#2x06 mention

[blackladynerd]

Something about the lighting in the 1x06 bathtub confession scene and the 2x06 sex scene being the same is really hitting me. Plus the use of mirrors in both…whew! 😮‍💨 The parallels!

[stolasbuckzo]

Blitz: I DO NOT have feelings for Stolas!

Also Blitz: *literally complains in “Oops” (2x06) because Stolas treats him like a kind and loving boyfriend*

[gracelyns]

i can't believe in this episode i almost cried in sansa's attempted rape scene and then 2 minutes later I was cringing at the "stop moving" "I'm trying to make myself comfortable" "I said stop moving"

[sophsun1]

Brian Kinney + Sunshine

[catholickedd]

Drinking and driving at 10 in the morning. This was a new low for Crowley. 

He had no specific destination in mind. In fact, his mind was completely empty save for the faint awareness of the song playing on the radio. 

And, of course, the all-consuming thought of the feeling of Aziraphale’s lips pressed against his. 

He had been so stupid. Of course Aziraphale didn’t feel the same way. An angel loving a demon. Aziraphale had said it himself. “You’re the bad guys.”

And those six thousand years spent together had not proved otherwise to him.

There was no  way in hell, heaven, or anywhere in between Aziraphale had felt the same. 

“Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door…”

Crowley choked back a sob. 

The fact that he was extremely inebriated did not affect his driving skills - at least, they were not worse than they already had been. The streets were mostly empty at this time of day, and it gave him leave to swerve and speed as much as he saw fit. Driving had always helped him calm down, had been a siphon for his anger. Today he had been driving for no particular reason at all, but a thought caught in the back of his mind like a sweater on a barb. Something that would distract him from the spiral of his thoughts. 

“You called me angel for the first time, my heart leapt from me…” 

The radio turned off with a click. He stumbled drunkenly into the antique store. 

Coming here was always fun. They had things from every time in recent history, as far back as the 1700s and some even older. Sometimes he would find a few of his old things lying around. He browsed through the things lying on the counters, next to an old chair with embroidered pink roses, under a dusty tasseled lamp. 

His eyes passed over a neatly tied yellow ribbon. 

It was tied around a hefty stack of papers, some yellowed and flaking, others looking almost new. 

Crowley sat in a chair, one leg over the arm, and leafed through the papers. 

When he saw the swooping curlicues of the flowing font in which “Dear Crowley” was written on the first page, his hands began to shake uncontrollably.

He would have recognized that handwriting a mile away and half blind. 

Aziraphale. 

Dear Crowley, 

I’ve been thinking. 

It’s been some time since we’ve conversed. I said some things I shouldn’t have said, and I stormed away too hastily. 

I’ve been missing you. 

The last line was marked through, and the paper showed signs of crumpling. 

Crowley turned to the next page. This one was almost falling apart. 

Dear Crowley. 

You have been good to me in the years we’ve been together. 

I enjoy each moment I spend with you. 

Today, in the Bastille

No! was written hastily at the edge of the page.

Crowley swallowed. His mouth was extremely dry. 

He picked up the next paper.

Dear Crowley, 

I believe that the friendship between us has become something more. I would like to 

Next page. 

Dear Crowley, 

I suppose it is time for me to say what I have been thinking for some time now. You make my days brighter

Next page. 

Dear Crowley, 

What you did for me tonight was an act of extreme kindness. Heaven was wrong to ever cast you out. 

You really are wonderful

Dear Crowley,

Dear Crowley,

Dear Crawly, 

The demon was becoming grateful for his sunglasses. 

Dear Crowley,

Dear Crawly,

Dear Crowley, 

Dear Crowley,

There are many thoughts I would like to share with you. For some time, I have felt an inexplicable kinship with you. At first I attempted to deny it, as you were a demon, and if Heaven discovered the nature of my feelings for you, I would be scalded by hellfire within moments.

And as far as they know, that has happened. 

We are untethered now. We float, isolated, with nothing but each other to grasp to. 

And I would be honored to spend the rest of this eternity floating with you. 

I love you

With love, Aziraphale. 

Crowley’s body shook with each sob. It had taken a small miracle to make sure the store curator did not notice him. 

His angel. All those years. 

He bit his lip and swallowed shakily. 

Aziraphale. 

Every time he had seen the angel laugh, shoot him a coy grin chased by a sip of wine, dance to his favorite music with the most unnecessary hand motions, speak softly to him in a quiet room, gasp a little after eating some very good food, 

every time he had felt that ancient, hollow longing in his chest. 

And now he knew that Aziraphale had felt it too. 

And now he was gone. He had forsaken the life they could have lived together. 

All the pain of the moment came rushing back with full force, but all the joy of it too- the bliss he had felt when he finally kissed the angel, the anticipation of the words that Aziraphale stumbled upon after they broke apart. 

Crowley grasped the arm of the chair, and let a final sob escape his lips, 

before standing and stumbling again out of the shop, taking the stack of papers with him. The store manager would find some money in the register that didn’t quite fit with the sales of the day. 

And driving back to the bookshop, he jammed a Velvet Underground tape into the cassette player.  

Linger on, your pale blue eyes. 

Headcanon that at some point after season two of Good Omens, Crowley is wandering around antique malls trying to find some record or something, and instead stumbles upon a bunch of old letters that someone scavenged from where Aziraphale used to live.

Love letters. Addressed to him

it’s an entire series, some from clearly before the era they were dated as, practically detailing Aziraphale trying to figure out his feelings and then struggling with whether or not to say anything, always ultimately deciding not to, again and again and again

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

What did Sauron meant by “Not All of It” in 2x08?

Did Sauron deceive Galadriel all along, when he was pretending to be “just Halbrand”? Was he even pretending, to begin with? Did he seduced her on purpose and to manipulate her? Which part was true? And what was the deception?

To find the answer, we need to look at the visual clues, more specifically the color code of Sauron in “Rings of Power”:

Red

Red is a color that, in “Rings of Power”, has appeared in association with Sauron’s deceptions and treachery, over and over again.

On the negative side, the color red is, symbolically associated with danger, aggression, dominance, power and betrayal. In some cultures, red is associated with evil and death.

2x01: Sauron demands the Orcs’ allegiance (and he’s accused of straight-out lying, in this scene).

1x05: Galadriel’s vision on Palantír has a red stripe to foreshadow the “fall of Númenor” plot (triggered by Sauron).

1x05 and 1x06: Bits of red on Halbrand’s Númenórean armor = King of the Southlands’ deception.

1x07: Halbrand injury on the blast of Mount Doom, and creation of Mordor.

2x01: Adar and his tale of Sauron giving him red wine on *that* peak.

2x02: Celebrimbor falling prey to Sauron’s deception (he’s wearing red + red wine).

2x02: The background of Galadriel’s vision about Celebrimbor.

2x03: Ar-Pharazôn wears red to Míriel’s coronation to foreshadow the “fall of Númenor” plot (triggered by Sauron).

2x07: The missing ruby on Fëanor’s hammer (Sauron’s illusion on Celebrimbor).

2x07: Sauron displays the red blood on his wound (to instigate the guards to confine Celebrimbor in the forge tower for him to finish the Nine).

2x08: The arrows that Sauron shots at Celebrimbor (the ultimate betrayal).

Green

Then we have green, the complementary color to red (meaning they are in opposite sides of the color wheel). In Design, there is an unspoken rule that “red and green should not be seen together”. Hence its safe to admit that green, in Sauron’s color code in “Rings of Power”, also serves the opposite purpose of red.

Green is the color of health (healing), and is symbolically associated with hope, growth, rebirth, balance, fertility and prosperity.

1x02: Sauron first meets Galadriel (a new beginning, full of hope and potential).

1x02: The stone on Halbrand’s pouch (King of the Southlands heraldry) is green (the “new life” and “some place better” that Diarmid promises him in 2x01);

1x04: Halbrand garments on Númenor.

2x01: When Sauron “rebirths” as Halbrand form.

2x06: Celebrimbor starts to wear green once he begins to suspect Annatar’s intentions (the deception begins to crack).

In Season 2, this color becomes highly associated with Galadriel herself, as we see her wearing green dresses. This color is also used by Mirdania, at Eregion, a character that reminds Sauron of Galadriel (and he says so, himself), and the possibility of redemption he was denied.

To further solidify the idea of the colors green/red having opposite purposes/meaning in Sauron’s color code in “Rings of Power”; in 2x02, we see Celebrimbor wearing red, at Eregion; and Galadriel wearing green, in Lindon. This is meant to show to the audience that these two characters have different places in Sauron’s character arc.

It’s also worth mentioning that, in Season 2, both Mirdania and Celebrimbor were wearing green when Sauron killed them, symbolically marking the end of his redemption arc.

Blue

Halbrand/Sauron wears blue in 1x08, the episode where Halbrand is revealed to be Sauron. Blue is considered the ultimate “color of truth” and intuition.

Blue is symbolically associated with wisdom, imagination, loyalty, order and creation. In some cultures, blue is also associated with freedom, inspiration, sincerity and faith.

In 1x07, Halbrand/Sauron wears a blue cloak when he travels to Eregion with Galadriel, to be healed by the Elves. Throughout History, blue has been associated with royalty, yes, but this is a odd color for Sauron to wear, nonetheless.

In 1x08, while at Eregion, Halbrand/Sauron is also wearing blue, after his healing and while working at the forge (and “nerding out” with Celebrimbor).

Based on Tolkien lore, I would say that blue, in “Rings of Power”, is associated with Mairon (not Sauron), since it symbolizes the qualities he was designed to embody by Eru himself, before Morgoth’s corruption: goodness, trustworthy, creation, and order.

This could provide an explanation as to why Sauron didn’t “soiled” the Three Elven rings of power with evil, when he spent so much time at Eregion with Celebrimbor in 1x08, handling the mithril and testing different alloys, and the “eye of Sauron” even appears as the metals combine to make the Three.

What we, the audience, saw in 1x08 was a glimpse of the original Mairon (blue), after his healing process (redemption) was triggered by Galadriel’s light (green). At the beginning, Mairon was one of the most powerful Maiar, and the purest one, too. And these were the qualities that transferred onto the Three, in contrast with the cruelty, malice and deception of the Seven and Nine. More; this can also explain the healing properties of the Three (because Mairon, himself, was healing).

When Mairon is tortured by Waldreg and the Orcs, at Adar’s orders, in 2x01, he’s also wearing blue. This is a callback to the unspeakable tortures he endured under Morgoth, to bind him to darkness, and to power. Hence, the repentant Mairon begins to disappear, making way to Sauron.

What all of this means?

Red (the color associated with Sauron’s deception) only appeared on Halbrand/Sauron and Galadriel interactions, back on Season 1, on two occasions:

When he accepts to be “King of the Southlands”;

His injury due to eruption of Mount Doom (to bring him into Elven territory).

The use of the colors green and blue on Sauron’s arc in Season 1, can confirm that Sauron was, indeed, on his “repentant era”.

“Halbrand” was the original Mairon, and we see a lot of his primordial personality traits (before Morgoth’s corruption) on Halbrand’s character: good, loyal, generous, creative and highly intelligent. Charismatic but a bit withdrawn (he only opens up with Galadriel). Not outright antisocial but usually on the background, a follower and not a leader (the Maia in service of a Vala). And of course, his love and talent for smithing and craftsmanship (Maia of Aulë).

The “Halbrand” that Galadriel fell in love with, was, in fact, “Mairon the Admirable” seeking redemption.

Halbrand/Mairon wears green because he’s seeking redemption and a new beginning (rebirth);

Galadriel starts to be visually associated with this color because she’s the embodiment of the redemption Marion seeks;

Halbrand wears blue in 1x07 and 1x08 because “redeemed Mairon” is starting to come through.

Why was Halbrand/Mairon shamelessly flirting with Galadriel, then?

Because repentant Mairon was attracted to her, on a physical and spiritual level (they are both immortal spirits).

I’ll quote myself, here:

Mairon was created by Eru as a Maia of Aulë, the Vala (God) of smithing and handiwork, yes. He was among the most powerful Maiar. Eru created him to be good and trustworthy, but also to love several things: crafting, creation, beauty, order and perfection, and to dislike wastefulness.

And who better embodies the qualities of “beauty” and “perfection” than Galadriel herself? Her beauty is the stuff of legends, and everyone is at awe when they first meet her. Her very gold/silver hair inspired the most legendary jewels in existence: the Silmarils. The light of the Two Trees of Valinor shine on her hair and eyes. How could Sauron/Mairon not love her? That’s the question. She’s the materialization, the physical form, of everything he was designed to love.

The color code on Sauron’s arc in “Rings of Power” tells us, the audience, that the mutual attraction and connection Halbrand/Mairon and Galadriel shared was real. It wasn’t a deception on his part, nor did it had any hidden motive.

Mairon flirted with Galadriel because, like they say, he really wanted to “tap that”, “shake the sheets (or the forge table)”, “Netflix and chill” all night long, whatever you prefer. And she wanted the same, as confirmed by Charlotte Brändström.

In both 1x05 and 1x06, when Halbrand/Mairon shares intimate moments with Galadriel, the bits of red (deception) of his armor are hidden, either by a cloak, or by camera work (focus on his face). This artistic choice means there was no deception there. It was real.

And both Sauron’s deceptions with Galadriel, back in Season 1, had the purpose of keeping her close to him:

Accepting the “King of the Southland” role: Galadriel was leaving for Middle-earth, leaving him behind in Númenor;

Bringing him into Elven territory: Mairon didn’t know Galadriel would take him to Eregion to meet Celebrimbor (in show canon, she lives in Lindon, not Eregion).

Why? Because Mairon craved her light, and, like it has been established by the color code, Galadriel embodies the redemption he desperately seeks. Hence, he wants to be around her, and keeping her close. Galadriel represents his chance of redeeming himself after everything he has done under Morgoth.

And, in 1x08, when Galadriel denies his offer, it symbolizes the denial of his redemption:

Galadriel: You are a friend of Morgoth’s.

Sauron: When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last, I felt the light of The One again. And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven… That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin.

Galadriel: No penance could ever erase the evil you have done.

Mairon, then realizes, there will be no redemption for him. Redemption and Galadriel’s light have been denied to him. And, so, he falls back into his old ways under Morgoth, back into evil.

They say that Morgoth found the Silmarils so beautiful that after he’d stolen them, for weeks he could do nothing but stare into their depths. It was only after one of his tears fell upon the jewels and he was faced with the evil of his own reflection that the reverie was finally broken. From that moment, he looked upon their light no more. Fëanor's work nearly turned the heart of the Great Foe himself…”

Celebrimbor to Elrond, 1x01

It's not strength that overcomes darkness but light. For in its presence, all darkness must flee.

Celebrimbor to Galadriel, 2x07

In the vision Mairon shows Galadriel in 1x08, there is no red (deception), only blue and light. The spikes of his crown are, also, fading away, meant to symbolize his redemption, with Galadriel at his side. A lot of fans assume this is a vision of Dark!Galadriel, but they are wrong.

This means that Galadriel, indeed, could have helped Mairon achieve the redemption he was seeking.

We foresaw that if Galadriel’s search should have continued, she might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat. For the same wind that seeks to blow out a fire may also cause its spread.

Gil-galad to Elrond, 1x01

The true meaning of this quote is: Galadriel didn’t f*cked up because she found Halbrand/Sauron and brought him back to Middle-earth. She screwed up because she denied Mairon his chance at redemption: not only by rejecting him, but, mostly, because she exposed him at Eregion and cause him to flee.

It was Galadriel’s pride that caused her to confront and expose Halbrand as Sauron. The pride that every single character has been warning her about, and the reason why she’s banished from Valinor, in the first place. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Celebrimbor and Elrond about Halbrand’s true identity because, yes, of her wounded pride. And she allows the Three rings of power to be made.

In “Rings of Power”, it was Galadriel’s pride that condemned Middle-earth to Sauron’s tyranny, and I hope the show explores this further.

In Season 2, Sauron still believes that he, truly, wants to heal Middle-earth. But this isn’t the case anymore, because his redemption was cut short. This is confirmed by Celebrimbor in 2x07, when he says to Sauron/Annatar: “you truly are the Great Deceiver. You can even deceive yourself.”

But that boat has sailed. There is no more redemption’s arc for Mairon. That was Season 1. In Season 2, he’s now embracing his arc as “shadow of Morgoth”. And so, green and blue won’t be present on his color code anymore, as red takes the spotlight, alongside black to embody his role as the new Dark Lord.

What now?

