#Wilcox BOSS

[fountainpenguin]

What's your fav [or one of your favorite] scenes in Frayed Knots and/or Origin of the Pixies?

Thanks for the Ask!

One of my favorite Origin chapters is Chapter 42, "The Unicorn Years." Sanderson is finally an adult and it shows in how he sticks up for himself and calls H.P. out on his procrastination habits. He's no longer the suck-up he used to be, and their duality is great:

I lay across my desk, hands grasping the far side. That's what I was doing when Sanderson pinged in. "How much have you written, sir?" he asked primly. He didn't try to suggest he'd been pushy and overbearing this morning, but the milkshake in his hand was a peace offering. That was obvious enough. "Um…" I looked down. "I have 'Hawkins, I like how you made square motions instead of pretty elf swirls' and 'Wilcox, if eggs didn't suck, you'd be an egg.' Um. It's a first draft." I think he muffled a snort. "And mine, sir?" "Oh… yeah. I forgot you were getting one too. I'll start it later." He shook the vanilla milkshake a bit, and I finally swiped it from his hand. "Compliments aren't my thing, Sanderson. And truthful critiques on Day 1 might shatter them. I'll get into the flow one of these days, but breaking the ice is hard. What did you tell them?" "Boss, I'm going to stop you right there because that would be plagiarism." He hovered behind my shoulder, sipping from his straw… then grabbed the papers from my desk and pinged away. Okay, wow. I flopped back in my chair, kicking up my legs. Knowing him like I did, there wasn't a doubt in my mind he was presenting those to Hawkins and Wilcox right now, articulate or not. Sanderson's a person who gets things done stupid early and then sits on his buns all week waiting for new instructions. I may struggle with procrastination, but at least I do useful stuff during said procrastination time. Who's more successful each day, I ask you. But, I got my preening circle after lunch on Friday. The instant they all left, I pinged to my office and scribbled my reports. It pleased me like nothing else to thrust those into Sanderson's hands when I saw him in the hall. "Here. Shove these in your uptight pouch and do a backflip, punk." "How many words?" he asked, scanning them. "400 apiece." "I wrote 800." He broke a smile when I yanked the reports back and smacked them at his head. Stupid punk kid.

^ This is quintessential Sanderson (to me)...

In "Unicorn Years," Sanderson finally recognizes his role as alpha retinue drone (i.e. that it's a legit high-ranking role in Fae society and his co-workers respect and report to him- it's not a fake title H.P. made up because of his separation anxiety).

That moment H.P. tells Sanderson the reason Hawkins and Wilcox are nervous is because they want to impress Sanderson, not him... That's /chef's kiss.

In the next chapter ("Letters and Numbers"), Sanderson cuts a deal with H.P. that he's willing to give up his alpha drone status as long as he gets to keep his music. I really like how I showed how Sanderson values his job, appreciates the status, and is good at this job all in one chapter before he throws it into the void. Love that for him.

Chapter 34 of Knots is a favorite. I really like the migration arcs, especially the recent one in the mid-30 chapters. I love when Anti-Cosmo mingles with other Anti-Fairies and speaks in Vatajasa. I love him asking his relatives for interspecies love life advice- It's such a contrast to H.P., who was tossed out of his family just for being born with freckles.

I like when he asks his nana about her Fairy ex-husband and she straight-up tells him that if he's into fairy wings, he's better off finding an Anti-Fairy willing to dress in costume. Such a slap in the face and it fuels him with stubborn rage.

I love how Anti-Cosmo flits around migration blatantly explaining to the reader all the convoluted reasons why he's totally not cheating on his betrothed. He's such a mess.

I love Prince Eastkal demanding that his anti-fairy counterpart be brought to meet him and Anti-Cosmo just stands there in shock at how rude and inappropriate it is to show up and expect Anti-Eastkal can drop everything to meet with him. It's not a big moment, but those hints of culture and Anti-Cosmo experiencing things that H.P. wouldn't think about in Origin are my favorites.

I like the conflict between Anti-Cosmo and Jorgen when Anti-Cosmo absolutely refuses to admit that he saved Prince Eastkal's life several chapters ago. I like Jorgen's dawning realization that Anti-Cosmo got arrested for being over the border... Jorgen's starting to put the pieces together.

I appreciate how Anti-Cosmo stands up for his culture and his friends but he's also just blatantly sexist because that's how he was raised in Anti-Fairy World.

The parallel of Anti-Cosmo calling out racial inequality H.P. is oblivious to while H.P. calls out gender inequality that A.C. overlooks really emphasizes that both societies are flawed and you can compare and contrast the cultures... I like the worldbuilding a lot.

[Cnt'd under the cut] -

I really like the scene at the end of Knots Chapter 35 where Anti-Cosmo visits H.P. to get a letter of recommendation for school :)

I like how Sanderson comes to the door all groggy and it's not even because he was sleeping, it's because he was carving soap sculptures.

I like Sanderson pausing before knocking on the wooden door to ask Anti-Cosmo if that will give him a migraine and Anti-Cosmo being surprised that Sanderson thought about that.

In Origin, H.P. regularly diminishes Sanderson's abilities in an attempt to deny connection and/or excuse his own neglect towards Sanderson. Anti-Cosmo gives Sanderson all the dues he's owed (and will continue to do so for the rest of the story).

In the 130 Prompts, Sanderson's relationship with A.C. is very complicated... so I like slipping in these foreshadowing clues so that when everything breaks loose later, you can see these hints of why Sanderson starts to waver in his loyalty and why Anti-Cosmo tolerates him.

I also like Sanderson's comment that if H.P. is "too busy to find out what Sanderson wants, he's too busy to be mad that Sanderson made his own decisions." Even sleepy, Sanderson is better at handling things than he's normally allowed to be- he is the alpha drone in the retinue, after all.

I love how Anti-Cosmo notices that H.P. went out of his way to design hotel rooms for Anti-Fairy visitors even though Anti-Fairies are banned from visiting. It foreshadows H.P.'s upcoming neutrality and we start leaning into the reasons why H.P. and Anti-Cosmo are future allies and friends- because H.P. (for all his horrendous cultural blunders) will still make the effort to cater to others' needs).

I love the entire concept of A.C. asking H.P. for a letter of rec even though they barely know each other. All those side mentions of babysitting from earlier chapters came back to pay off.

I love the breakfast scene, especially H.P. talking about Iris:

"If she was after money, she wouldn't have turned me down when I tried to court her. I'm very desirable. By the way, her toxic trait is that she roots for the Centipedes in saucerbee and their roster totally sucks. Other than that, she's pretty dazzled." "You're interested in courting her?" I asked, pulling back. "Oh. I thought you were a…" The Head Pixie turned to look at me again, stone-faced. "Be very careful in considering how you want to end that sentence, Anti-Cosmo."

H.P.'s choppy cadence (with all his random casual words) is my favorite to write. I also think it's hilarious that he's still pining after Iris but doesn't even ask A.C. to put in a good word for him to her (in return for the letter of rec). Instead, he just wants A.C. to help Iris network. It's the little things... He cares.

I love how A.C. is so smart and yet so oblivious. He spends the story thinkin the Pixie race is dying out. Absolute shock to him when he finds out their population is reproducing exponentially. My dude, how did you screw this one up. No one can be more wrong than you.

H.P. tells him to his face "I don't experience attraction" and A.C. twists that in his mind to mean "He's embarrassed to admit he likes someone." It's one of those little things that Anti-Wanda gets and A.C. doesn't. I love the A.W.-H.P. dynamic so much.

I really like the bit where Anti-Cosmo asks H.P. for interspecies romantic advice and H.P. turns a circle, clearly looking for something, leaves, then comes back with nothing. Just... dipped.

Literally everything about the A.C.-H.P. dynamic is comedy gold to me. There are a few specific instances where Anti-Cosmo gets to take shots at H.P. and embarrass him, but it's usually H.P. being snarky towards A.C. and it cracks me up. Look at them:

"Show affection someplace nice and she'll want to keep coming back. Don't be weird and kiss at the grocery store or in an old shed or you'll be stuck circling back around to it. And if you want something long-term to come out of this, then you'd better build a yidreamu. Traditionally it's the partner with the smaller lift who builds it, so…" He stopped then, surveying my crown. "… Yikes. Start clipping coupons, maybe." I reached up to graze my black crown with my fingertips, my face flushing dark with cold. I did have a pathetic lift, barely two finger widths above my head, but did he really have to say it? "Th-thank you for the advice… That's all I need to know, really."

I like how we had that previous chapter where Anti-Lance called H.P. out for being "a creep" towards the much younger Anti-Cosmo- which is very justified! But also, they just hang out like this:

"Back in the Spring of the Silver Silk, I placed a curse on you that prevents flowers from lasting more than one night under your roof. I believe we confirmed said curse was still active this past migration. Did you find the counter-spell?" "No. I just started keeping commelinas in my house because they die in like, one day anyway, so it's not a waste. I'm giving them a home." "Why do you bother replacing them?" The older pixie looked at me, caught off guard despite his practised pixie patience. I could tell. "Because it means I win. Here." He took one of the blue flowers from the vase and handed it to me. "For you." [...] "Your attention to detail is impeccable," I remarked, twirling the commelina in my hand. "Thanks. I'm imprisoned by obsessive compulsions, severe hyperfixations, and crippling executive dysfunction."

