#Giving the mom schizophrenia is like

[tachvintlogic]

Summary: Wes finds Nightwing after trying and failing to convince the police to do something about a metahuman trafficking ring after he's done all the detective work for them. Nightwing is so impressed that he offers Wes a job. Wes is not impressed with the pitch.

Words: 2462

“I knew it!”

There aren’t many things worse to hear than that when you’re without your mask in an alley you assumed was empty. NIghtwing turned to the sound and saw a tall, red-headed man with a camcorder who looked like he had no idea how dangerous being outside in Gotham was here at this time of night.

“Wes Weston, junior reporter for the Gotham Gazette,” he said offering a hand.

Nightwing hesitantly took it. “Nightwing, pleasure,” he said and then left go. “So I hope you understand the importance of keeping this quiet.”

“Oh course Mr. Grayson. I would say that you should be more careful about concealing your identity, but that advice would have been more useful years ago. Though there is something I want that you can help me with.”

“An exclusive interview?”

“No, actually. I don’t have a story that would need an interview from Dick Grayson or Nightwing, not yet anyway.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and held up it. “I’ve been investigating a metahuman trafficking ring that’s been operating in Gotham. So far I can link them to the disappearances of seven metahumans in the past two months, but I suspect that may be more. This is a basic summary of what I found.”

Nightwing took the paper and skimmed it. The evidence was compelling, for both the existence of the trafficking ring and their methods of operation. Mr. Weston even had narrowed down the most likely places they were operating out of. “Were you just carrying this around in the hopes you would run into us?”

“No, I just got back from going to the police about it. They didn’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Probably because none of the victims I’ve been able to link to trafficking were white.”

He would take to Gordon later to reprimand whoever it was Mr. Weston talked to. “Is this everything you have?”

“Nope. I can send you all my evidence if you have an email.”

“Yes, that would be useful.”

After saying their goodbyes and Wes left the alley, Nightwing put his mask back on. “Did you get all that Oracle?”

“Yep, check the building on 20 Avenue first, I’ll coordinate with the others to check the other locations they might be hiding.”

“You think it’s real?”

“He certainly is who he says he is. Proceed with caution in case it’s a trap.”

Nightwing smirked. “I always do.”

It ended up not being a trap. Dick and Helena scored the locations where the traffickers were holding people and rescued 15 people, but two of the victims that Wes had identified weren’t there. From Helena’s interrogation of the traffickers she found, they were already out of the city. It was disappointing, but the raid had given them plenty of leads, so it was only a matter of time before they found the rest.

Nightwing was resting up a few bruises he got while Oracle was following up on their leads and going through the information that Wes had emailed. Turns out he couldn’t fit everything he had onto one piece of paper.

“He was very thorough. He’s basically done half of my job for me,” said Oracle, “I can’t believe the police didn’t want to look at all this.” She took another sip of coffee. It was her fifth one in the last hour. There was a lot to go through.

“Their loss,” said Nightwing, “how optimistic are you that we’ll find the last two?”

“With a big enough team, we could probably take down their entire operation within a week. We’ll find them.”

“When it’s done I’m going to give him an interview as Nightwing about this. Kid deserves it.”

Oracle laughed. “You got that right. He reminds me a lot of Tim when he started. We could use him on the team.”

“Well if one of us is going to make that pitch, I’ll do a background check while you deal with all that.”

“Go right ahead.”

He started by searching up Wes Weston and found his LinkedIn profile. He got his start in reporting in highschool where he was part of the basketball team and the newspaper club. He went to college and got a bachelors in journalism and has been bouncing around different newspapers before landing in Gotham. Nothing unusual there. He looked at criminal history and found nothing of note.

Checking the headlines of things Wes had written, issues with discrimination against metahumans and sapient nonhumans was a common running theme, regardless of where he worked. Now for more personal stuff.

Wes Weston, full name West Weston, is the 3rd of 4 children. The first 3 were all named after cardinal directions though one changed his name, and they go by Kyle now. The 4th was a girl named Elle who was adopted when she was 12 years old and whose adoption records are sealed.

The father works as a patent lawyer while the mother’s employment has been more sporadic. Shortly after Wes was born, she was institutionalized for six months and dropped out of college. Digging a little bit deeper netted him an official diagnosis: schizophrenia.

Neither parent had a history of violent crime, and the mother was only institutionalized one other time, so Nightwing moved on to Wes’s hometown, Amity Park.

Amity Park had a few notable quirks. One was that many of the streets and buildings had ghost themed names, and it had a lot of places purported to be haunted. It also had a very low crime rate and an exceptionally low murder rate for a town its size. There was also a high metahuman population, and it was rated as being the least discriminatory towards metahumans, something the town itself was very proud of.

Nightwing could very easily imagine Wes being an amateur paranormal investigator, going into haunted houses looking for ghosts with his camcorder, being so outraged by the trafficking of metahumans that he investigated far beyond what anyone would expect of him, and being really boring in college because a lot of the fun drugs are a very bad idea for people at risk for schizophrenia.

“So how’s the background check going?”

“Comes from a decent family, standup citizen, and very into investigative journalism from a very early age,” said Nightwing, “is at risk of developing schizophrenia, but nothing suggests he has it.”

“He doesn’t. So, have you checked Bat’s profile on him?” said Oracle grinning.

Bats has a profile on him?” Nightwing checked the files from the Batcomputer remotely, and sure enough, there was a file with Wes’s name on it. Nightwing stared at it gobsmacked as he read through the list of vigilantes and superheroes that Wes apparently knew the secret identity of, often because he admitted it to their face.

Suddenly the fact that he bounced around new outlets made a lot more sense.

“Did you know about this?”

“I helped make it.”

“So you’ve already done a background check.”

Oracle chuckled. “Not a thorough one. Never needed to. He’s been just an annoyance until now.”

“Oh, well I'll add anything you haven’t already found. So how do you know this part?”

“Which part?”

Nightwing read off the profile. “Mr. Weston has an enormous difficulty with keeping secrets, but only in front of people who already know said secret because he doesn't believe he can do harm by telling someone something they already know. He is remarkably self-aware about his need to be seen as smart and seem impressive that results in him blurting out sensitive information.”

“That's because Weston told Bats that to his face.”

Nightwing was skimming through the unconfirmed list. Superman was on there. Suspected but has not yet been approached. “When was this?”

“Last week. After that, we asked around the Justice League and that is where the list you’re looking at came from.”

“I didn’t even know Captain Marvel had a secret identity. Is he a metahuman? A physic or mind reader, maybe?”

“Not that I know of. The rest of his family is fairly normal. The gene isn’t in his family history.”

“Interesting. You’re right about him being like Tim. This is like a more extreme version of how Tim became a Robin. He didn’t just figure out Batman, he’s figuring out everyone. His talent is wasted figuring out supers identities. There’s always more room for another detective.”

“Ask him during your interview. I doubt he’ll accept.”

“What makes you say that?”

Oracle shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

A week and a half later, Wes interviewed Nightwing about taking down the trafficking ring. They had found everyone that Wes had initially identified and many more from other cities and even other countries. The entire Justice League got involved rounding up the trafficking and their clients. It was quickly turning into huge operation, and over a hundred metahumans were found and rescued.

“So after you got the anonymous tip about the trafficking ring, what did you do?” asked Wes.

“You’re calling yourself an anonymous tipper?”

“It’s my story, I can call myself what I want.”

Nightwing laughed. “Okay, well after the ‘anonymous tip’ the other bats and I went to the locations we were told about, and it turned out they were right on the money on where the trafficking ring was operating in Gotham.” He went on to describe breaking in, beating up the traffickers, and rescuing the victims. They discussed the investigation and what would be appropriate to include in a news article.

“Afterward, we knew that we hadn’t found everyone again thanks to the anonymous tip, who later gave us a wealth of information about the trafficking ring and their operations in other cities, and from that jumping off point, we’ve been able to take down the entire organization and going after their clients.”

Wes smirked and scribbled down his answer. “So what do you think about how metahumans are treated by contemporary society, especially in light of this?”

“That’s a complicated question, isn’t it? Well, these traffickers clearly only saw their victims as tools and merchandise and not people. That definitely needs to change, or things like this are going to keep happening.”

“Did you know that metahumans are 100 times more likely to be kidnapped than any other demographics?”

Nightwing exhaled. “No, but that doesn’t surprise me.” He thinks he might’ve known that if he read some of Wes’s articles in full. “It makes me angry too, because I’m friends with many metahumans personally, and they and their kids shouldn’t have to live in fear of criminals like these traffickers, and I along with the Justice League are going to do everything we can to make the world safer for them and all people. And I can think of one person in particular who would be an essential asset to take down more people like these traffickers.”

Wes didn’t take the bait. “The metahumans that you know, do you know any that aren’t vigilantes or heroes?”

“Yes plenty,” said Nightwing.

“That aren’t in Arkham or that you know primarily from your civilian life?”

“A few,” said Nightwing slowly.

“Well, I ask because the public’s most visible representation of metahumans is from superheroes and supervillains, both seemingly larger than life figures. From many interviews I’ve made, the general public in many cities have a hard time conceptualizing metahumans to anything more down to earth or, well, human. The idea of metahumans as the victims as violent crime, rather than the perpetrators or the rescuers, is quite alien in the mainstream. Is that surprising to you?”

He… hadn’t really thought of that. “I don’t think the idea that metahumans can be victims is strange at all. Meta is not omnipotent, nor omniscient. Even my teammates who are metahuman have been captured or needed rescuing. A person doesn’t need to not have powers to be your average Joe, just like how you don’t need to have powers to be a hero. I don’t really know how to solve the issue of representation, but it’s definitely an important one.

“But I think that anyone with the drive to do what we do should do it, like the anonymous tipper without whom we couldn’t have stopped those traffickers.”

Wes dropped his pencil. “What?”

Nightwing leaned over in his chair. “Wes, you’re a great detective. If what you sent Oracle is any indication of your quality of work, I want you on my team.”

Wes laughed nervously. “Eh heh heh, no. No. No. Absolutely not.” He waved his arms in front of his himself just to emphasize his point.

“Wes, you have a real talent in detective work, and frankly it's wasted on being a mere ‘junior’ reporter for the Gotham Gazette.”

Wes scrunched up his face like he was offended. “No, I don’t want to be a vigilante. I can’t fight, like at all.”

“I’m not asking you to fight. Oracle doesn’t fight much, not anymore anyway. We can always use more detectives.”

“No offense, but I would rather quit my job at the Gotham Gazette and find work as a journalist in a different city,” he said and started packing his things. “So do you have anything else to add or can I consider this interview concluded?”

“I don’t have much else to say,” admitted Nightwing, “but you should send a message if you decide to reconsider.”

“I will not do that.”

“So how did the interview go?” asked Barbara.

“It went fine,” said Dick.

“Did he accept your offer?”

Dick sighed. “No, I think he’s going to job and leave the city.”

“Shame. I wonder where he’s going to end up next.”

Sometime later, long after Wes had quit his job at the Gotham Gazette and moved out of Gotham entirely, Dick was recuperating from his latest battle when he got a text from Barbara.

Barbara: Remember how you said that Wes was wasting his talent being a reporter?

Dick: Yes?

Barbara: He just got Luthor to admit that Superboy was made from Superman’s and his DNA.

Dick: WHAT

Barbara sent him a link to the news story. He watched Wes, who was now working at the Metropolis Star, shove a microphone in Luthor’s face and ask what should’ve been a ridiculous question if it wasn't right on the money. Then he saw Luthor’s reaction. The follow up questions. Luthor leaving. Wes’s little smirk just before he was out of frame as the camera followed Luthor.

The news correspondents were already speculating the meaning of this, that Superboy had two fathers one of which famously hated the other. There was no way they were going to let this go until there was an explanation. Luthor would never live this moment down.

Okay, maybe saying his talent was wasted was a bit too strong.

--------

This references 2 fics by me. One about Wes bouncing around different news outlets, and one where he gets Lex to basically admit that he is Superboy's father.

Short DPXDC Prompts #684

Wes Weston cannot believe it. He just saw Nightwing remove his mask in an alley. Does he inform Dick Grayson that he knows or does he keep it to himself?

[sunshine-on-marz]

Lost and found

Spencer Reid x Reader

In which Spencer almost loses the love of his life, literally and figuratively

TW: angst with a happy ending, criminal minds level depiction of violence, mentions of death, it takes a little to get to the actual plot but trust me it’s worth it, (tell me if i missed any)

Word count: 3.3K

To know Spencer Reid was to be absolutely enthralled by him. You were both 16 when you met, granted you were 16 in your junior year of highschool and he was 16 working on his 2nd PHD, but you were both 16 nonetheless.

It had taken some convincing to get a place in his life, not because he didn’t like you or your company, more because he was waiting for your ulterior motive to show itself, or for your patience to wear thin. It never did.

You knew vaguely about his mother, mostly through a news article you found from a few years back, talking about the prodigy like he was more of circus attraction then a 12 year old. It had mentioned that he also took care of his sick mother, and with his hyperfixation on finding a cure to schizophrenia, you’d connected the dots.

But you still didn’t want to assume.

“Hey Spence, why’re you so set on finding a cure?” You ask, gesturing to the 8th book on schizophrenia you’d seen him read in the 3 months you’ve known him.

“My mother” he says, closing the book and placing it infront of him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m curious about what goes on in the mind of Spencer Reid” you smile “though, I’m sure you could tell me exactly what’s happening up there, down to the chemicals”, he laughs at that

“I could give you an idea” he says, you hover your hands over the book, he nods, you open it to the last page.

“508 pages, how long would that take you to read?” You ask

“A little under 10 minutes, if I had to guess, I don’t know how many words are on each page” he says

“Well I’m not counting so I guess we’re gonna have to stick with an estimate” you joke, he smiles again.

You sit in silence for a minute, just looking at each other, and the book. There’s a light tension, unasked questions float between you.

“Can I be invasive?” You ask, Spencer nods

“You usually don’t ask first” he smiles

“You suck” you reach to hit his arm, you don’t. “I won’t hit you before asking about your sick mother, actually”

“I appreciate that” he laughs “but what do you want to know?”

“What’s her name?” You ask, he seems a little shocked.

“Diana.”

“And you take care of her?” You already know the answer, but he’d never said it explicitly.

“Yea” he nods, he looks at you like he knows what you’ll ask next

“Well, tell me if there’s ever anything I can do to help. Her or you, I can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to do alone, props to you spence” you smile, and if someone saw his face right now, they’d assume you asked him- well not many questions would dumbfound Spencer Reid but that’s not the point.

“You’re not gonna ask if I hate it? Or if I want to put her in a home?” He asks, sounding more confused than you’d ever seen him

“Do you want me to ask that?” You counter.

“No.. not really” he looks at his hands, which are rubbing together. A nervous habit of his you’d picked up on rather quickly.

“Well then I won’t ask it” you smile, so does he.

It’s a week later when he tells you why he’d been so shocked that day.

You were on his front porch, about to meet his mother for the first time. He said she’d been having a good day, and though you weren’t exactly sure what that entailed, he said it with enough excitement that you decided to just ask later.

“When you first asked about my mom, you asked what her name was” he says, you nod.

“Thats usually my starting point, yea” you laugh softly “why, was that the wrong thing to ask?”

“No- no no no. It was the perfect thing to ask! I just- you were the first person to ask what her name was before you asked about what’s wrong with her” he says, and he looks sad, so you offer a hand. You know he’ll say no, but you don’t miss how he smiles everytime you offer.

“Wanna tell me about her? I never know what I’m walking into meeting my friends parents, I would’ve brought her flowers but I didn’t know what kind she liked” you say, and his smile goes from soft to wide and bright.

He is ineffably beautiful.

“She likes lilies” he smiles “and she’s really nice, when she’s, yknow” you just nod. And then he holds out his hand, you take it. And that’s the first time you ever touched Spencer Reid.

You met his mother that night, it was uneventful, but it was nice.

That’s a lot of your friendship with Spencer. Uneventful, but nice. More than nice, it’s wonderful. He’s wonderful. You’re there when he gets his first PHD at 17, you’re there when he has to put his mother into assisted living, you’re there when he gets the letter saying he’s been invited to the FBI academy, you even drive him to go meet Agent Gideon.

You see him off at the airport when he goes to Quanico.

And that’s the last time you see your best friend.

After a while weekly phone calls became monthly, and monthly became an occasional text on birthdays and holidays and informing the other of big achievements, but by his 3rd year as an agent, friendships were hard to maintain.

You’d accepted never seeing your friend again.

Spencer hoped he’d never see you again, because he knew he didn’t have the guts to reach out, and he knew that the only time his teammates seemed to see old friends was when they were a part of a case.

But he also knew you.

And he recognized your necklace the second he saw the pictures Penelope had on the screen.

“The second and third victims haven’t been found, but they’re believed dead” JJ says, Spencer barely hears it.

“I need air” is all he manages to say as he rushes out of the room. Derek went after him and caught him as he collapsed.

“Hey man, what’s goin on?” Derek asked him, holding onto Spencer’s shaking shoulders as he tries to stay upright.

“I can’t- she can’t- she can’t be dead” his words were barely audible and even less coherent.

“Do you know one of the victims?” Derek asked, and Spencer nodded.

He more than knew you, he’d held you while you cried, he’d slept in your bed the night his mom went into care, you were the only person there for him at his graduations, he’d helped you decorate your first apartment. You were so much more than someone he knew. And you were so much more than victim number 3.

“Spencer? Hello?” Derek’s hand waved infront of Spencer’s face as he zoned back into reality.

“Sorry” I he muttered as he started to stand up. He and Derek walked back into the briefing room, he doesn’t apologize for his outburst, he just sits and waits for Penelope and JJ to continue. They do.

“Well, 3 girls went missing in New York City within a span of a week. The reason we’re on this case is because they all worked for the same law firm”

Spencer takes a shuttering breath.

“The first victim, whose body was found dumped in a dumpster by a homeless man, was 56 year old Mrs. Shelly Kailee, a lawyer at Shelly and Dylan law firm, she was a co-owner along with her Husband Dylan. The two other victims, who are still currently missing, are Darleen Calvin, and Y/N L/N. Darleen is 28 and a practicing attorney at the same law firm, she’s only been practicing there for a few months after graduation from University of New York in January. Y/N is 25 and is working as a receptionist at the law firm while working on her law degree at Cornell. Both girls are reportedly very sociable and very kind, but from what we’ve been told, Y/N seemed to be more acquainted with everyone while Darleen seemed to just have a large group of friends. That’s the only information we have on them” JJ says. It seems everyone’s eyes drifted to Spencer, but his were dead set on your face on the projector. Smiling. You had the same smile. You were still wearing the same necklace you wore every day since he gave it to you at 18 when you graduated. You were still as beautiful as he remembered.