Sauron and Galadriel are now bound together, since he forced their bloods to unite using Morgoth’s crown, in 2x08. They now have a open line to each other’s soul, mind and everything else. And this will come into play in Season 3.

One of Galadriel’s inner conflicts in Season 2 was the idea that “Halbrand” was nothing more than one of Sauron’s illusions and that he deceived her, all along. In Season 3 and through being bound together with Sauron, she’ll probably realize this isn’t the case, and that Halbrand was very much real, and, in fact, Mairon in seek of redemption. How will this play out, I have no idea. But there’s a lot of potential here.

And in Season 2 we were told that Elven memories don’t dim. Meaning; the memory of Halbrand/Mairon and their love for each other and “what could have been”, will haunt Galadriel forever (yes, even after Celeborn returns).

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

A true gift (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Warnings: evil!reader, nudity, mentions of smut, but really this is just a silly fluff piece written ‘cause I’m obsessed with his little hair bow🤭

Note: set in 2x06, part of the evil!reader collection - all you need to know for this one is that reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Your husband is a Maia, and as such never sleeps. He does, however, feel inclined to lie down with his eyes closed and be lost to the world, in moments such as now—when he is held in your peaceful embrace, your fingers lovingly stroking his loose hair.

It’s a rare moment of intimacy these days, and you cherish it all the more for it. Celebrimbor rarely allows you a moment of respite in his rush to finish the Nine, and you and your husband do your best to not disappear at the same time, so as to avoid suspicions that you share any deeper of a relationship with him than the other smiths of Eregion. Needless to say, you are overjoyed to find yourself alone with him. And in a bed, no less.

He had slipped inside your chamber under the cover of night, and sleep had been the furthest thing from your mind as you and your husband had sated your longing over and again. Naked and spent, you had pulled each other close, and so you still are now, as soft morning light pours through your window. He has coiled himself around your completely, one leg draped across your waist and his head resting upon your chest, and you do not mind his weight above you in the slightest as you hold him close. His hair is wonderfully soft under your roaming fingertips, his skin delights yours everywhere you touch.

He may not need sleep, but you would gladly drift into it. In a blissful position such as this, you would drift gladly even into death.

But you do neither, for he stirs, wishing to lift his head. You know what he means to say—that your absence will soon be noticed now that the day has begun, that you ought to return to the forge and to your plans and to your charade. You tighten your hold on him and keep his head against your chest, giving a stubborn groan.

His low chuckle reverberates into your skin.

“I know. I know,” he coos, shifting to press his lips to your heart. “I have no wish to leave.”

“But you will,” you sigh in defeat, even as he trails lazy kisses up along your clavicle. “We must.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck. Too much of you is pressed against too much of him for desire not to ignite within you at the slightest movement. It’s a bittersweet relief when he presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips and takes it upon himself to pry his body away from yours and leave the bed. You turn to your side, pulling the covers up to your chest to ward off the cold he leaves behind.

You are, however, presented with the slight consolation of watching your husband move naked about the room.

Of course, it isn’t exactly the particular image of your husband’s body, or even the features of his face that had won your affections in the first place. Your love runs too deep to be dampened by any sort of aesthetic transformation, though you do admit some forms are more practical than others when it comes to the physical aspect of your relationship, strictly shape-wise (one such as the amorphous black mass to which he had been reduced until recently, for instance, might prove a challenge in that department—yet not an entirely insurmountable one).

His current form, however... Lord of Gifts, indeed. It is the finest of male specimens of whom you are given a most generous view, and he damn well knows it. He takes his sweet time sauntering across the room, each movement slow and deliberate as he treats you to the sight of his tall, perfectly sculpted body. His long hair falling over his shoulder blades, the elegant line of his spine, the plump globes of his buttocks—oh, the bastard. Showing himself off as if you are not in a state of constant desire for him, like you’re not literally his soulbound wife already.

Or maybe it’s you slowing time with your eyes as you look at him, precisely because of how utterly and hopelessly smitten you are.

Whatever the case, a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he glances your way. You look on, shamelessly, as he recovers the clothes he had carelessly discarded the night before, and methodically (as well as tragically) begins to dress himself back to decency. He’d had a new garment made, one more suited to his tastes now that his previous modest, light-grey robes had served their purpose of conveying his most pure intentions to Celebrimbor. This outfit is an intricately patterned black with a golden band at the waist, the imitation of leaves raining down his collar area and left shoulder, and a discrete glimmer that looks as though stars have been trapped deep within the fabric of his sleeves.

You’d loved the sight of him dressed in it so much that, paradoxically, you had taken tremendous pleasure in stripping it off him. He was a gift in too pretty a wrapping for you not to greedily reach inside for the wonders you knew lay there, meant only for you.

But if you had it your way and peeled it off each time the mood arose, you would never get anything done. Perhaps, once you are King and Queen and have plenty of servants to carry out your orders, you shall be free to confine yourselves to some ornate bedchamber and reemerge only after days on end of having your fill of one another.

For now, you must allow his newly tidy appearance to remain intact. He is nearly ready to join the others in the forge, the only unruliness left about him being his loose and disheveled hair. You particularly enjoy how softly it falls upon your shoulders whilst you are beneath him, and he certainly takes pleasure in your tendency to fist your hands in it and tug at the roots, causing all kinds of entanglements. It’s nearly sad, how easily he can undo the sensual mess. One power-wielding hand smoothing down the tresses, and his hair looks as though it has been brushed to perfection with a thousand thoroughly administered strokes.

That done, he sits down at your vanity and picks up the last accessory he must arrange upon himself—the headpiece he’s been wearing since he became Annatar, the partial imitation of a crown which curves around the back of his head, serving to hold his hair practically away from his face whilst accentuating the divine nature of the presumed Lord of Gifts.

Lord of Gifts.

Your love-addled brain is stricken with an idea too wonderful to go unheeded.

“Oh, let me,” you say, suddenly rising from beneath the sheets. It takes but a moment to put on a nearby nightgown, not nearly enough for your husband’s questioning eyes to drink you in the way he attempts to, but you are too enthusiastic to care. It is best anyway not to let his gaze set your skin ablaze when you must wait for the following night to have him tend to the flames.

His brow knits in slight amusement, but he indulges you and halts in his movements, waiting for you to come to him. He must think you mean to arrange the headpiece in his hair yourself—thus stealing another few touches before you leave the bedchamber and must refrain from doing so for the remainder of the day. And he is not too far from the truth. But as soon as you are standing behind him, you take the accessory from his hand and toss it casually upon the bed, reaching for your comb on the vanity table instead. Now, your husband frowns, unsure.

“My love, as much as I would like an excuse to prolong our stay—”

“Oh, shush,” you chide. “This will take but a moment.”

With nimble fingers and the help of the comb, you part his hair at the temples and brush it into satisfyingly neat sections. It’s an improvisation, really, but you set about the task you have in mind with nothing but determination and a nice little hum on your breath. Your husband sits with the sort of quiet compliance he reserves for your benefit only, and you know that he is relishing the sensation of your fingers gently handling his hair as much as you are. At times your fingers more or less coincidentally brush over the pointed tips of his ears, and the lightest flutter of his lashes betrays how sensitive they are to the touch, the very same as those of any Elf.

You catch his gaze in the mirror, and give him a playful smile as you work on his hair. The vision you had in mind is beginning to take nice shape, and you bite your lip in concentration as you try to guide each golden strand precisely where you need it to be.

“Pass me that hair tie, will you?” It’s a bit further away on the vanity table than the previous ones you had used, and you are busy keeping together quite the intricate design. Your husband obliges you—but his hand catches yours as you take the tie from him.

“My love,” he says, mirth dancing in his eyes in the mirror, “I do hope you have not managed a knot so vicious that even my power cannot see it undone.”

“It isn’t a knot,” you retort, lightly swatting his hand away from yours so you can finish what you started. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “How little you trust me.”

“I trust you with life, my flesh and my soul,” he declares solemnly. “My hair, however, is a different matter.”

That would earn him another scandalized swat, if your hands weren’t occupied with the finishing touches to your little masterpiece.

“There,” you grin triumphantly, at last satisfied with what you have accomplished. It’s almost ridiculous, the youthful delight that takes over you. An echo from a distant life that was so long ago, it barely feels like it was ever yours. It brings a small pang to your chest—but you ignore it as you cradle your husband’s head from behind and place an adoring little kiss to his hair, right above your handy work.

With a small, not unkind sigh, he picks up a hand mirror from the table and turns around on his stool so he may align the reflection with the one in the vanity mirror, see for himself what you have accomplished:

An utterly precious, superbly elegant hair bow.

“A true gift,” you say proudly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “for all of Middle-Earth.” Your fingers drift to his chin, and nudge it upward so he meets your gaze. “But for me, especially.”

Without looking away, he sets down the hand mirror and takes your wrist, planting a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“It is fitting,” he admits, a teasing lilt to his tons as he idly plays with your fingers. “It shall be a pity, when I next bed you, to see such beautiful work unraveled by the very hands which crafted it.”

“Oh, I am not ruining that,” you assure him, striving to sound like you mean it. “Whatever you may do, I shall keep my hands firmly to myself. Or rather, to other parts of you,” you add, shrugging as if in afterthought.

The underlying challenge in your voice is swiftly accepted. Your husband stands and faces you with a mischievous gaze, cupping your cheeks.

“We shall see,” he murmurs against your lips, right before he claims them in a parting kiss filled with lurid promises. Then he pulls away, smiling innocently. “See you soon, my love.”

You are reminded, as he leaves, how futile it is to pretend like you may ever part without your body and soul aching for his return before he even steps out of your sight. But all eyes which look upon him today shall see the work of your loving fingers that he proudly wears upon himself—another small consolation to which you cling whilst you wait for the victory that shall make all your sufferings worth it.

Previous fic with same reader -> As we are now

Next fic with same reader -> Jealousy

[confused-pyramid]

There Is More When You Let Go | s2

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 18.8k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, kidnapping, torture, drug use, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 2x01, 2x05, 2x06, 2x13, 2x14, 2x15, 2x16, 2x18, 2x23

a/n: here's season 2 of the anchor series! I had a lot of fun writing this one (hence why it got so long lmao), and I included a lot more direct show content in this part, so I hope you like it. Also more flashbacks:) Title is from Benediction by Luke Sital-Singh

series masterlist

A gunshot. That's the last thing you hear before Elle's front door flies open, almost throwing you back onto the stairs. The shock of seeing the Fisher King standing right in front of you almost makes you miss the puddle of blood that has started seeping across the floor to your feet.

"Elle," you gasp, your moment of distraction enough time for the man to push you behind him and make a break for it. You fall forward with the force of his shove, but he's much slower than you are. If you ran after him now, you could almost certainly catch up to him, but the sight of Elle bleeding out in front of you makes you immobile.

Making the split second decision to abandon the chase, you throw yourself forward and press your hands against her wound to control the blood flow.

"You're gonna be okay," you tell her, even as her blood trickles out from below your palm. "I need to call for help."

Pressing one hand down harder, you try to ignore the sounds of her gasping in pain as you reach behind you for her house phone. After dialing 911, you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder and bring your hand back to apply more pressure.

The paramedics arrive within five minutes, and they pry you off of her as they pull out a defibrillator. You had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out that you hadn't even noticed she had stopped breathing. How could you have missed that?

"Charging to 200."

You lean back against her couch as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

"Clear!"

***

"They took her into surgery," you say when Hotch meets you at the hospital. Your eyes keep darting around, like you're looking for something, but you don't know what.

"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to regain your focus. The pressure calms you down.

"I think he was waiting for her," you whisper, your throat tightening. "He had to have been. It all happened so fast."

His eyes stay on yours, as though trying to predict your next movement. "I'm glad you're okay."

More agents filter into the hospital and he begins to turn away to talk to them, but then you stiffen under his hands. "I had him, Hotch."

"What?" he frowns, looking at you again. "What are you talking about?"

You lift your hands to your face to brush away a strand of hair, barely noticing the stains all over your skin. "He was right there. The unsub. I could've grabbed him...but I didn't."

Anderson walks over with a question, but Hotch doesn't take his eyes off you. "You went to Elle. It's okay, you made the right choice."

"But the girl he took," you protest, shaking his hands off, "this could have lead us to her, but she's still-"

"You did the right thing," he cuts you off, waving Anderson away to speak with someone else. "It's not your fault."

You grit your teeth, your voice still tinged with guilt. "How do you know?"

"Because," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "it's mine. I sent her home."

You open your mouth to tell him how unfair that is, but he cuts you off with an order to go wash up before he leaves to explain the situation to the other agents.

The only bathroom on that floor of the hospital is at the end of the patient ward, so you trudge down the hallway and into the single family restroom, trying to avoid the worried glances from all around.

You haven't seen your reflection since before leaving with Elle, and you know it can't be a pretty sight, but the face staring back at you in the mirror is still a shock.

The bottom of your shirt is matted to your skin, and your hands are covered in now-dried blood that looks flaky and dark. When you look up, you see a streak of blood smeared over your nose from when you swiped at your face earlier.

Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, you run them under the faucet before scrubbing at your face and peeling your button down off to rid them of any trace of Elle's blood. When you're sure there isn't anything left, you turn the faucet back on and stretch your hands forward, watching the warm water turn a muddy red color as it swirls around the drain.

Eventually, the water runs clear, but you can still see the blood in your mind. You are suddenly ambushed by a memory you thought you had pushed down long ago. Red blood, cold skin.

How was there so much blood in the human body?

Your department-mandated therapist told you at the time that you would be in denial for the first few weeks, but you weren't denying anything. You had seen his body, seen the blood pooling around him as the coroner snapped photographs for the crime scene report. You knew he was dead. You just couldn't get that question out of your mind.

The memory shifts and suddenly you're seventeen again. You're seventeen and you are reaching for your first aid kit for the second time this month as Hotch sits on your bed with what feels like a permanent wince fused to his lips.

"Hold still," you whisper as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and press it into the cut on his hand. There's also blood under his nose and in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to notice.

He hisses as the alcohol makes contact, but he doesn't pull away. He's used to this routine now. You both are.

"I'm sorry I came by so late," he whispers through gritted teeth as he watches your fingers peel open a bandage. You want to berate him for apologizing, for feeling so much guilt all the time, but it's fruitless. It's like he was born with it inside of him, always clawing its way out at the slightest inconvenience.

"Don't be." You shoot him a look that he knows to mean 'be quiet and let me finish this'. He heeds your unspoken order, but after a few minutes, it's you who breaks it. "How did this one happen?"

He looks down and you immediately want to take it back. "You don't have to answer."

He's quiet for a beat. "He was drunk and I cleared his bottle away before he was finished with it."

Your lips thin and you press your hand to his knee, desperately needing to connect yourself to him in some manner.

"I tried to keep him in the kitchen, so Sean wouldn't hear, but I guess the noise woke him up." He takes a deep breath, and you can almost feel the determination entering his body as he sits up straighter. "I couldn't let him get to Sean, so I finally did it. I fought back."

He looks down at his bandaged hand then, and you can see pride accompanying the blood etched into the lines of his face. "I finally fought back."

Your eyes refocus and when you look at yourself in the mirror again, there's no trace of Elle's blood on your body anymore.

***

When Elle is discharged from the hospital, you spend the rest of the break helping her move out of her house and into a new apartment. When you drove her back home, the blood had been cleaned off of her floors, but you could see in her expression that it wasn't enough. This place would always be a reminder of what had happened to her.

The apartment search was quick, only a week between finding a place she liked and signing the new lease, but she saved the actual move out for the last few days of your break, instead hopping between sleeping in your guest room and a motel in town.

That's why you find yourself in Elle's old bedroom on the final Saturday before you're due back at work, packing some of her clothes into a suitcase while she works on clearing her bathroom. She tossed out almost everything she didn't absolutely need, only packing up her basic clothing and a few other sentimental keepsakes from her past.

"What about these?" you ask, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans that you remember her wearing to the bars with you a few months ago. God, has it really only been a few months?

She peeks out of the bathroom for barely a second. "I told you, I don't care. Keep it, toss it, your choice."

You don't know how you feel about being in charge of her future wardrobe, especially since you tend to live in loose jeans and old tee shirts when you're not at work, but you can understand where she's coming from. The instinct to hand off every decision to someone else.

You remember how hard it was for you to even decide what to eat for dinner after Jeff died. You also remember Hotch slipping pre-packed meals into your fridge whenever he came over to keep you company.

It takes you a couple of hours to clear out her house, and another hour to drop her and her stuff off at the new place, with promises to visit whenever you can over the next months of her leave.

