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whosscruffylooking · 2 months ago

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The Purest Things: Envy (Lo-Fi) Part 1

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: Mentions of guns, shootings, bombings, and other canon typical violence. Brief use of alcohol. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2008

Bookend: "Success is not built on success. It's built on failure. It's built on frustration. Sometimes it's built on catastrophe." - Sumner Redstone

The jet hums steadily as you settle into your seat, the team taking their places around you. The weight of the case looms large, even before you’ve touched down in New York. A shadowy figure roamed Manhattan, shooting people in broad daylight. You can already feel the tension building.

Rossi leans forward, his voice cutting through the low hum of the jet. “The victims?”

“Each shot in a completely different neighborhood,” Hotch responds. “Hell’s Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter, still trying to wrap your mind around it.

“The killings are happening roughly every two days,” Hotch continues, his voice steady. “The press is having a field day, and it sounds like the mood on the street’s getting pretty tense.”

Rossi, always focused, presses on. “It’s a joint FBI-NYPD task force?”

Hotch gives a short nod. “Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of her name. She called him directly. That little detail catches your attention, even though you try not to show it.

“Oh?” You ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

“Kate’s starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes,” Hotch explains, his tone businesslike.

“Joyner, I know her. She’s a Brit,” Morgan chimes in, clearly familiar with her.

“Dual citizenship,” Hotch corrects. “Her father’s British, her mother’s American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau.”

His quick correction catches you off guard. There’s something about the way he highlights her credentials that leaves a strange knot in your stomach.

“I heard she can be a pain in the ass,” Morgan adds with a grin.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch replies without hesitation.

You can’t help but blink, surprised at the way Hotch speaks about her so easily. It’s not just the words, but the way he says them—like he’s familiar with her in a way you hadn’t realized.

“You know her?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. The question hangs in the air, and you feel a strange hint of something—curiosity, maybe, or something else you’re not ready to name.

Hotch nods, his tone neutral. “We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

Liaised. You repeat the word in your head, trying not to overthink it, but it sounds so formal. So… familiar.

“You liaised,” you echo with a soft chuckle, keeping your tone light. You’re not sure why it even matters or why you’re suddenly more interested in this Kate Joyner than the case itself.

Hotch’s expression remains indistinct, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost like he caught the edge in your voice. “She’s a competent agent,” he says, turning his attention back to the discussion as if that settles everything.

“She must be good,” Prentiss reacts, and you’re almost dreading Hotch’s response. Of course, he replies without delay.

“I think we’re lucky to have her,” he says, a softness creeping into his voice as he speaks her name.

Hearing Hotch speak about her with such ease—admiration, respect—tugs at something inside you, leaving you momentarily off balance. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just the suspense of the case, and force your focus back where it belongs.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You walk into the field office, curiosity rising inside you—though you’d never admit it. Hotch seems almost… lighter as he steps through the door, and it’s throwing you off. This entire situation feels strange like you’ve wandered into some alternate reality where you’re just an observer in Hotch’s orbit.

And then you see her. Kate Joyner. Blonde, blue-eyed, perfectly put together, down to the last strand of hair. The kind of woman who looks effortlessly in control. You think to yourself, who does she remind me of?

JJ leans in, her voice low and laced with humor as she glances toward you and Penelope. “Is it me, or does she look exactly like Haley?”

Bingo. Your eyes widen as realization clicks into place. “This feels like we are in an episode of The Twilight Zone,” you whisper back, half-joking, half-serious.

And then it happens. “Aaron!” Kate calls out warmly, her British accent smoothing out every syllable.

You blink. His first name? Out in the open like that? You’re pretty sure he only recently gave you that privilege, and now it feels… less exclusive.

Hotch doesn’t miss a beat. “Kate Joyner, this is David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, and Spencer Reid.”

And then nothing. No mention of you. Just like that, you’re invisible.

“And I’m Y/N,” you say, a little too quickly. You try to sound casual, but there’s a harshness to it that betrays your irritation.

Hotch’s eyes flick to you—briefly. If there’s an apology in that glance, it’s buried deep, because he turns his attention back to Kate without missing a beat.

“Thanks for being here,” Kate says, her smile effortless and her tone gracious. “Anything you need, just let me know. No need to stand on protocol.” Of course, she has a perfect accent too. Naturally.

You’re still trying to figure out why this whole exchange has unsettled you when Emily leans closer, smirking just enough to be dangerous. “They liaised at Scotland Yard,” she whispers, drawing out the word.

You shoot her a look, but she just raises an eyebrow knowingly. JJ suppresses a snicker beside you.

Okay, maybe this isn’t jealousy. Maybe it’s just… mild confusion. Mixed with a tiny sprinkle of irritation. You linger near JJ, pretending to review files as you process whatever it is you’re feeling.

Whatever it is, you’re pretty sure you don’t like it.

You find Hotch engrossed in a quiet conversation with Rossi. His focus is razor-sharp, as always, but you can’t shake the nagging irritation from earlier. The question has been bouncing around in your head ever since you introduced yourself to Kate, and you know it’s not going to leave you alone until you address it.

Taking a steadying breath, you make your way over. Rossi catches your approach and gives you a brief nod before excusing himself, leaving you and Hotch alone.

“Aaron,” you say, keeping your voice calm, and casual.

He turns to you, brow furrowing slightly. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” you reply, though the word feels tight on your tongue. You cross your arms, looking him straight in the eye. “I just wanted to ask—was there a reason you didn’t introduce me earlier? To Kate?”

For a split second, his expression tenses, as though he’s surprised by the question. Then his features settle back into that familiar neutrality. “It wasn’t intentional,” he says curtly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t feel that way.”

He exhales, glancing toward Kate’s office as if to gauge whether you’ll be overheard. “I was focused on the case, on briefing her about the team. It wasn’t a deliberate omission.”

You tilt your head, studying him. His explanation makes sense—you’ve seen how single-minded he can get when it comes to work. But still, something about being overlooked like that doesn’t sit right.

“Okay,” you say after a moment, your tone lighter now. “But for the record, being left out isn’t exactly a great feeling. Especially when everyone else got the full introduction.”

Hotch’s gaze meets yours, steady and sincere. “You’re right,” he says, and there’s no defensiveness in his voice—just a quiet acknowledgment. “It won’t happen again.”

You nod, satisfied—for now. But just as you’re about to say something else, Kate’s voice cuts through the air, pulling both of your attention toward her office.

“Aaron?” she calls, standing in the doorway, her tone brisk and professional. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

Hotch glances at her, then back at you. There’s a flicker of hesitation like he’s not quite ready to end the conversation.

“We’ll finish this later,” he says quietly, almost as though it’s a promise.

“Sure,” you reply, forcing a small smile as he heads toward Kate’s office.

You try to focus on the file in your hands, but your gaze keeps drifting toward Kate’s office, where Hotch is standing. The blinds are partially open, giving you an unobstructed view as they talk. It’s nothing inappropriate—just two professionals discussing a case—but something about the way he stands so close to her, his posture relaxed but attentive, gnaws at you.

She says something, and he nods, his expression calm and composed. You can’t hear them, but the way Kate gestures, assured and poised, makes it clear she’s the one leading the conversation. It shouldn’t bother you. It’s work. It’s Hotch being Hotch—focused, professional, unreadable.

Still, you can’t seem to stop watching.

“Tell me it’s not just me,” Derek’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He’s leaning against a desk nearby, arms crossed as he follows your line of sight.

You blink, trying to shake off the weight in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head toward the office. “Her. Joyner.” His mouth pulls into a slight frown. “Something about her makes me feel uneasy. Can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but…”

You glance at him, surprised. For a moment, you consider agreeing outright, but your reasons feel different—murkier—than his.

“I don’t know,” you say carefully, tearing your gaze away from the office window. “Maybe it’s just her style. She’s confident and assertive. Maybe that throws people off.”

Derek gives you a look, one that says he knows you’re deflecting. “Nah. It’s more than that. She’s got this energy. It's ikeshe’s not afraid to step on toes. It puts me on edge.”

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on the case file now instead of the window. “Or maybe it’s just because she’s new and already running point.”

It’s a plausible enough answer, but you can’t help the tug of discomfort in your chest, the one that’s been sitting there since Hotch introduced her—since she called him Aaron.

Derek doesn’t let it go so easily this time. He pushes off the desk and strolls over, dropping a heavy hand onto your shoulder with a grin. “She’s not my Y/N. You’ll be bossing us all around soon, even Hotch.”

You snort at that, shaking your head as his words pull a reluctant smile from you. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious.” He pulls you into a brief, reassuring hug, his voice low and genuine. “Give it time, hot stuff. Nobody’s got what you’ve got, and don’t you forget it.”

His words settle something in you, even if only a little. When you glance back toward Kate’s office again, you don’t linger. You still feel that tug—something strange—but maybe Derek’s right.

Maybe it’s not about her at all. Maybe it’s about you and where you’re headed.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

For the first time in months, Hotch has assigned you to work separately from him. It’s odd—like a piece of your routine has shifted without warning. Adjusting isn’t easy, but you remind yourself that versatility is part of the job. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that his decision wasn’t entirely random.

At the field office, you’re working with Emily and Spencer, pouring over files and maps. The case feels impossible—five neighborhoods, five victims, no clear connection. Every lead seems to dissolve as quickly as it appears.

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Five victims, five locations, zero correlation. It’s maddening.”

Emily nods, tapping her pen against the table. “Tell me about it. Could this really be random?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No such thing as true randomness, not in cases like this. The Unsub is making deliberate choices. We’re just not seeing the pattern yet.”

You glance at the map, your frustration brewing. “What if the victims aren’t the point? What if this isn’t about who they are but what they represent? This could be a test—a way for the Unsub to refine their methods before escalating.”

Spencer pauses, considering your theory. “That would explain the lack of a clear victimology. If this is a precursor to something bigger, they don’t need specific targets yet.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “So we’re dealing with someone in training. That’s comforting.”

