#( ─ conversations ; julie spencer. )

[portrait-paintings]

The Artist and her Family at a Fourth of July Picnic

Artist: Lilly Martin Spencer (English-born American, 1822-1902)

Date: ca. 1864

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Museum of Women in the Arts, Washington, DC, United States

Description

Lilly Martin Spencer’s The Artist and Her Family at a Fourth of July Picnic depicts an idyllic genre scene in which well-dressed, middle-class Americans celebrate their country’s independence by eating, drinking, and entertaining one another.

The painter’s husband, Benjamin, sprawls on the ground at the center of the scene, his weight apparently too much for the tree swing. Though most of the assembled crowd seems highly amused by his fall, a child attempts to help him up. A woman with arms outstretched, an image of the artist herself, comes to his aid from the left.

[ameliemaaaee]

Pink Skin - S.R x Reader

Story Information

Summary: Reader and Spencer's tentative friendship is threatened by pink skin. Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!Reader. Category: Fluff. Content Warnings: Reader drinks alcohol, readers skin described as being 'pink'. Word Count: 3,747

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Summer was the time of year where the world seemed to be at its brightest; people in colourful sundresses, sandy white beaches, sun-kissed skin, sunglasses, and wide-brimmed hats. But for you, Summer consisted of dead bodies that looked even worse for wear, and pink, angry skin no matter how much suncream you slathered on.

When you had been told your case was in Florida you about melted then and there.

Florida… in July.

The team- ever attuned let out a simultaneous groan of disappointment as they gathered their belongings to head to the jet.

It was a bad one, and by the time the team had caught the guy some decompression was sorely needed.

“I never want to see the sun again.” Your voice was quiet as you climbed the steps up to the jet, using the case file in your right hand as a make-shift fan. You groaned in relief as you stepped into the air-conditioned interior of the jet.

“You know… since the sun drives photosynthesis, and plants dominate the bottom of the food chain, if we never saw the sun again we’d all be in trouble.” You furrow your brows, your eyes squinting to adjust to the dim interior of the jet as you pushed up your sunglasses, turning around.

Suddenly you were face-to-face with Spencer Reid as he stepped onto the jet behind you. He looked as though he was doing a better job in the heat than you were; he was from Vegas, which is practically the desert.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you took your bag from his hand, and freed up his left hand so he could also adjust his sunglasses. “Apologies for the hyperbolic speech, doctor!”

You couldn’t help watching the flush that rose across the bridge of his nose. Spencer did well in the sun; well, better than you. His skin was brown, the high points of his face sun-kissed, his hair bleaching slightly falling in defined curls, slightly damp from the humidity.

He says your name as you continue to take him in, this causes you to spring back into action. “Yes… oh uhm- sorry.”

You quickly throw your go bag into the overhead lockers, trying not to struggle too obviously, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you. You then selected your normal seat, plopping yourself down and groaning as you massaged your temples, gaze fixed on your lap.

Spencer followed suit and sat next to you as usual. His brows furrowed as he took in the pink skin blooming across your chest, and your overtiredness. “You don’t do well in the heat do you?”

You looked up towards Spencer at the sound of his voice. He watched as you blankly processed his question before offering a small shrug. You felt rather scrutinised under Spencer’s gaze.

The team had been toeing the line of professional dress; both you and Emily opting for vest tops and slacks for comfort, and JJ had been wearing airy shirts to prevent overheating. But now, sat in front of Spencer you were beginning to notice the way his eyes trailed across your exposed skin.

His voice is soft, gentle as he speaks again, “you’re burnt.”

You groan slightly, his words suddenly bringing to attention the prickly pain across your chest and shoulders. “Yeah, it happens. Not all the suncream, in all the world would stop it."

You watch as Spencer pulls out his book, leafing through the worn, dog-eared pages to find his bookmark; it was one you had got him when you joined the team; a hand-embroidered bookmark that you had decorated with little sunflowers, and green leaves.

You had really tried to win over each member of the team but with Spencer you struggled the most, you felt sub-par in his presence, as though you had nothing to offer in comparison to him. It didn’t help the fact that he was quiet in your presence, and that your attempts at conversation were often shut down by awkward smiles, or curt nods.

You remember the way Hotch had looked at you, your face falling as Spencer had offered you a polite nod on your first day; making no attempt to converse back to you. You still remember his attempts to reassure you; he doesn't like change.

He was right.

But now you had both settled into a rhythm as perhaps the closest members of the team. You were becoming more comfortable with him, making jokes and teasing remarks not that dissimilar to Garcia and Morgan. But fundamentally, in your friendship you always admired his knowledge wanting him to share it at any opportunity; much to the rest of the team’s chagrin.

And Spencer tried to show his care in his own ways; he never pushed, he let you go at your own pace and had taken it on himself to show you the ropes, encouraging you to share your ideas and theories with the rest of the team.

Spencer quietly gave you confidence, whilst trying to navigate the heat that would rise to his face whenever you would call him various pet names.

Normally you were relaxed around Spencer, so why now were you struggling to reconcile with his presence?

Why now were you unabashedly staring at him, at the way his sleeves were rolled up into the crook of his elbow, his lean arms brown and strong.

The way his fingers skimmed across the page, tendons flexing as he turned them, reading as though he were not just taking in each word but consuming them.

Eventually though your tiredness won out, and you shuffled into a comfortable position, pulling your legs up beneath you and curling into a ball.

Spencer watched you out of the corner of his eyes as you settled down quietly, wincing as your pink skin stuck to the leather seats, but eventually you had settled into a comfortable position dozing off, and getting some much-needed rest.

Spencer had noticed how overstimulated you had been during the case; you became more anxious, and withdrawn when you were overwhelmed, and tired.

He didn’t blame you; Summer definitely made the BAU’s job harder; evidence degraded faster, local law enforcement required more breaks which meant less cops on the street, and chasing UnSubs was ten times more uncomfortable.

But beyond that he had noticed the way you had been constantly taking painkillers to aid dehydration headaches, the way you would disappear to splash water on your face, the way you needed to sit down after a while because your legs began to wobble.

Spencer knew that these were all signs of heat exhaustion, so every day you both were out in the heat he would offer you some of his water or carry an extra bottle for you. He frequently offered you his suncream, gently reminding you to reapply, doing his best to keep you comfortable.

So now he was nothing but relieved that you were getting some sleep. Especially since Rossi had invited the team over the next day for some ‘family bonding’. Which Spencer suspected would involve a significant amount of alcohol and sun exposure.

So, as he settled back down, satisfied that you were comfortable, he began to plan for the day ahead.

-

“You didn’t have to drive Spencer, I know you’re not a huge fan.” You smile softly at him as you slide gracefully into the passenger seat of his car. You gaze meets his for a split second and you see the way his face softens as you fasten your seatbelt, adjusting your hair slightly.

“Did you sleep well?” His gaze flicks between you and the road as he pulls out of your apartment complex. You watch the way his hands grip the steering wheel suddenly feeling the same butterflies you had felt on the jet settling into your stomach.

You silently cursed yourself as you strung together an answer.

“Yeah actually. I don’t know why but Florida just exhausted me.” You sigh softly before adding, “how about you Spence?”

His gaze meets yours for a split second as he raises one hand from the steering wheel and rakes it gently through his hair, tucking the unruly curls behind his ears. “- yeah I-uhm actually stayed up late… reading.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at how typical that was for Spencer. “War and Peace?” Your tone was teasing but you knew you were right.

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes- How did you-“

“You had it on the plane yesterday. But you’ve read it before- I think I’ve seen you reading it in Russian too?” Your voice wavers slightly towards the end of the sentence as you begin to overthink, these new, unfamiliar, butterflies now attacking your insides.

“Oh- I didn’t realise you noticed.” Spencer offers you the sweetest smile and you pause; you watch the way his brown eyes soften, and his shoulders relax. Your eyes trail across the small flush on the bridge of his nose and the freckles that has surfaced in Florida, and you gulp.

You began to worry that you whole life's work may become dedicated to the pursuit of that smile.

“Uh- I did.” You say softly watching as Spencer indicates to turn into Rossi’s driveway. You take in the other team member’s cars parked in the driveway and realise that you were both likely the last to arrive.

Spencer walks around opening the car door for you and taking your bag, before you can protest he knocks on Rossi’s door, and it swings open revealing the BAU’s revered millionaire.

“Rossi, Hi!” You smile, letting him kiss you on the cheeks as you chuckle at his Italian endearments.

Spencer offers a similar greeting and Rossi ever the joker, laughs. “I didn’t know you two would be travelling together.”

Spencer opens his mouth to offer and explanation, but you beat him to the punchline. “You know I can’t drive after drinking all your alcohol Rossi!”

You watch as Spencer’s eyes widen and Rossi laughs, “Touché.”

Rossi excuses himself, but not before offering Spencer a pat on the shoulder and a “Good luck, kid.”

Spencer gulps slightly as you are both left alone. He anticipated a rush of energy from you, and he was right. He watched as you took a couple steps towards him offering that sweet, saccharine smile that made him melt.

Your teasing voice cuts through the silence. “It’s a pool party Spencer.”

He looks at you, raising an eyebrow as he gently places his hands on your shoulders and guides you through to the kitchen area. “I am aware that it's a pool party."

You laugh as he leaves you in the centre of Rossi’s kitchen, grabbing two chilled glasses and filling them with filtered water. “Good... just checking! OH! We should swim!”

“Uhm, I don’t know if that’s the best idea for you…. Your uhm-“ Spencer hands you the glass of water before gesturing to the pink skin of your chest and shoulders. “You’re uhm….”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to drag his eyes away from your chest and find the words he’s looking for.

“You’re uhm- burnt.” Spencer coughs awkwardly but offers you a lopsided grin as though despite the awkwardness he’s proud of himself for pushing through.

“Well, that’s okay… you can just help me put suncream on genius!” You offer him a bright smile as you make a beeline for a patio.

Spencer watches, frozen in awe as you walk over to the edge of the pool, greeting Garcia and JJ who are both lounging on pool floats. Then you make your way towards Hotch who is sat applying suncream to Jack.

He makes his way out onto the patio offering everybody a wave. He can’t help but smile at the way you hi-five the young boy promising to play in the pool with him later.

And finally, you make your way over to Morgan, Rossi and Emily who are having a spirited argument about grilling, before deciding you have no input.

You turn back watching Spencer as he placed you bag down on a chair in the shade, gently laying out your towel and his (which you had graciously put in your bag), and fiddling with the parasol for maximum UV deterrence.

Slowly you walk over to him, laughing as Jack frees himself from Hotch’s meticulous suncream ritual and beelines for his favourite team member. Spencer lifts him up into his arms, offering the eight-year-old an excitable greeting and ruffling his hair.

“Do you have enough sunscreen on Jack?” Spencer places him down looking at him pointedly. Jack turns to you clearly looking for a defence, but you shrug and laugh as he pouts, walking back towards Hotch who offers you both a thankful grin.

“Poor kid…” You joke watching as he wriggles whilst Hotch attempts to smooth suncream across his back and shoulders.

You hear Spencer chuckle beside you and jump slightly as he places a splayed hand on your back, pulling you under the shade of the parasol. “You need SPF before you stand in the sun; I brought you factor fifty.”

You groan sarcastically. “What if I want to tan Spencer?”

But his hands are on your shoulders, and you gasp, pulling away from him at sensation of the cold lotion overwhelming your senses. “Oh my god… Spencer!”

He offers you a boyish grin as you give in, letting him rub the suncream into the exposed skin of your shoulders and back. “You do realise I’m going to take the coverup off in a minute?”

You turn to face Spencer, grabbing his wrists and stilling them from their attack on your senses.

“You are?” Spencer gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you grin mercilessly.

All Spencer could do was watch as you turned away from him pulling the sundress over your head and revealing a deep blue bathing suit underneath. He cleared his throat awkwardly his gaze scanning the rest of the team to ensure they hadn’t seen him staring, and once he was satisfied he busies himself rooting through your bag pretending to be in search of his sunglasses.

He looks up from the bag as your stretch out your arms, exhaling softly before turning to him. “Right… now you can smother me in whatever Victorian wallpaper paste you brought.”

Spencer rolls his eyes before stepping towards you his palms splaying across your back treating the pink splotches with extra care and attention as he rubbed in the SPF. He relished in the way your muscles relaxed under his touch.

“You know… most SPFs protect against UVB rays which are the ones that will burn you, but not all of them protect against UVA which are the ones that are responsible for aging your skin.” He pauses as his fingers trail across the vertebrae of your spine, and you shiver. “I made sure to get a broad-spectrum one.”

He feels the way your back shakes as you laugh squirming lightly as his hands dip further down your back.

You want to make a quip about his attempts to help reduce your 'aging', but your brain was turned to mush the second his hands were on you.

So, you managed a simple, “thanks, Spence.”

Satisfied with his handiwork he takes a step back, and lets you turn around to face him. He smiles softly as you take the bottle from his hands and gently rub more across your chest and neck.

He sits down, pulling out his book; War and Peace, as you smooth the suncream down your legs and thighs. Once your satisfied you poke Spencer’s cheek, watching as he furrows his brow, turning towards you and removing his sunglasses.

“Your turn! Shirt off!” You shuffle closer to him as you fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt, laughing as his eyes widen. As you give him your best puppy-dog eyes you grin as his resolve begins to fade and he places his book face down on the table and removes his shirt.

You are pulled from you staring by the sound of wolf whistles and cheers coming from the team members lounging in the pool; Morgan offers him a flirty wink and Garcia and JJ immediately praise you for so easily persuading him.

You can't help but blush at their teasing and Spencer notices, "you're blushing!"

He eyebrow is quirked as he offers you a teasing smile.

"I think it's a sun burn." You quickly reach out for his now bare shoulders, spinning his around so his back is facing you.

You gently smooth the suncream over the plains of Spencer’s toned shoulders, giggling alongside him as you both hear Hotch using Spencer and his suncream etiquette as an example for Jack who was still not allowing Hotch to put any cream on his face.

“There!” You clap your suncream covered hands against Spencer’s chest as he turns around, watching as it splatters, and you offer him a smirk.

“Woah- ok!” He groans as he begins to rub in the suncream that had splattered across his chest, and you quietly excuse yourself to begin on the drinks; alcoholic ones this time, not the water that Spencer regularly supplied.

A you carefully place ice cubes into a chilled glass and mix together various liquors on the patio. You look up to see Spencer watching you.

“Like what you see?” You joke, tossing him a chilled beer.

It was a joke that you made frequently, in reference to the way you both gravitated towards each other. But as soon as you said it felt different this time; raw, real.

“I don’t want this-“ He shakes his head, looking down at the beer he caught, a gentle smile on his face as he places it back into the ice bucket.

“Just ignore my question then-“ You shrug humorously, turning to find the lemonade that Rossi had stocked in his drinks fridge.

You immediately regretted your attempt to keep up your normal banter; suddenly pulling manufactured compliments out of a flustered Spencer wasn't cutting it.

“You uhm- yes! I mean… you look nice; relaxed even!” Spencer sounds remarkably stressed now and you can’t help but step towards him offering him a soft smile, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder your ice-cold drink grasped in your other.

“Spence- I was joking... no need to get so flustered.“ You voice pauses as you feel his gaze on yours, his hand gently wrapping around yours, holding your wrist firmly, preventing you from any more teasing gestures.

“You-“ You pause, unable to finish your sentence, breathing heavily, feeling vulnerable in the way his gaze meets yours, hid hand gripping your wrist.

"What if I do?" His voice is quiet, barely there, a whisper; but you hear it.

"What if you do... what?" You're not quite sure what you're hearinga nd frankly you can't quite concentrate on it, the way Spencer's grip tightens on your wrist, and he reaches for the drink in your other hand, placing it on the table.

He leans in closer to you this time, you can feel his breath against the shell of your ear. "...like what I see."

You pull away from him slowly, as far as his unrelenting grip would allow. He was holding you as though he was scared this was unrequited, risqué.

Little did he know.

“I need water! Hydration.... it's uhm- you know... essential in this heat.” You grimace at the speed with which the words escape you, the way Spencer's gaze softens, but not in disappointment.

He knows.

He chuckles, a low, breathy, perfect chuckle. A little laugh that singlehandedly ignites a fire inside you, the same fire that seared his smile into your brain forever.

And when you go to pull away he doesn't let you. His hand remaining wrapped firmly around your wrist as he guides you into the air-conditioning of Rossi's kitchen.

