#Demand analysis assignment help

[cupidkenji]

killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises. 

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly. 

���We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint. 

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?” 

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.” 

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up. 

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?” 

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new. 

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick. 

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

– 

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you. 

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up. 

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision. 

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

– 

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him. 

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day. 

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up. 

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it. 

“I can watch him.” 

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you. 

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day. 

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.” 

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless. 

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from. 

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back. 

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.” 

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless. 

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between  friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.” 

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

– 

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it. 

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks. 

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in. 

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine. 

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal. 

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you. 

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.” 

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure. 

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?” 

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.” 

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself.  You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road. 

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much. 

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm. 

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Hearts [S. R.]

Young!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

and by public demand, part 2

summary: an intern pesters Spencer to get his attention and you help him get rid of it a bit, benefiting in the process.

A/N: here we go! started watching criminal minds last week and i'm halfway through the first season so expect a lot of content as I progress with the series. Spencer Reid from season one is the cutest thing I ever looked at

If you want to be added to the taglist just tell me, and if you have ideas, send them!

You'd think FBI offices would be quiet at night, but the truth is, with so many agents and interns reporting to do, the night seemed to be the busiest time.

After spending three months there you had almost obtained your own desk and knew most of the people, especially the BAU team whom you had been assigned to support for your internship. Since you began your university studies, you had wanted to work in that FBI unit and when the opportunity presented itself you were extremely excited, but now that it was a reality, you could realize that the workload was unimaginable and heavier than you expected. Still, with any luck, proper schooling, and practice you could be aiming for a permanent position in maybe two or three years. For now, being there as an intern was more than enough.

You were so engrossed in reading your computer screen that you didn't hear when the office door opened and it wasn't until a figure sat down next to you that you realized who it was.

You and Spencer Reid met many years ago, when you were both in middle school, in Las Vegas, and from that moment on you could appreciate what a prodigy he was. He was a very serious, quiet, and shy boy, but for some reason you always enjoyed his company and, judging by the fact that he never left you, you thought he did too. On some occasions you exchanged books that he returned to you in two days and you kept for a few weeks, you talked during some school breaks, you asked him for help with homework, and on more than one occasion you went so far as to defend him verbally from those silly children who bothered him; in general, you had something close to a friendship. You never thought that after so long, and so far from Las Vegas, you would see him again, much less in the condition you were in right now.

"Hey," you greeted him kindly, showing him a tired smile "What are you doing here?"

"I was finishing an analysis of yesterday's case," he replied. The team had had to profile another pyromaniac and for just a bit they had managed to catch him, which had left them somewhat tense "And you?"

"A report" you answered simply. You had the hypothesis that those kinds of activities ended up in the hands of the interns because they were extremely tedious and they wanted to get rid of it.

Reid wasn't much of a talker if the occasion didn't call for it and you knew it, so it wasn't too strange that he would only sit near you to watch you work, although there was something different about him tonight that alarmed you.

"You think I'm dumb?" he asked suddenly, forcing you to look up at him.

"You? Are you asking me if I think Doctor Reid is dumb? you asked, emphasizing his title, but he gently shook his head.

"Not in that sense, but like... weird or something."

“We all are a little bit. And that's not so bad” you said sincerely. You knew that on some occasions Spencer would ask questions and all you had to do was wait a bit for him to tell you what the doubt was about.

“And do you think…?” he started to say, a little unsure "Do you think I don't have a girlfriend because I'm that weird?"

"Who told you that?" you exclaimed more directly. You imagined that this concern could only arise from someone having suggested it, as had already happened on other occasions, and it still touched you a little that he had the confidence to assist you for that kind of thing.

"No, no one in particular"

"You know, I think you don't care about having or not having a girlfriend" you ventured to say "Was it Morgan?"

“No, not him,” he hastened to say, thinking a little about his next words, “Uhm, that girl from the department next door…”

"Victoria," you cut him off, rolling your eyes in anticipation and feeling the heat already rising up your cheeks. She was a typical mean girl; long black hair, tall, always wearing expensive dresses, high heels, and fake smiles. You'd met this girl during internships and it took you a couple of weeks to make you feel uncomfortable around her, but you finished hating her when you realized how intent she seemed to be on embarrassing Spencer every chance she got. The fact that her father was a department head made it a bit difficult to deal with any situation. "Why do you care what she says?"

“She is… persistent”

"You know she only does it because she wants to get your attention, right?" you explained, a little fed up with the situation and how he was always affected by what others said about him.

It was clear that from the beginning she had her eye on the young man, and on those days, she would walk around the office and try to start a conversation with Spencer, which he never carried out. When she noticed that her attempts were useless, she began to make hurtful comments that became recurring as the months went by, since it was the only time when she could receive any kind of attention from the brown-haired man. Spencer frowned, quite confused by the situation when you told him that, since apparently he hadn't made the same account of the facts as you.

"What are you talking about?"

"She likes you" you insisted, as if it were something obvious, although it didn't seem so to him. You could almost see how the gears in his brain were struggling to find a degree of coherence between the events that he had been ignoring for a long time.

"Then why does she say such horrible things to me?"

“It's because…” you mumbled, closing the lid of your computer and looking for a way to explain to the boy. It was amazing how he was the most intelligent person you knew and at the same time he would come to you to ask such banal things like that "she is a stupid girl who has had everything in life and since she isn't capable of having an intelligent conversation with you, she thinks that being mean is going to get your attention. It's like those kids who pulled your hair in elementary school," you muttered, trying to present an analogy, but he didn't react in any way “She probably only told you that because she wanted to know if you have a girlfriend, not because she really believed it.”

Spencer took a moment to absorb that, wondering how that made sense, since for him the fact that you liked a person implied being kind and attentive, not behaving as Victoria did with him. But you had read the signs from the beginning and that was probably another reason for your dislike for your internship partner, who you thought was unworthy of being attracted to someone as cute as him. Although during high school he hadn't been the most sought after by girls, now he was quite handsome and that shy and polite attitude made him even more attractive, at least for you. Besides the fact that, of course, it was a genius who you were talking to.

"And why didn't she just ask?" he genuinely murmured and you couldn't help but giggle.

"I don't know, when we like a person, we do stupid things"

"Do you really think she likes me?"

"Of course, what reason would there be for her not to?" you mumbled and he just looked away, as he did most of the time, while he shrugged, which made you think that maybe this conversation was more serious than you imagined "Do you like her?"

"No! Definitely not” he said right away, as if he was offended “It just seems strange to me that you say that”

"Say what?"

"That someone likes me"

"Oh, please," you breathed, completely incredulous. "You're charming, Reid, I don't think she’s the only one who likes you”

"Do you think I'm charming?" he said, slightly skeptical. You loved his reaction to any compliment he received. 

"Sometimes" you lied. Actually, you thought he was charming all the time "Besides you're an FBI profiler, don't you detect that kind of thing in girls?"

"It's harder to analyze women than criminals," he argued, making you chuckle slightly.

Suddenly the report you had to make was forgotten and you wished you wanted to spend more time with him, although you didn't know if he would be willing to do the same. It was one thing to be together at work and another very different thing was that he wanted to be with you personally.

"Do you have anything in particular to do today?" you exclaimed cautiously, so the question allowed him to politely get rid of the invitation if he wanted to. You held back your urge to smile when he said no, attentive to what you had to say “Do you want to go to my apartment? If I'm still here I'm going to have a migraine and I think you should relax for a while too”

“Go to your apartment?” he asked, just to be sure, to which you nodded.

“Yeah, like… order some pizza, and… do you like wine? I have wine at home. And we can put on thrillers and see who can figure out who the killer is first”

"I would beat you"

"You think so, Reid?" you said, challenging his strange burst of confidence, and Spencer nodded playfully, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. "I'll buy you your week's coffee if you beat me" saying this, you knew full well you didn't stand a chance, but if a couple of dollars spent on coffee would get you a few extra hours with him, you were willing to accept that.

"It's a deal" he smiled and in less than ten minutes you were out of the offices.

As expected, you lost the game, but you couldn't say you ended the night disappointed. At first you didn't even know why you invited him, because outside of that neighborhood park in Las Vegas, you'd never spent any time alone. Spencer was all shy at first, always sitting up straight and hugging his briefcase, but when you broke the tension he relaxed considerably. The wine helped a bit because, although he confessed to you that he didn't drink often, you two ended up with a bottle of red that you had in the cupboard; not too much to lose consciousness, but enough to get gigglier. Even Spencer's ever-dapper outfit was thrown into disarray, as he'd loosened his tie and removed his vest to deal with the rise in body temperature the alcohol brought on. As promised you had pizza for dinner, which he refused to let you pay for, and in the process you put on some of the classic movies you found, according to google, making sure neither of you had seen them before. That night you were tempted to tell your partner that he could sleep over there if he wanted, but you had to say that a hint like that might make him uncomfortable. You didn't want to break the magic of the moment.

So the next morning you walked into the Quantico offices more energetic than usual, holding a couple of glasses of coffee on a tray.

"Good morning, Y/L/N" Morgan greeted you, as you approached the BAU work area, where Hotch and Elle were also present.

"Good morning, have you seen Spencer today?"