You gesture to the map. “Think about it. Hell’s Kitchen, Murray Hill, Chinatown, East Harlem. These aren’t personal locations for the victims, but they’re all high-traffic areas. If this is a test, the Unsub is challenging themselves—choosing chaotic places where they can prove they’re in control.”

Spencer nods slowly. “It fits. The precision of the killings—broad daylight, crowded areas, no witnesses who can pin them at the scene. They’re perfecting their process.”

Emily sighs, crossing her arms. “And when they decide they’re ready? What then?”

“They’ll escalate,” you say grimly. “Target specific victims, make bigger statements, maybe both.”

Spencer taps his pen against the desk. “If this is a test, we’re looking for patterns that have nothing to do with the victims. Timing, locations, routes in and out of the crime scenes.”

Emily leans back. “So we’re chasing ghosts. Great.”

You glance at the files again, determination hardening in your chest. “Maybe we’re thinking too much like investigators. If we want to stop this, we need to think like the Unsub. What are they getting out of this?”

Spencer’s eyes light up as he nods. “If we figure that out, we can predict their next move.”

Emily sighs, brushing a hand through her hair. “Looks like another long night staring at maps. Lucky us.”

You smirk faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “Glamorous life of the BAU.”

Spencer smiles briefly, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. You glance back at the map, if this Unsub wants to play a game, you’re going to make sure they lose.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Another killing. Another killing, and somehow, Hotch remembered to inform everyone but you. You arrive at the scene, scanning the cluster of agents and officers until your eyes land on Hotch. He’s standing next to Kate, speaking quietly, while the rest of the team is scattered nearby. You linger on the edge of the scene, unsure whether to join them or not.

Derek notices you first and heads your way, his brow furrowed. “Where were you, hot stuff?”

You let out a scoff. “Funny, I was wondering the same about all of you.”

He tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“No one told me there was another killing,” you say, your tone sharper than you intended. “I was sent to look into some security footage—missing timestamps from the last murder—and when I got back, everyone was gone. No message, no call, nothing.” You shift from one leg to the other, the frustration bubbling to the surface.

Derek places his hands on your shoulders, his voice steady. “Talk to me.”

You glance over at Hotch, then back at Derek, hesitating. “I just don’t get it,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “On every other case, Hotch makes a point of keeping me in the loop. He’s always made sure I feel like part of the team. But the second we land here, it’s like I don’t even exist. He forgets to introduce me, doesn’t give me a clear assignment, and now I’m out of the loop on major developments. It’s bull crap.”

Derek’s eyes soften. “You need to talk to him.”

You shake your head. “Why should I? He won’t talk to me. So what��s the point?”

“Because you’re stronger than this,” Derek says firmly, pulling you into a quick side hug. “And because letting it stew won’t do you any good. You’re a badass, hot stuff. He knows it, I know it, and soon enough, the whole damn field office will know it too.”

Despite your frustration, his words draw a reluctant smile from you. “You think?”

He grins. “I know.”

For the rest of the day, Derek stays close, making sure you’re involved in conversations and helping you stay engaged with the case. His steady presence eases the frustration building up inside you, but every time you glance at Hotch and Kate, the knot in your chest tightens again.

What you don’t notice is how often Hotch’s gaze shifts toward you—always quick, always subtle—but Derek sees it. He catches it the third time and leans in with a grin. “He’s watching you, you know.”

You look up at him, confused. “What?”

Derek smirks. “Hotch. He’s been glancing your way all day. Maybe he’s finally realizing he’s been neglecting you.”

You sneer, brushing it off. “He’s just focused on the case.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, not convinced. “I don’t think that’s all of it.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

As the team regroups back at the field office, Emily signals that there’s new surveillance footage to review. She pulls up the most recent shooting first, then switches to the footage from the previous murder.

“This is the latest shooting,” Emily says, then switches the footage. “And this is from the previous one. Anything stand out?”

Derek squints at the screen, leaning forward. “He sprints off in one, and walks calmly in the other.”

You nod, your mind racing. “It’s two entirely different demeanors.”

As Garcia shows you her analyzed footage, a thought starts to form. You look at the images more closely and it hits you.

“We’ve got more than one unsub,” you say at the same time as Hotch, your words overlapping.

You both glance at each other briefly before quickly looking away.

“This fits perfectly with what Y/N profiled earlier,” Emily says, looking between you and Hotch.

Hotch turns toward you, his gaze steady. “Care to share?”

You feel a flash of frustration at his sudden interest—finally giving you a chance to speak. You bite back the urge to snap and instead take a deep breath. You’ve been holding this theory all day, and now it feels like you’re finally being heard, but not without the irritation of waiting so long.

“The victims aren’t being targeted. They’re just part of something bigger. I think these killings are a test," You take a deep breath, " after the last killing, I think they’re testing something. It’s not about the victims, they're collateral to them—it’s about the timing, the reactions. I think this is all just a distraction from their end goal.”

The room falls silent, the weight of your words settling over the team.

Kate nods thoughtfully. “Do you think we have enough for a working profile?”

You glance at Hotch, hoping for some acknowledgment.

He meets your eyes briefly before turning back to the team. “I think we need to go in a different direction with the profile. Let’s focus on refining the behavior patterns we’ve seen so far.”

Your stomach tightens as he brushes past your theory without a second glance. You stay silent, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. You had worked hard on that profile, and now it feels as if it’s been dismissed without much thought.

As the team begins to disperse, you try to shake off the aggravation that rises in your chest.

Derek steps into your personal space, his voice lowered so only you can hear. “You need to talk to him, Y/N. Don’t let this simmer.”

You hesitate, biting your lip, unsure. “I don’t know if it’ll even matter.”

Derek places a hand on your shoulder, his gaze steady as he looks you in the eye. “Trust me. It will. Talk to him.”

Your heart races at the thought of confronting Hotch, but Derek gives you one last reassuring smile before shifting his focus back to the case.

You find Hotch standing near the whiteboard, looking over the latest updates. The sight of him, the way he stands so tall and composed, only makes the knot in your stomach tighten. You’ve been avoiding this moment for too long, but Derek’s words keep echoing in your mind. You can’t let it go on any longer.

You take a deep breath, making your way toward him. The sound of your footsteps seems to get louder the closer you get, and for a moment, you hesitate. But you push through, walking up to him with purpose.

“Hotch,” you say, your voice stable, though there’s a trace of annoyance that you can’t quite mask.

He turns to face you, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a touch of surprise. “Y/N,” he responds, his voice tranquil, as always.

“I need to talk to you,” you begin, your tone a bit blunter than intended.

His brow furrows slightly, but he nods, gesturing toward the office. “Let’s go.”

Once inside, you close the door behind you, feeling the weight of the space between the two of you.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice low and controlled.

You take a breath before speaking, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Why haven’t you been including me? I’ve been sidelined, Hotch. You completely disregarded introducing me as a member of the team, didn’t give me a proper assignment, and even kept me in the dark about updates. Now, you don't even consider my profile. I don’t get it.”

Hotch’s eyes darken slightly, and he exhales slowly like he’s been expecting this. “It’s not about you, Y/N. It’s about Kate.”

You blink, caught off guard by his response. “Kate?” you repeat, your voice rising in disbelief. “What the hell does Kate have to do with this?”

Hotch shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “She’s been under a lot of pressure from higher-ups. Her job’s on the line, and the two top contenders for her role are you and Derek. She sees you as the biggest threat. You're new blood and rising fast in rank among the top FBI prospects.”

Anger flares in your chest. “So you’re just going to let her undermine me because you don’t want to hurt her feelings? You’re sacrificing me and the team for her job security? What about the safety of innocent people if my profile is right? Because I know it is.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt, so you continue, your voice shaking with bitterness. “I’ve worked my ass off to prove myself, Hotch. I’m not some fragile rookie, I’m part of this team. I don’t even want the damn job, but for you to throw me under the bus to spare her feelings? That’s not just wrong—it’s disrespectful.”

You can see the conflict on his face, but it only makes you more upset. “And you want to know the worst part? For someone who’s supposed to be one of the best profilers out there, you have zero concept of how to be a good friend. You’re so focused on making sure everyone else is okay that you’re neglecting the people who actually have your back.”

The words hang between you, sharp and raw. Hotch doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze intense as if he’s trying to process everything you just said. It feels like an eternity before he speaks.

“I’m not trying to make you feel insignificant, Y/N,” he says, his voice more delicate now, tinged with regret. “I didn’t want to add more pressure to Kate. I didn’t want her to lose focus. I wanted to protect the team.”

“I get that you’re trying to protect her,” you cut in, your frustration still simmering. “But Hotch, please remember that I had other job offers before joining the BAU—offers I worked years to even be considered for. I chose the BAU because I wanted to, not because I had to. I’d like to pull my weight here. You said it yourself—I have nothing to prove.”

Hotch stands up, closing the distance between you. His eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding. “I’m sorry. I should’ve handled it differently.”

“You should’ve been honest with me,” you say, the offense still lacing your words, though it’s starting to fade. “Don’t sacrifice me, Hotch. I’m not asking for special treatment, I’m asking for respect.”

With that, you turn to leave, the door clicking softly behind you. But before you step out, you pause, glancing back at him one last time.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You and the team arrive back at the hotel, and you find yourself lazing in the lobby, doing your best to avoid Hotch. Then you spot Will LaMontagne, JJ’s boyfriend, sitting off to the side.

“JJ?” you ask, gesturing over to him.

“Will!” she says, but her voice doesn’t quite match her usual tone of surprise. It’s more apprehensive.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” Will says, clearly uncomfortable. “I know you’re working, but… I can’t stand you being on this case and me not being there.”

Hotch steps forward, ever the professional. “Is something the matter?”

JJ takes a deep breath before turning to you all. “Uh… I’m pregnant.”

You and Emily gasp in unison and rush over to her, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Congratulations!” you both exclaim, genuinely excited for her.

Will then drops a quiet bombshell, revealing that he’s also asked JJ to marry him.

“Well, uh, we’ll give you both some privacy,” Hotch says his demeanor different. Something’s weighing on him since your conversation back at the office. He quickly excuses himself, and JJ follows after him.