The curtains are drawn, keeping the room cool and creating an overwhelming sense of detachment from the rest of the team just beyond the patio.

"You're optimally hydrated Y/N." He says it like it's common knowledge, like he knows your body better than you because he probably does.

"Oh- well..." You trail off, unable to argue with such a definitive statement, your gaze meeting his for the first time.

"You know Y/N..." The way he says your name, so softly, so delicately makes your heart swell. "...The sunburn on your cheeks seems to get worse when I'm around."

"Uhm... maybe... that's-" You struggle to rebut that statement, knowing you were caught, red handed- or red-cheeked.

That’s the final straw for Spencer; the final confirmation he needs.

He knows that he can see through you, that he's slowly uncovering his secrets, peeling back each layer and finding something new, something beautiful.

Something golden beneath.

And you're letting him.

That's the thought that tips him over the edge. As his brown eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips you barely process what's happening until his lips connect with yours and your heart swells.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you instinctively trail your thumbs over his cheekbones, trailing the hollows of his face, the hollows that happily tanned in Florida.

It was as if you had been waiting years for it… as though you were built for him as you gasped, pulling back innocently from his lips, his brows furrowing as though he had crossed a line.

Your eyes pose a question that can only be answered by his touch as he carefully tucks a curl behind your ear.

He studies you, the way you lean into his touch and that's all the confirmation he needs.

You feel it too.

His hand carefully caresses the back of your hair as he grips it and pulls you into him, again. He's sure he will never tire of this feeling; of kissing you.

You can’t help but whimper as he languidly pulls your body flush against his. Suddenly the stickiness of Summer was replaced with the reassuring figure of Spencer as he pulled you impossibly closer.

And with his lips on yours he realises that all it took to push you together was a bit of pink skin.

[whowantslovergirl]

Female Dr. Reid

Spencer Reid x reader (reader is female with she/her pronouns)

warnings: pen being the cutest matchmaker, spencer has ptsd when it comes to dating, reader has a dr title, post prison spencer (he’s 37 in this), just cute shit 😍 criminal minds masterlist

Summary: When Penelope met Y/n in a coffeehouse and saw how similar her and Spencer were she just had to set them up

posted: July 29, 2024

Penelope was on her way to work when she stopped at the local coffeehouse. She was in line when she saw you waiting for your drink she made a mental note to compliment your shoes. They were dark red pumps and she always wanted a pair.

______

She came over to wait for her drink and she was by you. “I love your pumps.” You look at her. “Oh thank you. I love your outfit.”

“Thank you. I’m Penelope.” She held her hand out for you to shake. You shook your head. “Oh I don’t shake hands, there is so many germs in shaking hands and fun fact it’s actually safer to kiss.” Her jaw dropped. “Oh my god! My co worker is just like that. He has this whole thing with germs and he always says that same exact fact.” She saw your tag for the college down the street from the BAU. “What do you teach?”

“Oh criminology and forensic psychology.”

“Wow I actually work with profilers.” You looked shocked. “Oh my gosh that’s so cool!” You guys talked and talked and she found out that you have three PhDs and the same exact interests.

“My co worker also has three! You guys are just alike. And one more question you look a little young to be a professor how old are you?”

You smiled. “I’m 37 and I started young I graduated high school at 12 and finished college at 16 and all the other stuff when I was 24.” Penelope was shocked at how similar you guys are. She’s big on soulmates and she thinks she just found Spencer’s.

“Y/n!”

“Oh that’s me bye Penelope here’s my card it’s my phone number so just send a text.” You smiled at her and got your coffee and left.

______

“Where’s Spencer?!” Derek looked at the blonde woman shaking with excitement. “Why do you need Spencer?”

“I just met his soulmate!” As she was saying this Spencer came in. “What?” She turned around. “Spencer I just met your soulmate. You have to meet her! She has three phds, loves doctor who, same age and she teaches what we do!”

“Pen you know I’m not dating anymore.” He said while walking away to get his coffee. After Maeve and Cat he can’t fall in love without something going wrong. Pen was hot on his trail. “But you would love her! And she likes her coffee the same exact way! I know I tried it and almost went into a diabetic coma.” Spencer turned around.

“I’m not interested..”

______

“Hey Y/n!” You and Pen were waiting for their coffees after a few conversations they considered each other friends. “Hey Pen!”

“I tried to set you up with my co worker but-.”

“What?! Pen I’m not looking for anyone right now.” Penelope nodded. “But you would love him! He is exactly your type.”

“Pen I’m not interested.”

______

After Pen left with her coffee. You noticed she dropped her id for the FBI. You picked it up and followed her trail. You got a visitor pass and went into the BAU. You saw an attractive tall brunette hair man. “Um hi do you know where Penelope is? She left her id.” Spencer saw you and everything around him stopped. You were absolutely gorgeous even though he had no idea who you were it didn’t matter because you are breathtaking.

“Yea she’s down the hall to the right.” You nodded and went to the room and knocked. “Come in to the dungeon my dear!” You came in. “Hey Pen you left your id.”

“Oh my thank you! I didn’t notice they just let me in. So don’t you have a class?” You shook your head. “It’s an afternoon class and I already planned for it.” You shrugged. “But you have a very attractive co worker.” Her eyes widened. “Which one they are all very attractive.”

“He’s tall, had long brown hair, facial hair, and brown eyes.” She squealed which made you jump. “That’s Spencer! I told you he’s your type!”

“That was Spencer?! I was not at all expecting him to look like that.” She grabbed your hands.

“Oh Y/n pleaseeee let me set you up. I promise you will love him. And he will love you.” After much convincing you nodded and Penelope cried with delight. “You guys are going to have attractive and smart children. Oh my god! Name one of them Penelope. He wants four kids anyway!”

What did you get yourself into?

______

As you were in Penelope’s office, Spencer was talking to Derek about Penelope’s friend. “She was beautiful! And she works at the college down the street because I saw her id. Y/n L/n even her name is beautiful-.” As he was ranting you came out to go to work. “Well bye everyone it was nice meeting you.” You noticed Derek. “Oh hi I’m Y/n.”

“Derek.” He held his hand out to shake. “Oh I don’t shake hands because of all the germs you know it’s actually safer to kiss.” Derek’s eyebrows raised. “Wow Spence you say the same thing!” You just smile. “Well I have to go to work.”

“Um what do you teach? I saw your id.” Spencer asked. “Criminology and forensic psychology.” His eyes widened.

“So you teach what we do.” He smiled. “Yea I guess I do.” You smile back.

“So professor L/n.” Derek added.

“Dr. L/n actually.” You corrected him. Spencer eyes widened even more. “You have a phd?”

“Three actually.” Derek smiled. “Spence also has three.”

“Yea Penelope told me when we first met.”

Then it came to him you are the person Penelope wanted to set him up with. You checked your watch. “I really have to go.”

“Yea I’ll walk you out.” Spencer said while rushing to your side. After you left Spencer darted to Penelope’s office.

“Pen! Was that the girl you want to set me up with?!”

“Yea why?”

“I’m free on Saturday so can you text her that please?” Penelope never been happier. “Yes of course!”

Her plan worked. She purposely left her id so Y/n can get and bring it. And it worked!

Soon Dr. L/n will become Dr. Reid.

An: HOPED YOU ENJOYED MY LOVERS 🤍

[mariasont]

SHY!MEDIA-LIAISON!READER

meet the reader! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

find out what she's listening to ↳ [✧ click to listen ✧]

if you ever wanna see her try to be normal online: ↳ [⋆ click to stalk ⋆] you didn't get this from her.

if you've ever wondered how she always looks like a 2008 indie film extra: ↳ [✿ style breakdown (ish) ✿]

personality

she's the team's new media liaison, which means she's great at writing press releases, answering questions, and managing the public narrative. what she's not good at is everything else socially.

she's soft-spoke, chronically flustered, and deeply committed to making sure no one ever finds out how often she thinks about spencer reid hands. she overthinks everything, replays conversations, and says "um" way too much for someone with a functioning vocabulary. she's polite to a fault, avoids eye contact, and when she does manage to say something bold, she freaks out in the aftermath. it's not that she doesn't have thoughts, she has so many thoughts, she just isn't great at saying them out loud without dying a little.

every crush she's ever had has been a prolonged slow burn built entirely on glances and daydreams. she gets overwhelmed easily, especially by gentle attention, and tries to cope with it by pretending she's totally fine.

but once you actually get to know her ... oh. ohhh. she's all dry wit, sneaky comebacks, and intelligent observations. she has this uncanny ability to read people, to pick up on details other miss, and she can ruin your entire worldview with one delivered comment if she wanted to.

hobbies

collecting vinyl records

annotating books in pencil with neat handwriting and sad little notes like ugh and this made my heart hurt. occasionally circles a line just to come back to it later and cry

making spotify playlists with super specific titles like staring at a ceiling fan in july

watching old interviews and concert footage from artists from the 60s-80s

taking long, aimless walks with no destination

pressing flowers in thick old dictionaries that she rescued from library donation piles. has definitely done this on the job once (sorry, emily)

likes

the sound of a record cracking before the music starts

book dedications that say you know who you are (she absolutely does not know who they are, but still cries about it)

drunk cigarettes

when spencer wears his watch on the inside of his wrist

old store signage with peeled paint and missing letters

highlights in soft ink colors (especially dusty pink and slate blue)

rainy mornings and staying in bed an extra 10 minutes just because

hearing a song she loved in high school

people who ask "did you get home safe?"

old postcards and paper maps.

dislikes

being interrupted

when someone talks over her favorite part of a song

when someone compliments her and she forgets how to respond so she just says you too like an idiot

small talk that feels performative

voicemail

jeans that don't sit right

open office layouts

when someone brings up astrology and says oh you're definitely a [sign] and it's... not hers

when someone knocks on her door and she wasn't expecting anyone

when spencer reads aloud of her shoulder and she forgets how words work

relationships with the team

rossi

affectionately intimidating older man. confusing father figure vibes. he calls her kid and she panics every time like she's being graded. he respects her but teases her mercilessly, always asking if her press statements were "written in sonnets" or if she's "gonna cry over a press releases again."

and she wants to impress him so badly and is lowkey convinced he thinks she's some fragile little mouse. except he does notice when something's off and has a scary-accurate read on her despite never making a big deal out of it.

emily

hyper-competent mentor she's half in love with, half afraid of. emily terrifies her in the beginning, mostly because she's so effortlessly cool and sarcastic and seems like the kind of person who can smell fear. over time, though, emily becomes one of her softest supporters. they bond over books and their shared ability to dissociate at social events.

jj

jj is so good to her it's suspicious. it's too kind. jj is the only one she feels okay being openly anxious around, because jj has that calm, nuturing, steady energy that doesn't really demand anything in return. shy!reader definitely cried in front of her once and jj just held her hands and didn't ask questions.

garcia

chaotic good fairy godmother. constant overstimulation. garcia is overwhelming in the best way. she immediately adopts shy!reader like a puppy she found in the rain. constantly texting her things like "this is your color palette" and "what song would play if you and spencer kissed under starlight?" shy!reader is horrible at texting back, but garcia doesn't care. she sends memes and playlists anyway.

luke

reluctant siblings. emotionally blunt but weirdly gentle. their relationship starts awkwardly. like ... very awkwardly. shy!reader finds him too handsome and too quiet and he finds her kind of emotionally unreadable. he once said "you good?" and she said "what? no. yes. i'm fine. did i do something?" and he just blinked.

but over time they develop a weirdly function dynamic, he doesn't talk a lot, she doesn't need him to. he probably leaves snacks on her desk and calls her silent but deadly.

tara

academic respect with real emotional undertow. i think they bond over psychology and trauma research first. tara sees her, really sees her, understands how someone can be so emotionally intelligent and still struggle to speak up in a room. shy!reader looks up to her so much it almost hurts. their conversations are deep, infrequent, and always hit too hard.

matt

respectful distance + weird shared humor. matt is a little too normal. he has kids. he reads the room well. at first, they don't talk much. he doesn't push her, and she appreciates that more than she can say. eventually, they bond over something stupid (maybe some press conference or someone mispronouncing her name) and now they share this deeply specific deadpan humor that no one really gets. he's protective of her in that dad friend way. never patronizing thought.

[spencereidluver]

A is for About Time

july 07, 2008

summary: You’re paired up with Spencer on a mostly physiological case… He’s impressed with how many of his obscure references you understand and how you’re able to carry on conversations with him unlike anyone else.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: details of a case: strangulation, blood writing

“y/n and Reid, I need you to stay here at the station while the rest of us go search the area.” Hotch said, handing you and Spencer each a file. “There’s information about the case in here. The PD thinks we’re dealing with someone who is able to outsmart that of the normal man. We need both of your heads on this. Got it?”

You and Spencer both nodded. You were smart, no denying it, but you know he knows everything you know times two.

You’ve only been in the BAU six months, but you’d only need to know Spencer two minutes to know just how intelligent he is. You don’t quite understand why Hotch wants you to stay back on this case with him, but who are you to deny the man.

You and Spencer take the Manila folders and make your ways to the conference room. He does a little jog to catch up with you. “You know, I’ve never had anyone else stay back with me on cases like these.” He says as he slows his step to match yours.

“Yeah, we’ll maybe you’ve never had anyone quite on your level Dr. Reid.” you joke as you pull the glass door open. There’s a bulletin board with photos from the case. You see Spencer grimace at them out of your peripheral. No matter how many cases you go on, this is one thing that will never be easy for anyone in this job.

Spencer sprawls out his folder on the half-circle-shaped wooden table in the center of the small office. The first image is a photo from the crime scene. It’s a white brick wall with blood writing, it reads:

“in this moment, she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good”

“It’s a poem.” He says. “Porphyria’s Lover.”

You interrupt him, “a mid 1800’s poem written by Robert Browning.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“A poem in which a beautiful woman’s lover strangles her with her own hair? Yeah I’ve heard of it.”

He flips through a few more pages in the folder. They’re all just copies of what’s on the bulletin. You’re not too sure why you were each given folders containing the same pictures, but I guess consistency is key in this job.

“I never took you as an 1800s poem freak, y/n.” He says with a smile that you can’t quite tell the intention behind.

“Maybe you’re not as many levels ahead of me as you thought, Dr. Reid.”

_____

It’s only day two of the case, but between stupid jokes and bonding over old literature, there’s only one thing you cannot seem to pinpoint the reasoning for. And probably the only way you’ll be able to directly connect to the unsub.

He’s working off a dating app. He searches for women who meet his physical criteria, then stalks them until he’s able to pounce. Smart guy. Very smart guy.

“The one thing I just cannot understand is why if the poem he’s working off of is so keen on blonde hair, why have only half of our victims been blondes?” Spencer says, reading through a print-out of the original poem.

“Maybe the women with brown hair were just more available?” You say, not sure if you believe it.

Spencer takes a sip of his coffee. “No, a man like this would want blondes. He’s working of the exact motive of the poem.”

“And he must have a lot of time with his victims to be able to strangle them with their hair.”

You and Spencer spend hours reading over the poem and investigating that photos. Hotch comes back to the station to bring photos from yet another crime scene. Another blonde. If anything, that takes you further from figuring him out, messing up the blonde-brown-blonde-brown victim order.

“There’s no way he’s picking these victims at random. He’d have to spend far too long watching them to know their work schedule to be able to get into their apartments.” Hotch says. “I need you guys to further analyze the poem. It could have the key and hopefully we can find him before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer spend a further hour and a half looking over and annotating the poem. You’re both about to give up on the poem when you notice something: the rhyme scheme.

“A-B-A-B-B,” you think outloud.

“What?” Spencer is confused.

“The rhyme scheme, Spencer. It’s A-B-A-B-B. Auburn-Blonde-Auburn-Blonde-Blonde. That has to be it!”

“So he’ll go back to the beginning. He’s looking for his next victim with auburn hair, just like Julia Dempsey and Katie Flanagan. Nice catch, y/n. We’ve gotta call Hotch.”

He pulls out his phone and dials the eight digits quickly. He fills in Hotch on the info you find as you email over to Garcia. It’s only a matter of time before Morgan and Hotch move in on the man, Garcia finding him from a simple categorical search of dating profile preferences.

_____

You’re sat on the jet next to Spencer on your way home. You’re going on about old literature and artifacts pertaining to them. No one else understands a word either of you are saying, but they’re rather in awe of how the two of you are able to bounce off each other and carry on about, what to them, is utter nonsense.