H.P. is so stubborn. He's so shocked that Anti-Cosmo would even ask him why he bothered. He's so blinded to his own quirks. It's great.

I like how H.P. straps Anti-Cosmo in a bungee cord harness and lets him steer his cloudship, but in the far future, Anti-Cosmo never lets Foop drive his cloudship. It's just a fun, dynamic chapter all around.

My writing style has improved a lot since I started this 'fic, but I still like Chapter 2. I really like how it opens with Anti-Cosmo being dragged down the hall by his foot and forced to commit emergency marsupial pouch-slicing rescue procedures.

I love starting longfics off with that reminder that you're in for something weird, so if you can't tolerate this splash of weirdness upfront, the rest of the 'fic won't be to your tastes either. Frayed Knots really throws you in and I like it for that.

[renerox]

OIL ON THE TRACK!!! (60's Hot Rod action!)

. Here’s brand new Surfadelic Hot Rod collection, a companion volume to BORDER RUN, BOSS MACHINE, NIGHT DRAG and HOT ROD ALLEY, comps I suppose you already have. Anyways, here we go with Larry Wilcox & His Orchestra, Hal Blaine And The Young Cougars, The Deuce Coupes, Dick Dale & His Del-Tones, Jerry Cole & His Spacemen, Jim Messina & His Jesters, The T-Bones, The Buddies, The Winners, The…

[adamwatchesmovies]

Suburban Commando (1991)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

From the setup, you expect Suburban Commando to be fairly straightforward. It probably won’t be good but by following its formula, it might entertain kids. Inexplicably, the film misses all of the easy opportunities given to it and doesn’t even manage to meet the meagre expectations placed upon it. At best, it has a couple of meme-worthy scenes. You won’t remember this movie down the line.

Intergalactic warrior Step Ramsey (Hulk Hogan) has finally defeated the villainous General Suitor (William Ball) but just barely. His superior suggests he take a vacation, which sees him become marooned on a backwater planet - Earth. Attempting to blend in with the locals until his ship repairs itself, he befriends Charlie Wilcox (Christopher Lloyd), an unappreciated architect working for Adrian Beltz (Larry Miller).

A warrior from a distant world finding himself out of his environment and befriending a local to kill time is not a new plot. The thing is, usually these types of stories have the outsider pair up with a kid. You can see why after this movie. Having a grown man mess with Ramsey’s high-tech gear and try to be a superhero just doesn’t feel right. When Ramsey gets in trouble because he misunderstands stuff we take for granted, you keep thinking Wilcox should have a tighter leash on him. It gets weirder because Wilcox has a son you think is going to be Hulk Hogan’s sidekick. It's like he was added as an afterthought, but the role has more to offer than Shelley Duvall's. She plays Mrs. Wilcox and has nothing to do.

The character arcs are clumsy and predictable. Charlie’s biggest obstacles are a pair of redneck neighbors who steal his parking spot (a subplot that never gets resolved), his underappreciative boss, and a stoplight. Okay then. Step Ramsey (whose name is distracting because it sounds so much like Chef Ramsey) might as well be a robot. Hogan is little more than a prop dragged around from one episodic gag to the next. Even if he could act, he isn’t given the opportunity to. At least his physical prowess is well used in the film’s best scenes, all of which include a mime whose luck has run out.

It all builds towards an ending that’s uninspired and generic but at least Suburban Commando is harmless. If you’re thinking this is going to be one of those “so bad it’s good” movies, you will get a couple of laughs from the scenes where it steals from Star Wars wholesale but those moments come and go quickly. After that, you’re stuck watching a movie that makes you wonder why anyone bothered. (On VHS, January 17, 2020)

[theuniverseawakens347]

AT EVELYN I AINT FUCK SHANE …THAT NIGGA A CRACK HEAD .,YOU DID THO…AND AT 19 HAD ME TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM W BRIAN PUMPER AND WHOEVER THAT OLD MAN WAS WHILE YOU FUCKED STACY DASH SON …BITCH RAPE AND COERCION 🙂🙂🖕 FUCKING BITCH BROUGHT YOU TO HANG W ME N CHRIS AND DRE AT THE PARK ONE NIGHT… ME KNOWING CHRIS AND I WAS GOING TO BANG IT OUT …I TOLD YOU LETME GO GET MINE YOU DONT HAVE TO FUCK BUT I CAME TO BUSS DOWN MINE BITCH …..YOU CHOSE TO FUCK DRE LOOSE COOCHIE ABORTION OF BABY 🙂🖕…and then ST PATRICKS 2017 ..,MY NIGGA YOU INVITE WE OUT TO EAT AFTER COPPING WEED WE END UP AT A BAR YOU TALKING TO RANDOM NIGGAS THEN YOU GOT US POSTED UP W SUGAR DADDIES AND YOU OUT HERE POPPING MOLLY WIT EM WHILE IM LIKE ….MY NIGGA YOU CANT SERIOUSLY BE DOING DRUGS WITH MEN YOU DONT KNOW …THEN ASK THE NIGGAS FOR A RIDE DOWN THE BLOCK TO UR WILCOX APARTMENT FOR WHATEVER REASON HOMEBOY WHO WAS COOL ( me not knowing then is 👽🧠 family to me) STOPS AT THE LIQUOR STORE I TURN AROUND YO ASS KISSING THIS 40 YR OLD PIMP GETTING FINGER ..SNATCHED BOTH OUR ASSES OUT THE CAR WE WALKED TO YO SPOT VERBALLY FIRED OFF ON YO ASS TELLING YOU THE REASON YO MAMA KICKED YOU OUT THE HOUSE IS CAUSE YOU AINT GOT NO MORAL COMPASS WHILE TURNING NICHOLAS ONTO DRUGS WHEN YOU LEFT IMMACULATE + DOING WEIRDO SHIT ROUND YOUR INFANT SISTER AVA. …then 2 YEARS LATER PUT ME IN AWKWARD POSITION FUCKING BRIAN PUMPER AND SOMEONE ELSE THAT NIGHT 🥴…SEX TRAFFICKING MY NIGGA…PUTTING ME IN A POSITION WHERE A BUTCH CANT LEAVE PHINE BOUT TO DIE NO CAR…THATS THE LAST TIME I WENT OUT W YOU …THEN CUT TO ME LIVING AT AVA NOW YOU WANA BE A TRAINER AFTER ME TRAINING YOU FAILED CAUSE I SPOKE SOME HARD TRUTHS INTO YOU THAT MADE YOU WANT TO BOSS UP…BUT YOU STILL A FUCKING SUGAR BABE…FUCKING OSHEA FOR A BBL AND FILLERS 🙂🖕 FUCK YOU…I AINT GROW WEED W YOU IN COLLEGE METH HEAD ..YO NIGGA YOU WAS FUCKING HAD WEED WE RECONNECTED I WANTED TO SEE THE PRODUCT MAYBE BOUGHT LIKE ONCE OR TWICE. CUNT …THEN YO ASS STARTED SELLING YO OWN. OOCHIE FOR METH BY THE TIME YOU MOVED TO WILCOX

like I said Jesus hung with who….EXACTLY.

yal nigga had me taking one for the team cause 1. I’m TOO GOOD OF A.FRIEND FOR YOU WEAK FAKE ASSES

2. YAL PUT ME IN WEIRD POSITION ( preying on my trauma NARCISSIST) WHERE I HAD TO TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM. ..

BEEN CONTAMINATING MY FUCKING WEED. MESSING W ALL YOU. AJA , EVELYN AND YALL BOTH SIGNED UP FOR THE WEIRDO ANTI MASON SHIT IN 7th grace AJA AND HIGH SCHOOL EVELYN ..CAUSE I CALLED YOUNA GORILLA AND PUSHED YOU DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS BY YO HAIR BITCH IT WAS MORE THSN DESERVING YOU OICKED FIGHTS W ME ONE WAY ANOTHER EVERYDAY ON TOP OF THAT BEFORE IMMAC WE WENT TO WEST HOLLYWOOY CAMP AND YOU TOLD SOME PPL I WAS GOING TO DROWN THEM GOT ME SUSPENDED THEN PLAYED STUPID SEEING ME 2 years later at immac… WHAT MY FACE LOOK LIKE,,BITCH THE SAME. 🙂🖕

[agentcable]

Law & Order Special Victims Unit Season 23 Ep. 13 "If I Knew Then What I Know Now"

Benson is asked for help by a young woman who is learning about her birth parents. Carisi and Rollins consider the potential consequences of making their relationship public.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

A girl is nervous about what to wear to meet someone online. While at a bar, she meets a woman who claims to be her birth mother.

Rollins' daughter comes into the kitchen and asks if Sonny is her sister's father.

The girl and the woman talk about how the woman never went to college and works at Macy's. She asks for her biological father.

The SVU team has a member on loan from Hate Crimes. A girl approaches Benson to report that her father raped her mother.

Ashley reveals that she recently met her birth mother, who was 15 years old when she passed out at a party and found out she was pregnant five months later. Ashley believes that reporting the rape will help her mother, who she thinks is broken. Benson cautions that there are no guarantees as to what will happen.

Carisi says that this is a rape from 2003 and that Ashley is not the victim. Michelle tells the detectives to stop talking and that Ashley has overreacted. Carisi thinks that Benson should tell Michelle her own story. Benson goes to Michelle's flat and asks for five minutes. Michelle is upset and thinks she should never have told Ashley in the first place. Benson explains how it felt for her to find out that she was the child of rape. She thinks Ashley wants to support Michelle through this and Michelle should give her and herself that chance.