“She wouldn’t let anyone take her to a second location, not without a fight. We’re probably looking at a fairly athletic man, unless we find out that she sent someone her location. Then it’s probably someone charismatic, charming, played himself as a friend” he says, and everyone nods.

“You think she’d fall for that?” Morgan asks, he gets a few glares. But Spencer nods. “I think I saw her have a conversation with a homeless man once because she thought he might be lonely.” He says “so yes”. Hotch clears his throat “Spencer is there any possibility she’s.. changed since you knew her?”. Spencer shakes his head “we only really fell completely out of touch a few months back, she seemed pretty much the same the last time I called her, which was probably 6 months ago”

You could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

“Spencer I’m sorry-“ Emily says, he cuts her off.

“You can be sorry if we find a body” he says. And they get the message.

“Wheels up in 10” Hotch says.

Spencer works that case like a dog. There’s not a moment where he isn’t doing something to find you. Something to make sure you’re okay.

A few times, Derek had to pull him out of the police precinct, just so he’d get a couple hours of sleep.

He was beside himself.

Then the tapes showed up.

On the front steps of the police station, there was a box, with 4 tapes, each labeled with a date of the days you’d been missing, the most recent being from the day before.

The first started with a voice they later confirmed to be Shelly’s. A final message to her husband and kids. Tearful messages to each one about how much she loved them. And then a gunshot.

The second tape was worse. It was of you and Darleen. Spencer recognized your voice immediately, he could tell you were holding back tears. Darleen on the other hand was sobbing. You were both pleading for you life. You were a bit more composed, and he quickly recognized some of what you were saying as examples he’d said to you when talking about what usually does and doesn’t work on killers.

He never intended you to have to put those lessons to use.

And the selfish part of him wonders if you thought of him when you spoke.

The 3rd tape is the shortest. It’s just a gunshot and a scream. Your scream. He, for the first time in his life, sincerely hopes that you watched someone get killed.

The final tape is just you.

And it breaks him.

There’s a few seconds of silence before your voice starts.

“This is a message for Spencer Reid, and the rest of the FBI. My name is Y/N, and if you’re listening to this. I am dead.”

And his face falls.

“Spence, meeting you in highschool was the greatest thing I’ve ever done. And I love you, I love you so much Spencer. And I hope-“ the tape ends.

Spencer listens to that tape another dozen times.

The cops find Darleen’s body before lunch.

He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He listens to the tape again. And then it hits him.

You had never once said you met Spencer in highschool. You always, always made it a point to say that you were in highschool, but he wasn’t.

And it was currently summer, and the highschool was empty.

“Guys I know where she is-“

Hotch cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Spencer she’s dead” he said, his voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t gentle either. Spencer could’ve punched him.

“They’re at the highschool. Trust me” his voice was shaking, not with doubt, but with fear. Fear that both he and Hotch were right, and that in a couple hours he’d see you again under the worst possible circumstances.

But they went anyway.

He was zoned out most of the car ride, ignoring Derek’s questions of if he’s sure he can handle this.

For Spencer, it doesn’t matter if he thinks he can, because he has too.

He’s a few feet past the doorway when it really sinks in that he might leave the building again with your lifeless body in his arms. He pushes the thought aside. It felt like betrayal not to try and have hope, because for Spencer, you were hope incarnate. It would feel disrespectful to take that from you without asking first.

He heard it before anyone else did.

He all but ripped the door open, the local PD turning on their heels at his aggressive movements.

But there you were, in a chair, sobbing into your binds. He was infront of you in seconds, shouting for someone to cut the ropes holding your wrists and ankles as he removed the cloth from your mouth.

“You’re okay, you’re alright now, I’ve got you” his hands gently holding your cheeks as you leaned forward into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso once they were cut free.

“I knew you’d come- I knew it. I told him but he said you wouldnt find me so- so in the tape- oh my god did he send you the tapes?” He cut off your manic rambling with soft shushing

“I know you knew, you always know, and yes we got the tapes. You did good, you did everything perfect. I understood.” He assured you, running his hands through your hair.

Emily came up to you and Spencer, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Does she know where he is?” She asks.

He starts to speak, but you do it first. “Maybe the janitors closet? Or the bathroom? He- he made us scrub the floors, he was like- he was psychotic about it” you say, she nods and leaves the room, Spencer just tucks your head back under his chin.

“You’re doing so well” he whispers

“Spencer I want to leave” you cry

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you out of here” he says, slipping his arm under your knees and lifting you. You probably could’ve walked, but no one was shocked that he chose to carry you out.

He asked the EMTs more questions than your frazzled mind could even think of.

“Dr.Reid, she’s going to be fine. It’s cuts and bruises and maybe a few pulled muscles, she will be fine once she gets some fluids and a good meal in her system. “

He still didn’t believe it.

He didn’t believe it when the nurses told him the same thing, he didn’t believe it on the car ride back to the precinct after you were discharged, and he didn’t believe it when you sat next to him during your cognitive interview.

He’d fought Hotch about giving you one, but Hotch said that having a solid story will help make sure the man who did this is kept in prison for as long as possible, and you’d volunteered.

“You really dont have to” he says, you shake your head

“Spence i can handle it” you say

“Im not leaving your side.” He insists, you laugh a bit, which all but calms him down.

“I didnt think you would.” You offer your hand, and for the first time he accepts the invitation.

The interview makes you cry, which could’ve been predicted, but it still breaks Spencer’s heart.

After that he sets a semi-permanent ban on anyone asking you about what happened.

JJ brings you a change of clothes and you thank her profusely as she walks you to the bathroom and helps you wash your face and body as best as you can with wet paper towels.

Spencer anxiously waits outside.

“She’s with JJ, man. You can go outside and take a breather if you need” Derek offers.

“I’ll go outside and take a breather with Y/N when they’re done. Im sure this isnt where she wants to be right now.” Spencer says, Derek sighs.

“Spence, that girl might be one of the most well adjusted victims we’ve ever seen, she’ll be okay if you step away for 5 minutes-“ Spencer cuts him off

“I wont” he says “do you not get that? She’s well adjusted, Im not. I am not well adjusted to almost losing her and im not well adjusted to having her back so Derek would you please stop suggesting that I need space from her because space from her is the last thing I need right now” they stand in silence for a minute until you leave the bathroom.

“Spence? Everything okay?” JJ asks as she walks out of the bathroom after you, you quickly finding your place leaning against Spencer’s side.

“Yea we’re good” Derek answers for him, placing a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, and leaving with a small nod of understanding.

Spencer guides you outside.

He sits next to you on the bench outside the precinct, your head on his shoulder and his arm around you.

“Im really glad you picked up on that” you say

“Picked up on what?” He asks, his hand moving from next to you on the bench to your lap, resting on top of your own.

“The highschool thing, i honestly didnt know if he’d even send the tapes, kinnda figured he was making them for himself” you say, interlacing your fingers with his “but I figured it was worth a shot”

“It was smart” he says, squeezing your hand “took me awhile to realize”

“Did it?” You ask “and here i was thinking you were a genius. Spencer when have i ever skipped a chance to brag about you?” You smile at him, he shrugs.

“I was under a little stress” he says, pulling you closer.

“I know, im sorry I scared you”

“Dont apologize, this is not your fault. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” You just nod.

There’s silence for a while, it could’ve been hours, neither of you would’ve noticed, or minded.

“Do you want to move in with me?” He says it before he even realized he thought it, immediately looking just as shocked as you. “I am so sorry- i just- well i figured-“

“Spencer” you grab his hand. “We’ll talk about it” you say, and that seems to be the right answer as he wraps you into a hug.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay” he whispers, you nod.

“It doesn’t require moving in for us to stay in contact” you say

“But you’re so far” you just nod in response. “I dont want to lose you again” he whispers

“Spence you didnt lose me, im alright-” he stops you

“Thats not what i meant. Not entirely” he clarifies, you sigh and pull him into another long hug.

“My lease ends next month” you hum

“See you in Virginia next month?” He asks, you smile

“We’ll talk about it”

There’s never a conversation about if you’ll move in. Spencer just Venmo’s you (he got Garcia to teach him how) 300 bucks along with “plane ticket or take out dinner for a week” which makes you laugh, and it also makes you call him to ask approximately how much of your stuff would fit in his apartment, he says he’ll make as much space as you need.

A month later you show up to one of Rossi’s dinner parties hand in hand with Spencer, JJ hands Derek 20 bucks, and slowly, everything falls back into place.

(PS: Spencer makes sure you have everything you need to finish school online because he’ll be damned if you gave up your dreams for a man, even if he himself is that man.)

Remember to reblog with feedback!! Reblogs make the world go round and feedback helps artists keep creating!

This might be the longest fic ive ever written. This took 2 days and a few tears but finally it’s done. Im tagging the pookies bc Ykw i worked too hard not too @the-phantom-author @thesockbehindthewashingmachine @mariasont @st4rgzer @canonically-a-genloser

[januaryembrs]

YOU CAN HEAR IT IN THE SILENCE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [9]

description: the TWO big steps you take together.

word count: 13.5k

trigger warnings: entire mr scratch episode including drugging and suic!de, gore, violence, blood, mention of Diana's schizophrenia, mention of hotch's upbringing

author's note: lets do this again UGH. also set throughout season 10 so even though it seems like a jump its been a whole year bcus I can't write about every day my babies spend together.

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‘Cause you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out,

You’re in love. True love,’

The one where you meet his mom. [you have the parenthood talk]

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumbnail instinctively picking at the side of her forefinger as her eyes trailed over the dress in the mirror. 

It was a little too chesty, were the sleeves too short? Would his mom not like that it was backless? Backless meant suggestive to some people. Would she hate her piercings? She could take out a couple of her earrings just for one day, cover the hole where her nose ring slipped in with foundation easily. 

Smile, she needed to remember to smile, not that god awful resting bitch face that Elizabeth used to say looked like she’d sucked a lemon between her cheeks. Smile. No, not like that, that looks fake and awkward. 

Was her make up too much? She would hate for Spencer’s mom to think she looked like a hooker. A cheap one at that. 

She felt his hands on her shoulders before the throes of her vicious mind could nab her once more, and her eyes trailed behind her in the reflective, if not slightly fingerprinted, mirror. 

“You’re thinking loud,” Spencer said as if it was a fact, though that tended to be the way with him, since he knew damn near everything there was to know. Especially about her. “Why are you so worried, it’s my mom. Besides, what’s not to like about you?” 

She huffed, shaking her head even though she really tried her best to give him a smile, instead turning to look down at her hands with wincing, cynical twinge of her lips. 

“Maybe my tattoos or my make up or my slutty dress or my piercings that make me look like I just raided Penelope’s collection of ‘goth chic jewellery’, her words not mine,” She said pessimistically. She didn’t want to dampen the mood, honestly she was looking forward to the woman who graced the world with Spencer Reid (she wondered if a handshake or a hug would be appropriate, she would ask Spence in the car she decided,) “People don’t tend to see me the way you do, honey, I can be blunt and rude and snappy and cold. And it’s your mom, she’s like the most important person in the world to you.”

“She’s joint first, actually” Spencer corrected, trying to lift her spirits even a little. He knew none of the things she was saying were necessarily true. He suspected that voice that had overcome her was not her own at all, more likely her own mother nagging into to her for years to sit up straighter, smile more, make an effort to network and socialise, or any other piece of shit observation about how she acted for Elizabeth to badger her about. 

But then she smiled at him, her eyebrows drawn together a little like she guessed he was lying or perhaps sugarcoating things. 

“You’re allowed to have her first, you know,” Bugsy reassured him, her eyes melty and soft as she looked at him and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach, almost like he was trying to suck the negativity out of her whole body through diffusion of their skin alone. “She’s your mom,” 

“I know,” Spencer said simply, their eyes never breaking the gaze at one another, and Bugsy felt herself warm inside when she saw just how besotted his forest hues were, “Please stop worrying, she’s going to love you,”

“You can’t know that for sure,” She pushed back, because when had she ever allowed herself to enjoy a good thing when she had it. She knew she was being somewhat of a Negative Nancy, and she didn’t mean to be, truly. But Diana Reid was possibly the most significant person in Spencer’s life, despite what he said. And Bugsy was… Bugsy. All teeth and chaos and bite and vicious tongue when she didn’t mean to be. 

If Diana didn’t like her, she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to look at Spencer again without blurting out the million ways she’d try to make it up to him.

“Oh, I do know for sure actually,” He said, spinning her around so he could see her first hand, not in a reflection or a mirror image, and she smiled despite herself, pressing into his lean body and taking a big whiff of his freshly washed clothes. It was the same detergent she used, the same one he’d always used, and yet it was so Spencer it made her skin crawl with what she thought felt like warm goosebumps.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded proudly, and she progressed to a grin, her chin leaning against his chest as she spoke, and he stroked her neatly braided hair away from her face to see her better, like he’d won the second he saw her smile properly, “How do you figure that one out, wonder boy?”

“I’ve mentioned you in almost every single letter I’ve written to her for three whole years. When she saw the photo of you I sent her, she asked if I’d cut you out of a vogue magazine,” Spencer said and she burst out laughing. He couldn’t say he blamed his mom, the photo he’d sent had been one of Bugsy’s best, but then he’d be willing to argue all of them were just as newsworthy as the last. And nothing compared to the real thing. “You make me happy, happier than I ever thought I was allowed to be. Believe me, I know she’ll love you, because I love you,” 

Bugsy smushed her face into his sweater to hide her modesty, and she pressed a small, barely there kiss to where her lips met even if he wouldn’t feel it. 

“Does my hair look okay?” She checked again, her voice muffled by his thick knitted clothes, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a gentle hand down her spine. 

“You look beautiful,” He said softly, pulling her away from his body and holding onto her right hand, “Give me a spin,”

He lifted her hand above her head, despite the fact she seemed reluctant and embarrassed, “Spence,”

“We’re not leaving until you give me a spin,” He teased, and his smile was infectious as she twirled around beneath his grasp, the long, floral, sundress fanning out around her knees, “And back again!”

“Spencer-” She said with a chuckle, but he seemed to ignore her, or judging by his smile that spread across his whole face he didn’t care.

“Sorry, it’s just the rules,” He said, though she was almost certain there wasn’t ever such a thing as a rulebook on how to make your girlfriend less of a whiny bitch.

He spun her back around, and by the time she whirled around to face him a second him, his arm dropped down to secure around her waist, yanking her towards him to press a scorching hot kiss to her lips. 

She kissed him back, her tongue trailing against his lip and Spencer’s obscenely large hand released her waist, trailing up her sides to cup her cheeks. Spencer kissed her like she was sucking air right out his lungs, like he was receiving life saving medicine, like he was being graced by an angel, a non-believer, a man of science reaching out to the white gates of heaven as if they were about to disappear under his touch. 

They parted with a small smack that reverberated in the bathroom, and Bugsy looked at him as if he’d infected her with a drug, because truthfully that was how his touch, his kiss, made her feel. 

They settled in his car, a few soft and loving affections later, because she really did look beautiful and he could apologise for smudging her lipstick another time, and Spencer it was the first time in a long time that Spencer felt like his future was laid out in front of him. 

–

She fretted some more in the lobby, the woman behind the desk at the sanitarium lighting up at the sight of Spencer walking towards her with a smile. 

“Dr. Reid,” She enthused, noting the woman next to him that squoze a book to her chest tightly like she wasn't sure what her fingers might do if they were let loose, “She’s been so excited to see you, her doctors said she’s responding well to the new medication,” 

“I heard, I’m glad to hear she’s feeling calmer,” He said, his eyes trailing past the brunette who tapped away at her keyboard idly, “Where is she?”

“She’s just in the sunroom. She’s been learning how to crochet, just like you said,” The receptionist smiled kindly at Bugsy, who looked all but terrified, though she hid it well through tight lips. 

Spencer nodded, reaching up to put a hand between Bugsy’s shoulder’s to lead her through the lounge area where a few other residents watched a black and white movie. 

“Are you sure my make up looks okay, my mascara hasn’t ran has it?” She whispered, because a few other people, some even her age, were sitting in comfy armchairs flicking through books. 

Spencer smiled at her, because she was so cute when she was nervous, usually it was the other way around, “You look lovely, you always look lovely,”

“I believe that’s what’s called voter bias, Dr Reid,” She said, because jokes and wit always seemed to release the pressure on her head when she was stressed. 

He chuckled, opening the door to a large room filled on all sides with windows, and the cosy heat hit her in the face, “Not if what I’ve said is a verifiable fact.” 

“Who’s your secondary source, Dr?” She said, because they seemed to fall into a nerdy sort of teasing when they were like this. Facts and figures were predictable, getting your boyfriend’s mother to like you based entirely on your personality was not. 

“My mom,” Spencer said, and her head whipped to his, ready to protest when he led her to the corner of the sunroom, where a woman sat with her ocean blue eyes screwed up in concentration where two blush pink hooks were crossing and bobbing between a cream thread of yarn, “Mom,”

Her eyes flew up from where she sat, immersed in the delicate movements. Spencer had said a few weeks ago her hands were becoming stiff on her new tablets, that the side effects were making her circulation poor and so Bugsy had been out to help him pick up a crochet kit from Walmart the very same day.

“Mom, this is Bugsy,” He said, and it was his turn to be almost shy as he gestured to the young woman. “The girl I was telling you about,”

Diana stopped for a moment, as if assessing the new face, the way her hair fell around her ears, and Bugsy clutched the hardback tighter to her chest, thinking that maybe she should have gone for something a little fancier than the small piece of twin that wrapped around the present. First time meeting his mom and this was the best you could do, really Bugsy? Where’s the flowers or even another ball of yarn to keep her occupied? 

Bugsy swore her breath caught, her brows furrowing together worriedly as she went to hold a shaky hand out to Diana, but then second guessed herself when she wondered if the loathing of spreading germs was shared between Spencer and his mom. She’d forgotten to check when they were in the car- stupid- stupid girl.

“H-hello, Mrs Reid,” She said quietly, shakily, holding out the book to the woman. Diana Reid looked good for her age, considering Spencer had told her on numerous occasions that she struggled to pretty herself up the way she used to before her Schizophrenia had spiralled. But her hair was a warm blonde with only small traces of grey in it, short around her neck likely for practicality, and despite the fact her face seemed somewhat grumpy, though Bugsy would describe her as lost more than anything, she lit up like a damn firework on the fourth of July the second she saw her son. 

“Spencer!” She exclaimed, holding a hand out for her son to take, which he did so without hesitation. Bugsy thought she might be going in for a hug, maybe that she’d missed the hint that Bugsy was trying to greet her, which the young girl didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware she was stepping on their time together, “Help me out of this chair, I left my glasses in my room, I want to see her,” 

Bugsy felt heat rush to her cheeks as Diana all but threw her crochet set to the little table beside what seemed to be a lukewarm mug of coffee, and Spencer helped her out of the recliner, Bugsy holding out another hand in case she needed it. She was tall once she stood to full height, taller than Bugsy would have thought she would be, and hands were on her shoulders the second Diana had released her son. 