It’s late. Early. Well, both. 2:47 AM. You’re leaned with your elbow on the table and your head in your hand looking at Spencer as he recites an old poem from memory. His voice is calm and warm. JJ and Emily are asleep in the booths next to you, Hotch minding his own in the back, and Rossi and Morgan make small talk a little closer to the front.

“y/n?” You hear your name being whispered.

You hum in response, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Spencer looking at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says.

“It’s okay. I’m kinda glad you did, my neck would be sore when we land.”

“We’re still three hours from Virginia. Think you can make it that long?”

“Hell no, I’m exhausted.” You cross your arms on the table, laying your head in them as you try to get comfortable.

“That position may feel better on your neck, but it’ll do a number on your back in record time.”

“Well, Spencer, there’s only so much room to work with on this jet.”

“I can move so you can lay in the seat if you’d like. But that could also hurt your neck considering you’ll be lying flat and have no incline.”

“Well then why don’t you tell me the most comfortable position and let me sleep in peace.”

“Studies show the best position for sleeping without a pillow is leaning against a wall or something of an upright nature. But there are no walls to lean up against, so you’re pretty much out of luck there y/n.”

He shifts in his seat, reaching for the blanket behind him. He tosses it at you and settles back down. He sips from his coffee. No wonder he’s not going to sleep, he drinks coffee 15 out of the 24 hours in a day.

You scoot a bit closer to him, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You tip your head forward, groaning. Tiredness overcomes you more than it already has, making it near impossible to even keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Spence…” You look up at him. His head tilts down to meet your gaze, flattening his lips in form of a response. “Can I…” You let your sentence fade out, pushing yourself closer to him.

He softens his voice. “Hmm?”

Before he can even finish his hum your head has slumped on his shoulder and you’re already falling unconscious on him. You feel him reach his arm around you- pulling the blanket up- you assume. He does that, but his arm never leaves. His head flops gently on top of yours, his one unruly waft of hair falling over his face. You could stay like this forever.

“It’s about time those two realize how similar they are.” You hear Rossi’s gravely voice say.

And just like that, you’re asleep, in what is probably the most comfortable you’ve ever been in your life.

_____

next chapter: b is for Boy Genius

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____

a/n: hiii! i really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! chapter 2 will be released tomorrow! sorry if this one was a little boring, i promise the next chapter is more interesting. i'm just trying to set up the story a little before we get into it!

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

[allllium]

Meet Cute

~ Spencer Reid x Barista!Reader

~ I hope this makes sense to people other than me 😭

~ Fluff, first seasons Spencer WC: 979

- You have a very cute customer -

Being a barista isn't the best job in the world but it definitely has a couple benefits. One being the cute boys that stop by everyday.

Well, only one boy.

He came in a couple months ago for the first time and has come in everyday since. His name is Spencer and unfortunately that's about all you know.

He comes in very early in the morning and orders multiple very different coffees. He seems shy but you haven't talked to him enough to really know.

The strangest thing about to it, is how he only comes in when you're working. According to all your coworkers when he comes in on your days off and doesn't see you, he leaves.

You want to believe that means something. Like he's only coming here for you. But that's just wishful thinking.

"Good morning." He says when he comes to counter. It's a couple minutes earlier than when he usually arrives, not that you're keeping track.

"Good morning." You smile at him.

"Can I get the same thing as last time?" He asks, unsurely. You best guess is he's trying to see whether or not you'll remember it. Does that matter to him? He's probably just trying to save time.

"Yeah of course. It shouldn't take too long."

"Thanks." He nods slightly as he says it. And you fall into an awkward silence.

"What are you doing up so early?" You ask, hoping the question isn't too invasive. It's not something you'd ask any other customers.

"Work." Is all he says. It answers your question but you were expecting more.

"Where do you work?"

"I work for the FBI, in the behavioral analysis unit."

"Really? That's so weird, usually I forget the FBI is made up of actual people and not just robot things."

"Why would they be robots?"

"Because they work for the government?" You phrase it as a question so he doesn't think you're crazy. You probably shouldn't have said that if being crazy isn't your goal.

"Y'know the conspiracy of robots being in the government without people knowing stems for the similar conspiracy that birds are robot spies for the government."

"I could see that. People are so suspicious of the birds it would be easy to sneak robots in as humans."

"Are you joking?"

"Partly." You laugh a little. "I don't actually think the government is making robots that are functional enough to behave as humans, they aren't smart enough for that."

"I could be." He states it as a fact.

"Are you building a robot army?"

"Not at the moment." His smile at you widens as your conversation progresses. He's very, very pretty.

"But in the future you might?"

"You never know." As you go to respond, your coworker yells over that the drinks are done.

"I hope you enjoy them." You say as you hand them to him.

"They're not all for me." He says quickly, "I get them for my coworkers."

"That's a very nice thing for you to do."

"Caffeine can be a very helpful thing for certain people when it comes to work productivity."

"Do you have lots of facts like that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I like facts." He leaves with both his drinks and a smile on his face.

The next morning is the same story. He comes in, way earlier than you deem socially acceptable to be awake, orders a couple coffees, the same ones every time, and gives you a random fact or two.

"Did you know that giraffes are 30 times more likely to get hit by lightning than people are?"

"No I didn't. That makes a lot of sense though, I don't know why."

And the next day,

"The electric chair was invented by a dentist."

"Were his patients pissing him off that bad?"

"He saw someone get electrocuted and it inspired him."

"Makes sense."

And obviously the next,

"Three presidents died on July 4th."

"Similar causes?"

"Different enough."

And the next day,

He didn't come.

For the next week that you worked, Spencer didn't come in. You don't understand why this makes you so upset.

You don't even know his last name. You don't really know anything about him, why does this matter to you.

Another week passes by, and when it becomes obvious he's probably done with whatever friendship thingy you thought you had. Oh well, you try to think but it's no use.

You really thought he was coming in for you. Well not for you, for the coffee. But also a little for you.

"Did you know dolphins name each other?"

"Are you saying there's a couple dolphins named Fred?"

"There could be." He smiles at you. Is it normal to feel a little angry right now? No it's not. You don't know this man. At all. He doesn't have any obligation to only get coffee from you.

"Where have you been?" You ask, trying to be super nonchalant.

"Work got really busy."

"Too busy for coffee?" You half joke.

"Unfortunately it's too long a walk from the hospital." He shrugs like it's nothing.

"You were in the hospital? Are you okay?" What is wrong with this man? Walking in here, announcing he was in the hospital like it's nothing.

"I'm fine now."

"This is not how I saw my morning going." You mutter to yourself.

"Do you wanna get dinner with me?" You freeze.

"Like a date?" You ask gently.

"Yes, it would be a date."

"Yeah," you agree softly, "That would be great."

"Good. Okay. I'll give you the details." Five minutes later he's walking out the door again, this time leaving you completely speechless.

"Spencer!" You call out to him before he can walk outside.

"What?"

"Why are you asking me now?"

"Lifes to short to have regrets." He explains simply and walks out. He never said why he was in the hospital.

[shiningjustforreid]

go easy (on me baby)

bau!fem!reader faces immense grief and the aftermath. Spencer attempts to be supportive. sometimes it backfires.

a/n: grief is cruel. and sometimes, even the most caring people don’t know what to say or do.

word count: 4k

warnings/tags: 18+ for content, reader goes through it, funeral, season 11ish boyfriend!Spencer, mental health crises, Spencer is trying his best, grief, reader is fem but only physical descriptions are long hair(?), no use of y/n, church is mentioned for the funeral, mild religious themes

Crisp July wind, warm and suffocating, leeches into the bullpen, somehow, through the windows. Spencer’s flipping through files at his desk, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose; you’d both been in a rush this morning - your hair in a barely holding on pony tail and his lack of contacts proves that. Across the room, he hardly glances your direction as your phone buzzes and a frown paints your face when you answer. The gentle hum of other people and their computers drown out whatever conversation you have with whoever, but he does look up when you’re suddenly at his side.

All the life and color has been washed away from your face, smoothing your hands over your slacks, eyes unseeing, as you look down at the dingy carpet.

“That was my mom.”

You breathe out, voice catching, creaking. It doesn’t go unnoticed, certainly not by your behaviorally tuned boyfriend. He stands, his hands taking your forearms, sliding down until he can hold both your hands. HR and ‘PDA’ and fraternization be damned; you look like you’re about to tip over, and he’s not going to let that happen.

Strangely, though, you don’t look close to tears, as empty as your tone is. Thumbs soothe over your knuckles, as he watches your face, voice low enough that it gets lost in the nine fifteen hustle and bustle.

“What’d your mom say, Angel?”

Faintly, you realize he’s talking to you like he would a victim, or a victim’s family. You’re too stunned to be bothered by it.

“My grandma. She’s gone. Stroke.”

Several thoughts fly through Spencer’s brain. Your grandma, who practically raised you, while your parents were working. Who calls you at least once a week to check in, and sends small trinkets she thinks you’ll like in the mail. Gone. With absolutely no warning.

Quickly, he goes through what he knows about grief. What does he know about grief? Statistics, and informational articles about the five stages (or more) fly through his brain, but he comes up empty with what he should say. So instead, a simple phrase falls out.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Wrong response. Was it? He’s starting to freak out internally when all you do is raise your shoulders up, and down, a lethargic movement, as your eyes stay low.

“I suppose I should tell Hotch. My mom will want help. Planning the viewing. The funeral.”

Numbly, you turn, before he squeezes your hands tight, to keep you in place.

“Hey. Woah. Um, maybe you should just take a second and—“

“Spence. It’s fine. I’m fine. This— I’m just going to be very busy for a few days.”

You’ve got your ‘please-just-let-me-avoid-thinking-about-this’ face on, but to be honest, he’s considering having you go sit right back down and telling Hotch himself. Frozen to the spot, he watches you head up the stairs, how your fingers brush along the handrail.

As you initially described it, the next few days are a blur. Hotch gives you time off, and you spend it at your mother’s or the funeral home or your grandma’s house. The first night you come home after spending the day with family, Spencer’s already on the couch, book in lap, when you open the front door. He’s over at your side in a flash, too-quick hands shutting the door behind you and taking your freezing ones in his.

“Hey. You, uh, okay?”

You shrug, a half-hearted movement as your hands sit limply in his.

“I guess. I— maybe it hasn’t hit yet. I haven’t cried yet. My mom was crying, and my cousins, but I couldn’t. Think something might be wrong with me?”

Spencer’s face falls, and he’s quick to busy himself by smoothing through your hair, over the high plane of your cheek bone with his thumb; worrying with his hands so he maybe won’t say the wrong thing.

“Lovely, no. Nothing’s wrong. Grief, it, uh, comes in all types of patterns and forms, and maybe you’re still in denial?”

Still locked away somewhere in your mind, you shrug again, rubbing your hands over your arms. You might as well be underneath layers of ice, underwater, watching everyone up on the shore.

“That’s the first stage right? Makes sense. It’s cold in here, don’t you think?”

Frowning, he watches you head over the thermostat, and then to the kitchen.

Like nothing’s amiss. Like you didn’t just lose someone irreplaceable.

And yet—clearly, something’s very, very wrong.

“Angel…”

You don’t look up as you get out a pot, pan, a colander. Must be making pasta.

“Mm?”

“You can just go relax, okay, I’ll— let me get dinner tonight.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. He swallows, watching your face stay perfectly devoid of any real emotion, just carefully placed confusion as you turn his direction.

“Spence, why wouldn’t I make dinner? I usually do.”

“But I want to. Can you just let me? Please?”

He watches the indecision flicker through your eyes at his plea, and then you nod, slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll go— sit. For a bit. I’m really hungry anyways. Long day.”

Talking in cliches never good, especially when it’s you. Spencer watches you head to the couch, your eyes landing on a shelf — and he winces as you look dully at a frame.

He knows which picture rests behind the glass.

Staring for a moment, your muscles tense, and then you whisper, hoarse, like you’re talking to yourself more than him.

“It’s funny. How time works. Maybe ‘funny’ is the wrong word, but— how someone can be alive in a picture and you don’t think about it until they’re gone, it’s jarring. Wrong. That the picture is all you have.”

To your credit, you don’t choke, there’s no lump in your throat. But you sound so distant, and it absolutely crushes him.

“Baby, you—“

You head down the hall, before he can finish, and the soft click of the bedroom door is all he hears. Sighing, he turns back to dinner, anxiety bubbling in his chest. He knows you need a moment, to gather yourself back into something vaguely presentable, even for him.

How can he fix this? Can he? He can’t just apply his knowledge to his girlfriend like she’s a part of a case.

But he doesn’t know. And that terrifies him the most, that there’s something he can’t learn, can’t prepare for, because grief is different for everyone and God knows it’s going to be unique for you.

When the morning of the funeral dawns, you’re up before he is, taming your hair in the bathroom, already dressed — black skirt and a rather nice matching blouse that he’s never seen before. He comes up behind you, as you run the straightener down your hair, and you meet his eyes in the mirror. What he sees in your eyes is a whole lot of nothing. Emptiness. It’s deeply concerning.

“Hey. Morning, lovely.”

His lips find the side of your face, feather light, and then the column of your throat, but your face stays blank. Nodding your acknowledgment of his presence, your voice comes out dangerously close to emotionless. As if you’re discussing the schedule for a normal day.

“We need to leave by eleven. The funeral’s at 2, but the roads might be busy, there’s a lunch for us before, and a private last chance to—“

You stop. Compose yourself into something steel and put together, and continue.

“To see. Her. Before they close the-her- it. The casket.”

Spencer lets his hand come to rest against your hip, gentle, grounding.

“And then, there’s the funeral, and the burial, and—“

The recitation of the agenda halts as you finish your hair and set the straighter down with a clack against the laminate top. Hands falling against your un-made up face, as though you can hide yourself from the inevitable of today. As though you’re young again, believing that if something is not seen, it simply doesn’t exist.

And God, he wishes it could be done that way.

“Spencer, I don’t want to do this. I can’t, do this.”

A beat. He sighs, his other hand reaching to click the power button and unplug your tool.

“Baby, you have to.”

Perhaps, softer reassurances could have been spoken, but his gentle ones, firm in their candor, have you nodding, measured as you reach for your makeup bag. He can almost hear you repeating his reminder to yourself in your mind - an affirmation, that some things in this world are agonizing beyond human comprehension, because of how they remind us of our mortality. How small we are under the stars, but that we must use their light to keep going anyways.

Morning rushes into noon, and Spencer is dually impressed and unnerved as you stay polite but quiet through tearful family interactions and casserole. Right before the service, he pulls you to the side, some small room in the church, clicking the wood paneled door closed behind the two of you.

When he runs his hands over your arms, he winces at the chill he feels through your sleeves. Your eyes stay low, on the mulberry colored thinning carpet, avoiding his gaze, because you know — meeting his eyes and seeing the pain there will break you more than anything else.

“Angel girl. Hey. Listen. If you don’t feel these emotions, this grief, now, I’m afraid you’re going to regret it.”

Shaking your head, you look off to the side, voice hoarse.

“I can’t. I can’t fall apart in front of all these people, my mom, Spencer. I have to push it down, squash it so far into my heart that I can pretend it’s not even really happening to me.”

But it is happening to you.

Neither of you say it, but both of you feel it. Your mother weeps during the service, during the burial, until she’s all cried out and sort of just stands there and trembles. You? Stone. Several times, the urge to let out some sort of bitter little whimper crawls up your throat, but you shove it down.

You’re a gargoyle, watching the people you love and grew up with weep over the casket as it’s lowered into the dirt, your face impassive. Spencer’s fingers find yours when someone hands you a rose to toss in the grave, and on wobbling legs you move, tugging him with you, the breath in your lungs kept there only by the physical contact.

It’s not until you’re both back in the apartment, and you stand there, purse in when hand, dangling to the carpet, in the entryway, until Spencer turns to you, voice so soft you barely hear it.

“Baby? I can help with your shoes if you want, or—“

“I don’t need help with my fucking shoes.”

Immediately, the guilt replaces the anger, but not by much. Swallowing hard, you set your bag down on the counter with a little more force than necessary, and sigh, a quick, short burst of air.

“God, Spence, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Pressing your fingers against your eyes, you vaguely realize that you’ll smudge your makeup. As if that matters. He’s silent, as you stand there, his hands darting over his slacks a few times, uneasy, before they’re shoved in his pockets.

“You didn’t mean it. I know. It’s okay.”

Is it? Does grief give you the right to respond in any way that rolls off your tongue? Looking away, out the living room window, you shake your head.