Ashley is thrilled that Michelle wants to move on. But Rollins suggests that she give Michelle time. Ashley's adoptive father is displeased with this. Michelle's mother does not want Ashley in her life or for Michelle to pursue this. She does not appear to believe that Michelle was raped. Michelle's mother says she could never control Michelle. She thinks Michelle should never have agreed to meet Ashley. After saying this, she takes some hand sanitizer and leaves.

Benson speaks on video with an old friend of Michelle's. However, the woman denies being at the party and having any knowledge of it. Michelle possesses a photo of herself and Mavis at the bar that night. She also recollects Mavis assisting her while she was stumbling around. Benson has an idea.

Rollins tells Carisi that it would be better if this never came up. Carisi relates this to Rollins not wanting to be open about their relationship. The kids are unaware of their relationship. They start arguing about it. Carisi expresses that he doesn't want to live like this, while Rollins doesn't want to leave SVU. Carisi mentions that HR says they just have to disclose their relationship to their bosses. Rollins claims she has never been this open and honest in a relationship. Benson calls, and Rollins walks away.

Rollins asked Benson if Michelle really wanted to do a cognitive reenactment. Benson wondered what was going on with Rollins. Michelle recognized the place where the party took place, and the current owner allowed them to look around. She remembered being on the bed and telling the guy she wasn't ready, and he said she would always remember him. Rollins and the new guy speak with the previous owner of the house, who reveals that her sons resided there during the summer. She does not recognize Michelle and claims to have been absent at the time. Her elder son, Zach, who is a lawyer, expresses curiosity about the situation and denies any recollection of Michelle's presence. He is unaware of the other attendees at the party. He refuses to disclose the names of his former friends and suggests making phone calls instead.

Josh Wilcox arrives at SVU and is questioned by the police about Michelle.

He admits to making out with her at the party but denies having sex with her. He claims to have no knowledge of Michelle's pregnancy or her whereabouts after the party. He admits to being high at the time, but clarifies that they were in a downstairs bedroom, not upstairs where the crime occurred. They were fooling around, and it was the first time he had kissed a girl. He thought that was why she didn't call him back. He offers to provide a DNA sample. Michelle does not believe that Josh was involved in the crime. He repeatedly tried to call her. If it was him, she was not raped.

Rollins wonders if there was a possibility that no rape occurred. Benson disagrees, recalling the night her mother, drunk and angry, lashed out at her when she was 13. Her mother said she wished she never had her because of the rape. Rollins expresses regret. She wonders if she wished her mother hadn't told her at the time. Benson's comment has informed her whole life.

Ashley enters the room with excitement, convinced that Josh is her father and that there was no rape. She refuses to consider the possibility that Josh may not be her father and embraces Benson. Josh is equally thrilled, but Benson has to break the news that the DNA test results indicate that he is not Ashley's father. Despite this, Josh insists that Ashley looks like him. Michelle and Ashley are informed of the disappointing news. Ashley describes Josh as a kind person who has an interest in Michelle. Josh's DNA has cleared Zach. Josh recalls removing troublesome individuals from the wine cabinet. The upstairs area was restricted, but Cole, Zach's friend, slept there.

Benson and Carisi speak with a judge who identifies Cole as a notable figure. Cole was questioned by the police. He claimed that all the sexual encounters he had with multiple girls that summer were consensual. Despite this, Carisi requested DNA evidence. Although the DNA is a match, Benson believes that it may not be sufficient grounds for an arrest because Cole claims that there was enthusiastic consent. Rollins questions whether he would make such a statement to Michelle directly.

Cole and Michelle meet. Cole asks Michelle what she wants, offering to pay her student loans. Cole had assumed Michelle was enthusiastic at the time. Michelle wants an acknowledgement that Cole knew she was half unconscious. She would not have agreed. He raped her. Cole denies the accusation. He inquires about the amount of money she desires. Rollins and the new officer apprehend him. The judge informs Carisi that she too was a victim of Cole's rape and wants him prosecuted.

Cole's lawyer denies the rape accusation. Josh's testimony is sufficient for an indictment. Cole believes that Maxwell will assist him, but she signed the warrant. Michelle does not want to testify. They could consider taking the money. Ashley desires justice. Michelle believes that justice is seeing Ashley happy.

Cole meets Ashley in Benson's office and wants her to meet his other children. Eventually, he will reveal that she is his daughter from a previous relationship. Ashley wants him to confess to raping her mother, but Cole insists that what matters is that he is her father. Ashley disagrees, stating that he is not her father. He is her birth mother's rapist. Cole has a deal on the table to plead guilty to endangering the welfare of a minor. Benson suggests taking time to discuss. Michelle agrees to go along with Ashley's wishes. Later, Michelle tells Benson that she feels relieved and that her life now has possibilities. She thanks Benson.

Rollins informs Benson about her and Carisi. Benson appears unsurprised. Carisi expresses his desire to speak with the children next.

[awesomeforever]

He owned and operated Jay Bee Radio on Lancaster Avenue in West Philadelphia for 34 years and served as a church leader at Unity Temple Worship Center and Restoration Station Christian Fellowship. Leonard M. Minus, 75, of Philadelphia, prominent business owner for more than three decades, church leader, teacher, and mentor, died Monday, Dec. 12, of pulmonary hypertension and heart failure at Lankenau Medical Center. The owner and operator of Jay Bee Radio on Lancaster Avenue in West Philadelphia from 1985 to 2019, Mr. Minus, affectionately called JayBee by friends and fellow business owners, was a mainstay on the busy 4400 block of Lancaster Avenue. He not only sold, installed, and repaired TVs, sound systems, car radios, computers, and other electronics for 34 years, he collaborated with other entrepreneurs regarding neighborhood development and employed many young people in the city’s summer work program. His affable personality, open-door policy regarding business opportunities, and dedication to his church and community made him popular in whichever circle he was moving. “I’ll always hold onto those conversations you would have with me about life and love,” a friend said in a Facebook tribute. He advocated integrity and personal independence, and his motto was: “Be your own boss, and you can make your own rules.” His daughter Arlene Minus-Johnson said: “He wanted people to figure things out for themselves. Get a book. Go online. Do it yourself.” Mr. Minus first worked for Jack Broad, the founder of Jay Bee Radio, as an 18-year-old in 1965. He bought the business when Broad retired in 1985 and later purchased two more properties on the block that operated over the years as a restaurant, water ice store, gift shop, computer store, and other enterprises. Drawn to young people and anyone who wanted to improve, he also worked as a computer and electronics instructor at Lincoln Technical Institute and elsewhere. “He encouraged everyone to be at the table and be a leader,” said his daughter Tracy Wilcox. “He was a problem solver who also wanted to make it happen for someone else.” Minus-Johnson said: “He wanted to impart the importance of working hard.” Mr. Minus joined Unity Temple Worship Center in 1993 and served as deacon, trustee, and on the board of directors. He became a member of Restoration Station Christian Fellowship in 2011 and was a deacon and building manager, and involved with several committees and the youth fellowship. “Plain and simple, Deacon Minus was one of a kind,” one of his pastors at Restoration Station said in a tribute. Another pastor said: “You were so humble, hardworking, and willing to show up. … You had so much wisdom and advice for me, and I appreciate the small talk and the laughs.” Born March 5, 1947, Leonard Monroe Minus grew up in North Philadelphia and graduated from Murrell Dobbins Career and Technical Education High School. He later earned an associate degree at Community College of Philadelphia and a bachelor’s degree in business management from Temple University’s night school. He grew up next door to Doris Louis, and they married in 1965, lived in West Oak Lane, and had daughters Arlene and Tracy and son Leonard II. He also had son Keith Thompson. A tireless volunteer, Mr. Minus served holiday meals at local nursing homes and directed Easter egg hunts and other activities for neighborhood children. He liked to host big dinners on Thanksgiving, and his family always expected something to be overcooked as he tended to doze off during preparations before they arrived. He was a championship bowler and longtime member of a citizens band radio club. He liked jazz music and line dancing, traveled nearly every year to visit family in North Carolina and South Carolina, and enjoyed getaway trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City. He was robbed and shot at his store in 1997 but refused to abandon his customers and fellow business owners. He finally retired and sold his properties in 2019. In a tribute, his family said: “Leonard always imparted life lessons to all he met.”

In addition to his wife and children, Mr. Minus is survived by eight grandchildren, four great-grandchildren, three brothers, a sister, and other relatives. Three brothers and a sister died earlier. A celebration of his life was held Dec. 21. Donations in his name may be made to Restoration Station Christian Fellowship, 4313 Route 130 S., Park Plaza, Suite A-6, Edgewater Park, N.J. 08010. source

[mr-divabetic]

30-minute podcast featuring a hot topic debate on New York City's Super Size Soda Ban, a Food Aisle Face-off between Lemonade and Sweet Ice Tea, a Menu Review at California Pizza Kitchen, a Wack or Wow Style Challenge, and a Mother Your Diabetes Commentary.