“Oh, look at you!” Diana exclaimed, and Bugsy tried not to falter with embarrassment under her words. But his mother’s hands were soft, if not rough on the tips where she had spent her life flicking through pages on pages of literature, “I’ve always told Spence he was a looker but, my god, you’re a catch even for him,” 

“Mom,” He said indignantly, but Bugsy chuckled through flaming cheeks. Diana waved him off in favour of smiling at the girl, and the second she met eyes with the woman who had raised Spencer Reid she saw where he got his good heart from. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reid,” She stumbled over her words, trying for a second time to give her the book, and Diana looked almost aghast that she had brought her a present, “Spencer said you’d finished all your books they let you keep here so I bought you one of my favourites-”

“How could I resist The Great Gatsby,” Diana said, running a polished thumb over the gold printed writing, a small smile playing at her lips, “I’ve been meaning to brush up on Fitzgerald,”

Spencer smiled at his mother, who seemed more full of life than she had in weeks, before she waved her hand in front of the two of them, and Bugsy wondered if she had done something wrong. 

“And none of this Mrs Reid crap. You're not the IRS, Diana is just fine, honey,” She said, and Bugsy grinned, nodding in agreement with the older woman. “Mom is even better if you’re feeling brave,” 

“O-okay, absolutely,” She said, smiling even wider when Spencer seemed almost aghast his mother was being so brazen. Though he needn’t be so prudent, Bugsy was certain she loved her already. 

“And how is my big strong FBI agent?” Diana turned to her son finally and he shook his head, his eyes full of boyish affection for the women. 

“There’s dozens of words I think would perfectly describe me yet ‘big and strong’ fall nowhere in that category, mom,” He said, smiling widely at his mother who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. She seemed more like herself than she had in years, her eyes were clearer, her nerves weren’t shot like usual. She seemed like the mother from his best memories. 

“Alright, how does ‘contumelious’ work out for you?” She cracked back, and he laughed, shaking his head and he caught the pure warm grin radiating from Bugsy’s direction at the two of them. 

And Bugsy saw in the kind, devoted eyes that hid behind Diana’s fluffy white, blonde hair where Spencer got his gentle soul; as if no amount of medication or illness would ever make his mother let up on the tenderness she held for him. She felt it in the air alone, the way they fell into sync only blood could ever achieve, and for a flash of a thought, Bugsy wondered if Spencer would be so doting on their children. 

And for the first time all day she didn’t need to second guess herself. She already knew the answer. 

–

“And this was Spencer in the mathletes,” Bugsy’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the ‘aww’ threatening to tumble from her lips, because she knew from the way his cheeks had turned a bright rouge that he was embarrassed and she hated to make him feel like she was finding humour in his shame. 

It was easy to see which one was him from the offset. Three college boys who had probably spent the best part of their first years begging sorority girls to fuck them and eating funny brownies stood at the back, atleast in their late teens judging by their late-adolescene acne and braces. Yet there, standing in front of them dressed in a tweed sweater vest and pressed brown trousers as if he was a small grandpa, was a scrawny pole of a boy, peeking out from behind a sweeping fringe in need of a trim and a pair of  bubble-like glasses. 

He was smiling wide, holding some sort of trophy in between his slender, little fingers, and Bugsy could bet her entire savings that he had answered almost all of his team’s questions. 

“Spence,” She murmured, taking the photo gently between her fingertips where she sat in between her partner and his mother at the foot of Diana’s bed, “You were so cute,” 

“You can just say dorky,” He corrected, fighting the urge to cover his cheeks with his hands, because he could feel the way they gave away his self-consciousness. 

But she shook her head, leaning into him with adoring eyes as she stared at the photo, “No, I mean cute. Look at your little hair, you were so tiny- aw!” 

He laughed awkwardly, not missing the way she put a hand on his leg in reassurance, and Diana handed her another photo of a toddler with thick dark hair, those hazel eyes she loved, huge and round on the baby's smiling face. Bugsy melted when she saw the milk teeth gleaming in the midst of his laugh, yet she burst into sheepish giggles when she realised baby Spencer had no clothes on. 

Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the thing dangling between his legs as the picture captured him crawling towards where Diana had the camera. “Mom!” 

Diana rolled her eyes, producing another one of Spencer watering the flowers with the garden hose, barely one year old in a bucket hat and, yet again, nothing else. “Oh, Spencer, don’t give me that, look how cute those little butt cheeks were,” 

Bugsy slapped a hand over her mouth, her brows pulling together at the endearingly innocent photos, and she met Spencer’s gaze again, the urge to squish his cheeks in between her fingers suddenly itching her hands. Though, judging by the embarrassment in his expression, he wouldn’t like it very much even if she did mean the best of intentions.  

“You were so adorable,” She confessed, looking back down at the two tiny, round butt cheeks that made something well in her chest because it was Spencer, so small and vulnerable and helpless. She turned to Diana, her eyes wide with love, “How did you not want just millions of them?” 

The woman laughed, leaning against Bugsy and palming off another photo, this time of Spencer in swimming trunks at the beach, likely around two or three, a line of white sun cream running down his nose and cheeks as he looked to be grumbling about the sand on his legs. 

“Because I knew none of them could ever be as special as my Spencer, and then that just wouldn’t be fair on them.” She said simply, and Bugsy smiled at the woman, truly smiled, because despite everything her illness set against her, she loved her son more than anything in the world. “You don’t win the lottery and then pawn in your rings for a couple bucks, now do you?” 

Bugsy chuckled, shaking her head. Elizabeth had never been so doting on her. She knew she shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t compare the two of them because they weren’t similar even in the slightest. Diana was a single mother of a deadbeat husband who left, she battled a disease day in-day out that threatened to eat away at her brain, her memories of her son who thought the world of her, and she was still a better mother than hers had ever been. 

Part of her felt that bitter sting that never really left her since she was thirteen, since she saw the maid at breakfast time more often than she ever saw her mother, the kid that got picked up and dropped off in another country like she was furniture, a barbie doll for her mother to primp and clean and boast about her big brain to her colleagues without ever showing a semblance of affection for the girl reading material eight years above her grade level. 

Diana was living proof that no matter what, it’s not a challenge to love your children the way Elizabeth had always made it out to be, that she was difficult to love even for her own mother. 

Bugsy bit the emotion back, knowing it was just the baby photos ramping up her hormones, and felt herself fall perhaps even more in love with Spencer Reid when she saw the photo of him at Christmas dressed as a Jedi. 

–

She was quiet on the way home, her stomach warm with fondness, her hand warm with his palm as they held hands on top of the gearstick. 

She watched the last of the sun peek through the trees in a cantaloupe orange and candy-floss pink swirl, and she let herself close her eyes under the day’s worth of laughter. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer said after a moment, giving her hand a small squeeze when she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she may have even fallen asleep, feeling immediately guilty for waking her. 

She looked at him with an uneasy smile on her face, and his brain threw up a million different reasons for it, almost all of them making him worry.

“I know my mom is a lot,” He said, his tone jittery and she started shaking her head immediately, forgetting he couldn’t see where he was looking at the road, “I know she’s-”

“She’s wonderful, Spencer. God, no, it’s not that. I loved her,” Bugsy cut him off, and his shoulder’s immediately sagged in relief. She moved her hand to tuck a single lock of hair behind his ear, and he nudged into her touch on instinct. 

“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, his brows pulled together in worry as they came to a red stop light, and he put the Beetle into neutral. He looked over at her then, and he saw the way the grin had slipped off her face, leaving her with something oddly unreadable, though if he had to put a name to it, he would say doubtful, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Do you ever worry…” She paused herself, because she already could see their picture perfect day spiralling down the drain like yesterday’s woes, “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,”

“No, tell me,” Spencer insisted, and the road around them seemed to hold its breath waiting for her reply. He’d taken a nice route home, claiming he wanted to skip the eight pm traffic, whatever that was, had cut through one of those neighbourhoods they show on holiday brochures or estate agents' windows. The kind people with kids and volvo’s and yoga mom groups lived in.  

Her eyes snapped out the front window when four young boys zipped past them on their bikes, their knees muddy from where they’d probably spent the day playing soccer, their clothes just as messy and torn, likely waiting to be scolded by their mothers for their recklessness. And pulling up the rear was a kid smaller than the others, jogging after them, wanting to cross the road before the light turned green, his glasses slipping down his nose with every step, and some weird, small part in Bugsy’s gut wanted to throw her arms around him and walk him home to make sure he got there safely. 

Spencer’s hand was on her thigh, pulling her out of her thoughts for a second time, and she blinked a little too harshly, wishing she could just enjoy a lovely day for what it was rather than putting such a downer on things. 

“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Emily’s funeral,” She said, swallowing heavily, and understanding passed over his face then. He knew he would never have with Elizabeth what they had just had with his mother. Even if she retired tomorrow and wasn’t jetting off to another country every week, Elizabeth Prentiss was a cold, shrewd woman who could make someone, mainly her daughters, feel empty just by being in the same room. 

Her damning grey eyes, her tight lips that never smiled, her harsh brow. 

“I don’t think she even kept any of my baby photos, none that don’t have her in them at least,” She confessed, and the lights flashed to amber, then green, and he was forced to let go of her for just a moment as he pulled off again, “I don’t… I don’t think she ever liked me.”

He had no idea what to say that would make it better. Usually he was so good at wriggling her problems out from the core, proving all her worst fears were wrong with simple logic. Yet he was at an end. Because Elizabeth had never shown any sign of loving her daughters, truly loving them beyond trophies. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” He tried, pulling over to stop at the curb because he hated speaking to her when he was distracted. “Some people just have a funny way of showing these things,” 

But she shook her head, turning her eyes to her lap, “Your mom is… Amazing. And I feel like a total asshole for complaining about mine when yours is sick most of the time. And I know things weren’t great- I mean you were just a kid, you should have never had to look after her, it’s supposed to be the other way around, you know? But you’ll know she’s always loved you, like truly, truly loved you. I mean, you’re her whole world,” She rushed, like the thoughts had been bouncing around her head all day, waiting to burst out at the seams, which they had. 

Spencer took the keys out of the ignition, shuffling in his seat to face her, and he only realised then she was watching where the four boys had taken off down the street on their bikes, the smallest one trailing at the back like a lost puppy. 

“Don’t you ever worry sometimes I’ll be..” She started, and he knew where it was going before she forced herself to finish. Taking her hand in his, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing them tight. 

“Like your mom?” He said for her because the words were lingering in the air like alphabet soup. She nodded silently, grateful that he always seemed to know how her brain was ticking over. She reminded herself to make it up to him later, “Never,”  

“But-” She started, and he grabbed her chin then, forcing her to look at him. He smiled dopily, because usually it was him who needed to be told how other people felt, and she swore his eyes had never looked so sweet. 

“Never,” He repeated, feeling the smile spreading under his fingertips as it took the second turn for her to hear it, “If anything, I worry more about becoming like my dad,”

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head again. Sometimes Spencer wondered if she knew she was so expressive. It was one of his favourite parts about her.

“Never,” She echoed back to him, and they shared a sombre smile, squeezing each others hand just that bit tighter, “I tell you what, the second either one of us starts becoming our parents, we have the right to call them a jackass,”

He laughed, nodding his head and leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to hers, “Alright, deal. Although I think I hear Freud rolling in his grave at that statement.” 

She kissed him, hard, because she would never be able to tell him exactly how he made her feel with words alone. Over two hundred thousand words in the English Language, at least five other languages she could speak fluently, and yet not one of them knew how to describe this feeling. Like she had been absorbed so completely, effortlessly, by Spencer Reid. That she was disease ridden, riddled with Reid. 

And the thought made her giggle into the kiss, because she would have to tell him some other time. Her hand ran through his hair, pulling him closer, and his hand skirted down to her waist to tease underneath her shirt. 

They pulled away after a moment, staring with the same dazed look in their eyes. 

“We have three more days in Vegas,” She started, fixing his collar and hair with idle fingers and pressing an absent peck to his lips, “Do you think we could go back one more time? To see your mom? If that’s okay with her, of course,” 

And he smiled widely at her, nodding and pulling her in for another long kiss. They had a dinner reservation in a half hour, but he didn’t mind being five minutes late for once in his life, not if it meant he was with her. 

The one with Scratch. [he buys a ring]

He’d walked past the jewellers three times that week on his way back from the coffee shop. Bugsy had a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, despite him offering to halve her load with her because Hotch had already warned them once about the complaints he got from the other agents that she was using Reid’s memory as an unfair advantage, although he would argue that her brain was just as capable as his. 

So, he’d been sent on a coffee run alone. He wasn’t complaining, it was just down the road, barely even a five minute walk, and it meant he got to look at the range of neatly cut diamonds in peace.

He wasn’t looking to buy it soon, at least that was what he’d told himself the first time he’d seen the pretty one in the corner. He was just having a browse, perhaps just looking at the watches they had on display and his eye had happened to fall to the women’s section below. The second time he’d stopped for a look, it was just to see if anyone had bought that one he’d seen the first time, and when he realised they hadn’t, his heart gave a somewhat relieved sigh that he decided he would confront later. 

By the third time, the shop keeper stuck his head out the door, making Spencer jump. 

“Either you’re buying or you’re fogging up my window, kid,” The old man’s voice was gruff, but he had kind eyes, that of a romantic, and Spencer supposed you didn’t sell a dozen engagement rings a day and not feel hopeful. 

“J-just looking,” He stammered, taking a step away from the rings and double checking he hadn’t gotten any smudges on the glass, “Not to buy right now, just for future reference,”

“No one comes back that many times for future reference, son,” He said with a chuckle and Spencer hated the part of him that said that he was right, “Why not for right now?”

Spencer huffed quietly, wondering if her coffee would be cold by the time he got back at the rate he was going, “It’s still a little early. I don’t want to freak her out,”

She had been his girlfriend for one year, seven months and two weeks (and four days but who was counting). It had been her thirtieth birthday just a couple months ago, as far as he was concerned Bugsy had never dropped any hints about wanting to marry any time soon like he knew other women did at this time in their life. 

He was happy where they were, in their apartment, in their semi-public relationship, with their boys that were starting to look a little grey and rickety on their paws. Spencer didn’t want anything to ruin that, even if that one ring did seem to call out to him like a siren song. 

The jeweller grinned slyly, like he knew something Spencer didn’t, but he nodded at the kid nevertheless, “Well, that little number in the corner you’ve had your eye on has had two offers already, incase that sways your hand at all,” 

And Spencer felt the jolt of injustice in his head at the idea of someone else taking that ring, one that he couldn’t get out of his head the entire way back to the office, one that only went away when he saw her smiling up at him. 

One that only dissolved when he imagined how she would look wearing it. 

–

“Tell Penelope I said hi,” Director Axelrod murmured, turning on his heel and heading back to his car as Hotch flashed a look down at the paper, the name ‘Peter Lewis’ scribbled out on the line and he passed the paper to Bugsy where she peered around his shoulder. 

“Get this to Garcia, Lewis has his final victim already,” He said and she nodded, the two of them heading back to the car. Bugsy pulled her cell out her pocket, immediately calling their tech whizz where the rest of the team were at the office an hour away. 

“Peter Lewis, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. To call him a Math genius would be an understatement,” Garcia reported, her press on nails clicking against the keyboard as she worked in the candlelight since Lewis had hacked into their electric systems. 

“Where was he in the foster system?” Hotch asked, Bugsy holding the phone up over the centre console so they could both speak to their team.

“He was… ugh this WiFi hotspot is the worst,” They waited, Hotch heading for the freeway, “He was not in the foster system. He had two very biological parents and they ran the foster home until it- oh dear,”

“Looks like we found Mr Scratch,” Rossi sighed, and Bugsy’s brows furrowed, waiting for a response. 

“So one of the boys in the house said Peter’s dad would dress up as the devil then the other kids would follow suit, this has to be where all the victims stayed before they were adopted and their names were changed,” JJ chimed in. 

“Did Lewis’s father serve any time?” Bugsy piped up, chewing the inside of her cheek because the whole case had given her the heebie jeebies. Grown ups reporting sights of shadow monsters and waking up with dead loved ones. She thought by now she had heard it all. 

“The case was pending and then he was killed in jail for being a paedophile. Peter’s residency is still listed as Florida,” Garcia said, her mouse whirling around at the speed of light judging by the soft ticks they heard on their end. 

“He broke into FBI files to find someone in witness protection, did any of the kids from the home end up in WITSEC?” Hotch asked, clicking the blinker down to chand lanes and overtake the ford infront of them. 

“That would be… no? No, none of them,” Garcia replied, and the team shared a confused pause. 

“Who the hell is he still hunting?” 

Hotch spoke up, his own mind whirring as to who could possibly be Lewis’ endgame, “Garcia, who ran the investigation in Florida?”

“Hold on, that would be Dr. Susannah Regan, who went into witness protection on a very nice estate in Columbia, Maryland,” Bugsy and Hotch looked at one another, sharing the same thought and the unit chief floored the gas pedal, knowing Regan didn’t have a whole load of time left if Peter had gotten to her already. 

“Send Reid the location, we’re on our way,” Hotch ordered, and Penelope was already ten steps ahead, Rossi and JJ grabbing their vests and heading for the garage. 

Bugsy hung up, checking her gun was still holstered as Hotch launched them the final five minutes to Dr Regan’s home. 

And yet she couldn’t help feel like they were walking into the belly of the beast the victims had been describing. 

–

Garcia hadn’t been kidding when she said it was a nice estate. By the time they’d gotten out the car, the entire street was silent, a quiet only lots of acres and high gates bought you. 

“You stay behind me, we watch each other's six. We get Dr Regan and we get out, are we clear?” Hotch muttered, his eyes darling to the living room window where the curtains had been pulled closed, one single lamp left lit. 

She nodded, the two of them edging towards the door that had already been left open a crack, “Crystal,” 

He took a second to breath, wondering if they should wait for back up, but Savannah didn’t have alot of time, not if the unsub was already inside like he suspected, before he raised his hand up to the knocker and snapped it a couple times, pushing the door open. 

“Dr Regan?” 

“It’s open, come in,” The woman’s voice called, though it sounded too chipper to be authentic, some sort of uncanny valley as if it was an automated response from an answering machine. 

Checking Bugsy was still behind him, he pushed on, his footsteps light and quiet, eyes scanning the large antechamber, the grand piano sat in front of a huge fireplace cold to the touch, the lights all switched off despite the owner being home. 

Maybe Dr Regan was cheaping out on her bills. But Bugsy doubted it. Something in her gut didn’t sit right. 