“No. It’s not okay. I’m sorry. None of this is okay. None of it. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I just can’t believe we just put her in the dirt like that in her dress; she doesn’t have her rose sweater, she’s going to get cold—“

During your ramble, your voice has gotten high, crackly, almost unintelligible, as you turn back to meet his eyes. The expression on his face borders on pity.

“Hey, come here. Let’s just sit for a bit, I can make tea.”

You can’t bear it.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Spencer sighs, steps closer, lets his hand rest tentatively on your waist. Tensing, you turn, barely, out of his touch.

“Spencer, she can’t be gone, she— she didn’t even look like herself! Didn’t you see it? In the casket? That wasn’t her, they made her all up to look like her but it wasn’t, I swear to God, it wasn’t. How could my mom not tell? It couldn’t be, my grandma can’t be dead, she can’t, Spencer— she is.”

There’s the tears.

He folds you into his chest, feels your tears against his shirt for a moment, arms around your waist. In a desperate attempt to ground yourself, yours wind around his neck, lifting your head to rest on his shoulder so you can speak.

“I want it all to be some lie. That I’ll wake up tomorrow and call her again and she’ll tell me about the new cookies she baked for her neighbor and I would call every day, I would.”

What can he say? He’s never been well-versed in words when they matter, so he lets you get it out. His thumb drifts up and down the fabric covering your ribs as you hiccup another sob.

“It almost makes me sick. I can’t think about the fact that I didn’t return her calls, or that they all got together last Thanksgiving and we didn’t go, I can’t go back to see her, I can’t go back and fix it, I can’t—“

Breathless nearly, he shushes, gentle, one calloused hand coming to rest on your scalp, smoothing down the hair there.

“Breathe, angel. You will make yourself sick if you don’t stop hyperventilating. Just— let me help. Tonight. Okay?”

Somehow, the minutes tick by, and he’s managed to get you showered, in pajamas you love with tea in your hand, and he’s combing through your hair. Sitting, half nothing, half human, in front of him, you let him slide the plastic teeth through your damp locks.

“I was horrid today. You were nothing but supportive and helpful and I was terrible. I’m sorry.”

“You’re grieving. I can take it, okay? The anger. The pain, it’s all a part of this, and I want to be able to handle it with you. That’s— sort of my job, isn’t it? To help you. When you need it.”

Sighing, you turn to face him. He takes your hand, threading your fingers together and letting his thumb ghost over the side of your hand.

“I mean it, sweet girl. Grief is ugly. Horrid, as you say. I definitely can’t expect you to just act as though you’re fine when you’re not.”

“But you also don’t want it to consume me.”

You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, and he grins softly through the light pink that stains his face. Somewhere inside your heart, something glows— still, your affection overwhelms him, just a little.

“And I’ll be damned if I let it.”

“Spencer.”

There’s a warning in your voice, gentle, sad.

“There are some things you just can’t control. No amount of knowledge of statistics or information can fix my heart. This just hurts.”

He blinks. Something flickers in his eyes — upset, raw fear, then, that he won’t be able to drag you out of the pit that you’re slowly sinking into.

“Okay, but I can still apply what I know. How to alleviate some stress, please, just let me.”

Your heart twists. The way his shoulders won’t relax, how tense he is as he tries to hold your eyes despite how you try to avoid avoid avoid.

“We’ll see.” You concede, before you let yourself be tugged under the quilt of your bed and into Spencer’s grasp and the warmth that seems to seep from him. Mentally, you promise to try to let him help. However he can.

God, you try, you do. At first, it’s easy, faking cohesiveness, and you begin to wonder if you’ll really need external assistance at all. Too much blush and caffeine. A tight grin when needed. Barely collected and rationed laughs that the entire team pretends aren’t flimsy like ash.

Until you take the first sick day. Spencer isn’t thrilled about leaving you home alone, but you tell him that you’re just sort of blech, and a day is all you need to recover, and tidy up around the apartment.

What you don’t mention to him is how you spend the entire day in bed. Nothing gets cleaned. The lights stay off all day, curtains drawn tight, your home a dim shadow of what it normally is. Normally? It’s a sanctuary. It’s starting to feel more like a crypt. Coffee cups pile up on your nightstand, on the end table, and the more you stay home, the harder it is to leave. At all.

Because there isn’t just one sick day. There’s another, a week later, after a night spent in tears. And another two days later, when you feel so nauseous and tense at dawn that you feign a stomach bug. Despite the guilt the first few times, each time, it becomes easier to text Garcia that you won’t be in, with excuses that begin to sound poorly crafted even to you. And you want to believe them more than anyone.

You stop looking in the mirror, because all you see is her, and your mom’s soft reminders from childhood turned haunting whispers of ‘you look so much like her.’

In some back corner of your mind, you begin to wonder how long you can wallow before the water fills your lungs and you drown off shore, a corpse waterlogged with muddy memories. The sea salt in your wounds is when you see a picture, hear a song she loved, or smell her perfume in public, and your lashes catch droplets you try to hide from Spencer. Before you know it, you stay home from a case. One in Florida, that you probably would’ve been helpful on.

You don’t care. Every time you close your eyes now, you see her body, fragile and made up to look less gray than she really was, cushioned by pale pink satin. Hotch calls early, to say there’s a case, and you refuse to go, numbly, dully.

Spencer is shocked; no matter the amount of recent absences you’ve had at work, he still can’t believe the development of your depression.

“Baby, you love cases. Please, come along. You can’t just keep taking sick days and not getting out of bed and—“

“Watch me. I’ll do whatever the hell I like.”

The words are empty, despite their vitriol quality, and he frowns. You’re sat on the edge of the bed, hugging your knees to your chest, cheek laid upon them.

“Easy. I didn’t say you couldn’t stay home, but you already took Monday off, and last Thursday, and—“

“Damn it, Spence, I know! I know. I just can’t. Okay? I can’t. I don’t want to. Let it fucking go.”

Now his face goes dangerously blank. You two rarely fight, but your tone is starting to border on hostile. Guilt creeps up your throat.

“Sorry. God, you didn’t deserve that.”

He glides his hands over his suit jacket, voice clipped as he looks down at his shoes.

“I’m not able to support you if you don’t want it. I’ll see you when we get back, then, I guess.”

Panic claws at your chest, sinks its teeth in and has you flying from your spot, voice shrill.

“Spencer, hey, stop, I’m sorry, please, I know—“

He turns, and the anguish in his eyes is intense.

“Baby, I don’t know. Okay? It is excruciating to watch you collapse in on yourself. I want to apply some study I’ve read or even just cheer you up and I’m beginning to think you don’t even want to be helped.”

Taking in a uneasy breath, you nod, color drained away from your face. Spencer’s fingers itch to comfort you. He doesn’t. There’s so much defeat in his eyes, unbound desperation to fix and heal.

“If I stop being sad, if I just keep going on with cases and life, it’s like she’s not even gone. It’s like she didn’t even die, Spencer! And she did! She’s gone, I can’t do anything to bring her back, please, just let me—“

The tears fall now, clumping on your lashes and dribbling down your cheeks, and the pit in Spencer’s chest gets bigger. Sometimes it feels like all time is anymore is minutes spent weeping or not. He steps forward to bring you against his suit coat, trembling hands smoothing over the linen of your pajama top as you heave silent sobs.

“I’m here. You’re not going to make me leave. Because the one thing I do know, Angel? Deep down, you want life to go back to normal. And it will. The grief won’t get smaller, but you’ll grow around it. Okay? I love you. So much.”

Tender hands trace up and down your spine, one eventually coming to tangle in your hair.

“Tell you what. We take this case, and then come home, and take some time off. Together. I’ll help you clean, and maybe—“

Is he pressing too much?

“Maybe we could go see her. It’s been a few months.”

Immediately, your brain lights up with a oh no please don’t I can’t-

“Sure. Yeah. When we get back.”

Florida is what it is — hot and humid and you manage to stay in the field office the entire time. Vaguely, you wonder if Spencer spoke to Hotch. Eventually, you decide it was probably for the best.

True to his word, the apartment is cleaned when you both return home, and two days plus the weekend is granted to the both of you. During the drive there, your heart twists and you’re pretty sure no interrogation has ever made your stomach turn like it does when Spencer slides the car into park, and his hand squeezes yours to help you out of the vehicle and onto sun starched grass.

A quick glance your way tells him you’re apprehensive to the extreme, and he stops halfway there, turning to face you.

“We uh, don’t have to do this. If you don’t think you’re ready.”

You shake your head, one quick movement.

“No. I need to do this.”

He looks relieved, his small smile growing after you try to smile too.

“A lot of people say that it can provide a lot of closure, and be cathartic. It might also… not be easy. Might be jarring, but really, the potential benefits of this outweigh the possibility that—“

You stop, pulling him to a halt with you. Fresh stone, neatly carved letters, her name, followed by years, followed by some lovely sentiment you can’t read because your eyes are clouded.

“They did a good job. With it.”

He says softly, and suddenly, the adrenaline kicks in, and you’re shaking so hard you might just collapse right there.

“We need to go. I’ll come back another, we’ll come back, but right now I need to go.”

Typically, he’d suggest that studies show facing fears can help with said fears, but one look at your terrified, gutted expression and he’s leading you back to his car, hands on shoulders, voice in your ear.

“You’re okay. Breathe baby. In, two three four, out, two, three, four. I’m not going anywhere.”

Once back at the car, you sink down, your back against the cold metal of the car, to land on the ground underneath. He follows suit, and your glossy eyes find the sky, a crisp, autumn cerulean that you just stare at.

“Think she’s watching? Like people say?”

He stares too, and takes your hand. He hears the guilt, the loss in your tone, and knows you’re afraid she wouldn’t be proud.

“That’s one thing I’m not sure about. Religion is, I think, at its core, a response to what people see in the world. A solution to the agony and problems we face down here. I can’t comment on whether or not she’s watching, but if she was, she’d still love you. Still be proud. Just like me.”

“Really? Proud? Of me? When I’ve spiraled into a caffeine and depressive lump that barely gets to work, let alone gets anything productive done?”

“Always. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that, well, I love you. Adore you, really, and you’re still in there, even if it feels like it’s all too foggy to see. I still see you.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, and then pulls back, flushed, and looks away.

“Sorry, that was probably cheesy. But I do. Love you. A lot, and it’s okay if you can’t do this yet, and I—“

You silence him gently with your own mouth, a lingering kiss before you stand.

“We should go. C’mon. Thanks for driving me all the way here. Even if I couldn’t do what I wanted to yet.”

“Good clarifier, ‘yet.’ You will. Eventually. And I’ll be here for each attempt. And, when you finally talk to her.”

In that, in him, you have no doubt.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

YOO REQUESTS OPEN? can I get a Angela x reader celebrating Fourth of July??

Red, White, and You || Angela Giarratana x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you and the rest of the smosh cast go to angela’s place to celebrate the fourth of july, angela makes sure you two get your own celebration

word count: 1.2k

warnings: none

a/n: i’m sorry i couldn’t resist making the title cheesy 🤭anyways, hey girl hey! i tried to get this to you asap + closer to fourth of july but life got in the way so here you go, better late than never ig? i also have no idea what angela’s place looks like so for the purpose of this fic she’s got a house with a pool bc i say so 💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “It’s a blender!”

     “It’s a unicycle!”

     “No, It’s clearly a cabbage patch doll.”

     You stared up at the darkening sky as you listened to the chatter of your friends and coworkers around you, watching them play ‘guess the cloud shape’.

     “They’re all wrong,” Angela leaned towards you. “It’s a bunny on a toilet.”

     You giggled, turning towards her as her eyes sparkled. 

     You and the rest of the Smosh cast had decided to celebrate the Fourth of July together and Angela had offered her place for the gathering.

     You looked around you at her backyard, admiring the layout—the table now filled with snacks and drinks, the small flames still visible in the fire pit, the calm surface of the empty pool, the red white and blue lights that had been strung over the perimeter. 

     Naturally, you’d been to her house many times, but you’d never actually been outside. Especially when it was so festively decorated. 

     You and Angela had started dating a few weeks ago, but you’d known her much longer, being her coworker and acquaintance long before you’d admitted your feelings for each other.

      Now, you turned to her as the rest of the party, spread out and laying back on the grass, was still focused on the clouds. 

     “It’s always a bunny on a toilet with you,” you teased.

     “Caught me.” She rolled her eyes at you as she twisted from her leaned-back position to kiss you.

     “Get a room!” Chanse called from his spot a few feet over, throwing popcorn at you and Angela.

     Angela picked up a piece and ate it, shrugging.

     “Hey!” She shouted back. “At least I have a date.”

     You would have chided Angela for being rude if you weren’t busy thinking what it would be like to get a room with Angela. 

     It wasn’t that you weren’t—and hadn’t been—enjoying the party and hanging out with everyone. But, as your eyes flicked to your girlfriend in her American flag print bikini top and baggy shorts you couldn’t help wishing it was just the two of you. You would start, you thought, by pointing to her adorable outfit and telling her to—

     “Take it off!” 

     Yeah, pretty much that. 

     You turned to Chanse who had spoken. His gaze was directed at Angela, who had his empty popcorn bucket on her head. 

     “It’s fashionable!” Angela defended, modeling her new hat. You rolled your eyes at her, smiling despite yourself.

     “Did someone say fashionable?” Ian turned around, joining the conversation as he gestured to his shirt.

     “That thing and fashionable don’t go in the same sentence, my guy,” Courtney patted his arm without turning around.

     “Anthony, back me up,” Ian said, tapping his best friend on the shoulder.

     “Peak fashion.” Anthony shot him a thumbs up, continuing his conversation with Arasha. 

     “Yeah, my grandpa has the same one,” Angela joked. “Creepy eagle and all.”

     Ian clutched his chest in mock offense as Amanda turned around from her spot in front of you and Angela. 

     “Angela, when did you say the fireworks were starting? I don’t want to stay out all night,” she said.

     “Dude, it’s 9:15,” Spencer said.

     “And I need my beauty sleep,” Amanda defended, flipping her hair.

     “Should be any minute now,” Angela told her. 

     “How did you get someone to do a firework show?” You asked Angela. 

     Angela turned back to you, laying a hand on your leg. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

     You trailed your fingers along her hand and then up her arm, tracing patterns on her bicep. 

     She smiled, her voice coming out breathy as she said, “Alright fine, I guess a magician can make exceptions.”

     You enjoyed having this effect on Angela—especially because you knew damn well she had the same effect on you—and you couldn’t help grinning to yourself as she continued.

     “Real talk, I didn’t set them up. Just have a pyro neighbor who lights like a million fireworks every year.”

     You chuckled. “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”

     Suddenly, laughter erupted from your friends in front of you. 

     “What?” Angela shouted. “What did I miss?”

     As you watched everyone cracking up and talking over each other—and Angela still trying to figure out the joke she hadn’t heard —you leaned back and took in a breath. It was mostly dark now, the stars visible and the clouds long gone.

     The fireworks started then. First only a few popping sound, and then the sky was alight with bursts of color.

     A cheer erupted before everyone became silent as you all began watching the show.

     Angela leaned back, closer to you, and you placed a kiss on her temple.

     She closed her eyes for a moment before snapping them open, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

     “I almost forgot,” she whispered, “I have a surprise for you.”

     You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

     She smiled, standing up quietly and holding a finger to her lips, motioning for you to be quiet.

     You looked at her expectantly as you stood, grabbing her hand. 

     Angela? Quiet?

     Your position with Angela behind the rest of your friends came in handy as she led you away from the group, no one noticing or even turning their head. 

    She led you through her house, both of you giggling in your efforts to stay silent—though for what only she knew—and up to the balcony that overlooked her backyard below.

    Opening the door, she stepped to the side and waited for you.

     You put your hand to your mouth in surprise. Her patio was transformed into what could only be described as a cozy hangout. Fairy lights wound around the wooden boards, bean bags and blankets covered the floor surface, and there was a mini fridge to one side, complete with drinks and an array of pies. 

     “Wow,” you took in the setup that Angela had prepared. “You did all this?”

     Angela smiled sheepishly at you. “Yeah, I wanted us to be able to have our own little celebration—if you want.”

     You beamed at her, nodding. Angela grabbed your hand and you let her lead you to the blankets in front of you. You sat down and Angela joined you, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

     From here you could see everyone down below. You felt like you were in a separate world, observing everything from a distance.

     You leaned your head on Angela’s shoulder and watched the firework show, still bright and spectacular as ever. 