"I suppose he arrived, but I haven't seen him"

"I think he hid in the kitchen"

"Why do you ask?" muttered Morgan, who was probably the gossipiest of the three and also the most teasing. You knew, unfortunately, that if you didn't tell him, he would question Spencer, and you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable.

“I bought him a coffee. We made a bet last night and I'll be buying it all week"

"So you're trying to make him fall for you, huh" he exclaimed, completely ignoring your explanation, so you decided to play along.

"I think I'll need a few more months for that" judging by the man's laugh, you knew that the answer had satisfied him. You wondered if it bothered you that Spencer might misinterpret that joke as fact, but at the same time you wondered if it really was something that bothered you enough to deny it.

You walked down the aisle looking for the brown-haired boy and greeted a few people along the way, until, as if by divine grace, you looked at the man’s back and at the same time heard the click of heels, which you already knew quite well, going in the same direction.

"Spencer!" you called him before Victoria could tell him anything, and he turned with that awkwardness that characterized him showing a small smile when he noticed that it was you.

"Hello"

“You better not be making your coffee,” you murmured, getting close enough to hand her the cup you brought on the tray and making sure Victoria, who was making her own drink, would overhear the conversation. “I hope you like it. Sweet as you"

"Thank you," he replied, slightly embarrassed by the compliment you'd just paid him. He peered into the cup and frowned “Why did the barista write a heart next to my name?”

“It wasn't the barista, it was me”

It took Spencer a moment to sink the words in, and then he looked back at you with a confused expression.

"And why did you write a heart next to my name?"

You couldn't help but contain a laugh and Victoria, who had been attentive to the entire conversation, contained an angry sigh when she saw you extend your hand to the boy's bicep to give it a squeeze, taking the opportunity to get a little closer to him.

"I hope to repeat last night sometime" you muttered ignoring his question "I really had fun"

"Me too," he said, faster than you'd expect, and you smirked to notice that she was right next to him, her jaw clenching angrily. Without Reid realizing it, that talk could be completely interpreted as you've had a sexual affair, and not only that, but you were looking forward to it again.

"I'll see you around, right?"

"I think so" he replied. Spencer took a sip of the coffee you bought him, as if he'd just remembered it, and took a moment to savor it, closing his eyes in the process. You tried not to be distracted by the afterimage of him licking his lips. "I love it, what's with it?"

“Huh-uh, I won't tell you. If you want to drink it, you will have to ask me” you replied playfully. You thought that perhaps, at some point, he would become uncomfortable with your indiscreet flirtations, but when he smiled at you and looked away, you knew he was actually liking it. And if Spencer liked being fawned over, you weren't going to put up a fight.

"Thank you"

"It's nothing, doctor. Good luck on your day" you said goodbye, showing him the most beautiful smile you were capable of manifesting.

After that you made sure to look Victoria square in the eye as you left, confident that if she tried to say something rude to the profiler again you would confront her yourself and finally got lost. She looked at him, utterly offended, and then did the same, leaving behind the cup of coffee she was preparing to lock herself in the office and be grumpy all day. But Spencer didn't even notice any of it, as he was too busy looking closely at his heart in his cup to get any idea of what it might mean.

[thescribblesofreverie]

I Needed You

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!reader (reader is sixteen)

Summary: Your dad was usually your best friend, but lately everything has been different.

Warnings: Reader skips school, reader and Hotch get into a fight, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, reader cusses a little, Haley and Jack didn't exist cause kids make me uncomfortable

Word Count: 2384

A/N: This is my first Criminal Minds fic! It is a little stereotypical because I'm still learning how to write in second person and write Hotch. I'm counting this as a starter fic. In the future I will write more creatively, and I have a series in the works. Any and all feedback is appreciative, but please be kind.

You didn’t know that you wanted to hurt him when it started.

There was no malice intended, fuck, there was barely eny forethought at all. Sometimes, the subconscious makes decisions and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Your father was an important man. Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI was not an easy role to get. Nor was it an easy one to keep. He was barely ever home, either at the office or away on the case. He did his best to call often at night, but as you got older it got less and less frequent.

When he was home he was a great dad. Movie nights happened often, he helped with homework, and you made meals together on some nights. You were even fairly acquainted with the team, though you weren’t close to any of them. Though you dad loved and trusted the team, he preferred to keep both lives separate. When asked why he would usually mumble something along the lines of “safety”. 

Unfortunately, those good nights became less and less frequent.

Y/N,

We got called out on a case. I’ll be in Oregon. Call Garcia if there’s an emergency. There are leftovers in the fridge.

Love you,

Dad

It had been case after case for months. There was hardly even a week passing between each one. You didn’t blame your dad - you couldn’t really.

But goddamn were you lonely. 

You had friends, but they couldn’t hang out all the time. And nothing was like the company of your dad. He was usually your best friend.

-

“Hey dad?” You knocked on the door of his home office, waiting for his response before coming in.

“What’s up?” He didn’t glance up, focused on the paper in front of him.

“I need help with my Algebra homework. I keep trying to solve the problem and it just won’t work…” You were nearly in tears over it.

“Give me a little bit, and I’ll be out.” he still didn’t look up from his work.

“Ok.” You said quietly and closed the door. He never used to bring work home with him. 

If he ever came out to help you, it was too late. You fell asleep, curled up on your bed, the assignment pushed to the side. The next morning before school, you struggled through it on your own. He had already left. 

It was hard to not be upset. You knew his job was demanding. You knew he got stressed. But he was all you had.

Didn’t he realize that?

-

It all started with a group project. 

You were paired together in biology, and you had to do a research project on one of the topics given. The kids you were paired with were kids you knew, but not well.

You were surprised when you found yourself actually enjoying the project for once.

“So who wants to give the presentation?” Jake asked your little group.

“Nose goes!” You shouted, pressing your finger to the tip of your nose.

The four others quickly followed, leaving Casey the last one. She groaned.

“Oh come on, I hate that stuff.”

“No one likes it! And to be honest, I don’t think anyone pays attention during this stuff anyways.” You pointed out.

The group was sitting in Jake’s room, trying to make the final decisions for the presentation. It was to happen during the first period the next morning, and they were supposed to be the last group.

“I swear, after this is done I'm just leaving school. Screw the rest of the day, a presentation first period is grounds for leaving!”

Jake seemed to consider this carefully, pursing his lips and cocking his head. “Why don’t we all leave?”

“Yeah, sure, Jake.” You laughed.

“No, I’m serious!” He grinned, jumping up from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why not? I can forge my parents' signatures. If you get me an example of your parents signatures, I bet I can do those too! I can make notes.”

“I don’t know, Jake.” You said quietly. “If my dad found out I think I wouldn’t be allowed to leave my house until graduation.”

“Come on!” He whined, looking at the whole group. “I think we can pull it off. Do any of you actually want to be there?”

No. The answer was the same for all of them.

“You know what, I’m in.” Casey spoke up first.

The other two quickly agreed, leaving everyone’s eyes on you.

“Y/N?”

Your dad was on a case. If you were ever going to be able to pull it off, it would be then. And he hadn’t been checking up on you as much ever since you turned sixteen. 

You looked up at your new friends and grinned. 

“Let’s do it.”

-

It wasn’t a one time thing. 

It became quite often actually. Leaving the school was less likely, but sneaking off to hide somewhere for a period happened weekly. Your grades really weren’t any worse or any better. You were still having issues but it wasn’t like you were getting any help with them, so why bother with class?

You considered it very low on the rebellion stage. All you did was miss class sometimes to hang out with your friends. It wasn’t like you were getting high or drinking…

-

You got sloppy. That’s all it was.

You decided to leave after the second period, texting Jake and Casey who quickly joined you. You had a headache and a school environment is the worst place for having a headache. 

Jake’s parents were at work, so the three of you hung out at his place for the day. It was only a few blocks away, and you had only just got your license, so you didn’t have a car yet. 

You made it back to school before you bus left, hurriedly getting on it and riding home.

When you got dropped off, the first thing you noticed was your dad’s car in the driveway. 

He’s not supposed to be back until this weekend.

You rushed inside, swinging the door open.

“Dad!”

He was standing in the middle of the room, a panicked expression on his face when his eyes snapped up.

“Oh thank god,” He breathed out, eyes roving over you, looking for injuries. “She’s here. She’s safe, Garcia.”

He hung up on her, and tossed the phone onto the end table before engulfing you in a hug. “I thought you were gone.”

You hugged him back, confused but still excited to see him.

“I thought you weren’t gonna be back till the weekend at the earliest?”

“We got home early…” He trailed off, pulling away. One eyebrow was raised. “The school called and said you never showed up to third period. Or anything after that.”

Oh, shit.

He took in your shocked expression and frowned, jaw clenching. “I thought someone had taken you.”

“I’m fine…”

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was calm.

“Dad, I-”

“Skipping school? Why would you do that? Is something going on?” He was peering at you with an intense gaze. “Are you being bullied?”

“No!” you searched your brain for any excuse. 

“Do you know how irresponsible this is? You’re at school to learn, y/n. You’re at school to prepare for your future.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He ran a hand down his face. “What if something happened, and no one could reach you because you weren’t at school?”

“I have a cell phone.” 