[thefilmsimps]

Dark Passage (dir. Delmer Daves)

-Jere Pilapil- 6.5/10 I’ve seen this movie before, in my college days, going through a noir phase or a Bogart phase. Either way, I’d forgotten this one and probably conflated it with Key Largo in my head as “one of the ones with Bogart and Bacall in it, but not The Big Sleep and not the one with the ‘you know how to whistle, don’t you?’ scene”. And in the end, that’s kind of what it deserves: Delmer Daves’ Dark Passage is a perfectly passable noir with a couple wrinkles that elevate it ever-so-slightly. The first of those wrinkles is that the first third or so is filmed from a perspective. Humphrey Bogart plays Vincent Parry, a prison escapee convicted of murdering his wife. Except he doesn’t look like Bogart, as we see in a photograph printed in newspapers all over (an uncredited Frank Wilcox in the photo). It’s from this perspective that we meet Lauren Bacall as Irene Jansen, a woman whose father suffered a similar fate as Parry: innocent but convicted of murder. She shelters and clothes him long enough for him to (oh my fucking god) get plastic surgery that makes him look like Bogart. This is probably the most interesting stretch of the movie, though not entirely successfully. Filming like this is limited and goofy: early, when Vincent throws a punch, it looks an awful lot like melee combat in a video game. But we do get to enjoy Irene bossing Vincent around a bit, and some fun character work by Tom D’Andrea as a cab driver. Throughout, I had an uneasy feeling that the whole movie might be like this, that Bogart - then the highest paid actor in Hollywood - somehow agreed to essentially a voice actor roll. But once the movie reveals Bogart and gets down to business, things get a bit generic. See, Vincent, of course, wants to escape the law and wants to investigate the murder of a friend. The set up for this is a bit too neat: Madge, a former fling and a witness who testified against him (Agnes Moorehead) and her current beau Bob (Bruce Bennett) happen to be close friends with Irene. It creates the feeling of too tight a circle, a snow globe world that is distractingly convenient to the plot. The performances, specifically Bacall but Moorehead and Clifton Young as a smalltime crook, elevate this thing, but the third act falls apart as Vincent corners the perpetrator with essentially no leverage, and the final scene of the film feels extremely tacked on. Bogart is basically on autopilot here, navigating a bumpy script. Still, there are a lot of fun corners explored here. It may just be a silly curio, but it’s an enjoyable enough one.

[taxstamp]

- source

[xiapxls]

Kylie Wilcox

Public Enemy - Evil, Child of the Ocean + Happy Toddler, Socially Gifted

[killerlookz]

songs that ONE MILLION percent belong to each of paul dano's characters

(not necessarily songs i think theyd listen to just songs i feel suit them lol)

Edward Nashton: You Will Be Held Accountable For Your Actions- Shin Guard

Joby Taylor: Blood & Tears- Danzig

Nick Flynn: Blue- A Perfect Circle

Eli Sunday: Paranoid Android- Radiohead

Alex Jones/Barry Milland: Ptolemaea- Ethel Cain

Dwayne Hoover: Oceans- Frank Iero

Brian Wilcox: Break Stuff- Limp Bizkit (sorry)

Tim Klitz: Natalie Portman- Ozma

Calvin Weir-Fields: Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now- The Smiths

Thaddius: A.D.I.D.A.S- KoRn

Percy Dolarhyde: Hang 'Em High- My Chemical Romance (yee haw)

Jay (Okja): You Can be The Boss- Lana Del Rey

okay my dano filmography knowledge ends here hahaha

[justplainwhump]

Shattered Diamonds

Masterpost; formerly known as the Happy!AU

Collaboration with @ocean-blue-whump​

Lorenzo Hammond (you might know him as Sunny) couldn't be more happy about the way his life as a trophy husband to career criminal Dany, a marriage filled with luxury and love. But when she takes out a big competitor, Dany’s business follows her home, and Lorenzo is taken by Ian Wilcox, a crime lord with a mission. Ian and his men are willing to break Dany down entirely - and her pretty husband turns out to be the perfect tool to that end.

Tropes / content / warnings: whumpee x caretaker, one boss lady, one loving and devoted husband, crime, light references to WRU / BBU, NONCON (chapters marked individually), creepy whumper, forced to watch (a lot. this is pure forced to watch), gun in mouth, live-streamed whump, captivity.

[Full story on Ao3 (9k words)] 

Chapters on Tumblr and additional info under the cut:

Part 1

Anniversary (1 - Lorenzo) Reconsider (2 - Peter) Audience (3 - Dany) Threats (4 - Lorenzo) / nsfw (not explicit)  Defeat (5 - Dany) Reunited (6 - Lorenzo) Games (7 - Dany) Breaking (8 - Lorenzo) / nsfw, noncon Gone (9 - Dany) / nsfw, noncon (forced to watch)

Part 2

(in progress, we’re taking suggestions!)

Review (10 - Ian) / nsfw, very strongly referenced noncon

Begging (11 - Dany) / nsfw, noncon

Backstory

The Bahamas

Enzo cooking

Art

Enzo in the kitchen / nsfw for partial nudity

Canon

Dany Canon Masterlist || Sunny Canon Masterlist

[empress-hancock]

Masterpost links

This post is currently mostly broken because I changed my url. I intend to fix it sometime soon. Please stay tuned. Any links that go directly to articles, studies, or other sites should still work, but some links on here lead to things I reblogged, and those won’t work atm.

Shitty Famous People

Rapist members of the Black Panther party

Rugby player burns wife and kids, stabs self

Guy who started Earth Day killed his girlfriend and ran from the law. He spent more time running and chilling in France than in prison

Ronaldo is a rapist

Donald Glover sure is, uh, something

Article about various male scumbags in Hollywood

Porn, Prostitution, & BDSM

No, women’s no 1 sexual fantasy is not being raped

MOST CP comes from the Netherlands

Ukrainian gyno films patients and puts it on porn sites

COCSA and porn

Prostitution leads to trafficking

Porn and teen dating violence

More porn myth busting

More anti-porn

Pornhub encourages people to NOT report CP

More anti-porn research

Effects of long term exposure to porn

Pornhub’s bullshit

Dangers of choking (“breathplay”)

Witches

Women are still being killed for being witches

Sexual violence in the witch trials

Women’s history: People, Barriers, and Events

@ms-hells-bells on Marie Antoinette

Hurdles in the history of women’s sports

Voynich Manuscript and women inventing languages

Trans and Gender Issues

Gendercrit trans people statements

r/thisneverhappens

This post by @taramaclaywasaterf is a godsend

Good read on gender neutral toilets

Trans people admitting their fetish

Murder rates by population

Transwoman author Meredith Russo is a domestic abuser

Trans people getting upset at depictions of the female body

The DSM’s diagnostic criteria for gender dysphoria, and a little bit on how girls feel about their bodies

Guy who coined “cisgender” was a pedo

Trans inmates, a danger to women

Trans kids do not stay trans

Mermaids’s bullshit

Miscarriage abdomen tattoo story (idk I was looking for this a while back & thought I’d add it)

About the Japanese bar that got shut down by a white TIM

Transwomen admitting to being incels and nazis

Cotton ceiling

Trans people scaring (and sometimes killing) women into silence

Distribution of trans people across the US

Transwomen attacking women and girls in bathrooms

Target Vouyerism

TRA receipt masterpost

Yaniv masterpost

Being a lesbian makes you a TERF

Trans murder rate is so low and also Hozier is a moron

In the UK, getting your sex changed on legal documents requires no hormones or surgery

Brain sex debunked

Suicide rates increase after transition

The trans movement viewed with the BITE model

More TRA receipts

Crime and Victimization

Violent crime victim and perpetrator breakdown

Crime curve

Purple Beret’s stats on battered women in prison

Women commit child abuse only marginally more often than men, and it’s only because of the fact that women are more likely to be in their children’s lives. If there was equal presence, men would commit more of the abuse

Database of women murdered by men, courtesy of nurse Dawn Wilcox

MRA Mythbusting

False rape accusations are rare

Cops are not helpful in rape cases

There’s three studies linked in this post about how males in female dominated fields get preferential treatment

Wage gap masterpost

We are not fearmongering

Divorce Myths

Women are still oppressed in the west

Women’s Health: Discrimination Within & Knowing Your Body

Your uterus is important

Studying erectile dysfunction vs studying PMS

Signs of breast cancer

Intersex masterpost

The female body is biologically superior

Discrimination in Schools and the Workplace

Voice recognition discriminates against women

Professors reply to white male students most often

Bosses discriminate against female employees who do not wear makeup

Girls experiencing harassment and assault at school

Japanese women banned from wearing glasses to work

Domestic Abuse

Women forced to pay alimony to abusers

Why Does He Do That

While we’re at this, donate to Vancouver Rape Relief!

Homosexuality

Map of countries where male homosexuality, female homosexuality, and transsexuality are illegal

Chechnya

Stonewall masterpost

Before Stonewall

Movements Across the World

South Korean Feminism

Women in Mexico disappear for a day

Misc Data

Men have been useless during quarantine

Plus

This photo I keep of revenge porn stats

[whump-town]

Cracks in the Ceiling

little hurt LOT comfort

my version of Route 66 bc how are you going to cut him open and give such minimal comfort?? like damn

Morgan’s tearing through the open case file in front of him, attention more or less on his teammates debating the case openly around him. His head is pounding, there’s this ache fixated on his right temple that no amount of Tylenol has managed to dull. If it weren’t for the pain he’d lean over and make Rossi aware of the fact that he’s 100% certain that Hotch slept in his office last night. He’s no snitch but this is the second time this week and it’s a pattern of behavior that has never been good in the past. It’s a behavior worth noting. For now, he decides to leave it. The others are gathering, filling into place, everyone’s mostly in their usual seats at the round table. He isn’t alerted or even too worried about Hotch standing rather than sitting, dark eyes darting over them. It’s probably nothing, Morgan shakes his head, not a big deal.