You don't realize how exhausted you are until your front door shuts behind you and you collapse onto your couch, still in your dirty clothes. The summer sun is completely below the horizon as you lean back into your throw pillows and grab the tv remote. You haven't used your tv in months, and you figure that a vacation from work is the perfect opportunity to dust it off.

The screen comes to life on a local news channel, where a young reporter with teased-up hair is announcing a recall on a vacuum cleaner brand you've never heard of. She finishes her spiel before handing the mic off to an older woman who starts reporting the details of a car accident that took place in a neighborhood a few miles from yours.

These reports don't usually get under your skin - you have seen enough to know that it happens everyday - but suddenly, you can't stand to look at the crime scene tape flashing on your screen. You don't wait long enough to see what caused the accident. Whether it was a simple mistake, or if it was a drunk dri-

Grabbing the remote, you turn the television off and stand up, shaking your limbs out in an effort to rid yourself of the anxious feeling that's been growing inside of you.

You make yourself a quick microwave dinner and wolf it down in a few minutes, before trudging upstairs and hopping in the shower. You take your time washing the dust off of your body, and only emerge when the hot water runs out.

Even after cleaning yourself off and climbing into a fresh set of sheets, sleep doesn't come easily. The minutes tick by slowly as you stare at the ceiling, and before you can overthink it, you grab your phone off your nightstand and hit the first number on your speed dial.

It rings twice before the line connects. "Is everything okay?"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you ask, huffing out a laugh as you sit up in your bed.

Hotch grunts quietly. "Hello." You can hear the tiredness in his voice, but he sounds alert. You didn't wake him up. "What can I do for you?"

"So I have to need something to call you?"

"Y/N."

"Sorry for wanting to talk to my friend-"

He sighs so loudly, you can practically see his eyes rolling. "Are you going to tell me why you called or not."

"I helped Elle move out today."

That gets his attention. "How is she doing?"

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "As good as can be expected. We threw out almost all of her stuff, you know. She ended up with just a suitcase and three boxes at the end."

"That's just her way of coping, I guess."

"When we got to her house, it was..." You pause for a beat. You don't know the correct way to bring this up. "Well, it was clean. The blood was gone."

He doesn't say anything, and you know you were right. "Hotch, it was you, wasn't it."

He exhales quietly, as though he's trying to control his volume. Shit, maybe Haley's sleeping next to him. This is why you don't call someone after midnight.

"She didn't need to see a crime scene in her own home."

You wonder if he knows how he sounds right now. How caring and compassionate he can be when he doesn't try to tamp down that side of himself.

"You're a good unit chief," you say, leaning your head back against your wooden headboard. "I don't know why you keep things like this hidden."

You do know why, but that isn't what's important right now. There's a small creaking sound over the receiver and you imagine he's getting out of bed and crossing the room. Then the click of a door closing. "All that matters is that it's done."

You can't control the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. "Who are you trying to kid, Hotch? This is me you're talking to. I know how you worry that you aren't setting a good example for the team, but it's things like this that go a long way. It really wouldn't hurt for the team to see you showing some emotion."

"That's what they have you for," he says, his voice tightening the slightest bit. "They don't need that from me. When my emotions get in the way, I can't do my job properly."

You scoff. "And what job is that, exactly?"

"Keeping you safe."

He doesn't need to raise his voice to make you feel his anger. "If I had kept my emotion out of it, I wouldn't have sent her home. I wouldn't have let you accompany her, and I wouldn't have put both of you in danger."

Your hand comes up, rubbing circles into the skin above your chest. "Aaron...that wasn't on you." You can sense his protests coming, so you try a different tactic. "It wasn't on me either. No one but Garner deserves any blame for what happened."

The line is silent for a few moments, and you take the little victory. "I'm sorry I called you so late."

"Oh, it's alright," he chuckles. "You know I was up anyway."

***

She came back too quickly. You can't get the thought out of your head as you watch Elle restlessly tap her foot on the ground as she waits for the final word on whether she will be acting as bait for the serial rapist.

You don't think she's ready, and you've made your opinion known to the team, but Gideon made up his mind quickly.

"You think Elle's ready for it?"

"We'll be there for her."

You watch her vigilantly from Hotch's SUV as she enters the house and drops her keys on the table by the window. She's wired, which is a small relief, but Gideon's instruction not to have her gun on her has you more anxious than you'd like.

"Why isn't she leaving?" Hotch says from next to you, echoing your thoughts.

A car driven by a man fitting the profile pulls up on the opposite side of the street and you hear Morgan dialing Garcia. After a few seconds, he's back on the line. "William Lee. It's him."

"Bingo," Gideon's voice exclaims through your earpiece. "She's on the move."

You turn away from the car and see Elle exiting the front of the house. She glances at the man on her way to her car in the driveway, and it's only then that you notice the gun stuffed in her waistband.

"Her gun's out," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "What's she doing?"

"She's panicking."

"We've got no reason to bring him in."

"Don't blow it, don't blow it."

A chorus of yells echo through your earpiece as Elle stomps down the drive and points her gun at the unsub. "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"

You throw open the car door and run over to apprehend the man as he fervently denies all of her accusations. "I was just stopping to look at my map."

The police put him into an interrogation room back at the station, where Hotch and Gideon try to get him to confess by showing empathy for this motive. It seems to be going well until his lawyer shows up, putting an end to the conversation.

She's been tense all day, so you're not surprised when Elle blows up. "You're letting him walk?"

Gideon is the first to step in. "Back off, Elle."

"You don't know what he's done," she yells, as though trying to reason with the police. The pain in her voice is palpable, but you can't deny the truth, even if you aren't able to voice it to her.

Hotch doesn't face the same issue. "The only reason he's walking is because you panicked."

"I'm supposed to believe that you've got my back?" she fires back, her anger redirecting to fly in his direction.

"What are you saying to me?"

"The last time you sent me home, Hotch, it got me shot."

All of the air leaves the room. You grab Elle's arm and pull her back, expecting more resistance than you get. "Walk with me."

She follows you across the hall and into a little meeting room that's scattered with evidence bags and files from the case. You let the door click shut behind her before you start speaking. "You need to take a breath. I know you, Elle. I know exactly what you're capable of. You just need to give yourself time to heal."

The fury in her eyes hasn't abated since you apprehended Lee a few hours earlier. You're not sure it will in this environment. "Take a walk. Get some air, and then come back."

She doesn't meet your eye as she pushes past you and storms out of the station.

***

"There's no reason for us to stick around anymore, is there?"

Gideon shakes his head and you purse your lips, glancing at the doors behind you. You haven't been able to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen, but you suppose that's a common notion on this team.

"Wheels up at noon tomorrow."

You're walking out to the parking lot with the team when the feeling hits you again. The last time you felt this level of dread was right before you got the call from organized crime just over two years ago.

Your fears are confirmed when Hotch's phone rings with a call from the local PD that they have Elle at Lee's address. The drive over is silent, and even though you're always the first to call Hotch out on his guilt spirals, you can't get the thought out of your head that this is all your fault. You knew she had come back too quickly. Never mind that it wasn't your call. You should've fought it harder.

Lee's bullet-riddled body is like a beacon of your guilt as Elle insists it was cut-and-dry self defense. "I was having a conversation with him and he drew his weapon and I fired."

The police don't let any of you talk to her as they load her into the back of their cruiser, but you know what you have to do if you want to be able to sleep tonight.

"I'm going to the station," you tell Hotch before flagging down another one of the officers on the scene. He moves to stop you, but you sidestep him and level him with a glare that high school you would have been proud of. "I have to do this."

The station doesn't finish processing her until halfway through the night, but you couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. When they finally remove her cuffs and bring her out, you stand up from the plastic chair you spent the last four hours in and stretch out your legs.

She doesn't spot you immediately, but when she does, her body almost deflates. "I'm fine, L/N. You didn't have to come here."

She stops in front of you, her jacket hanging over her arm as she stuffs her badge back into her pocket. If you didn't know her so well, you would be surprised by how relaxed she looks. You wouldn't recognize the front she has had up since she stepped off the plane.

"What happened, Elle?"

That catches her attention, and you watch as the mask slips by a hair. "You don't believe me?"

You don't want to accuse her of something you have no evidence of, but you also can't ignore all of the signs in front of you. "Can you really look me in the eye and say you didn't go there hoping Lee would provoke you?"

She just looks at you, and you watch in real time as the mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the station.

***

The next case doesn't come until a few days later. Elle gets cleared by the bureau's internal investigation, but you can't imagine Hotch won't tack on a psych eval just to be safe.

"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly 13 hours ago."

JJ clicks her remote and the screen in the conference room changes, displaying the crime scene photos.

"God," you curse, averting your eyes for a moment. "He's just a child."

"Blunt force trauma to the head," she continues with a forlorn sigh. "He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last 2 months. Local hunter found his body in the woods."

Morgan looks down at the case file. "First victim's name: Robbie Davis. Are these boys connected somehow?"

JJ shrugs. "Ozona's population's roughly 2, 500. Everyone has some kind of connection."

"Well if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now."

Hotch and Gideon's absences from the conference room don't escape your notice, so you keep an eye out for them upon leaving the briefing.

You spot them discussing something in hushed whispers by the coffee station, and you wait for them to finish before you approach Hotch.

"You missed the briefing."

His eyes pinch, and you notice that the lines in his forehead are more prominent than usual. "What is it?"

"Elle missed her evaluation."

Your breath releases like a sigh. "I can check her apartment."

"No," he says matter-of-factly, with a shake of his head. "Gideon wants all of you in Texas for this one. I'll go look for her."

You would normally argue, but the horrific images from the briefing are still imprinted on the backs of your eyelids. "Okay. I'll see you soon."

He leaves you with a nod, and you grab your go-bag before following the rest of the team to the jet.

"You guys see Elle's cleared?" Reid pipes up as soon as the plane takes off.

Derek nods, his lips thinning. "Self defense."

"So it was a good shot."

"She hit what she was aiming for."

Reid frowns. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"If they cleared her how come she's not here with us?" You glance up and realize Reid is looking at you. "Or Hotch?"

You don't want to reveal more than is necessary, especially when the situation is this precarious and personal, but you're saved from responding when Gideon turns around and yells, "Focus on the case!"

JJ turns the conversation back to the unsub's motivations, and you all discuss a possible profile until a new female victim emerges that strays from the previous victimology.

Gideon doesn't waste any time delegating tasks. "When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the new crime scene. The little girl."

He turns to you. "We'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."

The murder site is so far into the woods, that you can't help but imagine what it would've been like to be the little boy who was brought all the way out here with no hope of return. You can't believe that a young child would come this far out of their way unless they trusted the person they were following. "I think the victims knew their killer."

Gideon seems to be on the same train of thought. "They followed him to this spot."

"What makes you think that?" the local officer asks.

Gideon looks at you expectantly, and you take the invitation with a grateful nod. "Well I guess they went this deep into the woods because they trusted him. He probably stashed his weapon here beforehand. This means we're looking for someone intelligent, methodical."

The police officer accompanying you doesn't look sure of your assessment. "He bashed the kid's head in, it looks like a moment of rage to me!"

"I agree," Gideon muses, turning away and looking further into the woods. "It doesn't make any sense."

After informing the town's parents of the five PM curfew, and the children of the new buddy system in place, you excuse yourself to go call Hotch for an update.

"Anything new?" you ask when he answers the phone.

"I went to her appartment to talk to her," he explains, "but she was leaving with an overnight bag."

Your heart collapses in your chest. "She's running."

"I don't know, I hope not." He pauses for a beat. "I'm following her."

"All right," you sigh, wishing there was more you could do from here, "I really hope I'm wrong about this."

He's silent for a second, and you realize your slip up. "I just mean, I don't want to- I mean, fuck."

"I know," Hotch whispers. You can hear his car starting in the background. "But Gideon's right. She's innocent until proven guilty."

He ends the call with a promise to keep you updated, and you head back to the station, where another child has been reported missing. The missing boy's little brother draws your attention to a local legend that leads you to a Mr. Fennigan's so-called "haunted" house up in the hills.

***

"Garcia," you say into your phone before putting it on speaker and setting it down at the table you're sitting at. After establishing that Finnegan's house was empty, you and team have been searching the property for any indications that he's the unsub. "You got anything for me?"

"Only that Fennigan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas."

You roll your eyes, even though she can't see you. "We heard the legend from that counselor, Charles I think."

"Be careful, though," she says, her voice going lower as though she's telling a campfire story. "People that go into that house supposedly never come out."

"Garcia."

"But then there is that matter of his missing wife."

Deciding to humor her, you clear your throat and whisper, "Do you think she's still on the premises?"

"I got two words for you, my friend: 'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious bitesize pieces."

You suppress a laugh. "Pen, do you really think that's gonna scare me?"

She huffs and you grin, tugging open one of the drawers next to you and peeking inside.

"You're no fun. Reid was scared shitless."

"He's just afraid of the dark," you smile, before your eyes catch on something bright under the table beside you. "Garcia, I gotta go. And cut Reid some slack."

"No promises, Mama."

You tuck your phone away and reach below the table, where you find a small pink backpack with the last victim's name scrawled on top in Sharpie. "Guys! I found something."

The clues from Finnegan's house lead you back to Charles, the town's guidance counselor, and then to his son, who the police are able to catch in the act of luring away Tracey Belle, another young girl. You don't relax until she's back with her parents, and even then, there's still a tension in your shoulders.

Cases involving children never get easier, but you can't help the kinship you feel to little Tracey Belle, who had the same look in her eyes that you recognized in yourself when you were ten years old. You don't remember your mom's funeral much, mostly because you were so young, but also because the whole day was a blur. The few flashes that come back here and there are your father's eyes, red from crying, and the cold gray of the headstone that you visited with him every year on the anniversary until you graduated.

The plane ride back is morose, and no one looks up from their reading material until it's time to disembark. Hotch isn't at the office when you drop off your case file, so you rub the exhaustion from your eyes and drive home.

There's a figure sitting on your porch when you pull into your driveway, and you're a moment from panicking when her face comes into the light.

"I turned in my badge," Elle says after you lock your car and walk up the steps.

Something twists in your gut, but the one emotion you aren't feeling is surprise. "Do you want to come inside? How long have you been waiting?"

She shakes her head, and you give her some time to formulate her thoughts. After a minute, she meets your eye again. "You were kind to me."

You don't know what to say, but you can see the change in her since just last week. She already looks lighter, and you can't help but think about how heavy the job can be. It's a weight on each of your lives that never seems to let up, and while you're going to be sad to see her go, you understand. It's the right choice.

Elle presses her lips together before curving them into a small smile. "You supported me after...after Garner. I'm gonna miss you."

You smile at her, even as your heart fills with sadness. "i'm going to miss you too."

Her body shifts like she's making to leave but then she turns back one last time. "You're too good for him, you know."

You get the sense that you know what she's referring to, but it's not something you can acknowledge without sending a flare shooting up your spine. She nods once, like that's all she wanted to say, and turns away into the night. You blink your eyes closed, squeezing them tightly as though it will somehow make the last few months a nightmare you can wake up from. But that's not how this works.

You give yourself a minute to pretend, but when you open your eyes again, she's gone.

***

The case that takes you to Golconda, Nevada feels almost unique to Gideon, as he takes each of the unsub's decisions personally in a way you haven't seen before.

Once you give the profile to the local police, the sheriff, Georgia Davis, leads you to a woman with a story to match the previous victimology.

"Jane," she says softly as she walks into the holding area at the back of the station. "These people are from the FBI. I'd like you to tell them your story."

Her story takes you through a tale of alien abductions and young love, but the kernel of truth underneath sounds awfully similar to the unsub's M.O. Her eyes still shine with a childlike tenacity that you don't usually see in other victims of such prolific and disturbing killers.

"Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien," Gideon sighs after Sheriff George sends you all out of the room to let Jane rest. "She didn't show him the fear he wanted, so he let her go."

When it becomes clear that he is still in town, you disperse around the local R.V. park in search of his vehicle.

Hotch pairs you with Emily Prentiss, the new agent who joined the team after Elle left, and you welcome the opportunity to speak with her more than you've gotten the chance to since she arrived.

"How have you been settling in?" you ask her as you both stroll along the edge of the R.V. park.

"The team has been very welcoming," she says as she continues to scan the vehicles around you. "I'm just glad to be joining such an accomplished unit."

"That's kind of you," you smile, noting the extreme focus in her eyes. Her intelligence and intense concentration on each of the cases you've worked made much more sense when you learned about her history. Her background must have sparked more than a few nepotism claims over the years, so you don't mind letting her overcompensate, if it means she will prove to herself that she deserves to be here. "Everyone seems to like having you around. I certainly don't mind."