“Are you alright?” Aaron called, his torso squeezing against his vest as he scanned what he could see from the room, and she held up behind him, flicking a look over her shoulder every once in a while for movement from the other rooms. 

“Agent Hotchner, I got Agent Rossi’s message,” She said, again in that cheery voice, despite her words claiming she understood she was in peril, and the sound of it made Bugsy’s chest seize with suspicion. 

“Doctor, you’re in danger, you need to come with us,” She explained, her eyes squinting to see in the damning lowlight of the home. 

“I understand,” That robot voice spoke, “I’m in the study,” 

They paused for a second, exchanging another look before pressing on because they had no time to lose over silly hesitations. Passing through the entrance into the room lined with bookshelves on bookshelves, expensive tapestry on expensive tapestry, their heads flicked over to a frail older woman that somewhat resembled the woman they’d been sent from Penelope, when she had was freshly turned twenty five with a sparkly new bookdeal under her nose. 

She sighed in gratitude when the entered, and Bugsy held back a moment as Hotch moved in, keeping her finger on the trigger, “I’m so glad you’re here, you need to see this,” Savannah produced a long, glass sharp letter opener that could easily pass for a knife with the eight inch edge of it, “He wants you to see this.”

And with that, without hesitation or caution she jammed the knife through her own windpipe as if puppeteered by a master, and Bugsy leapt forward to try stop the bleeding just as Aaron did. 

Only she never got that far, because no sooner had she stepped forward a hand reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the scruff of her hair and throwing her to the floor while she had been caught off guard. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her nose met the hardwood floor, and she swore she cracked a tooth or two. Her hand scrambled out for her gun, only to watch a large black boot stomp down on her digits that made her hiss in pain. 

She heard a scuffle up ahead where Peter had managed to grab Hotch equally unaware, and she watched her unit chief tumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table on his way down. 

And it was then that she smelled it. A raw chemically odour that ran up her bloodied nose, went into her mouth when she tried calling out for Hotch, and it made her cough up a thick mucus before it had even slid down her throat. 

She heard shots fired, and it was enough for her to reach out for her own gun again, hoping that Lewis was distracted enough to not pay attention to her, only to realise somewhere in the scuffle he had kicked her weapon across the floor. 

When had he done that? Why hadn’t she seen him? Probably because the pain behind her eyes had damn near wiped her vision into a blur of white. 

It was then the nausea hit her, the vertigo washing over her like she’d stood up too fast, only she wasn’t standing up at all, in fact she was pretty sure she was on her hands and knees trying to crawl towards Hotch. 

Hotch, who lay on the floor with his own eyes rolling like the room was spinning for him too, and she wondered how on earth anyone could have beaten Hotch. He was a rock, immovable, irreplaceable, forever. 

“Hotch-” She garbled out, her voice tragic and weak in a way he’d never heard before. 

And he opened his mouth to speak, only to find his own voice gone when he saw the figure leering over her body, a glint of a knife in his hand, and Aaron wanted to know how he had managed to emerge out of the shadows when he could have sworn Lewis was right next to him. 

The drug, it had to be the drug. God his eyelids were heavy, what had they been in this house for?

But Aaron felt a scream lodge in his mouth, sounding more like a yelp, something that could have been a mix of ‘no’ and raw anger because Peter had brought one of those big black boots behind him and kicked Bugsy so hard in the gut she flew to her side like roadkill, the wind leaving her lungs with a whimper of pain, and her eyes never left Hotch’s gaze as he did so. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to need some alone time with Mr Hotchner here,” Lewis said, and before Aaron could plea or beg, he watched the man lean down and drive a swift line across her throat, as if he were simply gutting a pig, and her carotid artery was sliced clean in two, her blood spewing all over Aaron’s shoes, seeping into the floor. 

And Aaron went to scream, felt the tears well in his eyes because he’d failed her, only this time, unlike Hailey, he was forced to watch every second of life trickle from her face as she bled out onto the floor, choking and clawing at the floor for reprieve. 

What would he say to the team, to Spencer? What would he say to Emily?

Aaron let himself sob, shaking his head in denial and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping to god medical would get here soon. It would be too late by then, he already knew it. 

Bugsy was dead. There wasn’t any miracle fix or band aids that were going to fix that. 

And yet in the next moment the sound of her body writhing in desperation against the floor, the sight of which he couldn’t even bring himself to watch, it had gone quiet. 

And Aaron peeled his eyes open, wondering if she had passed, if she was still in pain, if she wanted someone to hold her hand as she went, and he urged his heavy muscles to do something god damnit anything to help her, except his body felt like lead and even opening his eyes was too much for him. 

But there was nothing there. Not the puddle of blood he’d just watched spill over the flooring, not her hand reaching out for him, clawing at her throat for reprieve and certainly not a body of a girl he once loved like a daughter who would stay with him for a lifetime. 

All of it, just… gone. 

“Don’t you worry, Mr Hotchner, I’m saving the girl for later. Can’t have a pretty thing like that go to waste,” Lewis smiled toothily, and Aaron wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat, wring the life out of him until he was a crumpled mess on the floor, “But for now, it’s you and me, Aaron. And I think you should answer your phone. Your team are on their way for you,”

–

Her scream was piercing, cut through two walls. He could hear it the second they stepped out of the car. He’d all but thrown himself out the vehicle before Anderson had even stopped, probably would have barged right through the front door without even drawing his gun if it hadn’t been for Morgan grabbing him. 

“Reid, Reid, no-” Derek said, even though his voice wavered, his head flicking back at the house, “You can’t just head in there without backup, it could be a trap, man,” 

“She’s in there, can’t you hear her?” Spencer said, his eyes wide with terror as the sound of her screaming kicked up a whole other decibel and Spencer's stomach churned at the thought of what might be the root cause of it, “Please, Morgan, I can’t-” 

He didn’t even realise his eyes had welled up at the sound alone until he couldn’t finish his words, and Derek was staring at him with an equally solemn expression. 

JJ rounded the other SUV, Rossi at her tail, their guns drawn low to their thighs as they gave Derek a nod; ready to enter. 

“Just promise me you’ll keep your head, Reid,” Morgan said with a cautious tone. Realistically, Spencer should have stayed back at the office with Kate. He was too emotionally invested in the case, though no one wanted to be the one to argue that with him, knowing Spencer would only fight back that they would all struggle to keep their cool once they entered the house. 

Because the UnSub had Hotch and Bugsy. He’d taken family. He’d made it personal. 

And then, just as Spencer nodded, unholstering his own gun and making sure his vest was tightened at his waist, perhaps the worst happened. 

A shot fired from inside the house, loud and unmistakable over the deafening cries and Bugsy’s screaming stopped. 

–

Spencer didn’t even remember entering the house, not really, despite his promise to Morgan. He felt like his heart was in his throat, images of Maeve’s brain matter splattered over the warehouse floor flooding his head, because apparently a revolver can cut through two heads at once and still pack a punch.

Spencer was realistic, had sprung into a clinical sort of worry that told him exactly how many times he’d told her he loved her (two thousand, six hundred and seventeen times) and that maybe that wasn’t enough. It told him the amount of kisses they’d shared could have easily been doubled if he dared to steal them more often before bed, if he’d been honest with her years before he had, if he’d just taken five minutes off his showers. 

He had barely survived Maeve dying. If Bugsy was gone… there would be nothing left of him. Nothing important anyway. Just a body, limbs, a heart that would never beat again. He wagered even his blood would stop because the idea of her gone from the world had already made him cold. 

He heard movement in the living room, and judging by the way Derek’s head whipped over to their right, he had too. And before they could raise their guns up to aim, Derek edging forward to kick the door in with pure, simmering rage, a voice sounded out from the other side. 

“In here!”

Hotch. Hotch, who sounded like he was weeping, or at least had a frog in his throat, hummed his words almost. The men drew a breath of relief, Derek reaching forward to open the living room door, his weapon still tight in between his fingers as he pushed. 

“Hotch?” He said, though Spencer’s eyes cast around the room the second he confirmed his unit chief was okay. He had a nasty gash on his head, likely from where he’d fallen, and his pupils were dilated. Drugged. “Hotch, where’s Bugsy?”

“H-he took her-” Aaron slurred, attempting to get to his feet, holding out a hand to the sofa and using the furniture to claw himself up to a stand, “Upstairs I think- I need to get her- Where’s my gun-”

Morgan rushed in to grab Hotch under his arms as Rossi and JJ burst in from the kitchen, Rossi calling out behind them for medical attention. 

“Hotch, you’re not going anywhere, you need to- Reid,” Morgan yelled, but Spencer ignored him. Because he could apologise later. 

Lewis had Bugsy alone, had taken her upstairs, that was what Hotch said. And Spencer couldn’t stand by and wait while they had no idea what was happening to her. He heard JJ’s footsteps pounding behind him, following him up the stairs, and he knew he should be paying more attention for any hint if Lewis was still in the building. But he didn’t. All he could think about was those screams. Raw. Guttural. Like she was being skinned alive. 

His eyes trailed the empty bedrooms, any sign of movement whether it be Lewis or the woman he would trade his own life for in a heart beat if it came down to it. But there was nothing there, not even as JJ swept the other handful of rooms, leaving them with one small storage room at the end of the hallway, and the two of them cast a glance at one another. 

JJ nodded to him, and he reached out a shaky hand, praying on everything in the vast universe he’d spent his entire life learning about that someone heard him begging to keep his Bugsy alive. 

He slid the door open, cocking his gun up to the figure in the corner, his own weapon at his feet as he smiled in a smug manner. 

JJ took stock of their surroundings, waiting for the trap they were walking into to spring, only he held his hands out in surrender. 

Because he had already gotten what he wanted. He had killed Dr Regan, and taken two cops down with him. 

“Where is she?” Spencer spat, handing JJ cuffs as the woman grabbed him harsher than she should do, because the pleased look on his face was infuriating, only made worse by the chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth. 

“She’s in the closet,” He nodded his head to the smallest bedroom, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “She sure is a darling, isn’t she? So easy to tame once that smart mouth of hers was gone,” 

Spencer wanted to shoot him between the eyes there and then, put him down like the sick dog he was, but instead he fled after where Lewis had directed him, because he didn’t know if she was injured herself or if it was already too late.

For once in his life, Spencer Reid knew nothing. 

–

And then he saw her. 

She was alive, thank god she was alive, a dent in her nose that suggested he’d thrown her to the ground face first, her knees skinned, her palms scratched. 

But that wasn’t what worried him.

Because no sooner had he opened the door to the closet, reaching forward to yank her hands off her ears, or maybe pull her for a hug, or maybe break down into sobs and tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t have stopped any of it, she’d started screaming again. 

He didn’t think after so many years on the job he’d ever heard something so gut-wrenching. For a moment he thought he might even be sick. Because it was full of pure terror. Not the childish fright you get from a scary movie or a loop de loop on a rollercoaster, but blood curdling fear like he had never heard before. 

It was enough to have Morgan running up the stairs with his gun drawn, only to see Spencer frozen, his hands reaching out to grab her, and it was only then the agent realised Reid was trying to speak to her. 

“Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Spencer, you know me,” He said, his lip quivering, his words warbling with tears, “Please, please come back to me, I don’t know what to do- please just tell me what to do-” 

“Reid, she’s not herself. Hotch said Lewis made him see things, awful things, just like he did with the other victims,” Morgan said, holstering his gun, his own resolve crumbling when he came closer and realised she had her eyes screwed tightly shut, curling herself into a ball in the corner like a kid trying to hide from the boogey-monster.

But Spencer didn’t listen, he couldn’t accept that they had found her alive and still he had been too late, didn’t want to accept that he had her in his grasp and yet she was still living her a personal hell with no end in sight. 

“Please, please, come back to me,” He sniffled, leaning forward onto his knees to try hold her hands in his, maybe get her to hear his voice and wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in, “Come on, I got you,”

“No, no, no, you’re not real, you’re not real,” She screeched, shoving his hands off her, and it was then he saw the dribble of tears running off her nose, “You’re not, I won’t kill him, I won’t-”

It was the ravings of a mad woman. But Spencer didn’t doubt for one second that whatever was happening inside that big brain of hers felt entirely real. He heard Morgan draw a sharp breath, turning to face away from the girl and steady himself where his dark eyes lined with woe and salt. 

Spencer hated seeing her cry, hated not knowing how to help her even more, and he didn’t care if she pushed him away even more. He had to hold her, hold her and make her listen, make her understand she was safe because he was there. 

Spencer swore then and there that he wouldn’t let anything touch her ever again as long as he lived. 

It took everything in him to ignore the way her hands scratched at his wrists desperately, and he wondered if in her mind he’d taken the form of some beast ready to swallow her whole. But he was sure he could calm her down with some coaxing, get her to see what was real if he was patient and gentle enough. He scooped an arm under her legs that shook, and it only took him a second to realise he had peed herself in the throes of her nightmare, the sight of it causing another cry to roll from his tongue. He didn’t care about the mess, because his entire focus was on her as her hands thrashed against his chest, trying everything to get him off her, even when his other hand wrapped around the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his shoulder, squeezing her against him in his lap like she was an inconsolable child. 

“Please, please, I can’t, I can’t do it again, I don’t understand,” She wailed, her voiced croaking and pathetic and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d damaged her vocal chords, “I don’t understand,” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” He cooed softly, pressing his head next to her ear and rocking her slowly, “It’s me, it’s Spencer. I’m real, this is real,”

Her hands stopped their fight against his body, his own grip tight and not showing any signs of letting go any time soon as he waited for her to wear herself out, for her body to lose its adrenaline and slip out of its fight response. She pushed him limply a few more times, with little more than the strength of a toddler, and he knew she was coming back down, at least something close to it. 

“I’m so tired,” Her voice was muddled with tears, slurring and stumbling over each other and it was then that JJ walked in with three paramedics behind her. 

The blonde’s face evened out when she saw the girl was alive, nothing but a few surface wounds, but it was then she saw over Spencer’s shoulder the way her eyes were clenched tightly together, the red marks on Spence’s alabaster skin where she had put up a fight behind cradled in his arms. 

And JJ knew then that something inside Bugsy had changed that day. 

“I know, you were so brave, you were so brave for me,” Spencer nodded, his cheeks flooding as he tried to keep his tone strong, stroking the back of her hair softly, “You did so good, I’m so sorry,” 

“I’m so tired and I don’t understand,” She said, like she was putting sentences together for the first time, and it was like suddenly the fight had been sucked out of her as she slumped against him, not even realising in her haze that she needed to be showered off desperately. 

“I know, honey,” He murmured, sniffling and pressing his face into her neck, “You can sleep now, I got you,”

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe him, like she still thought he was some figment of her imagination, but she hadn’t the strength to fight back, to call his bluff. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, as the paramedics got her on a stretcher, Spencer hovering over her face incase she woke up in a panic again, cracking her eyes open right as they got her on the back of the ambulance and suddenly it wasn’t Spencer’s face she saw flitting in and out of her eyeline, it was Hotch. 

“Hotch-” She tried, her hand swinging out at her side with her attempt of grabbing onto his face because there was a trail of blood down his cheek. Her voice was fried, just like Spencer had suspected, her words sounding as if she had swallowed stones, “Hotch, your head,”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I should have known he would be there,” Hotch said, as her eyes rolled back, straining desperately to keep herself awake. But she had said it herself. She was just so tired. “I shouldn’t have taken you in there,”

“I don’t think I like dreaming anymore,” She garbled childishly, a small frown on her face, and Hotch bit his lip to hide a whimper, raising a hand to her cheek, and Spencer sat at the foot of the stretcher, his neck and wrists sore where she’d clawed him, but he didn’t care. 

Hotch gave her a long kiss to her forehead, one Spencer pretended not to see for the sake of paperwork, because he knew Hotch needed it, even as she’d been sucked right back into the reverie of sleep, their eyes never left her frail form, not even when the paramedics started hooking things up to her wrists to take her charts. 

Spencer knew then he should have bought that ring. 

–

She’d been staring at the ceiling for about five minutes before he tried to pry an answer out of her. 

He’d tried not to smother her the second she woke up, had seen the hesitation and distrust swirling in her gaze when she saw him there, and he wondered if she thought it was another one of her dreams she had yet to wake up from. But he was real, and he was worried, and he loved her. God, did he love her. Loved her so much he couldn’t stand for one more moment to see her so dissociated from a world where she was his and he was hers and everyone was missing her.  

“What did he make you see?” Spencer tried, his voice as soft as he could try make it without crying, because her gaze remained in her lap, the side effects of the drugs making her a little woozy, “Baby, I can’t help you unless you talk to me, please just, let me help you,” 

Her throat was in agony the second she opened her mouth to speak, ripping with pain when she cleared her throat and in an instant, Spencer’s hand was on her thigh drawing comforting circles with his thumb. 

“Emily was there, she came to- r-rescue me,” She started shakily, her hands trembling beneath the covers and she breathed slowly through her mouth, “S-she wasn’t wearing a vest, and when I asked her she said she’d gotten the first flight out of London to get me; and then… Doyle,”

She swallowed, and he took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she tried not to let her eyes well up only to find it was already too late. 

“He stabbed her like he did that night, but it was different this time. She was on the floor, trying to get away, begging me to call for help but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, and I was trying so hard to scream and tell someone, but I couldn’t…” She sniffled, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, but he didn’t care, “And he wouldn’t stop. He just kept going, over and over again, and I had to watch every second of it knowing it was my fault,” 

The floor was red, a horrible midnight ichor of Emily’s blood seeping from her body, more blood than a person should ever be able to hold. Last time Doyle had killed her, there had been a hairline chance that she would pull through and Emily had beaten all the odds stacked against her. 

But this wasn’t like last time. There was no miracle escape to Europe. Bugsy would be surprised if there was even anything left of her to put in the casket. 

Her eyes were terrified as she watched Doyle drive the knife into Emily’s skin, the scream lodging in her throat for a reason she couldn’t place. She begged herself to do something, say something, tell the man that she would rip him limb from limb if she ever got the feeling back in her legs, wail for help because that was her sister, her big sister, and she’d stopped moving a while ago. 

Stop, stop it, stop it.

But the words wouldn’t come out. She was frozen. Numb. Like someone had unplugged her from the socket, and the only part of her that did work was her eyes, why did it have to be her eyes. 

And the blade was red, so red she thought she’d never see anything else other than red again, as so was the floor, and his arms, and Emily’s clothes. Red. All over. Driving into her stomach with a wet squelch that made Bugsy want to vomit. 

Over and over and over.

She burst out crying then, the first real emotion she’d shown in days, and he was out of his chair in seconds, cradling her to his chest and shuffling to sit next to her on her bed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t real, baby,” He soothed, and she shook her head, her tears soaking his shirt through, and all he could do was stroke her hair down and press gentle kisses to her brow, “You were so brave,”

“And his face changed, and he wasn’t Doyle, it was Hotch. And he-he gave me his gun, and said I had to pick between him or you because one of you had to die and-and I wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t pick-” Her words warbled into his shirt, an amalgamation of sobs and deep breaths in between sentences, but she needed to get it out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t.