You make your way to the bar, where Derek is already seated. You take a seat next to him, your thoughts still tangled in the events of the day.

“Did you know?” you ask, looking at him.

Derek tilts his head, confused. “Did I know what?”

“When you told me to talk to Hotch, did you know why he sidelined me?” you question.

He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “No, I didn’t. I just hate seeing him treat the one person who really gets through to him like this.”

“Well,” you chuckle softly, “after I finished with him, I don’t think anything’s changed. You gonna take the job?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he replies. “Rossi asked to talk with me about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, it’s yours. They’d never choose me now, anyway. That’s what I don’t get about her jealousy. I’m too young, too new. Now, replacing you? That’s a different story. I’m coming for your spot in a couple of years.”

He laughs, handing you his drink. “You never fail to make me smile, hot stuff.” He pauses for a moment before leaning in a little, his voice lowering. “Now tell me, what did you say to Hotch in there?”

You groan, regretting the onslaught of words. “I told him that for one of the greatest profilers in the world, he has no clue how to be a good friend.”

“Damn,” Morgan smiles, his eyes wide with admiration. “Respect.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Even if I did have a shot at that job, he definitely won’t be recommending me now.”

Derek grabs his drink back and takes a slow sip of his drink, swirling it in his glass before answering. “Something tells me he wouldn’t have, anyway. I don’t think he wants you leaving his team.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The next day, another shooting occurs. Even worse, the detective Emily was paired with was shot during the pursuit of the unsub. Thankfully, Emily managed to take him down.

At the scene, you and Derek approach Emily, eager to hear her side of the story.

“I shouldn’t have had to shoot him,” she says, her voice tinged with disturbance. “He was ahead of us. He would have gotten away, but he stopped and waited.”

You scramble to connect the dots to your profile, trusting your instincts that you’re still on the right track.

Emily continues, “His hands were steady. His eyes were dead calm. These guys have been hyper-vigilant, organized. They do pre-surveillance. What are the odds they’d shoot someone two blocks from where Cooper and I were standing?”

“It was deliberate,” you say, the pieces finally falling into place. “He knew you were there.”

“It’s almost like suicide by cop,” she concludes, her tone heavy.

You rush to find Hotch and Rossi, finally catching sight of them. “Hotch, my profile…”

Rossi cuts you off. “She’s on the right track. We have multiple unsubs. They’re disciplined, using counter-surveillance. They know the FBI’s movements. There’s a hierarchy. What does that usually mean?”

Hotch turns to you, his expression grave. “Terrorism.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Back in the office, the team gathers to present the profile, though it’s clear they’re pulling heavily from the theory you provided earlier. Emily steps forward to address the group.

“The murderers simulate a bombing,” she begins. “They station someone to watch and gauge police response times. Once they have the timing down, they know when the perfect time would be to deploy a second bomb to target first responders and civilians alike.”

Derek nods thoughtfully. “It’s organized, calculated. Just like Y/N said, it’s all a practice run.”

Spencer adds, “The precision makes sense. They’re testing variables: response times, panic levels, and procedural weaknesses. It’s not just random—it’s tactical.”

Kate folds her arms. “It’s lo-fi but brilliant. A perfect way to plan for a larger terrorist event. Good work.”

You remain silent at the back of the room, arms crossed as you listen. The profile is solid—but something feels off, a subtle gap they’re missing. The foundation is yours, but the execution isn’t quite there. The unsub’s true intent still eludes them, and you can feel it, grinding at the edges of your mind.

Hotch steps in. “Keep in mind, this is just a working theory. We’ll adjust as more evidence comes in.”

Your jaw tightens at his words. That’s it—no acknowledgment of your initial input, no recognition for the groundwork you laid. Just the same dismissive tone, the same lack of validation. Your irritation builds beneath the surface as the team begins to disperse.

Derek claps you on the shoulder as he passes. “Good work, hot stuff. Don’t let it get to you. We couldn't have done this without you.”

Spencer offers a small nod, his quiet approval something you’ve come to appreciate. Emily flashes you a brief, supportive smile, while Kate exits with her usual morale, already discussing next steps with Rossi.

You linger, watching as Hotch strides toward the hallway, Kate falling into step beside him. Their voices are low, and professional, but seeing him leave without so much as a glance in your direction feels like a punch to the gut.

The room empties, leaving you alone with your thoughts. They’re close—but not close enough. The missing pieces feel just out of reach, and the weight of being unheard settles heavily over you.

Nothing has changed.

Hours pass, and the office quiets. You’re alone with your thoughts, replaying everything in your head, when suddenly you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. You glance up and see an officer rush to the television, changing the channel.

“Explosion in Manhattan—” the newscaster begins, but before he can continue, you’re already on your feet, adrenaline surging.

You reach for your phone, dialing Garcia’s number, but before it rings, the officer shouts, “Federal Plaza. FBI field office 26.”

Your stomach drops.

You can’t breathe.

Garcia picks up on the second ring. “Y/N, I—”

“Tell me who was there,” you demand, your voice tight with panic.

“I don’t know,” she answers, a shakiness in her voice. “But we’re trying to get the footage. Just… just hold on.”

You don’t wait. You’re already running for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

The cold reality of the situation crashes over you, but you can’t stop now.

As you rush to your car, Garcia’s voice crackles through the phone: “Y/N, I—wait, I have it. It’s… Hotch. And Kate.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #criminal minds imagine #hotch x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner series #the purest things series #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner headcanon

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haytan · 16 days ago

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FROST MELODY | G.A

I really enjoyed writing this, it's something simple and cute. I listened to tiwfl on loop and some vintage classics while writing, like the cranberries, in case you want something that matches the vibe...

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 2626

𓍼 SUMMARY: you and gracie spending time in the studio producing cedar

𓍼 WARNINGS: fluff

the sky is partly cloudy as you walk through crowded streets of new york. the ground is covered in dry leaves thanks to autumn, and you might even hear them crunching underfoot if it weren’t for the blaring car horns around you.

your destination is the a train line, which connects harlem to your neighborhood. you walk slowly, watching people come and go, soaking in the calm of a saturday afternoon. along the way, a few men in suits talk rapidly on their phones, looking rushed as they pass by— a typical east side sight.

the station isn’t far, and the distant sound of the subway blends with the city’s constant noise. you reach the entrance to the platform, glancing at the tracks that will soon fill up, but you don’t go in. the plan is simple: pick up your girlfriend and head back to the studio.

after the huge success of your last album, you managed to save up enough money to buy a space to produce your music somewhere other than your bedroom.

and to make things even better, recently, both you and gracie received an offer to compose music for screen projects. so, although the studio was mostly an excuse to spend more intimate time with gracie, today would be different.

you're pulled from your thoughts when you see a long-haired woman climbing the stairs, looking around in confusion.

"hey," you say as she approaches, not even noticing you there.

"you scared me," gracie says with a shy smile. "i didn’t even see you."

"i noticed," you smile softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. the taste of cherry lipstick mixed with her own never fails to be perfect.

"we need to talk about you walking around new york like this—it’s dangerous," you tease as you pull away, and she intertwines her fingers with yours.

"hm, no, we really don’t." her cheeks are slightly flushed, and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the kiss. the two of you start walking back the way you came—autumn leaves, car horns, hurried men. "i have you, i don’t need anything else."

your own cheeks warm slightly. even though your relationship isn’t new, gracie always manages to catch you off guard.

"a little too dependent, don’t you think?"

"i call it love."

a soft giggle escapes your lips, a melody only abrams gets to hear. "you’re impossible."

…

after almost eight minutes of walking, you arrive at the studio—or at least what you insist on calling a studio. in reality, it’s a small apartment on 59th street near central park, but it has everything you need: good equipment, a comfortable couch, and it's right next to the best donut shop on the east side.

gracie takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack by the door. she throws herself onto the large couch against the wall with a sigh of relief. the soft evening light filters through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. "so, i was thinking we could help each other," She says in her usual calm voice.

"hm?" you murmur, still focused on turning on the computer, adjusting the mixer, and setting the air conditioning.

"help each other," she crosses her legs on the couch, her expression light, almost playful

you slowly turn in your swivel chair, now paying attention to her. "i thought we were already going to do that."

"yeah, i mean, we are." she sits up, a little more serious now. "but i was thinking we could do more—like… you could do backing vocals for my song, and i could do the same for yours. if you want, of course."

your expression turns thoughtful for a moment, gaze softening as you weigh the idea. "I like it, but are you sure? That means a lot of paperwork, credits, and stuff."

gracie nods, her expression gentle and reassuring. she always has this way of calming you down with a simple gesture. "i'm ready to deal with that."

you smile, feeling lighter, and nod before turning back to the equipment. the space feels comfortable, like a secret garden, and her presence makes it even more welcoming.

later, daylight fades into shadows, making it necessary to turn on the led strip in the corner of the studio. gracie sits at the keyboard, playing the same notes repeatedly, experimenting with small variations.

she plays a progression, then hums softly, testing. her voice fills the space with a melancholic sweetness.

"it's impossible to acclimate

every time we talk, we understate…”

a familiar shiver runs up your arms. it’s always like this when gracie sings—there’s something in her voice that cuts deep, like light rain on a cold day, mixed with the warmth of blankets.

she stops, frowning. "the chorus still doesn't fit. i want the melody to be different from the first one, something that builds up emotion for the second verse."

you lean back in your chair, reaching for the guitar beside you, letting your fingers glide over the strings slowly, repeating the intro melody. "how about this?" then, start a slightly faster rhythm, capturing the tension of the lyrics.

gracie watches you, then mirrors the melody on the keyboard, adjusting it to her tone. "this… this could work," she murmurs, focused. her eyes shine the way they always do when she finds something that musically makes sense. "can you do it again? but with the rest of the lyrics?"

a subtle smile forms on your lips, a quiet sense of pride settling in. "of course." you place her journal in front of the monitor, strumming the guitar again, this time accompanied by gracie on the keyboard.