She shoots you a smile that you return by patting her forearm comfortingly. You were worried it would be hard for another agent to settle into the space Elle left on the team, but Prentiss has made easy work of it. She has the same humor as Derek and Penelope, and you've seen how well she gets along with you and JJ. Even Reid has welcomed her with open arms.

"This team is kind of famous," she says after a moment, piquing your interest.

"Oh?"

She shrugs, turning into another row of vehicles. "You've all been through so much, but it just seems to have made you more of a family."

When you first joined the team, that was all you wanted. You were by yourself, completely alone, and the team had become your family in the blink of an eye. It was exactly what you needed. These days, you're not so sure anymore. More family just means more people to lose.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You look at her with a nod. "Yeah, of course."

"It's about Agent Hotchner."

You should've figured. Every new agent tries to vie for his approval, until they realize it's not something you can force. "Yeah?"

She sighs, and you can tell this isn't something she wants to be talking about. "I don't know if I understand him. You're the only person who seems to have his ear. I guess I'm just wondering how I can do the same."

"I got his attention and respect through decades of friendship," you say, watching her eyes widen as you speak. "But he's not the enigma you may think he is. Showing off won't help your cause, but working hard and doing your job well is all you can really do."

She nods, taking in your words. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

You smile, bumping her shoulder to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about him. He knows your worth, I can tell."

Prentiss leans against you for a moment before shaking out her legs and turning back to the lot. "I don't think the unsub is here. We should meet up with the rest of the team."

Once Gideon puts it together that the unsub is hiding out somewhere in town, Hotch suggests that you all turn in for the night, but the older man doesn't want to listen.

"We could wait till first light, Gideon," he stresses, turning his body to stand between him and the officers. "It's gonna be dark soon."

"Do what you like," Jason grunts, shoving past him. "I'm gonna find him."

Hotch starts to go after him, but you step forward and put your hand on his shoulder. "Let him go. Maybe the walk back to the station will help clear his head."

He sighs heavily, and you know it's all the agreement you're going to get right now. "Let's head over there too. He needs our help if he wants to crack this before morning."

The stress lines on his forehead are almost as noticeable as they were the day Elle left the bureau, and you grab his wrist as he tries to turn away. You raise your eyebrows, knowing he'll be able to read the question written in the ridges of your face. How are you holding up?

Hotch rolls his neck to the side, stretching it out after what has been a very long day. When he looks back at you, you wait for a nod that comes after a moment. Alright. Been better, but alright.

Back at the station, the work is slow going, and you don't feel like anyone is helping with how uptight Gideon is acting. The air inside the small building has started to feel suffocating, and you finally get your chance to escape when Sheriff George grabs her car keys.

"I'm gonna take Jane home," she tells you when you approach her at her desk. "It's been a long night, and she needs to sleep in her own bed."

"You need to rest too," you say, noticing the droop of her eyes from sheer exhaustion. "Go home, Sheriff. I'll take her back. I remember her address from earlier."

She doesn't look convinced, so you lean in with a smile. "It's getting really stuffy in here. I need some air too."

That's all it takes to satisfy her, and she pats your arm with a nod before handing you the keys to the cruiser and walking to the exit.

You only see Morgan as you pick Jane up from the holding area, so you tell him you'll be back in a half hour and head out to the back lot.

"How long have you been living in this town?" you ask Jane as you make the short drive to her house.

"Since I was a teenager," she says dreamily, her eyes gazing out the window.

"You never wanted to live anywhere else?"

She shakes her head profusely. "Why would I? This is where I can be found."

You frown at her words, but it's not the oddest thing she has said today. When you arrive at her house, you park the cruiser out front and lead her up the porch steps, where she slowly unlocks the front door. "Do you want to come inside?"

You figure it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place, so you accept her invitation and follow her inside. "This is a beautiful home, Jane." Trinkets are scattered everywhere, and rudimentary sketches cover the walls.

"Thank you," she responds from another room. "You're very nice." You follow the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she is struggling to lift a pitcher of juice from her fridge.

"Here, let me help you," you say, taking it from her and setting it down on the little breakfast table in front of her stove. "Do you have any cups?"

She walks over to a cupboard across from you, and you unclip your side-holster and set it on the table until the sound of a footstep behind you makes you spin on your heels.

You're assaulted by the sight of a tall, white man, who you immediately recognize from Gideon's profile earlier that day.

"Jane!" you yell, inching toward the table where your gun is. "I need you to run."

"Come with me, Jane," the man says, ignoring you completely. You use the moment of distraction to reach for your gun, but he's quicker than you. A sharp pinprick of pain shoots down your neck as your hand knocks over the pitcher of juice and your limbs suddenly feel like they weigh a million pounds.

"Jane, he's a murderer," you yell, hoping your voice doesn't sound as quiet as it does in your head. Your vision is already blurry, and you wish Reid was here to distract you by spouting off a list of fast-acting drugs from memory. "Jane, run!"

The last thing you hear before you black out is the sound of hurried footsteps receding into the background.

***

None of this makes sense. As each minute ticks by, he can't shake the feeling that they are missing something that's right under their noses.

"JJ just called," Morgan says, walking back into the station with his phone waving in his hand. "Apparently an anonymous caller called the tip line and claimed they saw an R.V. driven by a man who fits the description we gave to the media."

Hotch frowns. "Claimed?"

"Well, not a single R.V. or trailer has passed through any of the roadblocks."

Morgan's words click in his brain, and he instinctively glances beside him as an idea forms, but you aren't there. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't seen you in over an hour.

"Who does the number belong to?" he asks, shifting his focus back.

Morgan is about to respond when Deputy Silo runs into the office, shoving past the other cops in his way. "We got a call from outside Jane's house. I think it was from the unsub."

Hotch stands up immediately, grabbing his jacket and gun, but next to him, Morgan stills, his face going slack.

"We need to head over there now," Hotch says, listing off a few instructions to the deputies nearby. Where are you?

"Hotch."

"And have some of your guys check in town," he continues, "in case he took her with him."

"Hotch."

He turns around. "What is it?"

"L/N drove Jane home."

His heart drops.

***

Just stay for a few more minutes, Jeff implores, his fingers dancing over your arm as you try to sit up.

You laugh as he tries to pull you back into the bed. I can't, I have to go into work.

Just five minutes, I promise. He pouts as you slide your legs out from under the covers. Three. One. One minute, please. I miss you.

I miss you too, you sigh, pressing a kiss to his lips. I'll see you tonight.

His hands reach up to caress your face, like he always does in the mornings. Cupping your cheek with his palm and running his fingers through your hair.

You settle into the feeling, wishing you had more time to just lay in bed with him. But you don't. Because Jeff's not here anymore.

Your eyes snap open right as the unsub tapes your mouth closed.

***

His hands grip the steering wheel as his SUV barrels up the small country road leading to Jane's house. He can't seem to press the gas pedal hard enough, and Reid's incessant foot-tapping in the backseat is driving him crazy, even though he understands the anxiety coursing through his body.

He beats Deputy Silo to the house, and flies out of the car without waiting for the other agents to open their doors. He's not sure what he's expecting to see inside as he pulls his gun from his waist holster, but he doesn't give himself a chance to think about it before kicking the door in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan yells from behind him as he checks around the door and makes his way through the small hallway. The house is silent, aside from the footsteps of the agents behind him, but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears is almost deafening.

"Clear," he shouts after checking each room up to the kitchen. When he steps inside, there's juice all over the floor, and he spots the pitcher on its side beside the fridge. Juice, not blood.

His eyes flash to the table and his breath catches in his throat. He would recognize your holster anywhere, especially since he was with you when you bought it.

What do you think? It's not too bold, is it?

I definitely wouldn't mess with you.

"Why didn't she reach for her gun?" he wonders out loud.

"Because she couldn't." He turns around to see Reid holding up a large, empty syringe he found under the table.

He can't take his eyes off the juice on the floor, splattered everywhere as though someone had knocked it off the counter. The image of Elle's blood spilled all over her living room is still fresh in his mind, and he can't get over how easily the dark red cranberry juice seeping into the floorboards could have been yours.

Growing up, it was a common occurrence for you to patch him up and wash the blood off his skin, but there was only one time when he had to return the favor.

He still remembers the proud glint in your eyes after you had literally head-butted a man who had grabbed you in a college bar by Georgetown. Already a year into law school, he would've thought you'd have more forethought than to injure yourself in the hopes of getting back at the jackass, but once he saw your bloody grin, his annoyance had fizzled away.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he had asked as you stuck a scrap of napkin up your nostrils to control the flow after the head-butt broke a few blood vessels in your nose. He hadn't seen you much throughout undergrad, but he was glad that you hadn't changed too much, even if it meant you were just as wild as before. "I'm getting you ice."

A few minutes of angry haggling later, he returned to your side with a small bag of ice that he held to the bridge of your nose. Nothing he said could have ruined your mood that night, especially since the man had been kicked out of the bar and banned for life.

"Did you see the look on his face?" you had asked, your eyes twinkling behind the quickly melting ice.

"I did," he sighs, before breaking into a grin. "I'm just glad that your future law degree will give you another method of retaliation against scumbags like him."

You had laughed then, causing a few drops of blood to spray out of your nose, but all he could think about as he jerked back to avoid the mess was how happy he was that you were back in his life again.

Hotch flies back to the conversation happening around him, his brain refusing to let him imagine the worst case scenario.

"Those footprints," Morgan is saying as he starts listening again, "they got to be Jane's."

Reid nods, following along. "They go to the back."

"She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine's gonna wear off, so he's got to act."

"No," one of the deputies says. "He hasn't got what he came here for."

His voice returns to him all at once. "So he took Y/N for leverage."

"He thinks we have Jane. Which means he wants a trade."

"Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and your agent fast."

His agent. He feels sick at the thought of whatever that man is doing to you. "Garcia can track the phone number from the anonymous caller. You go to town, we'll find Jane."

***

Your eyes are blurry as you try to clear the fogginess in your head from whatever he injected you with. You can see the shape of the unsub moving around the room, and you squint your eyes to get a better look at the anatomical posters and drawings on the walls.

When your vision begins to focus again, the man comes toward you with a smile. "You're awake." He reaches forward to check the tape on your wrists and you try to jerk away from him, but your body is still flowing with the drug. You can't move as he brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles down at you, a sinister lack of emotion in his eyes. You stop trying to move, realizing it's no use. He's been doing this for years. Mutilating women. Cutting them to pieces.

You can feel your heart rate increasing, and you try not to look at the knives and saws littering the tables around you in an effort to keep yourself calm. Your team is looking for you. Derek knows where you went.

When he grabs your arms and starts lifting you off the makeshift operating table you were lying on, you try to scream, but the tape just pulls at your lips, tearing at the thin skin underneath.

Your eyes widen as he drops you into a metal coffin-like box, but he just looks at you with a shake of his head. "No need for that," he tsks before closing the lid over you, enveloping you in eery darkness.

***

Reid and Prentiss help him inspect Jane's house further for clues as to where the unsub could've taken you. The wind chimes of rib bone blowing in the breeze on the front porch catch his attention almost immediately.

His chest feels tight and he clears his throat. "He's obviously been here before and left these gifts for her."

"How romantic," Prentiss grimaces.

"Well, his version of romance."

Prentiss frowns. "What, are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he's in love with her?"

"That's impossible," Reid interjects. "A sexual sadist can't feel love."

"Well," he says, "define love." He doesn't know if he can. He knows he loves Haley and Jack. He likes to think he always wants to be with them, but when a particularly excruciating case arrives on his desk, his desire to catch the bad guy trumps everything else in his mind. He knows he will always try to protect them from anyone or anything that wants to do them harm, but is that love?

It must be, because he feels the same instinct to protect you, but it manifests in him differently.

"Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin."

Of course that would be Reid's answer.

He continues rattling off a list of foods that contain these chemicals, and Hotch tunes him out, turning back to the house. They're missing something, they have to be. It's not until they spot a small trailer out back that it clicks.

***

You don't know how much time passes until the effects of the drug finally wear off enough for you to rub your wrists together to loosen the tape around them. The noises outside the coffin stopped a while ago, and you assume the man has left, likely to resume his search for Jane.

When the tape finally breaks, you let out a relieved gasp and let your arms rest for a few moments, before you begin slamming your fists into the bottom of the lid. It doesn't budge, no matter how hard you pound at it, so you change tactics, instead clawing your fingers at the seams in search of a hinge or screw you can loosen.

You're still trying to pry open the lid when you hear a muffled voice speaking outside the coffin. Despite your determination to stay calm, your heart squeezes in your chest as you bring your hands up to fight back in case he opens the lid. You feel someone slide your box across the floor, before opening the top and flooding your eyes with light.

When you adjust to the brightness, you see the familiar faces of Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss standing above you, and you almost cry with relief. Hotch reaches down with a small "thank god" and pulls you up and out of the coffin. Prentiss carefully peels the tape off your mouth, wincing as some of the skin of your lips comes away with it.

When you're standing up again, your legs give out as the fear leaves you, and you collapse into Hotch.

He catches you easily, holding you against him tightly as you shake from the sheer relief of being found before something irreversible happened. You're acutely aware of your teammates watching you hang onto your unit chief as though your life depends on it, but you can't bring yourself to let go.

It's only after your hands stop shaking that he finally pulls away.

***

When you return from Texas, most of the team heads straight home, but Gideon hangs back, calling you into his office.

"How are you doing after today?" he asks as you shut the door behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Fine," you say simply, looking him straight in the eye. You're not sure exactly what you're feeling, but it definitely isn't fine. The few times your eyes fell closed on the flight back, you could still feel Frank's fingers pressing the tape onto your face.

Gideon scrutinizes you for a moment, his brow crinkling as he waits for you to elaborate. You can appreciate his intention, but you really don't feel like talking about it right now. Not when the memory of the cold metal on your skin is still fresh.

"Okay," he concedes after a minute of silence. It's not really a concession - you can already hear him recommending you for a psych evaluation - but it's enough for the moment. "You don't have to do it right away, but you need to eventually fill out an incident report. I can get you the paperwork now, but I mean it, take your time."

He reaches into his accordion file folder and pulls out a sheet of paper that's mostly blank, except for a few lines at the top. "Just hand it in to me or Hotch when you're done."

You accept the paper and leave his office, with a promise to head home soon. You heard his suggestion to finish it in your own time, but you can't imagine coming back to this at a later date.

Dropping into your chair, you lay the paper down on your desk and read over the form. The first section is the same as every other form you've had to fill out at the bureau: name, date, badge number.

The second half is just one line of instruction before a vast sea of white space. Describe the incident in detail.

Images from Frank's workshop flash in your mind. A roll of silver duct tape. A bloody washcloth. A rusted scalpel. Nothing you can effectively put onto paper.

The words don't come, even as the lights in the hallway automatically turn off, and the hushed voices from the nearby offices go silent. You eventually stand up to shake out your legs and get another coffee, not because you need it to stay awake, but because it feels like the normal thing to do. The idea of sleeping just takes you back to the darkness of the coffin, and a shudder runs through you as you pour yourself a cup and dump the muddy remains of the pot in the sink.

You're about to head back to your desk to fruitlessly stare at the form for a little while longer, when your eye catches on a small lamplight from Hotch's office at the top of the stairs. Gulping back a mouthful of stale coffee, you toss the rest in the trash and grab your report before hiking up the stairs.

"You're still here?" he asks when you knock on his door and push it open. "I thought you left hours ago."

The same question Gideon asked you earlier is etched into his face, but you know he won't voice it just yet. He was always good about knowing your boundaries (and when to push them).

"I could ask you the same thing," you smile with a shrug, before flopping down into the chair by his desk. "You really need to replace this chair, by the way. It's horribly uncomfortable."

He snorts quietly. "It's a perfectly fine chair."

You laugh, the sound quickly turning into a yawn.

"Go home," he stresses, dropping his pen and fixing you with a pointed stare.

"You first."

"I have work to do."

"So do I."

He looks down at the paper in your hands. "Gideon gave you the form already? I was going to give it you in a few days."

"I'm glad he gave it to me today," you say, before dropping your eyes with a sigh. "I've just been having some trouble finding the words to describe what happened."

"You don't have to do it now..." he starts, but you cut him off.

"I do. I don't want to come back to this later. I need to finish it now, while I still can."

"Okay," he accepts after a moment. "Then take your time. I'll be here."

You fall into a comfortable silence as you bring your pen back down and start writing.

***

He doesn't finish his own paperwork until well after midnight. When he looks up from his reports, you're asleep, your head resting on your crossed arms over his desk.