     This was perfect, you thought. The evening alone with Angela that you had been wanting.

     You brought your lips to hers. “Thank you, this is amazing.”

     “Anything for my little bunny on a toilet. Besides, I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all night.”

     You felt yourself blushing as she echoed your thoughts. “Yeah?”

     “Yeah.” She brought her lips to your neck. Your ear. Your jawline. And finally your lips.

     She pulled away and grinned at you, her voice rough. “You’re really sexy when you’re flustered.”

     “How do you know I’m flustered?” You shot back, but your voice betrayed you. 

     “Because I’m flustered,” she started. “So I can only imagine what you’re feeling.”

     You scoffed but you nestled closer to her and she wrapped her arm even tighter around you. 

     “Happy fourth,” you whispered.

     “Happy fourth,” Angela said back.

     And then you were silenced by a particularly loud firework, the explosion lighting up the sky and illuminating Angela’s face next to you. 

      You could have asked for a better celebration, you thought, as you leaned in to kiss her once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this darlings!! always love writing for angela 🎀

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Today I Do: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: Emily's past is coming at her like a freight train with no signs of slowing down, and it's getting harder to keep it from the team. You're getting suspicious not only for her but about your own troubles. Someone is trying to make it known that they're watching you.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Turns out, the way that the unsub is finding her victims is through a hospital. Syracuse General. More specifically, Finley Center for Eating Disorders at Syracuse General. Molly was treated there a year ago for malnutrition because she wasn't eating, and Gail was treated for depression there. Both families released their medical records once they realized that's the connection between the two victims.

Once everyone is back inside the conference room, you call Pen and put her on speakerphone.

"Pen, both families released their daughters' medical records. Have you gotten access to those yet?"

"Yes. Both women went to the same hospital but for different programs and at different times."

"What if the unsub works at the hospital?" you say.

"Even if she conned her way into a job, I doubt she'd last long enough to get close to patient files."

"We were off on our profile, then. She doesn't find her victims by chance like we thought. She hunts them," Spencer says. "Garcia, does Syracuse General keep their surveillance footage of the entrances and exits?"

"In this age of black market pharmaceutical drug trade, you betcha. I can get you that."

Emily's phone rings and she steps out of the room to take the call. You keep one eye on her while the other is focused on the job. Even through glass walls and a door, you can feel the panic roll off Emily. She looks around to see if anyone is looking at you and catches your eye on her. She turns and finishes the conversation before coming back to the conference room, trying to hide how shaken up she is.

Penelope pulls up surveillance footage of the hospital and connects it to a screen in the conference room.

"Now, Molly and Gail had different doctors, but both went to Syracuse General pharmacy. Assuming they were stalked ten to fourteen weeks before their disappearance, I went ahead and started with footage from when they went to get refills, which falls right into that time window." The video plays and you can see Gail walking out of the place with another woman a few steps behind her. "Behold, Gail Langston, July 3rd. See that woman a few steps behind her with the large cup of coffee? Check this out." The video fast-forwards to another time Gail was there. The same woman is following behind her. "A few weeks later, there she is again. The same woman is following her. Creepy."

"She's wearing the same scarf as Gail," Ashley points out.

"Garcia, did this woman follow a similar pattern when she was stalking Molly?" Emily asks.

"Emily, you're totally ruining the ending." She shows the time Molly went there with the same woman following her. "Here's Molly and the stalker on November 8th."

"What do you know? She went shopping. They're carrying identical purses."

The video fast-forwards some more to show them leaving together but they're talking. "Then fifteen minutes later on their way out."

"So, she stalks them, copies them, and uses it to strike up a conversation."

"Here is a nice clean one of our stalker lady person."

Penelope puts her picture on the screen of her going into the pharmacy.

"Can you blow that up and print it?"

"Yeah. I'm doing it as we speak."

Once the picture was printed and sent over, Hotch got it out to news reporters as well as gave it to the Syracuse police department. Gail and Molly's families were shown the picture but no such luck there.

"Gail's family says they've never seen her before. Molly's father said the same thing. I sent the picture to Lyle's lawyer, but he says he can't find him," Derek says.

"His roommates haven't seen him since he left here yesterday," Chief Barrows says.

"Where is his car?"

"Also missing.

"Put out an APB for Lyle Donaldson and the vehicle."

He does, and a hit comes in almost immediately.

"Someone said they found Lyle's car in the same parking lot where Molly and Gail's cars were found," Barrows says twenty minutes later.

"She's got him, too. She's too obsessed with power and control to work with anyone, especially somebody like Lyle. He's dominating and violent, just like her. If anything, she sees him as a threat."

"Why take him now with all this heat?" Rossi asks.

"She's not done with Molly yet." You get Penelope on the phone again. "Pen, Dr. Weingold at Syracuse General sent us an extensive list of female patients in their mid-twenties that match our profile. She's most likely local and raised by a single parent or in foster care."

"Okay, I'm narrowing it down."

"This unsub likes familiar places. Look for extended family or previous addresses. Did any of them grow up near Onondaga Lake?" Derek asks.

"Okay, wait. Here's one that might fit. Jane Gould. Her grandparents had a house near Maple Bay, which is where Gail's body was found."

"Are they still alive?"

"No. They died when Jane was in middle school."

"Is the grandparents' house currently occupied?"

"Yes. Water and power are all paid up."

"That's the one place she got attention from a parental figure. She feels at home and in charge there," you say.

"I'll send you an address. I'm calling up her photo right now. Hold on. Oh, lord. Oh, lord. This is her. This is the creepy stalker woman from the surveillance video."

You, Spencer, Emily, and Derek hop into one car and start the drive to Jane's grandparents' house. Hotch, Rossi, and Ashley hung back at the police station but they are on the phone through the Bluetooth speaker in the car.

"So Dr. Weingold opened Jane's files. She can't release details, but she said there honestly aren't many. Jane never admitted to being a cutter, let alone what triggered it. She started acting out after she lost her grandparents."

"She was arrested for vandalism and was removed from two foster homes for destruction of property. Desperate attempts to get attention."

"Is that why she started cutting, another cry for help?" Emily asks.

"Cutting is about control, similar to anorexia. It's common for teenage girls who feel like they have no control over their lives," Ashley informs. "Her grandparents' deaths were probably the trigger. The loss of parental figures at such a young age turns your world upside down. There's a lot of pain, but no outlet. No one's in charge."

"I bet both Molly and Gail can relate to that. Jane used them to convince herself that she was important," you say.

"More than that, she thinks she's a selfless savior instead of an orphan that no one claimed."

The only thing surrounding you are trees but you feel something tugging at you. An invisible force. Panic and fear. Molly. She's out here and she's scared. Either Jane got to her or she is running for her life. Either way, you have to get to her fast. Derek gets to the house and everyone rushes inside, but you stay outside. Spencer is about to follow when he notices you are still by the car.

"What's wrong?"

"She's not in there. Molly isn't either. They both left."

You can see it through their energies. Two blue. One terrified. The other angry. Both of them shooting out from the house in the direction of Onondaga Lake. The only thing they find inside the house is Lyle who is dead, but he's still warm which means Jane must have killed him not that long ago.

"He's not cold yet, so we may have just missed her," Derek says.

"After a confrontation like that, she'll want to go someplace familiar, someplace she feels in control. Onondaga Lake. She's there right now. Let Hotch know."

Onondaga Lake is two minutes from the house so you will have time to get to Molly and Jane before Jane kills her. Derek pulls up on the bridge, and you see Jane holding a knocked-out Molly in her arms like a baby with a screwdriver to her chest.

"Keep her busy," you say before running off.

You make sure you're not seen by Jane even though she isn't paying attention to her surroundings.

"Jane Gould! FBI! Let her go! Move away from the girl and get your hands above your head," Emily shouts at her from the bridge.

"She'll drown if I let go!"

"No, she won't. Move away now!"

You try to quiet your steps until you're at the water's edge. You move quickly knowing Jane will hear you wading through the water. You stop right behind her and put your gun to the back of her head.

"Stop right there." She jumps at your presence. "Drop the screwdriver and let her go."

Molly opens her eyes and she flails out of Jane's arms before swimming away as best as she can with a broken leg. You grab Jane and pull her to the water's edge where two officers are waiting to take her. You toss your gun onto the ground so it won't get wet before swimming out to Molly who is struggling to put her head above water.

"Hey, you're okay now. Come on, I got you. You're safe now."

Molly accepts your help in bringing her to the water's edge where Derek is. He helps bring Molly to the ambulance where her father is waiting.

"Dad," she cries.

"Oh, baby. There are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want you to know. I love you so much."

"You have to understand! All I wanted to do was help her!" Jane shouts from the police car.

Having a private jet means you don't have to go through customs and wait in the long lines at the airport but by the time you were ready to head home, the jet still needed to refuel. Instead of killing time somewhere else, you decide to kill time at one of the airport bars. You haven't touched your drink since the bartender gave it to you twenty minutes ago since you're too busy thinking about Emily and Lauren.

Who is she? Why is Emily being so secretive? Why is Emily so scared? Who is she so scared of? You look up at the mirror that's behind the bar when you feel eyes on you. It's normal to feel eyes on you at the airport, but you feel a certain level of uneasiness from this set of eyes.

You turn to scan the open room but you don't see anything out of place. No one is looking at you. No one has any interest in the lone woman at the bar. Spencer is in the bathroom, Emily and Derek are getting some snacks, Hotch and Rossi are already on the jet, and Ash is looking for a souvenir to bring back to her niece.

Still, you feel eyes on you.

You turn back around and grab your drink but pause before your lips can touch the rim of the glass. Something is telling you not to drink it. The same voice that told you to follow Spencer right before he was taken by Tobias Hankel. You sniff the alcohol but nothing is out of the ordinary.

You get up and walk over to one of the small plants in the corner of the bar and pour the contents into the base of the plant. You know you shouldn't do this but you need to see something. Almost immediately, the plant shrivels up and turns brown.

Your drink was roofied even before the bartender made your drink. Your drink was never left alone from the time it was set on the counter to the time you picked it up. The bartender looks up when he sees you approach him, and he slaps his towel over his shoulder. Nothing about the bartender suggests he is the one who poisoned your drink so you don't want to accuse him of anything.

"Another refill?"

"Can I see the bottle you used to make my drink?" He looks unsure of your request so you slap more than enough money down onto the bar counter. "I'd like to buy that bottle."

"You got it. Here."

You grab the bottle and walk to another plant. You pour some of the alcohol into the base of the plant, and the same thing happens. The bottle was poisoned.

"Who do you buy your bottles from?" you ask the bartender.

"The airport, I guess," he shrugs. "I just work here."

"Double check to make sure everything you're getting is sealed tightly. If I had drank this, I would have been dead."

"Y/N." You look to the right and see Spencer with both yours and his bags. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

You throw the bottle away and decide to keep this to yourself. You've been feeling like something hasn't been right for weeks. There is nothing out of place and no one who is suspicious. Why worry Spencer when he can't do anything about it?

You grab Spencer's hand and walk with him to catch up with the rest of the team, and you take one more look over your shoulder.

No one is there.

"There's no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul." - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

x

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[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Fourth of July

Description: You & the team go see the fireworks for the fourth of July, you have a trauma response to the loud noise.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: PTSD, blood mention

A/N: Repost :)

“What are the odds that this is the second holiday in a row that a case hasn’t come in?” Rossi mused excitedly.  

The entire team was huddled in a circle in the bullpen, waiting for Emily to finish up some last minute paperwork before heading out as a group for the night. 

Spencer’s finger shot up in the air. “Statistically speaking–”

“Nope,” Rossi cut him off sharply. “It was a rhetorical question, genius.”

Spencer’s mouth fell shut, but a smile lingered on his lips.  

You felt Luke shift from behind you, where you leaned between his legs as he sat perched on his own desk. “No, c’mon,” he chuckled. “I wanna know the statistics!”  

You shook your head, rolling your eyes playfully. Your boyfriend was always so interested in whatever random facts Spencer was spewing out.

Reid raised his eyebrows at Rossi, as if to say, see? I told you I was interesting, but before he could actually finish his tidbit, Emily walked out of her office with all her things gathered in her hand. 

“Who’s ready for some fireworks?” she asked excitedly. 

Everyone but you cheered. 

Ever since you’d gotten back from your tour in Iraq, you’d been uneasy around loud noises. It was nothing you weren’t aware of, and certainly nothing out of the ordinary for someone who had seen combat. But it also wasn’t something that you’d told Luke about yet. You planned to, of course, just like you planned on sharing practically everything with him… eventually. But Iraq wasn’t something you could ever talk about with ease, and you knew that disclosing your fears would involve a conversation about why you had them in the first place. 

That’s why you found yourself agreeing to join the rest of the team’s Fourth of July plans when Garcia had invited you and Luke earlier that week. 

“Sounds fun,” you had lied straight through your teeth. You’d been dreading it ever since. 

But Luke would be there. His safe arms would no doubt be wrapped around you, much like they were now. And you planned on funneling all your energy into focusing on the way that felt, rather than the chaos and noise around you. 

The team planned on watching the fireworks on the riverbend downtown. They’d be set off across the water, giving you all a perfect view. Garcia promised greasy food from vendors and other sweet treats throughout the night. You kept trying to convince yourself that it wouldn’t all be bad. You just had to concentrate on not flinching everytime a firework popped off.  

You rode with Luke, your fingers laced together and resting on the center console as he navigated through traffic. The rest of the team would meet you guys there. You thought you were doing a fair job at concealing your anxiety as you made small talk with him during the short ride. He showed no inclination of knowing about the knots tying themselves tighter and tighter inside your stomach. 

There were a lot more people at the river than you’d originally anticipated. But Luke easily managed to find a parking spot, and the two of you waited by the trunk of his car until the rest of the team arrived.  

Emily, Tara, Garcia Spencer, and Rossi all rode together. They were the first to find a spot right next to yours and join the two of you. Next, JJ and Will filed in, with no kids for the evening. Lastly, Matt and Kristy arrived, hand in hand with matching smiles on their faces.  

You were like a big, giant, extended family weaving your way through the crowd of people. There were vendors and food trucks lines along the riverbend. Kids ran around with sticks of cotton candy and sparklers. 

You found a spot amidst the crowd to lay down the blanket. It almost felt like a picnic when you all sat down. You sat in front of Luke, a foot or so away, rummaging through your bag for your phone. You let out a gasp when you felt his hands grip your hips and pull you backwards, between his legs, your back against his chest.  

He leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek. You smiled into his touch, appreciating how safe and secure you always felt in his arms. If you could stay like this all night, you just might be okay. 

The sun started to set across the riverbed, leaving in its wake a brilliantly pink and purple sky. For a while, you just stayed like that, Luke’s arms coiled around you, your head leaned back and resting on his chest, watching the violet hues from the sunset fade into darkness. 

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in Virginia all this time and have never seen the fireworks here,” Garcia gawked at Spencer. He was sitting on the blanket, his arms behind him as he leaned back.   

“I’m not a big fireworks guy,” Spencer shrugged. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“Well you’ve been going to the wrong fireworks shows then, because this is going to blow your freakishly smart mind,” Garcia promised. 

Luke shifted behind you, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Where can I get one of those?” Luke asked, intrigued as he sees a small boy run by with a cone of chocolate ice cream. 

“Ice cream truck’s this way,” Garcia grinned, pointing her finger to the array of food trucks parked about 50 yards away. “Follow me.”

You instantly felt the absence of Luke’s arms when he stood up. It left you cold and shivering. 

“Want anything, baby?” he asked, looking down at you.  

You shook your head apprehensively. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You smiled up at him. You weren’t sure if it was to reassure him or yourself that you’d be okay while he was gone. 

The air was brisk and Luke still wasn’t back when the first firework went off. 

You saw it shoot up into the air, a vibrant white streak of color contrasting with the night sky, before it actually popped. But no amount of planning could have prepared you for the sound. It was deafening and loud and it made your entire body go rigid with fear.  

You looked around and you could see that you weren’t in Iraq. So why did the night air feel so hot and dry? Why did the soft blanket beneath your legs suddenly feel coarse and sandy? 

You had zoned out enough to not be ready for the second firework to pop off. When it did, the sound made you jump. And instantly, you were transported back to the desert. In your mind you could see, clear as day, the rest of your squad ducking behind the army truck beside you. You’ve got your gun clutched to your chest while bullets whizzed all around you, making it hard to concentrate. The loud sound of gunfire ringing in your ears was all consuming.  You didn’t recognize the man crouched next to you. You barely even noticed him until his scream interrupted the steady sound of gunfire. When you looked over, his hand was pressed against his stomach, his eyes looking down at the fresh bullet hole in his abdomen. The diameter of blood on his uniform expanded rapidly. 