"it's impossible to acclimate

every time we talk, we understate

how we know we both could die, we both could die

but you told me that you felt the same

when i told you how i needed space

but i think it was a lie, it was a lie…”

as soon as you finish, you glance at her, feeling a little nervous about her reaction. You’ve spent countless nights on calls writing silly songs together, most of which end up discarded, but this is the first time you actually change something of hers.

"okay, that was good," she says, her smile widening.

you chuckle softly, tilting your head to the side out of habit. "i think we’ve got something."

"i love doing this with you." eyes warm, the kind that crinkle just slightly at the corners.

"me too, babe."

the next few hours pass in silence, filled with experiments, note adjustments, and timing tweaks. despite working together, both of you are used to creating alone—there’s no denying that.

when it’s no longer possible to stay inside your own head, the recording begins. gracie steps into the booth, separated from the production room by a large glass panel. from your side, among the equipment, you watch her position herself in front of the microphone.

gracie sings, you record. she sings again, you re-record. when she misses a note, she laughs, and you just throw your head back, laughing with her. adjustments are made—a section cut here, another repeated there. the cycle continues, unhurried, until you’re both satisfied.

"okay, just one more time," she says, snapping her fingers as if that might somehow improve her performance.

"love, i’m not saying this just because i’m your girlfriend, but you already sound incredible," you speak into the microphone, holding the button that activates it.

"y/n."

"you’re the boss."

when you can finally say the song is almost ready, you both pause. you stretch your arms above your head while gracie massages her face.

"want to come take a look?"

"definitely."

she steps out of the booth excited, and without hesitation sits on your lap. you wrap your arms around her and press a light kiss to her shoulder. when gracie hits play, the song named Cedar begins to play.

first the keyboard. something calm, classical. then, her voice emerges. the introduction is delicate, the chorus melancholic, and, as intended, the bridge brings tension and anxiety—an intense mix of instruments. her head moves subtly to the rhythm, and fingers mimicking the keys, as if the music is flowing through her.

"fuck," she whispers when the bridge falls perfectly into the third verse.

the song ends, leaving you both in silence. but it only lasts a few seconds before gracie lets out a long sigh.

"it’s good," she says, almost as if convincing herself.

"good?" you raise an eyebrow.

she shifts in your lap, still looking at the screen, analyzing every second of the song on the software’s timeline. "i don’t know… maybe the bridge needs something more. like, a soft choir in the background? something to build it up a bit?"

you press your lips together, thoughtful, and rewind a few seconds. the bridge plays again, and now you try to listen more carefully, searching for empty spaces.

"maybe some subtle vocals, just to add texture." she says, now looking at you, waiting for consent.

"that’s exactly what i was going to say."

gracie gives a satisfied smile and gets up from your lap, stretching her arms. "okay, last thing for the night, i promise."

"empty promises, abrams."

she giggles and heads back into the booth, adjusting her headphones. "i’ll do a few layers, and then you tell me which works best."

her voice fills the studio once again, now in soft fragments. melodic whispers, discreet harmonies layering until the sound gains more depth. you adjust the volumes, test combinations, and when you finally find the right balance, you look at gracie through the glass.

"now we got it," she says, satisfied.

you hit play once more. the bridge now has new depth, and the transition into the third verse feels more intense, almost cinematic.

gracie leans against the glass, resting her forehead on it, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

"now we got it," you repeat, this time with more conviction.

noticing how tired she is, you take off your headphones and stand up, crossing the room to where she is. "why don’t you sit on the couch for a bit? i’ll order something from that donut place, and we can listen a few more times to make sure it’s how we want it."

she sighs and moves away from the glass, but instead of heading straight for the couch, she walks toward you. gracie wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. "i love you, you know?"

you chuckle softly, sliding your hands down her back. "i love you too, baby."

and that’s that. gracie throws herself onto the couch, resting her legs over your lap while you pick the flavors. in the end, you settle on a deal: two savory donuts, two sweet, matcha for her and black coffee for you.

when you return with the food, she’s listening to the song again—not a surprise. gracie always revisits everything a thousand times before considering it done.

"fresh food," you announce, balancing the bags in your hands.

she looks up intrigued, a small smile playing on her lips. "hmm, smells good." then, she gets comfortable on the couch, ready to eat.

you settle in together, gracie resting her head on your shoulder while you gaze out the window. from your building you can see the famous wollman rink among the trees of central park. however, it is not yet an ice rink, but rather a large space under assembly, covered in scaffolding and trolleys.

as you devour the donuts in silence, you remember something—a bit of news you’ve been meaning to share with your girlfriend. after all, whenever she had good gossip, you were always the first to know. "you know towa?"

"your guitarist friend? the one who looks like conan?"

you snicker, shaking your head. "yeah, her." your arm stretches to grab your coffee. "so, guess who she’s been involved with?"

gracie pauses, furrowing her brows in thought. "who?"

"reneé."

she pulls away from your shoulder, looking at you, confused. "reneé? our reneé?"

you nod, confirming, and take a sip of your coffee. "yep, reneé herself told me."

"you’re serious? them?"

"uh-huh."

abrams’ eyes widen as she stares at you for a few seconds, processing the information. "omg… they have been kinda glued together lately, huh?" she says with a mischievous little laugh.

"right? that’s what i said, but she just kept denying it."

"now that you mention it, it makes sense. they were always together, but i just thought it was a friend thing, you know?"

"like us?" you tease with a smirk.

gracie shoots you a glare and lightly smacks your thigh. "don’t be ridiculous."

"ouch, i was just kidding."

after the food break, gracie stays on the couch but gets even more comfortable. you drape a light blanket over her and turn up the heat a little to help her relax.

meanwhile, you stay at the computer, listening to the song over and over, adjusting parts, removing noise, fixing small mistakes… and when it’s already two in the morning, you glance back and find gracie sleeping like a baby.

seeing her so peaceful, you allow yourself to relax too, taking off your headphones and stretching. after saving everything, you kneel in front of her, your thumb brushing through her soft hair. "hey, baby," you whisper.

she doesn’t respond, as always, so you press a light kiss to her forehead, your hand trailing to the nape of her neck. gracie usually sleeps deeply, but luckily, you already know how to wake her up.

you’ve learned that whispering in her ear never works—it just startles her and sometimes even annoys her. so instead, you keep running your fingers gently through her hair, leaving soft kisses on her forehead, waiting for her to stir.

"hm…" she mumbles, eyes slowly fluttering open. "what time is it?"

"two twenty-seven."

gracie’s eyes widen in the most adorably startled way. "oh my god."

you chuckle. "i already packed everything and called a cab. we just need to head down."

she sighs, still groggy, but gets up. another session wrapped up.

…

back home, after a warm shower, you and gracie lay together under the blankets. her fingers draw circles on your bare chest, head resting on your arm. "thank you for today, for everything, really. you weren’t just a great friend and girlfriend, but also a producer."

one of your arms is under your neck, the other on her waist beneath her shirt. "you're welcome, my love. you know you can always count on me, for anything."

"i know," she murmurs, running her fingers up your neck, making makes you shiver. "but you put up with me being such a annoying coworker."

you let out a chuckle, then lean in to give her a small kiss on the nose. "i think being your girlfriend helped a lot."

"hey!" she scolds playfully, but you both giggle.

"i love you, like, really love you. love, love."

"hmm, seriously?" gracie moves closer, rubbing her nose against yours in an eskimo kiss. "i love you too, babe. like, love, love."

with a goofy smile, you close the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a slow, warm kiss. the taste of mint and something citrusy blends with the soft touch, while gracie's fingers slide to your neck, gently tugging at your hair.

when you pull apart, you exchange a knowing look, and in a silent agreement to rest, she snuggles into your neck. your legs intertwine out of habit, and you plant a soft kiss on her forehead before closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

definitely my favorite writing of all, loves that vibe of doing daily things together, showing affection with acts of service and stuff. I can write a part two recording y/n's song, so let me know if you're interested. I plan on posting more stuff this week...

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

#˚🐇⋆hayfics!!#gracie abrams fic #gracie x reader #gracie abrams x reader #gracie abrams oneshot #gracie abrams x you #fluff

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breadraccoon · 4 months ago

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A Different World hit 300 Kudos!!!

I'm really peaking with my second fic lol. But in celebration of this fic doing so well, I thought I'd drop a preview into the next chapter.

For those who haven't read this fic and are just seeing this now, I'd highly advice checking out the whole fic: A Different World (Spider-verse Fic)

If you're continuing to read without reading the whole fic (valid, I guess), Earth-42 Gwen goes by her middle name Maxine, and Knull is currently trying to conquer Earth-42 :)

Chapter 12: Entertaining the Entertainment District (Miles-1610)

It’s all his fault.

The silence that overtook the room was suffocating.

What had he unleashed on this city?

Miles’s heart was pounding hard in his chest. If he hadn’t attacked Toxin and Fury, then Knull wouldn’t have retaliated. But if he hadn’t stopped them, they would have kidnapped more people with their chemical bombs. That didn’t mean he had to set a fire to their plants. Maybe he could have used something else to kill those plants. But- His thoughts ran cyclical as he tried to rationalize the chaos he just unleashed on this city.

“Hey, maybe you should stay here?” Prowler directed towards Max. His voice had turned impossible soft. Miles was surprised Prowler could be that tender. Prowler had his hand out reached like he wanted to hold her hand but stopped just before they could touch.

“Huh? What?” Max stepped back flabbergasted.

Prowler stepped closer. “It’s just… With everything going on with Knull, you really should be trying to lay low. That thing is probably out there looking for you. You two need to get some rest and get prepared for when one of them comes and finds you.” Prowler threw his thumb back at Miles. “I’ll handle that dip shit and get him home.”

“I- No, I need to see this through. Besides, what if you run into any symbiotes seeking revenge?” Max pushed back.

“I’ve already ran into a symbiote today. I handle it pretty well if I do say so myself.”

“YOU WHAT?!?”