They jump into the work, Morgan keeps quiet. He’s got some things scratched into the margins of his file but he’ll bring them up now. Nothing worth stating just yet, not even proper observations but maybe Reid will have something to spitball. “--as you know, the amber alert is…” Morgan looks up, frowning at the sound of just how breathless Hotch is. As if he’s just run a marathon or taken down an Unsub by himself. Morgan looks the man up and down. The stark contrast of his boss’ pale face to the red of his tie. Morgan frowns, “Hotch?” He’s already on his feet, heart hammering, standing just as Hotch rasps an “excuse me”.

“Aaron!”

Rossi gets to him first. Kneeling right down on the ground, no reservations left for personal space. Anywhere else, anything else and it might have been funny. Rossi is so careful about himself. He won’t get his shoes dirty and he’s not putting creases in his pants let alone kneeling on the ground and risking wearing down the material around his knee and yet here he is. Placing a crease in his shoes at the toes and digging a knee in the, no doubt, filthy carpet. His clothes don’t matter, he’s paying them no mind as he calls Hotch’s name again. Begging-- “Look at me! Aaron? Aaron!”

It’s all snippets, no solidity.

Rossi’s rough palm, his skin radiating an intense uncomfortable heat against Hotch’s cheek. The rings on his fingers biting with their chilled metal, startlingly present in a haze of sensations he can’t name. All too much information for his brain, warmth and the chill, and how heavy his diaphragm feels as he draws in breathes.

Bright lights, rocking, and back and forth. White, bright white dancing from one eye over to the other.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

Drugs. He can feel them in his veins, thick as sludge crawling up his throat.

“Mr. Hotchner, can you hear me?”

Pulse is thready.

He’s not responding.

He can see Rossi-- it’s not worry pulling his face down, it’s hopelessness. A deep realization that he can do nothing, that he’s powerless and clueless. He can do nothing but sit there as the paramedics work, providing no commentary, having generally no idea what to do.

Starting lactated ringers.

Systolic is dropping.

BP is 90/60.

Systolic is his heart, which Rossi knows isn’t good. His blood pressure runs low, he takes medication for that. Maybe… Maybe he just didn’t take his meds this morning. That’s an easy enough explanation. No need to think the worst.

But the worst is what they get.

Foyet returned from the grave. Sometimes it’s like that man never really left. Hotch still looks over his shoulder, wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Catches himself thinking like a trapped animal, reflexively isolating himself. It was only a few months but the paranoia is something he’s never been able to shake. He put his family at risk, lost Haley and Jack for months, and every time he was alone with a team member Foyet could be watching and if Foyet wanted to… he couldn’t even keep a serial killer from breaking into his home. He’s nearly lost all of them to serial killers, what’s he really going to be able to do to stop Foyet from killing them?

Back from the grave?

It’s like he never left.

Garcia approaches the bed slowly, put off by the stark contrast of the bags under Hotch’s eyes, and the intense pallor of his face. The only reassurance he’s even alive is the fog, the oxygen mask flushed with each of his shaky and choked breaths. “Sir?” She slowly reaches down and takes his right hand in both of her own. His hand is freezing, limp, and heavy in her hand. Lifeless. Even his veins look wrong, the colors aren’t right.

Settling herself with a deep breath, Garcia runs her thumb across his knuckles. Trying to draw some sort of stability, some consciousness to the madness buzzing around them. The hospital alight with all the wrong sorts of energy.

His head is turned slightly to her, lips parted as his breathing labors on. Leaving his lungs in harsh rasps. His left arm is curled limply around the light pink basin in his lap. It makes her stomach ache to imagine him alone back here, even if he wasn’t awake.

“Ma’am,” a nurse steps into the room, followed by two men on each of her sides. “They’re ready for him in OR 2. We’re going take him there now.”

Garcia nods, hands shaking a little harder than she’d like at the thought of him going somewhere she can’t watch over. This isn’t the same as the field. There she can hear what he hears. She’s right there with them but… “O--Okay,” she whispers, nodding tightly as she gently lays his hand back down on the bed. She looks him back over once more. Memorizing all that she can and biting back the emotion working up her throat. “Take care of him,” she says, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “He’s really important to me.”

The nurse stops, ignoring the other two men as they place all the machines they can around and in Hotch’s lap. She squeezes Garcia’s arm gently, “he’s in the best hands.” She nods, a small sympathetic smile in place. “We’ll take care of him, ma’am. I promise.”

Garcia nods, “okay.” She has to trust them and she can do that. She believes in medicine. She understands it. He’s going to be okay. Eventually. Not right now but soon and she’ll stay with him for as long as she can.

“Hello?” She answers her phone on the second ring, her hands shaking so badly she misses the answer button the first time. Her eyes stay on Hotch, watching and struggling to keep up with the fast pace of the staff pushing him down the hall. Distracted enough to not even care that it’s Morgan calling her and that she should greet him with their usual luster. She just can’t find it in herself to conjure it up right now.

Morgan greets her a second later, a mind centered on just getting this case over with. He can’t think about Hotch. Can’t get distracted. “Hey, Baby Girl,” he says, pulling the phone back and hitting the speakerphone so JJ can hear. “It’s Morgan. How’s Hotch?”

Garcia really wishes she hadn’t worn heels today. The heels along with her much shorter legs are making it really hard to keep pace with Hotch. “He’s still out,” she informs him. Which kind of sucks. She’d feel really good right now if she’d just seen him awake. To talk to him. He’s always really good at calming her down. “They’re taking him to surgery.”

Morgan sighs, shaking his head. Damn, he’d really been hoping whatever this was to pass over as the flu. “Okay,” is all he says, hoping his disappointment doesn’t write itself all over his body. He clears his throat and tries to shake this awful feeling in his gut. “Alright, well, we need you to look through Samantha Wilcox’s text and email correspondents.”

Garcia nods her head, hoping what he’s saying actually sticks in her brain. She’d hate to have to call back and tell them she didn’t catch a word being said. Not after promising Dave, she would be okay to stay behind with Hotch. “Okay.” She agrees, “what am I looking for? Anything in particular?”

JJ’s voice cuts through and that takes Garcia by pleasant surprise. “She’s been in touch with her dad.”

Oh. Garcia thinks. That’s probably not good.

“And check vicap,” Morgan adds.

Garcia had seen the doors coming and the nurses and doctor’s throwing on scrub caps from down the hall. She’d seen them but she hadn’t thought this was where they part. Nervously, her eyes flicker over to Hotch. Maybe it’s better he’s not awake to see her like this. The last thing he needs is worrying about trying to soothe her nerves. “W-Why,” she stops as a nurse sympathetically directs her to.

She doesn’t hear a thing from then on. Her ears are ringing, words coming from the line but she doesn’t hear it. She just stands there. “They just took him back,” she manages. He’s gone from her sight. The hall is empty. It’s just her standing here.

For the sake of appearances she finds a seat in the waiting room, tries to manage deep even breathes. Remain calm. But Morgan’s request doesn’t take that long, he doesn’t even try to stay on the line with her. The conversation dies the second she tells him Hotch is in surgery and no one’s told her anything.

Out of boredom, unable to sit still a moment longer while her mind replays the pain of the day that it happened. Being forced to stay at her desk while knowing, while having listened as Emily explained the mess in his apartment. The tumbler shattered on the ground. Clear, composed Emily Pretniss’ voice trembling, the shattered glass in her throat. Not enough blood to know he’s dead but not enough to survive.

She goes to the gift shop to distract herself with the signs and clothes for expecting parents, for balloons that wish parents and grandparents a speedy recovery. So that she can stand amongst the aisle of teddy bears and t-shirts and exist in space and time that feels mute, feels non-existent.

She buys herself a sucker shaped like a heart and Hotch a teddy bear with a t-shirt that says “I love you” because he’ll pretend to hate it. He’ll hate the attention maybe but it’ll keep him company. After what Foyet did to him she gave him a troll, it’s all she had on her when was finally able to get to the hospital to see him. He was asleep by the time she got there, the doctor gave him sedatives. He got agitated after Haley and Jack left, tore stitches in restlessness. They set up a schedule, made sure he wasn’t alone after that.

She placed the troll in the palm of his hand, curled his fingers around it. He gave it back when he returned to work. She found it on her desk with a note, a simple “Thank you -H”. What a silly man, she’d meant for him just to keep it. She slipped it back into his go-bag the second he wasn’t watching. He got the message then.

It’s still in his go-bag.

The recovery room is filled with the sounds of heart monitors.

It’s good. Logically, Penelope Garcia knows it’s good but she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Yet she’d fought rather bravely to get here, to be allowed someplace she should not be. Listening to the crowd of heart monitors softly ringing out the promise of ongoing survival, she feels hopeful. She’s not naive enough to feel safe.

She’d watched them extubate him. She’d stepped into the room a little prematurely, seen him attached to all those machines. Watched his chest rise and fall under the guide of the ventilator. Slivers of his eyes present as a doctor talked to him, guiding him through the process. He gags and chokes, still absent of mind as they move him. By the time anyone pays any attention to her he’s already back under the pull of the drugs. Asleep. They move him on the bed, settle his arms back to his sides and pull the blankets up to his chest. He’s no more than a body to manipulate.