“No, no, no–” you gasped, throwing your gun down to help him apply pressure to the wound. Your hands were shaking so violently, you could barely trust them to help, but you had to try. 

“P-please,” his words were clouded by the blood that was spilling out from his mouth. “Please help me.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” you told him, your voice wavering.  

He let out a choppy exhale, blood spraying out of his lips. It was like you both knew it wasn’t true. 

Someone was yelling your name, it sounds like your Lieutenant. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man beneath you. You were scared that the second you looked away, he’d be gone. 

You heard your name again, but this time, it sounded closer, and the voice is softer– more familiar. It was accompanied by a hand shaking your shoulder. 

When you turned your head, hopeful that someone was finally here to help, you were surprised to see Spencer’s face gazing back at you. You blinked harshly and when you opened your eyes again, the sand was gone.  

There was no man bleeding in your lap, no gunfire, no war.  

Just Spencer’s worried gaze. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone else.  

Your heart was racing, so much so that you think if you looked down, you could see it beating underneath your own skin. There was adrenaline and fear rushing through your veins. But instead of telling him the truth, you just nodded.  

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, your mouth dry. “I ju-just, I don’t feel good.” 

It was a bad excuse, and one that Spencer clearly didn’t buy. But you needed a reason to get out of there. So, confused, dazed, and panicked, you stood up from the blanket and hurried off in the direction you thought was safety. 

…

Luke made his way back to the blanket, laughing at something Garcia had said. 

“Keep it up with all this ice cream and soon enough you won't be able to chase criminals.”

He faked being offended. 

But when he made his way back to the rest of the team, he was startled to see that you weren’t there. Before Luke could ask, Spencer was standing up and walking towards him and Garcia. 

“Hey,” he said discreetly. “Y/N took off, like- just a few minutes ago. I asked if she was okay, but she just said she didn’t feel good. I don’t know- she didn’t look okay,” he admitted.  

“Was she sick?” Luke asked, instantly worried. 

Spencer shrugged, “She looked out of it- really spooked. I tried to keep my eye on her, but I lost her in the crowd.”  

Reid pointed towards the massive gathering of people. “It looked like she was heading towards the cars,” he told Luke. 

Without hesitating, Luke just nodded, handing his ice cream to a concerned-looking Garcia, before spinning on his feet and following in the direction that Reid was pointing.  

He pushed against the crowd of people, keeping his eyes peeled only for you.  Only when he got to the parking lot did Luke’s shoulders relax even the slightest. From across the lot, he saw his truck, and a small figure leaning over near it that could only be you. 

Luke exhaled, relieved that he at least was able to find you, before walking closer. 

As he approached, he quickly realized that something was wrong. You were doubled over, your hands resting on your knees. At first, Luke thought you were getting sick, but as he got closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of your muffled cries. 

That made him pick up his pace. 

“Hey-” he said. “What’re you doing over here?” But there was no indication that you even heard him. Instead, you let out a shaky sob and stumbled on your feet. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hurried over, reaching out to steady you. 

As soon as his hand landed on your hip you whipped around, standing up straight while your entire body flinched at the contact. The sharp gesture caused Luke to pull away, momentarily shocked. 

But when he saw your face, eyes red rimmed and tears streaming down your face, his chest tightened. As a veteran, he’d seen this kind of dazed and panicked look before. He just had no idea he’d ever see it from you. 

“L-Luke?” you said, like you couldn’t quite believe it was him. 

He cautiously nodded, not wanting to make any more sudden movements that would startle you. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me.”

The affirmation was all you needed to rush over to him. At first he was rigid when you collided with his chest, your arms wrapping around his back craving the safety of his embrace.  

He placed a gentle hand on your back, and once he realized you weren’t going to flinch again, he wound his arms all the way around you tightly. 

For a while, neither one of you said anything. You clung to him like your life depended on it and Luke just held you reassuringly, knowing that was exactly what you needed. 

It wasn’t until he heard you mumble something into his chest that he even considered letting go. 

“What?” he asked, leaning back so that he could look down at you.  

“He bled out-” you repeated. “Right in my lap.”

Luke didn’t have to ask you for clarification. And even though he knew very little about your time in Iraq, he understood. “Was it the fireworks?” he asked gently, rubbing his hands up and down your shivering arms. 

You nodded slowly, still not meeting his gaze. 

“Loud noises in general trigger it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked sympathetically. He felt so guilty for encouraging you to attend such a loud event. Had he had any idea loud noises were a trigger for you, he would have insisted you spend the Fourth of July curled up on the couch with takeout instead. 

You rubbed your wet eyes with the palms of your hands, unable to imagine how pathetic you looked to Luke right now. “I-I have a hard time talking about it.”

Luke nodded, urging you to continue. 

“I have a hard time talking about Iraq, so I-I didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Oh baby,” he sighed. He pulled you into his chest once again, this time his chin resting on top of your head comfortingly. You were consumed entirely by his embrace, and the shaking that had been wracking your entire body was finally starting to ease. 

“I thought I’d be okay,” you admitted into his chest. “But as soon as you left it just was too much.”

You heard Luke sigh into your hair before pulling back. He held you out in front of him, his two arms placed securely on your arms. His brown eyes stared captivatingly into yours. “You can always tell me these things, okay?” he insisted.  “I want you to, because I understand.  I don’t like loud noises either. I’ve been dreading this all week. I only agreed to come because I thought you’d want to.”

It felt like a relief to finally let out a light chuckle. “Are you serious?” you asked him in disbelief. 

He nodded, returning the smile. 

“So you would’ve been happy just staying home tonight?”

“I would’ve preferred it,” he said through a chuckle. 

You scoffed. “Well that would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment.”

“Next year, yeah?”

You nodded, once again falling into his arms, this time with much greater ease. You were amazed at how quickly he was able to calm you down. 

“I feel safer when you’re around,” you admitted. 

You felt his arms tighten around you before he said, “Well lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

[nicotinepigeon-911]

Hey! I made a little bit more in depth timeline (with dates*) of Spencer's addiction that what I usually see, as it helps my brain. (I typically use it for fanfiction purposes but whatever floats your boat I spose.)

*All dates are based off the day each episode aired, so take it with a grain of salt, they're admittedly a lil wonky but it works for my brain!

The outline for this comes from S3, E16, Elephant's Memory. Spencer is shown to attend a NA meeting for law enforcement officers, where he states that he has been clean for ten (10) months. Since that specific ep aired in April, we'll assume that ten months before April is when Spencer finally got clean.

This would put Spencer's sobriety date sometime in 2007, about mid June to early July, however you want to think of it!

S2 E14, 02/04: The team gets called into Georgia for the case, and at the very end of the episode, Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel.

There are multiple points between February and that mid June/July date where Spencer could have quit for a time before relapsing, or perhaps Spencer kept using Diliudid and simply didn't get clean for around four, five months. We really don't know.

So! With that, here's the timeline!

Season 2, February 2007:

S2 E15, 02/07: Spencer's held for a little over two days, marking the start of Spencer's drug addiction.

S2 E16, 02/14: On their next case, Spencer is very obviously still struggling to deal with the after math of being kidnapped. In this ep we see Spencer holding two vials of Dilaudid (whether these are new vials or the same ones from Tobias is up to you) while locked in bathroom. We don't see him use on screen but its assumed he does at some point.

S2 E17, 02/21: Spencer's a little bit rude to everyone throughout this storyline, however Emily catches the brunt of it in this ep.

S2 E18, 02/28: Spencer purposefully misses a flight while on a case in New Orleans, and meets with one of his old classmates, who points out Reid's drug addiction (though not directly).

Spencer also talks with Gideon in this ep, saying he's quote "struggling" but that he will try to do better.

S2 E20, 04/11: Essentially, this is where the storyline is officially dropped for the time being. There's no mention of it until S3 E16, and Spencer seems to act relatively normal from here on.

S2 E19, 03/21: Spencer seems a lot more stable in this ep, however he does compare the unsub (who's an arsonist) to a drug addict saying quote, "It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help," and then looks directly at Gideon so make of that what you will (considering the last conversation we see between them is Spence admitting he's having a hard time)

There's just shy of a month between episodes here, and can be one of the places where Spence got clean and then relapsed shortly afterwards.

S2E23, 05/16: This is the season finale for S2.

June/July 2007: Spencer is officially clean

S3 E1, 09/26: Season Three premieres

S3 E12, 01/09/08: This is the episode where the high school kid is shot in front of Spencer by the victim's (Lindsay Vaughn) father. And is the reason Spencer starts craving Dilaudid.

S3 E16, 04/11: Spencer goes to the law enforcement NA group where he states he's been clean for ten months.

Since the S2 ends before our designated months of Spencer quitting, we don't see how Spencer acted when he finally quit Dilaudid. Which is why, imo, its up in the air whether or not Spencer got better at hiding his substance abuse in later eps and cleaned up sometime in June/July, or got clean one, two, however many times before relapsing multiple times and finally stopping in June/July.

Hope someone besides myself can find this useful lol.

*all dates are based off the day each episode aired, so take it with a grain of salt, they're admittedly a lil wonky but it works for my brain!

[myvicesvengeance]

So, Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross were still talking to each other from 2010 to 2012.

I've been going back and forth on posting this on tumblr of all places, but fuck it, we need to talk about Brendon and Ryan's actual twitter interactions from 2010 to 2012. AKA: My Christmas Present to you all.

So, there was a blog (that I don't think is running anymore) from the late-2010s and I remember them saying in passing that Brendon and Ryan's friendship "fractured around 2010". This was a big blog for Ryan content at the time, and I am not the only person who has had some issues with how this blog has... Delivered information.

And I'm not linking the post they said it in, because the post in general doesn't matter in this context and it's still a decent post on the topic they were talking about regardless, but that sentence really did annoy me.

Because I became a fan of PATD in 2011, and... Saying their friendship "fractured around 2010" is just not true. After about a year of not interacting on twitter (due to PATD recording Vices & Virtues, TYV promoting Take A Vacation! and then touring, and both bands being annoyed at each other for a few months), August 2010 was when Ryan and Brendon would start interacting on twitter again and also in person...

First sign of contact: 27th August 2010 "Small world" - Shane (a seemingly candid picture also taken by Shane Valdez)

Then this happened on 26th October 2010.

(cite 1 and cite 2)

November 2010, the Uries adopted Penny Lane in January 2010. This must've been her actual birthday. Ryan obviously thought she was cute.

Brendon replied with this.

And Ryan replied with this.

I think both were a little bit high.

A conversation that happened on 26th-27th May 2011 (like, damn, dude it's such a "fractured" friendship)

Brendon tweeting on Ryan's Birthday in 2011, and Ryan replying to the post.

In January 2012, Brendon said he hadn't talked to Ryan and Jon in about two months in the Definitely Funny interview. Well, that seemed to have changed by February.

Then there was this little thread from 2012 (ft. Jon). This was coming to around the end of Vices & Virtues tour before they would go to record Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!, so it makes sense that Brendon would start using his Twitter more. Also, I love that he tagged Dan in this as well.

This conversation:

On August 19th Spencer, Brendon, Shane, Sarah, and Linda went to the Breaking Bad Art Gallery. I think this was Shane posting about it, and Ryan saying he was willing to join since he was just across the street at the time. I didn't see any photos of Ryan if he managed to make it there on time though.

The Shane (Brendon's ex-roommate, and now ex-best friend) and Ryan interactions are actually quite interesting, because it gives us an indication when Brendon, Shane, and Ryan started talking to each other again. Shane's twitter's private now (so I'm not always able to supply context), but we can see that Ryan commented on Shane's post on Twitter 21st March 2010. First time he would've replied to Shane's posts since July 2009.

Brendon retweeting Ryan's tweets. Twice.

All of this stuff is still up on twitter. They aren't hard to find.

Just know, this is why I find it hilarious but also annoying whenever certain fans say in a serious tone (not in a joking or a shitposting way) that Ryan and Brendon's friendship was "fractured" or that "they hated each other", as if they parted ways after 2009 and never spoke to each other again until they bumped into each other at the 2015 Halloween Party.

Because that's very clearly not what happened.

They were both talking to each other in late-2010. In fact, it seemed like Ryan and Brendon were making the most effort out of everyone in the pre-split band to remain in contact. It's not like it was some kind of secret either. Brendon was talking about it in interviews as well.

Are you still friends with Ryan Ross and Jon Walker? I'm definitely glad to say that, yes, we are still friends. I talked to Ryan a couple days ago. We live close to each other and we've hung out a few times — gone to dinner, grabbed some drinks. We told each other we'd get together again soon. - SPIN (this question was asked in late January 2011)

And this quote is very much in line with everything to do with the tweets.

This post isn't a "Fuck you, for misleading fans" kind of post to that blog, but a "this is a mistake anyone can make" kind of post (which is why I also haven't tagged them or their post), especially when this fandom has been playing a collective game of telephone since 2011, and people in this fandom just have a habit of either never citing their sources about what the band has said, or a habit of making shit up about Brendon since 2005! It also just doesn't help when people take any sign of friendship between these two guys, and turn it into a relationship for entertainment purposes or conspiracy theory BS. I understand why stuff like this happens!

But please check your facts before you say something like their friendship "fractured around 2010" so confidently.

Especially, when - as we can see from 2010-2012 - Ryan and Brendon seemed to be the the only two members from PATD and TYV to actually make something of an effort to meet up and talk to each other. Spencer and Jon? Not really. We might have had the odd mention, but Brendon was always the one talking to Ryan, meeting up with Ryan, and they lived relatively close by to each other!

Because if you actually talk to any Ryden shippers (or people who even just loved their dynamic) from around 2010-2012, people will tell you that no one theorised about whether Brendon's valley girl voice during 'Nearly Witches' was an impression of Ryan at that time. In fact, most were talking about how great it was that they were talking and meeting up!

I know that people were making a big deal out of Brendon not following Ryan back at the time, and that they still do now, but does it really matter when the two were still talking and interacting with each other? I guess no one will ever be happy.

I'm not saying that Ryan and Brendon were besties around this time, but I'm also not saying that people who hate each other don't tend to meet up for drinks and talk to each over like twitter mutuals.

[srslyscary]

┊┊. PROFILE !

⟿ BASIC ?!

STAGE NAME: rae (래)

BIRTH NAME: raelene kwon

KOREAN NAME: kwon miri (권미리)

NICKNAMES: raerae, raeli, riri

BIRTHPLACE: new york city, new york

NATIONALITY: american

ETHNICITY: korean-american

BIRTHDAY: september 13, 1997

ZODIAC: virgo

LANGUAGES: english (native), korean (fluent), japanese (conversational), french (conversational)

FAMILY: mom, dad, younger brother, older brother

⟿ PHYSICAL ?!

FACE CLAIM: dayeon (kep1er)

RAP CLAIM: yezi (soloist), soyeon (g-idle)

VOICE CLAIM: chaehyun (kep1er)

DANCE CLAIM: hyoyeon (soloist)

HEIGHT: 176.26cm (5’9)

WEIGHT: 141.8 lbs

BLOOD TYPE: B+

BODY MODIFICATIONS: 2 tattoos

⟿ PERSONALITY ?!

MBTI: INFP

MBTI TYPE: The INFP personality type is introverted, intuitive, feeling, and prospecting. they are known to be extremely sentimental and nostalgic, often holding onto special keepsakes and memorabilia that brighten their days and fill their heart with joy.

POSITIVE TRAITS: humorous, generous, open-minded, kind, affectionate

NEGATIVE TRAITS: withdrawn, self-isolating, unfocused

⟿ CAREER ?!

OCCUPATION: singer, rapper, dancer, lyricist, producer

POSITIONS IN ATEEZ: vocalist, performer, rapper

DEBUT: october 24, 2018 (korea) december 4, 2019 (japan)

ACTIVE: 2018 - present

AGENCY: yg (2011-2017) kq (2017-present)

INSTAGRAM: @th3ywonder._

REPRESENTATIVE EMOJI: 🦝

FAN NAME: miri-gijeog (미리 기적)

ANITEEZ: a racoon named RAELIgog

⟿ EXTRAS ?!