Maxine started Integrating Prowler back. A mixture of concern and frustration poured from Maxine. She seemed more frustrated Prowler decided to fight the symbiote rather than just run away.

Is this the life everyone on this earth has to live with? To live in fear of random, spontaneous attacks and kidnapping. To be left wondering if your loved ones are still alive or being used as a host to harm others. Thinking of all Miles had learned about Knull and his symbiotes, only one thought came to his mind.

This body snatching alien invasion has gone on long enough.

This world was robbed of a Spider-hero. Miles would be damned to let this invasion get any worse under his watch.

His fists tightened as he looked to Cindy. The word “Where?” escaped his lips. She only looked back confused. “Where are they symbiotes attacking?” Miles reiterated.

“East Harlem,” Cindy answered. “They say there’s about 15 to 20 of them over there.”

Miles nodded. He knew their weaknesses now. Plans of how to take them down one by one filled his head. “Knull and his army have barely seen anything yet,” Miles said darkly. His venom blast charged up his arms.

“Hey! Whoa, slow your roll Spidey!” Prowler growled. “The only place you’re going is home. Don’t you have a Dad to save or something? I thought getting back to your universe was your first priority,” Prowler pointed.

“It is but I can’t just leave you to fend off this monster on your own. He’s already taken over most of the Bronx.” Miles pushed back.

“Alchemax will handle the situation. They’ve held him back this far,” Prowler threw back.

“This really isn’t your problem to deal with.” Max added.

“You’re really going to entrust the company that created the symbiote problem to stop this invasion?” Miles asked.

The two turned quiet after that.

“I say we let Spidey try,” Cindy shrugged.

“Absolutely not.” “Stay out of this Cindy.” The pair answered at the same time.

“What? The guy wants to try. Why not let him? We need more people like him. People willing to stand up to that Alien tyrant.”

“Because Spidey’s friends have started to show up in our city looking for him,” Prowler crossed his arms.

Miles’s heart stopped.

They found him.

#Miles always catching strays from Prowler #*Author rubs their hands together* It's all coming together now #A different world (Spider-verse)#ghostflower #gwenom #gwen stacy #miles morales #miles g morales #spiderverse #spiderverse fanfic #Knull #But a super depowered version of Knull #I know Regular Knull would have conquered this earth long before Miles got sent here

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3rdeyeblaque · 2 years ago

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Today we venerate Elevated Ancestor El-Hajj Malik El-Shabaz aka Brother Malcolm "X" Little on his 98th birthday 🎉

A minister, scholar, orator, & legendary Freedom Fighter- who infamously bore the name "X" to signify our self-liberation from the shackles of a European legacy forced upon us during Slavery -, we elevate Brother Malcolm as one of THE most prolific voices of freedom, justice, self-determination, & Pan-Afrikan unity in modern history.

Born into a legacy of freedom fighters, Brother Malcolm was raised on the cusp between Black Nationalism unity & White Supremacist terror. His father was a member of Marcus Garvey’s Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), in which he served as an orator publicly advocating for Black liberation before his murder.

Though a gifted student, Malcolm dropped out of school when a teacher ridiculed his aspirations to become a lawyer. He later drifted into a life of hustling on the streets of Harlem. He cleverly avoided the draft in WWII by making the outrageous declaration that he'd organize Black soldiers to attack their White counterparts which classified him as "mentally unfit to serve". After his burglary arrest in Boston, Malcolm faced 10 years in prison. Here, he found Islam via the NOI.

Upon his parole release, Malcolm took the name "X" as he began to serve in the NOI as a speaker, organizer, and minister. He quickly grew in his prominence & drew national attention after an expose on the NOI was aired on CBS. Both, Black & White Americans, saw the stark contrast in his/NOI views from that of other Black religious leaders/organizations of the time. Thus planting the first seeds of warped perception & fear.

Meanwhile, Brother Malcolm's personal views & interests slowly began to split from the leaders of the organization he'd come to love. Malcolm grew increasingly frustrated with the NOI's bureaucracy & outright refusal to join the Civil Rights Movement. His forbidden response to the assassination of JFK earned him a 90 suspension from the NOI; at which time he announced his departure from the organization.

In March 1964, he founded the Muslim Mosque, Inc. Three months later, he founded a political group called, the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU). Malcolm firmly placed Black Revolution in a global context of an anti-imperialist struggle here, in Afrika, Latin America, & Asia. This is what set him & his work further apart from any Black leader & organization in the U.S. at the time. And this is what sparked the breadth of his influence & mapped out the future of his work.

Brother Malcolm toured North & East Afrika as well as the Middle East Region in the late Spring of 1964. He met with heads of state from several countries (i.e.: Kenya, Tanzania, Egypt, Ghana, Nigeria) before making his hajj to Mecca, Saudi Arabia. Here, he added "El-Hajj" to his Muslim name, "Malik El-Shabazz". This journey into the Motherland & Self brought Malcolm to the realization that his revolutionary vision/influence superceded any colour line.

Once he returned to the U.S, he infamously declared Pan-African unity amid struggle for freedom “by any means necessary.” This marked a turning point in Malcolm's life & revolutionary fight against White Supremacy on a global scale. He spent 6, albeit unsuccessful, months in Afrika petitioning the U.N. to investigate the Human Rights violations of Black Americans by the U.S. Government. From then on, threats to his safety and that of his family & the OUAA mounted. Still, he continued the fight until his assassination that was ultimately orchestrated & carried out by the CIA.

"If you’re not ready to die for it, put the word ‘freedom’ out of your vocabulary" - Malcolm X

Today, Brother Malcolm rests alongside his wife at the Ferncliff Cemetery in upstate NY.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his incomparable leadership, love, commitment, & sacrifice for the socioeconomic & sociopolitical freedom of our people.

Offering suggestions: libations of water, read/share his work, & prayers from the Quran

Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.

#Hoodoo #hoodoos #atr #atrs #hoodoo tradition #the hoodoo calendar #black history #malcolm x #malcolm x day #by any means necessary #freedom fighters #civil rights movement #freedom ain't free

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antxpathy · 8 days ago

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"The Forgiveness" Chapter 4 - Mark Hoffman x OC

Fluff, depiction of violence.

(sorry English isn't my first language)

Waking up little by little, Caelum felt a void next to her, and still in the vapors, she called with a small voice to the one she wanted to see and feel.

Mark often woke up long before Caelum, but he never left far away, usually in the apartment or at the bakery around the corner from the building, knowing that the young woman likes pastries, it was part of those little intentions they offered themselves.

And the woman with the eyes of the two recounted their conversation from the day before, smiling. Mark wanted to build a life with her, and surely wished that she would bear his children. But Caelum had never wanted children, but Mark.

She was going to give everything for Mark.

For the young woman had not been so much in love since her adolescence, and this made her say that he was the right one.

She finally stands up, still naked from the day before. "Oh fuck I wish he’d just let me go now" think Caelum remembering what she had felt yesterday, in fact even better, she would have wanted to be awakened by the cock blows of Mark, but for that it needed a contract because he was not a rapist, it was even what he was most afraid of: Be violent with women. Except in BDSM.

Finally, she got up from the bed, but with difficulty, still asleep. Then, regaining her spirits, she grabbed a T-shirt from Mark as well as one of the spare panties she had brought. Then looking for her rolling things, the young woman found a small sketchbook, innocent, she was intrigued wondering what Mark was drawing or writing. And opening the first page, she was challenged by the drawings of mechanics, recalling the traps of Jigsaw and she understood, but still continued to browse the notebook looking for answers.

He was the one or one of those that the police and themselves were looking for, more so because they had come to the conclusion that Jigsaw was a group of people.

Caelum began to cry, this news touched her so much that she felt deeply empty and dirty, so she cried. Not knowing how to react.

She was deeply in love with Mark.

And it wasn’t the fact that he was a killer, that bothered her, she even liked murderers, she had known plenty in East Harlem. And she knew there were reasons behind it. Nor that it was a serial killer, because Caelum’s morality was questionable.

What made her cry was the fact that it excited her deep inside, and that she deeply loves this man, this monster. But what the fuck did she love him. He made her feel fulfilled, respected, loved and important.

Beautiful too. Mark’s icy blue look, a loving look when he looked at Caelum. But also the fact that he knew what to do without overdoing it. So he cooked for Caelum, little dishes that comfort her or do not worry her. But also all the cute compliments he made on random things that constituted it.

And their sexual relations... The two lovers discovered, as their relationship progressed, information about their bodies and their psychologies that were not even an idea until then. And they rediscovered sex and love. Sex in love. Then suddenly, the idea that Mark put her in a trap and he fucks her while she is immobilized and especially in danger excited him more than anything.

And the reality was that Caelum was ready to lie, steal, cheat, kill and torture for Mark. For she knew, or was convinced, that it was the love of her life.

So if being an accomplice or criminal was the condition to live the love relationship she always wanted, and that it started for, despite some problems, well she was ready.

Determined and having wiped her tears, Caelum took the notebook with her before going to join the detective in the stay.

Listening to the little steps of his dear Caelum, Mark, whose head was buried in papers, cigarette at the spout and coffee on the table, began chanting: "Hello my love!"

He stood up, wearing only a pair of underwear, wanting only to kiss the woman but was taken by his lover, handing him the macabre notebook, an open random page.

And Mark saw his world crumble, because if he didn’t kill her now, Caelum would probably turn him in.

And Mark collapsed, not wanting to kill the one he loved. He didn’t want to be a Seth Baxter. But for his freedom, he gave in and did what he was fighting against, he cut off the thin neck of Caelum, crying at the same time, turning away while he strangled her.

Caelum wasn’t afraid, if that’s what he wanted then be it, but Mark hated it, and she saw it. She dropped the notebook before gently placing her hand on the man’s cheek, then stroking it. Mark looked at her and saw a smile filled with sadness, and there he let go, took her in his arms and sobbed loudly, howling apologies and how much he loved her. And of course she gave him back the hug, telling him that it was not serious and that she also loved him, more than anything.