His glare told you that was not the right thing to say. “Ok, what if something happened to you! What if someone saw a teenage girl wandering around during school hours and decided to take advantage of that! At school you’re at least protected.”

“I don’t just wander!”

“Are you saying this is a regular thing?”

Shut up, y/n.

When you were silent he took that as a “yes”. 

“Where do you go? Do you have a secret boyfriend?”

“No!”

“Are you doing drugs? Drinking?”

“Dad, stop!” You finally shouted. “I get it, what I did was wrong!”

“I don’t think you do get it!” He took a deep breath. “Why hasn’t the school called me until now?”

You hesitated. 

“Y/N. I’m gonna need an answer.”

“My friend… can forge signatures.”

He closed his eyes. It was silent for far too long. 

“You’re grounded.”

“I know.”

“Indefinitely.”

“I know.” you rolled your eyes.

“Hey!” he snapped, raising his voice slightly to catch your attention. “Don’t act like this isn’t your fault. I will be calling the school to let them know that you can only leave when I call in and let them know. No more notes.”

“What if you’re on a case?”

“I’ll remember.”

“Sure.” You scoffed. “Are you gonna tell the school?”

He hesitated. “No. But only because I’m certain it won’t happen anymore.” 

You grabbed your backpack and went to your room in a huff.

He was right. Skipping was dumb.

But now you were going to be even more alone.

-

Hotch didn’t like how the fight ended.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do with you in general. You were usually such a good kid. None of this made sense to him.

Keeping tabs on you wasn’t easy with his job. The hours were long and the work was important. He texted you to check in a lot more than he had been, but all he got was one word responses. 

You were being tight-lipped about what friends you had been skipping with. The loyalty would’ve been a good thing in most other circumstances.

When he did come home, you stayed in your room. Some nights you wouldn’t even eat dinner with him. 

It was stressing him out.

Rossi knocked on his office door about a week after the fight. He let himself in and sat across from Aaron.

“You’re on edge.”

“That obvious?” Hotch muttered.

“What’s going on? Is Y/N ok?”

Aaron shook his head. “She got in trouble last week. I found out she’s been regularly skipping school.”

Rossi winced. “Y/N? That’s surprising.”

“I know.” Hotch nodded. “She’s grounded. She has to come home after school first thing, and she isn’t allowed to hang out with friends until further notice. But…”

“But?” Rossi prompted after a short time. 

“I expected her to come around sooner. She’s a smart kid, she had to know she would be in trouble for this. But it’s been a week now, and she still won’t talk to me! I just don’t understand what happened.”

“You know what I’m going to say.” Rossi said, smiling gently.

“I know, I need to talk to her. I just wish she would come to me like she used to.”

-

That night your dad knocked on your bedroom door.

“Come in.” You said, though you really didn’t want him to.

You were bored. And really lonely. 

Jake and Casey were sympathetic, but you didn’t get to hang out. And even if you did text them all the time, it wasn’t the same.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle as he entered the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

You were sitting at your desk, your algebra sitting in front of you. Most of it was undone, and the few problems that were done had been erased and re-wrote multiple times. None of it was adding up.

You were silent, waiting for him to talk first.

“I think we need to talk. Can I sit?” 

You nodded and he sat on the bed, across from you. 

“I know you’re upset about being grounded.” He started. “But what you did was wrong.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you still so mad?”

You sighed and looked away. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

His face fell, and he genuinely looked hurt. “Honey, I just want you to come to me again. You know I’m always here for you.”

Anger.

White hot searing anger flared up quickly and your eyes snapped to him.

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N-”

“No, that’s bullshit!” You stood and crossed your arms. “What are you talking about? We haven’t had an actual conversation in months!”

“That’s not true!” He was standing now too.

“Yes it is!” you stood your ground. “You’re always at work or bringing it here! Even if you’re not on a case, you’re doing paperwork and shit and you still don’t come home.”

“Y/N, my job is important!” He defended himself. “I’m sorry that it takes so much time, but I do my best to keep it at work!”

“You used to! Now I can’t even ask for help with homework without being brushed off.” Your hands were trembling. “You don’t talk to me when you’re on cases anymore, and we haven’t had a movie night in three months!”

He was taken aback. “Y/N, I-”

You shook your head, fighting tears. “I don’t have anyone else, dad. No one else can help me with my homework, no one else texts me to check up on me during the day. I get that your job is important, but I wish I was too.”

His heart shattered.

He had been aware that work had been more intense lately, but he had no idea how badly it was affecting you. 

“Y/N, honey…” He hurried across the room and wrapped you in a hug, letting you sob into his shirt. Your shoulders shook and you clung on like you were going to lose him. “I’m so sorry…”

The apology didn’t excuse it. It didn’t make up for you feeling abandoned for so long. 

“You were skipping school because you thought no one would care.” He muttered, the answer finally hitting him.

You choked out another sob, silently nodded. 

“Of course I care…” He said, holding you close to him. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant. I promise, I won’t bring work home anymore. And I’ll make sure to text you more and call when I’m on cases.”

“I’m sorry, I’m being needy…”

“No.” He promised, looking her in the eye. “You’re not. You’re the most important thing in my life.”

You sniffle and nod, finally smiling. 

“C’mon, let’s go get some dinner.” He kissed your forehead and led you out of the room.

[nenelonomh]

time management in the ib

good time management is crucial in the ibdp (international baccalaureate diploma programme) due to its demanding workload and diverse requirements. effective time management helps you focus better on your tasks, leading to higher quality work and more efficient use of your time.

by organizing your schedule and prioritizing tasks, you can reduce feelings of being overwhelmed and manage stress more effectively.

good time management also allows you to allocate time for relaxation and social activities, which is essential for maintaining mental and physical health. the ibdp involves numerous assignments, projects, and exams, so managing your time well ensures you meet all deadlines without last-minute rushes.

balancing extra-curricular activities

balancing your ibdp workload with extracurricular activities can be challenging, but it’s definitely achievable with some strategic planning. here are a few tips to help you manage both effectively:

create a schedule: use a planner or digital calendar to map out your week. allocate specific time slots for studying, completing assignments, and participating in extracurricular activities. this helps ensure you dedicate enough time to each area without neglecting any.

prioritize tasks: identify your most important and urgent tasks each day. focus on completing these first before moving on to less critical activities. this way, you can stay on top of your ibdp requirements while still enjoying your extracurriculars.

set realistic goals: break down larger tasks into smaller, manageable steps. set achievable goals for each study session or activity, which can help you stay motivated and avoid feeling overwhelmed.

use downtime wisely: make use of short breaks between classes or activities to review notes, read, or complete small tasks. this means no doom scrolling. at all. these pockets of time can add up and help you stay productive.

communicate with teachers and mentors: let your teachers and extracurricular mentors know about your commitments. they can offer support, provide extensions if needed, and help you manage your workload more effectively.

take care of yourself: ensure you get enough sleep, eat well, and make time for relaxation. maintaining your physical and mental health is crucial for sustaining high performance in both academics and extracurriculars.

be flexible: sometimes, unexpected events or deadlines may arise. be prepared to adjust your schedule as needed and stay adaptable to changes.

practicing time-management techniques

there are several effective time management techniques that can help you stay organized and make the most of your time. here are a few popular ones:

pomodoro technique: work in focused intervals (usually 25 minutes) followed by a short break. this helps maintain concentration and prevent burnout.

time blocking: allocate specific blocks of time for different tasks or activities throughout your day. this ensures you dedicate time to important tasks without interruptions.

eisenhower matrix: prioritize tasks based on their urgency and importance. this helps you focus on what truly matters and avoid getting bogged down by less critical tasks.

pareto analysis (80/20 rule): focus on the 20% of tasks that will produce 80% of the results. or, the most urgent and impactful of the eishenhower matrix. this helps you prioritize high-impact activities.

experiment with these techniques to find which ones work best for you.

still struggling with time management?

if you’re still struggling with time management, don’t worry—it’s a common challenge, especially with a demanding program like the ibdp. here are a few additional steps you can take:

seek support: talk to your teachers, school counselors, or a mentor. they can offer guidance, resources, and strategies tailored to your specific situation.

review and adjust: regularly review your schedule and time management strategies. see what’s working and what isn’t, and make adjustments as needed.

limit distractions: identify and minimize distractions during study time. this might mean turning off notifications, finding a quiet study space, or using apps that block distracting websites (i recommend tracking yourself on ypt).

practice self-compassion: be kind to yourself. it’s okay to have off days or to struggle with time management. recognize your efforts and progress, and don’t be too hard on yourself.

consider professional help: if time management issues are significantly impacting your well-being or academic performance, consider seeking help from a professional, such as a therapist or a coach who specializes in time management.

in summary, mastering time management is crucial for success in both academic and personal areas. with commitment and practice, you can develop strong time management skills that will serve you well throughout your life. keep aiming for balance and don’t hesitate to ask for help when needed. you’ve got this!

❤️ nene

i hope this post helps, @cherrybros

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Thinking Styles

Here is a theory that may help you with character development.

The theory of mental self-government holds that styles of thinking can be understood in terms of constructs from our notions of government.

On this view, the kinds of governments we have in the world are not merely coincidental, but rather are external reflections or mirrors of ways in which we can organize or govern ourselves.

According to this theory, people can be understood in terms of the functions, forms, levels, scope, and leanings of government. 

People do not exhibit just one style or another, but they do have preferences across various kinds of tasks and situations.

Functions

There are 3 functions of government in this theory:

Legislative. The legislatively oriented student has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require creation, formulation, planning of ideas, strategies, products, and the like. This kind of individual likes to decide what to do and how to do it, rather than to be told.

Executive. The executively oriented individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that provide structure, procedures, or rules to work with, and that, although modifiable, can serve as guidelines to measure progress. Whereas the legislatively oriented individual likes to decide what to and how to do it, the executively oriented student will often prefer to be told what to do, and will then give it his or her best shot at doing it well.

Judicial. The judicially oriented individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require evaluation, analysis, comparison–contrast, and judgment of existing ideas, strategies, projects, and the like. This individual tends to be evaluative of others, sometimes on the basis of minimal information.

Forms

There are 4 different forms of mental self-government in this theory:

Monarchic. The monarchic individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that allow complete focus on one thing or aspect at a time until it is complete. A monarchically oriented individual is single-minded and often driven, and likes to finish one thing before moving on to the next.

Hierarchic. The hierarchic individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that allow creation of a hierarchy of goals to fulfill. This individual likes to do multiple things in a given time frame, but assigns differential priorities for getting them done. Hierarchic people tend to be adaptive in many settings where it is necessary to set priorities for getting certain things done before others, or where it is necessary to decide that some things are more worthy of attention than are others.

Oligarchic. The oligarchic individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that allow working with competing approaches, with multiple aspects or goals that are equally important. This individual, like the hierarchically oriented one, likes to do multiple things within a given time frame, but has trouble setting priorities for which to get done when. The oligarchically oriented individual thus adapts well if the competing demands are of roughly equal priority, but has more trouble if the things are of different priorities.

Anarchic. The anarchic individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that lend themselves to great flexibility of approaches, and to trying anything when, where, and how he or she pleases. This individual tends to be asystematic or even antisystematic. The individual tends to take a random approach to problems, and is sometimes difficult for other people to understand.

Levels

There are 2 levels of mental self-government:

Local. The local individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require engagement with specific, concrete details. This individual likes to work with the nitty-gritty, but may lose the forest for the trees. Individuals displaying this style tend to enjoy tasks that require them to keep track of details and focus on concrete specifics of a situation.

Global. The global individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require engagement with large, global, abstract ideas. This individual likes to deal with big ideas, but sometimes can lose touch with the details—the individual may see the forest but lose track of the trees. People employing this style enjoy tasks that encourage them to think about major ideas and not have to worry about details.

Scope

There are 2 scopes of mental self-government:

Internal. The internal individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require activities that allow one to work independently of others. This individual prefers to work alone, is typically introverted, and is often uncomfortable in groups.

External. The external individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that allow working with others in a group or interacting with others at different stages of progress. This individual prefers to work with others, is typically extraverted, and is very comfortable in group settings.

Leanings

There are 2 leanings of mental self-government:

Liberal. The liberal individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that involve unfamiliarity, going beyond existing rules or procedures, and maximization of change. Sometimes the individual may prefer change simply for the sake of change, even when it is not ideal. People displaying a liberal style like new challenges and thrive on ambiguity.

Conservative. The conservative individual has a predilection for tasks, projects, and situations that require adherence to existing rules and procedures. This individual likes to minimize change and avoid ambiguity.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[beelmons]

Hotch being like Garcia and Morgan whenever they call each other. Oh imagine it during the case✨😮‍💨

Hotch: what have you got sweetheart?

R: *chuckling*……this my soon to be husband

This just a came out of nowhere, i gotta say I literally L O V E your writing.

Change it However I like

I Hope that botch sides of your pillow are always cold. Bye<3

Not-so-professional

cw: hotch x fem!reader, link on the text lead's to my wife's fic 'honey bun' since it's a reference to her work!!! read it!!!

You loved helping the BAU out, you didn't often have the chance to, but every once in a while, when your poor friend Penelope was overworked, you would be assigned to help out with data analysis. You were forever thankful for that annoying day in which you first aided the BAU, ever demanding of new information, since it allowed you to meet Aaron Hotchner, fall in love, and end up engaged with just a couple of days to go for your wedding.

But there would be time to dwell into all that later, since today you had to be top of your game; they were getting close, and you were certain they would ask for information soon. And at last, the phone rang.

"This is future Mrs. Hotchner speaking, how can I be of help?" you said with a wide smile on your face.

His subordinates expected a scowl, or at least a reprimand for your unprofessional behavior, but they were pleased to see that, instead, their boss's lips had curled up into a smitten crescent.

"Mrs. Hotchner, we need information on Javier Perez's bank account transactions." halfway through the sentence, his tone had gotten back to the stern one he was accostumed to. "Coming right up, sweet cheeks," you paused for a second as you clicky-clacked your way through the bank systems "Seems like little Perez has been up to some naughty deeds. He spent around a hundred dollars in a hardware store, ropes, tape, your usal beginner kidnapper kit, and— Oh, my, my," you exclaimed in surprise, catching their attention.

"What is it?" you heard Rossi ask from the other side of the line.

"He spent about five hundred dollars at a place called Ms. Honey Bun's Toys For Adults. And I'm guessing they don't exactly sell over-complicated legos." you clarified.

They all exchanged amused looks at your statement, everyone but Hotch who simply kept his eyebrows furrowed.

"Anything else?" the boss finally asked.

"Nothing relevant, my love. Hope that helped." you said, your tone going back to professional since his seemed to be so as well.

"Swetheart, you always know how to help me." his tone had switched unpromted to a flirty one, indicating that there was a hidden meaning behind his words "And while you're free why don't check around if Ms. Honey's store has a website?" he indicated.

You beamed in your place and exclaimed a quick 'on it' as you hung up the phone.

On the other side of the line, Hotch kept hopelessly smiling at the speaker that had recently gone dead, with his particular i'm-not-really-smiling face that he so stubbornly wore at the office. He was too entranced to notice the entire team had gone quiet, simply staring in his direction. He finally raised his sight and realized he was the center of attention, which caused a confused look out of him.

"Honeymoon preparations?" Derek asked with his usual teasing tone.

Aaron had to clear his throat, trying to impose his authority again, before he spoke. "Everyone get back to work."

Needless to say, after Morgan texted the entire exchange to her, Penelope was very proud.

[susandsnell]

I LOVE YOUR POINTS ON THE EVER AFTER POST. YES YES YES.

Thank you so much friend! I am alas a person who forever has a lot of Fairy Tale And Folklore Thoughts™️ equally coupled with my feminist lens, and I find a lot of analysis tends to go into the black and white instead of accepting stories as reflections of cultural worldviews within the time/place from which they originate, for better and for worse, and that value can be gleaned as well as criticism can be made. Anyone who follows me knows I have a bee in my bonnet about the Let Women [in period pieces] Be Unapologetically Feminine brigade and their angry insistence that any feminist lens or challenging of the social mores of a period piece, classic, or otherwise historical work is anachronistic, and Actually We Loved Being Oppressed And Didn't Know To Complain And Nonconforming People Were Freaks and I do feel this way in my approach to fairy tales as well.

If you don't mind me getting a bit controversial, this is why the liberal feminist side of the backlash to Rachel Zegler's Snow White comments about her being afforded more agency and interiority than a film written nearly 100 years ago by white American men adapting a centuries-old fairy tale (the racist chuds were to be expected) was so disingenuous and disheartening. "why isn't it Empowering if a female character is kind and sweet and feminine despite her suffering and Lets Herself Be Rescued" do you hear yourself!!! that's what patriarchy still expects/demands of us!! While generic Girlbossing of fairy tales is annoying (and can have the subtext of victim blaming of the "why didn't you fight back" variety), it's not much better to be Ashamed Women Are So Simple and Actually The Men Were Right To Tell Us What To Do.

Perreault's (and to a lesser extent, Grimm's) Cinderella has a psychologically realistic response to abuse that a real person should never be shamed for, but likewise, she is a fictional figure meant to instruct (in the former case) upper class young ladies in pre-Revolutionary France that passivity is the peak of femininity, and it will be rewarded handsomely with a reprieve from mistreatment, as You Have Succeeded At Your Gender Role.

This isn't to say there isn't value in validating that Cinderella's response, but ideally there is just as much a place for Danielle punching her wicked stepsister in the face and pulling a sword on a libertine nobleman, as much space for Vasilisa the Beautiful to consort with Baba Yaga and (knowingly or unknowingly, it's unclear) burn her wicked stepfamily alive with witchfire and win her place in court through her talent at weaving, as there is for Branagh's Cinderella to, with quiet dignity, use forgiveness as a means to release the hold her abusers have on her to move forward to the happy life she's always deserved. Because even in the latter case, again a continuation of Perreault and Disney, the focus isn't on Cinderella's Moral Womanly Correctness, but on what's good for her, what helps Ella heal, and what a happily ever after looks like for Ella.

And that's the important thing - not whether or not Cinderella waves a sword or bows her head, but that the focus is on her interiority and agency, and not assigning a higher moral value to her response to abuse as The Correct Response, whatever such a response may be.

[mbti-notes]

with regards to learning it may be important to know about IEOD(illusion of explanation depth) which may sometimes lead us to believe we understand more about the world than we think this can be especially true for those with an intuitive preference i write this because I've fallen for it too I hope this helps

I have discussed such learning problems in previous posts. After spending many years teaching, tutoring, and coaching students from a variety of backgrounds, in a variety of subjects, it never ceases to amaze me just how little people understand about learning. I believe that basic knowledge of learning theory is necessary for optimizing the learning process, if one hopes to be a good student of anything.

With so much information at the fingertips, it's more important than ever that people are mindful about how they learn. Being in the role of "student" is hard because you're a newbie and you're ignorant and you don't know the best way to tackle a big subject. Without a good teacher or an expert to guide you, you might come to rely on dubious sources of information, misinterpret what you read, misapply the ideas, or hit a seemingly insurmountable block/plateau.

Unfortunately, there are not enough good teachers to go around. Unfortunately, many teachers in public education are tasked with "babysitting" rather than teaching, to the detriment of learning. As a result, too many students get to high school, i.e., into adulthood, without a solid foundation of study skills.

Just recently, I was helping a twelfth grade student with essay writing. Being a good student, they couldn't understand why they kept getting low marks in writing despite putting a lot of effort into the assignments. Turns out, they kept submitting summaries of the literature when the teacher was explicitly asking for analysis of the literature. When I brought this problem to their attention, they were even more confused, because they thought they had been doing analysis all along. They had no clue that there was a difference between summary and analysis, so they were incapable of getting to the level of depth that the teacher was demanding.

One of the first things I often have to do with students is explain the difference between lower order vs higher order learning. Lower order learning is usually enough to pass the class throughout K-12 or achieve basic competency. Higher order learning moves people into expert territory. Without a clear vision of what they should be aspiring to, students tend to get stuck in lower order learning.

The difference between lower and higher order learning is neatly summarized by Bloom's Taxonomy, a conceptual framework for evaluating cognitive/intellectual ability. It breaks down the learning process into six categories/levels: 1) remember, 2) understand, 3) apply, 4) analyze, 5) evaluate, 6) create. Since it's hard to quantify exactly what's happening in a student's mind during learning, this framework helps by asking concrete questions about what the student can or cannot do.

My student got stuck at level 2 when the average requirement for the class was 4. They gave me a sample essay that their teacher considered to be "excellent" and it was easily at 5. While they could "feel" that there was a difference between their own essay and the excellent essay, they weren't able to articulate the difference at all.

One learning problem that people, Ns especially, often suffer is that they tend to get ahead of themselves, which is related to illusion of explanation depth. It's basically trying to run before walking. For example:

they believe "gist" is enough and dismiss details

they conflate knowing (theory) and doing (real world)

they judge/conclude without proper analysis

they try to create without mastering the basics

The above problems arise when a person doesn't realize how much they don't know (and in the case of an unhealthy personality, they refuse to acknowledge it). My student (N) is a good example. They believed that being able to do level 2 stuff (paraphrase, summarize, interpret, give examples) qualified as level 4 "analysis" and that this meant they had "mastered" the material. They simply didn't know any better or that more was possible. It wasn't until I explained to them the differences between lower and higher order learning that they began to realize how low-level their writing actually was.

I've talked before about the differences between a good student vs a good learner. A simple way to think about it: A good student is preoccupied with proving how much they know, so they are mainly motivated by extrinsic rewards or egotistical gain. By contrast, a good learner is preoccupied with how much they don't know, so they are mainly motivated by intrinsic rewards or intellectual humility that naturally breeds intellectual curiosity.

[vague-humanoid]

Below is a transcript of the keynote speech I delivered for the 14th Conference on East-West Cross-Cultural Relations at the American University in Cairo.

How the fuck am I supposed to teach Mark Twain? 

I repeated this question as I sat on the bus traveling to campus.  It was my first time meeting classes since October 7.  I would be walking onto the same campus, but the world in which it is situated had forever changed.  Trying to separate campus from Palestine was no more viable than trying to separate Christ from the crucifix. 

Mark Twain has something to do with Palestine—he wrote about it, after all, in a way that would please Zionists a few generations later.  With a bit of imagination, everything has something to do with Palestine.  This is so because Palestine, while formally absent as a nation-state, exists as both a historical and sociological presence in the minds of people across the world.  Indeed, we affirm the reality of Palestine with every refusal to grant legitimacy to its occupier. 

Still, Twain wouldn’t cut it.  Nor would the more politically-oriented readings assigned to my other two classes.  I wanted to discuss Palestine as Palestine, without analogy, without mediation.  The beginnings of a genocide were already evident.  There’s a simple, inviolable rule about genocide:  normal life must come to a halt until it is defeated. 

What can a literary critic and college instructor do to help defeat genocide?  The obvious answer is “nothing,” but I’m not willing to concede the point so easily.  What we can do depends on how we conceptualize the scope and purpose of literary criticism.  Scholars like to call emphasis on revolutionary outcomes prescriptive, and I suppose they’re right, but certain events in the world demand a kind of vigor socialized out of us by graduate school and the job market.  I’m saying that sometimes it’s okay to be prescriptive.  Who does it help when we spend all our time slogging around in nuance and ambiguity?  What purpose does it serve other than social climbing and self-gratification?  In Palestine right now, not too far from where we’ve gathered, millions of people are being bombarded, starved, displaced, imprisoned.  I condemn it without qualification or concern for the bourgeois etiquette of higher education. 

And I can condemn it in literary criticism without sacrificing the creative touch that often makes the genre so rewarding.  Ghassan Kanafani has already shown how it can be done.  So have Toni Morrison, Robert Warrior, Raymond Williams, Viet Nguyen, Audra Simpson, James Baldwin, and Christina Sharpe.  In his book On Zionist Literature, recently translated into English, Kanafani offers a rigorous analysis of Israeli culture and society, adeptly interrogating Zionism’s discursive norms, philosophical assumptions, and ethical inconsistencies.  He fulfills all the conventional tenets of literary criticism and still manages to affirm national liberation.  There’s no contradiction.  The liberatory aspects of criticism have been suppressed by publishers, by tenure committees, by culture magazines, by scholars affiliated with the CIA—in short, by various organs of the ruling class.  National liberation isn’t considered an unacceptable methodology because of some natural, ahistorical standard of proper literary study.  The standard is political.  It was always political.  And it’s most political precisely when nonpolitics is the demand. 

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 4K

Storage Locker C was a squalid, closed-off room filled to the brim with emptied crates and shipping containers. The CyberLife branding was worn and faded, and all surfaces coated in a thick layer of dust. It looked abandoned, as though it had not been accessed since before the Revolution. 

“Colt, I'm getting really sick of you telling me what you're about to tell me”, Gavin said, addressing the man standing with him in the middle of the densely packed room. 

Sanders let out a clipped huff, tracing a circle in the dusty floor with the tip of his boot. “There’s nothing here. Save dirt and cobwebs. We're gonna sweep the perimeter outside and see if we pick anything up - but I wouldn't count on it."

A couple of scattered Forensics Officers were standing by the entranceway, packing up lights and Thirium analysis kits, ready for transportation. Sanders ushered them towards the exit with a tilt of his head, and they started to head out, the door closing behind them. Despite this, the draft persisted, a consequence of the poor insulation. Gavin hugged his hands to his armpits in an attempt to keep warm, pacing around in fractious circles. 

Nines stood a few feet away, scanning the access panel next to the entranceway. "Keypad secured, accessible via a six-digit code issued to CyberLife employees." He removed his hand from the panel, skin melding back into place. "I suspect the Reaper left the room accessible for a short window. Just long enough for Mr Finch to deposit the phone."  

"Or maybe that didn’t happen." It had been a quiet, introspective grumble as the detective continued to move aimlessly. He had not demanded a response, but he received one nonetheless. 

"There was no sign of forced entry, and I doubt he would have been entrusted with unsupervised access." 

"I don’t mean that. Maybe the reason why it looks like no one has been in here for months is because no one has."

"I am not following you." 

Gavin groaned. "I mean, come on, isn’t it convenient that Finch hands off this phone to some random guy and then has no idea where it goes? What if the exchange never happened, and he’s just fucking with us?" 

"I would know if we had been misdirected", Nines swiftly reminded him, pointing to his temple with a two-fingered gesture. "While the lack of evidence is disappointing, it is not unusual given what we have come to expect in this case—

When the Reaper leaves something behind, he does so with intent. If this place holds no significance to his puzzle, then there would be no reason to leave his usual markers."

"Doesn’t really help us, though, does it?" Gavin came to a halt, reaching into his pocket to check the time on his phone. There was a notification for an unread chat log previewed on the lock screen. "May as well stay here until Sanders and his boys are done. Fowler won't expect us back for a while, and I'm in no hurry to tell ‘im this was another dead-end." 

Unlocking the phone, he was taken to the conversation history that was already opened. He tucked behind a large shipping container, angled away from Nines to ensure he couldn’t see. Scrolling his way to the most recent message proved an difficult task and left him feeling a little uneasy: 

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 9:05 am] Good Morning Gavin. How are you feeling today?

You

[Saturday at 11:35 am] like someone is taking a drill to my skull. 

need to stop drinking like that. getting too old. 

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 11:36 am] Nothing good ever comes without cost.

I hope it was worth it for the sake of an enjoyable evening. 

You

[Saturday at 12:38 pm] not sure. I dont remember all of it

sorry if i got messy

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 12:45 pm] No need to apologise. 

I meant what I said. 

If you ever need someone to talk to - or someone to spend time with - I'm there. Just say the word. 

[Saturday at 1:35 pm] Nothing implied, of course. I am happy to just be friends :) 

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 1:05 pm] Have a good day at work tomorrow.

I hope things aren’t too uncomfortable with your partner.

You

[Sunday at 3:34 pm] shouldnt be 

talked things out. were okay now. 

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 3:35 pm] I see. Well, if you think it’s enough, then I won’t tell you otherwise. 

Just don’t let him take advantage of your goodwill. 

You 

[Sunday at 3:55 pm] ???

dont really know what u mean by that? 

we were both being dicks and now we arent

so its fine

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 3:56 pm] You were not in a good place the other day. 

I wouldn’t be so quick to put your faith in him. 

You might end up getting hurt.

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 9:23 pm] I hope I haven’t upset you. I am just concerned.

These situations always end the same way. 

Thumbs drumming idly on the screen, Gavin deliberated on the best way to proceed. Tact had never been his strong suit, nor something he typically concerned himself with. However, his recent experiences with Nines had left him a bit more empathetic than usual.  

You

[Draft]

Alex u seem nice but im really not interested

we went on one date you dont know my life

Can i have some time to think about it?

As Gavin tried and failed to formulate a suitable response, another message popped up on the screen:

Russian Nesting Doll

[09:50 am] I can see that you’ve read my messages. 

It’s a shame that you've been unwilling to accept help.  

"Unless he did leave a marker."

The sudden address shocked Gavin back to reality. Quietly locking his phone and placing it back in his pocket, he emerged from his obscured position and back into view of his partner. "What do you mean?" 

"The code to the lockbox", Nines’ LED spun yellow as he accessed the requisite information. "22 42 15 11 44. Knowing our killer, I doubt the numbers are inconsequential. It could be another message." 

"You seemed to think so during Finch’s interrogation." There was a teasing edge to his words as Gavin recalled the events that had led them to their current location. "If he had decided to hold out much longer, I thought you might beat the numbers out of him."

Nines seemed flustered by the suggestion, his cheeks dusted with flecks of blue. "I don't believe my approach was excessively forceful. Having said that, I was...distracted that day, so it is possible that I exercised less patience than I could have." 

Distracted by your 'personal matter'? Gavin pondered but stopped himself from saying. It almost felt like teasing how painfully ambiguous Nines was acting. 

He had been torturing himself the entire morning, clinging to hope over every perceived spark of interest. The glances that had lingered for a little too long on their drive up to the Storage Locker and the way that Nines had brushed his hand upon their exit. Each time he dared to believe that his partner might be feeling it too, the moment dissipated, leaving the detective to wonder if he had been a product of his imagination. 

"So, what was the message?" 

"I am unsure. It appears to be a new code system, one he has not previously used. I have one solution, but I suspect it is not the one we are looking for." There was a biting spite to the way Nines said this, as though casting doubt on his own abilities. "It seems incomplete—much like many of my deliberations as of late."

"I've hardly been much help on the 'cryptic bullshit' front." The detective acknowledged his limited contributions with a wry smile, folding his arms as he did. "Let me pick that big brain of yours. See what I've got." 

Nines seemed receptive to the suggestion, his troubled expression softening into one of quiet gratitude. "The message in the rA9 scripture: ‘Those who worship false prophets will be punished’, followed by a series of incomprehensible numbers and symbols. I have no idea what they could mean." 

"So you think it is a code within a code, right? Like the message that led Robert here?" 

"Correct."

Gavin recalled the slip of paper his partner had shown him previously, trying to follow the same line of reasoning. "If we are getting closer to finding him, maybe he wanted to throw us a curveball…." He tutted at his inability to fully recall the details, looking to Nines with a hopeful shrug. "It's hard to say without seeing the scripture. Is there a way you could show it to me?" 

"My eyes do not come equipped with projectors." 

Then embarrassment washed over him, intermingled with a twinge of guilt. "Right, of course they don't. Sorry." 

"Fortunately, I can show you this way." 

Nines extended his hand as a small beam of light bloomed from the palm. It spread outwards, and a small image came into view. Gavin reeled back from the visage, completely stunned. 

"Right, no projectors in the eyes because they come equipped to your fucking hands. That makes so much more sense."

Nines’ lips, which had been pulled into a forced scowl, twitched in subtle amusement. "If you wish to complain to someone, I’d suggest you contact CyberLife." 

Having gotten over the surprise of the sudden manifestation, Gavin focused on the image. He scrutinised it intently before narrowing his eyes at a particular element. 

"...Are these the numbers you're trying to work out?" he asked, leaning closer to his partner as he pointed to the projection. "He leaves a gap before the start of the sequence. Then all of a sudden, he's squeezing shit in, like he's run out of space. Why would he do that?" 

"Human penmanship is often inconsistent, particularly when rushed."

"So he took his sweet time to decapitate the victim and leave the body posed like a statue, but he decided to rush this? You said it yourself that he does things deliberately. I don't think this is an accident."

Nines paused, his LED cycling yellow as though considering the possibility. "What are you thinking?"

"That maybe it's not the same message. It's two—using different code systems." 

Gavin continued to analyse the sequence. In addition to the densely packed nature, the numbers were penned with far less clarity than the ones that preceded. The edges were softened, forming a strange cursive-like script as one digit flowed into the next.

"Nines, when a human writes a message, what do they sometimes do at the end?" He paused, smiling to himself before he continued. "Also applies to smartass androids sending annoying texts." 

His partner seemed less than enthralled by the teasing jab but responded to the question nonetheless. "They sign it." 

"Exactly. So what if that’s what he’s doing? This has been going on for a while now, maybe the fucker is getting cocky."

"There is cockiness, and then there is stupidity", Nines fired back, eyebrows raised. "I doubt he would reveal his true identity with such transparency."

"I dont think so either - but what if it's another title? Like God's Wrath or His Servant. Except this one is special; he went to more of an effort to hide it."

The android looked across his shoulder at the man peering over it. "Gavin, if you’re right, this could be pivotal."

"If?", the detective fired back, pulling away with an indignant scoff. "Come on, I know it's shocking that I worked something out before you did, but give me some credit. I don't always need to copy your homework." 

"I know you don't. You have always been capable."

A notification pinged on Gavin’s phone, breaking the flow of their conversation. He inwardly bristled—well aware of the likely sender—but fought to conceal his irritation as he continued. "Capable? That’s high fucking praise. Better stop now before I get a big head."

"I am being genuine. You are a remarkable person - of whom I am continuously in awe." 

Another notification and the annoyance escalated, comparable to being trapped with a fly in a moving car. "Okay, now you're going too far with the flattery."  Making a subtle glance at the message, Gavin’s thumb was poised on the volume button, ready to turn it down. "Keep trying, you'll get it eventually." 

"I understand that my actions may not have assisted in giving my words credence...I hope he can express such sentiments in a more articulate way." 

The statement caught him off guard enough to delay the action. He? 

"What are you talking about?"

When the detective looked up, he noted the android's focus was trained on his hand. The diplomatic veneer of his prior words contrasted sharply with the unsettling intensity of his eyes. It seemed he wanted nothing more than to crush the phone into a thousand tiny pieces.

"The man who invited you to dinner. I can only assume that he is the one who is messaging you."

"How did—" The initial surprise Gavin felt gave way to irritation. He levelled an accusatory gaze at his partner. "Assume, my ass. You're scanning my phone." 

"I respect your privacy enough to refrain from using my scanners," Nines retorted, sounding a little offended. "There has been a change in your behaviour recently, which seems to coincide with this new contact. Heightened physical responses that would imply a strong romantic or sexual interest." 

Then Gavin’s annoyance turned to bewilderment. Perhaps Nines’ system was glitching, or he’d misinterpreted the spike in his blood pressure—because that definitely wasn’t what he was feeling.   

"Words can not attest to how lucky he is. I hope the relationship proves long and fulfilling." The forced smile he gave him betrayed something deeply incriminating. An emotion that was hard to mistake. Jealousy. 

Realisation hit him like a hook to the jaw.

He had been feeling what Nines was describing, but Alex was not the object of interest. There had been another inciting incident, one which happened to coincide with the receipt of the initial USwipe message. Something that his partner seemed to have cataclysmically misinterpreted. 

"Nines, I think you've got the wrong idea about where those feelings are coming from." 

"You do not owe me an explanation."

"I'm single." Gavin said, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "Like 'jacking myself to sleep' every night single. So yeah, I went on a date, but I'm never gonna see him again." 

The forgotten phone in his hand pinged to life once again, and he felt another creep in his blood pressure. "Problem is, the guy can't take a fucking hint." 