> she is the oldest out of all the ateez members

> rae was the 9th member to join kq entertainment

> she has a younger brother (kwon yejun / spencer, May 6 2000) and an older brother (kwon jungwoo / nathan, July 10 1994)

> her nicknames given by members: tinky, ri-ah, kwonmi

> she is a former yg trainee

> rae’s hobbies are listening to music and sleeping

> her favorite movies are The Happytime Murders and Spy, and her favorite actor is Melissa McCarthy

> she has a st. bernard dog named dzuwa (pronounced ‘zoo-wa’)

> her favorite colors are blue and gray

> rae is actually an ambivert. she’s very extroverted around the members, but introverted when she’s not with them. she used to be VERY introverted while she was warming up to the members during their pre-debut days

> her role model is Moonbyul

> her favorite artists are T.I, BAEKHYUN, SHINee, and Rain

> rae’s microphone color is green because she finds emeralds pretty

> during her yg trainee days, she was training to become a producer instead of an idol. when she switched to kq, the ceo gave her an option to wait a while longer to debut, or get in the final lineup with “kq fellaz” and ultimately decided to become an idol.

> rae auditioned for MIXNINE but didn’t pass

> she has two tattoos: a spider on her left arm, and one on her neck saying ‘belle âme’ (meaning ‘beautiful soul’)

> she is friends with THE BOYZ’ Eric, and BIBI

> rae admits that if she wasn’t put into ateez at the last second, she wouldn’t have debuted at all

> rae has a unique new york accent

> she hates when they have missions on camera and the boys try to mess hers up because she will either be very pissed off and do the best she can not to cry or scream.

> rae’s motto is “push yourself to be great, not good”

[micharedmc]

Molly Jericho Background Lore Final Part.

Molly Jericho was born in Paxos, Greece, on July 5th 1979. Her parents were Mr. Lysander Jericho and Mrs. Xanthi Jericho, two Greek citizens who were also born in Paxos. She was the 4th child of the family after 3 older siblings, (in order: Ophelia, Dorian and Alexios) only one of which loved her and the other two had personalities reflecting their parents. Her parents, unknowingly to her and their 3rd child (her older brother, Alexios, that had to take care of her in the face of the abuse and neglect of their older siblings and parents) secretly began working as scientists/agents of the Umbrella Corporation in 1971, 3 years after its creation, and worked in their country up until 1988 when they moved to Racoon City. They did not earn much in Umbrella due to their work which was considered unsatisfactory. Every failure was punished by cancelling their projects, lowering their salary, yet they still later decided to have two more kids (Sophia and Phoenix) after Molly when she turned 14 and 15. In a report later found by Molly whilst infiltrating an Umbrella lab base, she found out her parents only had so many kids because they intended to use them as test subjects. They never actually wanted kids to love or care for, hence the neglect and abuse. Molly was second in the top three candidates out of the 6 children because 'her genes gave her a birthmark on the left cheek and two odd eyes, something rarely seen in humans and whilst still rare, is more common in animals such as dogs and cats. She is either flawed or perfect for testing on.'

Mr./Dr. Lysander Jericho.

Mrs/Dr. Xanthi Jericho.

Molly joined S.T.A.R.S with her Bachelor Degrees in Medicine and Surgery and became an Officer and Medic for the team, only learning to fight in sparring with her fellow officers. She spent a lot of time in the shooting range on break, not wanting to be behind on any skills in comparison to her fellow officers like Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Barry Burton, Joseph Frost and Brad Vickers. Her lack of combat experience made Molly feel self-conscious. It didn't matter that she was the youngest officer there and therefore obviously would lack experience, in her head she just felt she was lagging behind. Barry was an encouraging figure for her, alongside their Captain, Albert Wesker (who was encouraging in his own stoic way, of course). Molly soaked up any praise from the older officers and gained some confidence enough to where she was able to talk more to Chris and Jill and gain a semblance of friendship (which only truly improved after the events of The Spencer Mansion events). She found it a bit difficult to get on with Joseph and Brad, not having much in common, but thought of them as decent people she could work alongside with without any problems. Occasionally, a mysterious woman would appear in the S.T.A.R.S Office and visit the Captain for a few hours before leaving. Eventally everyone found out Captain Wesker was married and that the woman was his wife, a virologist who 'worked on preventing dangerous diseases from causing harm to the human race'. As a medic, Molly found this very admirable and would strike up conversation with this woman, Ivory, on her visits. Believing her to be a friend, she idolised Ivory and even spent some time hanging out with her outside of the office. After a while, Ivory mentioned a trip to Greece for her job, something which made Molly perk up as 'hey, the area you're going to is near where I was born!' But Ivory suddenly got very cagey and disappeared sometime without a goodbye. After the Spencer Mansion's events (and a small admission from Wesker before he got temporarily clapped lol), Molly felt betrayed by both, having learned of their deceit. She swore to herself from then on that she'd stop Umbrella at any cost.

Molly's parents and her oldest siblings, Ophelia and Dorian, disappeared entirely when she turned 21. Due to not having gotten along with them (and hating them for their abuse and neglect) she never cared to find out why and only ensured her younger siblings, Sophia and Phoenix, were safely in Alexios' care. Alexios moved out of Raccoon City to New York to ensure they too didn't disappear. Molly only finds out accidentally that her parents and siblings were taken to become Dr. Ivory Belladonna-Wesker's test subjects whilst on a private mission infiltrating an Umbrella facility in 2004. Despite the fact that she hated her parents and siblings, she knew that if Ivory had the chance, she and her remaining siblings would be snatched up and used as test subjects as well, so she decided that, scary as it would be, she was gonna make herself the biggest thorn in Ivory's side. Their rivalry begins.

That's her background out :3 Gonna have to start on Ivory's draft later, she has no proper background lore despite the fact I made her first lmao

[zalrb]

PLL 2x14 Review - As Per Anon Request

I'm seeing a lot of Ezra in the recap. Is this the episode? Is it finally the episode?

I like how Spencer had to say "It's a set of latitude, longitude coordinates" and not just "coordinates".

Why is that skipping rope sequence like the creepy sequence from Nightmare on Elm Street

this bickering is way too performed, even for their mediocre to bad acting, it's probably some sort of setup they're doing or something.

"He still sounds angry when he talks to me." LMAO Hanna, you outted him cheating to his soon-to-be-wife. Her lack of self-awareness is HILARIOUS. She experiences no consequences.

There are always episodes where I feel like I've missed an episode before it. Also, is there a reason why they couldn't have had this conversation over the phone? Like you have a cell phone, Aria.

"You two make an interesting couple." LOL Troian's delivery.

"It was never a secret, it was private." Despite looking like a desperate housewife, Jenna is a MINOR and you are a whole ass grown ass man who is a police officer.

"Nobody starts out wanting to hurt anybody." I don't know, Alison sure seems like she did. or DOES. because she's ALIVE.

Aww, he built her a rocking chair ... why did Toby build her a rocking chair?

"A took the bait!" the bait that was so obviously bait?

Is there a reason Hanna's quasi hacker boyfriend can't try and trace A's number? Did he try already and I just forgot?

Did Caleb leave? Why don't I remember any of these plot points? Like I thought he came back from California?

And WHY is his hair terrible?

I think it's funny that it's the closest to Damon's

And it's also funny because Toby is Dean

all the way down to them both working construction, and him building Spencer a rocking chair for whatever reason and Dean building Rory a car.

Jackie, she is a sixteen year old child.

Ezra

are you going to kill her?

"I should've told your mother the truth about us at the police station" and in any other world, it would've been convenient because you'd save everyone a trip to the station since you'd already be there. Alas, in this world, a cop can date a minor openly. So.

Caleb wishes he was a teenage dirtbag.

"I'm in love with your daughter." And this is when you kill him.

Oh, Mike's coming downstairs. Punch him! Punch him!

He did. It was a HORRIBLE, WEAK ASS punch.

But he did it.

This scene should be WAY MORE dramatic than it is. Like when Julie's TA shows up at her house? It's a contained moment but it's dramatic

Everyone is just standing around here. Mike punches him and Aria's just like, oh damn

and Mike's the one who leaves?

I hate that twice in a row I have been made to be on the dad's side and not Piper's because ma'am, what the fuck are you talking about?

"She is a teenager. And you were her teacher." Well REALLY.

If I can say anything about Toby is he doesn't just go away. Like Caleb who is passively an asshole.

It's really funny to me that Emily is going on this rogue mission and Spencer, Hanna and Aria who were supposed to be tailing her all get caught up because people want to talk to them. Toby shows up at the house, Hanna's mom says she can't go because her dad is on the way. And this is supposed to cause tension. As if I didn't see Hanna walk out AS her mom was forbidding her to leave the house to go fuck Caleb in the woods. But that took precedence, I guess. I mean, it's only Emily amirite.

And Spencer, commit to the bit. Tell him he's right and you want to be the new Alison, make him hate you so he can stop, and you can leave the goddamn house, and it also makes it angstier. "You have to stay away from me, it's not safe" etc. etc. is too protective. Liz convinced Max that she slept with Kyle. Angel flat out told Buffy that he doesn't want to be with her anymore. Chuck told Blair it was just a game. COMMIT.

Why is Emily the one walking closer, draw them to you.

And why would you reveal that you found nothing? Literally what's the point of that? The person hasn't even SAID anything. THIS IS WHY YOU'RE THE WEAKEST LINK. Now look, they're trying to kill you with a rake.

All of you are pissing me off.

At least Hanna got to hit someone with a car.

I just feel like Mona would've figured it out by now.

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 4

Ch 4: My Brother's Keeper Pt. 1

Blurb: After meeting with Dr. Reid, Grace is called away on a case with the team to a double Homicide of children with excessive overkill. It doesn't take long to establish that This Unsub will kill again if not caught soon. But as Grace works the case, certain aspects of it stir up a past she would rather forget. Meanwhile Spencer can't help but start working on the victimology of this new possible serial killer back home.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. I think that system should work well cause then those who don't want spoilers don't have to read the trigger warnings at the start and get spoiled. Also my apologies to Groton South Dakota. I'm sorry I'm sure your a lovely town, I just threw a dart on the map and looked for a small town in that area. No offense.

TW: Ableism, child death, violence, gore, crime scene depiction, kidnapping.

Quantico, FBI Runway Tarmac Thursday July 2023 1:32 pm

‘Sorry,’ Grace apologised as she entered the jet, ‘It’s worth the wait trust me.’ She turned behind her and gestured to the two people who followed her up the stairs, ‘This is my friend Agent Stiller, from Forensics…’

A neatly dressed young man with dark skin and round glasses smiled widely and offered his hand to the rest of the team, ‘You can just call me Avery, nice to meet you guys, I’ve heard a lot about the lofty sixth floor. Didn't know you guys had a jet.’ That earnt a few laughs from her team.

Grace turned to the older redheaded woman who still stood at her side. ‘And this is our associate, Dr Boland, she's an expert Forensic Anthropologist with the Smithsonian. She taught me everything I know.’

'Well, I don't think that's quite true, Grace,' Dr Boland chuckled slightly and turned to the team offering a small wave, ‘Nice to meet you all, although I wish it were under better circumstances.’

‘Thank you for joining us on short notice, we appreciate having you both on board,’ Prentiss welcomed them, ‘Take a seat where you can find one, budget won’t allow for a bigger jet so we might have to get a little cosy, I’m Section Chief and Acting Unit Chief SSA Prentiss, this is SSA’s Rossi, Alvez, Simmons, Jareau and Dr Lewis, you both know Special Agent Matthews. As soon as we’ve taken off, we’ll start running through what we've got so far.’

The jet started taxiing along the runway. Without too much surprise, Avery and Dr Boland took the couch seat together. Grace smiled and shot them an encouraging smile up before sitting down next to Rossi.

‘Where did you wander off to today, huh? That's the first time you’ve taken a lunch break longer than 10 minutes. I’m proud of you,’ Rossi nudged her.

Across the table from her, Dr. Lewis and JJ listened in curiously.

‘I was still on site, as I’m sure you will all hear from Alvez in his report-’ she heard Luke snort from the seat behind her. ‘-I went to see Dr Reid.’

Everyone sat up in their chairs, suddenly very focused on what she had to say. She even heard the rest of the team's seats creak behind her.

‘What?’ she asked. It felt like she was unaware of some joke that they had with each other. Had they been taking bets again?

‘Nothing.’ Rossi shrugged, ‘We all miss him. Guess we just wanna know how he's doing, How’d it go?’

The jet shuddered as it sped full speed down the runway. They all paused their conversation as the cabin began to rattle. Rossi gripped the armrest tightly and Grace closed her eyes and enjoyed the stomach flipping sensation. They lifted off the ground and there was the pleasant buzz in her body of adrenalin. She loved take offs. She opened her eyes and there were a few pairs staring back at her, waiting. Oh yeah, they had asked her a question.

‘Fine, it was really good actually. He’s nice, gave me some advice, and he's funny too… It was very… I don’t know.’

‘You two just… gelled well? It would be nice having someone on your level to talk to,’ Dr. Lewis suggested.

Grace let out a nervous chuckle, ‘Oh no, he is way above my level, but… he’s not like other people I've met who are like that.’

Rossi gave her a knowing look, ‘He is the smartest guy in the room but he doesn't lord it over anyone. He doesn’t have a drop of arrogance or conceitedness in him.’

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ she smiled. Rossi was right, probably because he knew who some of the ‘other people’ she was referring to.

‘Well, if you think he is funny, you must be closer to his level than us, cause his jokes often go over our heads,’ JJ remarked and there were a few nods of agreement.

The monitor chimed, and Garcia’s bright personality shone through the screen.

'Hello my crime fighters and special guests! I've got an update, not a good one but still an update.'

'What have you got, Garcia?' Prentiss asked. They all got up and gathered around the second table in the jet that currently had all the files scattered across it.

‘Well, I have nothing folks, I looked for two related persons with Brittle Bone Disease in Groton and surrounding areas, and there are none. I trolled through medical records, but knowing they can be tricky and locked up tight, I went with ER admissions for repeated broken bones, then tried health insurance, then wheelchair and braces purchases, then school enrollments with special needs, nada… whoever these babies are, they aren't local and I can't find them and it's making me so sad.'

‘That's okay, keep working on that list, extend it to nationwide; families with two or more individuals with Brittle Bone who are under 25,’ Prentiss instructed.

‘Oooh, that is a big list,’ Garcia winced.

‘It’s okay, we have Dr Boland and Agent Stiller here, they will help give us more identifying features and we can narrow down the list further as we go along.’ Prentiss assured her. 'But are there any missing persons with Brittle Bone reported?'

Garcia shook her head, 'None reported in the entire country.'

Grace felt her chest ache a bit at the thought of a pair of parents out there unaware their kids were missing, or worse, not caring that they were. She held to that thought.

‘Brittle Bone is debilitating for kids. Most breakages occur before puberty, they would require a high level of care. These are kids you couldn't leave them home alone for long periods of time. They wouldn't be able to walk long distances or play on a playground unsupervised. Even if these victims are in their early teens, and they aren't as vulnerable, they're still someone you would notice missing. If they have not been reported missing, it’s likely that their guardian is also missing,' she suggested.

'Or the unsub themselves,' Alvez countered.

Why hadn’t she considered that? It was more likely.

She winced at the thought, 'I hope not. But yeah that's what statistics would point to, most murders are committed by someone closely related to a victim, even more so with children.'

'Well, if that is not the case…' Simmons pointed to a map of Groton they had on the table, 'Two major routes intersect here the 37 and the 12, there isn’t much in the town, it’s basically a rest stop, we could be dealing with a mobile killer. If our unsub knew the town had little in the way of law enforcement, they could dump the bodies, shock a small town, overwhelm law enforcement and continue driving. They’d be long gone before the cops even figured out what to do, it’s a forensic countermeasure. Have we looked at the Highway Serial Crimes database? Any similar scenes in other states?'

Garcia shook her head, ‘I checked that, and I'm keeping tabs, but I’ve found nothing this severe, or with kids, sorry. Ah… and I see you’re getting ready to look at those photos and I’ll take that as my cue, I’m out. Talk to you later.’

The screen went dark as Simmons laid out some of the photos on the table.

Prentiss turned their guests. ‘Can you tell anything from the photos that will help narrow anything down?’