Mark was inconsolable, but she stayed and then said in a sweet, warm tone:

" - You know Mark, I don’t mind that you’re a member of Jigsaw, I don’t blame you... for doing it or for keeping it from me. But this is normal because how to announce that people are being tortured.

But it doesn’t change the love I feel for you, I’m in love with you Mark, you make me feel important to someone because you’re the first person I believe when you compliment me, or like yesterday when you told me that you wanted to have a life with me.

Mark I want us to have a vacation home in New Orleans, that I’m your wife and I’m carrying your children...

Because I believe in a future for you, me and the children that you have imagined, if you would like to build it with me... And even if you are a killer, I could kill for you.”

Mark stopped crying little by little, and that’s when he understood the antisocial diagnosis of Caelum, the one he didn’t see, she had no moral as long as it was for her own interests, and with the borderline that amplified the rare love she felt, Mark was one of his interests, and she would now do everything to protect him as he protects her.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Mark’s icy watchdog look in Caelum’s heterochromic cat eye. It was so intense that their limbs became firmer, and suddenly they kissed each other with passion, beginning to caress the other, and both of them letting their desire take over.

Mark directed Caelum to the couch, helping her lie down just for the pleasure of touching her, then he stood over her, and kissed her again, but Caelum stopped the kiss and said sarcastically:

«- Wa we are degenerates, really you, you’re a detective and you torture people and I am your crazy colleague in love with you, but crazy in fact.

- I find it very exciting as a BDSM roleplay scenario. You don’t?

-Yes, but since it’s our life, it’s even more exciting and depressing.”

And Mark laughed a little before kissing his wife again, but quickly because what he was interested in was under the T-shirt, so he passed his hands under the piece of cloth looking for the breasts that he loved so much. And once these were found, he malaxed them, but quickly stopped to remove the jersey, and finally Caelum was bust naked. The man contemplated her traces of belonging, he would not bear that someone else make him or even have a sexual relationship with her. Then he stood up and sat slightly on the woman’s hips, and before Caelum could complain, he asked:

"- What are we?

- But Mark I don’t want to talk about that now, just fuck me... I’m thinking of your dick right now...

-I just want to clear things up, please...

- You want it to be official? our relationship?

- Yes... I want it to be more informal and hidden, I just want to be able to love you as I want. And to be able to clarify some things about our sexual relations.

- I don’t want to hide but-... The others from the station-...

- It doesn’t matter that this will not be the first or last relationship between colleagues they know. Caelum let’s be official, it will even be less embarrassing for our colleagues, because good fuck in a semi-public parking lot is two seconds but my office is locked.” Caelum was upset by this last sentence. "Mark, yes I want to be in a relationship with you, to live with you. And I want to belong to you, to be your submissive. But I want to write a contract for the BDSM because there are things that must be specific to a contract.

-We’ll write a contract, but first I fuck you and then we talk about it.”

Mark kissed Caelum again, a languid kiss, as he began to spoil her.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman x oc #saw fanfic #saw franchise

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hekateinhell · 2 years ago

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What do you think Armand (as a vampire*) enjoys most about the beach? What does he like the least?

*I had to clarify because the mermaid Armand from your fic would probably have very different answers. 😂

Oh, I love this question! Off the bat, I would say his favorite thing about the beach is the water.

I'm neurotic enough that I thought about this before several years ago when I first read VC. My pattern orientated brain just hyperfixated over Armand & The Water. Whether by choice or force, Armand has spent the largest and most significant chucks of his life by some body of water!

He was born by the Dnieper River in Ukraine, spent his years with Marius in Venice over the Adriatic Sea, and then lived in Paris for three hundred years. Les Innocents--or the Holy Innocents Cemetery as it was actually called in real life--is right by the Seine River, and there's also the grand Fontaine des Innocents which still exists today!

Look at it, imagine Armand in the dark trying to brood and not enjoy anything every time he happened upon this hedonistic thing.

After Paris, he travelled around the world with Louis--all the countries mentioned in IWTV are by a sea or an ocean. Then they lived in Manhattan for a long time (an island surrounded by the Hudson, Harlem, and East Rivers). From there was the four decades watching over Lestat's living grave in New Orleans by the Mississippi River. Then when he settles with Daniel, it's Manhattan again, and of course... Night Island on the Gulf of Mexico. And finally, he ends up back in Manhattan in Trinity Gate.

All that to say, I don't think it's a coincidence that Armand chooses to live near water whenever he can. Furthermore, he tells us what he did love about the water as a brand new baby vampire in TVA!

What astonished me now was that I could see beneath the water! There was enough life for my vampiric eyes to see the huge anchors lodged in the mushy bottom of the lagoon, and to see the curved bottoms of the galleys. It was an entire underwater universe. I wanted to explore it further, but I heard my Master's voice - not a telepathic voice, as we would call it now, but his audible voice - calling me very softly to return to the piazza where he waited for me.

And right before that:

I floated under the sky for a while, until all the pain was gone from me.

I've thought a lot about Armand and his sensory overstimulation (entirely separate meta), and I definitely headcanon that sometimes he likes to go to the beach and go out into the water and float aimlessly for a bit when he needs a break. In my head it's sort of like a sensory deprivation tank, but of course there's more going on in the water (more beauty too).

Mask off, me being an absolute fucking NERD: Armand has always been my Water element, Louis my Fire (too easy, much too easy), and Lestat my Wind. 🥹

What does Armand like the least about the beach? Sand. It's too close to dirt, and I don't think he likes to be dirty; he had nightmares about dirt and dirt being under his fingers when he was in Venice (not to mention the trauma associated with being underground for him). I don't think it's like a pathological aversion or anything, but I do think that would be his least favorite thing here!

#i know you didn't sign up for this nobody signed up for this and yet here it is #listen i didn't randomly pick armand to be my perfect mermaid he IS water to me!#i imagine him making out with lestat by that fountain in the present day in case anybody was wondering (you weren't)#you ask and hekate answers #armand #mildly meta #vc #the vampire chronicles #armand & the water #quotes

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burlveneer-music · 1 year ago

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Say She She - Silver - this is a pleasant surprise, a nice 80s vibe that avoids that decade's biggest production sins

Say She She, the soulful female-led trio, stand rock solid on their discodelic duty with their boundary breaking sophomore album Silver. The three strong voices of Piya Malik (El Michels Affair staple feature, and former backing singer for Chicano Batman), Sabrina Mileo Cunningham and Nya Gazelle Brown front the band. Following the NYC siren song, the trio was pulled from their respective cities — Piya from London, Nya from DC, and Sabrina from NYC — to Manhattan’s downtown dance floors, through the Lower East Side floorboards, and up to the rooftops of Harlem, where their friendship was formed on one momentous, kismet eve. Silver was entirely written and recorded live to tape at Killion Sound studio in North Hollywood earlier this year and produced by Sergio Rios (of Orgone). While these analog recording techniques help root Say She She’s sound in a bedrock of tonal warmth that only tape can achieve, it is also their process of cutting the track in the moment and capturing the magic of communal creativity that has seen their sound described as “a glorious overload of joyful elation and spiritual elevation” (MOJO) and “infused with the wonky post-disco spirit of early '80s NYC” (The Guardian). Musical inspirations include Rotary Connection, Asha Puthli, Liquid Liquid, Grace Jones and Tom Tom Club. Ultimately, Silver oozes with quirk and adventure and embraces the multifaceted nature of what it means to be a modern femme. Say She She fully embrace their role as beauticians, actively reminding people of the inherent beauty in the world. They skillfully employ double entendres and humor to encourage open dialogue and fearlessly address important matters that demand attention.

#Bandcamp #Say She She #pop #female vocal #synthpop #disco #2023

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missellafitz · 9 months ago

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Ella Fitzgerald & Frank Sinatra: Voices of America

Inside Ella and Sinatra’s remarkable similarities and essential divergences

Most fans of American jazz and pop vocalists would agree that Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra were the undisputed champs of their era. But in 1959, both at the height of their artistic prowess, Sinatra ceded the top spot, admitting, “Ella Fitzgerald is the only performer with whom I’ve ever worked who made me nervous. Because I try to work up to what she does. You know, try to pull myself up to that height, because I believe she is the greatest popular singer in the world, barring none—male or female.” The feeling was mutual, and they duetted on several high-profile occasions. Fitzgerald adored Sinatra, deeply respected his talent and, given her natural humility, would never have claimed superiority.

The career arcs of these two giants were eerily similar, beginning with their rough-and-tumble adolescences. Fitzgerald was born in Newport News, Va., in 1917 but raised in Yonkers, as the crow flies about 15 miles north of Sinatra’s hometown, Hoboken, N.J. Sinatra, born in 1915, was expelled from high school due to misbehavior. Fitzgerald was early on an excellent student, but she began cutting class following her mother’s death in 1932 and was eventually sent to an orphanage and a reform school. He got his big break on Major Bowes’ Amateur Hour radio show in 1935. In November of ’34, Fitzgerald had ignited her career by winning top Amateur Night honors at Harlem’s Apollo Theater, famously aborting her planned hoofer routine when the preceding dance act proved too polished. Instead she sang, choosing Hoagy Carmichael’s “Judy,” whose lyric included the prescient notion “In a hundred ways/You’ll be shouting her praise.”

Before simultaneously launching solo careers in 1942, both were band singers, Sinatra with Harry James then Tommy Dorsey, Fitzgerald with Chick Webb’s hard-swinging orchestra, which she fronted after Webb’s death in 1939. In the wake of correspondingly serious lulls in the early 1950s, both navigated resurgences that lifted them to iconic heights, precipitated by strategic label changes: Sinatra moved from Columbia to Capitol; Fitzgerald transitioned from Decca to producer Norman Granz’s newly minted Verve. Both fought for good songs and, despite plenty of dross in their enormous catalogs, remain the definitive interpreters of the Great American Songbook. They continued to perform into their 70s. Their deaths, like their births, arrived less than two years apart. Fitzgerald passed first, in 1996, due to prolonged complications from diabetes. Sinatra succumbed to a heart attack in May of ’98.

Yet despite the remarkable parallels, Fitzgerald and Sinatra were fundamentally different as singers and as public figures. He sang for, and about, himself; she sang for others. As the New York Times noted in its Fitzgerald obituary, “Where [Billie] Holiday and Frank Sinatra lived out the dramas they sang about, Miss Fitzgerald, viewing them from afar, seemed to understand and forgive all.” Sinatra’s life was an open book; hers was, by and large, a blank page. Her life, though fraught with hardships and heartache, existed almost exclusively for the music and the joy of satisfying listeners. And despite incomparable success—she was the first African-American woman to win a Grammy, and has more performances in the Grammy Hall of Fame than any other female artist—Fitzgerald forever maintained a demure, often self-effacing modesty, coupled with a shyness propelled by a constant fear of appearing inarticulate.Ella Fitzgerald, c. 1935 (c/o Universal)

During a celebrity-packed salute at New York’s Basin Street East in 1954, she acknowledged a slew of accolades by quietly stating, “To know that you love me for my singing is too much for me. Forgive me if I don’t have all the words. Maybe I can sing it and you’ll understand.” Three and a half decades later, when accepting the Society of Singers’ inaugural lifetime achievement award, named in her honor, she softly observed, “I don’t want to say the wrong thing, which I always do; but I think I do better when I sing.” We remember Sinatra—to whom she presented the Society’s second annual “Ella” award—as much for the fisticuffs and high-flying revelry as for the Voice. Fitzgerald we revere exclusively for the immensity of her musical skills and the intrinsic, altruistic warmth that helped define them.

#ella fitzgerald #frank sinatra #ella and frank

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jasminegazer · 11 months ago

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Chapter 6 Part 2

Raph stopped.

Usually he didn’t let anyone interrupt him during a fight. But this wasn’t usual. Donnie had never yelled at him like that before. Sure Raph got on his brothers nerves and got into loud arguments but not like this.

His purple branded brother had never let anyone see him so openly upset before. Not since they were like 9. Usually he would just stay in the tent and wait until he was fully collected to let anyone see him. The only person who ever got to see Dee like this was Mikey.

But Raph couldn’t think about that. That brought emotions and ‘mushy’ feelings and those made him look weak. They made him feel weak. And Raph wasn’t weak. He couldn’t be.

“Dee-” Of course Leo would change the entire subject in 2 seconds. He had the better traits of a big brother. The ones people respected. Raph was just stuck with being a bully.

“No! You guys are gonna make him upset again!” Tear tracks laid deep on his face. He looked so tired and his voice was so strained it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing. His look shocked Raph just as much as the words and voice coming out of his mouth.

“Wait. Who?” Raph tried not to look concerned but his change of aggression was an obvious give.

“Mikey!”

Both Leo and Raph froze looking back and forth from each other. Confusion and utter disbelief crossed their faces.

“. . . Dee”

“All you ever do is fight! And everyone around you has to deal with it!”

“Donnie”

“You just keep on going on and on and”

“Donnie!”

“What?! What do you want me to do?! What do you want me to feel?!”

“Mikey isn’t here.”

The truth was well known but it still stung to have to hear it. Raph had to close his eyes and hide tears that burned at the tips of his eyelids. No Stop that It won’t help.

Donnie’s expression softened after realizing his mistake. He eyes shot to the ground, tears running down his face.

Everyone froze in the choking silence of their room. The sound of their dad doing the dishes was faint and seemed to slip further and further away. No one knew what to do.

Leo turned to Raph for guidance. Why did he do that sometimes? How was Raph supposed to know what to do? But somehow he always knew what Leo was thinking or tried to tell him. Even without words they knew each other too well.

Donnie was the first one to break the ice this time. “I-I mean-what I was trying to say was-” Hiccups interrupted his warbled speech. But the current youngest turtle was interrupted by the sound of Leo’s phone buzzing.

The blue turtle quickly answered eager to break the silence and awkwardness of the situation. “Hey April. This isn’t really the best time right now.”

“Have you guys seen the news?” She sounded so excited and enthusiastic that it contradicted the old vibe of the room.

“Nooooo.” Leo looked at his brothers in confusion. Donnie wiped his tears and leaned in closer to hear the conversation.

“Well you’re gonna wanna see this!”

April sent Leo a link as they remained on call. He opened the link to see the headline blaze into view in the news website’s signature animation.

SHIPPING DOCK SECURITY GUARDS AT EAST HARLEM FOUND WOUNDED BY MYSTERIOUS FOOT FIGURES

2 security guards are rushed to the hospital after being found with lethal wounds. The only clue police are left with is a piece of ripped fabric from the attackers’ clothing.

“Scroll down and look at the picture!”

Leo did as told and gasped at the sight before him. The picture was badly lit but the red circle containing the emblem of a foot was clearly seen on the dark clothing.

“Is that it?! Is that what the emblem from your attackers looked like?!”

They couldn’t believe how easily this had just appeared. It was both horrifying and relieving to find their first point in the right direction.

“Holy fucking-”

“Oh my-”

“Yes! Yes! It is! April you’re a genius!”

The turtle brothers celebration was brief as they got ready and geared up. Raph was rushed more than he usually did. Hold on Mikey. We’re coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain.

What a great way to wake yourself with. Mikey didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes for a while. But that didn’t matter in their eyes. They just kept on asking question after question until they rendered him useless.

At this point it was a good thing Mikey wasn’t dead. But that wasn’t quite comforting enough to fight the pain. He assumed he had two black eyes again(Great yet another reminder of the whole super duper fly fight).

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to at least see what was going on. It took effort and he definitely had 2 black eyes but he did it. It was dark only the moonlight lit the large room. It looked like one of the old abandoned warehouses him and his brothers used to explore before rendering them boring. Back when they weren’t allowed to be a part of civilization and were forced to live in the sewers.

He was sitting with his legs crossed. Partially hovering over the ground because of the chains that pressed into his skin and kept his arms and shell tightly bound to the pillar behind him. Sharp movements made his head spin and his face distort in pain that followed.

“Look who decided to wake up.”

Mikey craned his neck up to see his captor. It was the same one from last night. 2 other figures stood guard lurking around the now confirmed warehouse.

“Good mornin” Whenever a situation was unexpected, Mikey usually saw comedy as a good ice breaker.

“So the freak thinks it’s funny.” It was easier to see that the people of the room were leaning against or sitting on old tables.

“Is that a bad thing?” He was using that tone where he was trying to be polite but it always was seen as rude by his dad and adults. Mikey probably shouldn’t have kept talking but the teenager had a bad habit of rambling in these situations.

The main person who was talking- whom of which Mikey found to be an older teenage boy- was obviously not amused. His expression was very similar to the expression of the milk lady, dull and obviously stuck up in themselves yet also threatening. Looking like at any moment he would pounce.

“I mean isn’t like laughter the best medicine? So what’s so bad about being funny?” Mikey shuffled in his uncomfortable position. Hoping that for some reason his struggle would release him from the figurative and literal chains of this moment. But that only made the tight literal chains more and more unbearable as blisters formed. He needed to get out of here.

His thoughts were interrupted when on of the other figures delivered a sharp blow to his stomach causing him to double over. At least as much as his restraints allowed. It felt like his guts were flipped inside out and then hit with a speeding highway vehicle. The older teen then waltzed over as Mikey groaned and gagged. He yanked Mikey’s chin up firmly only letting the turtle look at him and him alone. His face was scrunched up in pure hate and disgust the turtle.

“Now you listen to me smartass. I-”

“Enough!”

Towards Mikey’s right a fourth figure leapt in through a broken window. At closer glance Mikey found that they were a she. Her raven black hair shone in the moonlight with white streaks with repelled the light. She stood tall with authority and grace. The other 2 guards addressed her by bowing.

“Lieutenant, what did I say about beating the target?”

The Lieutenant growled before shoving Mikey’s face down and turning to face the girl. “Come on he was being a brat. Besides aren’t there 3 oth-”

“What did I say?” Raising her voice made even the Lieutenant flinch. Mikey could tell she was definitely the boss here(definitely super badass). The Lieutenant glared at Mikey, as if he had intentionally caused this, before turning and bowing. “Not to. You told me not to beat the freak. I apologize General.”

He recognized her voice from somewhere. He realized where when she set her backpack on the table.

“Hey aren’t you Aprils new friend?! What was your name? Oroku something? What the heck Oroku?!”

She was definitely pissed now but she kept her dull tone and hid her annoyance. “First of all it’s Oroku Karai. Second of all it’s Japanese so the last name is said first. And third of all if you know what’s best for you than you will keep your mouth shut.”

Mikey decided that he would do just that. Karai was definitely not someone to be messed with. At least she won’t let them hit me anymore.

“And as for you Lieutenant” Karai turned and marched in front of him and the Mikey’s other captors. “Yes we do need his three accomplices thanks to your incompetent job on the initial attack. But how do you expect us to find them if they’re aware of our initiatives?”

Mikey sat there not liking the sound of how this was going. His head still swam and left his thoughts loosely floating in a sea of confusion. Accomplices?

Karai was obviously growing impatient by the silence. Another thing he noticed was that she never really looked at him. And when she did and Mikey noticed, it was never for more than a second.

“I spoke with Master Shredder. He said that to draw them out we must use something that they want.”

Mikey could hardly keep in the shock of his realization. They aren’t talking about my brothers, are they?

“Well what do they want?” The Lieutenant was obviously not as smart as his leader.

“From my understanding they call each other brothers.” Shit. She really was just a toxic snake wasn’t she. And she was good too. But for some reason her expression broke into something softer. Something filled with guilt and pain.

The Lieutenant however hadn’t given Mikey the mercy of guilt. His face twisted into a cruel smirk as he turned to face Mikey’s fear filled face. No no no no no no. This can’t be happening.

“Then lets test that brotherly loyalty.” The Lieutenant continued staring with a sickening smile that put gasoline on Mikey’s fire of fear. “When do we leave to get their attention?”

“Troops were already sent this afternoon.” Karai continued with a full expression on her face. “They’ll bring back the targets when their job is finished.”