"Was his company not as pleasant as you anticipated?" Nines inquired, a strange hopefulness in his voice. However, this optimism quickly shifted to trepidation as his expression hardened. "Did he do something to upset you?"

"What? No, nothing like that. He was fine, I just—" 

Another ping. 

Okay, no, that’s done it. Any concerns of consideration or politeness were promptly thrown out the window as Gavin glared daggers at the message, planning a suitably scathing response:

You

[10:19 am] U need to back off right fucking now. 

I dont know u and u dont know me. so stop with the intrusive bullshit

I dont want to see u again. thats it. were done. 

He had barely removed his thumbs from the screen when he received the man’s response:

Russian Nesting Doll

[10:20 am] I know you well enough - but that’s fine, Gavin. You’ve made it quite clear what it is that you want.

I hope you’ll be happy with your choice. :)  

Glancing over the message, Gavin wondered if he ought to feel guilty, but this concern swiftly gave way to an overwhelming surge of relief. With a triumphant huff, he blocked the number and returned his now undivided attention to his partner. 

"It wasn't what I wanted." The admission came as a leap of faith but one that was decidedly worth it, as Nines finally seemed to realise what he was suggesting.

His jaw tensed, as there was a pronounced bob of movement visible in his throat. "What do you want?"  

Gavin released a heated snarl, seizing Nines by the jacket and pulling down sharply. They stood nose-to-nose, his unsteady breath cascading over the android's face. "Take a wild fucking guess." 

Their kissing was desperate, almost frenzied, as the detective firmly balled his hands into the back of his partner's hair, seeking additional leverage. Nines responded by slipping his arms around the shorter man’s back, pulling him close as he clawed at the threads of his jacket. Their bodies were flush, and it wasn’t long until they started to move in rhythm.

Heat pooled in Gavin’s stomach, travelling downwards, and his hips jerked forward brazenly. Through the motion, he came to an unexpected but wholly welcome discovery. Nines had opted for physical upgrades—evident in the distinct swell that could be felt through the threads of his pants. It brushed against him in smooth, measured motions, and Gavin could feel himself harden almost instantly. Lost in the movements, he didn’t notice that he was stumbling backwards until the corner of a shipping crate had wedged unwelcomely into his back. 

As he hissed in pain, Nines broke the kiss. He tilted back to assess his partner, his grey eyes wide and startled. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" 

"Nah, you’re fine. It’s these damn crates." Gavin winced, massaging the sore spot with his hand. A cloud of dust had displaced itself upon contact, with the particles now floating above their heads. "Barely able to breathe in here." 

"Perhaps we should delay this until later." The android scrutinised the grime-filled air as the man gasped to breathe it in. "These are hardly ideal circumstances."  

"We could be wading around in a sewer right now, I couldn’t give less of a shit."

"That sounds repulsive", Nines chided. Nonetheless, his body betrayed a continued interest as he leant towards him, settling his face against the crook of his neck. "You seem to have deflected my question, Detective, about what it is that you want."  

The title was spoken with a sinful richness that should have been illegal. It danced across Gavin’s ear, signed by a teasing nip on the shell. "Would think the raging hard-on would be a tip-off", he hissed, struggling to suppress the moan that was building in his throat. "I want you, all of it—smug asshole." 

"That is rather non-specific." 

"How vivid do you want me to be?", he snapped. "I indulged in a hefty amount of ‘self-care’ after you ditched me the other day. Almost ascended thinking of all the filthy things we could have done." 

Nines chuckled in satisfaction, trailing kisses along the edge of his stubbled jaw. "I would be quite happy to atone for my mistake, but it would appear that you are still withholding some critical information." 

"Seriously, jackass, use your imagination." 

Strong arms tightened around Gavin's back before hoisting upwards, lifting until he was perched on the edge of a crate. Just as he was about to protest the forceful handling, he felt his legs be pulled apart with equal assertion as his partner nestled between them. 

"Unless I hear it from you, I will have no choice but to put a stop to this." A hand came to cradle Gavin's jaw, applying firm pressure as his head was forcefully tilted upwards. "After I left. What did you think about?" 

Lust overwhelmed any lingering reason as Gavin felt his mouth move of its own accord. "Your lips", he confessed, his gaze flitting subconsciously to the feature as he spoke. A perfect pink bow that demanded attention, sitting inches away from his face. "They felt so good. I wanted to know how much better they'd feel wrapped around my dick."

"Better." Nines' touches grew hotter, reaching fever, as though he were burning from the inside. The bridge of his nose and swell of his cheeks were tinged a royal blue. Gavin may have been concerned if he wasn't so willing to pliantly melt into the forceful caress. "Keep talking." 

"I wish I'd known about this." He punctuated the word with a buck of his hips, catching his partner off guard. He watched in delight as his LED flickered. "I'd have spent more time thinking about how it would feel shoved down my throat." 

Nines’ grip on his face loosened, and he worried that he might have crossed some unspoken boundary. Then he felt a thumb run languidly across his lip, gently pulling down. "I have pondered a few times on ways I could shut this filthy mouth of yours. I imagine fucking it would prove effective."

The pants that Gavin had allowed to escape gave way to a guttural moan. "It's so fucking hot. Hearing you talk like that." 

"I'd rather do more than just talk about it."

The sound of a metal door swinging open rudely interrupted them, followed by a pace of footsteps. "Okay, boys, we're gonna wrap things up now." 

A shared look of horror passed between them as Gavin squirmed from his seat on the crate, clambering to find his footing, and Nines straightened up, adjusting his rumpled jacket. Sanders, engrossed in his tablet, seemed oblivious to the situation.

"He'll send our report to Fowler now. If you need anything else from us, we'll—" As he looked up, the older man paused, regarding the other human officer with a perplexed look. "You okay, Reed? You're a little red." 

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just… warm in here." Gavin’s breath puffed out in a visible cloud as he said this. He awkwardly crossed his legs to avoid revealing anything incriminating but inadvertently offered a clear view of the crate—as well as the distinctly human-shaped print. 

The residual dust was no doubt settled on his legs and backside, a detail not which had not gone unnoticed by Sanders. His dark eyes trailed him up and down, lips pinched inwards in amusement. "Like I said, we're heading out. You two gonna stay and look around, or are we following you out of here?" 

Just then, a low dialling noise could be heard from the direction of the android. The light of his LED pulsed softly, in and out like a breath, signalling an incoming call. "It would appear we ought to leave as well", Nines said with a hint of disappointment. "The Captain is sending through a dispatch request."

"Where does he need us? Back at the station?"

The gentle pulsing stopped abruptly, turning to static red. "No. At a crime scene."

"... Shit." Gavin kicked an empty packing container that was lying at his feet, propelling it across the room. "They've found another body, haven’t they?" 

"Bodies, I -" 

The android fell, dropping unceremoniously to his knees. A hand clasped to his mouth as his body shook in violent tremors. His LED flashed like a siren, so quick that it was almost blinding to look at. The two men watched on, stunned, before rushing in to assist. Gavin was first to drop to the floor, placing hands on his partner's shoulders as he delicately pulled him close. 

"Nines, are you okay? What's wrong?" Each word was met with a gentle tap, to which his partner failed to respond. He stared ahead, grey eyes large and unfocused, as though fading in and out of consciousness. A rumble of static passed from his lips as he moved his head in slow, jerky motions that were decidedly artificial. 

It chilled Gavin to his core and told him something was seriously wrong. Delicate taps turned to shakes as he tried to snap Nines from his daze. "Fucking talk to me, what's happening?" 

Nines muttered repeatedly to himself as though he were sitting alone in the room. The exact same phrase, over and over: 

"It isn't possible."

[masterjedilenawrites]

🌟 The fun thing about clone battalions having assigned numbers is that there's (usually) a calendar date to match them. I've decided to shower some attention on our favorite clone battalions this year by writing a little something-something for them on their corresponding dates 💜

Though this may not be popular, I'm starting off with my OC clone unit: the 116th Battalion. I've mentioned them a few times in The Sniper & the Medic and in anon conversations about OCs. I've been wanting to put more of them onto paper, so to speak, and January 16th gives me a fun excuse to do so!

OCs: 116th & Joan Vo | 1.4k words

Content: references to blood and death

The 116th

"Prepare to jump." Commander Crowe's voice echoed around the bridge and his men immediately fell into position, quietly and efficiently. Like a well-oiled machine. Crowe may have been known to sport hairy legs and flip-flops on his days off, but his authority was not to be messed with while on duty. There'd be time enough for everyone to have their personalities later, after the mission was over.

"Coordinates set for -401.72, -561.84, 004.32," confirmed the battalion pilot, R.J.

"Ready to jump into hyperspeed, on your command," nodded R.J.'s co-pilot, Diver.

Crowe let a brief, dramatic moment pass before saying, "Jump." It was his favorite thing to do, though he'd never admit it to a soul.

Stars stretched into dazzling streaks across the viewport as the Valiant cut through them. They'd have about an hour before reaching the rest of the battalion stationed outside of Batuu. The data they'd recovered from a grounded CIS craft on Malastare could then be transmitted back to Coruscant for further analysis.