He would normally wake you and tell you to head home, but you look so peaceful for the first time in too long. Haley and Jack would have gone to bed hours ago, so he figures it won't hurt to stay with you for at least a little while as you get some much needed rest. He can't imagine that sleep has been coming easy - he saw you shaking yourself awake each time you closed your eyes on the plane - so he lets you slumber.

He still hasn't gotten the image of you with your hands and mouth taped out of his head, and he doesn't know if he ever will. When your legs had given out, his arms had instinctively shot forward to grab you before his brain could catch up. He can barely look at the bandages on your wrist now, where the tape rubbed your skin raw.

Standing up from his chair, he slides his suit jacket down his arms and steps around his desk. Being extra careful not to wake you, he drapes it over your shoulders and lets you sleep.

***

Hotch gives you the next week off, but the quiet solitude of your house is too much to bear with all of the memories swirling through your brain. You know he would have called you if there was a case out of town, so a few evenings later, you find yourself in your car, driving over to the Virginia field office.

When you walk into the bullpen, it's empty aside from Reid at his desk and Prentiss at the coffee station. It's late, and you assume Reid is just taking some notes down from the last case, but you aren't sure why Emily is still here.

"Hey," she says when she sees you sit at your desk. "Don't you have the week off?"

She looks exhausted, but you understand where she's coming from. The urge to overcompensate for being new. For not being the agent you're replacing. You felt it with Gideon when you were transferred here. She likely feels it with Elle.

"I needed to get out of the house," you explain, adjusting your seat and settling back.

"I hear that," she says, before putting a lid on her coffee cup and grabbing her bag. "I should actually go home for once, but I'll see you in a few days."

Spencer doesn't look up from his notepad until the sound of the door closing behind Emily jerks him from his stupor.

"You're here," he states, as though he's not sure if he is supposed to be asking a question or not. "What are you doing here?"

You shrug, smiling at him. For a genius, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. "I wanted to see you guys."

"Oh," he says, placing his pen on his desk, "well, it's just me here."

You grin. "Works for me."

That makes him smile slightly, but it falls in an instant. "I'm glad you're okay."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Thanks, Spence, me too."

You expect him to return to his notes, but he just looks down and back up again. "Are you? Okay?"

You frown, more out of a lack of understanding, but he starts backtracking immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"

"It's fine," you reassure, pressing your lips together. "It's what everyone's thinking anyway."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you continue to fill the silence. "You just can't let the stares get to you."

"How, though?" he says after a beat. You're not sure what he's asking, but the confusion you're feeling must be mirrored in your expression, because he elaborates. "Ever since my mom came here for the Garner case, I feel like everyone has been looking at me, with all this...pity."

Your chest squeezes as you think about all of the lingering stares that followed him around in the week after Garner killed himself. Even Morgan couldn't hide his shock when Mrs. Reid showed up at the field office. "Have I?"

He shakes his head, and your chest relaxes with relief. Spencer glances up at you, and he looks so young for a second. "You're one of the few who hasn't."

"I guess I just understand the stares better than anyone," you sigh, feeling the familiar ache as your memories return to you in flashes.

You hear him suck in a breath as the realization dawns on him. "Agent Adler..."

You nod and Reid gives you a second to take a breath before he continues. "He was my instructor once, you know. At the academy."

You smile as your eyes shine with unshed tears. "Yeah, I know."

There's this kid in my hand-to-hand combat seminar.

Kid?

He can't be more than 20, maybe 21 years old. But the kid has guts.

You remember those nights before Jeff joined organized crime so fondly these days. The calm before the storm.

"He never treated me differently."

You look up with a sad smile, the memory receding as Spencer shares his own. "Hotch made me take a few physical training classes at the academy after I joined. All the other instructors acted like I was a joke, or a prank being pulled on them...but he never did."

That doesn't surprise you. Jeff was so nurturing and kind, much better than you ever were before you met him.

"I really miss him sometimes," he whispers softly.

You reach forward and press your hand on top of his. He doesn't pull back. "Me too, kid."

***

You can't remember the last time the team went out together. There was one night, what feels like years ago, when you all got dinner together after an especially cut-and-dry case that ended within the first day you arrived on scene. When the cases are long and hard-fought, it's not the same; everyone bolts the minute the jet hits the tarmac.

Tonight, something feels different. There hasn't been a new case in a couple of weeks, and everyone seems lighter.

"I'm back," Haley smiles, carefully setting two drinks down on the little high top table you are crowded around. "Spicy marg for Emily, and mojito for me."

You're still nursing the old fashioned you ordered a half hour ago, and Hotch is only halfway through his pint of Guinness.

"How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?" Haley asks, before putting the straw in her mouth and taking a large sip.

"She means is he being nice to you," you grin, cocking your head at Hotch as he shoots you a look of mock-offense. You know I'm right.

He flashes his eyes. And?

"Everyone has been incredibly nice," she says with a smile as a waitress approaches you with a drink in her hand.

She sets it on the table in front of you and glances behind her. "That man over there bought this for you."

Haley starts hooting before the waitress has a chance to leave the vicinity. She's definitely starting to feel her mojito, but you would never judge her on her one night away from the baby.

"That was weird," you say, hoping you don't look as awkward as you feel.

Haley leans forward and grabs your hand, an earnest smile on her face. "You should go talk to him! Only if you want to, of course."

"Yeah, it's your night off," Emily agrees, shooting you a smirk over the rim of her margarita.

"I don't know, guys," you say, sliding the drink to the center of the table.

You can tell Haley isn't done encouraging you to have a wild night, so you brace yourself for the pounce, but thankfully, Hotch stands up just as she's opening her mouth, and takes her hand. "Come on, honey, let's go show them how it's done."

"Oh!" she smiles, her face lighting up as she follows him onto the dance floor. "You ladies don't have too much fun without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you grin, before downing the last of your original drink.

Emily watches them shimmy into the crowd, her chin resting on her palm. "They are so sweet."

"They've been that way forever," you agree, glancing back over at them as they dance lazily in the center of the dance floor. Haley's movements are a bit looser as she slides through his arms, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand, keeping her upright even when it looks like she may fall.

He still looks at her the same way he did in high school, when he saw her at that first rehearsal for Pirates of Penzance. There's so much wonder in his eyes, like he's seeing her for the first time, every time.

***

You should be happier right now. You're done with high school, sitting in a sea of green caps and gowns with all of your friends, but all you can think about is how soon he's going to be gone.

You're going to be at different schools next year. Him at Harvard, you at UCLA, opposite ends of the country, for four years. The gravity of what that means didn't sink in until this very moment, the worst possible timing, because you're supposed to be happy right now.

"High school couldn't end fast enough," the girl next to you grins, her cap decorated with the glittery letters of the school she will be attending next year. "I'm so ready for all of this to be over."

You're not. You force your lips into a smile and let yourself glance a few rows up, just for a moment. When it's just the back of his head, you aren't confronted by the confusing emotions that have been swirling around your brain for the last few months. Of course you would realize you're in love with your best friend a semester before school ends. But that isn't the only reason your timing couldn't be worse.

You wave at your dad in the crowd, you is wearing more school colors than even you are, and he waves back enthusiastically. It distracts you for a moment, but then you face the front again, and your eyes are drawn back to the same place.

He turns back then, with a grin meant just for you, and your heart flutters like it's in a butterfly enclosure. You smile back, more genuine this time, but his attention shifts behind you after a quick nod. You don't have to turn back to know who he's looking at in the stands.

You shouldn't be surprised they got along so well, you practically set them up. After their first date, he seemed lighter than air, giddy with the impatient brush strokes of a first love. The look in his eyes now is the same as it was that day.

How did it go?

I'm gonna marry that girl one day.

You don't know why you had just assumed he was joking around. Hotch never joked about things like this.

Eventually, he turns back around in his seat, and you stare at your hands as you clasp and unclasp them over and over and over again until you no longer feel the cavity in your chest where your best friend used to be.

***

The next case comes in as you're working on your second drink. JJ corrals everyone at the bar into taxis, and sends you all off to the airport where the jet is already fueled and waiting.

"You missed a fun night," you note as Gideon climbs into the plane, a few minutes after the rest of you arrived.

"I had a good time," he says simply, before sitting by himself a few rows over. He hasn't spoken to you since he gave you the incident report, but you know it's not about you. Being forced to let Frank get away was hard on him, but you don't know how to assuage his guilt about your kidnapping if he won't even look at you.

Derek flips open his case file and huffs out a breath. "Well, good time's definitely over."

"The Kyles," JJ says, beginning the briefing as the plane takes off, "Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."

You look up, assuming you heard her wrong. "Only an hour ago?"

"Police were on scene unusually fast," she nods.

Derek frowns. "Why?"

"One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims."

Prentiss lets out a humorless laugh from across from you. "You're kidding."

"From inside the house."

JJ scans the file again. "According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there."

Gideon enters the conversation with a confused frown. "Sinners?"

"Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed." She holds up a photo of a page that looks torn out of a book.

"Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8."

Gideon sighs. "They're on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing."

***

Gideon was right, as he usually is. The killings don't stop, and videos of the murders are posted online, spreading the killers' message for them.

"JJ, why don't you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something."

"On it."

Garcia calls almost immediately after they leave. "There's a new video from our psycho."

Hotch stills. "Get it on the monitor here as soon as you can."

The police officer you met at the first crime scene joins you, Hotch, and Morgan in front of the computer as the video appears on the screen. The first thing you see is the dirty mattress. Then come the dogs.

You avert your eyes as the woman's screams for help fill the room.

"Jezebel's death," Hotch whispers, almost to himself.

"My god," Morgan grimaces. "You can turn it off."

The officer suddenly leans forward. "Oh, wait."

"You haven't seen enough?" Morgan asks, disgust coloring his tone. He has two sisters, both of whom he protects fiercely. You can't imagine what he's thinking about as he watches the screen.

"Those dogs," he says, his voice growing in strength as he speaks. "Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago. I would have had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner."

"You have the owner's name?"

He checks his notepad, flipping through it rapidly. "Hankel."

Your blood runs cold. "Hankel?"

"Tobias Hankel."

You're on your feet before he can finish saying his name.

***

The drive to the Hankel farmhouse is filled with hand wringing and nervous leg bouncing. You keep catching Hotch glancing over at you, but you don't care. You just need him to drive faster.

When he pulls up in front of the house, you and Emily throw your doors open before he can come to a complete stop. Hotch and Gideon head toward the house, so you lead Prentiss and Morgan over to the barn, where you can hear the faint sound of panicked breathing.

Lifting your gun and flashlight, you push open the barn door and are greeted by the sight of JJ pointing her gun at you. "JJ, it's L/N, Prentiss, and Morgan. You're okay."

She looks frenzied, her hair and clothes covered in a layer of sweat and grime. When her flashlight comes down, you notice the dead dogs on the ground.

"Tobias Hankel is the unsub," she gasps, stumbling over to you.

"We know, honey," you whisper, taking her arm and leading her outside, before glancing at Emily behind you. "Call an ambulance."

She nods and rushes over to the clearing in search of better cell signal as Derek steps forward, his face still twisted into a worried frown. "JJ, where's Reid?"

"They just completely tore her apart," she babbles, her eyes still frantic even as you put your hands on her shoulders to steady her. "There's nothing even left-"

"JJ, look at me."

Her eyes snap over to Morgan, and he brings his voice down again. "Where's Reid?"

"We split up," she says, her voice still tight, but slightly calmer. "He said he was going to go in the back."

"House is clear," Hotch calls from behind you, making you spin around, your mouth twisting with dread.

"So where is he?"

JJ's eyes glance back at the cornfield behind the house, and suddenly you're running. You can hear someone calling your name, but all you can think about is Spencer with an unsub who's idea of torture is biblical and cruel.

There are two sets of footprints in the dirt by the edge of the field, but after a few feet, they turn to drag marks. Oh no, oh god no.

***

The whole team - except for Reid, your brain keeps reminding you - sets up in Hankel's house, with even Garcia joining you on the scene to limit communication time.

You can't sleep as you alternate between reading Hankel's journals and hovering over Penelope's shoulder as she pores through his downloaded images and videos. Even as exhaustion pulls at your eyes, you periodically splash your face with water from the bathroom to keep yourself up. If anyone can understand how terrifying it is to be taken by a psychotic killer, it's you. Succumbing to sleep feels like a defeat, like you've given up on him.

You don't find anything useful until after Emily and JJ return from meeting with Tobias's N.A. sponsor, but in the sixth hour of scouring his journal, your brain clicks with a realization. "Guys, some parts of this journal match his father's handwriting. But they were written after he died."

"The bedrooms upstairs..." Gideon mutters, his eyes shifting up like they do when he's thinking. "One of Tobias's personalities may be his father."

Your brow furrows and you look down at the journal in front of you even as your eyes burn with fatigue. "Then who is Raphael?"

"My guess," Gideon sighs, "a mediator between the two."

Hotch looks at you, and you can see the concern etched into his face. "We need to start profiling Tobias's father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid."

Morgan nods. "I'll get Garcia on it."

He leaves the room and Hotch comes over to the table, where you're still staring down at one of the journals. Your hands are covered in pink half-moon indentations where your nails were pressed, and he fights the urge to take you away from here, to save you from this hurt. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine, Hotch," you whisper through gritted teeth. He can hear the worry in every word that leaves your mouth. The terror at the prospect of losing the team's youngest profiler.

"You didn't sleep at all last night," he points out gently.

"Neither did you."

You're not wrong. He didn't get a chance to shut his eyes either, but he's used to the sleepless nights. He supposes you are, too.

Your focus returns to the journal, and you don't notice as he slips out of the room and finds Gideon by the front of the house.

"Reid's brilliant," the older man sighs when he notices Hotch, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "He'll make it."

"I take advantage of Reid for his brain," he says softly, "but I never teach him how to handle things emotionally."

Jason shrugs. "Lead by example."

"What kind of example is that?"

For a bunch of criminal psychologists, you all still have no idea how to truly deal with losing people. Maybe that's just how life works. He thinks about the weeks after Jeff's death, when he wasn't sure if you would ever be okay again. Even as he held you while you cried, and promised that you would feel okay someday, he's not sure if he ever actually believed it.

But then one day, your eyes stopped shining at the mention of his name, and you no longer fell apart after each time you had to question a victim's widow.

Even after your mother's death, you were stoic. He remembers holding your hand at the funeral, but your grip was almost stronger than his, like you were holding him up with your sheer willpower to stay upright.

Seeing you now, he's not sure what will happen if Reid doesn't come back. He just knows he doesn't plan on finding out.

He and Gideon rush back inside when Garcia's voice frantically calls for everyone to look at Hankel's monitors. His eyes squint inadvertently as the video feed of Reid tied to a chair lights up the screens in front of them, almost like his brain is trying to block out the image.

Your hand flies to your mouth, but not before a small anguished sound escapes. "He's been beaten."

"This is for us," Garcia whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He knows we're here."

"I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan spits out, before turning around and slamming his fist into the room's wooden door.

Gideon leans closer to the screens, clearly trying to take in any detail he can from the scene. "Why can't you locate him?"

"He's rerouting to a different I.P. address every 30 seconds," Garcia explains, her voice thick through the tears. "I can't track him."

***

The screens shut off and the video feed of Spencer is gone. Penelope starts frantically typing away at the keyboard, likely in an effort to regain the signal, but it doesn't seem to be working.

Your body feels heavy, like there are weights on all of your limbs. Realistically, you know it's mostly the stress and exhaustion, but you can't stop thinking about the frightened look on Reid's face and how he must be feeling.

When you walk back through the house, the sound of a hushed argument in the kitchen catches your attention.

"JJ, what do you want from me?"

You recognize Morgan's voice, and you almost turn away to give them some privacy, but something in JJ's voice as she responds keeps you at the door.

"I just...I want someone to tell me the truth."

"The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't. You gotta figure the rest out for yourself."

You're walking inside before you can stop yourself. "Morgan, go help Penelope with the video file."

He looks surprised when he sees you, but he doesn't argue before leaving the room.

JJ rakes a hand through her hair as you approach her slowly. She doesn't shy away as you stand next to her, so you reach out and squeeze her forearm once before pulling back. "I was terrified when Frank took me in Texas."

She looks up with a shocked expression, her eyes finally meeting yours for the first time all day.

"I was terrified," you repeat, "but I never lost hope, because I knew you guys would come for me, no matter what."

Her eyes crinkle with sorrow and you pat her arm again, almost as much for you as for her. "I didn't blame anyone for what happened to me, JJ. Reid isn't blaming you either."

Her lip trembles, and you pull her into a hug as the tears finally come.