“He’ll—He’ll be okay, right?” She’d seen the doctor extubate Hotch and her chest hurts at the sight of him. He’d been so limp as they pulled that tube out, coughing and curling into himself. Unaware of everything around him, he’d wrapped his arms around his chest. He’s as pale as the bedsheets he’s laying on and her protective streak wants nothing more than to gather all six feet of him up into a comfy blanket and cuddle his pain away. “Is he in any pain?”

The doctor clenches his teeth, taking a breath like he’s either uncertain or afraid to tell her the truth. He places his arms over his chest, “there was a lot of internal damage.” But he’s still chewing on what he’s really afraid to admit to, turning it over. Weighing the pros and cons— “We lost him on the table but—” panic strikes the happy blonde like a hand. “We got him right back, ma’am. He’s responding appropriately to the medication. Your friend is tough, his recovery is already coming along nicely.”

Garcia lets out a shaky breath. “Is there anything I can do? You know, until you move him?” They get hurt all the time and she tries really hard to stay objective, to keep coasting along because that’s always what the others do. Emily never loses her head and Hotch always stays in the field, takes care of more than his share of the work. So she can do that, she’s capable of that.

The doctor smiles, “yeah. When he wakes up, his throat’s going to be pretty agitated. Try to get him to drink some water. It’ll help later, make him stronger when the nurses come around wanting him back on his feet in a few hours.” He extends his hand for her to shake, “and I’m sure with you here, Agent Hotchner will make a speedy recovery.”

Garcia blushes and shakes his hand.

“So,” the doctor stuffs his hands in his lab coat. “Are the rumors true?”

Garcia frowns, tilting her head.

“Did he really…” the doctor’s eyes move to the man on the bed. He shakes his head, “was it really a serial killer that did all that to him?”

Garcia pulls in a heated breath, she’s an even-tempered woman. She’s not going to be hot-headed about any old thing but why would he even say something like that. With Hotch right there. Just as she’s about to lay into him Hotch mumbles something from the bed, turning his head and blinking heavily as he takes in the darkroom. She can’t make it out but he shakes his head and makes a clumsy pull at the nasal canal under his nose, trying to dislodge it. She throws the doctor a dirty look and moves to his side, calling his name. Garcia takes his hand, “what? What is it, sir?”

He frowns, tight. Grimacing as he swallows, adam’s apple bouncing as he shakes his head again. He looks at her, eyes drooping before his lips part, his mouth clumsily forming her name. He pushes at the nasal canal again, his discomfort obvious. “Is he here?” he rasps. “Foyet?”

Garcia curses that stupid doctor but she knows it’s not his fault. Old injuries and old scars. “No, honey,” she soothes, her thumb running over his knuckles. If he weren’t so high, so bogged down with the drugs he wouldn’t be so confused. He’d fuss over her endearment but instead, he leans closer. Turns his face towards her, trusts her. “Foyet’s long gone. He can’t hurt you. You’re safe.” The news seems to be surprising at first but she can see the moment he remembers. Foyet is dead. It puts him at some ease, helps but he’s still visibly uncomfortable.

She releases his hand, her heart breaking at the soft sound he makes. His panic swells as she steps to the side of the bed, going to the water pitcher. She pours a cup, holding it up so he can see what she’s doing. He shakes his head, making another clumsy tug at the oxygen canal and successfully moving it this time.

“Take a sip of this and I’ll bring you a strawberry milkshake later,” Garcia promises with a kind smile. “Come on, sir,” she urges. “One sip of water for your favorite milkshake?” She places the straw to his chapped lips and smiles when he takes a tentative sip.

He manages to raise his left hand, struggling to form a good hold on the cup. She lets him have it though, her palm just under it in case he drops it. “I don’t like strawberry milkshakes,” he rasps, sipping slowly at the water working numbers on his raw throat.

Garcia smiles, “I know sir.” She reaches up and lightly taps a finger against his temple, “I was just making sure they didn’t scramble your brains, that’s all.” She takes the cup back, noticing him slowly losing his grip, fighting the anesthesia still coursing through his veins.

He grins sleepily at her, eyes falling shut. “No more scrambled than usual,” he jokes softly.

She grins and takes his hand in her own, squeezing his limp fingers. “Oh, but that’s why we love you, sir.”

He nods, eyes shut as he slips back under the lingering anesthesia. “Garcia,” he mumbles, fingers curling around hers. “You don’t have to stay.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not gonna leave you back here all alone.” She looks around, he may be fighting sleep and will most likely spend his hour back here asleep but it’s creepy and she knows he wouldn’t leave her. “It’s kind of scary back here,” she admits and squeezes his hand. “And you wouldn’t leave me back here all by myself so don’t expect me to leave you.”

Hotch grumbles something under his breath she can’t quite hear but she takes it as his usual self-deprecating, overbearing nature sort of thing and lets it slip. “Get some sleep, sir.”

He doesn’t remember a word of their previous conversation.

A nurse comes in and they run through all the same old stuff. He’s given a pink bucket even though he doesn’t express he’s nauseous, still clutches it to his chest. Pink plastic rubbing against the surgical staples, he’s afraid breathing the wrong way will split him open. The morphine is making his head fuzzy, makes his dreams weird and his thoughts overwhelmingly rippled. But the world distorts a little and he sees Garica sitting there, all of the brightness in the world scribbling away on her notepad so that she can make sure he abides by every word they advise. He feels a little better with her here.

“Mmm,” he’s leaning into his side but he perks up a little when he hears the nurse say something about food. Tells them he can’t eat anything for the next forty-eight hours. His noise draws their attention, the first real reaction he’s had since this all began. “No milkshake then.”

Garcia frowns at him and then the nurse. She reaches over and squeezes his hand, “sorry, sir.”

He clears his throat, pressing the bucket harder into his stomach. “S’okay.” He really doesn’t care about that. The main concern right now is not throwing up. A battle that it feels like he won’t be winning.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

He cracks an eye open and knows that a good stretch of time has just passed. There are no markers for it within the room, the blinds are shut on the one window and there’s not a visible clock within his line of sight but intuitively he knows.

“I need to change your bandages.”

He nods, faintly able to recall this part of the healing from years ago. The constant monitoring, the bandage changes. Sucks. All of it. “Garcia?” they ask him if she can stay. He doesn’t want to do that to her but he also doesn’t want to force her away. “You don’t have to stay.” He finds her in the mix of people, around the sound of gauze being opened, and things shuffled around. “Take a break,” he manages a sliver of control. “Get some fresh air.”

She shakes her head.

“Garcia.” They’re waiting on his permission, to go on or kick her out. “Penelope,” he whispers, “you don’t have to look. You don’t want to.”

She frowns, standing to contest his nonsense head-on. “Sir, you’re one of the three most attractive men I know.” She stands there and dares him to say otherwise. He’s a good bit older than she is but she knows an attractive man when she sees one. She’s not blind.

He smirks, too loosely for it to be entirely of his volition and nothing to do with the drugs. “One of three, huh? That makes me the third?” She rolls her eyes and he waves her off, makes a motion for her to go. “Go eat, Penelope. Call Morgan. Get out of here.”

She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want him to ever leave her line of sight again but she nods and listens.

Morgan tells her everything with the Wilcox case went decently. They got the dad and the girl made it out alive. She tells him Hotch is awake, facing this new disaster with his usual stoic ways. They end the awkwardly, neither really in the headspace to play around.

He’s asleep again when she comes back. Gown askew across his shoulders, leaving his collarbones scandalously out in the open. Makes him look naked but she can’t look away. Under all those layers, suits that haven’t really changed in the decade she’s known him, he’s deceivingly pale. She can see muscle, the way it lays, and yet the soft corners of him. Years of fatherhood having worn him down in places softened him in others. He’s gained weight but this has set him back again and she realizes that if she’s looking at his too-thin body here then he’s lost weight before her eyes. How long has he been sick?

Visiting hours are over, she’s supposed to be making her goodbyes for the night. This sullen feeling in her stomach only doubles, makes her feel sick. She can’t leave him. Don’t they understand that? He’s in no state to be left by himself. “Sir?” she whispers. She touches his hand and he flinches.

His sleepy frown deepens but he hears her whisper for him again. He hums, eyelids too heavy to lift fully. “Mhmm?”

“I have to go,” she says. “Visiting hours are over.”

He hums again, nods.

She takes advantage of his current state leans down and kisses his forehead, hugs him while he lets her. “I love you, sir, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She takes a moment, his eyes still closed, to move his hair off of his forehead. “Are you okay? Will you be okay?”

He nods, swallowing thickly against the dryness in his throat. Facing the next few hours alone sounds miserable but he’s more than mastered the art of sleeping off stays in the hospital. It’s going to be a long night but not an impossible one.

“Oh,” she mumbles, “okay.” She moves to gather her stuff when she remembers the teddy bear. “Sir?”

He opens his eyes, just sliver but he’s there.

“I thought… maybe…” she places the bear in his lap. “To keep you company?”

He smirks, “thank you, Garcia.” There’s something about the way he rubs at the bear’s ear, softly and entirely content that gives her hope. He’ll be okay, she knows, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying. He looks up at her, that same lopsided grin she’s seen all afternoon. The drugs will wear off and she’ll be left without that smile again. Having to barter her way into sad grins instead.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she promises.

“Not until you’ve had breakfast,” he mumbles. “Eat first.”