“Choose,” It was Hotch’s voice. The same rough edge, same bite he used with the UnSubs they chased, the tone he’d never used on her. 

She shook her head, because the feeling had tingled back up her spine into her neck by now, and with it brought her voice, her sorrow. 

“No, no, Hotch, please don’t make me, I can’t, I won’t-” She sniffled, looking at the thunderous eyes of her unit chief she’d known for years. He didn’t look like himself, like someone was wearing him as a mask, yet she knew it was him by his steady hands that drew his gun from its holster. He had always been sure of himself. 

How had she got here? Had Lewis got to Hotch, brainwashed him into slaughtering and terrorising his own team. Whatever it was, Bugsy knew in her chest that whatever was standing in front of her was not Aaron Hotchner. 

“Me or him,” He said simply, as if it was that easy, as if he wasn’t pressing a gun to Spencer’s head. 

The sob fell from her lips before she could help it, looking to Hotch’s feet where he held the love of her life bound, his eyes rimmed with fear. 

“I can’t, please, I can’t,” She wept, her cheeks soaked, the salt trickling down her neck and into her shirt. Or was it blood. Had she hit her head? Why did her head hurt?

She couldn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than the fact a monster had taken over the man she thought the world of. She knew if anything happened she would never be able to hold it against him if anything happened, even if it would always be his face in her mind killing Spencer. Because it wasn’t him. It was Lewis. It wasn’t him. 

Hotch’s finger clicked a bullet into the chamber, pointing the gun at Spence’s crown, and she warbled in protest, because her legs were still numb, her body from the waist down useless, but this time she could scream and fight and yell all the ways she begged for this to stop. 

“Hotch, please, please don’t. It’s not real, it’s not real,” She yawped, her chest in agony, her head spinning because she could have sworn Emily was just here, could have sworn she had been coming to save her. Why was Emily here? And she’d usually be embarrassed to admit it at her big age, but she wanted her sister. She wanted her big sister more than anything, “Hotch,” 

But the man who looked and sounded like Aaron Hotchner wasn’t listening. Instead he looked at her with a steely glare, cocking the gun once more between his fingers, “If you’re too much a spoiled little bitch to choose, then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you,”

And with that he pulled the muzzle away from Spencer’s head, and before she could say another word, utter another plea, he angled the weapon under his chin, pointing it straight for his brain, and pulled the trigger. 

She thinks she screamed, though her hearing had gone with a staticky blur, his blood spraying across the wall like something out of a slasher movie. She remembered howling in shock, her face soaked with ichor and salted tears, and she expected Spencer to rush forward, grab her in his arms and cradle her with soft words. 

But he did. Those hazel eyes she would know in every life time stared blankly at her, all trace of terror gone from his gentle face, and in a whirl of movement, he was standing where Hotch had been, his body gone in a wisp of smoke, like he was nothing more than a magician’s magic act, like her chest hadn’t just cleaved in two at the sight of him dying. 

And Spencer took his place, the lips she’d kissed a thousand times pressed into a scowl, the hands she wanted to melt under, to hold her and tell her he was going to fix everything and make it make sense again holding the loaded gun. 

And at his feet, bound by the same rope he had been was JJ. Freightened, beaten. Mother, wife, best friend, sister. JJ.

“Choose,” Spencer said, but it was cold and unfeeling. Nothing like the saccharine tone he used with her, and she felt the pit of pain and suffering and dread that had opened in her stomach grow only deeper, “Me or her,”  

–

She had cried for about two hours after that, and he had held her for all seven thousand, two hundred seconds of it, stroking her hair, reassuring her that Lewis was gone, the drug disposed of, and more importantly, telling her he would never let anything like that happen to her again, over his cold, lifeless body. 

And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer would never let an UnSub get so close to harming the woman he loved. Not a bruise, or a cut. Not even a scratch. 

And for the three days they’d kept her in for observation she’d slept, and slept some more like she hadn’t known a wink of rest in years. And with it came the nightmares, of all the people she loved splattering their own brains over the walls, Chose, chose, me or them?

But by the fourth day she was allowed more than one visitor in her room, the spot that had solely been filled by Spencer, who would take to his grave that he’d gone home and washed their clothes of the mess she’d made when she wasn’t herself. 

And on that fourth day, the team had arrived with love by the bucket load, because Bugsy was family, and family never let each other suffer alone.

“Oh, look at you!” It was Penelope first, ofcourse it was Penelope first, “Spencer, where’s that cardigan I told you to bring her, she could get cold, and that purple is so her colour- oh what am I saying, come here!” 

Penelope bounded over to her bedside, not completely blind to the way Spencer tensed up as she threw her arms around the girl, fighting his urge to chide Garcia into being more gentle because he knew he’d been hogging time with her while the others had been forced to wait. 

“Pen,” Bugsy said, breathing out and hugging the woman back as hard as she could, “Why do you smell like lavender?” 

Garcia released her clutches (reluctantly) and produced a big tote bag of trinkets, one of which Bugsy suspected was a candle. 

“Spencer said they might be keeping you another couple of days and so I brought you some goodies to cheer this place up,” She said with a chirp, reaching in her bag for two stuffed teddies, and Bugsy’s eyes melted when she realised they resembled Niko and Sergio, their colourings not quite identical but the thought had been there, “So you don’t miss your boys too much.”

Bugsy smiled, her chest spreading with warmth “Thankyou so much, Penelope,” 

And Garcia went to respond, her smile wide and relieved, when another voice spoke up behind her, “Quite hogging her, mama, there are people waiting to see the kid,” 

Penelope rolled her eyes which made Bugsy snicker slightly, moving out the way for Derek to lean over her bedside and give her a tight squeeze. 

“You gave us a scare and a half, baby cakes,” He said with a sigh, and she hugged him back the best she could, though his arm muscles were the size of her head. 

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, and he patted her on the back gently, before letting her go for the next person waiting to pounce on her. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to be sorry,” JJ shushed, her slender arms all but crushing her into her chest, and she heard the breath of relief from the woman’s throat as she stroked a hand over her spine, “Just get better for us, okay?”

And Bugsy knew she didn’t mean the crack in her nose Peter Lewis had given her when he’d grabbed her by the nape of her neck and slammed her face into the wooden door the second Hotch’s back was turned. She meant the screaming. The nightmares. The chill that ran down her spine even now when she looked at every one of her friends and remembered that night. Picturing their brains on the wall, their blood on her face-

“Henry drew you a picture,” JJ said, pulling away and presenting her with her own gift basket full of homemade goodies and fresh pyjamas because the ones she had from the hospital were starting to itch, “He said you needed magic kisses,” 

Plucking the card from the front of the wrapping, her lips quirked into a smile when she saw two stick figures, a small dot with yellow hair labelled ‘henry’ with an arrow, and a tall woman with a triangle dress and two glittery wings labelled ‘bugy’, and she was almost certain it was because they had played fairies and princes the last time she had gone over. 

She flipped the page, and saw his hand writing scrawled in a green crayon, a few spelling errors here and there where he had tried his best. 

‘to bugy

mommy said you wer hurt at work and needed somethink to make you happy agan.

I gave the card majick kisses before mommy takes it to the hospital to make you better agan. 

also plees coud we play princes again some time soon.

Love Henry’ 

She chuckled, her finger stroking over the letters gently, because she could imagine him at his little blue table writing it out for her, and she handed it off to Spencer to put on her bedside table. 

“Thankyou JJ,” She said earnestly, and the blonde nodded, squeezing her leg under the blanket gently before she moved over for Rossi to shuffle in, ruffling the girl’s hair because he would joke later that his back couldn’t handle all the movement when really he felt like she’d been mauled with enough affection for one day. 

“You okay, kid?” He said, his eyes roving over the bruise on her nose that had bled into her eyes, and she nodded, smiling up at him somewhat convincingly. 

“I’m still kicking aren’t I?” She said, and the older man chuckled, shaking his head, “Can’t get rid of me that easily,”

And it was almost true, the small seed of double planting in her own head because for a second in that house she had thought things were done for her. And Spencer had thought the same, judging by the way he nervously cleared his throat, playing with the collars of his shirt.

But Rossi nodded with her, “You kidding? There’s enough life left in you to resurrect all of my dead end marriages,” The team snickered, Rossi squeezing her arm the way grandads do, “Kate sends her love, she had to take Meg to her dance recital, she said she’s dropping by later with good coffee,” 

Bugsy took a sigh of pleasure, because she would kill for a steaming cup of good coffee, and Rossi smiled at her attitude they’d all missed in the office. 

And then there was Hotch, who looked damn near like a dog with a tail between his legs, sporting his own jagged forehead wound that had been stitched up, his lips pulled into a guilty pout unlike everyone else's grateful beams. 

“Bugsy,” He started mournfully, and he swallowed heavily, “I’m-” 

“Don’t-” She shook her head, looking up at him from where she’d sat up in the bed to accommodate everyone’s hugging, “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t give me that. He caught us both of guard,” 

But he still didn’t look like he quite accepted that answer, settling to reach out and squeeze the hand that was laying across her stomach, his skin warm and rough as he held her like she was cracking glass under his touch. 

She realised she had been wrong that day with Lewis, when she’d been damn near shaking in her spot because of the man who looked so much like Hotch, and she saw the fatal flaw that gave it all away. 

His face was set in a frown more often than not, and it was for that reason a lot of the agents on the other floors lived in fear of SSA Hotchner’s thunderous tone and barking attitude, but Bugsy knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Because while he could be cold and domineering and bossy, his eyes told her all she needed to know. 

He was hurt. He was guilty. He was worried. He was mourning. He couldn’t stop seeing Peter Lewis slitting her throat in that flash of a blade. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her incase it was all a dream in itself, that they had never been found, he had never woke up, they had never saved her. 

His eyes were haunted by the past twenty years of his life, perhaps what happened even before then because she wasn’t so stupid to miss how he was more rough on child beaters and abusive fathers than he was their usual UnSubs, how he was so extra gentle with Jack, how he hated raising his voice. And inside the big scary exterior, Bugsy saw a boy who only wanted to save everyone because no one was ever there to save him. 

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, pulling him towards her and he’d resisted hugging her to start with because he knew the frog would leap into his throat, but he could never deny her. And he didn’t, he simply leaned over, caressed the back of her head over his shoulder with one of his enormous palms and gave her a warm hug no monster or demon or whatever she had seen could ever be capable of. 

And Bugsy felt stupid for ever believing anything she’d seen. 

–

They stayed for another hour or so, Derek running out to grab Bugsy a subway because the food at the hospital hadn’t been the best, and she had devoured the steak and cheese footlong so fast Rossi’s brows had raised into his hairline. Spencer handed her a strawberry flavoured pudding pot, the lid already peeled open for her and a spoon.

And it was then a figure came rushing through the door, so fast they were surprised they hadn’t heard the heels on the linoleum and the whole room stopped for a breath, Bugsy dropped her pudding cup down her shirt, barely even making her first bite count. 

“Why did no one tell me those two were screwing for eight months?” Emily barked, gesturing between the two agents that cuddled up on the hospital bed, and almost as soon as the pure joy to see her older sister had flooded her body, it ebbed again, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“Eleven hour flight, Em, and a buttload of head trauma and that’s all you have to say to me?” She snipped, mopping up her pudding with the edge of her finger. 

“I got weekly updates about the consistency of Sergio’s bowel movements but this you missed out?” She threw her hands up, sighing in contempt and almost immediately the girls were bickering like they hadn’t spent a single day apart from one another, but then Spencer supposed that’s what happened when you were blood. 

And part of him wondered just who was going to tell Emily about the proposal, the same small part that had gone and bought the ring just yesterday while she’d been sleeping. 

He supposed he could live with it being his secret for a few weeks longer. 

--

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[jezabelle9299]

Caretaker S.R x fem!Reader

Reader is hired as a live-in caretaker for Diana. Describes when she accidentally flooded the apartment, but I kind of mess with canon and plot. Could kind of take place after prison other than that. Diana ships Reader and Spencer. Reader is a graduate student in an online program.

C-Ws: Diana slaps reader, descriptions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, Spencer is not used to people trying to take care of him and thinks he'll scare away reader.

(I've worked in a memory care/assisted living facility, and have a few relatives with alzheimer's and schizophrenia. But this is based on my still somewhat limited experience. And I have no medical experience, mostly just hospitality and comfort based work)

You had finally gotten to the address the agency gave you, after waiting a short eternity in the Washington traffic. It was a live-in caretaker job of a woman with schizophrenia and alzheimer's, living also with her son who traveled often for work. Your contact at the agency said the son, Dr. Reid was very nice and was ok with your slightly more limited experience. You buzzed and after a little while the man you assumed to be Dr.Reid came to the door. 

“Hi, you must be Ms.Y/L/N from the agency, I’m so glad you’re here.” He looked both shocked and relieved, like he thought you wouldn’t actually show up. While you were trying not to notice (Or at least trying not to show) that you thought the doctor was particularly gorgeous. But he would not only functionally be your employer, but also a sort of roommate. Plus you really wanted this job, you were a little new to being a live in caretaker after working in assisted living facilities since high school. You were in a grad program now, one you were completing online that allowed you to have caretaking as your career. 

“I’m happy to be here! You must be Dr.Reid?” 

“I am, and this is my mother Diana Reid.” He gestured to the woman on the couch, who had yet to even look at you. I mean you were kind of invading her house, so you couldn’t blame her. But you were determined to make her like you, I mean this job is a huge opportunity, and as you were new to the city the live in position was a two-birds-one-stone situation.  

“Hi Ms. Reid, I’m Y/N, it’s lovely to meet you. Your son has told me so much about you.” You gave her a nervous wave as you walked in front of the couch, still attempting to give her space while being in her line of sight. 

“I’m sure he has. I don’t need a stranger hovering over me.” She then stormed into the adjoining room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Dr.Reid attempted to chase after her, finding the door locked from the inside and calling out to her. 

“Mom, please just meet her! You’ve chased off every other nurse from the agency!” he got no reply, and solemnly turned back towards you. He was exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and he looked utterly dejected. 

“I’m sorry to waste your time, I understand if you’d like to leave.”

“I’ll stay, unless you’d like me to leave.” confusion and hope clouded his expression, you weren’t giving up that easy.

“That was just a first meeting, I get that she doesn’t want me in her space, but she might warm up to me. Plus, one of the best ways for me to get to know her right now is through you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much. Today is one of her worse days, she’s not usually like this I swear.” He looked elated at the fact you didn’t leave so you knew you were getting the job. He just needed the help too much, and you were determined to get this woman to like you. From what Dr.Reid had already told you over the phone, she seemed like a wonderful woman you’d actually really like to know. She just had to not hate you first. 

“It’s ok, just a bad day. I totally understand she’s upset. Why don’t you and I talk until she comes out?”

“Yes, here have a seat, and I’ll grab you some water.” He hurriedly cleared some books off the couch so you could sit, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water a few moments later. While he was gone you pulled your work notebook and some pens out so you could take some notes. 

“Thank you Dr. Reid, that’s really sweet.”

“Of course, and you can call me Spencer.” 

“Alright, really quick just like my experience and such, I’m sure the agency told you most of it. I’m a little new to being a live-in caretaker, but I have experience at a couple assisted living facilities. I’ve taken care of a few family members with schizophrenia as well as alzheimers so I have experience with that as well. I’m a graduate student so I’ll work on some classwork during times when your mother is resting but it’s all online so it shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

He nodded along patiently as you basically read him your resume, and then responded in kind. “That all sounds great, I travel as part of my work so I may be gone for a few days to a week at a time, but it should never be for too long, and as this is a live-in position I’ll leave a card you can use for anything you or my mother need while I’m gone.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you. So, could you run me through a regular day for your mother? Just all of it, the activities she likes, medications, food times, all that good stuff so I can be prepared, and not change her routine too much.” You bounced back and grabbed a pen to start taking notes to help you remember all of the information. 

“Absolutely, yeah. Does this mean that you’ll take the job?” He looked so full of hope at the sentiment.

“If you’re offering, then yes I’d love to. I can start whenever you’re ready.” He lit up and pulled you into a hug you were not at all prepared for. He smelled really good, which was only made more noticeable by the sharp inhale you took in surprise of the gesture.

“Oh. Hi.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say during the hug to cut the tension you were feeling. He clearly took this as discomfort and pulled away. 

“Sorry, I jus- Thank you. That is amazing, thank you so much.”

“Of course, I really need to thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to getting to know your mom.”

You talked about different logistics, as well as him giving you a short tour of the house before you had to leave, before Diana would re-emerge. You started the next day, with Spencer there to start to ease the transition in the morning. After he left you and Diana, confident that she was having a good day, he headed for work. 

Diana did not have a good day after getting some rest after lunch. She needed to take one more medication, but when she woke up, she didn’t remember you. At least not as you the person her son hired to take care of you, she thought that you were using her son to get information on her. She thought you were there to manipulate the both of them, so when you offered her medication she wouldn’t take it. 

You did all you could do, you waited. And then after a short window had passed you gave her a drink with her medication in it, which after she drank, she realized it was the medication. She called you a fascist, and then unfortunately, slapped you. This wasn’t the first time a confused elderly person had gotten physical with you, so you attempted to keep your professionalism in tact. She ran to the bedroom, and you sat against the wall, reading to her from a collection of poetry Spencer said she loved. 

When you went to check on her and she was safely asleep, you continued cleaning the mess from the previous day. A small flood spread through the apartment, damaging several books and leaving towels littered around the room after Spencer had collapsed from exhaustion about the time you finished unpacking for the night. Spencer came home about the same time, to towels freshly in the wash, and you attempting to start repairing the books. You had a friend who was a librarian, and between a phone call with her and extensive research on the internet you’d made some progress. Books were spread out around you, in various states of drying and re-drying. You only noticed when you heard the door shut that he had come home, not hearing the key turn in the lock like you thought you would. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, uh-what are you doing?” He was carrying a leather satchel that he was now setting on his desk, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. His brow cocked in confusion as he looked at you.

“Oh, I noticed the books that got damaged, and your mother is still resting so I thought I’d get started on the drying process. I promise I asked my friend, she’s a librarian so that I wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Wow, that is really sweet, thank you Y/N. I really appreciate it.” He was walking closer to where you were sitting on the floor in the living room, carefully avoiding the spread-out books. 

“How’s mom doing? Did the rest of the day go alright?” He turned on the lamp by the couch, before moving a few of the books to sit. You had just started talking about his mother’s day, when his expression completely changed. He noticed the small mark on your face, and sprang off the couch, moving to the floor near you. 