‘Ah, no, I agree with everything Grace has concluded. An MNI of two. Both victims are definitely under 21. Most likely related, both have OI. Most likely Caucasian; their teeth have no shovelling. I would say these victims are more likely have Type One, but we will have to reconstruct and get stature estimates and bone samples to know that for certain. Unfortunately, I can’t rule out one of our individuals being pre-pubescent either, like Grace observed, their 31 hasn’t erupted. And if the victims do have Type One, it is the only type not known to cause unusual dentition. I believe it is a worse case scenario, one of those victims is around 12 years old.’ Dr Boland reported.

Grace already had known that, but somehow having someone else confirm it, made the cabin's recycled air feel heavy.

Avery sighed, ‘I have nothing to add, except I want to let you guys know, we are pretty good, but we are not miracle workers. I just want to prepare you for the possibility that we may not ID these victims if no relative comes forward with DNA or reports them missing. Soft tissue is obliterated, so we’re going to work with what we can and move to bones. Now, with younger victims, it is harder to determine sex with only skeletal remains, and given the condition they are in, the fragmentation will also make it difficult to determine facial features or distinguishable characteristics. Dr Boland will do what she can and I will assist where I can.’

‘Wait assist? So you’re not a bone and body guy?’ Alvez asked.

The rest of the team looked confused. Grace realised she hadn’t really told them much about who Avery was, or much about her old team, really.

‘I dabble but no, on the second floor, I’m the living people expert,’ he explained.

JJ nodded along with a grin, ‘You’re the team liaison.’

He nodded proudly, ‘I specialise in CSI coordination, organisation, and education for local police. Grace called me because I’ve worked cases like this before. It is possible we are walking into a contaminated crime scene, regional PD’s will be trying to work with one another, there will be press vultures, and we will most likely be doing the reconstruction in a country clinic or even a vet clinic. Agent Prentiss, I know you will be head of this investigation, but if you allow it, I will gladly organise and coach Local PD though evidence collection. I will do my best to make sure all evidence is collected and processed so it is admissible in court, if that's what you want me to do.’

‘That would be a big help, a profile is going to be hard enough with not much victimology to go off, we don’t need to be juggling crime scene management as well,’ Prentiss agreed.

Avery pulled out a business card and passed it around, ‘That’s my number, I'll grab all yours as well. I know how important a profile is in a case like this, I need to know any updates on your profiles immediately. In a small town like this, we will definitely work with volunteers. I’ve been warned that having Feds brought in might excite and Unsub, it’s possible I will be working along side our unsub at some point, so I think it’s good if we stay in touch.’

Rossi nodded with an impressed look on his face, ‘Where do you find these people, kid?’

‘Around. I keep good company,’ she smiled.

‘Okay when we land, we have a 20 minute drive to Groton from the regional airport, JJ, Matthews, Stiller and Dr Boland, I want you to go to the crime scene, make sure they get everything under control. Rossi, Alvez, I want you to question the staff at the golf course where the bodies were found. Simmons, Lewis you're with me, we will go to the station and get a lay of the land. We'll meet at the Gold Stallion Inn by seven. That's where we're being put up. I hope none of you snore, because there are only six rooms some of us are gonna have to share.’

‘Shot not sharing with Rossi,’ Dr Lewis remarked.

‘Hey, I do not snore. And I’ve had three wives who can attest to that,’ Rossi defended.

-------

Somewhere along Route 37, South Dakota, Thursday July 2023 3:30 pm

He looked out the window as the radio played country music. It had been a long time since he had been on a road trip, he’d forgotten what it felt like. The crink in his knees hardly bothered him though. This was too exciting. Fields passed him and he smiled as a herd of cows lazily grazed, watching their minivan drive by.

‘Cows!’ he exclaimed with delight.

No one else in the car shared his enthusiasm. That was okay, his mom and dad had been driving for a long time, they were tired.

But then the woman next to him sobbed.

‘Please, where are you taking us? Where are my boys!’ his mother cried.

His smile retreated. She was ruining it.

‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!’ he pressed the gun to her head again.

‘Lilly, it’s okay baby, we’ll be okay!’ Dad called from the driver’s seat. ‘Please don’t hurt her, she just wants to know when we are going to stop.’

The man turned back to look at him and the woman with pleading eyes. It was good that Mom and Dad loved each other. If only they would love him as much. This was supposed to be a family road trip. They were supposed to be a happy family now. Why didn’t they love him?

‘We stop when I say we can, and you’ll see your boys again, soon enough,' he promised, and he wasn’t lying this time.

This Mom and Dad weren't right, his brothers weren’t right. He’d find the right ones one day. But he supposed he had to value what little time left he had with this family, it was supposed to be fun wasn’t it? He lowered the gun as the road sign loomed up ahead and he smiled. They were nearly there.

‘Ooh, let’s play a game… I spy, with my little eye, something, beginning with… M.’

--------

Groton SD, Golf Course, Thursday July 2023 3:58 pm

'Deputy Mitchell?' JJ asked as the four of them climbed off the golf cart and approached a middle-aged man guarding a large tarp spread over the ground.

'You the feds?'

‘Agents Jareau, Matthews, and Stiller, and our forensic expert Dr Boland.' JJ introduced, pointing out each one.

'Well, thought you'd be all suited up with earpieces, but I'm glad you're here. Body is under here.' He lifted the tarp partially and they all braced themselves. 'Groundsman found it here this morning, Jesus,' the deputy winced and turned away.

'When did the call come in?' JJ asked.

‘That was about six this morning... Look, other than putting the tarp on and doing a search of the grounds, we haven't done anything else. This is way over our heads. We are a small community. People come here cause it’s quiet and nothing happens, we don’t have resources, certainly not for this. Heck, I’m not even sure how we are going to move the body. We asked the regional centre, Aberdeen, for help. They took one look and told us to contact you guys, but they’re sending us their CSI team. They just radioed that they are a few minutes away.'

Avery began to talk about how they were logistically going to go about this. JJ asked questions about what time people usually played golf, and the opening times of the course. She zoned out and peeled the tarp back fully, and Dr Boland jumped to help.

Immediately it was clear the victims were killed right here. This wasn't a dump sight. Blood spatter was caked all over the grass.

Dr Boland opened her field kit and began taking the ambient temperature, following procedure. Grace however became focused on the thing she hadn't been able to tell from the photos; how was this done.

She fixed her glasses on the nose and knelt down next to the bodies.

'Hello, I'm Agent Grace Matthews, I'm just going to examine you to see what happened, okay? Then we will get you both somewhere safe and put you together so we can bury you okay?'

She always spoke to the bodies. She knew the others on the team thought it was weird. She even felt weird talking to them this time, it was hard to even recognise them as human in the state they were in. But that’s why she had to do it, especially at a scene like this.

It was a habit she started at her first job after she left school and she kept it up when she went into forensics. The practice was quite normal in some fields. It was a humanising technique that gave dignity to a body while acting as a coping strategy for the living person. They taught it at the academy, but few practiced it.

'And I'm Dr Boland, I’m Grace’s friend. I will be putting you together and running tests. I will work as fast as I can.' Dr Boland introduced herself, not missing a beat. Grace looked to her in surprise. The doctor only smiled warmly back at her as if to say, “it's not weird at all.” And kept setting up the scene for the investigation.

Grace turned her attention back to the gore and clasped her hands together and hugged them under her chin; it was time to focus. This is what she was here for, this is what got her into the FBI.

Her eyes darted across the mess and searched for repeated patterns or familiar shapes. Amongst the clumps of flesh, splinters of bone and bloody strips of cloth that would have been clothes, she looked for large pieces that were still relatively intact. A long bone, or perhaps the outline of where the clothes would have sat, hopefully. She moved around, searching from every angle for something recognizable. Eventually, the two bodies began to appear. She could identify different sections of a body and her mind filled in the blanks or rearranged into the form it was supposed to take. The two had died next to each other; one face down, one face up.

Two fragmented bones stuck out to her. A snapped the ulna and radius. Attached to it she found a bit of skin that was bruised and dented in a rough crescent shape.

The scene flashed in her mind;

A young voice cried out as they were hit in the back of the head with the bludgeon, their skull shattered immediately, they fell face first into the grass and their jaw dislocated, which allowed the mandible to remain relatively while the overkill was exerted. This was the younger one. When they hit the ground, the other older one turned to the assailant, who was already swinging the weapon at him now. They raised their arm in defence to block the first blow of a rounded heavy object swinging at them. Their forearm shattered immediately. They fell to the ground, and the blows kept coming in a frenzied rage from the man standing above them. They died relatively quickly. But the unsub wanted to humiliate and disfigure them further, he beat them for what must have been hours.

She shook the scene from her mind and focused now on the weapon.

It was flexible and heavy yet did not leave a uniformed mark. It was malleable and, given the frenzied blitz attack; improvised.

She racked her brain, an improvised weapon on a golf course. It would have to be a club right? But it couldn't be; a golf club wasn't the right… anything. Shape, size, weight distance from the attacker; it was all wrong. This damage was more like a mediaeval mace, something heavy that could be swung but didn’t have much reach- yet, not solid? She stood up and wandered around, deaf to the world as she searched for an object that would fit the disruption.

'Hey Agent Matthews… Matthews… Grace. Grace!’ Dr Boland called to her.

‘Yes?’ she turned around

‘If you're heading over there to the bunker can you get a sample of the sand please?' Dr Boland asked.

She nodded and pulled out a test tube from her forensics field kit. She knelt down and scooped up some sand from the bunker. It was really fine sand, not like the natural sand that was about the town. This stuff would get everywhere if I fell over right now, she thought to herself. Then she had a little giggle to herself, it would get everywhere, but it wasn’t rough, or course, it was powdery and fine. Like Anakin Skywalker, she disliked sand, which was unfortunate, having grown up on a tropical island. She also hated golf courses. In her opinion, and her father’s, they were a waste of space. Swathes of nature manicured into useless fields to chase a ball in. The amount of habitat destruction, water wastage and land metamorphosis places like this went through was… she halted.

The sand wasn't from here.

It was brought here, and you buy sand in bags and sand bags are heavy and malleable. And she knew firsthand, you can scale a sandbag down and make the tried-and-true homemade truncheon with little effort.

She ran back over the body and pulled out her magnifying glass, inspecting a depression that would have been caused by a blow. Sure enough, she could make out a few fibres and sandy particulates in the wound. She pulled out a swab taking a sample.

‘Dr Boland, there are fibres and particulates in these wounds, make sure to get some samples before you clean the bones, have you established a baseline yet?’

‘Yeah, it's that flag there,’ she pointed to the peg in the ground and continued laying out measuring guides getting ready to take scaled photos. Grace stood next to the baseline, took out her tablet, snapped a photo and drew an outline with her stylus.

'I got a rough indication of where the victims are lying. I'll do a diagram, that way you can have a rough starting point for the reconstructions.’ She drew outlines of the victims over the photos and labelled them One and Two and hit send.

Dr Boland glance at her tablet smiled, 'This is great. I've never seen you work out side the lab before.'

'Well I do this quite often, I think it would be more accurate to say I've never seen you work out side a lab before,' Grace grinned.

'True, the field is not usually my scene, especially when the site is this recent. But I just wanted to say, the field, it suits you. You seem... more free.' The doctor remarked.

Another golf cart approached carrying a uniformed officer and a few people in CSI jackets; the team from Aberdeen.

‘Looks like the Cavalry's arrived.’

‘Go, catch this guy, we’ve got this,’ Dr Boland nodded, holding out her hand.

Grace frowned at her and reached to shake it.

Dr Boland laughed and shook her hand back, ‘As much as I appreciate that you are comfortable enough to shake my hand, I actually was after the samples you collected, I need to catalogue them.’

‘Oh. right,’ Grace nodded and handed them over. ‘What do you recon? If we catch this guy by Saturday, will you be up for Sunday Study Brunch?’

Dr Boland smiled at her, ‘Well with your diagram here, it should make it easier to reconstruct. I’ll say, we’re on at this point. I’ve got a new stack of possible US soldiers from Bataan, circa 1940s, that I could use help cataloguing, unless you want to work more on your thesis?’

Grace sighed, ‘Not yet, I’m still stuck. Cataloguing Soldiers it is then. I’ll see you and Avery tonight, I’ll keep you in the loop, but I have to brief JJ, and the team. I’ve got a weapon and a few details.’

--------

Leaving one car with Avery and Dr Boland at the scene, JJ and her met up with Rossi and Alvez after they finished the staff interviews.

‘Anyone stick out?’ JJ asked.

‘Nope,’ Rossi shook his head. ‘All of them have alibis.’

‘Grounds man was a bit too into lawn, but none of them seemed off at all.‘ Alvez added. ‘What if this guy is a worse case scenario; just a random guy with victims of opportunity who motored out of here like Simmons said?’

JJ sighed, ‘Well, apparently opening hours are seven to seven, and people would only interact with staff and leave a record if they paid for entry, or hired equipment or a cart. Most locals have an annual pass, so they don’t need to pay for entry. Not that it’s really barred at all, there is no fence, no security or CCTV. Anyone could walk onto the course at any time. What could you tell from the bodies?’

They all looked to her.

‘It was a blitz attack followed by post mortem overkill. After the initial attack the unsub continued to beat them to humiliate and dehumanise them. There was no attempt to conceal the bodies; there is no remorse. The Unsub, is a man, given the strength, and probably under 30, immature and emotionally stunted. The attack was disorganised and full of rage. It seems personal, if the unsub didn’t know these kids, he must be using them as surrogates,’ she reported.

‘Now that kinda rage at two random defenceless disabled kids makes me think we could be looking at a hate crime; like extreme ableism,’ Alvez surmised darkly.

‘Ugh, can this guy get any worse,’ JJ murmured.

Grace gave her a sympathetic look. JJ hid it well but Grace could tell, she was very shaken by this case. She had said very little the entire time. Anything with kids was hard, especially on JJ, but this level of brutality was something else entirely.

‘You said the attack was disorganised, are you implying that he is organised in another aspect?’ Rossi turned to her.

‘Yes well, I may have some good-ish news in that department,’ Grace nodded, ‘The weapon was an improvised truncheon. Now improvised weapons usually indicate a disorganised individual, but on this occasion the weapon actually shows the opposite. He used something that requires criminal sophistication. This guy used a sock filled with sand. It’s a simple but effective weapon. It's not one that comes to mind unless you’ve been in a situation where you’ve had to learn to make a weapon out of nothing before,’ she smiled proudly. They continued to look at her, confused, so she elaborated; ‘I think this guy’s been to prison. Which means he’s in the system, we can find him.’

Rossi’s phone rang and he answered after a quick glance at the Caller ID. ‘Yes? Yeah everyone’s here, yeah I’ll put you on speaker hang on-’ Rossi held his phone out, and they gathered around it, ‘-Go ahead Emily.’

‘I have bad news and worse news. The bad news is there are only five rooms at the inn, so more of us are going to have to share. The worse news is that there are only five rooms because room one’s key was left in the drop box this morning before the office opened and the guests’ car was gone. Now the manager assumed they had checked out, but when the cleaner arrived this afternoon, the Giles family’s belongings were still inside the room.’

‘Well, that’s not good,’ Rossi voiced what they were all thinking.

Grace's mind raced, it made sense why they weren’t reported missing; this family was on vacation, they weren’t expected to be anywhere. The Unsub still had the parents, they couldn’t report the kids missing, they might not even know their kids are dead.

Prentiss continued, ‘Hotel manager says the Giles family were a family of four staying one night. Mom, dad and two boys, one around 15, one around 12 with crutches. Garcia got the 411 on them, the Giles are originally from Minneapolis, she can confirm the boys and the father have type one Brittle Bone Disease. Garcia is searching for their car as we speak. We also have moved our base of operations to the inn and called in State troopers to meet us and the sheriff there. We need to give the profile as soon as possible; we’re dealing with a family annihilator.’

-------

Next Chapter

Note: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this and that you like Avery and Dr Boland, we'll be seeing them and a few other OCs a fair bit in this story. If you love it, or even just like it, please leave a comment and/or like, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me.

TWs:

Ablesim: this is the big one. Unsub is targeting physically disabled people and it is suggested that these murders could be hate crimes. It is not explored why the unsub has this view point in this chapter but it doesn't really matter. It's never justifiable at all to hate like that. unsub is horrible and delusional. Be warned for ick factor.

Child death: sadly the victims are kids.

Violence, gore, crime scene depiction: these all go together, I don't think I'm too graphic, but Agent Matthews goes to the crimes scene and she replays the events in her head. it's a brief depiction of how the children were murdered.

Kidnapping: there is a scene with our unsub who is currently with the kids' parents, who have been kidnapped. He threatens them and is just generally creepy.