No no no no no no no.

“Now if you excuse me I have . . . business to attend to.” She marched out from the warehouse arms plastered behind her back. Once she left the Lieutenant slip back into his freedom without Karai overhead.

Mikey was stuck in the shock his captors cruel plan. Leo Raph Donnie. Please.

He hung his head low in defeat knowing that soon his brothers would have to go through the same pain he did.

Please be ok.

Finally back to this au. Have a Hoppy Easter and Cowabunga turtle fans.

Previous Masterpost Next

#tmnt mutant mayhem #tales of the tmnt #turtles #tottmnt #tmnt #fanfic #Difference Between the Appearance

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songsofprotestpeacerevolution · 1 year ago

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youtube

Simple Song of Freedom (Remastered Version) · Voices Of East Harlem

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russmorris · 1 year ago

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From my Fillmore West handbill collection…

BG264-PC Cold Blood, Boz Scaggs, The Voices of East Harlem, Stoneground.

Dec 31, 1970 by Norman Orr

#billgraham #blues #bozskaggs #coldblood #collection #fillmore #handbill #music #myyouth #nineteenseventy #normanorr #pop #poster #rock #rockart #stoneground #voicesofeastharlem #wolfgangsvintage

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natterghast · 1 year ago

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& HEADCANONS ; voices and accents ☄. *. ⋆

● nahinu ; has the thick accent of someone born in east harlem due to her innate mimicking, but nevertheless speaks in soft, airy tones and with the halting nervousness of her social anxieties. her voice is a high register. ● devisee ; most often lacks an inflection, picks his words with perfect enunciation, and overall carries conversation with the awkward pauses of someone well read, but unused to speaking with others. curses in an aberration's tongue when no one else is around to hear. his voice is a low register. ● xianne ; has an inviting, easy-going cadence to match her smile and overfamiliar, teasing jabs. calls it like she sees it, and keeps conversation rolling like her Rs. her voice is a slightly lower register. ● geid ; has an accent thick as tree sap, and speaks ponderously, with verbiage that one really has to chew on; often difficult to understand. his voice is a low register. ● solar ; has no discernable accent to whomever they're speaking to, because they speak with the aid of their psionics, and occasionally may only converse mentally if their vessel can't form speech. their voice varies with possessions. ● jeanot ; slips into falahni inflections when he's angered as a result of the memories lodged in his brain, but otherwise speaks with some amalgamation of northern american accents at a soft pace, unless info dumping. he has a slightly higher registered voice that sometimes cracks. ● benjamin ; speaks with a thick new acadian (louisianan) accent of honeyed words, and a genial lilt to go with a mouthful of lies behind that great big smile of his. his voice is a slightly lower register. ● zelman ; through practice speaks the languages he's fluent in without a hint of his polish roots — except, perhaps, when he's half awake, and typically comes with the devil-may-care attitude of curt phrasing. his voice is a slightly lower register. ● lazare ; doesn't talk, but has a laugh from the chest that's coarse and higher pitched than his register, like he swallowed gravel and breathed in a helium balloon. his voice is a low register.

#headcanons ;#| everything that i lose gets found again. and dusts itself off clean ; zalman |#| an arms dealer fitting you with weapons in the form of words ; benjamin |#| mud thick as thighs was smeared across my eyelids ; jeanot |#| we won't stop lighting our minds up ; solar |#| seeds of hope they still grow. sheets of white over rock and grass ; geid |#| a fleck of gold. a color rush. the music stops and the world erupts ; nahinu |#| lost in a labyrinth left with no way out. the faces staring back at me look like somebody else ; devisee |#| bunch of freaks and animals arrived. maybe if you act nice we'll leave you alone ; lazare |#| making a mess and running in circles. getting in fights ; xianne |

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hernando-valdez · 2 years ago

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“The world is almost peaceful when you stop trying to understand it.”― Elizabeth Acevedo

One of the earliest memories Hernando has is of his father hunched over the kitchen sink at 4 o’clock in the morning, washing blood off of his hands. It was the first time Hernando was clued into the world his father was involved in and it was the first time his father was honest with him instead of trying to hide it. What Nando didn’t know then was that it was the start of the rest of his life. A career he never really had a choice in. His father used to say it was destiny, their loyalty to the cartel. But Nando knows now it was just shit luck and poverty. There never really was another choice.

Born Hernando Benito Valdez, he grew up in the streets of East Harlem, New York. His father, a Tonopah Valley Native, had moved his family to New York in an effort to keep them safe from retaliation from any of his enemies. And the list of them was long. His father was was long-time Los Santos soldier. He was an OG of all OGs and eventually worked his way up the ranks. Before the end of his life, Mr. Valdez was positioned as Consejero with Hernando following in his footsteps. The only son of Hector Valdez, Hernando knew that he would never really have another life. And Hector didn’t want him to.

The only family the older man had known was the cartel and they looked out for Hector and his family like they were their own. His mother too is a Tonopah native and though she stood by Hector through it all (an OG chamaca in her own right) she took raising her family away from Tonopah as a serious task. Which was why his younger sister has nothing to do with the cartel. She didn’t even know of its actual existence until recently, the family doing well in convincing her that Hector was really “away on business” and that Hernando was doing the same.

Hernando was a relatively active kid. He was involved in all the school sports but was especially fond of basketball and baseball. He did alright in school and was always responsible for taking care of his sister and being where he was supposed to be. When his cousin Penelope moved to New York with her family, he was over the moon. Penny had always been his favorite cousin and she was the closest he came to having an older sister. When he thought he couldn’t love a person as much as he loved Penny, Mikayla was born. Early on, even though he was a young teenager, he stepped in to help as much as he could, especially when Penelope separated herself from her parents. They never spoke it out loud but somewhere along the way, there was an unspoken rule that he would always be there. And it’s a promise he’s kept til this day. Despite being Penelope’s cousin and Mikki’s second cousin, he has very much positioned himself as an uncle to Mikki and a Brother to Penny. There are few things he’s proud of but being Tio Nando and Tio Benito has always been his biggest pride.

Mainly because his life has never left him much else to be proud of. Hernando got involved in Santos work at an early age. At 12, his father took him on a trip back to Tonopah Valley and it was the first time he was truly shown all that his father was involved in. Showing that this would be his future. It’s where he met the LS members and came to learn that there were generations of people who would always be looking out for him and his family. These trips to Tonopah Valley became more routine throughout his adolescence and as soon as he graduated from high school, he flew to Nevada to officially begin his initiation into the cartel. And he was ready for it, born for it some would say. Never seeing another option, Hernando is known for his ruthlessness and relentless loyalty. He never questions, never complains, and never even winces when enacting some seriously violent acts. He doesn’t believe in unnecessary violence. You’ll rarely see him getting in a bar fight (unless he’s backing someone up) or raising his voice at someone undeserving. In fact on the outside, he comes off as one of the sweetest and most thoughtful people possible. He volunteers at the nursing home when he has time, but he’s busied himself with helping Penny get the B&B together. He remembers birthdays and anniversaries and checks in on his friends nonstop. But there is no denying the things he’s done and in all honesty, he does his best not to think about it. Sure that if he does he’ll actually have to come to terms with the life he has been living.

The move back to Tonopah Valley came a year ago after Hector was killed while on his way to the airport for a flight back to New York. Hernando had been waiting for him at baggage claim for what felt like hours before he got the call. For so long he had only known this life because of his father. Every step he took with the cartel happened because of his father. His advice, his guidance, his word, and his vision. Hernando trusted him blindly and now, for the first time in his life, he was without him. And he’s never felt so lost. Now moving up from Sicario to Capo in his dad’s absence, Hernando has seen his involvement with Los Santos go up significantly. Not that he’s mad about it. In a way, it helps him feel closer to his father. Regardless of how complicated their relationship was, Hernando adored him and looked up to him in a way he can’t even describe. Without him, he kind of feels like he’s starting to question his purpose for the first time in his 41 years.

But make no mistake, no matter what, Hernando lives and dies by his commitment to the family he has always known. The only thing that would ever put that into question was if Penelope and Mikki were what he had to choose instead. Hernando loves hard and fights hard. He’s the true personification of ride or die.

Headcanons:

Incredibly knowledgeable about a lot of random shit. He’s the guy you want to call if your ceiling is leaking or door handle is broken or AC unit needs fixing. He also loves to read so he has a lot of random facts that he spews out or will always surprise someone with a quote that sounds way too philosophical to come from him.

His home is his safe haven. Definitely has some secret room behind a bookshelf. But also from first glance you would think his house is home to the most nerdy frat boy you’ve ever met. He loves to cook and have his friends and family over. Prides himself on being clean and organized. The house he has in Webster Village is one that was originally owned by his father/was where his father stayed whenever he was home. In the year that Nando has been in town (he’s gone back and forth from NY in the past year but has finally settled within the past few months) he’s done some serious renovations on the house so it’s more livable.

Just got a dog named Zeus! A husky who he adores. Think of John Wick and his dog (LOL)

The dude is brutal. Can’t stress enough how much shit he had been doing for the cartel since he was 18. He is indoctrinated as much as anyone can be. No matter the hour, no matter where he is, if he gets a call, he will drop whatever he’s doing. He prides himself on being reliable and carrying on the Valdez name with honor.

Bisexual af. Probably has never had many successful relationships unless they’re involved with Los Santos and even then he probably has a hard time maintaining them. Loves a good hook up though. He has probably only been in 1-2 serious relationships but often wishes he had someone solid in how his mother was always for his dad. (though since his father’s death, he’s finding out a lot of shit about their relationship he wishes he never knew.)

Loves, loves, loves music. It’s probably his closest form of therapy. If he’s in his truck he’s blasting his music and if he’s home he’s blasting shit on the dozens of speakers he set up in his apartment.

Definitely a big sports guy. Native New Yorker is a die-hard Knicks and Yankees fan, but he loves some Las Vegas Raiders.

#about hernando #just reposting cause i updated the graphic and it wouldnt let me replace the old one lol

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