“What happened?” You didn’t realize what he was talking about immediately, looking down to see if something was wrong you hadn’t noticed. When he gestured toward his own cheek, you remembered. 

“Oh yeah, Diana woke up from her nap after lunch and she got a little confused. She thought I was someone else, and that I was trying to get information about her. She slapped me, but it’s really no big deal. She just got confused is all. 

“No. No, that most certainly is a big deal.” He said it firmly, like there was no room for argument. But you jumped to yours, and his mothers, defense. 

“It’s really not. It’s common when alzheimers or dementia patients wake up not knowing where they are. She didn’t mean anything by it, I read to her, through the door, that poetry collection you mentioned yesterday. I think she liked it, and she felt better after she took her meds, she at least got some more rest.”

“That’s great- but I don’t want you to feel trapped here. If something isn’t alright, you can tell me, and I would understand if you wanted to leave.” You nodded to let him know you understood, and then followed it up with leaning back against the front of the couch and a small smile.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.” Your attempt to lighten the mood was not really helping. 

“No!-Believe me, that is not what I was saying. I really appreciate you helping my mom and I out, but I just want you to be here because you want to be.” 

“Well thank you, Spencer. But it’s really ok. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” You made a small cross-your-heart motion to convey the truth of your sentiment. 

Now, why don’t you help me with these books, while I switch out laundry.” you pat him on the shoulder as you walked by. The first time the two of you had touched since the hug he thought had made you uncomfortable. His sweater was soft under your skin, his shoulders firm. But you kept walking, you were on the clock after all.

When you walked back you started gathering the restored books to put back, and tried to get back to work related conversation, or at least tangentially related to work. “Alright, towels are in the dryer, and I’m sorry I can’t quite figure out what your system is for these books. Could you point me in the direction of where these go?” You gestured to the small stack in your arms, and he immediately got up. 

“It’s a combination of the dewey decimal system, and a little bit moved around based on sentimentality, I can put these away. Thank you again for helping me dry them. I know it’s not really in your job description.” Ok has no one helped this man? He is very over appreciative of the little things, and he looks like he’s scared you’ll run away any second. It’s sweet, but my god. 

“I like to be helpful, and there was also a little selfish motivation. I was curious about your taste in books. I mean you have so many, I had to be a little nosey.” You kind of attempted to add a flirtatious tone, but you were still hoping this crush would go away. This was a job, and it would be nice if you didn’t get overly attached to him. Although it was a little late for that. 

“I don’t know if i’d call it nosey, it’s nice that you’re curious. What did you think?” He was looking between you and the floor, while blushing. Maybe he liked you too. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

“I mean I’m no profiler, but I can take a guess.” He had told you about his job and what it entailed as it required him to be gone for long periods of time. So you kept the flirty undertone, somewhat under the guise of silliness, as you two moved closer together, whether consciously or otherwise. 

“I think you read A LOT. Like more than I probably could in a lifetime, and since I know you don’t exactly have excesses of freetime, you have incredible reading comprehension. Speed reader maybe? And some were in a few different languages, so maybe a linguistics major in college? Could be your doctorate. Also the style of the books is contributing to the apartment both functionally and as a decoration. They’re as much comfort objects as they are entertainment. So if I had to guess, you were a shy kid who read a lot.”

“Alright, not bad at all. Although my doctorates are in mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. The languages are easier because I have an eidetic memory. I am a speed reader, as our subconscious minds can process significantly more than our conscious minds.” There was one part consciously left out. He couldn’t have forgotten, he told you so himself. But you couldn’t resist, you wanted to know him. More than accomplishments and accolades.

“And the last part?” He looked upset, and you regretted asking it. It must have really bothered him, really been over the line.

“Yes, I was a big reader as a kid. I was a prodigy so making friends wasn’t easy, and I’m sure you noticed I’m kind of- well- odd.” odd? I mean interesting, or extraordinary sure, but odd wasn’t the word you’d use. It felt so…negative.

“I don’t think you’re odd. The prodigy aspect makes sense though, especially since I know you have 3 doctorates instead of the 1 I assumed you had. Also, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of speaking from experience. I had more books than friends when I was little too.” You were sharing a small smile as you stood near the wooden shelves, until you heard the bedroom door open, and you stepped away from each other, gaining back the space you lost. 

“Hi Diana, did you sleep ok? Is there anything I can get you?” She gently shook her head, confused, but piecing it together as she woke up. 

“No, thank you. Spencer, who's your friend? Is she- is she your girlfriend?” She spoke in a hushed tone for the last part, like it was a fun secret between the 3 of you.” He looked like an embarrassed teenager, as he turned toward his mother. 

“No, mom. This is Y/N, she’s taking care of you, you guys spent the day together?” She started to understand, but kept giving Spencer a look like she didn’t quite believe him. 

After you cooked dinner, something Spencer also tried to convince you wasn’t necessary. Seems like he wasn’t used to being taken care of. You cleaned the kitchen, giving Spencer some time with his mom before you all resigned to bed. You didn’t cross paths again for a few days, with Spencer leaving before dawn for a case. 

When he returned a few days later, after many call and text updates on his mothers condition (that occasionally strayed to more personal topics of your life, but you wrote it off as him being polite)  he found you and his mom sitting on the couch, like the best of friends flipping through her scrapbook as she told you stories from Spencer's childhood. It was a good exercise to keep her mind sharp, as well as helping her feel more comfortable with you. 

“Hi Spencer, how was work?” He looked confused, and he was moving cautiously like he didn’t want to disturb the fleeting moment of happiness. His mother was happy, and the woman he had an ill-advised crush on were spending time together. In his home. It was perfect.

“It was good, it looks like you two had a good day?” His mother nodded her approval, and gestured for him to sit down.

“We did. Your mother read me some of her favorite books. And I didn’t know you could do magic! We were just looking through her wonderful scrapbook.” You directed the last part to Diana, wanting her to know how much you appreciated her trust. Spencer had the same embarrassed teenager look he did the previous day. 

“I’m glad you’re home Spencer, but it is late and I’m going to go get some rest.” His mother got up from the couch, and gave him a hug goodnight. Once she had disappeared back into the bedroom, you turned your attention back to Spencer. 

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry by the way.” He still looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe you’d cook for him when he wasn’t even home. 

“Thank you, I have to finish a little bit more paperwork, but that sounds wonderful.” 

“It’s really no problem, I hope you like it. But before you start your paperwork, I’d like to request a magic trick.” He seemed perpetually confused. And he was. He couldn’t believe you, so happy, so sweet, and so kind. You wanted to see his dorky magic tricks and fix his books and talk to his mom. He knew you were being paid, but it wasn’t that much. Not enough for most people to go this far above and beyond. This was all you.

“You really want to see my magic?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a magic trick in person, that’s really cool. And it’s a little easier to practice inside than the trapeze.” You both laughed, and his blush grew even deeper. He grabbed a set of cards from a prized spot on his bookshelf, part of the very small space not crowded with actual books.

He offered the cards, fanned out to you and asked you to pick one. You picked the ace of hearts. 

He pulled the 2 of diamonds, looking confident for maybe the first time since you met him. “Is this your card?” A part of you really wanted to lie. He looked so happy, but you just muttered a quiet no. He tried again, looking confused as to how he got it wrong the first time. This time he pulled the 6 of clubs 

“Is this your card?” You shook your head and he flipped through the deck, cards still facing down. Looking through as if something was missing, his brow furrowing as he did. You could see the moment realization struck, it was as if a cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.

He leaned toward you and your breath hitched. Once your faces were so close you could’ve leaned forward and made contact, he pulled the correct card from your hair. And when he held it up for you, he smiled when you lit up. 

“Is this your card?” He spoke a lot quieter now, and he moved the little bit of hair that had fallen into your face during the trick back over your shoulder. When you thought you’d explode if he stayed this close without moving any closer, he did. His stubble grazed your face as he connected your lips. His were a little bit chapped, but they still felt soft the way he moved them. He sighed when he pulled away and you were worried you did something wrong. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so-so sorry.” 

“Why? I mean I know why the situation isn’t ideal, but why are you sorry?”

“Because you are currently relying on me not only for employment but for a place to stay, and I shouldn’t have just put that pressure on you. I lost control, and I’m so sorry. I understand if I made you uncomfortable.” He sat back down on the couch, but this time you followed him. You really liked him, even though you’d only known him a couple of days. 

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t feel pressured, and I didn’t kiss you back because I’m currently staying in your house. I kissed you back because I wanted to, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you hugged me when I accepted the job.” He finally looked back at you, with those big brown puppy dog eyes, and you grabbed his hand. 

“Really? Are you sure you want that?” 

“Certain. Spencer, I really like you. And if you like me too, then we can talk about how that would work logistically. We could figure something out. If you don’t want that or don’t feel the same way, we can forget about this. We never have to talk about it again, and we can just keep it professional.”

“No!” He rushed out, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture and started again. “I don’t want that, I do like you too. And I definitely want to figure this out.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. He liked you too. It felt so high school, but that made you want to either squeal with joy, or tackle him onto the couch. 

You settled on a cool neither, instead giving him a kiss on the nose as you got up from the couch. And he watched you, hesitantly letting your hand go, like he thought you said all that just to leave. 

“We are definitely having that conversation…tomorrow. You haven’t eaten and, cute as you may be, you look like you  haven’t slept in days. So we will finish this tomorrow, whenever you’re ready.” You pulled his plate from the fridge, placing it in the microwave so that he could eat something. He looked at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars. 

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Yes Dr. Hot stuff, I think you’re cute. I thought we just went over this?” He blushed even more at the doctor comment. You looked at each other until the timer snapped you out of it. You set the plate on the table and wished him a goodnight, as you moved to the guest bedroom. You couldn’t sleep, you were so excited. But you wanted him to be in the best possible headspace, this was a big decision. 

When Spencer finished his dinner and his paperwork he moved to the master bedroom, still buzzing with excitement. When he closed the door his mother stirred. She spoke quietly, still half asleep. 

“Spencer, you really should take Y/N out. I think she has a little crush on you. And you deserve someone who can take care of you.” Then she drifted back to sleep, but Spencer was still beaming. 

[moonastroellie]

“Me and the devil walking side by side”

summary: you lived in a small town in Jackson, you went to a small high school with your best friend Ellie, Dina and Jesse… everything was normal, until it wasn’t.

cw: 18+, no smut but a lot of gore, mentions of substance use (weed and alcohol), usage of alcohol, mentions of schizophrenia and psychosis, mentions of drugging but no drugging, mentions of spiders for all you lil people who are scared of them (don’t worry i am too), mentions of murder, semi demon/vampire.

“y/n?”

…

“y/n?!”

…

y/n” Ellie says, putting her hand on your shoulder to make sure you’re okay “you okay? you look like you’ve just seen a ghost”

Technically, she isn’t wrong. although, it wasn’t a ghost you saw while you were zoned out. it was more of a…. vision? but you didn’t know what to think of it because it was blurry and oh shit you’re lost in thought again.

You shake your head fast and turn to Ellie “yeah. i’m good, you good??” a nervous chuckle left your lips, ellie’s piercing green eyes staring at you—they’re soft yet powerful eyes, it always made you smile.

She smiles back understanding your nervous chuckle, she laughs a bit and then confirms she is doing okay as well.

“you wanna go get something to eat?” Ellie asks in a soft voice, you nod and both go downstairs. Joel, ellie’s father was sitting at the table sipping on coffee (just how he always does) “watcha want?”

“uh, whatever you want” you reply back, her voice more unsteady now “oh i’ve already eaten. i’m full” that’s weird, you had been with ellie all day and hadn’t seen her eat once, maybe she snuck some food into the bathroom when you weren’t looking so you brush it off as nothing…

“I gotta get home, thanks for having me!” you smile and give her a hug, thanking joel for letting you come over—the walk home was how it always was, you lived up the road from ellie and although it was close, it was getting dark.

“hey ma! i’m home!” you shout out as you open the front door, yet another sight to come home to your dad sipping on a beer and watching the tv, it felt odd to see your mom watching the tv so you walk over to see the news…

“a young boy found dead, police have confirmed he was a 14-year-old boy from the high school here in Jackson, his name being James Reed, if there are any witness’s who may have seen something happen please contact the police immediately” the lady on the news explains, leaving you and your mother shocked, your dad just scoffs “probably got drunk and fell over himself”

“the bite marks found on him are not identified by scientists and we recommend everyone stays indoors at night time” the woman explains further, leaving your dad with wide eyes as he realises this is more serious than he thought.

“no more going out at night” your mother says, “but mom?”

“no buts, don’t want to find you dead, no more going to ellie’s late at night otherwise you’ll have to stay home or sleep over at hers” you let out a sigh… “fine”

—

Throughout the night you have trouble sleeping, a constant ringing and talking in your ear— you’ve always experienced these, especially after smoking weed for the first time, a constant assumption it was just psychosis… Eventually these distorted words got louder and louder and you couldn’t handle it anymore, pulling your hands up to your ear and sitting up in bed, back pressing against your headboard…

“t-ehy wabt ta gat you” the voices grew louder and louder, your body covered in sweat as you try to remain calm…

“you- cannot escape this” the one clear voice you’ve gotten, though it didn’t sound like someone you knew- that’s when it all stopped, as soon as the voice realised it had disoriented you and made you beyond paranoid… you could barely function, the fear that someone could be fucking with your head- maybe someone drugged you, maybe i’m insane, maybe something is wrong with you?

these ideas bouncing around your head left and right before you finally fell into a deep sleep, a coma like state, you couldn’t feel your body- it was numb to the world and your senses felt like they were gone, it started with an itch on your neck when you were in such a deep sleep, you scratch it and immediately it went away, but the burning sensation didn’t go away…

Waking up was difficult, getting almost no sleep you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth- you grabbed your toothbrush and started brushing your teeth, it’s when you looked in the mirror and saw two bite marks, they weren’t deep but looked like spider bites almost.

you shrugged and went downstairs to tell your dad there were spiders in your room again.

“brekky?” your mom asks, you nod. “how’d you sleep?” your mothers voice calm and relaxed, you just lie and say it was good.

“fantastic” she butters your toast and gives it to you, you sit down at the table and start eating-

that’s when everything around you looked distorted in a way, you could make out what was around you but it just didn’t feel right- the voices were back.

i

“you enjoying the food?” the voice asks, you look around you confused “no one can hear it” it adds on, you don’t know if you should talk or just talk via your mind, you pull a hair strand behind your ear as you start to sweat up a bit… your mom taking notice and asking if you’re okay, your pupils blown big and your actions erratic “school! now, bye!” your words didn’t make sense but you couldn’t control over what you said, almost like you were being controlled.

I know this is short but when i have more inspiration to write i will, promise. I just had this as a draft for wayyy too long.. should i make a part 2 tho? that’s the better question..

[aardvaark]

me: wow, tiktok, a platform that has millions of creators and has prided itself on its #EduTok educational video campaign. i wonder what i can find about psychology on here!

video 1: i did one unit of psychology in college, 8 years ago, so let me give you an expert’s opinion on this therapeutic technique. follow for more!

video 2: this is why having a personality disorder makes someone a terrible irredeemable person :) (PS armchair diagnosing is VALID)

video 3: omgg guys, TIL that liking vanilla milkshakes?!…. means you have adhd, autism, bpd, depression, anxiety & maladaptive daydreaming?? woww!!

video 4: adhd is for himbo boys, autism is for quiet girls <3

video 5: how to spot (and exorcise) evil psychotic people with schizophrenia and those other psychotic spectrum disorders idk the name of

video 6: [hypnotic spiral in background] your mom is a narcissist your mom is a narcissist your mom is a narcissist your m

video 7: hi everyone, today i’m dividing all the mental illnesses into the categories of "uwu quirky child" disorder, "evil scary abusive" disorder, and "idk what that is" disorder. these categories should be added to the DSM btw

video 8: i’m an actual psychologist and i just openly hate people with cluster b PDs

video 9: i’m an actual psychologist and im fucking begging you, leave this place while you can, yes i’m talking to you aardvaark, RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN R-

video 10: i made a new youtube tutorial on how to purposely develop this complex, chronic, debhilitating disorder :3 check out my acc!!

[reidsmouthbabys48]

I don't wanna wait

Summary: spencer starts to get needy for you during a case and the team picks up on it, you get tired of it so when you get to the room you give him what he wants.

Warnings: sub!spencer, fem!dom!reader, mommy kink, innocence kink, unprotected s3x, oral (f reciving), spanking, overestimulation, honestly idk what else.

18+ minors do not interact (unless you do idgaf)

You are standing by the shitty coffee machine at the Atlanta Police station, this case has been rough on everyone and Spencer's getting needy, we haven't been able to play for a week because of work.

"Y/n?" Emily says startling you out of your thoughts, you turn around and grab the now full coffee mug then turn back to her raising your eyebrows "emily?" You say in the same tone.

"What's up with spencer? he's been snappy all day and he's following you around like a lost puppy" she says and you resist rolling your eyes because you know someone would notice, I'll just lie you think opening your mouth to say something but spencer interrupts "Hey guys" he says looking at you with a glint of desire flashing in his eyes.

"Spence I need to talk to you, now." You say seting your coffee down and dragging him into the family bathroom.

"What is it?" He says looking at your lips and you roll your eyes and roughly push him into the door, he whimpers.

"Look baby I know it's been a rough week and I know how desperate you are, but you can't be a little slut infront of our team," you start, you grab his chin and move your hand down to his throat, squeezing Slightly and he bites his bottom lip to suppress the whines and whimpers threatening to spill from his plump pink lips, you move your lips to his ear "I'll give you what you want when we get to the hotel but I'm gonna punish you for being a needy little slut infront of the team, ok baby boy?" You whisper, you move your lips down to his neck kissing it gently.

"Y-yes mommy" he whimpers as you let go of his throat and move away completely.

"Fix yourself baby we have a job we're supposed to be doing" you say fixing your hair and walking out of the bathroom and back to your coffee, Emily is still standing there but she's scrolling throuher phone.

"I'm back sorry I just wanted to know what's going on with him, turns out his mom's meds aren't working how they are supposed to and her schizophrenia is getting worse, it's messing with his head" You lie, it's not entirely a lie but it's a lie, you can't just say 'oh yea me and boy genius have been fucking and we haven't been able to for a week because of this case so he's sexually frustrated' well you could say that but told rather not be lectured by hotch and potentially lose your job.

"Oh that poor kid" she says as he walks out of the bathroom, I give him a once over and he looks good, his hairs a little messy and his cheeks are flushed but other than that you can't tell he was just hard as a rock because his girlfriend said she'd punish him.

"Sorry about your mom kiddo" Emily say walking to him and patting him on the shoulder. You hold back a chuckle when he shoots you a confused look.

Its been 10 hours of back to back false information and pointless searching and you are exhausted.

"Ok we have to pair up for tonight but everyone go get some sleep and we will continue in the morning." Hotch says rubbing his temples.