But the data chip wasn't the only thing they'd be bringing back with them. Crowe couldn't help but glance over at the young woman who sat in one of the tactician chairs, clothes stained with the blood of its previous owner. The shiny, Brig, hadn't even been in the role two full rotations before getting blown to smithereens. Crowe blamed himself for not checking for booby traps on that CIS cruiser before sending the young hotshot in. And this woman blamed herself for not being able to stitch him back together in time.

"What do you make of her?"

A soft voice came up beside him, Jedi General Rhee. Crowe grunted in acknowledgement.

"She's alright," he responded, not wanting to commit to an opinion one way or the other. Not yet.

She was not the first stray they'd picked up. Far from it. No matter where they went, on a mission, in the thick of a battlefield, even on R&R, they always seemed to attract whatever sad, lost, and lonely being was around, from Tookas to orphans to escaped slaves. They'd shelter the poor things for a bit and then help them find a home elsewhere. Though Crowe was pretty sure there was still a porg being secretly kept on one of the other ships.

This woman, Joan Vo, was a little different. For one, she hadn't begged to come aboard. Hadn't tried to strike any deals or use the sad puppy in the rain tactic that others had done. No, she simply stated it. Demanded it, even. And for another, she seemed equally determined to stay. Become part of the crew. Crowe wasn't sure what the legalities were with such a thing. The Republic would get their fair share of civilian volunteers, but they were often in administrative or training roles, not as an active combat medic.

All that to say, Crowe didn't know what to make of her. And he wasn't about to get attached to something he didn't understand.

"She has heart," Rhee was saying. The Jedi's gentle voice just barely managed to recapture Crowe's attention from his confused thoughts. "The boys need some of that, after all the hell they've been through these past few cycles."

Crowe only grunted again. He supposed he was right. They'd been on very punishing back-to-back missions that had lost more brothers than expected. Though he wasn't sure what this lady would be able to do about it. There were things not even a doctor could heal.

She seemed to sense they were looking at her. She promptly rose from the chair and came over.

"Dr. Vo." Rhee extended his hand, not having been properly introduced yet.

"Please, call me Joan," she said, taking his hand. Her voice was low and raspy, as if she'd been shouting all day. Which, Crowe knew, she had not. She had remained calmed and assertive throughout all the horrors they'd faced on that cruiser.

"And you may call me Rhee," smiled the Jedi. The 116th was very loose with their names, rarely ever using titles unless they were around other units or Republic leaders. Even then, Rhee insisted on being called General Rhee as his last name was far too difficult to pronounce for most.

"I understand you wish to join the battalion," Rhee continued as they dropped hands. "We would be honored to have such a courageous spirit among our ranks."

"We already have a medical team." A new voice joined the little circle they'd created at the back of the bridge. Captain Civic, Crowe's righthand. The solider was opposite to Crowe in every way, which was saying something considering that Crowe himself had quite a dueling personality. Where Crowe had a laidback, "live-and-let-live" demeanor in his downtime, Civic was much more concerned with the status quo and all the "shoulds" and "should nots" that came with it. But on a battlefield, Crowe held his ground while Civic improvised. Crowe was competitive; Civic was civil.

The list could keep running on, but despite all the differences, the two brothers were tight-knit, leading their men in a united effort. There was only one other clone whom Crowe was so completely bonded with, but they were assigned different battalions. Civic was his true brother in arms.

Joan didn't seem put off by Civic and his disapproval suddenly showing up to the conversation. "But you didn't bring them with you today," she countered. She crossed her arms over her chest, not-so-subtly drawing attention to the fact there was still blood all over it.

"They were needed elsewhere," Civic responded cooly.

"And I'm not. I am an additional resource."

Civic already had his mouth open for another retort but Rhee wisely stepped in before things got out of hand.

"And we are very grateful for your generosity," he said with another kind smile. "Now, it will be some time before we join the rest of the fleet. Allow me to show you to refreshers so you can get cleaned up. Civic will make sure a room gets prepared for your stay as well."

The Jedi gave the Captain a knowing look as he ushered Joan to walk away with him.

Civic waited until the two got out of sight before letting out a frustrated huff.

"Don't know what you're so upset about," Crowe chuckled lowly. "She doesn't strike me as the type to steal your socks."

He was referring to a pretty Twi'lek girl they'd once rescued from a nasty old Baron. All the boys had been smitten with her, until they realized she'd been stealing odd things from them all.

Civic's mouth only deepened in its frown. "I'd rather deal with petty theft."

"Than what?"

"Exactly. We don't know what this chick's MO is. What civvy in their right mind would demand to work with the GAR on the frontlines? She's either crazy, or she's up to something."

Crowe agreed that it was odd, and that he didn't like not understanding what this woman was about. But so revealed another difference between him and Civic. To him, this was an intriguing mystery that needed to play itself out. He was content to simply keep an eye on her and nothing else.

Civic, on the other hand, was lining her up in his scope, ready to fire at the first sign of maliciousness. Crowe almost felt sorry for the girl, if he didn't believe she could handle it. Of the few things he knew about Joan so far, she wasn't phased by much.

"Well, like it or not, she's here to stay," he clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll just have to make do."

Crowe hid a smile as his words predictably got Civic all worked up.

"Make do? Make do?" The poor clone was practically hyperventilating at such a notion. "What if she's plotting to overtake control of the fleet, use our forces against the rest of the garrison? What if she kills us in our sleep? Or what if she's just crazy and still kills us in our sleep?"

Crowe just shook his head and left Civic standing on the bridge with more of his what-if scenarios. Only time would tell what Dr. Joan Vo was up to. In the meantime, Crowe needed a shower. He'd just realized that he, too, was still covered in the blood of their fallen brother.

Every Character Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @justanothersadperson93, @arctrooper69, @sleepycreativewriter, @techie-bear, @theroguesully, @cw80831

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🌟 2024 Clone Battalion Series Master List | 🌙 Master List of Master Lists

[originemesis]

// bc meowing on discord isn't enough for me. I need some more discussion on Adam's character and how actually yummy it is, mmk.

I have seen so many analysis on why Adam is a lazy villain and not well thought out at all, so here we go bitch- on why that's incorrect. And also my thoughts in general on the character (technically not canon, but we don't have more in depth scenes with Adam aside from him interacting with Sera and literally just death smiling at Lute.)

First and foremost - the man is a vindictive shit. Like what I get is that for episode 1, he was just going to tell Lucifer 'ok see ya next year' at that scheduled meeting. But Lucifer flakes out and sends his cuck child (which slightly irks Adam ofc). But the fact that she then tries to snake (haha joke) oil sell him on this stupid hotel shit is warrant enough for him to be like 'yeah, actuaaaaally... we gonna come back in 6 months now.' Cuz 1, it annoyed him, and 2- the subtle triggering of an old testament character that never got second chances as far as Eden was concerned and is very much in the 'you do to this to me ...I do this back' mindset.

So when Charlie actually goes over his head to Sera and exposes what they've been doing to heaven, that's when 'just coming back early' turns into attacking her hotel. He even shows this behaviour to Vaggie when she runs off to the bathroom instead of sticking around to help shut Charlie down like he'd told her to do- thus his rebuttal is exposing her angel lineage. It's all completely justified in his 'eye for an eye' equation.

Then when Charlie actually fights back that's another infraction and grounds for him lumping her in with all that should be exterminated too, deal or not. Because none of this would have happened at all if she had just 'stayed in her place' and hadn't attended that first meeting, let alone with her redemption plans.

Unfortunately how involved of a villain he is gets overshadowed by the dudebro jokes and memes. Viv actually did say she wished we'd gotten more time with Adam and most likely any hint of his actions and motives were overshadowed and not disclosed for it except the pretty little bow they put on him in the brief look he shares with Lute in the finale.

There's no question that Lute is like a protege to him and his views and values as they're always together/ sidekicks, possibly even lovers depending on how things pan out exposition wise. He's trained her to be about as insufferable and vicious as he is, and I don't think it's a coincidence aside from he just thinks it's funny as fuck to watch her go off on folks with her potential (and definitely exploitable) mental illness. In a sense, he's coaching her to be as insufferable as he is because then she won't ever be able to leave him (most likely his biggest insecurity sticking point) because no one else will tolerate her like he does. She clearly understands the assignment because even Adam gets occasionally rendered speechless by what comes out of her mouth as seen by her overly enthusiastic execution plans.

And lastly! Adam's abandonment issues are interesting in that he would blame everyone for leaving him being the reason why he treat folks as if they already had done that to him. But Lilith most likely leaves him because he tried to command too much of what happened between them/being a stifling, overbearing, and demanding partner. After that happens, he likely backs off a bit and takes a more lax approach with Eve in comparison because he doesn't want the same situation happening. Only it does BECAUSE he was too lax and thus was unable to be the voice of reason to Eve when she was being instructed to eat the apple.

Now because he knows neither approach will keep someone in their place, his final solution comes with how he interacts with Lute- basically convincing her and likely the other exorcists that the rest of heaven outside of the flock will never understand them and the lengths they go to in order to keep the peace in heaven. Because there's no clear way out of an echo chamber and you just keep returning to the source of it at the end of all things said and done.

[economicshomeworkhelper]

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[statistichomeowrkhelperblogs]

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[robbie89smith-blog]

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[selenajones]

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