She can’t help but smile even if she intends to listen. “Yes, sir.” So bossy. He’s lucky he’s cute or she’d have smacked him up the side of the head by now. She leaves, it hurts and she really, really doesn’t want to but she leaves.

He’ll be okay, she knows that.

And he is. There’s no good way to measure the day’s passing but a nurse comes in and tells it’s eight o’clock and that someone called the nurse’s desk asking for him, a name that came with a badge. Which confuses him but that really only leaves a small group of people, he assumes that means the team is back home.

It’s not them.

She gets there at nine o’clock and it’s only her badge and artfully mumbling something about Interpol that gets her back. They know he’s a federal agent and she’s betting on that. She’s always been good at poker.

He’s sleeping when she finds him, the only light in the room coming from the heart monitor. She wishes she knew how to read it, how to understand what the numbers mean so that she might be able to get a better grasp on the situation. All she knows is what Morgan told her over the phone but that seemed crazy. Hotch wasn’t even sick, Morgan said he was fine. Maybe a little off but he’s Hotch, he just simply is off.

“Emily?”

She steps into the room, following the sound of his sleep-disturbed voice.

“What’re you doing here?”

He’s obviously confused, frowning at her more than happy to see her. The morphine always gives him crazy dreams, he’s probably assuming that’s what this is. “I know I’m not your favorite,” she mumbles sarcastically, “but you don’t have to make it so abundantly clear.” With an eye roll, she sits herself down on the edge of the bed. For a moment, as his tired brain processes what she’s said, she fears what she fears every time she comes home-- that things between them have changed. That distance hasn’t made him fond but rather angry or has changed one of them so drastically that they no longer know one another.

He groans at her, shaking his head and grumbling her name in that bothered way he’s perfected over the years.

With a smile, she knows nothing has changed. He still manages to say her name like “leave me alone” meant to be taken as an endearment, an invitation to stay. “It’s okay,” she assures, tapping the back of her hand against his hip. “No hard feelings.”

He hums, not going to even bother with refuting any of her statements. That’s the beauty of their companionship, they never really have to say anything. That’s what she’s so afraid will change because she knows that if one day she comes home and he can’t read the “I love you” hidden in her sarcasm and the “please, don’t scare me like that again” in her playful proximity then that’s it. She can find the words for Reid and she’s always been able to suck up the physical comfort for Garcia or JJ but she just can’t with Hotch. She tried so hard after Foyet to be able to say something, to wrangle up comfort, but she just couldn’t.

But there was a moment, one night when the world seemed to be drowning in a rainstorm, that she woke up sick. His abdomen was still ablaze from Foyet’s attack, too fresh for him to be up and moving around. He’d followed the sound of her getting sick to the bathroom, making his slow way down the hall held upright by the wall. Moving forward only because stopping would cause him to fall. He didn’t leave her once he understood the noise just settled down on the ground beside her, back leaning on the bathtub. Neither said a word but she looked over at him and she saw all the comfort he couldn’t manage to bring to words. His worry etched across his face. She was supposed to be taking care of him and yet they’d ended up shoulder-to-shoulder waiting out a storm on the bathroom floor.

She has a fever-hazed memory of waking up with her head on his shoulder. A glass of water against her knee and the warmth of a heating pad against her stomach. No idea how he did it or when but they never spoke of it. Never had to. Somehow someone she can’t even manage to tell that she loves or that she even remotely feels concerned for turned out to be one of her closest friends. The asshole she once thought untrustworthy. He’s still an asshole but it’s one of those things that you just learn to look over.

Makes him interesting.

“So,” she says with a sigh, “you gonna scoot over or what?”

She gets another blanket out of a cabinet she sees in the corner of the room, distracts herself so that he’s certain she doesn’t see him moving. That’s what she’s talking about, there’s no communication needed. He can move himself over a little bit but it’s painful and he’s weak and he doesn’t want her to see that. She also knows he runs cold and won’t share his blankets with her. Loves her enough to share his bed but she’s yet to encounter someone he loves enough to share his blankets.

“What happened to your arm?” he can see it once she moves away again. A simple sling keeps it pinned to her chest, he assumes she’s either dislocated or been shot. Wonders why she didn’t call, why she didn’t tell anyone.

She sighs, he can’t see her roll her eyes but he knows that sigh and knows she’s done it even if he can’t see. “This prick,” she tosses the blanket on his legs as she climbs up beside him. “He kicked me, sent me down a flight of stairs.” He can tell she’s more embarrassed than hurt, which is good. She puffs out an agitated breath but despite this is very gentle as she gets closer to him. Hyperaware of the wounds she can’t see.

Her warmth is alluring, despite himself he leans closer, and she doesn’t say a word when his cheek comes to her shoulder.

“I’m okay, though,” she finally states. Moves some of her blanket over him, checks again that he’s comfortable. Which she assumes he is, or he wouldn’t be sleeping. “Clyde had given me three weeks off, told me to take a break. That’s why I came. I promise I didn’t take any unnecessary time off.”

He hums, appreciates this addition. She knew he would.

Her throat is sore where it catches the words she doesn’t know how to say. That she’s missed him terribly or that she loves him or that when Morgan told her what happened she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think or move. He takes her hand and she has to pinch her eyes shut so that she doesn’t cry and he squeezes her hand.

He’s missed her too.

He loves her.

He’s glad she came.

“Go to sleep,” she mumbles.

He hums.

--------------

The others come in at six, pilling into the room in dirty clothes from the day before and sore from the jet ride home. They’re too tired to speak, to do anything more than grumble and shove at one another to get through the door. As they pile in they take stock of the sight before them. Emily’s dark bruises, the black eye that the night had hidden from Hotch. Her hand still holding his. Hotch breathing, laying there entirely whole. Slowly returning to his normal colors.

They have questions, concerns to raise with both sleeping parties, but those can wait for a better hour.

They settle down in the room, squeezing together on chairs.

Morgan sees Hotch wake a little, a soft shift in his breathing.

“Back to sleep,” Morgan whispers, trying to keep the others from hearing. Hotch’s face pinches, mouth opening to ask the question Morgan already knows. “Everything went fine. Samantha is safe, no one got hurt.” He glances at Emily and shakes his head, “go back to sleep, Hotch. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And it settles once again.

Nothing but the soft sound of sleeping agents.

[spencers-renaissance]

To Look On Tempests and Not Be Shaken

Summary: In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer's well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare's sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff, shakespeare/literature

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Set in S11, AU in which Haley/Aaron divorced in S1 and Aaron/Spencer married in S4.)

It wasn’t really either of their faults: work was relentless at the moment and they hadn’t had any real time for one another in weeks. That’s not really a consolation to either Spencer or Aaron, however, when they’re in the middle of a blazing row that has them both drowning in flames of anger and passion, unable to see one another for the smoke filling their apartment. 

“Aaron, this is the fourth case in a row that you’ve stayed at  the office past 4 in the morning to wrap up the paperwork,” Spencer shouts, frustration rising in his chest as he tugs at his hair, already feeling far too overwhelmed. Aaron is looking as unbothered and stoic as he always does during their fights, and even though Spencer is fully aware of the emotion that will be stirring under his carefully constructed mask, it doesn’t make it any less exasperating. 

“You know as well as I do that this sort of work load is completely unavoidable,” Aaron says lowly, anger finally audible in his voice. It’s not as satisfying as Spencer had hoped. “We can’t keep rehashing this same old argument. I’m the Unit Chief of a team in one of the most prestigious FBI departments. I have a responsibility.”

“You have a responsibility to me and Jack as well,” Spencer cries, fury bubbling over as he thinks of Jack and just how much he deserves. “We deserve your time just as much as fucking serial killers do.”

Aaron visibly flinches as Spencer swears, an occurrence rare enough to indicate serious emotion. “This is exactly the argument I used to have with Haley, Spencer,” he says harshly. “I refuse to have it with you, too. If you can’t handle it then maybe you should leave, just like she did, hm?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe that means there’s an element of truth in it then, Aaron?” Spencer asks, voice breaking slightly as the scale tips away from uncontained ire towards hopeless misery. He turns away from his husband, trying in vain to conceal his crumpled face and damp eyes. “And you know I would never do that to you; don’t you dare throw your unresolved issues back in my face.”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Aaron says, voice and face hardened; Spencer can almost see the walls he’s building up again, the stubborn refusal to concede any point. “You’re not being rational. I’m going to bed.”

His stomach twists with the desperation of the situation as he says quietly to Aaron’s turned, retreating back, “What happened to never going to bed angry?” He doesn’t turn back around. 

⭐️

Aaron waits in bed for Spencer to join him, fully intending to feign sleep the moment he enters the bedroom but nevertheless longing to know he’s safely tucked next to him in bed. When he hears the quiet click of the front door and checks the time to see he’s been waiting for almost 25 minutes, though, a panicked feeling fills his chest. He throws the covers back and treads out to the living room, only to be met with a decidedly empty room. If he was a more spiritual man he’d say he could still feel the angry aura of their previous argument lingering over the furniture. Really what he feels is the inevitable, empty vacuum a home without Spencer in it is bound to house. 

He sits down on the sofa, just on the wrong side of too cold in his threadbare t-shirt and underwear, and buries his head in his hands. The problem is that he knows Spencer’s right. He and Jack both deserve better than this kind of life, of course they do. Jack deserves a father, Spencer deserves a husband. Admitting such a fact, however, requires humility, vulnerability, failure almost. It means telling his boss that he needs reinforcements, that he can’t continue with the 80+ hour weeks, that he’s not as strong as he used to be. 