"I call jj" Emily says and everyone laughs "I call boy genius over here" I say, hotch nods and we all walk out of the station and head to the hotel.

"I don't know about tou Spence but I need a bottle of vodka and a really hot bath" you say rubbing your eyes as you put the key in the door. Once you get I. The room you throw your stuff on the extra bed and take your clothes of so you're only in your bra and underwear

"Theres liquor store across the street you want me to get you something?" He asks with a slight blush on his face, his eyes wander your body like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"No baby there's probably something in the mini fridge and I'll drink later, but right now..." You say walking towards him slowly and wrapping your arms around his neck "I'm going bend you over my lap and spank you for being such a needy slut today, does that sound good baby?" You ask and he nods, you grab his throat squeezing it, he moans and you feel it vibrate against your hand.

"Words pup, how long do you have to do this to remember simple rules?" You tsk and he whimpers.

"I-im Sorry mommy I'll use m-my words I promise" he moans gasping, you release your grip on his throat and he inhales quickly.

"Good boy" you say and you lead him to the middle of the room then you tell him to strip, he strips to nothing but his boxers and gets on his knees infront of you and you smirk, "such and eager little slut" you say and he nods.

You move to sit on the edge of the the bed, "crawl to me baby" you say and he does exactly that, his ass sways as he crawls to there you are, sitting inbetween your legs "God you are such a good boy" you say and he smiles at you.

"Now Stand up and bend over my lap" you say your voice laced with dominance, he whimpers and stands up, he lays himself over your lap and you feel his dick twitch against your thigh, you let out sympathetic laugh.

"Do you really want all of the people you work with know that you're a submissive little slut who can't last a day without being fucked?" You ask pulling his hair, he moans loudly.

"N-no mommy I dont" he whines as you let go of his hair. "Ten strikes and I want you to count them, ok?" You ask, "yes mommy" he says moving his body forward to get friction on his aching cock, your hand comes down on his ass, not light but not to hard.

"One" he moans out, and your hand comes down again, causing him to jolt forward his dick rubbing onto tour leg.

"Holy fuck, T-two" he moans and you smile slapping his ass in two quick movements.

"T-three, four" he says his eyes brimming with tears. Your hand comes down on his ass again and he chokes out a strangled moan.

"Fuck, Five" he whines, you squeeze his ass gently and he hisses at the pain, you slap it again.

"S-six" he cries his dick rubbing onto you leg with every slap, the pleasure is to much, he's already so. Lose and you can tell.

Two more slaps. "Seven, e-eight" Spencer sobs and you stop.

"You ok baby, we can stop if it's to much-"

"No, dont stop" he practically yells and you smile. You slap his ass two more times and he moans out brokenly

"N-nine, Ten" he says and you pull his boxers down revealing his red ass, he's so pretty, all of him. "Good boy baby, you can come if you want" you say softly, carding your hands through his hair. He sits up abruptly and moves Back to where he was before his punishment.

"No, I wanna make you cum, mommy please can i-" he starts but he stops himself and looks down, his face is eye level with your underwear, he looks back up at you with pleading eyes.

"Please what baby?" You ask, you know what he wants, but he knows he has to tell you what he wants.

"S-sit on my face, please I wanna taste you, I wanna make you feel good mommy please let me make you feel good" he rambles still looking at you, his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears, he's so beautiful.

"Ok have at it baby" you say, the licks you over the material of your underwear, you moan and grab his hair, tugging on it, pulling his head away from your pussy, he moans and looks up at you.

"Lay on the bed with your head on the pillow" you tell him, releasing your grip on his hair, as soon as you do he stands up and climbs onto the bed, so obedient.

You take off your bra and underwear and walk to the side of the bed, moving to straddle his face, he doesn't give you a change to sit, he grabs your thighs and pushes you onto his face, he licks up and down your slit, moving to your cunt, he sucks on it and a loud moan escapes your lips.

He continues to lick your pussyand he lifts his fingers to your mouth, you instantly open it and he moans at the feeling of your warm mouth on his fingers, the vibrations of his constant moans against your clit has your eyes rolling into the back of your head you open your mouth and spencer removes his fingers and slowly pushes one inside of you, you moan at the intrusion and he moans also.

You feel the warm familiar bubble in your stomach "Spencer, I'm c-close" you moan and he adds the other finger moving both his tounge and his fingers at a faster pace pushing you into your orgasm. He reaches his at the same time moaning and whimpering against you.

He licks up your cum moving his tounge around you and you moan "I need you in me. Now." You say and he moans against your clit again, you move away from his face and he whimpers, you take a second to admire him, his face is flushed, his lips and chin are soaked with your juices, his dick hardening quickly. You grab it and slowly slide yourself onto him you both moan in unison, it doesn't take much for you both to reach your second orgasm.

You lay next to him panting, "that was amazing" he said and you nod leaning over to kiss him.

"You wanna take a bath with me?" You ask and he nods.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Hello, I (18F) am in such a wonderful supportive family. My mom (45F) has had problems with schizophrenia ,bipolar disorder, anxiety,and depression for all my life. This usually has happened in "episodes" where I have not felt safe at home and honestly been a little traumatized. Most things have happened in my childhood and preteen years. It has impacted my life, won't get too much into it but I have gotten pretty confused and depressed when they have happened. Things have been good the last couple of years episode free. Today I have dinner with my aunt (48F), uncle(51M), and grandma (68F). Something about my mother's episode came up and my aunt remarked how she was "so glad I could drive and now own a car, have a part time job ect ect. So that when my mom has another episode I can be all hands all deck"

I said "I would probably move out in a situation like that." My family (other than my mom since we have talked about this before) looked at me in shock and kid of disgust. We ended up kind of dropping the subject.

I probably should have affirmed my family that I would want to move out in a situation like that (since I have been scared more my life when it has happened) but I would still check up on my mom and visit her in the mental ward and stuff like that. I want to help my mom but just wouldn't want to live in the same house as her.

My aunt won't stop giving me dirty: looks AITA for saying that?

What are these acronyms?

[letmeridethatstaff]

The Truman and (Y/N) Show

Chapter 2: A New Morning

Please do not repost. Do not translate and repost. I do not own The Truman Show this is simply parody.

Word Count: ~1,500

Relationship: Truman Burbank x Reader; established

Warnings:

- Kidnapping (essentially)

- talks of schizophrenia

- Reader basically has a panic attack

- Truman also freaking out

- bad mother in law relationship

- briefly edited but not a lot

~~~

The next day both Truman and (Y/N) had a slow start to the day. Embraced in one another and talked about the new magazine Truman had picked up yesterday. She talked about her art. Even though they never spoke about the incident at the ferry pier, they never had to when they understood one another.

~

“Hello?” (Y/N) picked up their home phone after she had started making a late breakfast.

“(Y/N) I saw my dad!” It was Truman frantically whispering through the telephone.

“What? What are you talking about Truman?”

“Listen I can’t talk here meet me at my mothers and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay just be safe love you.”

“I love you too.” They hung up. (Y/N) made toast to go and headed to Truman’s moms house.

~

After explaining what he saw. “Am I going insane?” He was sitting in front of his mom holding (Y/N)’s hand. She was rubbing her thumb back and forth across the backside of his hand.

“It doesn’t sound insane at all, Truman.” (Y/N) tried comforting him.

“Oh my dear I see him 10 times a week. In a hundred different faces. Why I almost hugged a perfect stranger in the salon last Thursday!” His mom stated.

“It was dad,” Truman urged. (Y/N) started rubbing his back. “I swear! Dressed like a- a homeless man, and you know what else was strange? A businessman and a woman with a little dog came out of nowhere and forced him onto a bus!” (Y/N) was concerned now and her interest peaked there was no way Truman was making this up.

“Well I’m glad they finally started cleaning the trash up downtown. Before we become like the rest of the country.” (Y/N) and Truman’s mom didn’t always get along.

“Well…” (Y/N) started to say, “they never found a body.” She shrugged her shoulders. Truman snapped his fingers at her. But his mother gave her a dirty look.

“Yes! See (Y/N) understands! Maybe somehow-“ Truman’s mom groaned. “Well if it wasn’t him then it was his twin! Did he have a brother?!” Truman had started to pace now.

“Truman, you know perfectly well that your father was an only child. Just like you.” Truman stops standing and goes to sit back down by (Y/N). “You both are just feeling bad because of what happened.” (Y/N) held in a scoff but was more than pleased to shoot daggers at her. “You two sailing off into that storm- I never blamed either of you-“ (Y/N) highly doubted that, “I don’t blame either of you now.” She patted Truman’s knee in a comforting manner.

~

After speaking with his mother, Truman took the day off and spent the day with (Y/N). Watching her paint and thinking. Both ended up in the basement looking at old memories: photos of Truman’s dad, a map to Fiji, and the cardigan Sylvia/Lauren had gifted (Y/N) before she was taken.

The scene transitions to Seahaven High. There (Y/N) is in the field with Sylvia/Lauren. Their chatting and then she catches eyes with Truman. Starring longingly at one another but looking away. “Do you like him?” Her friend asks,

“We’re childhood friends but it’s…been different lately with it being high school and all.” She nods in understanding.

“Well if you want,” she emphasizes, “you should ask him out.” (Y/N) shakes her head no in ernest, “Oh no no no he’s supposed to be with a cheerleader like Meryl and I’m supposedly supposed to end up with a guy like Marlon. At least that’s what my mom keeps telling me.” She shakes her head, “No-no (Y/N) forge your own path. You shouldn’t be forced to love someone you don’t.” (Y/N) gives a shy smile, “Thank you.”

~

The scene then changes to the school dance. (Y/N) ends up dancing with Truman. She took her friends advice and was thankful for it. She saw her across the dance floor and kept smiling at her. She was about to go over to her when men in suits talked to her and took her outside. (Y/N)’s concern was growing.

~

The scene then changes to the school library. Truman and (Y/N) are studying for their upcoming test. Meryl and Marlon are trying to get them to hang out. Of course being the good students they were and trying to get some alone time they didn’t go along. They were studying flashcards when (Y/N) noticed her friend.

“Hey!” (Y/N) scooted her chair over to Lauren’s.

“Oh hi (Y/N).” Lauren was looking around almost concerned.

“Are you okay Lauren? I saw you leave the dance.”

“I’m fine.” She tried reassuring her and waving her off. “But uh (Y/N) I-I’m not allowed to be friends with you anymore.” (Y/N) was panicked.

“What why?! You’re my best friend.” (Y/N) grasped her hands.

“Please (Y/N),” (Y/N) needed to know more and make sure her friend was safe. Maybe it was her dad or her mom stopping the friendship.

“Come with me. Please so we can talk.” She urged Lauren.

“Okay.”

They got up, (Y/N) telling Truman she’d be back. Lauren took her all over the place and out the door. They ran to their favorite spot on the beach. Lauren took off her cardigan and they ran down the sand dune. Making it act as a makeshift cape.

“(Y/N) they don’t want me to talk to you. We have so little time. Their watching us.”

“Please please tell me, tell me your safe. Whose they?” All of a sudden a car started racing down the sand dune.

“They’re here!”

“Who? Whose here? Your dad?”

“(Y/N) listen to me: everybody knows about you. Everybody knows about Truman. Trust Truman! Everybody knows everything you two do. They’re pretending, (Y/N),” Lauren was frantically grasping (Y/N)’s arms. “Do you understand?! Everybody’s pretending, everybody, except you and Truman!” She was urgent and rushing her words.

“L-Lauren I don’t understand!” (Y/N) held concern in her eyes for friend.

“No! No my names not Lauren! It’s Sylvia! My names Sylvia!!”

“Sylvia?”

“Yeah!” The car finally reached them and her dad stepped out.

“Lauren, sweetheart, not again.” Again?

“Who are you?” (Y/N) questioned.

“I’m her father.” (Y/N) never met Lau-Sylvia’s father before but this man didn’t act like a father should.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life!” Sylvia was clutching on to (Y/N). (Y/N) was ready to risk it all and have them rush back to the school. The man started to take Sylvia away from her.

“Hey! Hey wait a minute!”

“(Y/N) listen to me everything I’ve told you is the truth!” She picked up sand and put it in (Y/N)’s hands. “It’s all fake! The sand, sky, the sea- it’s all a set! For you and Truman! It’s all a show! Everybody’s watching both of you! Please don’t listen to him. He’s gonna lie to you! They’re watching us now!” Sylvia had been put into the car by her “dad”.

“Hey let her go!” (Y/N) pushed the man and tried to go for the door of the car. The man quickly stood in front of the car door, “Schizophrenia! She suffers from schizophrenia! We’ve tried everything shock therapy, hypnosis-“ a horn was being honked by Sylvia.

“You’re not the first. She brings all her so called friends down her and does the same act.” The man got into the car. Sylvia leans over the man to the open window towards (Y/N).

“Get out of here- both of you. Come and find me!” She urgently whispers.

“We’re going to Fiji!” Her “father” states. There were tears in (Y/N)’s eyes. They drove off. (Y/N) was panicking, she picked up the red cardigan out of the sand, she ran to the nearest phone booth and called 911. Explaining the whole situation to them. She then ran home and called Truman asking him to come over. She was distraught at losing her best friend. She clutched the cardigan and layed down on Truman’s lap. He rubbed her back listening to it all.

~

Audience memeber 1: “why didn’t she just follow her to Fiji?”

Audience memeber 2: “Truman’s mom got really sick and so did her dad. She couldn’t leave any of them. She’s so kind. Maybe she’s too kind.”

Audience memeber 1: “How did she cope?”

Audience Memeber2: “she fell into her paintings. That’s how she got so good. A lot of people think it’s so she can replicate the one she lost. And Truman was her landline as well.”

Their boss walks up behind them.

“Excuse me. Come on, Sal. We’ve already got this on the greatest hits tape.”

Audience member 1: “Can I borrow that?”

~

The scene switches back to Truman and (Y/N) in the basement. (Y/N) thinking about Sylvia and looking off into the distance. Rubbing her thumb across the cardigan as she held it close to her chest. Truman starts unpacking the magazine pieces for her. Going through the pieces together, she finally finds the pair of eyes of her best friend. Sylvia and (Y/N) weren’t ones to take photos together- (Y/N) being camera shy. She regretted not taking photos more. But her art was a way to find Sylvia whether that be trying to paint her or making a collage. She had to find Sylvia- they both did- they needed answers. They needed Fiji.



[ttccprojectoverdrive]

Time for some general info about each Manager!

Here’s an important note going in: in this world cogs are born either the natural way (which surprises toons because they didn’t realize that toon and cog reproduction wasn’t all that different) or are commissioned to be built using their parents genetic material/coding

William Boar

Late 30’s-early 40’s, bi trans man, white boy, autistic, shares a dad with Desmond but different moms since Will’s mom passed away before his dad remarried to Desmond’s mom, dating/eventually marries Rain and has what’s (to their knowledge at the time) the first documented cog/toon hybrid post main story, daughter is named Olive and she's more cog than toon

Buck Ruffler

Mid-late 30’s bi man, Chilean, AuDHD and (family inherited that manifested after the stress caused by his failed toon up) Schizophrenia, mom is still alive but dad passed away, married to Dave and has one daughter with him whom they commissioned to be built named Gliss (short for the piano term Glissandro)

Brian (Monarch but shhh he doesn’t put that last name in his records bc of their secret shady dealings)

Early to mid 40’s, bi man, white boy, Autistic (I plan to potentially add more considering what he does in the story so I wanna see if more than just autism explains his behavior besides psychopathy) mother is alive but dad “mysteriously “ died, has a lot of siblings and he’s one of the youngest, married to Ben and they commissioned a daughter together whom they name Chime

Misty Monsoon

Mid 30’s, bi demigirl, Afro-Hispanic, AuDHD OCD and Bipolar, mom is a single mom, marries Mary and Holly and I plan to give them at least two bubbies (kids)

Mary Anna

Mid to late 30’s, Filipino, AMAB intersex bigender bisexual individual who uses he/she, has a mom and dad and a few siblings, married Misty at first and eventually maybe Holly too if the two develop feelings for each other lol, has a kid with Misty

Holly Grayelle

Mid to late 30’s, British with a medieval inflection, bisexual woman, Autistic, has a mom and dad and younger brother, marries Misty first then maybe later Mary too, has a kid with Misty

Alton Crow

Early 40’s, Texan white boy, bi man, AuDHD (which means autistic and ADHD btw), comes from a big family, is married to a buff and tall cow based cog lady and has a son and daughter with her

Prester Virgil

Late 50’s to early 60’s, cishet, white boy, Depression and PTSD, comes from a big family, is a struggling divorced dad to his one daughter whom he eventually gives custody of to Chip and his partner after situations that cause Prester to realize he’s not mentally well enough to be a father

Winston Charme

Early 80’s, cishet, white boy (subject to change may make him and Dana black), possibly AuDHD with a form of Dementia and PTSD, only living relative is his great niece Dana whom he ends up in the care of after a legal case between the ye olde toontown elders and the lawbots

Benjamin Biggs

Early 40’s, bi man, British, OCD in the forms of obsessive love and organization and possible either sociopathy or psychopathy (still working out that one), mom and deceased dad, married to and has a kid with Brian

Cathal Bravecog

Mid 20’s, pan demiboy, white (subject to change though I’m tempted to make him half asian from his mom’s side) might also make him autistic but idk, divorced mom and dad, honestly haven’t put much thought into him yet but I wanna maybe give him a partner

Dave Brubot

Mid 30’s, bi man, Haitian/Brazilian/Italian, AuDHD, has a mom and dad and four younger siblings, married to and has a kid with Buck

Belle Dama

Early 70’s, cishet, white (possibly subject to change but I also kinda want her to be an ally white grandma who doesn’t like any form of discrimination and will give you hugs and cookies if you need it), possibly autistic but idk, comes from a big family, widower with several children and grandchildren, eventually dates Cosmo

Cosmo Kupier

Early 70’s, cishet, Italian, comes from a big family, widower whom can’t have kids so his mob is going to his henchmen when he dies, eventually dates Belle

Flint Bonpyre

Mid 30’s, bi demiboy, Afro-Venezualan, Autistic and General Anxiety Disorder, two moms, married to and eventually has a kid or several with Graham

Chip Revvington-Campbell

Early to mid 40’s, bi man, white boy, Autistic and PTSD, adopted by Spruce’s family when he was very young but has since regained contact and is friendly with his bio mom, dating/married to and eventually has several kids with his assistant Bubblegum Pop along with their adopted child from Prester named Nixie

Spruce Campbell

Mid to late 40’s, pan man, white boy (Scottish mostly), comes from a big family, thinking of giving him a partner eventually

Tawney C. Esta

Mid 60’s, genderfluid heteroasexual, tempted to make them either Mexican or Hispanic or from another Spanish speaking country bc of how their name is a pun for siesta, comes from a big family, wife but no kids

Graham Ness Payser

Mid 30’s, bi (male leaning) man, mixed (mom is white dad is black, his older sister looks more black than he does and it’s a running joke that she took all the melanin leaving Graham looking white) ADHD and Narcissistic, has a mom and dad and an older sister, married to and eventually has one or several kids with Flint

Desmond Kerosene-Boar

Early 30’s, bi man, white boy, half brothers with Will, in a poly relationship with Buck Wilde and Dana and whom I may eventually give three kids

Buck Crow Wilde

Early 30’s, bi man, Texan white boy, Alton’s cousin, in a poly relationship with Desmond and Dana and whom I may eventually give three kids

Dana S Charme

Early 30’s, pan genderfluid, white (subject to change), Winston’s great niece, in a poly relationship with Desmond and Buck Wilde and whom I may eventually give three kids

[t1ts-4-scattorcio]

ok I'm the older sister lottie anon I specifically would love headcanons, a blurb, or some combination of both if possible? (like a short blurb or maybe even a drabble, and like a little list of headcanons)

<33

Older sister Lottie x Reader (thank you for being specific <3)

Lottie was so lonely before you were born, your parents never really were around to care about her, both of your parents were constantly working and would compensate their love by giving Lottie gifts or hiring a nanny to distract her, taking her to parks, movie theatres, anything that would keep her occupied from them. They thought a close friends would be what lottie needed when she started showing symptoms of her schizophrenia she started begging for someone her age to have around at the same time so they settled and had you. 

This meant you were put on the back burner as well but Lottie refused to let you feel abandoned. So she basically became your mother figure, you were her baby and she wanted the best for you. 

She insisted she help feed and clean you even when your mom could do it herself (your mom was grateful). 

She treated you like her little doll, she loved playing dress up and doing your hair.

You were her best friend (and still are) 

Tries not to hover but definitely will, “who are you going with again?” “No, you’re not allowed to be around them.😒 “Why??" “Because they're losers!” “you've met them once 🙄" "I know enough y/n" 😒

"I told you, you're not allowed to get this high." "but I feel good Lots 😙” “No we're going home, NOW." you grumble about how much of a party pooper she is as you stumble out the door, she just rolls her eyes.

Will never end a conversation without saying I love you first.

Pretty strict only because she wants the best for you

Is heartbroken whenever you get upset especially if it was her fault, is good at comforting you emotionally but will pay her way to make you feel better too (got it from your parents). 

“It's not even your money lots!” “It counts, just tell me what you’d like please!!”

______

Birds chirped outside of your window, You hear your door open followed by your light pouring in from your curtains. “hmm no.” Lottie ignored you walking to your bedside “hey.. y/n” you grumble turning away from her. “y/n you gotta wake up it’s your first day of school.” lottie whispered, “fuck no.” you groan cursing Lottie inside your head. She brushes off your protests shaking your shoulder “I know you don’t wanna go, but you have to.” 

your sister was aware of how worried the new semester is making you, she understood that fear but you disregarded her words, huffing “I thought dad was gonna take me” you mumbled under the duvet. “No, sorry it’s just me.” she said sounding hurt, guilt coarsed through you, “don’t be you’re better” you replied with a smile, one eye blinking open peeking from under your sheets. 

You sat up, silence filling the room. “Hey, what’s the deal?” she muttered. You began to sweat, body shaking. “I’m not ready for this year” you sighed, tears welling in your eyes, A sob bubbled up from your chest Lottie’s eyes softened, “awe “y/n..” Pulling you into her arms she hushes you. “It's going to be a good year, i promise” running her fingers through your hair, “I know you’ve been feeling a bit anxious, but just know I got your back ok?” pushing you away and wiping your tears, you out a watery laugh “thank you Lots.” your head slots back into her shoulder, she hums and rubs your back. “I love you y/n.” she whispered. “I love you too.”

[theangryman]

Beyond any critiques of psychotherapy, can we just agree that “go to therapy” is useless advice?

It’s brain dead to assume that someone can afford therapy, that there are therapists in their area, that those therapists don’t have waiting lists, that those therapists are affirming of queer identities (everyone loves surprise conversion therapy!)…

Therapy is also a *wonderful* tool for abuse:

-> your mom says you hit your sister last night, why did you do that?

-> i didn’t

-> why are you lying to me?

(My mom landed on partial inpatient - when I was inpatient they couldn’t find anything wrong with me lol)

I genuinely can’t believe that 90% of these people are capable of dealing with anything more than mild middle class work/family stress.

It’s funny that many can’t do anything *but* CBT. Again, useless for anything but middle class work/family stress.

Hey shrink, I’M DEPRESSED BECAUSE I GOT FIRED FOR BEING TRANSGENDER, THAT IS LEGAL WHERE I LIVE, AND NO ONE GIVES A SHIT. I can’t trust fucking therapists because if a trained professional diagnosed and medicated a fourteen year old for paranoid schizophrenia, because they described an internal monologue when asked about “voices in your head” - how THE FUCK am I ever going to take this shit seriously?

It’s also so fucking disturbing having gotten my hands on some psych ward nursing textbooks - like there is shit that is straight up incorrect. Not accurate to DSM, and certainly as fuck not the correct way to deal with some populations.

[clonerightsagenda]

HDM episode 5:

Will and his mom have a pretty nice home considering they only receive a "subsistence" payment from John Parry's trust.

As stated before, I wasn't expecting this much Will content in season 1, but I suppose it makes sense because a lot of the harassment and bullying is described as things that were happening to him prior to the events of the book, and obviously we can't do narrative exposition dumps on screen. Although they sure are trying with the Prophecy Voiceover in this episode. Don't care for that.

More added-in tension between Lyra and the gyptians for some reason.

Additional Farder Coram/Serafina drama, although I suppose Lyra could've just not been privy to it in the book. His story that she wanted to tear the universe apart over the death of their son while he wanted to peacefully mourn and that's what split them up is weird, though, given that in the books Serafina mentions that witches accept that the men and sons in their lives are brief, fleeting things.

I always imagined the witches riding cloud pine branches like broomsticks but Serafina Just Does That, I guess

The true most important foreshadowing of this episode... Will's omelette.

So much stress for his mother who struggles with mental illness (OCD? depression? schizophrenia?) but also there are actually people out to get her. And even her loving son assumes she's delusional. (Liked the detail of her realizing someone had been in the house because the cat was stuck outside. Amateurs. Chekhov's Moxie... she will fire again.)

Pan is embracing their Arctic vacation and being an Arctic fox. Warm

The sewing machine is a great hiding place, honestly, because I bet no hired goon would ever think to look there.

I don't object to switching Tony out for Billy as the severed child Lyra finds - it lets us see the impact of the child's death - but I *am* annoyed that they cut out the villagers' and rescue party's revulsion. Everyone (including the people who came to rescue them) instinctively retreating from a severed child because they're so horrified by their mutilation was really memorable, as is Lyra furiously telling them to stop. Most of all, I'm mad that they took out the dried fish and we lost the moments of the villagers trying to ask her to pay for the fish (are you fucking kidding me) and Lyra's reaction to the rescue party taking the fish away. That's the part of the book that makes me tear up, and I'm disappointed that it wasn't there. It was all he had to hold on to!!!

Iorek: This shit is getting dark. I'm out.

Had to look this up because I was confused (again, just reread the book! Almost like chowing down on an entire novel in an afternoon doesn't always give you perfect recall) but as I thought I remembered, before Asriel tears a hole between the worlds, all man-made doorways passed through Citigazze, including the ones Boreal used. However, they've got him walking directly between his world and ours. To simplify things, I guess?

I mentioned "oh this is going to be a dark episode. well, this is kind of a dark series" which made me think, the first book involves Lyra looking for Roger, and she loses him. The second book is Will looking for his father, and he loses him. At least TGC has the wins of destroying Bolvangar and defeating Iofur. TSK really does not have any wins at all.

[themarvelhorse]

I Sail, When the Wolf Comes

CW: Death, Mental Illness

A vent, rant, of sorts. I put this here not just to express my feelings, but to let anyone who wants to, know what's up with me, especially right now.

My dad died.

I always feel like I need to say it like that. Not "he passed away", or he's no longer with us. As if I'm trying to force myself to accept that reality.

He died the day I left to visit a friend. He wasn't even over 65. He was left there to rot for four days. The rot. I can't get the smell of the rot out.

We lived together since the pandemic. He saved me from having to live with my mom. I love my mom and she's very supportive and loving but...

She has schizophrenia, the kind that makes her paranoid. The kind that leads her to stop trusting her friends and family, no matter what we do or say.

She's always been stubborn, but that one makes it so much harder.

It's funny. I've felt like I've had more hope of stopping catastrophic climate change than I do of saving my parents from themselves. I know, I've tried so fuckin' hard to do so. But the decay, the rot, started so much sooner, while they were still alive.

I got to watch the car crash in slow motion. I saw as my mom grew increasingly paranoid over time. All the yelling - not at me mind you - but I was the only one she could yell in the direction of. I took a break, spent some time with my dad, and came back. But then she pretty much picked up where she left off.

I couldn't stay, and it broke my heart.

I could stay, with my dad. We would watch sci-fi, retro TV, movies together, share coffee, a drink, our own inside jokes. It was great.

My mom sold the house, lost most of her things, and was a total mess. When she eventually found an apartment, I went to go furnish it since she... couldn't.

She was admitted to a hospital after screaming about aliens in the middle of the night.

They gave her medication, and helped her return to her old self... or at least reduce the damage. But she's always had that stubborn attitude. And of course, the healthcare system wouldn't have been able to help. There's no one left to offer help.

I can see it coming back. She tries to hide it around me so she doesn't get angry, but it'll come back. She invites family to dinner only to get mad at them. Like, she's mad at them when she invites them. Why?

So, my dad saved me from that. I was able to help from a distance. Somewhat. My dad saved my ass from a lot of things that could have gone much worse. He saved me from myself when I spiral.

But we moved again, and there was a new city I didn't want to go to, but he did. I came along eventually and got really into it. He did too, for a time. But then, things started piling up. A lot of things I wasn't even aware of.

It was a cycle of getting better and then worse. Each time I left, I realized he would be worse. Soon, it didn't matter if I left.

So let me whisper you a reminder Before they come to take me away Whenever there's no hope left to inspire Keep shining a light they all need to see

A fire that burns out for the last time A satellite falling from the sky

Another light shines on the horizon With courage and grace you said goodbye

A fire that burns out for the last time With courage and grace you waved goodbye Oh, goodbye

It was a heart attack, but was it? I'm going through his things. I'm seeing everything he was dealing with.

He was always supportive, and rarely judged. But I'm afraid of those moments when he did. When he tried to be open and honest about how he felt about things.

It was often contrary to my thoughts and perspective. And I argued that.

I'll give one example - he wasn't supportive of environmental action. But he was still supportive of me taking it, because I wanted to. Because he was a good dad.

And he did what he thought was best. Shove those feelings deep down so as to not stir up trouble with his son. Or at least I imagine so. I know he did everything and more for his sons.

That's what I am at the end of the day. A villain.

I'm a villain to my friends and family. People who've supported me so much over the years. I never knew how to repay them. I knew I wouldn't get a job that would make enough money to do that, so I wanted to do a job that would make life better for them indirectly. Or stop it from getting worse.

But it feels like so few would agree with me on how I do that. The science and academic literature say otherwise. I know I'm not trying to be a villain. I work to keep myself, my thoughts and opinions open. But some things I just can't move on. Can't move on taking climate change seriously. But ultimately what will happen? Their instant flights will eventually be gone. Their love of red meat limited to far less than they consume now. Their love of cars and giant single family homes. Their support of a politician who'll only drive us all backwards and make things worse. Their transphobia.

Of course it's not all those things for everyone. People are complex. But it's always those red flags.

And there's so much of life that's still supposed to get better after that. Flights and travel won't be gone. Meat won't be gone. Cars won't be gone. We'd have more time to spend enjoying life, or travelling, etc.

They would support me, because they trust me for me. If I got anything done, I'd surely be the villain in their eyes. The eyes of so many people I care about. Maybe it's a good thing I haven't finished so many projects I've started.

They've come out of the woodwork to offer support in this time, but it all leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The taste of rot. I'm sure that overtime, our relationships will rot away. I'll do what I have to, for their own good. Sounds like something a villain would say, eh? Maybe so, I haven't saved anyone. I've only helped where I could to ease the pain. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I was younger, so I wanted to do that. Help. Know I was doing something good.

Of course it comes at a cost. Asking for anything always does for me.

And so, my heart breaks yet again.

And yet again, I am alone. Because even for all their support and offerings of wanting to talk, most who do want to talk, I can't talk to. Or I have to tread lightly. Who knows what I'll say to someone that I don't know their opinion on? My issues cross over with climate action and related stuff. So there's so few I have to talk to. All those friends in the sector went their separate ways. I don't judge them for that, we all have jobs to do to get this done. We're all burnt out.

At least my dad's suffering is over. Just gotta pick up the pieces, and find a new place to stay.

"Me was sick and nigh to death

Tili go tili go

Me was sick and nigh to death

tili go tili go

Me was sick and nigh to death but I vowed with my every breath

For go with wisdom ways

When I sail."

[stylecouncil]

wait speak more on the tragedy of bowie! i have my thoughts on his personality which aren’t all positive (just my bad psychoanalysis) but i find it’s funny that of all male music icons discussed his childhood/familial life is never brought up…. other than his half-brother’s schizophrenia i guess

Obviously his brother is a huge part of that, but I think the toll that his mother’s indifference, and the general very harsh conservative atmosphere juxtaposed against his budding sexuality, the generational abuse (there’s no details, it’s just acknowledged that his mother’s mom was abusive and raised many children who ended up with severe mental health problems, bowies mom included) and generational mental illness took on him is often skimmed over or not necessarily as dived into as with other artists (and I guess I see why because there’s just SO MUCH with bowie). I also think all of this directly contributed to his obsession with otherness, being othered, the other etc. also seemed to have a sort of chip on his shoulder about the working class nature of his beginnings (don’t we all babe! “my arrogant working class nonchalance” etc etc) that I think rears itself in his work more than people give it credit for (and once again….feeling othered). Here are some various things I’ve collected that I think are helpful in painting a picture of his childhood

and these three videos:

(X)

(X)

(X)

I feel like Bowie simultaneously had a large amount of guilt for being the one who “got out” and wasn’t stuck in an insane asylum like his brother or lobotomized or dead while also suffering greatly from mental health issues himself, that he struggled even more so to deal with because of his (wholly justified, I mean look at his family history) disgust if the mental health world.

Bowie’s adolescence in London I think is very often over looked when painting a picture of him as well I think. You have a boy who comes from this very cold family he thinks can’t understand him and obviously have nothing really to offer him in a monetary sense or a start in life besides his mom trying desperately to get him to be an electricians apprentice at one point etc etc. and as he talks about he already felt so othered and alone, that he seeks out love in places someone his age shouldn’t be seeking out love (namely older men, which is dangerous on numerous counts at this time) and you have situations like him being sexually assaulted (see: At The Birth of Bowie) and generally being put into situations where he was sleeping with men at a very young age for either a place to stay “in the center of things”, he was sleeping with nearly all of his managers up until he got rid of managers entirely etc. which I do think colored a lot of the ways he viewed his own sexuality from early on. I feel like these feelings are all laid out very clearly on a song like London Boys, or John I’m Only Dancing or the Sweet Thing suite like he was a very desperate young man in many ways.

I also think his life long addiction and struggle with drugs and alcohol (that he really never conquered till the VERY end if he ever really did) is an integral part of his narrative, but that’s another long rambling post.

[bunnyseahorse-blog]

I don’t feel like my therapist is listening, so I fired him, and I don't even feel bad.

I have half a dozen serious mental illness diagnosis and medical issues. When I applied for disability I was approved in three months (usually takes longer from what I'm told) and almost immediately moved from their metaphorical “she might get better” to “she’s going to be receiving benefits for life” pile.

The doctor I saw from age 7 to 30 advised me not to drive because of my condition that causes me frequent fainting.

She suggested I not live alone because I have delusions, mood swings and sometimes need to be hospitalized. I saw this doctor for 23 years, and also went to other specialists that agreed with her. I saw her until she was retired.

My general doctor says that even though I am overweight she is pleased with my glucose and cholesterol levels. My old, and also my new psychiatrists agreed with her.

My parents say I can live with them and have support. They are actually creating an expansion on the house so I can live on my own sort of and still have them nearby. My eldest sibling is inheriting the house when my parents die and they will rent to me until I die. We don't always get along, but I am trying, and we are navigating our unique dynamic so we can make it work.

This new therapist I’ve been seeing keeps insisting I go off disability, get a job, move out of my family’s house, live alone, and lose weight. Because I’m too old to “mooch off my parents.” He made comments from the get go about my weight. I am overweight yes, but he's not a doctor or nurtritionist. I am not experiencing any health issues because of my weight, which is partly due to my medical conditions and my meds. He made a comment once that i should show some pride in myself and not wear a beanie to sessions "do something nice with my hair." He told me once my shoulders looked smaller and I must be doing better. I was thinking.... do I have fat shoulders too??

I am going to a session today to explain to him nicely that he needs to let me set my own goals, and also educate him on how my life really is. I don’t think therapists should require educating. If he doesn’t get it, I’m leaving the session but I’m giving it a shot anyways.

I’m scared and I’m angry. Wish me luck? I don't want to be a project for him. I want to talk about things in sessions that i need to, not what he considers on his own agenda.

EDIT: I went to the session and voiced my concerns about he got a little defensive, but eventually seemed to see what i was saying and switched his focus to what I told him my goals were. However... I wanted a therapist to help me work through my abandonment issues and trauma, not a life coach to push me. I think i might find someone with a different focus is good. (plus him getting defensive isn't a great sign to me) he also insinuated that my little sister, who he has heard off, never met and never examined, is mentally handicapped because of one of her birth parents. We've had her tested, and everyone seems to be saying she's very sharp and doesn't have what her birth mom has. He also asked what my doctor of 23 years even did for me. I was like... diagnosed me with everything I have? Oh but according to him, diagnoses aren't relevant. I have a condition similar to schizophrenia, and yes you should know if you have that....

Also... I signed something saying he could have access to the last notes of my previous therapist, since I have extensive history but he apparently never got it, never told me he didn't get it, and wants me to go through the process again. I feel like the office dropped the ball, because I signed it already.

I think it might be time to move on... I canceled my next appointment. I feel like I should be able to find someone who listens better, and is there to help me, not fix me into things I am not capable of. Having him insist I am wrong and lazy for excepting my limitations, after the long grieving process that came with becoming permanently disabled at 26, has been upsetting, because I keep doubting myself, even though I know I have done the right things.