***

"Your team members...choose one to die."

Spencer gasps on the grainy computer monitor. "Kill me."

"Tell me who dies."

"No."

The back and forth continues as Hankel stalks toward him and lines his revolver up with Reid's forehead. "Choose."

"I-I choose Aaron Hotchner."

The room stills.

"He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense. In emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"

Reid's words sink in and you unconsciously reach towards Hotch, but he's already walking out of the room. You follow him into the other room, the rest of the team on your heels.

"I'm not a narcissist," he says, his voice lighter than you're expecting. He grabs a Bible from the table and quickly flips through it, landing on the verse Reid mentioned.

"Come on, look," Gideon urges. "You can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch."

He waves away everyone's concern. "No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?"

No one says anything. You can feel Morgan revving up, so you jump in to start things off. "You're a workaholic."

Your mind flashes back to your hometown's library, all the late nights where you would fall asleep in your chair as he worked away into the early hours of the morning. His home was a trigger after his father died, and you could see the guilt eating away at him as he realized he didn't miss his dad as much as he was supposed to. As much as Sean did. The guilt that wore him down as he struggled to figure out how to be there for his brother, when he couldn't understand his pain.

He nods at you then, and there's nothing but determination behind his eyes.

"You're a bully," JJ chimes in.

Morgan adds, "You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

Hotch is still nodding. "Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men," Emily says, her voice wavering slightly.

"Ok, good," he says, tapping the page with his finger. "I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever."

"Hotch, what's your point," you whisper, chewing your lip as you anxiously glance back at the screen.

He shushes you with a wave of his hand. "Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it."

You lean forward, taking the book from him. "'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'"

"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."

"Bury my dead," Morgan repeats, his eyes widening. "He's in a cemetery."

***

Hotch heads to the nearest cemetery with Morgan and Gideon, while you follow closely behind, with JJ in the seat next to you and Emily in the back. The drive is short, and you all throw yourselves out of the SUV when you park, as everyone spreads out to search the cemetery.

"Come with me," you tell JJ when you see her eyes flit around the darkness, a slightly panicked expression on her face. "We'll find him."

The wet mulch of the graveyard sinks under your quick footsteps, and you keep your eyes peeled as his name choruses around you, from all of the officers milling around.

The search ends with the sound of a gunshot, and when you get to the source, you nearly collapse with the relief of seeing Hankel on the ground as Reid kneels beside him.

"Spencer," you gasp as the other agents examine Hankel's body. He looks up at the sound of your voice and his face contorts for a second as you kneel in front of him.

A small sound leaves his mouth and suddenly your arms are crushing him to you, your panic ebbing away with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're okay. You're okay."

Hotch reaches out when you break apart and helps him up before Reid pulls him into a tight hug that surprises everyone. "I knew you'd understand."

Hotch tightens his arms for a moment, before they both pull back and JJ throws her arms around Reid. "I'm so sorry."

He pats her back, and for a split second, you can almost imagine he's comforting her, instead of the other way around. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

She steps away from him and he asks for a moment alone, so you all move back a few paces, allowing him the time to come to terms with the death of the man who somehow both tortured and saved him. You use the second of space to catch your breath as you will yourself not to let the tears of relief fall.

When Spencer finally stands up, you grab onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, and you help him over to the ambulance that is waiting by the edge of the cemetery.

"Thank you," you gasp as he sits on the edge of the vehicle, suddenly unable to help yourself.

He frowns, his hair hanging in sweaty pieces in front of his face. "For what?"

"For staying alive."

***

The next case takes you to New York, where you find yourself hyper-vigilant as you watch Spencer try to acclimate to the job again. You can't help but notice the small changes in his demeanor, including the snappiness in his tone as he responds to everyone's questions, but you attribute it to the shock of his kidnapping.

After returning from the city, you decide to take some time to complete the paperwork you've been letting slide. Hotch managed to head home at a decent hour for once, and JJ and Prentiss are no where to be seen, but you spot Morgan twiddling his thumbs at his desk, his eyes darting over to peer at Reid almost as often as yours do.

An hour into scribbling out a case report, you head over to the coffee station to refill your mug. It has cooled down since you made it a couple of hours ago, but it still tastes just how you like it.

Burnt, Hotch's voice grumbles in your head. Even when he's gone, he won't leave you alone.

Topping off your mug, you turn around to get back to work and end up bumping into Reid, who looks worse for wear than he did on the jet.

"Shit, sorry," you smile, trying to get him to meet your eye. "I didn't see you there."

"Watch where you're going," he snaps, before stepping around you.

You don't let him get away that easily. Grabbing his arm, you hold him in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Spencer, don't do that. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I'm fine," he says simply, his expression almost emotionless as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

"I'm serious," you say, putting extra emphasis on your words. "I know what you're feeling. I can help."

His expression shifts into one of animosity and something else you can't place. "You don't know anything about what I'm feeling."

His words are like a slap to the face, and he uses your break in focus to tug himself out of your grip and stalk over to the bathroom around the corner.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to take it personally. He's just been through a horrifying ordeal. No one can expect him to continue on like normal, at least for a little while.

"Something is up with him," Morgan says from his desk, before spinning in his chair to look at the spot where Reid walked away. "He's acting...hostile."

"He's just adjusting," you say quickly, your protective instinct coming out in full force. You close your eyes for a moment to calm your voice down. "This is a normal reaction for what he went through."

Derek doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. You don't even know if you're convincing yourself, because you know why this kind of hostility and irritation manifests: when you're hiding something.

You weren't a particularly crazy teenager, so you didn't have much to hide from your parents, but there was one secret you held until you left for college that manifested in your daily interactions. One secret that changed how you acted around your best friend, how you spoke to him, how you even looked at him.

You push the thought away before turning to stare at the bathroom door as it falls shut behind Reid. You know Morgan's right. You just don't know what to do.

***

"Hey, Reid," Derek says, looking at him with a small smile. "What's going on up there?"

He shrugs. "Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas, Ethan. Pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now."

JJ called you at home a few hours ago with the briefing and an instruction to pack for warm weather. Wanting to pack light, you threw on the tank top you planned to wear, and a button-down for the flight. A few cursory glances around the jet tell you that almost everyone else had the same idea. Of course, Hotch is still in his suit, and Reid has on a sweater vest that you're sure he won't take off, even if the temperature skyrockets.

"Really?" Derek asks. "You going to give him a call?"

Reid shrugs again, and you absentmindedly wonder if his shoulders hurt from the number of times he has used that motion over the past week. "We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau but first day at Quantico he backed out."

Emily, who is sitting next to you, looks up with a grin. "He probably just couldn't take the heat."

"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Reid states, and her face falls immediately.

"Right. My bad."

He hasn't been as irritable in recent days, but sometimes a random response will rub him the wrong way. You find Emily's hand on the armrest and squeeze it once. She looks down at her hand and then at you, a grateful smile on her face.

JJ directs everyone back to the images that were recovered as you approach Louisiana.

"A slaughter like this takes time," you note as you examine the depth and shape of the wounds on the dead man in the photos before you.

"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives," Reid adds, chiming in from across the cabin, "and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero."

Gideon nods, looking up from his file. "This city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche."

"So," you say, looking at JJ. "Where do we start?"

She sighs. "All of the records were washed away in Katrina."

"With no case files, there's only one place we can start," Hotch says, drawing your attention. "Square one."

The plane lands soon after, and you disembark into the midday heat, heading to the latest crime scene immediately after dropping your bags off at the station.

Instead of a body, there's a very alive man waiting for you all at the scene.

"You must be BAU," he says, reaching out to shake JJ's hand. "Will Lamontagne."

She smiles at him, accepting the handshake. "Hi, Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

The detective is looking at her so intently, you almost feel like you're interrupting something by bring here. "Okay, then. I pictured you different."

You glance over at Emily, who is already looking at you, a smirk on her face.

"These are Agents Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, and L/N," she introduces. "This is Detective William Lamontagne Jr."

He nods at you. "Appreciate you guys being here."

"Of course," you say, trying to keep the smile off your face as you shake his hand. Beside you, JJ has turned a light shade of mauve that you presently allow her to pretend is just from the heat.

***

"Morgan called," Hotch mentions when you finally meet him back at the station. He hasn't seen you since you got off the plane. "He and Prentiss think the unsub is a woman."

You ponder the idea, your eyes lighting up as the gaps in the profile get filled. "All straight male victims, killed while on a night out at the bars. Always in groups of other men, drinking. A woman would be able to lure them away. That makes sense."

He nods, turning back to the letters from the unsub. He's about to call the rest of the team back in when he notices your forehead crinkle out of the corner of his eye. You look up at him. "Wait, you said Prentiss and Morgan think it's a woman. What about Reid? Didn't he fly out with them?"

He sighs, mentally kicking himself for letting that slip. He doesn't want you worrying about Reid any more than you already have been, but he knows there isn't anything he can do to stop you. "Apparently he missed the flight. They couldn't get ahold of him."

"What?" Your brow furrows with concern, and he quickly interjects to keep you from spiraling. "They will be back from Texas any minute now, and Gideon said he spotted Reid heading over here a few minutes before you arrived. Nothing has happened to him."

"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, before bringing your voice down. "The worst thing happened to him. He's hurting more than any of us can possibly imagine. I just don't know how to help him get through it."

He doesn't correct you. He doesn't say that almost every single member of this team can at least somewhat relate to what Reid may be feeling, including you. Instead, he puts his hand on your arm and says, "You're doing all you can."

You sigh. "And what's that?"

"You're promising to be there when he's ready for your help." He sees the tension visibly leave your shoulders, and he pulls his hand back. "That's all any of us can do."

***

When another body is found in the French Quarter, the plan changes. Everyone disperses in pairs to cover the streets in the hopes of catching the unsub in action.

Even as night falls, the temperature doesn't, and you strip off your over-shirt, leaving you in a pale pink tank top. When you emerge from the bathroom, Hotch is the only one waiting for you outside, with all of the other pairs already patrolling Bourbon Street.

He gives you a funny look when he sees you tying your button-down around your waist, and you bump your shoulder against his with a laugh. "What are you looking at?"

He exhales in a quick burst, before meeting your eye. "You look different."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No," he shakes his head, his eyes blinking shut as he clearly regrets his choice of words, "no, it's good...uh, you look good."

Your stomach flips and you turn your face down to hide the smile that's threatening to appear. "Thanks, Hotch."

He huffs out a laugh before leading you up to the bars, where tourists are bustling around in large groups. The sounds of buskers playing their accordions at the street corners loosens a memory from your brain, and you turn to him with a bright smile. "Remember your first performance of Pirates of Penzance?"

He frowns. "I remember it being my first and last foray into the world of theater."

"No," you giggle, glancing around you periodically even as you continue the story. "I mean, do you remember how that one accordion player tripped and almost fell into the orchestra pit like ten minutes into opening night?"

His eyes light up at the memory and he laughs. "I thought it was hilarious, but Haley was so stressed out the whole performance. To this day, I've never seen that vein in her forehead get so big."

"You were pirate number four," you chastise him with a grin. "She was one of the leads. I hardly think you can compare experiences."

He shrugs, his eyes still scanning the vicinity. He looks like he wants to say something, but then you both notice Morgan and Reid rushing towards one of the side streets and your conversation halts. "Let's go."

***

With help from Detective Lamontagne and his late father, the team is able to catch the unsub right before she kills another man. Once she's in custody, you wait outside by the ambulances, watching from afar as JJ and Will talk by his car.

After a few minutes, she hands him something and walks back over to where you're standing. "I can't believe I just did that."

"What did you do?" you ask, trying not to laugh at how freaked out she looks.

She puts her face in her hands for a second, before looking at you with a sigh. "I gave him my number."

"That's good!" you smile, squeezing her arm. "That's good, right?"

"I don't know," she says softly, her eyes squinting as she looks at you. "He seems really sweet. And he's clearly great at his job. I think the distance just worries me."

"You can take it slow," you tell her earnestly. "This doesn't have to be any more serious than you want it to be."

"What if I want it to be serious? Eventually, I mean."

You can't help but smile at the look on her face. You recognize it on yourself from when you first met Jeff: the excitement of possibility. "Then that's up to you too."

She nods, and you let out a smile. "Let loose, JJ. He seems like a good one, and you definitely deserve something good."

JJ glances over at the police cars, where Will is talking to one of the paramedics. "I hope so."

***

You sit by yourself on the flight home, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind from the case. You don't encounter female unsubs often, but the ones that arise always have a tendency to get under your skin. Maybe it's because their motivations seem so different from the others. Or maybe you just feel bad for them.

You're so zoned out that you don't realize Spencer is sitting next to you until he taps your arm. "Hey."

"Hey, Spence," you smile, trying to keep your tone light so he doesn't think you expect too much. "What's up?"

He looks down for a beat before meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Your heart twists and you press your lips together to keep from speaking too quickly. "You never have to apologize to me."

"I do," he says, shaking his head. "Please just let me."

He looks so strong all of a sudden. You haven't seen him look so steady in months, and it makes your chest feel lighter. "Okay. I forgive you, Spencer."

He nods, making a move to get up, but you don't let him get away just yet. "Just promise me something."

He purses his lips, like he's unsure of how to respond, but eventually he dips his chin into another nod.

"Promise me that next time you feel this way, you'll come to me."

He looks at you with an expression you can't decipher, but it quickly falls into contrition. "I promise."

***

"What are you thinking about?" Hotch's shoulder bumps yours as he sits down on the edge of the desk next to you.

"Nothing," you say quickly. He's not sure why you're lying. He can sniff out your dishonesty from a mile away.

"I thought you and Reid got a chance to talk on the plane last week," he frowns, following your line of sight.

You sigh, turning your gaze away from the younger agent. "We did. I just keep thinking about what he said about the unsub at the last scene."

He's like a drug addict.

It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help.

"All of us knew," he says softly, his eyes turning up, searching for something he can't see. "To some extent, we knew. But he's doing a lot better now. We just have to give him time to trust us with the truth."

Your eyes find his. "How did you know you could trust me? When we were kids, I mean?"

Your question takes him aback. He wants to say something profound, to mention a specific moment when he realized that he could share the worst parts of his life with you without the fear that the world would end, but it wasn't that poetic. All he knows is that you were a kid, and he was too, and the first time you saw the splotches of black and blue painting his skin, you didn't turn away. You looked at him, not with pity or sorrow, but with a strength that he still draws from to this day. "I think I just knew you would always be there."

You ponder his words, your eyes traveling back to Reid, who is flipping through a book he brought with him. He knows there are a lot of ways you could take what he said, but he believes you'll take what you need, because he was telling the truth.

You really were always there for him. Even when you weren't - either because of physical distance or because you were in a fight - he never doubted that you would be there if he needed you.

"Come on," he says after a beat. "Let's head back."

You nod, your mind still a million miles away. "Okay."

***

Friday nights used to be your date night. Jeff would promise to be home by seven, usually with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, and you would cook something special together before watching a movie or falling into bed.

After he died, Friday nights became your least favorite time of the week, serving as a constant reminder of what you should have, and no longer do.

Today, for the first time in over two years, you think you might be ready to remember those nights you used to love. Grabbing a bottle of cabernet from your pantry, you pull out a thin-stemmed glass and pour yourself some wine. Your heart thuds heavily as you swirl the wine around, and you are willing yourself to bring the glass to your lips when your pager goes off. You feel a shameful sense of relief as you set your glass down and reach for your purse.

181 Arthur Street. Why does that look familiar?

You wrack your brain for a second before it clicks. It takes you less than a minute to toss your wine into the sink and grab your coat.

***

"Where's Gideon?" you ask when you spot Hotch and the team standing in his kitchen.

"He's not here," he replied. "It seems he left in a hurry."

Morgan looks at him with an urgency you recognize in yourself. "PD thinks he did this?"

"They have six witnesses who saw him running down the street covered in blood, wielding a gun."

"Okay, he was probably chasing the son of a bitch who did do this."

Hotch shrugs, and you can feel the momentary helplessness in the motion. "Either way, we're under strict orders not to get in the way of the investigation."

"Gideon's a suspect," Emily nods, "we're his colleagues."

"Conflict of interest," JJ agrees. "There's no way they'll ask for our help."

"Which he needs badly right now."

You turn into the bedroom to look at the crime scene for the first time. The mutilation of the victim's body brings a familiar nausea to your stomach that you swallow down. "Do we know who she is?"

Hotch comes in behind you. "An old school friend." He turns back to spout off a list of instructions to JJ, but you can't take your eyes off of the woman.

Evisceration of the torso. Removal of various organs. No defensive wounds.

Something in her hand catches your attention and your eyes flicker down to see what she's clutching. Using one of your gloved hands, you pry open her fist and reveal a broken piece of bone. A rib bone.

"Frank," you whisper, almost to yourself. "It's Frank."

"What did you say?" Morgan asks, stepping up next to you. You unfurl your hand to reveal the bone, and he swears under his breath. He turns around to address the rest of the team. "Frank's back."

After JJ snaps a dozen photos of the crime scene on her phone, you all head out into the night air to regroup and formulate a game plan. You hang behind the team on the walk out, your mind spinning with memories of hands and voices you still see sometimes when you're trying to fall asleep.

"Y/N." Your eyes snap up to Emily's as she strolls alongside you. "You okay?"

She looks sincere, and you find yourself wanting to talk all of a sudden. You nod, heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, it just feels very fresh all over again."

"I can imagine." She takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze. "You can come to me if you need a break from all of it."

She leaves you with an earnest smile, and you realize, not for the first time, how glad you are that she's on the team.

***

You aren't able to save Rebecca Garner this time. Frank kills her, and you once again feel that familiar bitterness of nausea rising in your throat as you see her mutilated body.

When you realize he's going to go after children again, you join Hotch and Morgan as they go to Tracey Belle's house.

"We need a crime scene team," Hotch barks into his comm when the home comes up empty, no trace of anyone inside.

"That's my house!"

You turn around and see Tracey's parents running up to the entrance, panic reflected in their eyes.

Hotch steps forward to block them. "Mr. Belle..."

"You have to let us in. My daughter's in there."

He turns to the mother. "Ma'am, you can't go in right now."

"Where's Tracy? Where is she?"

You can see the interaction pulling him down, like a ship anchored to the sea floor.

"What's important to know right now is Tracy is alive, okay? Your daughter's alive."

S.W.A.T. takes the parents aside to explain the situation to them in more detail, and you go to Hotch's side as a pained expression crosses his face. More than anything, you want to comfort him. To tell him that Tracey isn't Jack, that this won't happen to him...but how can you?

Gideon's girlfriend was murdered tonight. Jeff was killed while undercover. Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. No one is ever really safe.

Your eyes flash back over to Mr. and Mrs. Belle, and your chest tightens almost uncontrollably as you imagine how scared Tracey must be.

When Emily and JJ find Jane in a holding cell at the local precinct, her knowledge of Frank's backstory provides more clues about his whereabouts. You go with JJ and Reid to his mother's apartment in Manhattan, while the rest of the team heads to the train station to find Frank.

The idea of Tracey being all alone, frightened for her life, plagues your every thought as the three of you drive to the city. You try to clear your mind as you push through the front door and check for any sign of life. Instead, what you find is the dusty corpse of Frank's late mother.

"Guys, over here." Reid points to a latched door. Stepping around the bed, you immediately unlock the door and throw it open, revealing the tiny, shivering form of Tracey.

"Oh, sweetie," you gasp as sits up in fright, her posture only relaxing once she sees the FBI vests. "You're okay, honey."

You undo the ties on her wrists and she all but falls forward and into your arms. You pull her into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of any possible injuries she could have sustained. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against yours brings you a familiar comfort, and you squeeze her tighter, before finally letting go.

***

He finds himself in Strauss's office again as he explains what happened with the Frank case. How he killed himself and Jane, but he can't bring himself to take that as a failure, because he knows she never would've found the strength to leave him anyway. "Once again, the team has battled a monster and won."

"The future of the BAU is not in the balance here." Her eyes are brimming with scorn. "The residual impact as a result of the investigations into the crimes and criminals you pursue is. Every cause has its effect."

He almost scoffs. "You think I don't know that?"

"I believe you are no longer effective in your post."

There it is. He knows she never liked the way he handled his team. The next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "The modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, the framed diplomas, the art on the wall are all in conflict with your family photos."

Her eyes widen but he just continues, undeterred.

"You have three children, but you favor the middle one, your son."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Of course you love all your children," he shrugs, "but not like your son."

Strauss twists her hand into a fist. "That's enough."

"The bonsai that you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother..."

"Agent Hotchner," she says, her voice bordering on rage. "I said that is enough. My position is not in question here. As your superior I am questioning your ability to lead your team."

"My team?" he scoffs, unable to keep the malice from his tone. "Let me tell you about my team. Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned and there are very few people he truly trusts.

"Reid's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions and at the moment his shield is under repair.

"Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she's a part of the team. She needn't worry.

"Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.

"Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.

"Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others, which is why he shares so little of himself. Yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.

"And Agent L/N," he pauses finally, taking a moment to find himself again, "she has taken the immense loss that life has handed to her and transformed it, not into cynicism, but into empathy, for her team, for the victims, for the world."

Strauss doesn't say anything, and he can't help the vindication that shines through his voice as he says, "I stand by my actions and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck."

"Agent Hotchner," she emphasizes, making him look back at her one last time.

"How do I know you favor your son?"

She simply looks at him, a mixture of irritation and shame on her face.

"I'm good at my job."

***

"What's wrong?" Hotch looks up in surprise as you sidle up next to him. He was staring at the portrait of the FBI director, hanging in the hallway outside the bullpen, and he only does that when he's professionally stressed.

He looks like he wants to avoid the question, but you fix him with a glare that makes him sigh. "We're being evaluated."

"Doesn't that happen every year?" you ask, still not understanding.

"It's six months early."

You take a deep breath. This past year has been tough for everybody, but you think the team has come through the other side better people. "So they're assessing our unit. It'll be fine, we did great work this year."

"The only file they didn't request was mine."

That sends a spike of anxiety through your bloodstream, but he doesn't need your fear. "They could never fire you. You stepped up to the plate when Gideon left. You helped make this unit what it is."

You're the reason I joined at all, you want to say. You made this unit my family. I can't imagine being here without you.

But that isn't fair. He doesn't need to carry this with you. This burden of having no one else.

So instead you just smile at him, bump his shoulder with yours, and say, "You're going to be fine. This team wouldn't be the same without you."

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @distortionbobble, @sanayikes (message me to be added!)

[goatbeard-goatbeard]

I love the symbolism of Crowley planting a bullet (or bullet-analogue) in Aziraphale’s mouth to say “yeah, I’m actually in on this”.

Then I started wondering when Crowley could have covertly stashed something in his own mouth. He didn’t study under the great Prof Hoffman, after all.

But on the other hand-

Lmao what if Aziraphale’s “I forgive you” was because Crowley spat a whole TOOTH into his mouth. Like he gets the message but it’s an entire goddamn TOOTH. 🤣

Michael babygirl, I apologize now for the close-up screenshots of your mouth I am going to put on the internet. Call Neil if you have issues with it, it's his fault.

Honey, why are you chewing on a ball bearing? I was going to be lenient and say it's a glint off of some saliva but nah she's suckin on a damn pie weight. I didn't see her take a bite of any dippin dots, did you? Who let her near my stash of Buckyballs that I was hiding from the Consumer Product Safety Commission? Just because you are bbgurl doesn't mean you get to eat bbpellets.

[thequeenofsastiel]

It's the way Louis ordered Armand to make sure he, Madeleine, and Claudia weren't bothered in 2x06 that gets me. He had been cradling Armand’s face to reassure him that it was okay for Armand to not come watch Madeleine getting turned, and then he slipped from that to grasping Armand's face while he gave him a command.

I've mentioned this before, but face grabbing is a VERY common kink among those of us who gravitate towards dominance and submission. Mainly used as a method of discipline and control. So Louis grabbing Armand by the face while he gives him an order is so natural to me. And likely kinky people in general.

He also held Armand by the face after they kissed. Which works as well because it can be used as a source of comfort too. Just a reminder of who Armand belongs to. And I can't emphasize enough how meaningful it is for a sub to feel owned.

And ugh the way Armand's eyes were closed while Louis did that is killing me. His face turned down, Louis' turned up to look down at Armand. Armand might be taller than him, but Louis overcomes that. He just looks SO fucking dominant in this moment, and Armand looks SO fucking submissive. And how it takes a few seconds before Armand is able to look up again after Louis lets him go also kills me.

Perfect scene. A+++

[helluvathings]

Ozzie isn't afraid of challenging the system for Fizz

Another Ozzie post! Since he's gotten somewhat controversial lately, I want to back up for a sec and focus on his characterization in 2x06 and 2x07. Mostly responding to the idea that he’d be unwilling to stand up for Fizz the way Stolas did for Blitzø, that he’s oblivious to class issues, or is fine with Hell's status quo. I've even seen the take that he’s so caught in his own classism he’d stroll home expecting Fizz to be indifferent about the trial and go *shocked pikachu* if Fizz is distressed. 

I really don't think anything about his behavior so far supports this, and he's already had a big inherently political moment that's worth remembering. Anyway, here's in-depth take on 2 Minutes Notice (and what Ozzie's supporting role in the song says about his character).

His Characterization in Oops

I want to detour here briefly, because I think Ozzie's behavior is significant. Crimson calls Asmodeus weak and nonthreatening, then tells him to “be a good little bitch boy.” And instead of reacting in a way that asserts his status or authority, instead of clinging to the narrative that if an imp undermines his power, his focus should be on teaching a lesson, Ozzie lets Crimson have his way to keep Fizz safe.

Asmodeus would’ve turned over his whole factory without even reading the contract. Look at Ozzie's face when Stolas tells him they were going to take all of his factory assets, then compare it to the second picture when he hears Crimson planned to kill Fizz:

He also doesn't verbally protest when Stolas mentions the first point. He only snatches the contract away when the second fact comes up.

This isn’t directly a class issue, but I found it relevant. A ten-thousand year old god-like entity humbled himself enough for Crimson—an imp—to get away with aggressively talking down to him. For Fizz.

So we have a baseline here: for Fizz, Ozzie will set aside pride and reputation, while ignoring any thought of personal cost (i.e. signing the contract without looking) if it means his partner is safe. This is his default response. His instinct was to do whatever Crimson wanted without negotiating at all. The contents of the contract didn't matter, and he didn't consider what he might lose. I feel like this is worth keeping in mind when commenting on his priorities.

Fizz's Rebellion: 2 Minutes Notice

Alright, now let's pause to look at how Satan (and the typical royals) views imps. First and foremost, they’re supposed to be obedient and dutiful. Satan’s whole reason for the execution being broadcast was "to remind all of imp-kind why our power must never be challenged again." Satan, who is clearly the most powerful non-Lucifer Sin, considers keeping imps in their place to be part of maintaining the natural order of Hell. 

Now move to 2x07. When Fizz is being dutiful to Mammon, Asmodeus pushes back, encourages him to quit, and… suggests Fizz do so quietly, in an inoffensive way that upholds the status quo, ensures Fizz’s physical safety, and gets no negative attention thrown their way? Or maybe Ozzie pushes for the safe, not-risky route that’ll require no sacrifice on his part? The route that prioritizes his concern for Fizz over any adjacent class, moral, or political issues Fizz might feel inclined to loudly express? 

That’s what Ozzie does... right? 

Of course not. Asmodeus takes obvious delight watching Fizz tell a Deadly Sin “Fuck You” over and over on live television, in a politically charged act. This isn't neutral or doormat behavior. Ozzie is facilitating an imp's decision to openly challenge a royal demon's power.

Consider how this is shown. Fizz starts out bowing to Mammon. “I have worshiped at your feet.”

There’s the sequence of him being used like a puppet. Being crushed under heel. I want to add, we see Ozzie’s shadow puppets/images in House of Asmodeus. I’m pretty sure there’s an implication that Fizz’s special effects are made by Ozzie. Here are some things that get portrayed:

Fizz chained. Slapped. Stepped on. Treated as a puppet while he's mocked and laughed at. Fizz in various degrees of a service to a Deadly Sin, feeling trapped, hurt, and vulnerable. Fizz talking about getting his fortune stolen (think of the Wrath Ring imps booing Stolas in 1x05 for talking about the “spoils of their labor”).

Yes, the content is more focused around a proclamation of worker's rights than the imp/class-centered framing Blitzø uses when he snaps at Satan. But the heart of the song is that if a worker is being treated poorly, the guy doing the mistreatment is a dick, and the worker should fight back. An obedient, dutiful imp would not say these things. Especially not to a Deadly Sin.

There is a charged message here: I’m an imp, and he is a Sin, but that doesn’t give him the justification to use me, see me as lesser, or treat me like shit.

Sounds like Fizz is challenging royal power, yeah? With Ozzie's help, Fizz starts the song showing himself being exploited in various ways that seem pretty symbolic of Hell's overall class system. Followed by him doing this:

And Ozzie doing this:

If you can't see the second picture, Ozzie shifts Mammon's logo to his own. Fizz sets up this visual of feeling used and abused, then breaks free from his chains, and says, "Fuck you," to the face of one of the most powerful demons in Hell. While Ozzie grins, throws him his fire, and puts his name/symbol on the stage behind him. In full view. Asmodeus isn't doing this grudgingly, he's loving it. I'm fairly sure the third shot is implying he's getting a boner from it.

The obvious objection being, Fizz's song is just about Fizz. Ozzie is supporting Fizz's self-expression, not a political message. But Fizz doesn't make the song only about himself. Fizz's bridge involves directly bringing the crowd into it.

Have you ever felt sick and tired of doing the same shit everyday with your anger brewin'? Eatin' shit for a boss that you're sick of obeyin'? If you ever felt the same, let me hear ya say it!

By the end, the whole stadium is singing anti-Mammon/anti-exploitation lyrics. The direct meaning here is in a job/work context: if you have a shitty boss, say "fuck you." But it's worth repeating: imps are supposed to be obedient. The quiet, dutiful working class. Fizz is telling his fans, imps included: if you're sick of being obedient, you don't have to put up with it. And, I know I'm getting repetitive, but Fizz says this to Mammon. Again: a Deadly Sin.

More of Fizz publicly 'respecting' a Deadly Sin:

Wish I'd... cut you off just like a tumor | Hope you die, kiss my ass goodbye, you cuck | So this is it, Mammon you sad sack of shit, fuck you.

Nothing rebellious going on here! Just your average very popular celebrity imp making a neutral statement about refusing to bow to a royal demon... to cheers from a packed house. In said demon's own arena.

And when Mammon reacts badly, Ozzie's response?

Asmodeus stands behind the rebellious, disobedient imp. Then doesn't just support him, but says he loves him: which implies valuing him, respecting him, viewing him with inherent worth and autonomy. This is an act of rebellion, and it isn't the 'safe' choice. Mammon's "you're going to regret revealing that" reads as foreshadowing, not an empty threat. Ozzie has also built a reputation on decrying love in favor of lust, so it's possible this also carries consequences relating to that.

If he didn't genuinely believe this would cause trouble, Ozzie wouldn't have kept their relationship secret for so long. Yet, even after Mammon's threat, he's not embarrassed, ashamed, or frustrated. Ozzie is just glad Fizz is safe.

So we see in Oops that Ozzie will all but grovel to get Fizz home alive. Then in 2x07, his support is entirely about Fizz's emotional well-being and ability to be heard. Persuading Fizz to quit wasn't necessary, and helping him quit in the way he did certainly wasn't. He encouraged Fizz to make a loud, revolutionary point in a way that could be directly traced back to him, and the only direct benefit is that it let Fizz get his emotional catharsis.

I'm not going to go in the whys of what might've left Ozzie more muted in Mastermind. This is already long, and I've touched on that a little elsewhere. But so many posts have stated outright that Ozzie betrayed Fizz by being unwilling to break from the system. Some even make it sound like Ozzie isn't aware it'd be an issue. But Ozzie has already helped Fizz wage music-themed rebellion. 2 Minutes Notice celebrated an imp breaking entirely from Satan's view of what imps should be, in front of all of Hell.

If Ozzie is willing to do that solely to make Fizz happy, why would he draw the line at speaking a few words on Blitzø's behalf (when his death certainly isn't conducive to Fizz's happiness)?

The situations are different, but given what the show has shown of Ozzie's character in this regard, it might be useful to try reframing the question from "why wasn't he willing to help" to "are there reasons he might not have been able to help"?

[nalyra-dreaming]

The "surprise" Louis and Armand wanted to give Daniel really bugs me. Louis seems exited, telling to get "dinner preparations", which sounds strange to me. What would be the need telling Rashid to prepare dinner if Rashid's already accustomed doing it? What if it's preparations of something new?

Louis wants vampires to born out of love, and he to me, seemed enjoying Daniel making his little questions (like one would chuckle when a kid's trying to impress you), until well, everything happened.

And Armand's look, it was... different, idk how to explain it. The "I hope you'll be joining us" look and the one he gives Daniel after Louis storms out of the room (Which seemed a "why did you do this") were something.

So what if the surprise was Daniel being turned by Louis for Armand?

We know that Rolin said the reason of redoing the interview was mentioned for one character in 2x05 and for the other in 2x06. The first character (of 2x05) we know that was Louis, but the second... What if it's Armand's reason instead of Daniel's, like I saw in other's comments?

It would benefit Armand if Louis was the one turning Daniel, since he could still protect his vow not to turn someone.

But since Daniel prevented this with helping Louis restoring his memories, he had to turn him himself, to not lose him again

I actually think this is exactly it!!

Louis was supposed to turn Daniel for Armand. But he got too pissed (rightfully so^^).

And so Armand had to do it himself.

We‘ll see how that “spite“ comment fits but however they‘ll do it there is a LOT more to that scene.

[what-the-whump]

LAWMAN WHUMP LIST

DESCRIPTION: This is the story of Marshal Dan Troop of Laramie, Wyoming, and his Deputy Johnny McKay, an orphan Troop took under his wing - IMBD / WIKIPEDIA

-----

~ MARSHAL DAN TROOP portrayed by JOHN RUSSELL ~

1x04: Hit in the face with a branch, knocked down. 

1x16: Mauled by a bear, bloody, unconscious, bandaged up, weak, cared for, collapse, arm in sling. 

1x19: Shot in the shoulder with an arrow, bleeding, struggle, kicked in the shoulder, manhandled, collapse, unconscious, arm in sling. 

1x24: Punched in the face, brief fight. 

1x26: Shot in the arm. 

1x30: Manhandled, punched in the stomach, pistol whipped, knocked unconscious. 

1x35: Falls off horse, sick, weak, collapse, unconscious, supported, cared for. 

2x02: Punched in the face, fight. 

2x11: Hand bandaged. 

2x12: Tied up, slapped, fight.

2x16: Falls off horse, steps in a wolf trap, pain, limping, knocked down, beaten. 

2x20: Bit on the leg by a child. 

2x30: Shot in the shoulder, knocked down, passed out, unconscious, medical care, bandaged. 

2x32: Shot in shoulder, knocked off horse, unconscious, medical care, bandaged. 

3x03: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, manhandled, tied up. 

3x07: Shot in the hand, bloody, hand bandaged. 

3x08: Punched in the face, exhausted, knocked unconscious, manhandled, pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, collared/chained up. 

3x10: Fight, bloody, supported. 

3x15: Shot in the shoulder, passed out, unconscious, bandaged. 

3x17: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, manhandled. 

3x19: Knocked unconscious. 

3x21: Shot in the hand, hand bandaged. 

3x30: Shot in the arm, arm in sling. 

4x02: Shot in the arm. 

4x03: Shot in the arm. 

4x07: Falls into a hole. 

4x08: Knocked unconscious. 

4x24: Held at gunpoint, handcuffed to a chair.

~ DEPUTY JOHNNY MCKAY portrayed by PETER BROWN ~

1x06: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, stumbling around, supported, headache. 

1x07: Knocked unconscious, bloody, head bandaged, weak, collapse, unconscious, supported.  

1x15: Smoke inhalation, coughing.   

1x27: Manhandled, pistol whipped, knocked unconscious. 

1x38: Manhandled, held hostage, tied up. 

2x03: Wagon crash, shackled to a prisoner, rough fight, held at gunpoint, slapped repeatedly. 

2x06: Shot in the arm, arm bandaged. 

2x08: Punched in the face, fight.  

2x12: Manhandled, held at gunpoint, tied up, kicked, fight. 

2x20: Shot in the arm, knocked unconscious, arm in sling. 

2x22: Thrown from horse, sore, weak, passed out, unconscious. 

2x24: Shot, bullet grazes head, unconscious, bloody head wound, weak/fading in and out of consciousness, cared for.

2x26: Knocked unconscious.

2x37: Shot in the shoulder, weak, supported, passed out, unconscious, carried, medical care, arm in a sling. 

3x02: Knocked unconscious, manhandled, kidnapped, tied up, blindfolded, head bandaged, weak, dizzy, passed out, carried, unsteady. 

3x03: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, manhandled, tied up. 

3x10: Beaten. 

3x17: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, manhandled, tied up, gagged, dizzy, unsteady. 

3x21: Manhandled. 

3x29: Knocked unconscious, manhandled. 

4x05: Knocked off horse, briefly unconscious. 

4x11: Punched in the face. 

4x16: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious, tied up, manhandled. 

4x20: Briefly knocked unconscious, held at gunpoint, handcuffed. 

4x24: Held at gunpoint, handcuffed to a chair. 

4x28: Brief fight, thrown into Troop. 

4x36: Pistol whipped, knocked unconscious. 

4x39: Knocked unconscious, falls off horse, manhandled, handcuffed to a tree. 

4x40: Kidnapped, tied up, gagged. 

~ HONOURABLE MENTIONS & WHAT-THE-WHUMP COMMENTARY ~

1x27: Johnny pretends his head still hurts to get the doctor out of the saloon and the doc drunkly checks out his head.

1x37: Prisoner smacks a cup of coffee out of Johnny's hand, he looks real upset about it and Troop grabs Johnny's arm to check him out real quick. Johnny’s hand VS Coffee Part 1. 

2x24: Johnny gets shot in the head, only a little don't even worry about it. When Troop goes to check on him he holds him and checks out his head while Johnny's lowkey passing out every few seconds. 

3x02: Johnny x Concussions OTP. Johnny is kidnapped along with Lily, he spends majority of the episode majorly concussed. 

3x13: Johnny falls asleep in a chair and falls out of it. Johnny also gets spooked and spills his coffee on his hand. Johnny’s hand VS Coffee part 2. 

3x39: Johnny’s hand VS Coffee Part 3

4x16: On the Lawman Wikipedia page there's a picture of Johnny being manhandled and held at gunpoint that comes from this episode.

[northrnfool]

Something else I noticed rewatching Thor, the Avengers, and the Loki series:

There is a noticeable shift away from focusing on Loki’s relationship to Odin and Thor to his relationship with Frigga. In the movies, Frigga’s importance to Loki is kind of there but certainly not the focus, we mostly see how his actions affect his father and brother (while disregarding the impact that their patriarchal world had on him). In the Loki series there is very little mention of Thor and Odin, instead it focuses more on how his actions affected his mother: Mobius showed him the video of Frigga trying to reason with Loki, he also used her death to get a rise out of him, Brad later accused Loki of making things harder for Mobius, B-15, and his mother (no mention of his father and brother), and when talking with Sylvie in season 1, Loki reminisced only about his mother and her belief in him.

Then, today, I listened to a podcast about fairytales and the host talked about how actual fairies weren’t actually common in them universally but magic was. Magic is present in fairytales because it allows for the possibility of transformation, the hope of change. It made me think about how important Frigga was for Loki’s ability to transform in this series; she taught him his magic, something that give him his own identity in a world that was dominated by brute male power and strength. Without her nurturing, who knows what Loki would have become in Asguard.

Even though Odin acted like he saved Loki because he took him from Jötunheim where he was left to die, Loki really only had an opportunity to live because of Frigga. Fast forward to the Loki series and in 2x06, we were told by Mobius that Renslayer (another power-driven authoritarian) is the reason Loki isn’t dust in a TVA vent, giving her the undeserved credit for saving Loki, when in reality it was actually Mobius’ belief in him, his nurturing, that saved Loki.

I then realized the parallel between Frigga and Mobius: both are compassionate and nurturing, both of them believed in Loki when no one else would, and they both gave him something he took into his transformation in the end of the series: She gave him his magic, that beautiful green magic that allowed him to give life to the timelines and Mobius offered his “heart of gold” to Loki, the gold that holds together the pieces of his crown and envelopes his throne. Both gave him the opportunity to not just live but become his best self.

[greenqueenhightower]

A (Rhaenicent) Analysis of Mysaria x Rhaenyra Scenes in 2x06:

Disclaimer: This is a long Rhaenicent reading of the scenes! Those of you who ship Rhaesaria but not Rhaenicent pls be chill about it, thanks :)

Rhaenyra and Mysaria have three interesting scenes together in 2x06. In the first one, Mysaria finds a restless Rhaenyra wielding a sword. Just previously, Rhaenyra slapped Lord Bartimos for undermining her and received a metaphorical slap on the face by the death of Ser Steffon Darklyn. Mysaria, as she has done many times before, gives Rhaenyra support and encouragement. Once more she makes sure to spin around Rhaenyra's emotional state and alleviate her worries by mentioning the good news regarding the plot she set forth: "The smallfolk of King's Landing are listening."

"This... becomes you." Just then, as Rhaenyra is about to leave, Mysaria comments on how flattering the sword is in Rhaenyra's hands, who blushes and awkwardly exits the room. Has Mysaria found Rhaenyra's vulnerable spot?

"May I be free for even one hour of the constant refrain of Daemon, Daemon, Daemon?" The second scene begins with Rhaenyra and Jace's conversation. Jace emphasizes the importance of Daemon's aid and presence, which infuriates Rhaenyra. Mysaria soon appears and reports on their plans. Rhaenyra notices and appreciates that Mysaria does not think that either of them needs Daemon. Mysaria seems to have full trust in Rhaenyra's abilities. As they gaze into the distance, Rhaenyra can't help but be drawn toward Mysaria's alluring aura of faith in Rhaenyra's leadership.

"I do not think I can win this war." In the third scene, Mysaria informs Rhaenyra of further developments in their plot, but Rhaenyra's confidence in herself has wavered. Mysaria can't let such feelings accumulate and must correct this behavior. Isn't she Rhaenyra's only ally who sees her true potential after all?

"He has ever done what suits Daemon." Mysaria builds on the common ground she shares with Rhaenyra. They both know Daemon for who he is, having both shared a sexual and emotionally costly relationship with him. The two alone know what Daemon is like. Mysaria's taste of power and freedom without Daemon intrigues Rhaenyra.

"He was everything I wanted to be... a man." Rhaenyra expresses that she would rather be born a man, a sentiment previously disclosed only to Alicent and her mother.

"You don't like me to go flying while you're in any condition." While Queen Aemma wasn't fond of Rhaenyra's pursuits, Alicent was supportive of Rhaenyra's decisions during their teenage years. With eagerness and awe, she waited for Rhaenyra to return on dragonback and took pride in seeing her be her fearless and assertive self. Alicent knew that Rhaenyra was cut out for greater things than motherhood and feminine domestic pursuits.

"I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory." Rhaenyra appears dejected because her own mother does not understand her, further enforcing the narrative that the childbed should be Rhaenyra's battlefield. Rhaenyra is most comfortable discussing her dreams and aspirations with Alicent, who she knows would not scoff at them but would champion them. Alicent, once again, would be proud of Rhaenyra.

"I want to fly with you on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea and eat only cake." Having Alicent's support and unwavering faith in her, Rhaenyra is relaxed and at ease. Even before Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir, Alicent was her only ally who knew her potential. When that trust in each other is breached, Rhaenyra (much like Alicent) feels alone.

"You have me." Mysaria becomes the embodiment of young Alicent who always believed and sided with Rhaenyra. For her own part, Rhaenyra has come to be comfortable around Mysaria, the same way she was with Alicent. She allowed herself to become emotionally vulnerable with Mysaria and discuss her dreams, having done so previously only with Alicent. Mysaria picks on that cue, and she becomes equally vulnerable in front of her by sharing her own harrowing story. She achieves the desired effect because she incites Rhaenyra's empathy and stirs her emotions. Is Rhaenyra reminded of her own mother's butchering and having been offered comfort by Alicent that she is now moved to do the same for Mysaria?

"I will serve you. I believe you are meant to be Queen." As Mysaria affirms her support of her, is Rhaenyra perhaps reminded of Alicent's support and belief in her? Is that the motivation behind the hug that so parallels Alicent's hug with Rhaenyra when she dressed and readied her friend for her first appearance as heir? Does she look for comfort in Mysaria's neck, just as Alicent did with hers?

"The princess was more suited to the role." Is Rhaenyra reminded of Alicent's public defense of her birthright during Aegon's second nameday, when she declared that Rhaenyra was suited to take Daemon's place as heir? Or is she reminded of Alicent's more recent revelation in the sept, of having never ceased to believe in her abilities?

Mysaria sees how much Rhaenyra requires an advisor, friend, ally, and supporter and fills that void in her desire to safeguard her position and to possess and control Rhaenyra. Using sex to gain more power is familiar to her. Mysaria's comments on Rhaenyra's worthiness to rule, the pride she takes in her leadership and the security she feels around her are sentiments that Rhaenyra herself sought to find in Alicent, who had the same pride and admiration of her abilities when they were young girls. Rhaenyra had missed the genuine praise and support that Alicent gave her and saw a glimpse of that in Mysaria.

As they embraced, Rhaenyra was transported back to her reckless and free childhood years when she was so celebrated by her childhood friend and crush. When she saw Alicent again in the sept, Alicent had affirmed her devotion to the same belief: that Rhaenyra would make a fine Queen, and that Alicent used to be proud of her.

Now that Alicent is out of reach, Mysaria has made herself indispensable to Rhaenyra by embodying the same supportive figure that Rhaenyra was seeking all along. As a result, Rhaenyra hugs and kisses her without hesitation just as she would teenage Alicent.

[gnnosis]

i have a theory about the bear & carmy’s artistic talent and no one else (that ive seen!) seems to be talking abt this. gotta get it out there so if it happens i can say i predicted it

carmy is going to leave the restaurant industry. we see time and time again that carmy is not happy in the industry, and maybe never has been. he’s traumatized by the fancy restaurant he worked at. he wanted to work at the beef, but only to be with mikey. he took over the beef because he (felt he) owed it to michael — and because he had the skills — not out of some great love of cooking. he only got to his level of skill out of a self-professed “fuck you” to mikey! carmy’s not happy. “this shit’s not fun for me,” he says to richie. make no mistake — he’s really, really good at it. but he’s not happy. the industry brings out the worst version of him, every single time. the stress of the kitchen turns him into the bear from the 1x01 opening, into his mother.

contrast this with syd and richie, tina, even marcus. even under stress, even with everyone yelling at each other, the kitchen brings out the best in them. they’ve improved their skill levels because they feel they owe it to themselves. richie thrives under the pressure of being a concierge, he’s a new man, he wears suits now. tina is a transformed person because she’s begun to believe in herself (and knows others believe in her). marcus (although thwarted by his own hyper-focus sometimes) delights in the craft of being a pâtissier, creates spectacular, thoughtful dishes — he flourishes.

and sydney. sydney, under stress, opening night, is throwing up in the bushes, like we know carmy did in a job that was Bad for him. but it’s not the stress of the job per se that’s getting to syd, but the pressure she’s put on herself to do well enough that her dad will see the bear as she sees it — her very own place in the industry she loves above all else, a place to practice her beloved craft, to take care of people, to pour everything she has into this one thing. it’s not the job making her physically sick, like it did carmy, it’s the pressure of showing how much she loves the job, of her dad thinking she’s doing well enough to deserve to love and devote herself to it as much as she is. and in the kitchen, under pressure, with carmy locked in the fridge, syd doesn’t panic, doesn’t yell and scream — not really. she collaborates with richie, delegates as necessary, steps up — and leads. she shines.

carmy as a chef is doing what he’s good at, performing the skills he’s cultivated. it might be the only thing he feels he’s good at. it’s all he’s ever really known. but it’s not healthy. it’s killing him. it’s ruining his relationships with everyone important to him. he needs to get out.

i predict that sydney and richie will take over the bear. probably with nat’s help behind the scenes. they love it. it gives them purpose. it makes them thrive.

and carmy… will go to visual arts school. (or simply become an artist. do people still do art school these days? if so… like… he could do worse than SAIC)

i don’t think the show has been dropping all these references to carmy’s artistic talent for no reason. the pants he designed (thom browne’s!), the drawings of claire they mention and then flash during his panic attack, the speculative drawing of the bear he gifts michael in 2x06, and the menu drawings that sydney gushes over. the painting he hates that’s hung in the restaurant? could you do a better one, carm?? in the future, will that get replaced with one of yours, carm??? his artistic talent is lingered on too much to not be indicating something about what carmy really loves. a talent he innately has but doesn’t seem to realize the depth of. what he’d spend his time doing absently before he got caught up in the rat race of the restaurant industry. he talks about art like it’s something he’s compelled to do, like it’s something he loses himself in. a flow state.

carmy can flourish too. it’s just that he’s going to need to go somewhere else to do it.