That sort of thing takes a courage that feels so far out of reach, though, and he’s left defending a place he doesn’t want to be in against people he loves more than anything in the world. 

Forcing himself out of his miserable carousel of thoughts and regrets, he pulls his head from his hands and catches sight of a note on the coffee table, his name scrawled across it in Spencer’s handwriting. Immediately, his heart sinks: it’s unlikely a love letter. It’s far more likely it’s a note of good riddance, an announcement of abandonment. 

Turning it over in his shaking hands, he reads: 

I’ve gone to stay with Derek and Penelope for the night. I will pick up Jack from Jessica’s in the morning, on my way home. I love you. Spencer 

He immediately feels guilt at ever having thought that Spencer would be cruel enough to leave him in the same way he’s been left himself one too many times. His husband has an incredible amount of love filling his heart, and he’s simply incapable of such cruelty. It’s been a fear of his for many years, that Spencer would grow unhappy but be too kind to leave, prioritising Aaron above himself. He knows it’s Haley’s fault for embedding such fear and doubt in his heart all those years ago, but he can’t help but berate himself for ever doubting Spencer. 

It’s not like they’re about to break up. When he considers the situation logically, he knows that. He loves Spencer, Spencer loves him, and ultimately, he’s going to relent. He’s going to draw on whatever shreds of courage remain in his tattered and beaten soul and do whatever it takes to make his family happy, to give them what they deserve. He just has no idea how to cross the gaping chasm that stands in the way of reaching that eventuality. 

He goes to place the note back down on the coffee table, but his eyes land on the book it had originally rested on: Spencer’s well-loved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He picks it up, sort of absent-mindedly, thumbing the pages the love of his life has read countless times, holding on to the book as an emotional connection to Spencer. It’s travelled their entire relationship with them; he remembers it laying on his spare bedside table back when Spencer visited his apartment in the dead of night, terrified of anyone finding them out. He’d read the poems over and over again, long into the night. Aaron can’t help but smile at the memory of Spencer’s unique quirks. 

Eventually, his absent fiddling lands him on a page Spencer’s visited time and time again. A worn leather bookmark Aaron recognises as one of Diana’s gifts marks the page titled Sonnet 116. Tired and lovelorn, he begins reading.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare 

((Modern Translation, if you’d prefer:

I will not admit that interferences are possible in the union of two people In love. Love that changes when circumstances do is not love, Nor if it bends when someone tries to destroy it: Oh no! It is an eternally fixed point, Which may watch storms but is never shaken by them; it is the guiding star for ever lost ship: Its distance may be measured but its quality cannot be. Love does not fall victim to Time, though features of youth Are eventually entrapped by him; Love doesn’t change as hours and weeks race past, But endures until death. If this is wrong, and I’m proved incorrect, Then I never wrote, and no man ever loved.))

The words come rushing back to him as soon as he reads them: it had been a contender for Spencer’s chosen poem at their wedding. He’d eventually gone with I loved you first by Christina Rosetti, the perfect compliment to his own choice of I love you by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but on their first morning as a married couple, laid in their warm and comfortable bed, Spencer had pulled out this very book and straddled Aaron’s thighs, reading it to him with an earnest expression. He remembers the air being punched out of his chest as he’d looked up at a bright-eyed 27-year-old Spencer who had been through so much already but still held all the grace and innocence he did on his first day at the BAU.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear runs down his nose and splashes on the page. What really tips him over the edge is reading Spencer’s small, chicken-scratch annotations around the poem, noting different points in their relationship, events between the two of them that prove the words of an Englishman born 400 years earlier.  

It’s so easy for him to doubt how much Spencer loves him - insecurities and the trauma of his separation from Haley consume him far too often - but he’s holding the tangible, physical proof. This is undeniable, this is the evidence his doubtful, damaged heart yearns for, and the furious, raging, endlessly tumultuous waters inside him settle for the first time in weeks.  

⭐️

The second Aaron’s alarm goes off at 6am, he gets started on the plan he’d formed as soon as the words of Shakespeare’s sonnet had sunk in. The email he’d composed the night before is the first thing his laptop screen displays when he powers it on, and he presses send on the uncompromising, demanding letter he’d addressed to Cruz. Finally feeling good about the entire situation, he turns the coffee maker on and gets dressed; Spencer’s an early riser but he’s determined to get to Derek and Penelope’s before he leaves. 

The relief is freeing, and he feels light for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t quite realised just how much it had all been weighing on him until he’d finally found the courage to cut it free. 

Armed with two coffees and Shakespeare’s sonnets, he heads downstairs to the taxi he’d ordered the night before. The city races past in front of the slow and steady sunrise, dawn marking a new chapter in Aaron’s life that he’s determined to make worth it. Slowly the thick of the city fades into the suburbs, and the taxi slows down as they wind through the maze of identical looking streets until they arrive at Derek and Penelope’s home. 

He pays the taxi driver as quickly as possible and sighs in relief at the sight of Spencer’s car still on the drive as he climbs out of the vehicle, carefully balancing his two coffees, still warm in their thermal mugs. Fully aware that Derek and Penelope are absolutely going to chew him out the minute they lay eyes on him, he hesitantly rings the doorbell. 

“Man, what the hell?” Derek exclaims, clearly exasperated as he swings the door open, revealing a sorry looking Aaron Hotchner standing sheepishly on his doorstep. 

“I know,” Aaron replies immediately, trying to portray as much regret and understanding with his body language as is possible when holding two coffees with  your husband’s most prized possession perched precariously under your arm. “I know, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I need to see Spencer.”

Derek looks thoroughly put out just being in Aaron’s presence, but after a moment or two of hesitation he relents, opening the door wider to let him through. “Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll ask if he’s okay to see you.”

He parks Aaron in the living room and then leaves to go and find Spencer. Only seconds later, he hears the hurried click of kitten heels on the wooden floor and internally cringes; if facing Derek was bad, facing Penelope will be infinitely more painful.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Penelope shouts before she’s even fully entered the living room, “I have never, and I mean never been more disappointed in you. I don’t think you fully appreciate how lucky you are. You may be my boss but that does not mean I will not chew you out when you screw up this bad. Anyone who makes my Spencer cry is in my bad books for at least two weeks. You are in the dog house, you understand me? The dog house.”

She’s thankfully cut off from continuing her rant by Spencer’s shy, hesitant appearance at the doorway. Penelope immediately rushes over and gives him a hug, whispering something in his ear that Aaron doesn’t catch but makes Spencer giggle. She reaches up to ruffle his hair before patting his cheek fondly and casting a furious glare in Aaron’s direction as she vacates the living room. 

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, breaking the silence left in the wake of Storm Penelope. “I bought you a coffee.” 

“What are you doing here, Aaron?” Spencer asks, clearly a little confused but still accepting the drink. 

“I know you said that you’d come home this morning but I had to come and get you,” he replies, standing up from his seat on the couch and taking a few steps forward. “Look… your note last night, it was on top of this book. And in my absent-minded cloud of misery I was looking through it and came across Sonnet 116.”

A flicker of recognition lights up Spencer’s eyes as his face softens a little at the sight of his beloved book.

“Do you remember? Climbing into my lap on our one day wedding anniversary and reading it to me? Back then I was partly distracted by the gorgeous man in my arms but last night… Spencer, the words hit home in a way I haven’t felt before. Not to mention your annotations; I felt like I was reading a journal of our love story, which I know was probably your intention all along.” He shakes his head, trying to get back on track. “I’ve been an idiot, a rotten fool, and I’m so sorry. I emailed Cruz this morning. 

“You did?” Spencer looks up, surprise filling his features for a second before a small, hopeful smile takes over. “What did you say?”

“That I couldn’t continue with the workload and I needed reinforcements. That I would work the same hours for two more weeks to allow them to find an adequate solution, but after that I’ll be reducing my hours to align almost directly with yours,” he says, tentatively gauging Spencer’s reaction. 

It’s made pretty easy for him when Spencer’s hesitantly hopeful smile blossoms into a wide grin, relaxing his posture as relief overtakes his body and he throws himself into Aaron’s arms. Aaron buries his face into his husband’s curls and lets himself breathe easy, feeling infinitely better with Spencer wrapped up in his arms again, just where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Aaron whispers as he pulls Spencer impossibly closer. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Spencer sighs, nestling his face further into Aaron’s neck. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. But, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

“I love you, you know that?” Aaron murmurs, pulling away slightly so he can look Spencer in the eyes, trying to convey his sincerity as well as possible. 

“I know,” he smiles. “I love you, too.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aaron says, patting Spencer’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here before Penelope comes to stab me with her high heels.” 

Spencer giggles at that. “I don’t know, maybe, I’d like to see that,” he teases, digging his finger into Aaron’s ribs for good measure. 

“Oh, stop it you,” Aaron smiles fondly before kissing the top of Spencer’s head, feeling happier in this moment than he’d ever thought possible again last night. Peace is finally restored in Aaron Hotchner’s heart, all thanks to one rather ancient English playwright and an academic for a husband. “Let’s go and get Jack,” he says, longing to have his whole family back together, to restore the equilibrium of a tumultuous few weeks. 

Spencer leans down to kiss his shoulder as they walk out of the Morgan-Garcia household, and it’s enough to keep him warm the whole way home.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez