' or others' actual truths versus their lies and the ones he's believing could be very fitting in S6, especially if he might be learning more about the existence of the Cosmic Council and who made their world the way it is. I think his existence may help lead to that "slow spiral of chaos" but that it won't be just or even Bad at all the way they'd feared, etc.

Claudia is also linked to lies and truth. She lies to others, but Aaravos notes that "If you tell the truth you will lose her," and she goes looking for her own deep truth in S6, but doesn't seem to fully find it. Terry asks her "What do you need to find your one deep truth?" and Claudia says that she needs her dad, but she and her mother have also made it clear that she "needed to stay with Soren" and her family (vs Viren telling her to pick the egg over Soren). With Viren gone and Aaravos manipulating her, Soren could easily be one of her guiding lights next season or in future seasons.

The Pearl

The moon is analogous, framing/appearance wise, to the prison. This is alluded to in 5x09 through framing, and then made even more direct in 6x09: Aaravos escapes his prison thanks to Claudia and (unbeknownst to her) she has become the prisoner, much like how Callum may physically free himself from chains in 5x08 but magically/emotionally chains himself further to Aaravos, or Viren shouting while in chains that he's finally free of the dark puppetmaster.

Basically, when Callum says in 6x01 that he's inside the pearl, I don't think (as of S6 / probably first half of S7 at least) that he's ever gotten out of it. Aaravos uses him even after his nightmare, and we know thanks to the pawn intro that Aaravos' final machinations for Callum also haven't yet come to play. I've been wondering if the Aaravos intro is going to change in S7, since he's out of his prison — and it still may — but if we look at it from the angle of Callum and Claudia both being stuck within the moon/pearl rather than just Aaravos himself, maybe it could stay.

And if Callum is stuck inside the moon-pearl, shattering it by understanding the arcanum ("the whole world is like a giant primal stone, and we're inside of it, and it's also in us") and/or with Claudia moving to the opposite of the moon could be useful, especially since Karim is a corrupted sun in his own way. Speaking of which let's talk about

Light and Dark

We know thanks to Claudia that black and white, or light and dark, are not always clear cut. Her hair thanks to her dark magic use changes like phases of the moon, with the light being bad and the dark being good. Conversely, her path is a dark one with the path of truth and light being withheld from her. In a similar manner, we see Callum's light (Rayla) being what led him into dark magic use and what led him out of it, and will likely see this pattern play out again. Aaravos is a representation of a path of darkness, but we also see the cube flashing a bright light in the pawn intro, tying light and darkness together for him as well.

Callum's understanding of himself that he gained through the Ocean arcanum can not simply become untrue or disappear, so I think recognizing that darkness isn't all he is ("I'm ruined" / "your heart's not full of darkness" "Neither is yours") even if there are dark parts of him and of his life would be fitting. It also seems that could be helpful with Claudia as well, and even characters like Ezran, who will have to wrestle with darker parts of his emotions/personality next season as well with Runaan. They've all got light and dark inside them, and learning how to walk in that balance and still break away from the Cycle / Aaravos is useful. As Ezran said in 4x03:

I just want to yell stop. But that’s not enough. It won’t work. I think about a positive vision, a faith we can all share, that we might build a future together in hope. A future where we can be safe with each other.  But… It’s not that easy or simple. Because people are still hurting and they are still angry. We can’t ignore that, or pretend it will go away. Somehow, we have to hold it all in our hearts at the same time. We have to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again. We have to give today’s children a chance to inherit a future filled with peace. To give them that, we have to hold pain and love in our hearts at the same time.

Claudia's love for her family led her to ruin, but it can also save her through Soren. Callum's love for Rayla led him to ruin, but it has also saved him (and again, we'll likely repeat this pattern). Ezran's love for his father will lead him to anger but also pull him out of it, just as Viren's love for his son caused him to begin his journey of terrible things, but also guided him to do one final, truly right thing by the end.

Love is light and dark. Claudia, who's been walking in shadow, needs the full light - the sun, in the form of her brother. She needs to accept and see the truth of what's happening and step fully into the light. Callum, who has been routinely worried of the dark within him, needs to the reminder that he's not all he is, that he has light of his own inside. In doing so, he can break Aaravos' control over him and give hope to any other dark mages / humans in general that no level of corruption is too late to come back from, and that there is always light amid the darkness.

Life and Death

The stakes have never been higher as Aaravos and Claudia are on the warpath, determined to destroy the Cosmic Order and invert life and death. With the world’s fate on the line, our heroes must be ready to sacrifice everything to save it.

In Bloodmoon Huntress, we get a very different peek into how the secret of the Moon arcanum can be thought of through Runaan, who is peak Moonshadow-sacrifice elf man:

Moonshadow form is only achieved when we understand the balance of life against death. Balance is weight against weight, and to understand the weight of death you must feel the weight and value of another's life. Think of those you love, of who you hold most dear. Now think of the souls who have touched your life. Understand that each time your weapon meets its target, each time we fulfil our duty, the potential for that soul to change a life—to love another—is gone. We may remove hate, but we remove the potential for love as well. Moonshadow form is only achieved when we reconcile this balance between life and death.

While Claudia with her hair and dark mage-assassin parallels could unlock the Moon arcanum—especially if her perspectives continue to change—I think Callum as the Protagonist is better placed at this time to be the one to understand the balance between life and death in a season where the antagonists are trying to invert/destroy it. Him therefore understanding appearances and changes, how to control his own and see through others', understanding that balance between life and death, feels very fitting.

Callum's fear of Aaravos and dark magic comes from the fear that he's changing—"I hope you're careful, cause [magic] can change people" / "the corruption takes innocent creatures and changed them"—and that death would be better for him than life if he goes too far. Learning these things aren't the case and that he can get back to the middle (and indeed, "real trust is about accepting even the dark parts we will never know" could be about Rayla accepting he may not entirely swear off dark magic again, the same way Viren kept that door open to do Good) would be useful.

It would also mean the two mage characters most drawn into Aaravos' darkness get the Moon and Sun—the arcanums most associated with light—to banish said darkness as well. Claudia finally being an uncorrupted light and chasing life, not death, and Callum, learning how to be balanced and that he can maintain his identity / use Aaravos' book and key without fearing that he'll lose control.

The fact that Claudia's eclipse imagery only started the same episode she lost her brother, and that her Laurelion dragon-scale necklace is very Sunfire-y looking...

Conclusion

TDP for Callum and Claudia has always felt like a parallel coming-of-age mage story between the two of them, leading to the amount of similarities and diverging plot beats the two have, down to doing the same spell at the same time but in different locations in S6. The Sun arcanum is associated with truth, light, and healing, whereas the Moon arcanum is associated with change, life + death, and secrets/love. All of these things could be nicely brought to a head with Callum and Claudia each unlocking an arcanum of Moon and Sun respectively, showcasing their differences, their continued room to grow, and light amid the darkness.

While I could see alternatives like Sun for Callum and Moon for Claudia, Stars for Callum or no arcanum for either of them, I think these are the ones that fit best at this time / Stars will likely get saved for arc 3 given that arc 3 will probably focus more on rewriting destinies and the Cosmic Order as antagonists.

As always hope you enjoy and Dragons out!

[thevalleyisjolly]

I think part of the reason why Ten and Donna's relationship is so compelling to me is that they share the same main character flaw. In RTD's memoir, he described how he created each of the main companions with a central character flaw. Rose was selfish, Martha was selfless to the point of self-denial, and Donna was self-absorbed. And while all of those flaws were mirrored in Ten in different ways, I think Ten's central flaw was, like Donna, being incredibly self-absorbed.

While I don't dispute that Ten could be arrogant and vain, I think the degree to which he was those things sometimes get exaggerated. Every Doctor has had instances where they behaved arrogantly, as if they were the ultimate authority in the room and were owed everyone's attention and even unquestioned obedience. Many Doctors have preened over their looks or boasted about their intelligence and their achievements, whether as a strategic move or (more often) just because they felt like reminding everyone they were the smartest person around. Arrogance and vanity are recurring character traits across many of the Doctor's regenerations, and while Ten has displayed them more loudly and infamously than other Doctors, I think the unique flaw that better defines this regeneration's character was his propensity for getting completely caught up in himself.

Consistently throughout this regeneration, he ignored or just failed to recognize other people's needs because he was so preoccupied with his own issues. Infamously with Martha, but also with most of his companions past and present at some point (Sarah Jane, Mickey, Jack, Donna) and certainly with countless ordinary people that got caught up in the danger around him. The thing that makes this self-absorption rather than callousness or deliberate cruelty is that it wasn't because he considered unimportant. Ten frequently affirmed how important every life was and how valuable the most ordinary life was, and he really believed it. But as much as he believed it, he constantly struggled with the practice, with prioritizing ordinary people when he himself was embroiled in turmoil (whether active danger or his own personal issues). He believed fundamentally that each life had value and importance; he just saw whatever he was going through or doing at the moment as having even more value and more importance.

Ten didn't lack compassion for others. Indeed, he felt very strongly for people who were in distress and regularly put himself at risk to try and help them. But he often struggled to look beyond himself - his own concerns and demons and ego and fears. If someone's needs or feelings align with his own or seem to be relevant to the issue at hand? Good! He'll try to help if he can. But if someone's needs clash with his own, or their opinions challenge his own view, or their feelings push uncomfortably against his own emotional state? All of a sudden, he's very busy, he becomes rude and dismissive, he clams down, he acts ignorant, and if all else fails, he runs away.

The Chamelon arch storyline in "Human Nature"/"Family of Blood" is incredibly fascinating because John Smith embodied the Doctor's self-absorption on a much more recognizable, human scale. He was happy to be benevolent and kind when people acted within the sphere of what he knew. As a teacher, he recognized when a brilliant student was downplaying his intelligence to avoid attention from school bullies, and he tried to encourage Timothy within the bounds of what a teacher could do. But when people started disrupting his own little world of happiness -particularly Martha or his students interrupting romantic moments with Joan- then he became curt and dismissive and even more obstinate about his preferred way of things. All things that the Doctor also does, but which we notice less because he's usually the perspective we're rooting for to solve everything and save the day so is it really a big deal if he's rude towards another character? And then there's the original act of self-interest that Joan calls the Doctor out on at the end - he brought death and destruction to this village that he chose on a whim, without thinking of anyone else, all because he personally didn't want to confront the Family even though he was capable of stopping them.

All this to say that this flaw is part of what makes his relationship with Donna so compelling to watch. You have these two fundamentally self-absorbed characters on a journey together and they inspire each other to start doing better than they were before. They're growing together in the same direction with each other and because of each other. Donna, seeing the whole wide universe with all the good and the bad of it, realizing not only how small her worldview has been until now but then reaching out to make connections with people she wouldn't have given the time of day to before. The Doctor, absorbed with all his own burdens and traumas and memories and promises, being furiously and desperately shouted at by his best friend to do something. Save someone. It doesn't matter how small the act or how insignificant they are in the greater scheme of things. Never mind the greater scheme. Never mind us, never mind you. Just look at the person suffering in front of you now and help them.

[ghouldtime]

*slides into the DMS*

S O. What does social anxiety for König look like through your fantastic characterization then? 👀

(Love your Alone operator series btw. Got me on the edge of my seat with each chapter!!)

(Thank you!! 💚💚💚 I'm so glad you're enjoying :D you all have been so so sweet with it and Im over the MOON so many people have liked it)

To answer this question I'm going to have to be a biiig yapper and explain why I think of him the way I do

Going to say this to start, but I'm going with the true fact that König is indeed diagnosed with social anxiety - anything else I'm saying is based off of my personal interpretation of how he acts in game as a disclaimer

I'm also going to state that personally, the König I write is in his lower to mid 40's. Sorry not sorry, I don't see him as a young dude. Especially not when it's pretty much agreed upon that he's a colonel. So he's had a SIGNIFICANT amount of life experience, and a significant amount of time to work on himself and have introspection.

To me, it makes the most sense that he was diagnosed with social anxiety earlier on in his childhood since it was significantly more obvious when he was younger. Something that severe wasn't unnoticed by those around him because some of them did care about him. It's also stated he's suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life so that's how I took it.

I personally go with he grew up in a more rural town in his homeland of Austria, which meant there weren't exactly others around during the first few years. "Go play with the neighbors kids" didn't really work when there weren't neighbors around. It was mainly him and his parents and an occasional relative over.

What could be brushed off as initial shyness clearly couldn't be anymore when he finally was enrolled in school.

Even on the first day when it's "introduce yourself to everyone", he fucked that up so monumentally it'll be engraved forever in his hall of shameful memories that he thinks about late at night. School was an utter nightmare, quite frankly, from moment one. The whole situation was too much, too stressful, and too different from the life he had at home. He flat out refused to get up and present in front of the class and wouldn't talk in group projects just for the fear of embarrassing himself. At that time, he was hitting all the indicators for social anxiety like they're the targets he shoots at today.

He missed out on a lot of interaction with other kids initially because of how awkward he was - and having any form of anxiety never helps in social situations. Talking to others wasn't something that came naturally and his own panic amplified it tenfold. Most times, he'd either pretend he didn't hear them, avoid them, or stray as far to the edge of the group as possible to avoid it. Unfortunately this made him an easy target because kids are RUTHLESS and turned him into even more outcast as well which only worsened it.

School always sucked for him due to that, despite the fact that he was a smart kid. No amount of smarts could save you from social persecution when you had nearly no social skills to boot. [ side note but I'm dying on the hill that he's incredibly intelligent and has a bachelors degree (at the very least)].

His parents kept him in therapy to help him manage because without it, he'd be back at square one refusing to go to school and faking a cold just to get out of it. And of course, therapy is a very important tool when it comes to healing, coping, and managing severe mental disorders. The whole reason why he doesn't show such bad anxiety anymore is because he kept the skills he learned and applies them so much that it becomes his second nature.

He's had at least 35 years of this, he's good enough to mask and to keep up his facade.

Another part of why he doesn't show it nearly as much is because he joined the military and was thrown through the wringer with it. Being bullied for so long was a major motivator for joining in the first place, as he needed something to get away from the peers who tormented him so and he needed a new life where he wasn't known as target #1. But he ALSO wanted to gain actual confidence and more certainty in himself.

Joining the military really means you're not left with such things as many choices when it comes to anxiety in social situations. You're forced into quarters with others, have to work side-by-side, do nearly everything together, so on and so forth. He knew that going in but at that point for him it was like extreme exposure therapy, the last step he needed to really put everything he learned in therapy to work.

That doesn't mean he didn't suffer or loved it. No, it was terrible, intense, and nerve-wracking. But he wouldn't have done it otherwise if he didn't want that. Being in the military didn't give him the leeway to avoid what made him anxious, it taught him to face it head on and fight.

Now that he's up there in age and has considerable more experience (and leeway with having a higher rank), the ways he expresses it [look at me finally answering the question] are more subtle.

On the field, you're likely not going to notice it. Because that's him turning the little auto pilot switch in his mind to on when he has a job. The job is his focus and everything has been so engrained in his mind that it's muscle memory. He's, quite frankly, focused on not dying and getting any job done over himself. The joking you often hear him do and taunting alike is part of how he's expressing the confidence he feels when he's in his element, when he KNOWS what he is doing.

If you look closely or approach him off the field, however, it's another story. He usually tenses or straightens himself out when people approach and will hold that until they leave (unless they're someone who he truly knows). Many assume that's a taught habit of the military, but that's only half-true. He did that before then.

Unlike when he's working, he doesn't have a guide or things he knows he has to do in a specific order to best ensure survival - no matter how much talking to other people feels like the heat of the battle, you can't (legally) solve it with a gun or throw a frag and book it out of there. There's no true guide to social interactions and that stresses him out. There's no manual, no field guide, no ten step card on how to successfully navigate them.

He knows things that are normal to say, he knows sometimes what he should say - it's just a matter of finding the phrasing and how to say them. Yet it seems like whenever someone doesn't follow his pre-programmed line of thought when it comes to their talking, his mind can shut down and go blank as he stares, trying to figure out where to go or what to say (spoiler: it usually doesn't end well).

He's usually awkward to talk to because he's running over everything in his head as he tries to think of what best to say to avoid further interactions or ones that could be more targeting to him. And, as mentioned, he lacks the average set of social skills that plenty learn in childhood because he didn't have that proper socialization. He's also still not the best at talking itself and can be blunt and to-the-point, which also doesn't usually go down well.

Not to mention, he's bad at small talk and has a terrible, sarcastic sense of humor that many can't read and it quickly turns things uncomfortable very fast because everyone takes him seriously. It never helps he usually doesn't explain himself all too well, usually leaving it as is as he secretly wishes he didn't talk at all when mortification sets in. Hurrying away with an excuse of some paperwork or something else to busy himself is his go-to after those.

When possible, he'll avoid small-talk and greatly prefers gestures instead. Someone who can appreciate his greater need for silence and a lack of talking is someone who he will greatly appreciate in turn. He's a firm believer that not all silences are uncomfortable and sometimes, it IS best not to say anything at all.

Due to his childhood too, he's not really fond of being around many people and will do his best to avoid it. Unless he has to grin and bare it, he won't. He finds his mind calmest when he can just be himself without having to worry about saying the right things to appease others or to be friendly. That way he can focus on what he wants, think how he wants, and feels how he wants without second guessing himself or having to worry about existing.

He's going to avoid most public settings when possible. Though he can now suitably manage his anxiety, they're something he passes up on. Grocery store trips are something he does maybe once a week or two, if that - stock piling so he has to go to the store less is his usual strategy. Anything he can do himself, he WILL do himself, if he doesn't have a trusted person who can do it better or can help.

Notably, he also doesn't have many friends. He's like talking to a brick wall and unless you're considerably persistent and understanding of his need for space, you won't get far. A lot of people don't have the time nor patience for it, but if you do get close to him, he does come out of his shell. He appreciates anyone who cares enough to actually get close to him and get to know him despite how awkward he can be, and will be loyal to the end because of that.

Another side effect is that he doesn't sleep well. Between the massive amounts of trauma from his job and the trauma from his childhood, he doesn't sleep well as is. But the social anxiety aspect comes into play because many nights, his mind is rerunning all the interactions he's had as he chronically overthinks them. He always wonders what he could've done, how he could've improved, and what they're thinking of him (even if they're someone he may never run into again). Its very hard for him to shut his mind off and doing such usually requires him drowning everything else and making himself not think about that, or anything, any more.

[Another side note: He's an avid reader. Reading gives him new things to think about and can help put him to sleep, especially before bed. It's a good way for him to stop thinking about whatever was nagging him and shifts his mind into thinking about other things he enjoys instead)

Basically, IN SHORT this isn't my full in-depth detailed characterization of exactly who I think he is - the reason he's not presenting it as an anxious ball of pure energy who is so uwu shy and soft is because he is incredibly well-managed with his severe social anxiety at his age and that's uh, just not him. Social anxiety doesn't mean he's a blubbering mess or will cry at the slightest inconvenience and reducing him to that or treating anyone with social anxiety like they're a child because of it does not help at alllll.

He's had extensive therapy for this, he's got his methods, he can mask very well. He's a WHOLE GROWN MAN who is responsible for not only his actions but how he manages his emotions and he knows it. But if you know him and know what to look for, you'll be able to pick it up.

(Also the sheer amount of scenarios I've seen where people think he just would... cry if you took his mask off??? Him???? HIM???? König, "I can make you talk, where are they?" the skilled PMC operator? That one? That guy? Yeah no, anyone dumb enough to do that better have signed their will prior or hopefully has an intensive love for scrubbing all the floors with a single old toothbrush. He won't tolerate people harassing or hustling him or pressing on his nerves. Sure, it reminds him of his childhood bullies, but quite frankly that behavior as grown adults trying that is RIDICULOUS, it pisses him off and immediately lowers his opinion on them.)

To whoever made it this far, I hope this made sense, I took melatonin before I got the ask so I'm in another realm right now LMAO. König is one of my favorites and was the first character I realllly really loved and I just hate seeing him done so dirty. Especially as someone with severe social anxiety myself, it irritates me when it's portrayed just so... wrong and quite frankly, in a lazy, offensive manner lacking any nuance especially in relation to the character who has it. Like just making him stutter and cry isn't all social anxiety is and there's SO much depth and things to work with despite the... actual substance as far as his bio goes

[1425fivefive]

I'm kind of cooking with this Interview with the Vampire-inspired Lestappen fic. The premise is that Charles is a 500-year-old vampire and Max is human and they first meet in Amsterdam in 1662. Charles turns Max into a vampire and the fic is a series of vignettes of their tumultuous relationship in various years/locales from the 1600s to the present. I'm tentatively titling it After Me, the Flood.

Posting a (lightly NSFW) snippet of their first meeting below to keep myself accountable to finishing this for Halloween:

“What’s your name?” Max asked.

“Charles.” Charles thought, briefly, about giving Max one of his many pseudonyms. But he had so little of himself to offer to Max. He wanted to give him at least one real thing, however small.

“Charles,” Max repeated. He said it the way all Dutch people said Charles’s name, with a tch sound at the beginning and the s at the end. Normally it irritated Charles but he found he liked the sound of his name in Max’s throaty voice.

“And yours?” Charles asked.

“Max.”

“Ah, a strong name,” Charles said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “The name of an emperor.”

“Yes, that’s why my father picked it.” Max winced as he said father and Charles knew there was something dark there. It wasn’t particularly surprising to have a poor relationship with one’s father, in a pub like this.

“What’s your business in Holland?” Max asked, clearly wanting to move on from the subject of his family.

“No business”—Charles flicked his eyes down to Max’s plush lips—“only pleasure.”

Charles watched as Max’s throat bobbed at Charles’s words, watched as the flush rose in his cheeks and spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the high collar of his jacket. Charles wanted to tear the jacket from Max’s broad shoulders, lick a stripe up Max’s neck, savor the pulse of Max’s carotid artery under his tongue.

Charles felt an aching pressure in his gums, his canines fighting to lengthen. He forced them to retreat, reminding himself of the merchant he’d drained only hours earlier.

“Would that interest you?” Charles asked, trying to tear his gaze away from Max’s neck.

Max stepped closer to Charles, Charles’s thigh sliding between Max’s legs. Charles wanted to tug Max down to his lips, but he knew even a pub like this had to ensure plausible deniability.

“Of course, Charles,” Max murmured. “Of course, I’m interested. You’re”—Max broke off, his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips—“you’re beautiful.”

Charles reached out, grazing the back of his fingers down Max’s stomach, startling a gasp out of Max. “You are quite beautiful, as well.”

Max scoffed. “Don’t lie.”

Charles frowned, confused. Max was beautiful, so beautiful Charles couldn’t understand how people hadn’t told him so constantly. Charles had lived for centuries and he’d never seen someone who looked like Max—the broad, strong features that, together, transformed into an almost searing vulnerability.

“I am not lying,” Charles said firmly. “You are gorgeous, Max.”

Max flushed, his whole face turning pink. “Stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Charles asked, running his fingers up and down the fabric stretched across Max’s stomach. “Because I think you would enjoy hearing how beautiful you are.” Charles paused, wondering whether to push further. But Max was staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted, and Charles added, “Perhaps you would like hearing how gorgeous your perfect lips look, wrapped around my cock.”

Max sucked in a gasp, before nodding, eager and honest. “Yes, Charles, yes, I’d—yes.”

“Good,” Charles said, smirking. “Now finish your drink.”

Max obeyed, tipping his head back and draining the last of his beer. It was a heady feeling, watching Max follow Charles’s orders. People followed Charles’s instructions all the time, but Charles couldn’t remember the last time someone had done it of their own free will, without Charles needing to compel them.

When Max slammed the empty glass back on the bar, Charles feared that he would never be able to let Max go.

Also fun fact, this scene is set in a bar that serves primarily gay clientele in 17th-century Amsterdam, and these did in fact exist in parts of Europe in the 17th century! I'm not sure whether they existed in Amsterdam specifically, but ... we ride.

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul lahote x reader

People kind of feared him. People knew of his hot headed ways. But you, minded your own business. Sure you’ve seen him around school, whenever he did decide to come. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on him.

The first time he spoke to you, he came into school late. You only shared one class together, history. He asked you for the answers for a worksheet that the class had to do. You let him copy. You just didn’t want any problems. Plus, he never really bothered you.

You would see him around the neighborhood sometimes too. Mostly playing basketball in the court by the park.

One day, you decided to take your freshly bought book, Scott Pilgrim, with you to the park. You liked to sit on the swings or the benches to feel the refreshing air.

Next to the park was the court, and there he was, playing basketball with his friends. You also recognized your friend’s, Kim, crush, Jared, on the opposition team playing against Paul.

They were already sweating and the tension was thick. The game was a was good game. The grunts and scuffle of the tennis shoes hitting the black pavement filled the air.

You decided the swing and opened your book to what you left off on. You loved this book because of the adventure aspect. You sometimes would playfully think about how it would be like if your boyfriend fought seven of your ex boyfriends to win your love. You liked how you didn’t have any ex boyfriend to begin with. That’s what made the story fun.

You hear a grunt that snaps you out of fantasy land. It was faint, which made you turn your head to its direction.

A faint view of Paul grabbing the ball that went over the fence. The ball rolled and Paul was fuming because his team was starting to fuck up. He ran back and him seeing you made you realize you were staring at him the entire time, watching him. He looks away and enters in resuming his game with such determination.

You didn’t know how you felt about that interaction but you liked how you didn’t know just yet. You got up and talk towards the benches instead. You open your book and forgot which page to resume from since you didn’t notice to save the page when you closed it.

You lazily read through trying to pay attention to what’s going on in the book but your mind wanted to know whether or not Paul wins his game.

“Who cares about his stupid game.” you thought to yourself.

With such shame, you pull out your phone and began surfing the net since you’ve gotten a bit bored. You didn’t want to just skim through a book you knew you wanted to appreciate.

Sounds of guys shouting made you look over and see a group of guys jump up and bump each other. But it was in a celebratory fashion. A bunch of “let’s gooo” and “yeahs” were uttered from their throats.

You only saw Paul shake his head with disproval but the guys were trying to pass it off as he’s being overreactive. Even trying to cheer him up but he already made distance between the group. They go another way with the game forgotten and you didn’t know Paul was close until he sat at another bench. Looking completely exhausted.

You tried your best to pretend like he wasn’t there. Maybe if you stayed still, he wouldn’t look your way. You didn’t know why you felt nervous.

“What’s the point in bringing a book to a park if you’re not gonna use it.” he spoke.

Your head pops up and he’s just sitting there staring at you, expecting your answer.

You just shrug and furrow your eyebrows just a bit. He snorts, “Could’ve just went to the library. How were you gonna get peace here?”

“I don’t know. It was peaceful. And then it wasn’t.” You said blankly.

“The game definitely wasn’t. You should know that.”

So he did notice you watching him. You kinda felt embarrassed but you didn’t want to sweat in front of his presence deciding to keep your cool.

A nervous chuckle helps you think of an answer ,”Yeah. You were pretty mad that you were losing. Did you win?”

He shrugs and stares plainly. “What do you think?”

You look at the sky, deciding what to do next.

You just pick up your book and go to the swings. You came here to read a book. Those plans weren’t going to change just because someone interrupted.

You retry your mission of getting sucked into the book’s plot and the swing’s chains are now being twisted from your purposeful turning.

“Scott Pilgrim? My cousin showed me that movie.” Paul announced and flops on the other swing.

“Oh yeah?” you reply politely and he nods once to confirm. You nod in thought and go back to your book while the storyline of the book is still fresh in your brain.

You turned the swing into a direction to where you now face your back towards him. The wind swirls, drifting your hair a bit but not overwhelming.

“Where are you going to college?” he asks you.

“Not going to one.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I have everything I need here.” It was true. You didn’t like to brag about yourself, but you had an online job that let you work, while you focused on your art. College will always be there. Right now, you were focused on having fun with your craft without the academic cloud hovering.

“The hell could be here in Washington?” he asks perplexed.

You burst out a chuckle. “You would be surprised.”

“If I could get out, I could.” He says in a playful tone.

“You should if that’s what you want.” You suggest. You were a strong believer of freewill.

“If only it were easy.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you opted to saying nothing. You decided to slowly unwind the chains and decide to go. The atmosphere changed. It wasn’t as fresh as it was when you first came. The scenery started to get old for that day.

You stand up and walk in confidence, with your destination in mind, to the beach. There was still hours to the day. Maybe the walk will help you get into the groove of reading again.

“Where you going?” He asked.

“Just… heading out.” You tell him.

“Alright, let me walk with you.”

You awkwardly continue to walk but he’s walking without hesitation as if he knows where you’re going.

That’s how you two sat on a log. You two just watched the waves as if you two were trying to figure something out.

“You want to know what’s crazy?” He asks softly.

“What?” you continue.

“I’ve never talked to you before but you’re nice to be around.” he meant.

You just blink. “Thank..you?” You didn’t mean to make it sound like a question and look at him.

He tears his eyes away from the waves in front of him and meet you halfway with sight.

“No, I’m serious.”

You nod and look at the waves some more.

“It is getting dark soon. I walked further than I was supposed to so I’m going to head back.” You announce.

He is standing instantly and narrows in on you. “We can hang at my place. Plus, I’ll drive you home.”

You look up with a quizzical smile and say, “Hang out? What would we do? We have nothing in common.”

He just shrugs and starts walking in the direction that would be his house. Not looking back to see if you’re coming or not.

You decide to join him. You get to get a ride home.

The walk is surprisingly quick. You try to have a uninterested look on your face. You never judged someone’s house, even if it looked different than your own.

“You want me to take my shoes off?” you ask.

He flicks him arm, letting you know to don’t worry about it.

You follow to his room and you were surprised. He had an interesting room to look at.

“You play chess?” you ask surprised.

“I play a lot of games. You trying to play?”

You sit on the edge of his bed and he sets up the pieces where they’re supposed to go.

He was in charge of the white pieces on the board.

Playing against him was different the people you’ve played. Usually, people slipped up or would sloppily sacrifice their piece just for the sake of winning, but not Paul. It was almost as if he knew which move you were going to make. Even making you on the edge of your seat trying not to let your important pieces get taken.

After he won by checkmate twice in a row and cackled your sore loser attitude.

“Okay, are you still taking me home?” You ask to get him to stop teasing.

“Now you’re ready to go home. Please!”

You just roll your eyes, “I’ve been ready ages ago.”

“Let me use the bathroom.” he says and you gather your belongings and outside of his room was like night and day. Literally. It was so dark out you checked the time to make sure it wasn’t too late.

The car ride was filled with music shuffling.

“You want to pick a song?” He asks.

“Pass. My music taste is all over the place.”

“Just put something on, will ya?” and makes the phone land in your lap.

You play a song called, Out of Your League, cringing a bit because it’s totally random but it was just the song you thought to put on.

As soon as the song was over, your house was now on Paul’s side.

“I appreciate you for the ride.” you politely tell him.

“Yup.”

“Um. Bye.”

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me later.”

[chris-prank]

Peaceful post-apocalypse settings have always been one of my favorite tropes! There's just something so freeing about the thought of humanity being set back to simpler times...(boomer ahh mindset but wtvr)

That said, may I request more Martin content?🙏 He's such a sweetheart!! Maybe something about reader wanting to join him on a hunt? Him teaching them how to? Or just any ideas you have for him really

Hope you have a lovely day mwuah :)

With the deplorable state of our world right now, it’s perfectly fair to prefer a time without the complicated life of the city 😆 so I totally get you 🤝 Also I’m so happy that you called Martin a sweetheart 🥺, if we take away if yandere tendencies he really is! And have a great day too ❤️❤️❤️

Yandere hunter x GN reader

CW: animal death, manipulation sorta, reader get frozen by fear/ fear response

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

“You want to go hunting with me?” Martin asked, surprised, while casually throwing his crossbow over his shoulder.

He felt extremely flattered that you wanted to take part in his daily duties and by looking in your hopeful eyes, he couldn’t dare deny you anything. So after you changed into more appropriate clothes, the two of you were ready to go into the forest. You walked hand in hand, looking like you were going on a romantic stroll. In reality, this adorable display was a safety major, since the surroundings were filled with traps Martin had previously set up. He said that it was to make sure that nothing or no one could escape him while he hunted. Whatever that meant.

“So what are we looking for exactly?” You asked while keeping an eye out for any sounds in the crisp autumn leaves.

“It depends… there’s usually deers roaming around this time of year.”

“We’re going to kill a deer?!” You repeated, your jaw hanging wide open. You thought you were going for something smaller like a rabbit or a bird at the very least.

He grinned and winked at you. “Only if you can actually do it.”

“Hey!” You pushed his arms while sticking your tongue at him. “I’m a very independent and capable person.” You added while puffing your chest out jokingly.

The man next to you seemed to mumble something under his breath, but since he didn’t repeat himself despite your lack of response, you figured it was nothing important.

***

You couldn’t believe you two had found one. Of course, you knew that Martin was skilled in tracking animals, but still, what were the odds! The deer was lazily drinking from a small pond, unaware of the crossbow pointed at its neck.

Martin had helped you get in the right spot and revised with you the shooting position he had taught you before. But you kept shaking. The idea of killing an animal seemed so simple and inconsequential, but now that you were faced with the reality of the situation you just couldn’t do it. That’s when you felt his warm embrace enveloped you, your back now pressed against his chest. His hands crept up to rest over yours, steadying your grip on the weapon.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to do anything.” His voice was so calm, so enticing. It was pulling you in a sense of comfort and stability that few people had the chance of experiencing, “you can just rely on me.”

You simply nodded, you just wanted to lose yourself in his presence and forget that you had the life of a living being in the palm of your hands. Then his finger was over yours and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. Everything went by so fast, as a shrill shriek followed by a loud thump made all the birds take flight from the surrounding trees. You slowly lowered the crossbow, still a bit in shock of what had just happened. In response, Martin rubbed your arms up and down in a soothing manner.

“You were so brave for me.” He whispered against your ear, “but don’t worry, you won’t have to do it ever again, I’ll be brave for the both of us if you let me.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Karma love to make a fool out of me 💀 it’s always when I say “oh it’ll take a while for me to complete” that I suddenly get a wave of inspiration. Not going to complain too much though, it’s always better than having writer's block.

[ssa-dado]

8 - Law & Self-Awareness

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, sad stuff, fluff

Summary: Hotch and Peter confront a tense situation as they rush to Riverhead, where the unsub is expected to strike next, but conflict arises when Peter wants to warn you, fearing for your safety. Hotch insists on following procedure, though both men struggle with personal fears and the ethics of their choices. At Riverhead, you visit your father's grave, reflecting on past decisions and realizations. In a quiet moment later, surrounded by your team, you come to understand a truth you've been trying to avoid.

Warnings: Grief, CM case

Word Count: 6,1k

Dado's Corner: Here's the sister chapter of the previous one! The narration is still inspired by Suits' 2×08. Funny how Aaron making physical contact with you occupies 57 paragraphs while Peter doing the same thing ½ of a line. Also this is probably the first chapter in which Y/N's physical appearance is mentioned sooo let me know if you imagined her in this way (it's still very vague don’t worry). That said, bring out your finest china, we're celebrating!

previous chapter ; masterlist

“Riverhead,” Hotch said, his voice taut, barely containing the urgency that trembled beneath the surface. “He’s going there next.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his immediate reaction pure instinct as he reached for his phone, fingers fumbling desperately to find your contact. “We have to call her. She needs to know -”

Hotch’s hand instinctively shot out, grabbing Peter’s arm with a force that matched the fear hiding behind his calm eyes. “No, we can’t. If we warn her, we risk tipping the unsub off, causing chaos, panic. It’s not just about her, Peter. It’s about every person in Riverhead. We have to handle this the right way.”

Peter wrenched his arm free, his anger flaring like gasoline igniting in the confined space of the SUV. “You’re seriously going to let her walk right into this? She’s in danger, Hotch! And you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Hotch’s expression remained steely, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a vulnerability he kept tightly under wraps. “This isn’t just about her. There are hundreds of people in Riverhead who could be at risk. If we alert her and it gets out, we’re not just endangering her, we’re endangering everyone. It’s not fair to warn one person and not the others. You can’t let your feelings dictate your decisions.”

Peter’s laugh was sharp and scornful, tinged with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings, Hotch. You’re always hiding behind the rules, always standing on the side of the law like it’s some infallible god. But this isn’t just about following orders - this is real, and she’s walking into something she can’t see coming.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as the weight of Peter’s words crashed over him, each one a blow to the carefully built walls he’d constructed around himself.

He shot Peter a side glance, his voice simmering with restrained anger. “I’m not doing this because it’s easy, I’m doing it because it’s the only way to stop this from getting worse. If we tip him off, if she gets scared and acts on it, it could cause a domino effect that puts even more lives at risk. We have to be smarter than that.”

Peter turned to fully face Hotch, the intensity between them palpable, a charged current of frustration and fear. “You keep talking about doing the job, about being ‘smart,’ but what about being human? What about doing the right thing for once instead of hiding behind procedure? What happens if something happens to her, Hotch? Are you really going to look me in the eye and say we did the right thing?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He kept repeating the same words, not so much to convince Peter, but to anchor himself - to hold onto some semblance of control as much as possible. “This isn’t just about one person, Peter,” he said, his voice a bit strained with the weight of the impossible choice they faced.

“We can’t put her safety above everyone else’s. It’s not how we do things. If this gets out, if people panic, we lose everything. That’s exactly what the unsub wants: to see us unravel, to watch us make decisions with our hearts instead of our heads. We can’t give him that satisfaction. We can’t let him win.”

Peter scoffed, his anger bubbling over as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. His voice rose, each word laced with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re always so damn obsessed with the law, Hotch,” he snapped, his breath coming faster, as if the force of his emotions was too much to contain. “But what about ethics? What about the people behind the profiles, behind all these damn statistics and protocols? This isn’t just a case file, it’s about real people.”

Peter’s tone shifted as he tried to reach Hotch, his next words softening, laced with an urgent plea. “You know Y/N. I know Y/N. And if she were standing here, right now, listening to us argue like this, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d probably quote some damn philosopher she loves - Sophocles or whoever - about how there’s more to this than just sticking to the rules. She’d remind us that the law isn’t the only thing that matters, that there’s a fine line between what’s legal and what’s just.”

Peter’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze searching Hotch’s for any flicker of understanding. “She’d be talking about the balance between law and justice, that sometimes what’s right and what’s legal are not the same thing. And you know she’d be right, Hotch. We’re not just here to enforce rules. We’re here to protect people. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’ve lost sight of why we’re doing this in the first place.”

Hotch felt something inside him twitch at Peter’s words, a sharp, painful pull that he couldn’t ignore. The truth of what Peter was saying sliced through his defenses like a scalpel, precise and unyielding. It was as if Peter’s voice had reached into the guarded, unspoken places of his mind, exposing the doubts he worked so hard to bury. He could almost hear your voice echoing in his head, clear and insistent, the way it always was when you spoke up during team meetings.

You had a way of looking at cases that was different from anyone else, this deep, almost philosophical curiosity that refused to settle for the easy answers. You’d sit there, arms crossed, eyes locked in that thoughtful gaze, and when you spoke, you’d often pose questions that hung in the air, challenging every assumption. You never just saw suspects and victims; you saw people - complex, flawed, human. You’d remind them all that beyond the evidence, beyond the profiles, there were lives and stories that couldn’t be reduced to simple binaries of right and wrong.

Hotch could almost picture you now, leaning forward in your seat, the intensity in your eyes as you dissected every aspect of the case. You were never satisfied with just the black-and-white - you thrived in the gray, constantly urging the team to see beyond the rigid lines of the law. At how you’d quote philosophers, pull wisdom from literature, history, anything to make your point. It wasn’t about showing off. it was about challenging everyone, especially him, to rethink their approach. You’d often remind him that justice wasn’t just about following rules, it was about finding the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, about doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy.

Peter’s words hit Hotch hard because they echoed what you would’ve said, what you always said. It was that relentless pursuit of justice, that constant push to go beyond the status quo, that made you such an irreplaceable part of the team. And right now, it was tearing Hotch apart, knowing that you weren’t there to challenge him, to remind him of the bigger picture, to make him question the very things that had once felt so certain.

Peter noticed the crack in Hotch’s demeanor, and he pressed on, his voice softer now but no less intense. “But none of that matters if she doesn’t make it out alive, does it? You can stand here all day talking about rules and duty, but if she’s gone, who’s going to remind us of the difference? The dead can’t debate law and ethics, Hotch. Only the living can do that.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat, Peter’s words hitting him with a force that felt physical, like a punch to the gut. He could feel the fear that had been clawing at his insides since the moment he realized you were in danger, the fear he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay. The fear of losing you - of never getting the chance to understand what this thing between you could be, of failing to protect the one person who had managed to breach the walls he’d spent years building.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s voice broke, his control slipping for just a moment. “You think I don’t feel it? But it’s not just about what we want, it’s about what we have to do. You want to protect her, and so do I. But again, this isn’t just about saving her. It’s about stopping him. It’s about making sure no one else gets hurt because we let our guard down.”

Peter’s gaze softened, but his frustration remained, an unresolved tension simmering between them. “Maybe you’re right, Hotch. Maybe we have to think about everyone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scared. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t care. So stop pretending you’re above it all, because you’re not. You’re just as terrified as the rest of us.”

Hotch looked away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he tried to regain his composure. Peter was right, he was terrified, but not just for you. He was terrified of what it would mean if he let this get personal, if he let himself care too much and it all fell apart. But as they hurtled toward Riverhead, the truth of Peter’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. But the fear, the aching fear that he was making the wrong call, that he was letting his own walls cost him something irreplaceable, was a battle he was losing with every mile closer they got to you.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of those unspoken fears hung heavy between them, a fragile truce bound only by their shared desperation to protect you, no matter the cost.

You had finally arrived at Riverhead.

The cemetery was quiet, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. Each step toward your father’s grave felt deliberate, slow, as if every movement pulled at something deep within you that you hadn’t touched in years. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the sight of his name etched into the stone brought a fresh wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for: grief, anger, regret, all tangled up in the memories you had tried to bury.

You knelt beside his grave, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed a single orchid on the cold, gray headstone, the delicate petals were a sharp contrast to the starkness of the granite. Orchids had always reminded you of the first case you ever worked on at the BAU - a case that had tested every part of you, that had made you realize what it truly meant to carry the weight of other people’s pain. The purple flower was a fitting tribute, an unspoken apology for not being there when he had needed you most, for choosing a path that had pulled you away from his final moments.

You traced the letters of his name, feeling the grooves under your fingertips, and memories of the past surged forward, unbidden. You thought back to the day you told your parents you wanted to become a profiler - a day that, despite all the tension that often simmered between you, had stood out as one of the rare moments of connection between you and your father.

It had been a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind that kept everyone indoors and made the house feel smaller, the air thick with the unspoken tensions that seemed to linger in every corner. You had been pacing your bedroom, rehearsing the words over and over in front of your mirror, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Telling them that you wanted to be a profiler felt like exposing a piece of yourself that you had kept hidden, especially from them.

You finally gathered the courage, walking down the stairs with resolve. Your father was at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled notes on a report.

He was always working, always lost in something that seemed more important than anything happening in the room. It was his way: work was sacred, an escape, and a duty that defined him. You often resented it, the way he would get so caught up that he’d miss dinners, birthdays, the small moments that you had yearned for as a child. But there were also times when you admired his dedication, his unspoken belief that what he was doing mattered.

Your mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with an efficiency that matched her exacting nature. She always seemed to be in motion, always doing, rarely resting. She was the professor, the academic who had spent her life studying the human mind, dissecting theories, and teaching students who idolized her. To her, intellect was the highest form of achievement, and anything less was a waste of potential.

You stood in the doorway, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest, but you pushed forward, clearing your throat to catch their attention. “Mom, Dad… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your father glanced up first, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table with a raised brow, his expression curious but calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, searching for the right words. “I’ve decided what I want to do after graduation. I… I want to be a profiler. I want to join the FBI.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady chop of your mother’s knife against the cutting board. Your father’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak right away, just watched you, his gaze heavy with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite name. Your mother, however, set her knife down sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned to face you.

“A profiler?” she repeated, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Y/N, do you have any idea what that entails? You’re talking about diving into the minds of criminals, putting yourself in danger every day. This isn’t some classroom exercise, this is real life.”

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know what it means, Mom. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I don’t just want to study the human mind, I want to understand what happens when it breaks. I want to make a difference, to stop people from getting hurt.”

Your father remained quiet, but his gaze never left yours, absorbing every word. There was something in his eyes that told you he was listening, that he understood the weight of what you were saying.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” your mother continued, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. You have so much potential. You could do anything: be a researcher, a professor. You’d be safe, you’d be respected. Why throw all that away to chase criminals?”

It stung, but you had expected her reaction. For as long as you could remember, your mother had pushed you toward her path, believing that academia was where you belonged. But as much as you respected her work, it had never felt right for you.

The endless theories, the dissection of literature studies in sterile classrooms, it all felt too detached, too far removed from the gritty reality of the world you wanted to understand. You wanted to do more than just read about what broke people; you wanted to see it, to confront it, to fight against it.

“I don’t want to be safe, Mom,” you said, your voice firmer now, carrying the weight of all the arguments you’d been rehearsing for months. “I want to be out there. I want to see the truth of what people can become, the good and the bad. I can’t just sit back and write papers about it.”

Your mother’s mouth tightened, the disappointment etched in her features, but your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for the inevitable disapproval. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative, carrying the weight of his own unspoken struggles.

“If this is really what you want,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “then you have my support.” He paused, glancing at your mother before returning his focus to you. “Work is… sacred. It’s a calling, not just a job. I know I haven’t always been there, and I know you’ve seen the toll it can take. But I also know the satisfaction that comes from doing something that matters, something you believe in.”

Your heart swelled, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. It was one of the few times you’d felt truly seen by him, and the memory of that moment, of his quiet nod of approval, had stayed with you ever since.

Your mother turned away, picking up the knife and resuming her chopping, her movements more forceful now. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart,” she muttered, the bitterness barely hidden in her tone. “There’s no glory in risking your life. There’s no reward for choosing danger over reason.”

But you held on to your father’s words, his silent validation, and in that moment, it had been enough. Even if he wasn’t always present, even if his own work often kept him away, he had understood the drive that pulled you toward the unknown, the need to carve your own path, even if it led you away from everything they had envisioned for you.

As you stood at his grave now, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever. You had chosen this life, knowing full well the risks, knowing the sacrifices that would come with it. And yet, in this quiet moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be proud, if he would still see the value in the path you had chosen.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, feeling the rough earth cling stubbornly to your clothes. As you turned to leave, something caught your eye near the cemetery entrance: a line of sleek, black SUVs parked in formation.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the unmistakable outlines of the BAU vehicles, their dark, imposing presence impossible to miss. But what truly made your breath hitch was the sight of Hotch. Even from this distance, you recognized him instantly, not by his face, but by his unmistakable posture, the way he stood with that rigid, commanding presence, his stance was familiar, almost comforting in its certainty, a figure you’d know anywhere, even among a crowd.

It was only after a moment that your gaze shifted and you noticed Peter beside him, standing just as tensely, their expressions hard and urgent. Hotch’s sharp, focused demeanor contrasted with Peter’s more animated stance, but there was no mistaking the tension that hung between them, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of their conversation, the urgency that radiated from them both, and it made your pulse quicken. You hesitated, watching them, knowing that whatever they were discussing, it was serious, and you were about to be pulled right into the heart of it.

A surge of fear shot through you as you rushed toward them, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and confusion. As you got closer, you could see the strain etched across Hotch’s face, the urgency in his eyes that told you something was terribly wrong.

“Hotch?” you called out, breathless, searching his expression for answers. “What’s going on?”

Hotch turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw the raw fear that he usually kept buried deep within. His jaw tightened, the weight of everything he couldn’t say hanging heavily between you, and you knew, whatever this was, it was bigger than any case you had ever faced.

Hotch’s normally composed demeanor was strained, his eyes revealing the fear he had been fighting to suppress all day. Peter, usually quick with a grin, looked torn between anger and the overwhelming relief of seeing you safe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, breathless from both the sudden sprint and the weight of dread that settled in your chest. “Why are you here in Riverhead?”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Peter, an unspoken conversation passing between them before he turned back to you, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “The unsub’s been leaving clues at each crime scene, riddles hinting at his next target. The latest message… it mentioned Riverhead.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in, his gaze unwavering. “We think he’s planning his next attack here.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his revelation hitting you like a physical blow. The peaceful cemetery, a place you had come to seek closure and quiet, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and fraught with danger. You looked around, the once comforting silence now suffocating as you imagined the unsub watching, waiting. You turned back to Hotch, trying to make sense of the layers of fear and determination that flickered across his face, unspoken and raw.

Peter, attempting to cut through the tension that gripped you all, forced a smile, though his voice was tight with the day’s unrelenting strain. “Luckily, Hotch cracked the code before anything happened. Sharp as ever, saved us all a lot of grief.”

You barely registered Peter’s words, his voice a distant murmur against the roar of your own thoughts. Guilt and self-reproach surged within you, crashing over like relentless waves. You were supposed to be better than this: your instincts, your training, everything you had learned should have protected you. But you had been caught off guard, blindsided by a danger that crept too close, too fast. Your eyes flicked back to the gravestones, their cold, silent presence now bearing witness to your vulnerability, each one a haunting reminder of how close you’d come.

Hotch, always attuned to the unspoken, stepped closer, sensing the spiral of self-doubt threatening to consume you. His hand found your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your own unraveling. The contact was startling at first, his touch warmer and steadier than you expected, cutting through the noise in your head like a lifeline.

It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm, grounding you when everything else seemed to be slipping away. Hotch's touch was rare, almost unheard of, he was always so composed with his steady presence always keeping his distance, preferring words over gestures. But this, the solid weight of his hand on your shoulder, meant more than he could ever say.

His touch was warm, steady, a silent assurance that seeped past your defenses. It wasn’t just a comforting squeeze; it was Hotch’s way of saying what he rarely ever said aloud: I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.

The unspoken promise behind that touch cut through the chaos and fear, wrapping around you like a shield against the overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-doubt. It was as if he was lending you his strength, even for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, it was enough to keep you from completely falling apart.

“We’ve alerted local law enforcement,” Hotch said, his voice lower, more gentle now, the usual edge softened as if he was speaking directly to the turmoil inside you. “They’re securing the area. The unsub’s been targeting public spaces to create fear and chaos, but we won’t let him succeed. Not here, not today.” His words were calm, steady, the kind of reassurance that cut through the panic clawing at your chest.

You nodded, the knot in your throat tightening painfully as you fought to swallow the rising wave of emotion. The breath you drew felt unsteady, like the first real one you’d managed in minutes, but even as you tried to gather yourself, the stark reality of how close you’d come to danger clung to you, gnawing at the edges of your composure.

Hotch’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. It was a constant, quiet reminder of your vulnerability, a presence that made it impossible to hide from the fear you so often buried deep.

Desperate to shift the mood, you forced a strained smile, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Since we’re all here… how about we grab dinner?” you suggested, your voice wavering but hopeful. “There’s this local spot I used to go to when I was a kid. It’s nothing fancy, just this cozy little place, but it’s familiar, and… I could really use some company that feels like home right now.”

Hotch’s hand lingered for a moment longer, as if he was reluctant to let go, his touch a silent reassurance that even in your most vulnerable moments, he was right there with you. The smallest flicker of understanding passed between you, unspoken but felt deeply, as if he knew exactly why you needed this, why you needed them.

Peter’s grin was immediate, though it was tinged with the lingering shadows of what could have been. He clapped his hands together, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the moment. “Now you’re speaking my language. Food, friends, and hopefully a strong drink or two. What do you say, Hotch?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind still half-entangled in the day’s events and the potential dangers that loomed. But then he looked at you, really looked - saw the exhaustion etched into your features, the traces of pain you’d been carrying since your father’s grave. He knew this wasn’t just about a meal; it was about finding a moment of respite, about reconnecting when the job tore so much away.

“I’ll join you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice softer than you’d expected. “But I’ll catch up in a bit. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

You watched him turn back toward the cemetery, his figure fading into the sea of gravestones. It wasn’t like Hotch to delay; he was always so determined, so single-minded when it came to the job. But you sensed this wasn’t just about duty, it was about finding his own moment of stillness in a day that had been anything but.

Peter placed a comforting hand on your back, his touch gentle and familiar, guiding you toward the restaurant with an ease that belied the day’s tension. The small, local eatery was exactly as you remembered: warm, inviting, with the kind of worn wooden tables that made you feel instantly at home. The faint hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows, all of it wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

Rossi and Gideon joined soon after, settling in with the kind of camaraderie that came only from years of shared battles and late-night stakeouts. There was a tiredness in all of you, a bone-deep fatigue that only people in your line of work truly understood, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t just about the job - it was about being together, about finding solace in each other’s presence.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with a blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. “So, thesis, antithesis, synthesis,” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement. “Come on, kid. Educate us. What’s that all about in these weird Hegelian stuff you always talk about?”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “It’s about the constant cycle of conflict and resolution. The synthesis - the so-called solution - doesn’t end the cycle; it just becomes the new thesis. Life is always evolving, always challenging us to adapt. Every resolution leads to a new conflict, a new question. It’s never really over.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between you and the empty seat that Hotch had yet to fill. “Sounds like something we could all stand to remember,” he said, his tone softer now, more reflective.

Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Hotch stood alone in front of your father’s grave, the silence hanging heavy and profound. The orchid you had placed there was still fresh, its vibrant petals striking against the cold, unyielding stone.

Hotch understood the significance of that flower, the way it linked back to the very first case you’d ever worked at the BAU, the first time your paths had crossed.

It was the unsub’s calling card, a chilling detail that had haunted the case and marked the start of your journey in this unforgiving world. It was the first time he saw you not just as another agent but as someone uniquely brilliant, fiercely determined, and carrying a burden that ran deeper than anyone could have guessed.

Hotch knelt slowly, the memories of that first meeting mingling with the present, a bittersweet reminder of how far you both had come. He thought of you standing in that briefing room, so composed and meticulous, always immaculate in your appearance.

Your hair, always perfectly straightened, framing your face in a precise way that left nothing to chance. You wore black almost every day, the monochrome only broken by subtle variations in texture: sleek, tailored fabrics that gave the faintest hint of depth but no room for distraction.

He knew it wasn’t just a preference; it was armor, a way to command respect in a field that often doubted you because of your youth. On days when you felt a little lighter, a little braver, you’d occasionally allow yourself the small rebellion of a white shirt, a glimpse of something softer beneath the carefully crafted exterior.

He remembered noticing the deliberate choices you made, how you often wore masculine, tailored suits, sometimes even a three-piece, to project authority and mask the youth that others might use against you.

You were always striving to appear older, tougher, less vulnerable, less feminine, crafting an image that demanded to be taken seriously. And while it worked on most, Hotch never needed the sharp suits, the perfectly placed hair, or the carefully chosen colors to see your worth.

From the beginning, he had valued your insights, your sharp mind, and your relentless drive. He had never looked down on you, never needed you to prove yourself in ways that others did. He saw past the façade to the strength and vulnerability beneath, and he respected you all the more for it.

As he placed the small replica of the Guggenheim Museum beside the orchid, the gesture felt heavy with meaning - a tribute not only to your father but also to the history you both carried.

It was an offering of understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between you. As Hotch lingered by the grave, he couldn’t help but think of the first day he met you, how determined you were to make your mark, and how, even then, he had been grateful for your presence. You challenged him in ways that reminded him of why he had started this journey, refusing to let the darkness win.

For a moment, Hotch allowed himself to feel it all: the gratitude for having met you, the fear of losing those he cared about, and the faint, fragile hope that maybe, he could find a way to let someone in without losing himself completely. As he stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the cemetery, he found a flicker of peace, a rare, delicate solace that, for the first time in years, made him feel less alone.

When Hotch finally made his way to the restaurant, the sight that greeted him was a balm to his weary soul. You were seated at the table, laughing at something Peter had said, your eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing all day. Rossi and Gideon were leaning back, more at ease than he had seen them in a long time, their expressions softened in a way that only moments like this could bring out - rare and fleeting for men who had spent their lives chasing shadows. It was a simple scene, but it was enough.

It was a reminder of why Hotch fought so hard, why he kept pushing forward, even when the weight of his responsibilities felt like too much to bear.

Without hesitation, Hotch took the seat directly across from you, mirroring the way your desks were always arranged back at the office.

It was deliberate, instinctual - a configuration that felt as natural as breathing. There was comfort in this alignment, in the way his eyes always found yours first, no matter how hectic the day had been. It wasn’t just about proximity; it was about connection.

Sitting across from you allowed him to see you fully, to catch those fleeting, unguarded moments when the professional masks slipped, and the real you shone through.

It was the angle that felt right, where he could read the subtle shifts in your expression, the small smiles that hinted at unspoken thoughts. It was where he could feel the bond between you most acutely, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and understanding that had grown over time.

You looked up as Hotch sat down, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that said more than words ever could. In that moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the quiet understanding that had always existed between you.

It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, anchored by the familiar rhythm of shared space, the unspoken promises that bound you together. You had always understood each other in ways that transcended words - both driven by the same relentless need for justice, both carrying the weight of lives you couldn’t always save.

“I thought you’d never come, partner,” you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of relief and something deeper, something that spoke to how much his presence truly mattered. It wasn’t just relief, it was comfort, knowing that he was here, that he always showed up, no matter what.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice softened with sincerity. “How could I miss this?”

The words were simple but carried so much more meaning. It wasn’t just a casual remark, not from him. It felt like a reaffirmation of something deeper, a silent promise that went beyond tonight.

It was a declaration that he was there, not just for this moment, but always. His presence was grounding, steady, the kind of anchor you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had unfolded - especially the train journey that had brought you to this point.

Or how the out-of-the-blue conversation with Rossi about Hegel’s thesis, antithesis, and synthesis now felt almost fated, as though the universe had nudged him to ask you once again – to make you acknowledge the truth you kept hidden within you.

Maybe the irony was the point: Hegel’s idea of the synthesis, the resolution that comes from the collision of opposing forces, was exactly where you found yourself.

The journey to self-awareness wasn’t linear; it was filled with contradictions, moments of doubt, and unexpected realizations.

Every step you had taken, every case, every sleepless night, now made sense, as if you had reached a vantage point from which you could see it all clearly for the first time.

It was like standing on the top of a mountain after a long, hard climb, finally able to look back at the winding path that had led you here.

And standing at that vantage point, you could see why you had been hesitant about the date with Peter, why something in you had resisted moving forward with him. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about him - it was because your heart had already chosen someone else.

The truth settled in gently, like a quiet revelation you had always known but hadn’t fully accepted until now.

It was Hotch.

It had always been Hotch.

The connection between you, the understanding, the trust that went deeper than words, it was more than just friendship or partnership.

You had admired him, respected him, but now you could see it for what it really was.

The reason you had hesitated, the reason you hadn’t been eager for anything else, was because the person you truly wanted was sitting right across from you.

You had a crush on Aaron Hotchner.

●

Extras: here are some pics of the Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright! It inspired me to write the case you read in "Thesis" and Aaron Hotchner to show his love support to Y/N in this chapter.

[ohtheewhorer]

Imagine you’re Dale “Longlegs” Kobble’s Chubby!Virgin!FWB whom he slowly corrupts (3.3k words)

So here’s what I’m thinking—follow me on this…

Warnings: Graphic Description, Shameless Smut, little bit of fluff, Desperate Sex, Passionate Sex Loss of Virginity w/ Blood, if you squint incubus!Dale, Religious Guilt, Blasphemy, stalker longlegs, yandere longlegs, Horny Reader, Loss of Innocence, Dark themes, Chubby Reader

A/N: I wrote a lot more than I expected as I always do 😩. Please enjoy my long ass blurb/fic about this hot evil old man. You can also read my fic on ao3 (I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE IMAGES USED)

You’re the preacher’s daughter who just wants some freedom from your overbearing, shotgun-toting, bible-wielding father. You’re innocent in appearance but if people really got to know you they’d know that you’re really a mischievous, horny little minx with a yearning for something dangerous; anything opposite to your sheltered life.

Then, one day, you run into Dale while visiting the local hardware store with your father. At first, you’re unnerved by his presence. After all, Dale is…unique-looking to say the least; his graying thin long hair, his filler plumped lips and face with skin that has an unnatural blotchy alabaster coloring to it which made him appear quite ghoulish yet somehow ethereal. But then there are those intense blue eyes of his that seemed to sparkle with joy the moment you entered his line of sight.

Dale made the bold move to approach you knowing your Paw was only a few distances away—something no man ever had the guts of doing in this small town—only to simply congratulate you on your upcoming 20-something birthday. You shrunk under his towering stature, eyes darting anxiously around in search of your dad. You weren’t sure whether you should be afraid of the fact that—regardless of it being a small town—how did some random stranger know your birthday? Or maybe you should be afraid for him considering he could very well be a victim of your father’s wrath. And all because the strange man dared to do the kind gesture of wishing the preacher’s precious girl an early birthday.

You even pitied the man enough to throw many discreet hints that he needed to back the fuck away from you before it got ugly. But the ever eccentric and bizarre Dale didn’t take any hints and ended up singing to you an old classic rock song that your worldly uncle would probably be able to identify.

Your father came around the corner and he had questioned Dale of his intentions while speaking to you, very well aware that his pretty princess had many suitors who vied for your hand in marriage. And you knew your father well enough to read his judging eyes as they scanned Dale’s entire presentation, scowling that a man like him would ever think he might have a chance regardless of if Dale ever had the thought to pursue you.

And Dale, oh, Dale…he’d speak broken sentences and barely audible words, euphemisms and epithets, riddles and rhyme and your increasingly frustrated father would curse him in biblical verses and claim that he’d spoken the ‘devil’s tongue’. And the moment your Paw calls out the lanky male as a ‘satanist’ instead of disproving his claim—preventing any potential small town witch hunt—Dale, instead, sends him a botched-lipped cheshire cat grin ending the interaction with a chilling line, “Your ignorance won't save you when the shadows you've denied finally come to claim you."

Goosebumps arise on your supple skin, staring up at the man with both fear and admiration. No one’s ever stood up to your father that way. Everyone’s always having to walk on eggshells around him, not wanting to be seen as a delinquent in the eyes of the lord’s appointed servant. But Dale has done it with that high-pitched playful lilt in his tone and that bright smile on his face. His courage alone was enough to spark your interest in him. He was dangerous and you wanted nothing more than to experience him.

And sure you could find plenty of pretty boys and bad boys in town that would happily sneak around with you and give you a taste of the wild side that you so craved. But you didn’t want just “a taste” nor did you wish to hide your deeds. You want to be very loud and proud with your degeneracy.

And so you made the effort to see him again, going to the hardware store within the next few days because it’s all you knew of him. You’d gone at least 5 times already, at varying times in the day; all alone, too, much to your father’s chagrin. Just when you planned to give up on your 6th visit, while turning to leave you could hear the familiar flowery voice from behind you that has you swiveling in his direction in elation.

He’d found you and so the rest was history. It didn’t take long after to build an intense bond with him that teetered the line of being sexual at times, especially once you got past the stage of learning each other’s name. He doesn’t usually leave his shabby house much so it made sense that you’ve not seen him around before. Though by his own horrifying admission he’d been observing (stalking) you for a while now and had already known about you. You’re just grateful to have met him; a man unafraid to push boundaries.

With him, you didn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to do things beyond what is appropriate within your conservative community. For one, you got to hold his hand that’s a lot more than you’ve ever done even while attending college. And when you asked to go even further like hugging…he lets you hug all over him (though mostly for his own selfish reasons since he’s as touch-starved as you). To most outsiders, doing these things aren’t much of a big deal but to you, a beginner hedonist, it meant everything. You want fun and Dale promised you this with every interaction; upping the ‘depravity’ as you went.

But then one day, Dale suggests to you that he could show you fun beyond the tantalizing ‘indirect kisses’ via sharing lollipops or the occasional lap sitting with added knee bounces for effect.

“You want to take my virginity…on my birthday…as a gift to me?” You ask incredulously. It was scummy of him to even think such a thing would ever be considered a gift. And from a man like him no less; much too old for you and quite terrifying to look at from certain angles. And yet…you felt a gush of your slick soak your panties. You needed therapy. You need to find God again. This is sick!

But it’s sooo damn tempting.

“I only want to open your mind to many great pleasures, Angel. Is that not what you told me you’ve been seeking?” Dale says, reaching a hand over the console of his car to rub one of your nylon-clad voluptuous thighs. “Be a good girl for me, just two more days… and it’ll be an even special day for the birthday girl.”

You tense a little, feeling his hand traveling higher up your thigh. “Do you think I’m ready?”

“That’s for you to decide, silly.” He giggles.

“I think I’m ready. I-I’m ready.” You repeat, giving him a struggling smile that falters when your breath hitches again. His hand is kneading the meat of your thigh.

“Oh, I’d bet these legs around my head would feel like just the loveliest hug.” He sighs dreamily.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.”

He laughs some more, running a calloused hand down your cheek and admiring its youthful elasticity. “You could never hurt me, angel. But I get the impression you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I do. I’m sorry,” You say, batting your long lashes and flashing your alluring doe eyes up at him. “Could you show me what you mean? I’d really like to know, pretty please.”

“In due time, love. You’ll have to first show me you can be a good girl when I ask you to be.”

“How do I do that?” You nudge your face deeper into his open palm, sliding his fingers over the edges of your jaw until they’re close enough to your pouty lips. Using your tongue you drag one long nimble digit into your mouth, suckling lightly on the tip. He has an earthy taste to him that you quickly grow addicted to.

Dale pulls his finger from your lips, webs of saliva connecting your lips to it. He smiles, wagging his finger side to side. “Tsk, Tsk. That was very naughty, angel. Being a good girl means you’ll have to listen to the sky father’s rules again. That means no premarital activities. You’re not allowed to touch yourself either. Wouldn’t want you to be a sinner before the big day? I’ll give you a pass for today although with some limitations. But then it’s 2 days of being on the nice list, missy. You’ve got 3 strikes if you lose them…you’ll be punished. And I beg you not to get on the naughty list or I won’t be making you sing pretty for me like the sweet birdie you are.”

“Why? Why should I go through all that trouble for you?” You hate having to bottle up your desires again when the excitement’s only just begun.

“Because it’ll make your blood much more pure for the sacrificial ceremony,” He jokes, then frowns when you place his hands away from you, turning in your seat so you’re not facing him. Dale leans into your ear, whispering. “You’ll know what real freedom is once you’ve had a taste of it and then it’s ripped from you like an anticipated treat stolen right out of a dog’s mouth. And if you cower from the dark side, back to your sheltered life, you’ll always feel as if you’re on the brink of going…FERAL!” His hand slaps against the window beside your face making you jolt up and stare back at him in terror. Your chest rises and falls, hyperventilating as he stares intensely into your eyes, his face is only a few inches from yours.

“So…I give myself to you and I’ll be free?” You question timidly. “Like you?”

Though he wears a big crooked smile, his eyes betray him as a tear runs down one plump cheek. “Why, of course, angel. You’ll be free…like me.”

You cup his cheeks, swiping your thumbs over the lumpy skin before placing your mouth over his. Your first real kiss! With a man you knew, at most, for a week. It’s a tender yet short kiss as you relish in the feeling while you can. His lips are slightly chapped and uneven in texture yet you moan into it because it felt so right. You pull away before you get too carried away and do something devilishly sensual like sticking your tongue down his throat.

You anxiously gauge his reaction. Is this strike one?

His eyelids slowly flutter open before looking back into your eyes again. He hasn’t experienced this kind of softness in forever. People are usually afraid of him and he’s used to being alone but having such a young beauty as yourself having just an inkling of interest in him blows his mind farther than any fucked up shit he’s seen and/or done.

But Dale’s just not capable of understanding these intense feelings he has for you and it makes him feel as if he’s losing the little control he has in his life. So he’s always jumping to the default of trying to creep you out as some sort of power move he possesses; proud that he can make people fear him by his actions aside from just his bizarre appearance. So now he’s just running his thick wet tongue along his puffy lips after your shared kiss, playing up the perverted gesture which should’ve been enough to make your skin crawl but you always match his freak.

Leaning over the console to invade his space once again, you touch the tip of his tongue faintly against yours just before he darts it back into his mouth. And if he were to give you a strike for that wicked move, it’d be so worth it.

Dale’s such a little shit, though, because he’d for sure make you watch some vintage porn that he owns and it’s not at all vanilla. It’s rough, dirty, pearl-clutching, thigh-clenching stuff. Choking, spitting, biting, bondage… it’s all so violent to a wide-eyed beginner as yourself. Your heart’s pounding a mile a minute, squeezing Dale’s arm and willing yourself not to look away or he’d consider it a strike.

And the next two days are even worse with little devil Dale making sure he tortures you through the agonizing march of time. He’d refrain from touching you at all, avoiding you like the plague. You’d feel like you’re going crazy like he’s some form of drug to you because all you can think of is him. Even while you sleep at night it’s as if his presence lingers around you. Now you’re beginning to understand why your father says that lust is a poison to a god-fearing mind. You’re convinced that Dale has sunken his gnarly sharp teeth into you, infecting you with his toxic venom so that you’ll never come out the same again.

When your birthday finally arrives, Dale knows for sure that you’ve officially surrendered yourself to him. He could tell it in the way you waited on his words hand and foot, wanting to follow whatever it is he asked of you with no question. He could make you up and break you down into the perfect little subservient minion of the dark side and you’d gladly sign away your life. It would be that easy.

He’ll take you to his special place, down in his dimly-lit basement, where there’s no chance of anyone hearing you scream. He’d start by making you cum with his mouth first just as he’d promised and you’re seeing fucking stars! The man feeds on you like he’s been starved for centuries. He didn’t even have the decency to pull off your cute lacy pink thong you’d carefully selected at some lingerie store for him to marvel at. He just flips up your pleated skirt, pushes your panties to the side and just digs in with an eager mouth and even eager tongue. Those same puffy lips you’d kissed the other day now sucking and making out with your own puffy lips while he gets his wish of you wrapping your pillowy thighs around him.

You’d offer to get on your knees and suck his cock the way you’d seen in one of his films but he’s too wired, wanting to fuck you right then and there on his dingy worn couch.

When he pushes into you, it’s as if you’re being split in two; surprising because, based on what you saw in those nudie films, Dale’s isn’t as big as those ones. It’s actually quite short, deliciously veiny with a hook. Girthy, too. As thick as coke can. Dale Kobble proves the theory of girth over length by a long shot.

He’s positioned you on your back to where your legs are pressed deep into your shoulders and now-exposed chest since Dale, in his impatience, lifted your shirt over your ample breasts and pulling them out of the cups of your bra to watch them jiggle and knock against one another other with each drive of his hips.

This man has zero patience for anything actually. He’d just push into your tight heat in one fell swoop and you’d gasp out loud, feeling the faint tearing within you. He’d pull himself out a little to marvel at the blood and cream coating his dick, gathering some on his finger to paint your sweet lips. And you’d flick your tongue between the spaces of his fingers wanting to drink in the essence and you feel so fucking powerful.

Once he begins his pace, it’s erractic, unrhythmic, desperate, and awkward but you fucking love it so much that it has you whimpering and clawing at his back. You don’t care how little experience he has, you never want him apart from you.

Dale would want to be as close to you as he could, falling over your masterpiece of a body with his full weight. He’s penetrating DEEP. He wants to give you all that dick no matter if it isn’t much. He’s all sweaty, his belly sticking to yours from all the worked up perspiration. You enjoy the feeling of his softness against yours, appreciating his torso (when you could at least) for the ‘dad bod’ built that it was.

He’s hoarsely gasping, whispering the dirty filth in your ear, caging you between his arms. You can’t push him away even if you tried but you’d be crazy to ever want to, squeezing your legs around his body in a death grip.

He’ll let his face fall in between the valley of your breasts, inhaling you. He doesn’t care to breathe anything else so to suffocate this way, would be an honor. High-pitched sobs and breathless whispers against your skin indicates to you that it’s been so long for him since he’s felt a warm body against his own. The more he thinks about how lucky he is to fuck such a tight, greedy cunt as yours it make him turn into an inconsolable mess; crying, spitting, and kissing all over you.

You’re no better, whining and mewling with reckless abandon. Your hands are anywhere clawing at his boringly pastel colored shirt, running your hands up his shirt to sink your nails into the sides of his ribs until you're settling on his long hair. With every bruising thrust, you tug hard on his hair earning pathetic “unh”’s and “ah”’s from him.

Whenever either of you muster up the strength to pull away from each other for just a few centimeters, you’d sloppily crash your lips together, swapping spit or devouring each other’s tongues then swallowing down your moans from each other’s mouths like passionate lovers who’ve known each other for years.

Dale feels like just as much of a virgin as you with how much you’ve reduced him to a sniveling lovestruck fool. He can already sense his approaching climax, not wanting to blow his load before you get a chance to experience bliss.

He’ll bring a finger to your clit, specifically the finger that dons that fucking ring so you could feel the cool metal against your sensitive button. And obviously, he won’t be nice about it, rubbing harsh, rapid circles on it until you fall apart. He’s not stopping until you’re sobbing—begging…you’re absolutely delirious. Your back arches off the couch cushions, eyes rolling into the back of your skull like it’s an exorcism. You can hardly breathe. This is exactly why orgasms are called ‘little deaths’ because you must’ve died and now you’re reborn again offering yourself to the soulless world.

Before you could protest he spills his sticky, hot cum inside of you. Your hands would instinctively try to push away but your legs keep him there, wanting every last fucking drop of Dale’s seed. The man’s got some big kahunas so you’re going to overflow with his essence.

And without a doubt, for all the money in the bank, Dale will scream “I love you” as he cums until he’s just whispering it while shuddering against you.

After it all, you’ll both lay together in an entanglement of limbs, cuddling in the afterglow while seesawing between either cleaning up or going for another round. Though considering you could feel him stirring up inside you again, you think it’ll definitely be the latter.

He’ll truly surprise you with your actual gift. A beautiful gold necklace with an amethyst pendant (and a secret tracker you don’t so that he’ll always find you everywhere even if you ever try to run away from him). And, of course, he wouldn’t forget to gift Paw something for having his part in the creation of you, so he mails him your bloodied lacy underwear as a reminder of the lost innocence of his precious girl.

Oh, and aftercare definitely involves those large hands of his giving you nice belly rubs and soft scratches along your skin with the occasional peppered kisses along the pudge. Then, you’ll eventually both come to the conclusion that you're each other’s anchor whether for better or much, much worse.

[quinnysnursery]

[🦇] do you wanna grow together? | johnnie guilbert and grace van dien one-shot

paring : little!johnnie guilbert x cg!grace van dien

summary : johnnie opens up to grace about his coping mechanism

warning/extra tid-bits : language, talk of growing up with bad parents, bit of a tantrum at the end but it's handled well!!

word count : 2,487

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (lace from @saradika-graphics)

a/n : i'm aware this song doesn't perfectly fit the vibes but in my heart it does!! i love brye's music idc if it's "tiktok music" (sorry for any typos, i'm just a girl!) also this is not proof read at all

Johnnie’s hand shook as Jake pulled up to Grace’s house. “This it?” The punk asked, leaning down to get a better look at the house in front of him. 

It was nicer than Jake, Johnnie and Carrington’s place, the first time Johnnie saw it he briefly wondered just how much Grace’s role on Stranger Things paid. 

“Yeah, this is it.” Johnnie’s leg bounced up and down anxiously, earning a sympathy glance from the punk next to him. “Hey,” Jake started, turning his attention to his friend. 

“It’s gonna be okay. She’s a nice girl, right?” Jake made sure to look Johnnie in the eyes when he asked him this, “Yeah, she’s…awesome.” Johnnie smiled to himself, realizing just how lucky he was. 

Grace was beautiful, but that wasn’t the reason Johnnie fell in love with her. He fell in love with Grace because she’d noticed him in the corner of a party, alone and to himself- like always- and came right up with that bubbly smile and asked what he was drinking.

He fell in love with Grace because she’d never once been unkind to him.

“Then I’m sure this’ll go fine.” His roommate assured him, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And if it doesn’t, you’ll always have me and Carrington.” 

Johnnie let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” He nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“D’you want me to wait outside?” The red-haired man asked, earning a head shake from Johnnie. “Just uh- keep your phone near.” The emo man told him, earning a nod from his roommate. “Okay, good luck.” Jake smiled, unlocking the doors to his Tesla.

It didn’t take Johnnie long to get out of the car and make his way to his girlfriend’s front door. He could hear the sounds of Jake’s tires pulling out the driveway and down the street.

Just him and Grace.

That was fine, he’d stayed the night plenty of times. He even spent the weekend at her house once! It was fine.

Everything was fine. 

In one swift motion, the large front door swung open revealing the blonde girl that Johnnie was here to see. “Johnnie!” Her perfume hit him in the face in the best way possible, instantly easing his nerves. Grace was good at that, somehow.

“Hey!” He smiled brightly, instantly leaning down and allowing her to hug him. Grace pulled away after a few moments, smiling brightly at her boyfriend. “Well come in!” She beamed before grabbing his tattooed hand and pulling her inside, letting the door automatically lock behind her. 

“Are you thirsty? Hungry? We could order something!” She instantly jumped into conversation about things they could do whilst in each other’s presence.

“Um-“ Johnnie gulped down the lump in his throat, his hands shaking as he glanced around his girlfriend’s extravagant kitchen. “I uh- was actually hoping I could talk to you about…something.” Johnnie avoided eye contact with the blonde woman, opting to stare down at his boots.

“Oh..” Grace’s face fell, fear punching her in the gut. “Okay, we can talk.” She sat down at the kitchen island, Johnnie sitting across from her. 

Both Johnnie and Grace’s legs bounced anxiously as they waited for someone to break the silence. Johnnie was wracking his brain for the script he’d made at three AM this morning- when he’d decided that he had to tell Grace about his regression.

It wasn’t an easy decision by any means, the emo man had only told four people in his entire life. It dawned on him in the early morning hours that he wanted Grace to stay in his life for awhile- forever, preferably. It also dawned on him that that meant opening up about the most sacred part of himself…which was terrifying.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Grace’s voice snapped him back to reality. “What?!” Johnnie’s eyes widened, realizing his girlfriend’s blue eyes were glossing over. “No! Oh my god- No! Never!” Johnnie quickly cupped Grace’s hand with his tatted one.

“Oh thank god.” Grace breathed, placing her free hand over her heart as she let out a shaky breath. “You scared me!” She whined, a giggle following her lips.

“I’m sorry, I-” Johnnie’s brain blanked again, what was he supposed to say? 

“I don’t want to break up with you! I just need you to know that I mentally regress to a toddler because my teen years were ruined!!” That wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right. 

“What’s going on? You’re shaky,” The blonde woman frowned sympathetically, tracing her fingers along his crow tattoo. “More than normal.” She joked, earning a breathy laugh from her boyfriend. “I uhm…shit this is hard,” He laughed, Grace smiled sympathetically. 

Johnnie took one final deep breath, “So y’know about MDE and that shit, right?” He asked. Grace instantly nodded, leaning in to show she was actively listening. 

“I was like, really young, when that all started which- fuckin’ sucked.” Johnnie laughed- it wasn’t funny, but it helped his nerves. The blonde woman nodded and rubbed her thumb along the back of Johnnie’s hand, allowing her boyfriend to continue on.

“And uh- I kinda missed out on a ton of shit that kids got to do, even before moving to Nebraska.” He added, “So,” Johnnie gulped down the bundle of nerves that was creeping up on him. 

“So, I found this uh- this coping mechanism, a couple years ago.” 

Okay. She wasn’t freaking out yet, that was a good sign. 

“It’s called age regression, have you…have you heard of it?” He asked, glancing up to meet Grace’s eyes. Grace thought for a moment before shaking her head, Johnnie didn’t know if that was for the better or for the worst.

“Okay- that’s okay.” He assured, smiling warmly at his girlfriend. “It’s this coping mechanism where the regressor-” Johnnie was cut off, “Is that you?” Grace asked, earning a nod. 

“Yeah, that…that would be me.” The emo man admitted, an embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks. Grace nodded, readjusting in her seat. “The regressor reverts to a child-like mindset, in order to cope with stress…mental health, it um- it can be both voluntary and involuntary.” Once Johnnie was finished with his words, he brought his freehand up to his mouth- chewing on the skin around his nail in order to self-soothe.

Grace processed what her boyfriend had told her before speaking, “And you do this?” She inquired, earning a cautious nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.” The blonde smiled, “I’m really proud of you, ‘s probably not an easy thing to tell people.” She added.

Johnnie blinked at his girlfriend in surprise. Was that it? Was she mad? She didn’t sound mad, and Grace was still holding his hand so she couldn’t be mad…right?

“Uhm- sometimes regressors- littles, that’s…that’s another name for them- sometimes littles have caregivers and-” Johnnie was cut off once again, “Is that me?” Grace asked excitedly. Johnnie couldn’t help but smile at her tone, delightfully surprised.

“I mean- it could be, but I don’t want you to feel forced into that role at all!” Johnnie quickly stated, he was just fine on his own but if Grace really wanted to help…he wouldn’t mind having her take on a caring role.

Grace thought for a moment, now dealing with her own internal battle. She didn’t have the best upbringing. Sure, being a nepo-baby meant she got whatever she wanted whenever she wanted…but that didn’t make her family issues any better. Her father was the best dad he could be, but her mom…wasn’t the best parent.

Grace had spent her entire childhood worrying about her mothers addictive habits. It was hell, something no child should ever have to deal with.

“I’m not sure I’d be very good,” She admitted softly, her heart breaking as she saw her boyfriend’s smile falter. “I mean- I just…I don’t want to taint your age regression by messing up, y’know?” She explained, earning a soft nod from Johnnie. Silence fell over the room as both parties thought silently, pondering the next step.

“...I think you’d be a really good caregiver.” Johnnie said softly, Grace felt her heart swell. “Really?” She asked, a wide grin spreading over her face. He nodded, “You’re patient, and…gentle and…you already make me happy.”

Grace placed her free hand on her heart once again, this time to signal just how much Johnnie’s words meant to her. “I’ve never had a caregiver,” He admitted, much to Grace’s surprise.

“Really? Not even Jake?” She asked, knowing how close both the boys were. “He knows but he’s not my caregiver.” He explained. Grace hummed, understanding.

“...Maybe we could learn together?” She offered, peaking Johnnie’s interest. The black-haired man tilted his head, urging her to continue. “Like- you could learn to have a caregiver and I could learn how to be one.” She smiled, earning an enthusiastic agreement from Johnnie. 

“Okay…let’s learn together.”

A few weeks later, Johnnie found himself at Grace’s doorstep again. This time though, he had a backpack resting over one shoulder- filled to the brim with his regression supplies.

Toys, a sippy cup, various different coloring books (with crayons, of course) and even a deco-paci that Carrington had gifted him after learning of Johnnie’s regression.

Needless to say, Johnnie overpacked for an overnight stay but…he couldn’t help it! He was nervous!

“Johnnie!” Grace beamed, swinging her front door open and instantly latching herself onto her boyfriend. Johnnie let out the breath he’d been holding in, melting into the blonde’s arms.

 After soaking in the hug for a few moments, Grace pulled back and immediately began tugging Johnnie inside by his hand.

 “Come in! Look what I did!” The girl smiled, once again letting the door shut and lock once the two were inside. Johnnie nearly tripped over himself with how fast his girlfriend was dragging him to her living room, but once he saw exactly what she was so excited about he couldn’t help but smile.

Grace had made a fort that spanned the entire size of her living room, “I hope this ‘s okay, I loved forts as a kid so I just thought-” She was cut off by her boyfriend letting out an excited hum and bouncing excitedly.

Grace blinked in surprise, in the months she’d known Johnnie he had never done that. She didn’t dislike it, though. If anything, Grace found it adorable.

“Cece help ‘e?” Johnnie asked, tugging on Grace’s shirt gently with hopeful eyes. 

Cece.

Grace smiled softly, “Help with what, sweetheart?” She asked, surprising herself with her own tone. It was soft, gentler than her typical one- she hadn’t realized that was possible until now. 

“Shoes!” He smiled, gently placing his backpack on the floor, beginning to tug at his boots. Grace quickly moved his backpack into the fort before crouching in front of the regressed man to help him get his boots off. 

“So you like it?” She asked hopefully, earning a firm nod from Johnnie. “Uh-huh!” 

“We go in?” Johnnie asked softly, pointing at the entrance of the fort. Grace thought for a moment, “Have you eaten?” She asked, not wanting Johnnie to be hungry. 

Johnnie nodded, humming out small “mmhm!”.

“Jayjay made ‘e nuggets.” He smiled proudly, Grace nodded. “Okay, then yeah! Let’s go in!” She agreed, lifting up the blanket to allow Johnnie to crawl in- following him after.

Johnnie gaped at the interior of the fort, multiple twinkling fairy lights hung around. “Staw’s!” He smiled, looking towards Grace with eyes full of childlike wonder.

Grace knew at that moment that, even if she didn’t know how to be a caregiver, there wasn’t anything in this world that would stop her from learning.

“Yeah baby! Stars!” She encouraged, her heart melting into a pile of goop as Johnnie curled up next to her. “Do you wanna watch a movie, baby?” She asked, “Cow’pse Bw’ide?!” The little questioned, excitedly.

“Sure, hun.” Grace smiled, nodding. She quickly grabbed the TV remote off of her couch, scrolling to find the correct movie. The blonde woman wrapped her arm around the little, a coo slipping from her lips as Johnnie rested his head on her shoulder. 

Johnnie whined, tired tears threatening to spill from his icy blue eyes. Grace let out a gentle sigh, “Baby, you're tired.” She tried explaining, but the little one was having none of it. He’d dozed off halfway through the movie, only to wake up still exhausted. The only issue was, Johnnie refused to settle back down.

“M’ not!” He sniffled, despite rubbing his eye with his fist immediately after. Grace took a moment to think about what her parents would’ve done. With her dad’s job, it was rare that parenting was left up to him but her mom probably would’ve left her to cry it out in her room alone. It only ever made her feelings intensify, leading to more frustrated tears.

Grace wouldn’t do that to Johnnie, she couldn’t. The blonde woman took a deep breath before meeting Johnnie’s eyes again, “Can you look at Cece?” She asked gently. 

Johnnie whined, shaking his head and diverting his gaze. “Baby, please?” She cooed, reaching out and brushing Johnnie’s hair away from his eyes. The little begrudgingly met his caregiver’s eyes, “I can tell you're really flustered right now, huh?” She asked, receiving a sniffly nod from the pale man.

“Okay! Hey, that’s okay.” She reassured, thinking about what she needed to hear as a child. “Can you tell Cece why?” She questioned, “Don’ wanna ‘eep!” Johnnie shouted, wobbly lip breaking Grace’s heart.

“Can we try using softer voices?” Grace asked, quoting a gentle-parenting tiktok she’d seen whilst lying in bed awake last night- terrified she’d ruin Johnnie’s regression. She wanted to make sure she was as prepared as possible, and thank god she did.

Johnnie’s lip wobbled, but he nodded. “Sorry, Cece.” He apologized. “That’s okay baby, I know you didn’t mean it.” Grace comforted, pulling the little into a hug after asking permission.

“M’ still wanna color wif’ Cece…” Johnnie admitted through tired tears, “Oh buddy…” The woman cooed, looking down at the little in her arms. “We can still color, I just think you need a nap before we do.” She giggled, resulting in a small smile forming on Johnnie’s face.

“Cece wake ‘e up?” He asked hopefully, earning a quick nod from Grace. “Yeah, I’ll wake you up in…thirty minutes, okay?” She offered. Johnnie thought for a moment before nodding and snuggling back into Grace’s arms.

“Get some rest, I expect to see how talented you are at colorin’.” The blonde joked, earning a smiley laugh from the man in her arms. “Night night, Cece.” Johnnie yawned, eyes already drooping. 

“Night night, sweet boy.” She kissed the top of Johnnie’s head, allowing herself to relax.

She was confident she had Johnnie, and Johnnie was confident that Grace had him. They’d grow together.

taglist !! :

@babybatxxx @mattssturnz @littlestar44 @graceslittlecorner @zivall @hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch @sturnsxplr-25 @cherry-red-heart @pr3ttyf4wn @frlinbruh @jazminepetit-homme @raynaaxx @tyummyz

(also tagging @nicksbestie and @salemscene since i said i would SO long ago i'm so sorry it took forever😖)

[diyasgarden]

friendship jealousy: fear of being replaced

LOL I always feel replaceable so this one was fun to write.

In general, Tashi does not struggle with this. She has good self esteem and knows her value. Although, I imagine if you're very very close with her, she'll be slightly afraid you'll leave her. She knows her bluntness can be a little much to handle and that she has a large presence that could push someone away. Again, she would not usually care about how people respond to this, but she loves you deeply. Losing you seems painful, so she worries about it. It's just a thought that pops up every once in a while. Luckily it goes away quickly enough, so it's not something major. If you struggle with these feelings, it takes her sometime to deal with it. She does not really understand it (she thinks it is silly), but she does her best to reassure you. She does this by being direct about it. I do believe after her injury she was constantly afraid of being replaced, mostly because it was actually happening. She would see new female players go pro and have amazing careers, and she always feels like she is being left behind. Mostly because she knows she is. It's less of a fear and more of her reality.

Art struggles with both, and can get really jealous. He always wonders if you'd replace him if you found someone better to spend time with. Although his friendship jealousy manifests in a subtle way. Really he becomes a little more quiet around you and when he speaks he becomes slightly more blunt. At first, this is confusing because he usually is direct when he is upset, but this time all you know is that something is wrong. It takes you sometime before you realize, and once you do you try to address it. Actions speak louder than words when it comes to Art, so just reassuring him does nothing. You have to do things to show much how much you value him, and it takes a day or two before everything is back to normal. If you feel this way, it may take him sometime to realize. But once he does he does whatever he can to make you feel better. Usually more so through actions than words, because that's what helps him.

Patrick also struggles with both, but it is more of a side affect from his fear of being abandoned. Like he does get a bit jealous when you're spending more time with others, but really it's because he is afraid of the possibility of you just leaving him completely because you found someone better. He's always more or less felt this way. It first formed when he felt like his parents wanted nothing to do with him, and it just grew as he got older. He fully processed that it is a major concern for him when Art and Tashi left him. While he is aware he feels this way, he doesn't know how to handle it. This is why he feels like he may be abandoned he ends up becoming a little more distant and argumentative with you. It's his way of trying to protect himself. If he pulls back first, then is it really you leaving him? He views himself as replaceable, but he doesn't want to watch you replace him. When he feels this way, you have to be the one to reach out and show how much you value his presence, both through your words and actions. After sometime everything goes back to normal, but this does happen every couple months. If you feel this way too, Patrick understands it and is able to pick up on it. He isn't good with discussing these feelings, but he does whatever he can to reassure you throughout his actions.

[sxftkxssxs]

Could you pls do something like the mc has autism and how each of the 6 help them if they’re overstimulated ? (Gender neutral pronouns pls) love your work <33

I certainly can! I hope I did this justice!! It means a lot that you love my work anon <3

Asra

He's sooo in tune with MC it's crazy. (I blame their half of his heart.)

Once they notice that MC is starting to get overwhelmed, which is usually right away, they'll usually try to hurry along whatever they're doing to get them out of there.

If the MC needs quiet, he'll usually take them back to the shop. If thats not possible, he'll cup their ears. MC knows he's using magic because whatever sounds they were hearing just fall away.

Faust is their girl!! Her scales are super chilly and feel so silly with how much she wiggles. If they need something to touch she'll happily volunteer!

If MC doesn't want Faust squeezing around them, they can always have Asra's hat or scarf.

Asra understands that sometimes people just need some time alone, so if MC needs that they'll find something to occupy their time.

Julian

He might be a doctor but he's never been the best at coping mechanisms or anything remotely related.

Julian is the man for distractions and running away. So long as MC isn't so overwhelmed they can't run. (he might just try to carry them with him.)

If MC needs a certain scent to ground themselves, he's got his coat! It smells vaguely like a mix of herbs and a bomb of spices.

Julian can only do so much if sound is the issue, he's not got enough practice with magic like Asra. If need be he'll cover your ears or take you somewhere secluded.

He can offer his palm to trace if MC needs something to touch.

If MC needs time alone to decompress, he can go see Mazelinka and Portia. (and maybe get them to team up on some of that magic soup for you)

Nadia

She understands pretty well. Her experience after she woke up was very overwhelming for a time.

She'll try to take you to her tower, away from the noises of the palace. The water makes it sound so peaceful.

She also offers her tower as a place to decompress. Being the Countess, she can't fully disappear. If they need time alone they can absolutely get it there.

If MC truly needs something to touch or work on something with their hands, Nadia does have quite a lot of hair they could braid.

Nadia doesn't have anything on her person to offer to focus on a scent, but she will offer her hood regardless. If the MC focuses enough they can smell the fancy hair products from the palace baths.

Muriel

He might be the absolute best person to go to for this. We all know this man gets overwhelmed with too many people around.

Depending on what they need Muriel and Inanna got them covered!

Muriel will offer his fur coat if they need it. It smells distinctly like myrrh and pine trees.

MC needs something to touch or burry their fingers in? Inanna's got a whooole coat of fur conveniently laying on their lap all of the sudden!

If MC needs to be alone they're in the perfect place. His hut is literally in the forest. He'll just go sit with the chickens while they decompress.

Muriel can't do too much about sound if that's what is overwhelming MC. He'll likely call Asra over if thats the case.

Portia

Her cottage is the most peaceful place around the palace. She'll lead you there if you need to get away from crowds or overwhelming noise.

MC can absolutely pet Pepi if they need! Pepi could act as a motorboat with all the purring action going on.

Portia will wrap MC in her blankets. They smell like fresh laundry and bread.

Being Nadia's Personal Handmaiden, she can't fully disappear from the palace. If you need her, she'll stay as long as she can. If you need space, she'll go back to work with the promise that you come get her or send Pepi if you need her!

Lucio

He's trying his absolute best and that is what matters here.

Lucio's only gotten overwhelmed when he had to literally face his fears and all his mistakes. But he takes the lesson to heart and applies it here.

He doesn't get a chance to react if MC needs something to touch to get themselves grounded again. Melchior and Mercedes got this covered.

Lucio would offer them his cape if he has it on him, it smells like wherever they're adventuring but there's a cologne-y undertone to it.

If sound is the issue, he literally just holds his hands over their ears. Not the most effective but an A for effort Lucio!

If they need time alone he makes a goofy show of going to a random spot some ways away and walking in a circle. Nutcracker style. He won't come back until they're either laughing at him or telling him to cut it out and get back over there.