#anyway because of the fbi appearance

[jaggedwolf]

pll rewatch 1x09-1x10

tornado warnings and glamping, we've arrived at the end of Season 1A!

two kinds of people the night before the SATS: (1) Spencer, Hanna, and Aria quasi-studying and bantering at Spencer's place (2) Emily, very distraught and muddy, runs into her bedroom, apparently only owning one pair of sneakers

"Emily, very distraught" is the subheading of 1x09

Spencer does not want to be thought of as scary, which is very funny of her

also very funny is Hanna trying to push Aria/Noel by asking Aria if she doesn't want "someone you can scratch n sniff"

A underlines GREAT EXPECTATIONS in the text they send to Emily, just to make sure Emily understands it's a book reference

When Emily lies to Wilden that she was with the girls studying the previous night, Aria is the one to back Emily up while Hanna and Spencer look confused

did A solely send Spencer the text SEEMS LIKE YOU'RE ABOUT TO LOSE EMILY? is A also responsible for the way Spencer is about Emily?? though we'll also get a non-A example of that later this season....

Mentions of Rosewood specifically being in Delaware County, which tracks

oh god why is Aria singing I had no memory of this, at least we immediately go into an Emison flashback

Ali really does flirt/toy with Emily via quoting Great Expectations lmao - Ali's finished the book by this point, Emily hasn't

Every Ezria scene remains terrible, and I laughed at Aria dramatically saying "you told me at homecoming you got a haircut for me!"

flashback!Emily is such a pushover and holds herself smaller too, you understand why the other liars are so shocked whenever she gets snappy with them

Alison was as a awful in the locker room flashback as I remember. Poor poor Emily, not even getting the meager dignity of running away from her humiliation

Emily's letter to Alison that Wilden grabs wasn't a love letter, but a letter expressing how angry she was with the way Alison treated her. Can't underestimate Emily's anger, even back then.

Forgot Veronica's lumpectomy reveal was in this episode

Spencer is so shaken by that, naturally, but also by the fact that her mom never told anyone in the family. such is life in The Last Dynasty of Rosewood

Veronica approves of Alex btw

Pan to Lucas's muddy shoes, DUN DUN DUN

look this town is too fancy for any teen to not own multiple pairs of shoes. okay, maybe one teen, but we haven't met him yet.

Spencer getting groomed by creepy field hockey coach Ian is the flashback she's seemed the most bullyable in, with Ali taunting her about it (was Ali's reaction jealousy, given what we learn later?)

I know that field hockey team was cursed freshman year, we'll come back to that later

every other episode Spencer turns to a member of her family and goes "do you still love me/can you tell me the truth?" and they are always like UGH FINE I GUESS IF I HAVE TO

this episode it's Melissa's turn, as Spencer tries to set up Melissa/Ian again to make up for her sins that aren't really her sins

the FBI...are here....

i have no memory of this, i guess Veronica successfully scared Wilden away

the FBI also believe in talking to minors and showing them creepy videos without their guardians present

god how much money do Mona's parents make, looking at this glamping party

you can tell I'm an adult on this rewatch because I'm also saying Ashley, I know you want as little to change for Hanna as possible, but maybe the two of you should downsize from this giant-ass house to an apartment, given the financial situation?

Hanna is really trying to be a good kid ;_; she's still selling off her stuff, she refuses going shopping with Mona and even tries to beg off skipping school because Ashley disapproves

the other three have their parental complexes (oh boy @ emily almost coming out to her dad while her mom stares at the photos A sent of Emily and Maya kissing) but none of them are as of yet concerned about being a financial burden

and then Ashley robs an old lady. Ashley, you're gonna have to launder that cash!

Aria has an honest conversation with Ella about Aria's reaction to the Alison wearing Toby's sweater news - they do strike me as a mother-daughter pair that would be very open with each other, if it hadn't been for BYRON MONTGOMERY and EZRA FITZ

Speaking of Toby, my boy's PR continues to be the worst. He's officially wanted for Alison's murder, creepily rises from the backseat of Emily's BEAUTIFUL TOYOTA, and then scurries off into the woods before getting arrested at The Church (is it Sean's dad's church?)

Did one of the girls call the cops on him? Unclear

Emily and Maya cuddling on the bed but I'm worried that they were wearing shoes while doing so. SMH what kind of Asian household is this.

Forget Emily running in with muddy shoes, Pam Fields has so much to clean as it is, no one's running into her house with any shoes, I reject canon on this.

Spencer is so, so happy to be hunting down clues to A, she would love an escape room. It's enrichment for her.

Sparia vibes beginning to rise these episodes, with Aria going "A little" to Spencer whiningly asking if she's scary and also going "You're a freak and I love you" about Spencer remembering the exact number of steps to where they found the Alison bracelet

My favourite A message of these episodes was: YOU'RE AS IN THE DARK AS JENNA. LOOKING FOR ME IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES.

no one can be normal about the blind girl. who is incredibly not-normal about her step-brother. that's the rosewood ouroboros for ya.

Spencer repeatedly mutters "looking for me in all the wrong places" while making a smore and the unnamed girl next to gives her the best wtf look.

Sorry Spencer, all other kids definitely think you are scary. Probably your teachers too.

Aria's dedication to wearing her hat even under the CAMP MONA hoodie: respect it.

Aria kissing Ezra again: do not respect it

Hanna had to see that too, Hanna did not ask to see all her friends kissing! She's minding her own business when this happens

And then she gets hit by a fucking car for her trouble, literally rolling across the top of it

Hope the Marins health insurance isn't shit.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[mariasont]

Training Day - A.H

a/n: you all wanted more bimbo!assistant!reader and i'm a woman of the people so here we are

on a real note i love her and she is my queen

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you don't understand why hotch is giving you training lessons, but apparently he thinks you need it

warnings: talking about men following her in public YUCK, hotch trying to train reader, reader not knowing what's going on, cuties being cute

wc: 0.8k

"I still don't really know why we're doing this."

You were grumbling more than was characteristic for you, with every part of your body, your arms, your legs, and even your ass, suffering from a dull ache--sadly, not the result of any enjoyable pastime. After being knocked over more times than you cared to count, Hotch extended his hand toward you. You gladly took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

Your fingers deftly pulled at your pink tracksuit top over the sliver of abdomen that that had been revealed in your less-than-graceful take down. Hotch had pointed out the impracticality of your outfit when you showed up, but you stood firm on the principle that if early training sessions were expected of you, then your attire would be non-negotiable.

"Because I want to be confident in your abilities to defend yourself." His arms folded over his chest as his gaze bore into you, challenging you to contradict him.

"I'm just here to look pretty and answer your phones, crime-fighting isn't in my job description. That's your thing, Mr."

You shuffled back to your original position anyway, hands coming up to shield your face as you mentally sorted through the steps, or at least tried to, struggling to recall the correct foot placement.

"Shoulder width apart."

It's like he could read your mind. You were not entirely convinced that he couldn't.

"Crime-fighting doesn't have to be your thing," Hotch stated, narrowing the gap between you, his hands firmly correcting your stance. You sometimes found an excuse to stand just so, hoping he would step in to manhandle you into place. "But being part of the BAU, even peripherally, means you're not immune to risks. I need to know you can handle yourself... for my piece of mind."

"Sir, is this like, your super-secret way of showing you care?"

Your lips twisted into a half-smile as his hands clasped your waist a little tighter than necessary: a warning that said you were playing with fire. His fingers then moved to direct yours, positioning them closer to your face, his knuckles lightly grazing across your cheek in the process.

"Eyes on me, stay focused."

"My eyes are always on you, sir," you say, your head canting to one side. 

He released a controlled breath, giving you a level look that signaling you were pushing it. Nevertheless, you flashed him a beaming smile and initiated the move he had been drilling into you. The tip of your elbow made contact with the soft of his stomach.

He issued a muted groan as he intercepted your arm, preventing it from digging further, and in a fluid motion he spun you around, pinning your backside to his front.

"That was perfect, right?" you squealed, your fist shooting up in victory.

The sudden jump caused his hands to shift from your arm, finding a new perch on your hips to steady your... enthusiastic bounce.

You whirled in his grasp, the proximity sending a faint hum through his chest. Clearing his throat, he managed. "Yes, uh, that was it."

Clutching his shirt, the fabric crumpled beneath your purple-tipped fingers, you giggled. "Just imagine someone trying to follow me to my car now. They wouldn't know what hit 'em!"

"Is that a common occurrence?" The lines of his face gathered into that customary look of concern, that characteristic frown of his making an appearance.

He gently disentangled your hands from his shirt, not letting go, but rather laying his atop of yours.

"Well, sometimes, but I usually just call Morgan, put him on speaker, and he starts talking about the FBI stuff," you explained, giving a light shrug that nudged the zipper of your jacket down just a smidge. "They take off after that."

He clenched his eyes shut, pausing momentarily before reopening it. One hand let go of yours to adjust the zipper back to its proper position.

"That makes my stomach hurt." And it did. "Don't hesitate to call me when that happens. I'll come get you."

Your smile stretched ear to ear, potent enough to make him feel lightheaded. "You know, with all these trainings, who needs to call for help?"

"How about we compromise, and you still call me, regardless?"

You pout your lips, shiny with clear gloss rather than your usual pink. "That sounds less like a compromise and more like a you thing, ya know?"

Hotch's laughter rumbled from his chest, a warm, breathy sound, as he let go of your hands, which he realized he had been holding far longer than appropriate, and guided you to the door.

"You don't appreciate the added precautions I'm willing to take for your safety?"

Dragging your sneaker on the floor, you plucked your bag from the wall as Hotch closed the door behind you. "Gee, when you say it like that..."

When you walked down the hall you seemed to be perfectly in step.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @sarcasm-and-stiles

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[sanguineterrain]

falling behind | spencer reid

Summary: During a movie night with Spencer, he confesses to you that he feels like he's falling behind, having never kissed anyone. You offer to catch him up.

(based on laufey's falling behind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bff!reader 

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: spencer's first kiss, s1/s2 spencer, best friend reader, kissing, mentions of sex, some angst at the end.

the divider

"I think you need another bookshelf, Doc," you say, narrowly dodging a stack of books that comes up to your hip. 

You’ve let yourself in for your traditional movie night that’s become far and few ever since Spencer started at the FBI. His days off are rare, but they’re always spent with you. You hang your coat and scarf over Spencer’s designated hook for you. Spencer’s putting about in the kitchen, cups clinking.

"I've been trying to find one at a flea market," Spencer says from the kitchen.

"Even though flea markets give you the heebie jeebies?" you call back, flipping through a thick hardcover about ancient Rome. Aaaand that's a naked man. You close the book. Spencer’s the mature one out of the two of you. That’s why he’s got books about Rome and you don’t. 

"I'm not crazy about bringing home furniture that was once in someone else's house, though it’s usually very cheap. Still! They could’ve had termites. And that’s a best-case scenario. You won’t believe what some people have in their houses.”

“Oh, I know. Pet dandruff. Mold spores. Your worst nightmare.”

Spencer appears with two mugs of Ovaltine. He's adorably cozy, cocooned in an oversized Caltech sweatshirt and green slacks with the giant cargo pockets he loves. They're so practical!

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” he says, mouth pursed the way it does when you’re being a smartass.

“There’s always a need,” you say cheerfully. 

He's wearing the Doctor Who socks you got him three years ago for his birthday. They're worn a little thin. You've offered to buy him new ones—Spencer insists these are still good.

“So how’s life in our nation’s capital?” you ask. “Besides all the serial killers.”

"Good. I still haven't gotten used to these D.C. winters but I feel a lot less silly making hot Ovaltine when it's not sixty-five degrees outside," he says, bending to set your mug down.

Instinctively, you pull out two coasters and Spencer puts your mug on one and cradles his own. He sits on the overstuffed couch he took from his mother's house. You'd helped him take it. You’d followed him out here, actually, after his second PhD, and you live just outside of D.C. because you’re not a big-shot FBI profiler. You’d split the cost of the U-Haul from California and stayed with him the first night because Spencer can’t sleep in unfamiliar darkness. 

It had been four years since you’d seen each other. You’d shared a bottle of cheap wine to celebrate his new job at the BAU. Later, Spencer cried over Diana and you held him through it. 

"Turning the heat on might help," you say.

"That's simply a luxury the FBI doesn't pay me for. Anyway, thermostats increase the chances of a fire. Especially if the pipes are old."

"We should ask your friend Penelope to hack a bank so you can buy a mansion," you say.

Spencer shakes his head and brings the mug to his lips. "Please don't give her any ideas. Are we starting the movies?"

"Yes! Home Alone?”

“Don’t we always start with your favorite?” he asks, smiling.

“We do. You indulge me, Spencestar.”

You get up to fiddle with Spencer’s ancient TV and DVD player. It takes a couple of strategic smacks to get it running, but you do and you put the DVD in. It’s a tradition, your holiday movie marathons with Spencer. 

You get up and unfurl the giant fluffy gray blanket that Spencer keeps neatly folded on the sofa. You sit next to him and pull the blanket over the both of you, then take your Ovaltine into your hands. 

“You know, you could always invite your new friends at the FBI for movie nights,” you say. “I’d be okay with that. As long as they understand that I'm your oldest and bestest friend and therefore take precedence.”

"As if I need you telling them embarrassing stories about me,” Spencer says, looking at you flatly. “I know your motivations. It’s bad enough that Derek calls me the baby bird of the bullpen."

“Derek is the one that set you up on a date?” 

“Ugh.” Spencer covers his face. “Please don’t remind me.”

It had only been a month ago, Spencer’s date with the sister of one of Derek’s friends. She’d been nice enough, according to Spencer, but you’d sensed more had happened he didn’t want to dive into. There was likely an underlying judgment that Spencer’s encountered too many times to not be sensitive to. 

But Spencer always got nervous about these things too. He had a habit of psyching himself out. For a long time, the only woman he’d ever had a full conversation with was you. 

The TV screen freezes. You groan and get up, putting your mug down. 

“Try moving the antenna,” he says.

“Yeah. The FBI should give flat-screen TVs for Christmas bonuses.”

You play around with the antennas. When that doesn’t work, you turn off the TV. It’s not an exact science—whether the TV wants to play or not is up to forces out of your control. Spencer thinks you have the magic touch, though. 

“That date was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” you ask, checking the wires behind the TV. You wiggle them around and try plugging and unplugging stuff. 

“No,” Spencer says lightly, in that mild, polite tone that might work on a stranger but hasn’t worked on you since fifth grade.

“Spencer…”

“It wasn’t!” he says. “Honestly, it wasn’t even her, it was… I don’t know. I felt so silly doing it. Like I was a kid trying to do adult things.”

“You are an adult. Is it playing?”

“No. Yeah, I know I am, but I also feel so behind. Like everybody learned stuff I didn’t and now I can’t do a simple thing like go on a date with a woman.”

“You’re not behind—ouch!” The TV shocks you and you snatch your hand back, grimacing.

Spencer stands up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Where was I? Right. You’re not behind, Spence, you’re the smartest person I know. You’re the smartest person most people know.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then Spencer suddenly appears, kneeling next to you. You grin.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi. You don’t have to get shocked so we can watch a movie. I can pull it up on my laptop.”

“No, I’m gonna make this work. Here, hold this.”

You hand Spencer a wire. He obediently holds it while you fiddle with the back of the TV.

“She tried to kiss me,” Spencer says quietly. 

You pause and look at him. “Who did?”

“The woman Derek set me up with.”

“Oh.” You put down the wire—you’re starting to get the feeling that this is the kind of conversation that can’t be had while you’re trying to fix a TV. “You didn’t tell me that. Did you?”

“No.” Spencer scowls. “I chickened out. I just… Derek would’ve told me to just kiss her because she was pretty and she wanted me. But I didn’t want to. And that’s so stupid, ‘cause I should’ve, right?”

“Spencer, there’s no rule for when you should and shouldn’t kiss someone as long as both parties want to kiss,” you say.

“Yeah, but I’ve never kissed anybody. I’m twenty-five and I’ve never kissed anyone. How pathetic is that?”

You frown and turn to face Spencer fully. “Hey. C’mon, where’s this coming from? You know I don’t think any less of you for never kissing or dating or any of that stuff. You do it when you wanna. And I’d tell anyone that. I’m not just telling you ‘cause you’re my best friend.”

“I know, but…” Spencer shakes his head and it hurts to see him so defeated. “I told that woman that I hadn’t kissed anyone and that’s why I didn’t kiss her. And the look she gave me was so… I-I’ve gotten that look before, but… and I could just tell she was thinking freak, freak!”

“Spencer,” you say, voice cracked like an egg, and his name is the soft yolk spilling out. “Oh, Spence. You’re not a freak. I told you that when we were fourteen and I still mean it. Nothing is wrong with you for never kissing anyone. And someone who thinks there is isn’t a person you want to be intimate with anyway.”

He sighs. “I just feel like I’m falling behind.”

You press your lips together. Then you make a decision and stand. 

“Come on,” you say, offering your hand.

Spencer takes your hand and lets you pull him up. “Where’re we going?”

“To the couch,” you say, more casual than you feel. 

Spencer follows you to the couch and you sit. You take a deep breath.

“Who would you want to have your first kiss with?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No one comes to mind.”

You bite your lip. “What about me?”

Spencer blinks. “I—what?”

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with all of Spencer’s attention on you. It doesn’t normally overwhelm you but considering the circumstances… 

“Well, um. It would be low-pressure, right? I mean, we’ve known each other for so long.”

Spencer licks his lips. You track the movement, then look away, embarrassed.

“I guess so,” he says. “But won’t it be weird? Kissing each other?”

Yeah, probably. “No, I don’t think so. Well, a little, but it’s just so you don’t feel out of sorts when you go on a date. It’s, like, practice.” That last point feels a little weak.

“Practice,” Spencer repeats.

“Yeah.”

It’s still and silent for several painful moments, and that’s when you contemplate bolting and changing your address. But then Spencer speaks.

“Okay,” he says. “If you’re definitely sure about it.”

“I am,” you say. 

He nods. You take that as an invitation to scoot closer so you’re facing each other. Spencer brings one knee up so you can be within kissing distance.

“So, um.” You clear your throat. “So when you kiss someone, it’s important to find a place for your hands. They can be on their face or their waist or arms.”

Spencer nods. “Got it. Like this?”

He puts his hands on your waist. You stutter on your next breath. You hope Spencer doesn’t notice.

Look, you’re not blind, okay? Spencer’s tall and cute and smart and a sweetheart and your roommate in college once commented on how he’s got hands made to finger a woman, which you’ve never been able to forget, much as you’ve tried. 

So yeah. You know your best friend’s good looking. You know he’s a catch. 

Does that mean you can be absolutely emotionless while kissing him? Not so much. 

But you love Spencer. You’d do anything for him. 

“Yeah, good.” You drape your hands loosely around his neck, his curls tickling your fingers. “Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then you make eye contact but not too much. Don’t scare them.”

Spencer smiles with half of his mouth. “Don’t scare them. Noted.”

You roll your eyes. “Smartass. Alright, then you, um…”

“Kiss?” he asks.

You nod. “Y-yeah. Then you lean in and kiss.”

You press your lips to Spencer’s lightly. His mouth is soft but he’s stiff, which means he’s going to kiss stiffly.

“Relax, Spencestar,” you say against his mouth. “‘S okay. Part your lips a little.”

“Like this?” he asks, his mouth losing some tension.

“Exactly. Fit your lips to mine.”

Spencer’s warm, his breath tickling your mouth. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right up your throat and into Spencer. 

“I read about kissing,” he says. “For research.”

That makes you smile, a short laugh slipping out. You rest your forehead on his mouth by accident. 

“What?” he asks against your skin, smile clear in his voice. The sensation gives you shivers.

“Nothing. You’re sweet, Spence,” you say. 

You lift your head and close your eyes. And then you kiss him. 

Spencer kisses gently, which you never thought about in-depth, but experiencing it now, it makes sense that he does. He’s so gentle in everything else, from the way he opens doors to letting you have the last bite of pasta. Of course Spencer kisses the way he lives in the world: kindly. 

Your hands slip to his jaw to guide him. Your kisses are short first, to warm him up. You feel Spencer’s pulse in his neck under your palm, feel his easy hold on your hips, the way he twists a loose thread on your shirt.

“You can be a little more firm. Move your hands around,” you say, and Spencer nods.

He kisses you with a little more pressure, ever the quick learner. His hands travel up your spine and down, like he’s soothing you. It makes an unexpected sob work up your throat and you quickly swallow it down. 

You thread your hand through his hair, your senses completely surrounded by him. Spencer’s more confident now, pulling you into him slightly, curving your back with his palms. 

And before you do something really stupid, like kiss his neck or tell him you love him, you pull back. Spencer’s eyes fly open when yours do. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No, no. You were good. That was good, Spencer. I just, uh… we’ve been kissing for a while, so I figured…”

“Oh.” His face turns pink. “Right, yeah.”

“Yeah.” You scratch your neck. “But that was good. It just takes practice.”

Spencer nods a lot. “Yes, of course. Like any skill.”

“Exactly.”

You drink your Ovaltine, needing to put your attention on anything but Spencer’s kiss-swollen lips. The Ovaltine is cold. You make a face.

“I’ll reheat it,” Spencer says, practically leaping from the couch. “Be right back.”

“I’ll try to get the movie started,” you say, making a beeline for the TV.

You turn it on, trying to calm your fluttering heart. This time, the movie plays with no issues. Of course when you want it to have issues so you don’t have to be curled up next to Spencer on the couch, it doesn’t. Figures. 

Hesitantly, you return to the couch. Spencer comes out a few minutes later with your reheated mugs. He gives you yours and sits on the far end of the couch.

“Want the blanket?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m okay. I warmed up.”

The movie continues from where it froze. You and Spencer watch that one, then Home Alone 2, then the Muppets Christmas Carol. 

And it’s fine, it’s normal. It’s normal, except you’ve just kissed your best friend. And Spencer doesn’t curl up next to you under the blanket for the rest of the night. You get this sinking feeling, wondering if catching your best friend up comes at a bigger cost than you thought. 

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Hide & Seek.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

Read part two here!

Summary: The night with your boyfriend is going perfectly, and you couldn't be happier, until he receives an unexpected call telling him that information about an important case has been leaked to the press, and many doubts about you appear.

Words: 2,5k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime. fem!reader. established relationship. angst WITHOUT a happy ending. mistrust and lack of communication. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Again I apologize in advance for this, but I love exploring Spencer's character and his changes. It's so funny to know that the one from the first seasons would never do this but I love him anyway.

Your smile couldn't have been bigger at that moment.

After several weeks of work and no time to see your boyfriend or send him more than two text messages, you finally find yourself humming cheesy love songs next to him and hugging him whenever you want. You had only been in his apartment for a few hours after the universe and all the stars had aligned so that neither of you had to work that night and you could have your long-awaited quality time together. It was certainly much needed for both of you and could be a bit of a celebration for finally getting a raise.

The sweet smell of the candles you both had placed on the table mixed with the ingredients on the countertop, creating a much more homey atmosphere. After much thought, the two of you had decided to make some homemade cookies with different fruits to eat yourselves and give some to your friends. You had always loved baking, especially when it came to desserts, and being able to do it with Spencer was even better. Although you knew he was only doing it to make you happy because he was pretty clumsy in the kitchen.

“I think you have some flour here, sweetheart.” You could feel him running his finger over your face, laughing as he smudged you, then stepping back a little to look proudly at his handiwork. “You look so cute.”

“Really? You want to play, Dr. Reid?”

You raised an eyebrow and gave him a menacing look, and made a quick move to smear some flour on him and get on the same terms. But you barely managed to mess him up a bit when he gently grabbed your wrists and planted a kiss on your lips, pushing any thoughts of revenge from your mind.

“You cheated, it's not fair.” You murmured against his lips as you both pulled away from the kiss.

“I didn't do anything.” He replied in an innocent tone, kissing you briefly before pulling away to feed the cat. “I think this kid has been eating cookie dough because he doesn't want to eat his food.”

“He's an unruly kitten, just like his daddy.” You said as you watched Spencer pet him and laugh at your bad joke.

The two of you had officially been together for almost a year, but you had known each other for much longer. A coffee shop tucked away in the middle of town was the best place for an FBI agent and you, a news reporter, to meet and start talking. From the beginning, you knew there was something different about Spencer, and it was much more than the fact that he was the only man in the country who didn't know you because he didn't watch television and therefore the news you had anchored for years. He didn't care that your face was what people saw every day and that put you in the spotlight, he liked you for who you were and how you thought about the world.

“I think they'll be ready in a few minutes.” You reported after putting a tray of cookies in the oven.

You were about to ask your boyfriend where he kept the dishes, but when you turned around, you noticed he was still playing with the cat and you couldn't help but smile at how relaxed he seemed. It had been a good idea to convince him to adopt the animal that always followed you home and peeked out of the fire escape. Nothing made you happier than seeing him happy, so you followed your instincts and noticed that the kitchen was still organized as usual. You may not have lived with Spencer yet, but you spent more time in his apartment than yours and had already memorized how a couple of things worked, though you were afraid to tell him because you knew he had trouble opening up too much and taking such big steps in a relationship so quickly.

All your attention was on picking out the prettiest plates and pots for the cookies when his phone rang over the counter. Your hands were still dirty with flour and dough, so you didn't hand it to him and could only read that it was Penelope before you saw him answer.

“Yes, I'm with her now. We're making cookies, and yes, I'll bring you some. Yes, she says hello to you too.” You listened as Spencer repeated into the phone with an encouraging tone.

You barely listened to his conversation because you were nervous it was about work and that he would have to leave so soon.

“You're out of milk, I'm going to the supermarket downstairs.” You informed him quietly after checking the fridge, not wanting to interrupt his conversation. “I won't be long.” You finished, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips before leaving.

He couldn't help but smile like a fool at the kiss and stopped listening to his friend's voice on the other end of the phone for several seconds.

“The full profile was leaked to the press, along with details about the crime scenes.” Garcia's voice brought her feet back to the ground.

“What? How?” He asked blankly, needing to sit down to process the information. “We were very careful.”

Spencer thought the case was already closed, he had filled out the profile himself, they had everything they needed to make the arrest, and Emily had insisted on giving him the night off for it.

“We don't know, but it was on the evening news.”

Wait, the evening news? They were the ones you presented every day. It was strange that you hadn't mentioned it, since you'd just come home from work a few hours earlier, happy about your raise.

“Which channel was the first? Who gave the scoop?” His voice trembled slightly, as if he was a little afraid of the answer because his mind was telling him something he didn't like.

There was a long silence for a few seconds and his anxiety increased.

“You need to calm down and not jump to conclusions.” Penelope tried to be the voice of reason at the time and sugarcoated things a bit. But he insisted that he wanted to know. “She said so...she broke the news a few hours ago and I think that was the first network to do it.”

His whole world seemed to crumble before his eyes again and everything was a blur amidst the feeling of betrayal and bitterness that gripped his body. Every thread in his mind began to connect in just a few seconds, and for the first time in a long time, he hated having that ability.

“Reid, listen, I don't think it was her. Emily said we'd fix it, but you should know before you watch the news.” She tried to defuse the situation, but his words only made them feel more betrayed. “I forgot to tell you before because I didn't want to ruin anything, you looked so happy.”

Since meeting you, Spencer had watched at least a minute of the evening news every day just to see you, and everyone knew it. Only today he hadn't because he'd been busy trying to finish the damn profile so he could get off early and spend some time with you.

“We don't want you to jump to conclusions, we all know her and I don't think she would do this. Maybe it's a mix-up or...”

“Don't do that, don't try to make me feel better when she's the only one I tell about the cases.”

And about absolutely everything. He always talked to you about his dreams, his deepest fears, his hopes for the future, his worst moments, and even things he never thought to say out loud, even to his therapist. All his life he had felt silenced until you showed up to listen to even the most complex thought and his mental discussion of possible names for the cat you both shared and treated like a son.

Since his release from prison, his view of the world and himself had changed. He no longer felt worthy of love or anything good until you came along and insisted on entering his heart and saving him from the emptiness he faced every time he woke up in that dark, lonely apartment that you came to fill with light and the smell of cookies.

It weighed heavily on his heart that the bad thoughts that always haunted him made sense.

“I'll be there soon.” He finished, not paying attention to the thousand and one possible explanations and theories Penelope had given him so as not to blame you for everything.

He ended the call and walked quickly to the bedroom to find your computer for answers. You had been staying with him for several days and always used it for work, so it was on the nightstand. He was about to turn it on when the sound of the front door startled him and let him know you were back.

“Spencer? Where are you? Do you want to play hide and seek?” Your voice echoed through the apartment, coming closer and closer to the room.

There was no movement or sound from him, just silence, until you entered the room and saw him sitting on the bed with your computer in his hands. You couldn't help but be a little startled by his expression.

“Are you okay, love? You scared me.” You spoke as you approached him and took his hand lovingly. “Do you need to use my computer? It's out of battery, but the charger is in my bag.”

The strange thing was that Spencer didn't return your affectionate squeeze, he didn't even kiss your hand like he always did. He just froze in place and looked at you as if he was waiting for you to confess to a crime.

“Is something wrong?” You sat down in front of him and grabbed his chin to force him to look at you.

He looked at you for a few seconds and clenched his jaw, pulling away from your touch as if it burned him. “You tell me.”

Confusion washed over you and you bit your lip, trying to think of something that could have changed everything so suddenly. For a second you thought that maybe something had happened at Spencer's work and he had to go now, but his expression and his teary eyes said much more than that. Something serious had happened, you even thought it might be his mother and your heart shrank.

“I know what you did.”

You frowned at his words, trying to find some trace of a joke in all this. “What have I done?”

Once again, the room was filled with silence and his piercing gaze. You made a feeble attempt to approach him to give him some comfort as he looked like he was about to cry, but he rejected you and moved further away from you. He got up from the bed, put the computer down and looked at you as if he expected you to be the one to give the explanation.

“I don't understand this, baby. I really don't know.” You got out of bed and tried to get closer to him.

At your action, he backed away from you.

“Don't call me 'baby'. Don't pretend you don't know what you've done.”

The problem was, you didn't know what you'd done to give him that attitude. It had only been a few minutes since you left and everything was fine, so it didn't make sense that he was suddenly angry.

“I should have seen it coming before, how could I not, why would someone like you notice me? You obviously wanted this, you wanted to use me to get that raise and have all the fresh information.” Finally he seemed to react and started to blurt out everything that was on his mind without any filter. “I was an idiot to think you loved me.”

The confusion in your bright eyes only made things worse for him. His defense mechanism told him that you were an actress, that you must have known him well enough to manipulate him for so long and not even flinch. It made all the sense in the world that the whole perfect relationship you had was a sham, because he never understood how you, who had the fame and beauty to be with any man in the world, could have chosen him, a former addict who had spent months in jail and had more trauma than happy memories, to be your partner.

You took a step toward him, trying to process what he had just said. “I do, you know I love you.”

“Come on, you don't have to pretend anymore, I already know that you leaked the information I gave you about the profile.” He said after pacing the room a few times, trying to control his anger. “And maybe how many times you did the same.”

“Wait, you think I'm some kind of spy or something...you're joking, right?” You tried to make sense of his words, wanting to believe again that it was a joke. It had to be, or the pain you felt in your heart at his rejection would definitely kill you.

The silence that followed his words was enough to know that he was serious.

“You're the only person outside the team I talk to about cases all the time. And you magically get a raise when there's a big leak.” His every word was like a knife in your heart, digging deeper and deeper. “You even broke the news a few hours ago, you're unbelievable.”

That was too much, and it was the move that pierced your heart with the knife.

“Do you really think the only way I can get a raise is to betray you? That I've been pretending for almost a year that I love you for my own benefit? Do you really think I can stoop so low and that my job is worth so little?” You asked him almost pleadingly, as if begging him to tell you no, but in vain. “Tell me it's not so, please. Tell me you don't distrust me.”

Silence. Lots of silence.

“Please...”

He said nothing again and that was answer enough for you. You loved Spencer Reid like you'd never loved anyone before, but you weren't going to let this go. You weren't going to keep begging him to believe you when you told the truth and never gave him reason to doubt.

“Fine. I hope you don't have to come back to me when you realize you made a mistake and ended up with the best you had.”

The pained look you gave him and the tears streaming down your cheeks stayed in his mind as you left your apartment keys on the table and walked away, closing the door behind you at the same time as the oven beeped.

His smile could not have been more nonexistent at that moment.

[endearng]

Distracted

Pairing: Spencer Reid x neighbour!fem!reader Summary: Finding time to date as a single mother is hard. Finding time to date as a FBI profiler is also hard. That's how you find yourself on a reckless date during a remote day of work. WC: 2.8k A/N: guess who failed miserably at trying to update more! me! Anyways so... this is Spencer and his neighbor having an impromptu date and forgetting everything around them as they should <33 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

Olivia had disappeared under the giant umbrella she had to use that day — having forgotten her own at school, you lent her your own, while you let your raincoat try to shield you from the drops of water. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you kept an eye on her as she walked ahead of you for a couple of feet. As she reached the crossing, she waited for you and you tried to pick her up while balancing the weight of your daughter, your purse and her school bag. Once you both crossed the street, you put her back on the ground, sighing.

"Olivia?"

"Yes, mommy?" She asks, small hands gripping the handle of the umbrella, adjusting it so that her big doe eyes would look up at you.

"Remind me not to let aunt Jude ever borrow mommy's car again." You say in a serious-mock tone.

"Heheh, okay."

You both snickered, resuming your walk. As you dropped her off in her classroom, like you always did, you waved her goodbye and she returned the farewell, already searching the room for her friends. It made you smile internally, deadly proud of your daughter.

First days of school had a hint of terror in them that you could never shake off — it didn't matter if your first-days-of-school were all behind you by now, because everything could happen. New people? New friends? Enemies? Bullies? Teachers? Good or bad? Inspiring or dull? The chance to use your favorite notebook. The chance of not seeing a particular friend again. The chance of seeing them and possibly becoming friends. There were too many possibilities. And they were both terrifying and exhilarating.

Today, it was something special. It had made your heart flutter, churn, miss a beat, all within the same 10 minutes that a drive to Olivia's kindergarten school took. You braced yourself for her reaction, not knowing how it would be, even if the school had prepared a welcoming event to new students to get to know the building and the teachers a few days prior to the first day of actual class. Olivia walked the corridors cautiously, one hand holding yours and the other holding her father's. She looked at the two of you, questions behind her eyes that she didn't know how to phrase — or that she was too scared of the answers.

"Excuse me, hi. Good morning! Mrs. Davis, right?" You asked politely to a woman who appeared to be in her 50s in front of the classroom 205.

"Hello, good morning! And you are?"

You hastily held out your hand, a big, nervous smile on your face as you told her your name, that you and your husband were Olivia's parents. Mrs. Davis kneeled to Olivia's height to introduce herself properly. "Hello, Miss Olivia! I am Mrs. Davis, I'll be your first teacher." She said in a sweet tone.

"Hi... My Peacher?!"

You chuckled wetly already. It was an endearing sight, to say the least, Olivia in a uniform that was much too big for her small 3-year-old frame, making a few phonological exchanges — not to say mistakes. She squeezed Mrs. Davis hand, trusting, with a small, nervous smile. "Come in, dear. Your new friends wanna meet you."

Olivia stood in the threshold, looking at you and your husband, as if she wanted to know if you both were coming too. Why weren't you coming, too? You nodded, encouragingly, unable to speak anything as her eyes brimmed with tears. Your husband stood there, equally speechless, gazing at your daughter.

You managed to croak out, "Go on, dear. Your friends... wanna meet you."

Olivia nodded, her bottom lip jutting out. Carefully, your husband started, "Oli, baby, we'll come back... Go... go have fun," he said, a knot on his throat.

Olivia nodded yet again, even though her hand was reaching out to grab yours. You felt a tear on your cheek and you quickly brushed it away, not wanting her to see it. You smiled, trying to give her a bravery that you weren't sure even existed. "I'll see you soon, okay? Mommy loves you so much." You said, squeezing her hand lovingly.

Your husband kneeled to her height, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, baby. We'll see you in a bit." He said, pinching his thumb and index finger together to emphasize the amount of time. Olivia opened a small smile, despite her tears and the crease between her eyebrows.

The memory had, simultaneously, made you smile and tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. Choosing a café close to Olivia's school, you set down your belongings and finally have something to eat (you make sure to get the cookies she likes so much), and get to work, revising yet another chapter of the book you're currently assigned to. As time goes by, the words on the laptop screen start to blur together, so you look up, squeezing your eyes shut. You hear a voice close to you, but you don't acknowledge it at first, eyes still closed, relishing in the feeling of resting them a little bit.

Eyes open, you search your surroundings. There were a few patrons minding their own business and for a moment, you stood there, people-watching. It always gave you a sense of comfort, people just... being. Existing. Sharing ordinary moments. Sharing important moments that a stranger wouldn't be able to totally grasp what was going on, but that it made you feel glad to witness love happening around you.

Glancing back at your computer screen, because of course you have to, you read, and then you read again, and for good measure, revise the chapter about thrice before you distract yourself with the external world again. It's about mid-day when your neighbor, Spencer, comes in, a caramel satchel bag slung over his shoulder and the usual serious expression on his face. Upon spotting you, something gave you the nerve to give him a small smile and raise your hand in a shy wave.

Oh. Quick explanation.

Spencer Reid, your good-looking, nice, gentle, kind, smart neighbor had asked you out on a date. But, considering your busy and unaligned schedules, said date hadn't taken place yet. It made you sad and you kept asking him all the time — it had come to a point where you two would meet at the elevator and after exchanging wishes of a good day, you or him would ask a hopeful "Tonight?" and then the other answer with a sad shake of the head.

It was starting to make you frustrated beyond belief.

Coming back to the present, he beamed instantly and hesitantly made his way to you.

"Hi," he greeted, a bashful happiness on his face.

You smiled back. "Hey... Um, wanna sit with me?"

He glanced at your computer and made a funny face. "I don't want to bother—"

"Please. That is a cry for help." He laughs at your interruption, taking the seat in front of you. "Hi, hey! How, um, how's everything going?" You ask, finally, smiling at the fact that he laughed over something you said.

"It's... going good, actually. Today is a rare, boring paperwork day. I, uh... I'm already done with mine, so I came here to grab coffee." He explains, fiddling with his fingers, hands sitting on his lap.

"It's mid-day," you grinned.

He rubs the back of his head, sheepishly. "Yeah, I, ah... I'm a bit fast when it comes to certain things." He admitted.

"Is that so?" You asked, a bit surprised. You figured that the paperwork would be very complex and that involved many details that one could easily miss if they didn't pay proper attention. "Well, I guess it's safe to say that I couldn't work for the FBI to save my life! I've been stuck in the same chapter for some time now—heh—I'm always scared to miss out on something."

"Really?" He asked, trying to take a peek at your computer screen, even though it was impossible, but his curiosity was once again getting the best of him. "What's the current book you're working on?"

Glancing down at the screen, you made a face. "Ah, an anniversary edition of Dracula. Speaking of which, have you read it?"

"Dracula," he muttered. "Yes, I have. I find the gothic elements and the way Stoker blends them with the horror aspects fascinating. The transformation of Dracula from charming and seductive to monstrous and vile... It's an intriguing character study. I actually first read the book—ahm..." He trailed off, unsure if he should keep going.

"You first read the book...?" You encouraged him.

"When I was 8. For the first time, I mean. I've read it a couple of times by now. I, um, I have a soft spot for Gothic Literature." He revealed, shyly. You smiled.

"I take it that you like it? Dracula, I mean." You asked, curiously.

"I do, as I've said, as a big enthusiast of gothic elements, the foreboding and the slow realizations made by the characters earn a few good points in favor of the novel." He replied, grinning. "Do you?"

"Eh, it's fine, yeah... it's a classic for a reason, right?" You say, a bit dismissively. He chuckles and you look up at him.

"You don't seem all that sure."

You chuckled. "It's just... When you have a different opinion on a classic, everyone is ready to throw rocks at you. It's not my cup of tea, but what can I say? It's... decent." You finish, a hint of humor in your voice.

"Mhm... Favorite character?" He asks, amused by your answer and forwardness.

"Mina Harker. She's the closest thing to a brave person in the book, not to mention that she was the one who found out all about Dracula. These men were just..." You trailed off, shaking your head, even though your tone was of pure mockery.

"Can't argue with that."

At that time, everything else had just... disappeared. Spencer was thrilled, to say the least, that someone was taking their time to listen to him. Not just someone, her. And it meant the world that she had basically dropped her job to talk to him over something so intricate and dear to him. His heart fluttered as he looked down on his lap, biting back a lovestruck smile. He was absolutely gone, to say the least.

By not looking at you, he missed the soft, adoring gaze you threw his way. Say something. Say. Something!

"Speaking of Mina, something that makes me a bit controversial is..." you start, and he glanced back at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, "I think that using the 21st centry lenses we have from our own age is not the wisest approach to a century-old work, whether poetry, of any kind, music, scientific records, novels, you name it. Anachronism doesn't always work, especially if you're thinking of older authors or artists. It's only going to lead you to disappointment." You say, shrugging a bit.

"That's for sure, actually. Some people are a product of their time. Writers are not an exception to that affirmation." He remarked, grinning. "It's nice to hear you have such a... clear view. I find it refreshing when I meet someone who doesn't try to... cancel... I hate that word... old authors just because their views don't align with the ones that are most common today. They were written almost a century and a half ago."

"That's right. And literature is also a form of documenting the thoughts of a certain era. Of course, there are authors way ahead of their time, and I do prefer to read them, of course, but human history so far is full of challenges and overcoming of such problems. With all that being said, Stoker was terrible at writing women other than Mina."

With your final sentence, Spencer laughed so heartily it almost sounded like a dream. Throwing his head back, even. It made you think that he was somehow exaggerating, but the humor and the hint of something in his eye told you that he was being genuine. You bit back a smile, looking at him fondly.

The glance was entirely disarming, the way your eyes crinkled at the edge as the prettiest grin spread on your face was too much to take. Spencer chuckled, totally flustered, by the fact that he had made you look at him like that.

"Yeah... I do read for a living. And Dracula is not my favorite because, in my humble, insignificant opinion, it is just too slow."

"Ouch."

"I blame it on the male characters."

"But you've just said that—"

Cutting him off, laughing, you defend yourself from the coming accusation. "No, I didn't. Pfft."

"But..."

"Nuh-uh."

"Okay, then, what's your gothic of choice?"

"Poe."

"Of course."

You hit your palms on the table, playfully. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raised his own in mock surrender. God, this conversation was having an effect on him. "Nothing! It's just a safe choice. A good one." He laughs when he sees the skeptical look in your eye. "Favorites?"

"The Cask of Amontillado. The wording choices are just to die for," you giggled, "pun intended."

Spencer laughed, once again. Every time felt like the first that you made him laugh, not because he was shy or nervous, but because he had found something funny. Not only that, he had found something you said funny. It was silly, but mentally, you tapped yourself on the shoulder for the good job. You couldn't stop the endeared smile spreading across your face at the sound of his laughter. Your heart also beat like crazy.

Time stopped. As his laughter died down, you two stared at each other, almost as if analyzing each other's faces, just like the first time your eyes first landed on his figure. Had his eyesight not been this fucked up, Spencer could've probably be able to map out all the freckles of your face, so much was the intent on his gaze. You could feel your heart beat increase and your palms start to sweat, strong indicators of your rising shyness, but you didn't have it in yourself to look away, not when he looked at you like you meant something. Like you were something worth seeing.

"For God's sake," one of the baristas muttered in the background, clearly annoyed, shouting next, "SPENCER! ARE YOU STILL HERE?"

The yell broke you two out of your reverie, four eyes looking around to find the source of the sound. As Spencer bashfully and ungracefully stood up from his seat, being watched by every single patron and glared at by the angry barista, you couldn't help the chuckle that erupted from your lips. He awkwardly made his way over to the counter and got his order, returning hurriedly to the table he was sharing with you. You tried to cover the fact that you were highly amused by what had happened. It made you way too fond of him.

"Sorry about that," he said as he sat down, "I didn't... I didn't even realize my name was being called."

"It's okay. I didn't hear it either. I would've told you." You replied, smiling.

"I'm sure you would."

Staring contest, again. Your heart hammering inside your chest, again. Getting lost in those eyes which by now you could map at least three different colors—

Beep. beep. beep.

Picking your phone nervously, you answer the call without truly checking the ID. "H-hello?"

"Jesus, where the fuck are you? The meeting started 20 minutes ago!" A coworker, Paul, whisper-shouted over the phone. Your eyes went wide.

Spencer sipped on his coffee, watching your reactions closely.

"Be right there," and ending the call.

Looking at Spencer apologetically, you said, "I'm sorry... I had a meeting scheduled for—" you glanced at your, now, black computer screen. You had been chatting with Spencer for so long that your laptop had entered resting-mode. You blinked, now the one being embarrassed by reality calling you back. Spencer reached out and, during an exceptional display of bravery—nevermind the killers he chased for a living—, he placed his hand on top of one of your own, squeezing it lightly. The touch made shivers erupt on your skin and luckily, you had a long-sleeved top on that day.

"It's okay. I'm... I'm on my way back."

"Oh... okay... I just..."

He blurted out, not even thinking it through, "To be honest, I didn't want to say goodbye."

You smiled, giddily. "Me neither," but...

"Duty calls." He finished for you.

"Yeah."

He stood up to leave, removing his hand from yours. You missed it and the coldness it left was a bit too much to take. You fought the urge to wince, not wanting to look so out of place by his departure.

"Bye, Spencer."

"I'll see you."

He definitely would.

Fighting the urge to stand up and follow him outside to wherever he strayed to, you joined the meeting, silently comforting yourself with the thought that he definitely would. Screw schedules, screw everything. You two would make it happen.

[bideanwinchestertruther]

They were so bad at their jobs in the first seasons.

Like, they knew how to hunt, they both were really good at finding what was killing people and killing it, but they were horrible at being people.

The Sam and Dean I remember: Fake FBI, fake National Security, Fake reporters, almost no issues Season 1 and 2 Sam and Dean: Constantly getting doors slammed into their faces, had to climb over fences and break into the place they needed anyways because no one ever believed them. Go somewhere as National Security, the real National Security appears immediately after.

They were a disaster

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 2:

She dreamed of paradise

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Read part 1 here.

Warnings: explicit domestic violence and abusive relationships. Descriptions of physical violence. Reader is married and has a child.

Summary: Spencer sees a mark on you. He decides that if no one is going to do anything about it, then he will. If only he can convince you to accept help.

Steve was strangely calm on the way home. He had asked the sheriff for permission to take you and Willy away during his lunch break with the excuse that he was worried about the disappearance of women that had been happening in town, just like an ideal husband, but you knew the real reason, he wanted to keep an eye on you.

"Well?" he asked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at you.

You knew it was best to let him speak first, so you waited for Steve to start, no matter how tense you were.

"The FBI guy, what did he want?"

"Nothing much, he was just playing with Will, he knew magic tricks."

You didn't mention the terror you felt when you saw that your son wasn't by your side, he could never relate to that, he could never understand the deep emptiness that existed inside you when Will wasn't around. He was all the light you needed.

"And you let some stranger talk to our son? I can't leave you two alone anyway."

Sometimes you didn't quite understand Steve's intentions, even though you knew there was a reason behind everything.

"He's FBI, isn't he?"

It was a risky move, rebutting what he was saying. Luckily for you, it seemed to be a good day, because he did nothing but raise an eyebrow and snort.

"I don't want you two anywhere near that guy."

You just nodded, distracted as you wondered what was so special about Dr. Reid that Steve reacted like that, your curiosity piqued. Was he trying to push you away from one more person before any bonding had even begun? Surely he couldn't have been afraid that you would turn him in since you had already understood a long time ago that no one would help you or even give you a second glance. If I could go back in time, I would have run as soon as Steve showed interest in joining the police. A bunch of conniving vibrators, they were.

"We'll never see him again," you reassured him.

"Well," your husband muttered, "you know why I do it. I have to protect my family."

With a silly, fake smile on your face, you agreed as you stroked his arm, looking through the rearview mirror at Will sleeping in the back seat. You could do this for another 13 years, right? Just hang in there.

•••

Spencer gathered his things from the table, putting them in his bag as he prepared to go to the hotel, hoping to get a good night's sleep and work with more focus and renewed vigor the next day. He spent the rest of the day reliving his interaction with you down to the smallest detail, remembering and recalling her tone of voice, her posture, and her submission when her husband appeared. If was right, his name was Steve.

The policeman in question left the police station for an hour and returned soon after, casting long glances at Spencer, none like yours, who followed him to his hotel room, until he laid his head on the pillow and far beyond that, invading his dreams.

•••

5 days in the same city was a lot on the Spencer scale. Enough to make the UNSUB profile, but not enough to capture him. He lived in the shadows, preying on the most vulnerable people in that small, broken society that was your little town: the women. More specifically, the housewives. Spencer spent these days wondering if you had any job.

"What the hell?" He heard Morgan's voice exclaim with surprise, raising her head to look at the source. That's when spotted William, wandering around outside the glass-walled room they were in. The boy walked between the tables as if he belonged there, but stood out from his surroundings. "Who is he?"

"Cop Steve's son." Spencer murmured, attracting the attention of his colleagues.

"Do you know him? How?" JJ asked.

Spencer shrugged. "Kids like magic. He came here a few days ago, must have run away from his mom again. I thought Morgan had seen him before."

"Well, I didn't see. There's something strange about that boy's father-" Turning away as he spoke, Derek was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a child's voice shouting happily.

"Dr. Reid!"

As if it were second nature, Spencer rose from his seat to kneel in front of the child and greeted him back with a smile.

"Hey, Willy," he held up his open palm, which made the boy laugh and high-fived him, "What are you doing here, kid?"

"Mom came to bring Dad's lunch again, but I wanted to see you."

Spencer sighed with an understanding smile, looking around at his classmates who stared rather shocked at their very natural interaction.

"And does your mom know you're with me?"

The look he shifted to the floor said everything the doctor needed to know.

"You can't just disappear, young man. Do you know where she is?"

Will nodded. "In the big room with Daddy."

Spencer looked at Hotch, who understood immediately and sighed tiredly before nodding and nodding towards the door, permitting him to leave.

"Let's find her then, shall we?"

William walked out hand in hand with the man, leaving Spencer shocked that a policeman's son was so ill-educated, regardless of his age. Children could be sociable. They should be. That didn't exclude all the evil that lurked outside the house - or inside - the boy seemed the pure image of naivety. Worrying. He couldn't tell you why he cared so much.

"So, Willy, why did you split up with Mom? You heard what she said, she gets worried when you disappear like that."

"Because they were starting over."

"Starting what?" Reid asked, frowning and looking down to see the child's face, who didn't answer. "Starting what, William?" he asked again.

•••

"How did you manage to lose sight of him? For God's sake, this is a police station!" Steve exclaimed furiously, although he growled quietly. He didn't believe in announcing his problems to the world.

"I let go of his hand for a second and he disappeared!" You retorted, your eyes watering as you thought about what he could have gotten himself into this time. "It's not my fault," you continued, hugging your body as if trying to convince yourself.

Your husband snorted, scorn appearing on his face as he approached, and suddenly any courage you had was thrown out of the window. You looked around, at the walls that gave you so little privacy. We're in public, you thought, like a mantra. He didn't do anything in public. He didn't do anything in public. He grabbed your arm. Moreover, his nails dug in, forcing and tearing at your skin as his instinct acted and tried to pull your arm back, but he held back. As he always did. Apart from the pain, all you could think about was what a bad idea it was to wear short sleeves that day.

"What good are you anyway, if you can't even look after my son properly?"

Your eyes were injected with rage and you swallowed, watching the face of the man you once thought would make you the happiest woman in the world. The man who promised you the world while hugging you in a college dormitory bathroom and holding a pregnancy test with a small smile on his face. Eyes crinkled with joy as he stroked your still flat belly and whispered such sweet things. A time when you thought you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. You no longer saw any of that in the man in front of you. He ripped any last shred of hope from your cold, dead hands and then made you dig your own emotional grave, as deep as his nails could go into your skin. You barely felt the pain anymore. You didn't even feel anything, until you heard the familiar voice of the light of your life, pulling you out of that dark pit as it always did.

Quickly, Steve retracted his arm, taking a deep breath and swallowing as he turned to where he had heard his son's voice, his nostrils flaring as he saw who was with him.

•••

Spencer never got a verbal answer to his question from William, but he didn't need one. The scene in front of him said it all, and from the way the boy squeezed his hand tighter, he could tell that Will knew there was something wrong between his parents. Fortunately, the boy was too short to have the same field of vision as Reid. Luckily, he hadn't seen the terrified look on his mother's face, let alone his father's aggressive grip.

Will shouting "Mommy" and letting go of your hand to run to you provided him with a new horizon. It brought back memories. That of trying to be a mediator within a broken family, even in childhood.

•••

Steve never spent much time around William anyway, so when he left quickly, you didn't mind, you were relieved. Noticing that Dr. Reid wasn't going to move away, you sighed, hiding the nail mark against your own body as you watched him enter the room you were in.

"Hey, honey, want to play a little?" you asked, taking your cell phone out of your pocket and handing it to your son, who quickly agreed and went to the corner of the 'big room', as he called it, oblivious to the rest of the world.

"I never knew your name."

You snorted, wondering how that was the first thing he chose to say, but in the end, he did say your name.

"You don't have to hide it, I've already seen it." Spencer continued, making sure to speak quietly so that the child wouldn't hear them and to keep the anger out of his voice.

You swallowed, wondering what you had done to deserve two humiliations in a row on the same day, trying to force yourself to remain calm and expressionless, assessing how much of a risk the mysterious doctor could be to you or your child.

"I'm sorry about William again today, it'll never happen again."

Spencer couldn't stop himself from analyzing you, and what he saw brought him the most mixed emotions. You were profiling him too. You are a profiler for survival, someone who needs to know how to act in every situation so as not to get hurt. It made your head spin, your throat dry and your hands twitch. "It's called empathy. Use it to be a better person," Derek once told him.

"You know this is a crime; I can arrest him right now if you want; this room has cameras, and you're... you're hurt."

To his surprise, you laughed in his face. A bitter laugh. The kind he wished you'd never hear again.

"Are you an idiot, Dr. Reid?" you asked, without any humor. "Is that how you sleep best at night? Look around you, see where we are. In a police station full of men. Do you think you're the first to see something like that in me?"

Suddenly, it was as if a dam broke and you felt the uncontrollable urge to channel all your anger at Dr. Spencer Reid, pointing at the wound on his arm, the little blood already dried. This made the agent sigh. He had never really been able to understand how someone could hurt a person they had sworn to love so deeply.

"Well, the FBI wasn't here before."

You just sighed, pressing your lips together to stop a torrent of tears. He would never know that fear like you did. Even if Steve was still arrested, what would you do next? How would you be able to raise your son in a place like this, where your husband was the model citizen of the city and you were the bitch who put him in prison?

"You just don't understand. Please go away, Dr. Reid."

Go away, and don't you dare even try to give me false hope because I killed them all for my own good a long time ago, you thought.

Spencer couldn't accept that it would end like this. There had to be something, there had to be a way. Not for the first time in his life, he thought that people should come with a manual. It was time to do your job, even if you felt terrible about using your weakness against yourself.

"And is it worth it? Raising a child in such an environment?"

"I've managed to keep Will away for five years. So as long as he's safe, yes, it's worth it," you replied, your back to him.

Spencer sighed, squeezing his thigh as he cursed himself for influencing you like that. All for the greater good.

"Except that he already knows. Kids are a lot more observant than people think."

You turned like lightning.

"What are you talking about?"

You couldn't. You couldn't lose the only certainty you had in life. That Will was your sea of positivity, away from everything that was really going on at home, growing up happily, without any resentment. You swore that when he was born. It was the only promise it would kill you to break.

Spencer hated being the cause of the look of terror on his face this time, but like all the other times in his life when it was necessary, he took courage and started telling.

Taglist (if you want in or out, just let me know):

@yokaimoon @fanfic-viewer

A/n: I was wonderfully surprised by how well received the first part was. I hope you enjoy the second as much. Thank you for your support

[sammyluvr]

makes you wonder — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, fluff, uses y/n, some of the lore/history is totally made up, swearing, workplace bullying/verbal harassment (i’m so sorry if your name is mark, he’s the asshole character), likely contains a few mistakes, mentions of canon typical violence and monsters, 5.2K words. requested !

summary : you’re the local expert on ancient weaponry, and fake fbi agent sam needs your help finding a certain dagger for a case. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga (hk is pronounced in the back of the throat like loch). biodag — bidag (the g is almost a k sound) [ disclaimer, i found these pronunciations off of the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so if anyone can correct anything i got wrong, i’d be super grateful for it! ]

certainly including the fact that it’s exactly what you want to be doing, working as a curator at your city’s history museum is near total perfection for you. not without much hard work and research, you were able to get a job that focuses on your specialty. historic weaponry. plus, your extra knowledge and fascination with mythologies and folklore gave you the perfect edge (pun intended) during interviews.

as a plus, you’re also able to spend minimal time interacting with people, even less so with those who don’t share the common interest of at least museum curation. of course, even that can’t magic away your awkwardness, and you still dread team meetings, but none of your coworkers save the resident asshole care at all when you stumble over your words or speak in clunky sentences. you’re smart, kind, and good at your job, so everyone except mark lessinger is more than happy to have you around. mark, the aforementioned resident asshole, is only around still because he’s the single person for miles who cares about the bland history of the town that is “strongly encouraged” by the local government to be kept in the museum. you’re sure he doesn’t do anything other than watch tv shows at his desk, lounge in the museum café. and make snide comments about anybody he can, because that exhibit hasn’t been updated in years and likely never will be unless something spectacular happens.

when you hear the click of the office door opening, you glance up from the work on your desk on instinct. it’s no surprise to see the devil himself (a mean and entirely pathetic thirty-four year old white man) walk through the door. mark was probably off slacking in the café like he does whenever he can get away with it, which is often considering he has nothing helpful to offer anyway. 

it’s the man who follows him that snags at your gaze and keeps your eyes lingering on the doorway for a second longer than usual. in the split second that you take his appearance in, you’re surprised by how much you want to keep looking at him, rather than the diagram of a seventeenth century revolver you’re hoping to include in the exhibit you’re planning for next fall. the gun is fascinating to you, moreso than just about anyone who could walk in that door. but something about this man is beautiful, so much so that you don’t want to look away. then both mark’s and his eyes fall on you, and you snap your chin back down to refocus on your work. this, of course, doesn’t work, because you can still feel them looking at you.

“that’s them right there. you know, weapons are the only thing that they’re useful for,” mark begins to ramble, and now you know without a doubt that they’re headed towards you, “which, unfortunately, isn’t very helpful at all most of the time. but maybe they can do you some good, agent.”

that word is what catches your attention; you don’t even blink at the condescending tone to his voice or the fact that he doesn’t make any sort of attempt to hide his criticisms from you or this agent. you don’t even look up until the two men are right at your desk, so you miss the judgemental look that the stranger gives to mark’s unsavory comments about you. the idiot obviously misses the look too, because he’s smiling down at you all smug and patronizing when you give him your attention.

“this is agent giles from the fbi. the federal bureau of investigation,” he begins, cocking his head in a way that makes him look like he’s got a knot in his neck, rather than intelligent and important as you figure he intends. you just nod as the agent flashes his badge, resisting the urge to examine the tall man like one of your exhibit pieces. “well, he’s looking for a certain type of knife–” mark says slowly, like you don’t understand what he’s implying. you, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about him as you look the agent up and down, trying to look casual. you’re usually far more into ancient weaponry than men, but he is straight up gorgeous, you conclude. 

“–so, you should help him look for it. it’s very important, so don’t make us look like fools by saying something weird.” you grimace internally, but don’t show much of a reaction because all you can really think about is how much of an idiot he is. and how agent giles is too pretty to be an employee of the federal government. that part is far more important than mark’s rudeness, as you’re fully aware that he has nothing of value to offer, while you absolutely do.

“i’m sure y/n will be very helpful,” says agent giles firmly, and for a moment it surprises you that he knows your name before you realize mark must have given it earlier, “thanks for the sandwich recommendation mr.” he clears his throat because he’s clearly forgotten mark’s last name, “linser.” you stifle a laugh at both the insult of this agent remembering your name, but not mark’s, and the image of mark recommending an fbi agent his favorite sandwich from the museum café.

“lessinger,” he corrects with a stupid, haughty smile that suggests he has no idea that the agent thinks he’s a dumbass and couldn’t care less about him. he doesn’t even get the memo that he’s supposed to leave until agent giles clears his throat again and gives him a pointed look. “well, if y/n can’t get you what you need, i’m sure i can figure it out, so just let me know if you need anything else,” he lands a final insult before scurrying away to his own desk.

“it’s very bad,” you say with a matter of fact tone and shake of your head, once he’s finally out of ear shot. 

the agent raises his eyebrows in question, like he’s not one hundred percent sure what you’re referring to. “him?” he scoffs, “yeah, he’s a total asshole.” agent gile’s tone is much lighter and pleasant when he’s talking just to you, though he certainly means what he’s just said.

“oh, well, no. i mean, yes, he is a complete asshole, but i meant to say that– um, well, the sandwich. it’s very bad,” you repeat the sentiment in earnest after realizing you started speaking almost completely out of context. now you feel the need to explain, “he always gets the same sandwich, and it’s not a good one. if you’re hungry you should get the superfood salad. very healthy, and really good– or, i mean, if you wanted a sandwich, the blt is quite good, especially if you add avocado,” you trail off and realize you’re completely off topic, “but, uh– that’s not what you’re here for, obviously. i’m sorry, i don’t mean to waste your time, agent. uh, how can i help you?”

“no, no, that’s okay,” he says, his pretty hazel eyes full of sincerity, “i am in fact hungry, but i’d never take his recommendation, so i’m glad to have yours. i love salad,” he smiles.

“oh, thanks,” you relax, before wondering if that’s a normal response. but, instead of trying to correct yourself like you normally might, you stay silent to avoid going off topic again and preventing him from getting to the point.

“i’m looking for a certain type of dagger,” he begins, and you realize it’s taking quite a bit of effort to keep looking up at him from your seated position. he’s so tall. “i saw your museum has a weapons collection and was wondering–,” without thinking, you stand to alleviate the pressure on your neck. he pauses in his speech, but is quick to realize you’re simply just standing and that he’s free to keep talking, “–if you’d be able to help me find out if you have any. i hear you’re the weapons expert?”

“yep, that’s me!” you say, unable to completely tamp down your excitement about the topic. only then do you realize that your timing to stand up was slightly odd, but you forge on for the sake of daggers. your favorite subset of weapons. “um, what sort of dagger are you looking for?”

“a scottish dirk?” he answers like he’s asking a question, as if he’s not sure how odd it is to ask that. it is sort of odd, only because you can’t understand exactly what the fbi’s interest is in scottish daggers, but you couldn’t care less. 

your eyes light up and you grin, “we have plenty. actually, it’s quite a collection for a small museum like ours. uhh, let me show you! we have one on display, but personally, i think the ones in storage are the ones you’ll want to see,” you brush past him and head out into the hallway towards storage. 

he follows behind as you continue talking, “i mean, of course the one on display is incredible, it’s just that the best one doesn’t quite fit into the right time frame for this particular exhibit,” you explain, though you think a moment after that he surely couldn’t care less about those details. then, your curiosity gets the best of you, “so, am i allowed to ask why the fbi is looking for scottish dirks? i just didn’t think they’d be something the u.s. government would be concerned about for any reason. oh, well– not that it can’t be! you can certainly investigate anything you want, obviously,” you stop yourself there before you can say anything else borderline embarrassing.

“well, it may be connected to some odd deaths we’re investigating here. we’re just following every possibility.” his answer is completely cryptic and absolutely no help in calming your curiosities. you can’t think of any possible way that sixteenth century scottish daggers could be connected to unexplained deaths.

“you mean the… body in the lake?” you question aloud when the news article you read last week pops into your mind. the word “body” is used lightly; they only found the woman’s liver floating on the surface. you swipe your key card to open the door to storage and lead him inside, then you register that he said “deaths,” plural. “there was more than one?”

“yeah, over the course of the past … few years. the one from last week is just the most recent, second to the one we found this morning.” you’re not sure why he hesitates over the word “few,” but you figure he’s got all sorts of reasons to act secretive. 

“o-oh,” you stammer out, as everything suddenly turns so morbid, “i didn’t know that,” you reply as you stop without thinking at the right storage container. from the desk behind you, you grab a pair of gloves and ask him to put them on as well before you carefully extract the three long knives from their shelf. “so, what? you think someone’s using a scottish dirk to cut people up and throw their livers in the lake? odd considering the dirk is a thrusting blade. wouldn’t be very effective for such a task. well, uh, not that i’d really know. well, i do because i– but not like that! obviously, i’ve never used a scottish dirk to– nevermind.” you let out a little breath that’s half laugh half sigh and force yourself to focus on unwrapping the blades in front of you, each around at least a foot long.

you completely miss the endeared look that the agent gives you. sam only came in to see if the museum had the dagger and figure out how to steal it after hours to complete this case, but you’ve completely occupied his attention. he wants to hear you talk, loves the way you got excited when he asked about the dirk, thinks it’s sweet the way words tumble out of your mouth and your eyebrows change when you realize it was an awkward way to say things. and as a plus, your knowledge of the blade and its history could very likely be helpful.

“we’re not sure exactly how the dirk fits in, but that’s helpful to know,” he says kindly, peering down at the daggers. they’re beautiful and well-crafted, one with a particularly intricately carved handle. “that douche back there,” he begins, and you laugh a little at his unprofessional language, “he said you were interested in “fairy tales” related to weapons. i assume he meant folklore and mythologies? is there anything you can tell me about the folklore behind these?”

you almost cringe, thinking agent giles must find you silly until he proves just the opposite.

“yes, definitely! mark—the douchebag—loves to make fun of me for it, but it’s an important part of the job,” you explain, “it’s just, you might have to interrupt me, i get kind of excited about this kind of thing and, uh, i might start rambling,” you warn with a sheepish smile.

“any information helps,” he reassures. with that, you can’t help yourself, silently apologizing for the pure shitload of nerdy information he’s about to have dumped on him.

“well, if you insist. don’t say i didn’t warn you, but i’ll do my best to stick to the highlights,” you glance at him fleetingly and send him a smile you hope isn’t too awkward. you can’t help but notice he sends back a similar expression. so worried about your own behavior, you hadn’t realized that he’s also sort of awkward. it’s sweet and it makes you feel a bit more relaxed as you turn your attention back to the topic at hand. 

“the dirk, biodag in scottish gaelic, is a particularly important part of traditional scottish highlander culture. it was very common for warrior cultures to swear their most important oaths on their swords, but for the highlanders, it was done with their dirk. these oaths were binding with what was called the force of a gaes, which involved severe supernatural consequences were the oath to be broken. the iron of the dirk was considered to be holy, which stems from the folk superstitions that iron can protect against mythological creatures. these two,” you point to the simpler of the three knives, “are 17th century dirks, crafted with soligen steel, as there was a sort of magic ascribed to the forging of germanic steel that became popular in later centuries. 

“but, this one is a very early version of the dirk from the early 16th century, and made frompure iron,” you smile as you move on to talk about the third dirk, the one sam had noticed to be particularly ornate, “and therefore more aligned with traditional scottish folklore, as iron is considered to be stronger than any sort of alloy, like steel, against supernatural forces. this one’s definitely my favorite, just don’t tell the others,” you finish off with satisfaction, and even an affection that sam secretly finds adorable.

“it is a beautiful blade,” he agrees, in a way that makes you think he genuinely appreciates its value. “now, is there any sort of supernatural creature that the dirk specifically is used to kill?” sam knows the answer he’s looking for, but he’s always eager to confirm any sort of lore that he’s not intimately familiar with, so he asks despite the weirdness of it all.

this question is certainly very odd to you, and you can’t understand why he’d need to know, but you answer anyway. “well, it can depend on who you ask or what records you look at. in many cases, any old thing made of iron, or silver, depending, would do, especially because most folklore dates back to before the development of the highland dirk. but, there are definitely accounts of supernatural creatures being killed or warded off using a dirk, especially one used for a blood oath that was never broken. some believe the strength of an oath fulfilled made the weapon stronger and able to kill creatures otherwise thought unkillable.”

he takes in all of this information with such a serious and straight face that you really begin to question how this could all be about unsolved murders. he seems to think the folklore is going to help him solve real life mysteries, or maybe he’s just secretly interested in this sort of thing and using the opportunity to learn about it.

“and do you know anything in particular about a creature called the each-uisge?”

“each-uisge?” you repeat, unable to stop yourself from laughing a little in surprise. now you’re perfectly sure this federal government investigator is just a secret nerd with an interest in niche folklore. even his pronunciation is decent, though he neglected the back-of-the-throat sound of the “ch.” 

“well– i mean, yes, there are accounts of each-uisge being warded away by both silver bullets and an iron dirk,” you indulge, “i know less about the each-uisge themselves than dirks, but i’ve never read any account of one being killed. though, i do suppose an oath-strengthened dirk might be just the thing to do it.”

he nods intently. “listen, i’m sure this is a long shot,” agent giles begins, gesturing haphazardly with his gloved hands, and you wonder what sort of strange thing he could ask this time, “but is there a way of knowing if this one,” he points to the pure iron dirk, “might have been used to fullfill an oath?”

at that you can’t help but snort out a laugh. “what, are you trying to hunt down a each-uisge?” you tease. “you know that they’re only located in scotland, right? … i mean, if they were real, obviously.” by the end, your tone is no longer playful as your mind returns to the news of missing, presumed dead people, with nothing left but their livers found in the nearby lake. then you think about the history of the town, once heavy with scottish imigrants when it was founded in the early eighteenth century. and finally, all in just a second or two, you fully recall the story of the each-uisge, a vicious, shape-shifting horse that drowns its victims at the bottom of the nearest lake and eats their whole body except the liver, which floats to the surface. a chill runs up your spine before you tamp down the ridiculous suspicions that fill your mind.

“right, obviously,” agent giles laughs too, but it’s sort of stiff, like he wasn’t really joking when he asked. you’re certainly not laughing anymore. “as for the dirk?”

you raise your eyebrows, “hm?” is all you can manage as your mind goes sort of blank. there’s absolutely no way that what you’re thinking about could actually be true, so you brush it off and try to listen to the agent—if that’s really who he is.

“can you tell?” he asks again.

“uh– tell what? oh– oh! if it was used to swear an oath?” you prompt. he nods. “well, i mean, ha. not really, not for sure. we have tested, and there are traces of blood on the blade,” you gesture towards it vaguely, “but, um, that could be from anywhere, not just an oath, you know? lots of fighting…and stuff, uh, those days,” your voice trails off as you laugh and nod a little awkwardly, starting to feel more and more confused about this agent giles, no matter how pretty his soft-looking brown hair is. you tell yourself he’s just curious, but he just looks oh so serious, despite the fact that he’s trying to seem casual and normal about this unconventional conversation.

“hm,” is the only little sound he makes in response, like he’s almost disappointed and considering something weighty you don’t know about because of your unsure answer.

and because you hate to see that little frown on his face, you keep talking, “but, it’s more than likely that this blade was owned by a high ranking clansman, possibly even the chief, as indicated by the ornate nature of the handle and overall high quality. oaths were, in retrospect, decently common to make, even more so for high ranking clansmen.

“which means it is very likely that at least one, maybe many oaths have been sworn using this blade. of course, there’s no telling whether each oath was fulfilled, but considering the cultural importance of loyalty and honor and the roles of oaths in such, it wouldn’t be far fetched to consider this dirk as the kind strong enough to kill a each-uisge. if, you know, you wanted to know a random, cool, and totally niche fun fact about one of my favorite weapons in this museum’s storage room,” in the last sentence, you speak in a clunky, awkward sort of way as you run out of interesting tidbits to info-dump and your mind instead wanders back to the undeniably peculiar circumstances surrounding this conversation. the laugh you let out at the end is quiet, and far more nervous than humored.

the smile he gives you then is sympathetic, like he knows this is all weird and maybe a little alarming if you’re willing to question your non-belief in the supernatural. you’re no longer sure at all that he’s an fbi agent, but strangely enough, you don’t find yourself feeling distrustful of him. your gut tells you that he’s good, and you decide to trust it.

“all of this was a big help,” he says, the sincerity in his voice almost tangible, “thank you.” that makes you feel good, because it seems to you like he’s just trying to help people. with what, you’re not sure, and then you sort of wish that he’d made some sort of joke about how this last part of the conversation wasn’t actually helpful, just interesting. interesting and completely irrelevant to the livers on the lake. 

you swallow hard, “of course. glad i could be of help to you, agent.”

“sam,” he corrects. “just sam is alright.”

“oh. right. just sam,” you nod and wonder if the feeling in your chest could be your heart fluttering. your eyes flicker from his face to his broad shoulders, to his pretty, big hands and the way his right middle finger taps against the side of his thigh. then, worried you’re staring, your gaze flits down to your own hands, resting on the table, then to the daggers you know so well. yet, you look at them different this time. you’ve certainly wondered about the oaths that may have been sworn by their blades and their connections to traditional superstitions. but now you look at them and wonder if it’s real. if one of these blades had been used to ward off a real-life myth in the past, or been magically strengthened by blood and kept promises. sam—you think sam fits him so much better than agent giles—has shifted your perspective of the things you’ve been studying and learning about and loving for years and years of your life.

it’s true that you’ve always been one to daydream, to wonder; that’s where your fascination with folklore and fairy tales comes from. always, you’ve looked for rumored mythological weapons in the real world and marveled at the less historic possibilities of the things you study. and you think that if it were anyone else, or if he talked to or looked at you in a different way, you wouldn’t be questioning your reality like this, but you are. maybe you’re predisposed to believing, or just too curious for your own good, but you know at that moment that you won’t be able to let this go.

sam clears his throat to break the awkward silence, and he thinks he can see the gears in your head turning, the way they have been since he asked about the each-uisge. he hopes desperatly you won’t ask him if he thinks this is all real, all because he doesn’t think he could lie to you anymore. there’s something about your authenticity, your intelligence and innate curiosity, and the goodness that you so clearly carry with you that simultaneously makes him want to tell you everything and protect you from the truth. the latter option is always his go-to, rightfully so, but he can’t explain to himself the way that he purely just wants to share with you, bring you closer to him through a shared understanding of the world. sam thinks he must be crazy, because he just met you and thinks it would be entirely possible to fall right in love with you if he got the chance to get to know you.

then he realizes that he’s the one staring. “right, well… i should get going. you know. i’ve got another lead i need to follow up on,” he forces the words out like he doesn’t want to go, and it’s true. he doesn’t, but if he spends more time with you, he’ll have to keep lying, and he doesn’t want to do that. more importantly, he doesn’t want to expose you to anything more that could put you in danger.

“right. right, of course,” you nod, and you’re practically breaking his heart because you fail to hide the disappointment on your face for a split second. he hadn’t realized he was looking at you that carefully to catch the look, but he doesn’t regret it. he’s discovered that he likes looking at you enough to not care much about that sort of thing. “would you like me to show you out, or do you remember the way?”

“i’m alright,” sam answers on instinct before his heart breaks doubly because your eyes look sad again for a moment, “but let me walk you back to your office. or, no, let me buy you that superfood salad for taking up your time,” he amends quickly.

“i already ate lunch, but– shit,” you interrupt yourself, cursing when you realize he was flirting. then you get flustered, “no, i mean– uh, well– okay! er, no, that’s okay, i mean,” because there’s no taking back the fact that you already said you ate lunch already. you take a breath to steady yourself, “but you can definitely walk me back to my office, let me just put these away, it’ll be quick–,” your hands rush to wrap up the daggers before you remember their fragility, “oh– sorry! thank you for the offer, though! that would’ve been completely unnecessary, i’m just glad i could help. not that i wouldn’t– uh,” you gulp anxiously, “not that i wouldn’t eat lunch with you, of course– well, if that’s what you were implying which maybe it wasn’t, which, in that case–”

sam who cuts you off, “it’s alright,” he reassures before you can keep rambling, “that is what i’m implying, but…” he quiets for a split second, only because he’s a littly shy, “it’s okay. maybe, yknow, when the case is over, we can go for lunch, if that’s alright with you?”

you inhale sharply, nodding silently before remembering you should answer aloud too. when you do, your voice is a little breathless, “yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” then, you’re fighting back a grin.

“great,” he doesn’t hide his own smile as he dips his hand into a jacket pocket and hands you his card. “call me tomorrow, we can set up a time.” you accept the card with a shy smile, and one beat, two beats of silence pass before the both of you realize you’re staring at the other.

in sync, you snap out of it, gazes jerking elsewhere and hands flying anywhere to get busy. you turn to the blades on the table and he focuses on fixing up the black jacket of his suit. you try to ignore him as you put the artifacts away, expecting for him to have said goodbye and left by the time you turn back to him. when you look at him in confusion, the corner of his mouth quirks up when he realizes you’ve forgotten that you said he could walk you back to your office.

he vaguely motions towards the door, “shall we? i’ll walk you to your office, then i’m good to find my way out.”

“oh! right, of course!” you nod, “yeah.” with your lips pursed in an awkward smile, you turn to the door and walk towards the exit without looking to see if he follows. but you don’t have to, because a half-second later, he’s right by your side, which you can attribute his long strides to. you like the way he lingers close to you, closer than he did when you first walked in together, even if it makes you feel flustered so that your hands mess with the hem of your shirt.

you stop at the office door, turning to him and expecting your goodbye to happen surrounded by the empty, white walls of the hallway.

but, he points to the door with his chin. “i’ll walk you in,” he explains, “show that asshole, mark, that you’re friendly with an fbi agent.”

“oh,” you sigh out through a smile, “you don’t have to do that, yknow. i know he’s an idiot.”

he laughs at that. “yeah, he absolutely is,” he agrees readily, “but, i still wanna. i think of it as part of my job to scare off assholes.” especially from pretty people like you, he wants to say. he’s just too shy for that, thinks it would be too soon to say it.

“well then, be my guest,” you smile as you open the door and let him follow close behind you.

“thank you for all of your help,” sam says, repeating what he said before, louder than he has to so that mark, a few desks away from yours, can hear it all, “you really helped move our investigation along. i think we’ll be able to wrap it up soon, thanks to you.” you’re sure that he’s over-exaggerating, but you certainly aren’t going to stop him from proving a point to mark.

“it was the least i could do,” you play along, trying to hide your grin from your coworkers, because you can feel all their eyes on you. when you sit, sam looks down at you with nothing short of affection, just for a moment before your eyes settle back on his pretty face.

“have a nice rest of your day,” he smiles before turning away. then he reaches the door, not too far away, he turns back around and speaks for everyone to hear, “don’t forget to call me, yeah?” before disappearing and leaving you a flustered, grinning mess. you can’t help but steal a look at mark and feel satisfaction run through your veins at his utterly shocked expression. 

he looks to have gone through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, and it’s frankly hilarious. he can’t seem to possibly consider the fact that you absolutely just pulled a (not?) fbi agent, not to mention one who’s that tall and just plain attractive. you can’t wait to catch whatever comical expression he wears when he sees you greeted by sam in the museum foyer during your lunch break for a date (because surely he’ll be sitting in the café watching people walk in and out as he’s chewing on his nasty sandwich).

part two : now you know

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number neighbors Pt.28

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

You wouldn’t describe yourself as someone who was regularly paranoid, but recently you've been more than a little on edge. You’d given the man at the market the benefit of the doubt, chalking his appearance up to going to the marketplace when the weather was the most reasonable- like you’d been doing, but that doesn’t explain the Suvs.

You don’t know how long they’ve been following you for, you’d been so stuck in your own world that you’d barely been paying attention to your surroundings but after Saturday you’ve been more cautious of your surroundings and that’s when you noticed the black Suv.

You don’t know if it’s the same one every time, they’ve always kept a far enough distance and you haven't been able to catch a license plate but they appear every so often when you go out. The windows are tinted far too dark to be legal so you can’t see inside but you occasionally find them parked outside of buildings you frequent and it’s starting to worry you.

You don’t want to worry your friends or your mom who would buy a ticket out there first thing though, so you keep to yourself and try to keep a distance from the cars and the marketplace (it’s a devastating loss to not have Gladys’ pastries on hand)

On top of that, everyone has been on edge because of the disappearance of most of the Avengers. As far as you know, Stark, Clint, Banner, and that Spider kid are the only ones still in New York which has civilians asking questions about where the others are and why they left. 

The anxiety from the lack of heroes has everyone grilling the government for answers, especially considering the fact that the crime rate has gone up just from petty criminals getting too cocky. Due to the constant heat The government has been under, they stated that they’ll issue a public service announcement in a week to explain the situation and you can practically feel the country buzzing with anticipation.

The situation makes you think of Nat and you wonder if her “not FBI job” has something to do with this and is the reason why she’s disappeared. You hope she knows wherever she is that you would’ve understood if she’d just explained the situation to you- but maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was under some kind of NDA that could put her in danger.

Despite avoiding the marketplace you still get the feeling that you’re being watched and it makes you uneasy. You feel like you’re hallucinating with how often you see shadows moving somewhere nearby. You’re never able to catch a glimpse of anyone who might resemble the market man but the fear is enough to have you staying a few nights at your friend's house.

The Suv’s don’t appear for a while after the move and it allows you a small moment of reprieve. You push the lingering feeling of constant observance to the back of your mind despite your brain telling you to be on guard.

The stress of the situation is so tremendous you don’t even realize you’ve been forgetting to leave voicemails for Nat until your mom calls asking why you haven’t called her in a while. You don’t bring up the stalkers to avoid giving her a heart attack but you do tell her about the amount of stress you’ve been under and the toll it’s been taking on you. 

It feels so good to talk about it that you don’t even realize you’re crying until your mother's concerned voice is comforting you through the speaker. God, it was like the universe couldn’t give you a break lately. You hope whatever they’re putting you through all of this for is worth it. 

“Come home for a while, Y/n. it sounds like you need a break, I’ll take care of you.” The dismissal of her offer is on the tip of your tongue but the more you mull it over the more you think it might be a good idea. With the city on edge, the growing crime rate, and your new potential stalkers, getting away from the city is probably the best thing you could do right now.

Much to your mother's surprise, you agree and her excitement at having you come home has you smiling on your end of the receiver. The two of you spend the next hour looking for an affordable last minute and you find a plane that leaves in two days that the two of you agree on. It’s probably not nearly enough appropriate notice for time off but your boss agrees anyway and within the hour you’ve got plans to spend a week at your mother's out of town.

It’s the first vacation you’ve taken in a while and even if it was just going home you find yourself more excited than you’d been in at least a month. You hadn’t been this excited since-

Nat. You hadn’t been this excited since you were supposed to meet Nat. 

It probably didn’t matter to her that you were going out of town, it wasn’t like she was getting your voicemails anyway but- what if she showed up while you were gone? You shake your head, the possibility of that was slim to none and if she did come back while you were gone she’d just have to wait like she’d made you wait.

Still, she deserved to know about the kid on the skateboard you watched run into a pole earlier today, at least. You listen for the tale-tell sound of the beep after the long too-familiar ringing and you find yourself subconsciously smiling as you tell her random snippets from your week.

The breakfast your friend treated you to, the new show you started, the fair that got canceled due to raccoons breaking in to eat all the cotton candy. You avoid talking about the stalkers like you’d done with everyone else but you frown when the news channel starts covering another attempted bank robbery. 

Despite your own safety being in jeopardy you can’t help but worry for her wherever she may be, causing you to voice the thought, the humor in your tone replaced with a solemn resolve

“wherever you are… I hope you’re safe.” You shake your head, attempting to clear your mind from the restless thoughts in your mind “Anyway, sorry I know that was a lot- all that to say I miss you and I love you. Bye!”

You don’t even realize what you’ve said until 10 seconds later and you frantically press whichever number was supposed to delete the message. 

Shit.

It was such a force of habit to end your phone calls with an I love you. You can’t believe you almost confessed to Nat over the phone. Moreover, you’re freaked out by how much the words didn’t feel like a lie. If you were honest you’d been avoiding putting a label on your emotions because you were scared of how serious they were getting but apparently your brain had already decided for you. 

Love.

You loved Nat.

You Love Nat.

Fuck.

Your mind reels with the newfound discovery and you’re grateful you deleted the message before it would be stuck in her voicemail for her to one day hear. Your head's a mess as you set your phone down on the counter and go to pack up your stuff, you had a trip to get ready for and a relationship to overanalyze to try and pinpoint when you and Nat had gone from total strangers to you being in love with her.

 It all made sense now, the heartache, the worrying, the underlying tension between the two of you

It was just your luck that you’d discover you love her when you can’t even tell her. You’re so in your head with your emotions and figuring out what to pack that you don’t even register the sound of your phone’s female electronic voice as it declares

“Voicemail sent”

Pt.29

A/n: Classic mistake, Y/n, I’m sure everyone’s done that! Don’t worry it’s not like she can hear your voicemails or anything…or uhhh ~ Starry

---Taglist--

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[honeygrahambitch]

Summary: Will finds it difficult to put a label on what he and Hannibal have so he blames it on the amount of work at the FBI. Hannibal finds a questionable way to help him. A few lies might be involved.

Chapter 1

"You smell like cinnamon." Beverly commented as she brushed against Will in the lab.

"Hannibal has been baking a lot lately. Including this morning."

"And yet you didn't bring us anything. Rude." Brian commented.

"Hannibal suggested that I should. But I ate all the chai cookies by myself. And I have no regrets."

"Rude indeed." Jimmy repeated. "Anyway what even is the deal with you two?"

Beverly, Brian and Will all turned to Jimmy simultaneously. Will arched an eyebrow in response.

"I learnt a new word from my niece last weekend." Jimmy went on. "Are you in a situationship?"

"What even is that?" Will asked and frowned.

"Don't listen to him, Will." Beverly said and rolled her eyes. "He is baking for you. It's a relationship."

"I hope you are discussing the case." Jack said as he had just entered. He looked at their preoccupied faces and realized it was obviously something else. "What is it?"

"What is a situationship?" Will asked again.

Jack shook his head and sighed loudly. He would sit this one out.

"Like, when you can't call it a relationship."

"Just because I have never pronounced that word in the same room with Hannibal, it doesn't mean I don't consider our thing a relationship."

"You haven't what?" Beverly suddenly turned to him. "That man is cooking for you daily. He is getting you shirts that are more expensive than Jimmy's car. He is probably waiting for validation from your side. He would never push you."

"Ouch." Jimmy said regarding his poor car.

"I don't know about that." Will hummed.

"If I may intervene." Jack finally said something. "Beverly is right. That's what Hannibal is waiting for."

"Since when are you giving relationship advice?"

"Since I'm the only one in this room who has been married for 20 years."

"It's bit difficult to have a relationship when you expect me to be here 24/24."

Will knew that in fact, as much as he hated to admit that to himself, they were right. Hannibal was waiting for him to confirm it. And he was an asshole for always avoiding that certain talk. With the amount of bodies that have appeared lately, he could hardly find the time and space to think about it.

[brenayla]

fin - AO3

The end is anticlimactic. As soon as the clock strikes 4:50pm, Doggett leaves politely with a one-armed hug and well wishes for the little one.

And then it’s just them. Scully and Mulder in their secretive underground den.

Scully sits at his desk and he perches in front of her.

Of all things, Mulder says: “You remember that time we got food poisoning from Wendy’s?”

God, does she ever. She complains, “Mulder, do we have to go there?”

They were barely two years in, somewhere in rural Missouri. It might have been the only time Mulder stopped driving before 7PM and to her absolute horror, the first motel he found to pull into was fumigating or doing construction or something. Whatever. They shared a bathroom for 24 hours and mutually concluded that they would never discuss it again.

“Not if I have any say in it,” Mulder says, “I haven’t been there since.”

“Seriously, Mulder," she warns with a good glare. "I'd rather hear about the praying mantis man. My gag reflex isn't what it used to be.”

“Doesn’t seem any different to me.”

“Mulder,” she scolds him around a barely contained laugh, as if the walls have ears.

Mulder dodges and shifts topics expertly. “I got you something,” he says, free hand scouring around in his pocket.

He produces a stress ball painted to look like a little baseball. “Happy anniversary, Scully.”

They have never celebrated an anniversary and even if they were to take up the practice, it would be somewhere in the crisp dew days of spring, not today.

“Our other anniversary,” Mulder explains, “I’m a little late.”

“Ah,” Scully says, taking the gift and turning it in her hand. He is several months late, actually.

Their first time was not what she expected but it was what she needed. In her more creative moments, she’d imagined that when the dam broke, he would tear buttons from her blouse and pull her panties aside, no frills maneuvering her into position. And that is Mulder, but it is not first time Mulder. First time Mulder wanted to kiss her forehead and take her in. Before, he asked, can I and after, he fell asleep grasping her thumb like a newborn.

It seems like you two have an intense relationship, Scully's therapist once told her, accurately. Leg shaking, concussed sprinting after them intense; pre-sunrise giggling on his couch intense.

“Thank you,” she tells him, slipping it into her bag on the floor.

“It’s my contribution to your labor pain management plan.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“We can add it the hospital bag checklist.”

“Sure, Mulder.”

Mulder waits under the hum of the AC. “You’re welcome.”

A smoke detector is still hanging by a wire from when she took it apart to discover a bug. Sharpened yellow pencils that appeared in the ceiling – again – without explanation. The chunky patterned blanket from his couch, slouched over the back of the computer chair, brought in when she was sick and cold.

Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.

“Mulder, there have been periods where I spent more time here than at home,” she confesses.

“Me too. Probably too many times, actually.”

“I met you down here.”

“Yeah. You did.”

“And I– …we –” Her voice cracks, an all too common occurrence recently. We fell in love down here.

Or maybe not – maybe it was the rental cars or the autopsy bays – but she can’t quite remember because the where and when was never all that important. Now that she’s leaving this place behind, it feels like it happened here.

“I know.”

Mulder could say: This place isn’t going anywhere, Scully or you can always come back to visit, but it would be a sore consolation and they both know it. This is the wheezing death rattle of Special Agents Mulder And Scully. It’s such a Mulder thought, she would never dare voice it. It wriggles into her temporal lobe anyways.

She is leaving behind the birthplace of them, the first space they ever shared. Early Them live down here, with their shoulder pads and patterns and loose-fitting suits, stealing shy glances at each other over his whirring slideshows. And Middle Them survived the fire, too; floppy haired and caught in crackling tension and sopping with grief and fear and love that they don’t yet know what to do about. Even flirty, curious Right Before them are down here, testing out new boundaries; lighter, dreamier, sweet and sticky them.

Fudge the dates a little and their baby could have been conceived down here, and in the moment, that's the story she tells herself. It's a nice one. Maybe the fetus is a little bigger than typical, or maybe she misremembered the dates of her last menstrual cycle. Maybe she’s carrying a child made from dusty file cabinets, tacked up printouts, scrawled handwriting, crumpled up sticky notes left beside the trash can filled with takeout containers, and them; all the Thems.

Scully amends her last comment. “Well, I’m not sure that it happened down here. But I realized it down here.”

Mulder takes her hand. “Tell me?”

“It’s nothing crazy.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m good with nothing crazy these days.”

She smiles; damn, he’s got her. “Okay, well…it was a weekend. You had this dark blue jacket on. It was more casual than you’d typically wear.”

“I think I know the one. I can find it, if you ever need a reminder.”

She gives him a look and continues, unperturbed. “You were sitting here at your desk and I was over there working at the computer. You were eating Reese’s Pieces. Very loudly, I might add.”

“When are we gonna get to the flattering part?”

“Never, if you’re going to interrupt.” Scully gets her bearings again. “You were humming something, I’m not sure what but it was a short tune, over and over. And I looked over to tell you to quiet down so I could focus. You were leaning over your report – or whatever it was you were writing. You had a little cut here above your eyebrow. And I just…I just knew.”

He stares, disbelieving but still holding her hand. “That was it, Scully?” He asks. “I was being annoying and you looked over to tell me to knock it off, and that’s how you had this grand realization?”

She shrugs. “I think maybe it was the mundaneness of it.”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that one, Scully.”

“Well,” she tries, “how many times have we had very similar conversations? How many times have I probably been working at the computer and looked over to tell you something? Hundreds, maybe.”

“Maybe more.”

“Right. So, it was all of those…everyday things that made up our relationship, our partnership in the first place. It only makes sense that it would be one of those everyday things that...triggered something.”

Mulder takes that in.

“Huh,” he says, gently splaying out her fingers as he processes. “Did you ever tell me to knock off the noise?”

When she puts herself back in the moment, nothing breaches her memory but the all-consuming red sun dawn of the revelation that she knew she was not going to be able to ignore like she had with all the prior little stair step realizations.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think I said anything to you.”

“You might have saved us a lot of time if you had.”

“No, I don’t think so, Mulder. I don’t– maybe it’s all the hormones, but I don’t think we were ready then.”

Mulder takes a moment to digest that idea. He doesn’t necessarily agree, she can tell and it occurs to her to push it. But when he lapses into quietly dragging a fingertip across the lines in her palm, she decides against it.

A gush of self-consciousness rolls over her and she see it hit him like an aftershock. “Well,” she covers, “what about you?”

He presses his thumb against one of her nails, scanning his print into the keratin of her nailbed.

“When you came to my room in Bellefleur,” he says.

“You– …the first time?”

He smiles, covering. “Yeah.”

“No,” she insists, “Mulder.”

“Yes, Scully.”

In the moment of silence, Mulder fiddles with her fingers, their heads bowed over their joined hands. Then he kisses the middle of her palm like a stigmata and releases her, gauging her mood.

When he gets a reading, he stands and offers her a hand up. “You ready to go, Agent Scully?”

She takes it, shaking hands with this little death.

“I think I am, Agent Mulder.”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

fight the future part 2

waaaah! what a point we left off on last night. i want to leave a few random thoughts here so that you must click the “read more” link and therefore i shall prevent the girlies who, like me, are only now getting around to watch txf, from major spoilers….

so, thoughts of no particular importance:

scully likes her soda sweet and takes pleasure in teasing mulder :)

mulder is a big ol softie and he seems to not drink alcohol very often (BUT he does occasionally go to the bar)

and they live in different parts of the city! i assumed they lived closer because they are always at each other's place

i like scully's outfit :)

skinner is like an uncle to me

okay, an actual recap beneath the read more link...

i left off last night with the syndicate promising to take away what mulder loves most… what he cannot live without (dramatic cut to scully). the virus is mutating and maybe earth has been a pawn of the aliens this whole time. and since mulder and scully and kurtzweil know this, they must be dealt with. dun dun DUUUUN!

girl, i don’t watch this show for the aliens, i watch it for the slowburn and vague spooky aesthetic. so i hope they figure out the black oil and what not.

but the black oil made the fireman have an alien baby… is it because he was cold? they don't usually get to keep those exposed to the alien virus cold. or is it because the virus that the fireman caught had mutated to the point of producing new life? why didn’t krycek and mulder and all the russian gulag guys have an alien baby when they got oiled up?

shrugs. who tf knows. 

so, i left off at 54:42, and now i must reload the DVD to this point in time. the DVD is so fuzzy and the captions are different from what they are actually saying which is equal parts endearing and annoying, lmao

okay. back to scully and her very cool suit in the desert. she had to have been hot as hell. 

well, it doesn’t look like much of a dig site, but mulder makes scully pinky promise that the fossils were infected with the same stuff she saw at the morgue.

insert that (it fucken wimdy) fox here as mulder’s hair and suit gets blown around in the desert

ooo, how convenient! a brand new playground right over where once a dig site lay. mulder is going to sniff around that newly installed grass, point out that it is brand new, and then talk to some local kids on bikes.

they kids say they can’t talk about it and they don’t believe that they’re FBI agents. and why is this?

“cause y’all look like door-to-door salesmen” <- LMAOOOOO, SCULLY’S SMILE I’M DYING!!

well, a quick show of the badge gets 'em to snitch. so much for the shady government's bribery for silence with new bikes. and off the agents go, in the direction these small children point.

RACING DOWN A DESERT ROAD IN A WEIRD LITTLE CARRR YEAHHHH!!!! SUCH IS THE LIFE OF OUR FAVORITE AGENTS!!!!

LMAOOOO they don’t know which way to go… scully says right and mulder says left… so he barrels ahead straight BAHAHAHHA

“fives years together scully, how many times have i been wrong? never! not driving, anyway” <- LMAOOOO this is a terrible thing for a man with no sense of direction to say 

shoutout to this little grey nondescript car going on quite the adventure

as always, i wonder what they talk about as they drive for hours and hours…. it’s night by the time they roll up to a…. fence?

ohhh, scully is mad :(

“this is great, this is fitting”

“of what?”

“i have to be in washington DC in 11 hours for a hearing, the outcome of which might possibly effect one of the biggest decisions of my life, and here i am in nowhere, texas, chasing phantom tanker trucks” <- AWW MY GIRL IS STRESSED TF OUT!! and can you blame her?!?

too bad they didn’t have zoom back then to do a virtual hearing…

she’s about to tell him she does NOT have time to track down alien viruses (and it is so funny that she straight up asks what he isn’t telling her) when a train appears!!!! time for more chasing!!!

bro is driving up a hill….. and they see something weird…. domes?? big glowy domes??? in the distance!!!!

use the large man to forge through the cornfields that are mysteriously growing in the desert!!! this is an excellent tactic, scully!!

what if the corn has smallpox? like those bees and the honey that we saw before?? please be careful!!

dome time. why does the door open right up when they approach!!! and more it wimdy time as their hair blows about!!! yeah, scully, fix that wind tossed hair!! 

the inside of the dome is temperature controlled and making a weird humming noise. mulder puts his head to the ground as if he’s listening for the floor’s heartbeat. 

NOOOO, THE BEES ARE RELEASED!!!! the smallpox bees!!!!! or some other virus-having bees!! SHE CAN’T SEE WHERE SHE IS GOING SO HE GUIDES HER THROUGH THE BEE STORM.......... OHHH MY GOD….

he asks if she got stung and her hair is all messed up :( 

what if we were coworkers and i was blinded by bees so you took my hand and led me through the storm...........

RUN!!! helicopters approach!!! escape into that cornfield!!! she gets down, but he keeps running. 

NOOO, HE CAN’T FIND HER!!!! he’s doing his famous “scully” screaming!!!! WAHHHH

(i always admire how he never seems to have to inhale before letting out the longest "SCULLLLLYYYYYYY" of all time)

after lots and lots of screaming, they find each other, and i imagine they will also swear off corn mazes for the rest of their life. which is probably fine because they didn't have much appeal anyway

NOOOOOOO, scully is almost late for her hearing, but is now dramatically trying to make herself look okay before going before the scary panel, and not appear as if she has been attacked by smallpox bees…. she wants to make a good impression :(

she’s trying to present the fossils to the panel!!! they don’t seem to like that she went back to dallas

meanwhile, mulder is back at that dingy bar. which has a big moose on the wall. to talk with kurtzweil!!!

NOOOOOO…. a bee is on scully's neck…. 

kurtzweil only guesses that the crops and bees are for spreading a virus, which is NOT pleasing to mulder. fight fight fight in the alley!!!! how do you only take a GUESS about that critical information?

OH NO, SOMEONE IS WATCHING HIM!!!

back to mulder's apartment and the fishies, and he looks through a scrapbook… he has a scrapbook in his desk?? from his father? or is it a bunch of pictures from his childhood he put together himself? hard to tell, but either way, a surprising detail for him. and he finds kurtzweil in there!!! hanging out at a picnic!! oh shit, he really must have known his father!!

(i kind of thought he might have been lying about the whole thing)

scully arrives. “what’s wrong?” “salt lake city, utah. transfer effective immediately” <- NOOOOO, SHE CAN’T DO UTAH!!!! she needs her caffeine!!

so she handed in her letter of resignation….

oh my god, i can tell i’m going to want to quote this whole thing and my fingers cannot move fast enough 

SHE DEBATED ON EVEN TELLING HIM IN PERSON??? she was just going to DIP??

“we are close to something here! we’re on the verge”

“you’re on the verge, mulder. please don’t do this to me” ohhhh…. oh scully….

WHAT?!?!?!??

“i need you on this” “you don’t need me, mulder. you never have. i’ve just held you back” <- YOU CAN’T SAY THAT??? YOU DID THE SCIENCE AND FOUND OUT THERE WAS A VIRUS?? look at his face when she says that…..

oh, he is not going to let her walk away!!!!!!

(what is on his wall…. it looks like some sort of architectural art print thingy)

angry man follows her out!!!!

“why did they assign me to you in the first place, mulder? to debunk your work. to rein you in, to shut you down” 

“but you SAVED ME!” <- OH MY GOD….. i knew she saved him, we all knew she saved him, but to hear HIM tell HER that information will make me fall to my knees and WEEP

“as difficult and frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over” OHHHHH MY GOD…. tell her what she means to you…

“YOU KEPT ME HONEST. YOU MADE ME A WHOLE PERSON” MY JAW DROPPED????? did he feel like a half person before her????? oh my GOD?? i feel like i always type "tell her what she means to you" and it NEVER happens, which makes this incredibly satisfying to hear

“i owe you EVERYTHING. and scully, you owe me nothing” OH MY GOD???????? oh my god. hey hi guys!!! can you hear me screaming??

(augh... still losing it over this line after watching it all. the writers so clearly favor him and his worldview and just writing his character in general so to hear mulder acknowledge that he owes scully is just... so perfect)

“i don’t know if i want to do this alone. i don’t even know if i can. and if i quit now, they win” 

oh she’s crying….. and they hug…….. and he bends over to hold her head…. 

AND SHE KISSES HIS FOREHEAD…….??

(still screaming about this btw. stand on your tippie toes to kiss that freak, scully. oh, the intimacy of a forehead kiss, it's always going to punch me in the gut)

and he holds her face while she cries…. are they gonna kiss……. OH MY GOD THEY’RE GOING TO KISS?? THE MUSIC GOT ALL INSTRUMENTAL??

NOOOOO!!! something happened. okay, hold on, i need to watch all of this again for my own sake. 

she got stung by the smallpox bee, but hold on. i need to see this again. i need to see this man desperate and telling her she deserves the world once more. look at her crying. oh my GOD. are these tears of goodbye??!!! and the forehead kiss…. how he puts his hands on her face, and she has a hand behind his neck……. 

AND THEY BOTH LEAN IN FOR THE KISS, BUT HE APOLOGIZES…….

“ow! jesus!” “i’m sorry” oh, he looks so embarrassed to have violated a boundary- OHHH MY POOR MULDER, YOU SOPPING WET TEDDY BEAR- so she clarifies that “no, something stung me” 

she pulls the whole bee out and he peeks into the back of her shirt to try and see what happened, rubbing the back of her head to comfort her (hey guys. oh my god??!? are we all seeing this or is this some sort of figment of my imagination??)

“mulder? something’s wrong” he’s still grabbing her shoulders and he says “what” so softly…

“i’m having lancinating pain in…” “what?” “my chest”

this diva… she might be dying but she is going to use the medically accurate words for what she is experiencing… and i love that about her <3

“my motor functions are being affected” she says as he’s trying to hold her, panicking, saying her name 

oh my GOD (again. hey god. i keep invoking your name. i just wanna say thank you for these characters) he lays her down on the floor, but she has just enough energy to say that she has no allergies, so this cannot be anaphylactic shock!

NOOOOO!!! he calls 911, but as they take her into the ambulance, the paramedics think it’s an allergic reaction and are ignoring mulder when he says it might be a virus!!!!!!!!

WHAT THE FUCK??? THE DISPATCHER PULLS OUT A GUN AND SHOOTS HIM IN THE HEAD????

my jaw is ONCE AGAIN on the floor………… what the fuck!!!! how are they going to get out of this sticky situation!!

meanwhile, an infected body is being brought somewhere…. to CSM!!!

WAIT, SHIT, IT’S SCULLY????????? i thought it would be the fireman from before who exploded!!!!

WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER, YOU SICK FUCK??!!

who is bickering over mulder……? THE LONE GUNMEN YAAAAY! “cowardly lion, scarecrow, and… toto” <- AWWW he can’t even be mean to byers because everyone loves him 

so they must not have aimed at his head very well if he can still speak...

he wants to go get scully now, but ENTER SKINNER!!! “mulder, EASY, EASY, you’re staying right there!!!” <- OHHHH SKINNER…. this man wants to just go find his partner, but needs skinner to remind him he literally almost JUST died…….. skinner points out that "they" will know if he leaves!!!!

“tell me where she is, i’ll look” “i don’t KNOW WHERE SHE IS, but i know someone who might” (oh, he’s so whiny when he says that………)

(god. after seeing it all, i'm imagining skinner going instead of him to find her. i mean, i know mulder never would have let that happen, but just picture some sort of alternate universe where it did, and all of the things that i write about next took place between skinner and scully... it would have been very interesting)

((and my god, skinner's desperation, offering to go in his place...... he really loves them both. i get choked up about it))

langley wants to help. “what can we do?” “you can strip byers naked” “what?!” “i need your clothes” AWW, POOR TOTO!!!

i have rewatched this scene like 5 times because they put crack in skinner forcing him to lay back down. mulder takes off the bloody headband…….

and he gets out wearing byers slash toto's clothes!!!! run, run man who just got shot in the brain!! i am sure that this is a good thing for you to be doing instead of resting!!! (heavy on the /s)

i know skinner was mad as hell to see him go LMAO. alas. he is an unstoppable force.

kurtzweil is loitering about an alley, presumably waiting for mulder, when WELL-GROOMED MAN APPEARS!! leave him alone……. but no, he is not alone, for someone else pulls into the alley…

mulder’s at the bar, and it seems his presence has killed the party vibe. he runs out the back, looking for kurtzweil, but well-groomed man is closing the trunk!!! he says he’s come and gone!! oh lord!

well-groomed man says that if mulder gets in the car, he will give him the location of scully and how to save her……… and he gets in the car, very suspiciously… where are they taking him?! this has to be a trap. 

well-groomed man says he has vaccine and her coordinates. and it has to be administered VERY SOON. 

so it’s NOT smallpox in the bees this time, it’s an alien virus from the original inhabitants of this planet.

so the aliens never fully left?? because they were the first ones here on earth. they went underground and evolved into a pathogen??? waiting to be reconstituted and use us as hosts. and we have no defense. 

huh! answers! how rare are those for this franchise? i still wanna know about the alien bodies with the vaccine scars in arizona, though, from the anasazi arc. i have a feeling they will never come. but i WANT them.

so, well-groomed man (and i assume the rest of the syndicate) thought that the mass infection would simply make us a slave race, but it began to gestate?? 

man. y’all gotta stop trying to make scully have babies. make mulder have the babies. he has the oil in him!!!

so they’ve been working to secretly develop a cure. but mr. mulder didn’t buy the whole plot.

“he sacrificed my sister. he let them take samantha”

“without a vaccination, the only true survivors of the viral holocaust will be those immune to it- human-alien clones. he allowed your sister to be abducted to be taken to a cloning program for one reason”

“so she would survive… as a genetic hybrid” 

OH SHIT!!! so was mulder NOT the favorite child??!

not sure how i feel about getting so much rapid fire plot explanation in one hefty dose after a slow and tiny drip for 5 seasons. and the retconning this does of the existing lore...

“your father chose hope over selfishness. hope, the only future he had: his children” <- well. he still let the aliens take her. like, i get maybe he was trying to do the right thing, but i’m not sure how much that’s worth when that was his baby girl that he gave to the aliens.

and he hoped that mulder would fight the future (woohoo!! they said the name of the movie!!) and uncover and stop the project. no fucking pressure, right?? geez. mr. mulder and i need to fight it out.

well-groomed man says that soon he will die, and that he is telling mulder about this whole evil plot for the sake of his own children, hoping he can stop it. but he doesn’t answer where kurtzweil is… 

mulder would like to get out of the car NOW. is he gonna hitchhike from some random alley?

OH SHIT, well-groomed man says he was ordered to kill kurtzweil AND mulder, and he WHIPS OUT A GUN and KILLS THE DRIVER?!! BLOOD!! AND BRAINS!! ALL ABOUT!!

“trust no one, mr. mulder”, he says

so the colonists don’t know the vaccine exists?! i guess that gives them hope! they just have to make a ton of it!

"find agent scully!!!! go now!!!" (well-groomed man pulls out his little gun again and tells mulder to gtfo)

OH SHIT!!!! he gets back in the car and it blows up!!!!!!!!!!!

look at that rumpled, bloodied mulder on the ground…….. his shirt unbuttoned a little at the top….

it is a good look.

RIP my bestie well-groomed man… sorry i called you the wrong name for 800 years… it was for consistency’s sake…. you weren’t a great guy, but i guess you did what counts in the end

(unfortunately i knew he was going to die because that time i googled his name to make sure i was spelling it right (and i wasn't), i sadly encountered spoilers. but this is still a bummer. now his grandson has broken legs AND no grandpa. rough day for the kid)

let’s go to antarctica now!!! LMAOOOOO it’s mulder in a big jacket driving a…. thingy!!! he’s gonna find her, don’t you fucking doubt it for a minute!! even if the fuel is low and it is hard to see!!!

(after seeing the whole film i'm laughing because they did not include any context at all as to how he GOT to the end of the world right away to go rescue her. i am pretty sure you cannot simply roll up to antarctica, especially on such a time crunch. but you know, i guess the plot had to happen)

NOOOOO the fuel 💔 he's all out!

okay, so he’s at the exact coordinates where well-groomed man said he would find scully, but doesn’t see anything except for a rocky hill. climb that hill!!! see what is on the other side with your binoculars!!

and what is on the other side? igloos!!!! and vehicles!!!! it looks like the empire strikes back out here!!

NOOOOOOO, he falls into a sinkhole!!!!!!! not after he just got shot!!!!! this has to hurt so bad!!!! his poor head!!!

he decides to go deeper into the cavern, where i fear some aliens may be in there. 

me, anytime i see a cave system: oh, this is JUST like skyrim

he finds a whole labyrinth with all sorts of cave and crypts and people buried in the snow……….

back on the surface, it’s CSM driving the antarctic buggy thing outside the igloos? wow. he is multi-talented, i guess. i wonder when he got his cold weather buggy driving certification. his resume must be so long

mulder is still exploring this… underground city thingy. it looks like blackreach. to me. there’s some sort of conveyor belt thingy. 

he must find his scully!!!! and not slip…..

NOOOOO, he fell down a giant slide!!! AGAIN, his poor head!! please don’t fall into the abyss!!! is the vaccine okay??? did it crack and spill everywhere? eeek, that gave me vertigo!!!

okay, so death by falling from a tall place has been narrowly avoided.

NOW WHERE IS SCULLY???? he finds her clothes and her necklace!!!!!

these people are in ice cubes, and she must be in there somewhere!!!!

he found her in an ice cube or glass tube-y looking thing all naked and frozen, and he’s bonking it, trying to get to her :(

CSM realizes there is some sort of breach while mulder is trying to break scully free from the goop and ice. and he is trying to inject her with the vaccine…. is she even in there???? 

oh my god, there is some sort of like… tube thing?? it’s coming out of her mouth???? 

oh my GOD, stop torturing her!!!!!!

(gagging thinking about the mouth tube in retrospect. icky!!!!!)

he breaks her free!!!! “cold. i’m cold” “i’ll get you out of there” SHE IS GOING TO FREEZE!!! WE NEED TO GET HER A BLANKET NOWWWW

CSM says everyone in the base needs to evacuate NOW, but mulder won’t make it out, so they don't have to bother trying to track him down

god, he’s laying her down like the pieta, and wrapping her in his coat….

(i hope he pocketed her necklace; i couldn't tell if that happened or not)

the scientists and CSM are fleeing as mulder tries to haul her up the ladder…. but all of the goop and ice chambers are melting!!!!! the aliens!!! they will get loose, won’t they??

she says she can’t keep moving, so he hauls her over his shoulder…….. but the alien!!!!! 

she can’t grab the vent because she’s out cold!!!! and the alien is getting mad!!!! there is no time for all of this!!!!!

mulder must give scully CPR while the angry beasts look around……..

SHE OPENS HER EYES!!!!! and he's holding her head, telling her to breathe…

“mulder… i had you big time” <- OHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD…. their smiles at each other…………

(this will devastate me for a few centuries at least)

meanwhile, all of the aliens are breaking free, and they are mad!!!!!! are they going to get his legs??? 

crawl through the vents!!!! get out into the ice!!!! pull that poor scully around like a rag doll before everything blows up!!!!!

it’s all falling in and the ice is collapsing!!! run, mr. track star, run!!!!

NOOOOOOO, THEY FALL!!!!!!!

so this whole base thing they just escaped from.... it’s a giant UFO??!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is now flying away from them???!!!?

he wants scully to see, but she can barely open her eyes….

(appreciate the commitment to preventing scully from seeing these things LMAO)

are they just going to lay down and die out here??! holding each other????

now she’s holding him!!!!!!!!! cradling his head!!!! ANOTHER pieta tableaux!!!!!! oh!!!!! how tf are they going to get out of there???????

GIANT HOLE where once a spaceship was!!!!!

well. SOMEHOW, they escaped. and how? this is never answered. which, like the lack of context as to how mulder got to antarctica, is deeply amusing to me. the writers didn't think about it that hard. i feel like they never do. still, i feel deprived of a scene where skinner comes and saves them!

scully is before the hearing team again!!! they don’t believe her report!!

so they’re burning down the crops and saying that they cannot investigate what she wrote in her report.

she angrily approaches and presents the honey bee, saying she doesn’t think the FBI has a team that can handle the evidence she has presented!!!!!!

skinner looks at the lady in charge... what does he want to say to her……..

and mulder reads a news report about the “fatal hanta virus outbreak in northern texas” being contained. was he waiting for her??? outside of her hearing!!! :(((

they’re just going to bury this, too…… she told them everything

she wants to go over their heads, but he doesn’t!!! “how many times have we been here before, scully? right here, so close to the truth. and now with what we’ve seen and what we know, to be right back at the beginning with nothing!”

“this is different, mulder”

“no, it isn’t! you were right to want to quit, you were right to want to leave me, you should get as far away from me as you can. i’m not going to watch you die, scully, because of some hollow, personal cause of mine. go be a doctor. go be a doctor while you still can” 

“i can’t. i won’t. mulder, i’ll be a doctor, but my work is here with you now. that virus that i was exposed to- whatever it is, it has a cure. you held it in your hand. how many other lives can we save? look…. (she grabs his hand) if I quit now, they win”

so they walk off, holding hands :,)

WAHHHHHHH. "my work is here with you now" (LOUD SOBBING. SHE FOUND HER PLACE IN THE FBI)

cutscene to tunisia, where CSM finds another cornfield in the desert!!! so there must be more of these dome thingies. ohhh, they know him in tunisia. and he brings up mulder; “oh that name, again and again” LMAOOO get him random tunisian guy

“one man alone cannot fight the future” <- YEAH, WELL HE’S NOT ALONE. HE HAS SCULLY AND THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP. IDIOT!!

(CSM hands a paper to the tunisian guy, who walks away sadly)

it says…. X FILES REOPENED!!!!!!!!!!! YEAHHH BABY, WE ARE SOOO BACK!!! go sadly smoke in a desert cornfield, you murderous dweeb!!!

THAT IS THE END????

wait, hold on i better watch the credits for all this. there is even a song playing. and it sounds very 90’s. 

so!!! they simply moved to a new alien plant farming base in tunisia???

so where do we go from here? how are they going to destroy all the other domes of evil bees and toxic corn and alien bases? what about the aliens who got loose from the collapse of that ship? did they get crushed or are they Out There? will the alien colonists know that there is a vaccine now because scully was saved, or will the humans be able to cover it up?? i have so many questions as to what just happened and also what will happen next!!!

(pauses to cheer at gillian’s name in the credits)

blythe danner is a hell of a name. 

woah…. what am i thinking about?

i am thinking about how scully wants to save lives. forever and ever. and how mulder wants The Truth, and therefore their wants intersect, even if they approach it through different methods. and i am thinking about mulder wrapping scully’s naked and frozen body in his jacket and then stopping amid alien explosions to give her CPR. “had you big time” 

and i am thinking about how there was no in-story explanation for them getting out of antarctica. but you know what? it doesn’t matter 💔

(i lied. it does matter to someone like me who needs continuity or my eyeballs start twitching)

and i am thinking about scully steadying mulder on their commitment to move forward. 

and i am thinking about the scene in the hallway, the way he told her that needs her, that he is nothing without her…

wait, what the fuck? i left the credits on, and now the foo fighters are singing 

okay. “i’m on your back”, they are singing. right, right. 

see, i was really lost in thought there, but the fighting of the foo just threw me off. 

oh my god. “i cannot be without you, matter of fact”, they sing, and yeah, that’s Them. 

thinking of scully cradling his head as he lays in the ice…… 

thinking of the attempted kiss, and how mulder apologized because he thought he was violating a boundary (especially after scully had told him to “go home, you’re drunk” a few days before) and how he thought he somehow hurt her, but it was a sting!! it wasn't him that hurt her or broke her trust!!! and how scully described all of her symptoms with medical accuracy as she fell so that he could tell the doctors what she was feeling…

and i am also thinking of skinner trying to shove mulder back into the hospital bed………

wow. i have so much to think about. forever and ever. and i can just rewatch this whenever i want.

so, what did i actually think of the movie?? i liked it!! the dialogue was great and the character development was (chef’s kiss). it was weird to have so much plot when we are used to all of the alien stuff being slooooowly drawn out. and then well-groomed man was like “let’s have a story time in the car before i blow everything up!” which felt tonally off after 5 seasons of veeeeery slowly learning information about the aliens and the syndicate (and then half the time, whatever we do learn about the overall mythology of the series is immediately called into question, leaving us with only murky ideas, such as "there are aliens" and "they can change shape" and "the green goo kills them")

what matters is putting our characters in a situation and seeing how they play out. i don’t really tune in for the aliens. and while i do wish there was more consistency in the myth arc, again, ultimately that is not what i’m tuning in for. i watch for the undying devotion and some general spookiness.

so the aliens turning into people, or oil going into people and growing into aliens... or the oil BEING the virus that mutates and gets you alien pregnant... i don’t really understand that. so they had to cut krycek’s arm off so he didn’t grow an alien baby? and mulder, like, burned his out or something?

or was it the virus that causes you to grow an alien??? and that virus is from the bees and not from the oil? but the fireman that had the whole chest burster thing was hit by the OIL, not a bee!! did they put the oil in the crops and then the bees pollinate the crops and then they sting you and the oil goes in?? or is it evolved from the virus???

girl. i just don’t know. 

skinner :((((( my uncle :((((((

AND THERE ARE EXTRA FEATURES!!

oh boy, i will surely have lots more to say at some point in the future, but now i want to see the EXTRA FEATURES. this is big for me, because i barely know anything about the behind the scenes stuff. so i shall learn here and now.

[pluckyredhead]

You have been posting intriguing things about Big Bad Wolf, and I always love a rec, especially when I'm having a rough year for books! If you care to, I'd love to hear what draws you to the books.

Ahhhh I'm obsessed with them!

Okay so Big Bad Wolf by Charlie Adhara is a series of five M/M paranormal romance procedurals, all about the same couple, Cooper and Park, and the first book is The Wolf at the Door.

Basically, Cooper Dayton is an FBI agent who right before the series begins is nearly killed by a werewolf, and that's how he learns that werewolves are real. So he gets transferred to the super secret werewolf division of the FBI (the BIA), and in the first book he's assigned to catch what appears to be a werewolf serial killer with a werewolf agent named Oliver Park. Full "oh no he's hot!!!" reaction goes here. Cooper is very very very bad at relying on anyone else or needing help but he and Park eventually figure out how to work together and also hook up a bunch of times before they eventually catch the serial killer. The rest of the series follows the development of their relationship as they solve various other werewolf-related murders.

I read the entire series in less than two weeks and it only took that long because once I got to the last book I drew it out because I didn't want it to be over that fast. And then I reread them all immediately.

Anyway! You wanted to know why I like them:

THE ROMANCE. I am not usually an established relationship gal but watching these two grow as individuals and as a couple is so rewarding. They both have significant issues (the first couple of books make it seem like Cooper's a mess and Park is perfect, but that's just because Park is very good at masking - he is actually even more of a mess than Cooper), but they grow so much as the series goes along. The conversations they have about their issues and their relationship in Book 4 are 100% not conversations they could have had in Book 2. It helps that they are both in their mid- to late-30s and like, they know who they are, and they are working very very hard to be better for each other. I'M SO PROUD OF THEM.

This is still on the romance part, but: also they genuinely LIKE each other. Like in Book 4 they have to go undercover at a couples' counseling retreat (for werewolves, obviously) and I'm like "How does anyone here think you guys are having relationship issues. You are BEST FRIENDS. Disgusting."

I specified that they are also procedurals because they are genuinely good mysteries! Sometimes when books combine genres it's sort of half romance and half mystery and not enough of either to be satisfying. These are ALL romance but they are also ALL mystery and Cooper is a very good detective. (Park is a pretty good detective but mostly he's great at biting people.)

They are extremely funny. Again, they like each other so much and this most often manifests in literally constant A+ banter. You know how I feel about banter!

The sex scenes are...chef's kiss. It's like Adhara was running down a list of my favorite tropes.

Anyway I HIGHLY recommend them and if you read them please come sit by me so we can talk about them thank you!!!

[wandering-winchesters]

Haunted

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,200 (Sorry, not sorry) Summary: The reader gets ghost sickness. Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety, death, typical supernatural violence and suspense. Requested: No, just an idea I had. A/N: Requests are open! I recently watched the episode where Dean has Ghost Sickness and it made me crack up. Please let me know what you think about this one!

Masterlist

The hunt was going well, as well as it could. We had just arrived in Minnesota, a small Northern town. It had caught Sam’s attention, because of the amount of people that had been dropping dead from a mysterious illness, that presented as a heart attack. They weren’t sure what it was, but we came to check it out anyways. Sam had gone to the library, Dean had hit up a local diner to ask questions and I made my way to the hospital. Upon arriving, I flashed my FBI badge and was allowed back into the small morgue. The body didn’t appear out of the normal realm of possibility for a dead body. Slightly defeated, I left.

I pulled out my phone and sent Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was heading back to the motel. Dean offered to come pick me up, but I declined. It was a five minute walk on the quiet small town streets, the fresh air would do me good. I took a deep breath, surveying the scene around me. A few other people walked the street, but it was mostly empty. The sun setting on the horizon a reminder of the time of day, most people already home and inside for the night. A feeling of unease crept up my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. I glanced around, checking my immediate surroundings for any sign of danger, but nothing. Yet, even with this visual reassurance, the feeling didn’t subside. I tried to shake it off, picking up the pace slightly, intent on getting back to the motel room.

I make it back within a couple of minutes, kicking off my high-heeled boots and shrugging my suit jacket, the FBI get up my least favorite. I hear Dean chuckle from the small table in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on my every movement. “Have something to say, Winchester?” I quip, I set the jacket down on the back of the chair across from Dean, “Nope, it’s just always amusing to watch you kick off those heels you hate so much.” He says, a smile plastered across his face, his hands full between a beer and the sandwich that he is in the middle of consuming. I roll my eyes at him and rest my foot on the seat of the chair, hiking up my pant leg so I can access the gun that I had holstered there. I remove the holster from my ankle and walk over to set it on the nightstand next to my bed. Dean and I had shared this room and Sam had one, right across the hallway from us. Although, during the day we all hung out in here when we weren’t out investigating.

“I’d like to see you spend ten minutes in heels, Dean, let alone a full day.” I huff at him, stealing one of his chips that had fallen out of the bag that he had set down haphazardly on the table. He raised his hands in surrender, offering me another chip to make up for his joke about the high heels. “Did you find anything out at the diner?” I ask him as I unbutton the white shirt that I had on underneath the jacket, revealing the white tank top that I had on as a base layer. The bashfulness of changing in front of either of the Winchesters, long gone. Traveling with them for years tends to have that effect, Dean has seen me naked on multiple occasions. They have both stitched me up after bad hunts, but Dean was the only one to help me shower and change. Dean mumbles something, his mouth half full, a sentence that I simply cannot understand because of the amount of food he was chewing. I shoot him a look, he holds up one finger and finishes chewing before he speaks again.

“Nope, nothing. All everyone could say was that they were surprised to hear of the deaths of those three people. All of them were healthy, definitely not people that were likely to have a heart attack.” I hum in response, lost in thought as I rack my brain for any semblance of a similar case. I walk to my duffle bag and search for the pair of leggings that I always keep in there, only to not find them. Cursing, I realize I had left them hung over the chair in my bedroom back at the bunker. “Dean, can I borrow a pair of your sweats? I forgot my comfy pants.” I ask him, glancing over at him. He nods, gesturing for me to help myself. I unbutton my black dress pants and kick them to the side. I walk over to Deans bed, a mess of sheets and blankets, his clothes strewn across the bed as well. I grab the pair of sweats that I am looking for and pull them on. I snag one of his sweatshirts as well, embracing the comfort as it envelops me. The scent of whiskey, leather and gun cleaner overwhelms my nostrils, Dean. “Sam should be here any minute, he just texted me.” Dean calls out, as I walk into the bathroom, I thank him for letting me know and jump through the shower quickly.

After my shower, I make my way back out to the main room and sit down across from Dean at the table that he is still occupying. The feeling of unease, still unwavering. No matter how hard I try to push it down. “What about you, did you find anything at the morgue?” He asks, pushing a takeout container across the table towards me, one that I didn’t realize he had gotten for me. I give him a smile and open the container revealing my favorite comfort food. His small gesture of kindness, enough to almost make me cry. I don’t but the thought was there.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no sulfur or strange markings on the body. It all seemed normal.” I shrug, taking a bite of the food he had brought for me. I allow my mind to wander, going back over all of the things that we had discussed, the lore I had read and the things that I had seen today. The unease within me turning to pure anxiety. So much so, that when the door to the motel opens abruptly, I jump to my feet and reach for the gun that had been holstered at my ankle earlier in the day. Only that I had already taken it off and put it by my bed. My eyes land on Sam and I relax, sheepishly offering a small apology to both of the Winchesters who were looking at me questioningly. “I told you he was coming, Y/N. You okay?” Dean asks, his eyes narrowed and carefully studying my face. The jumpiness they had just witnessed very uncharacteristic for me. I was normally incredibly level headed, fear something that I had harnessed into a strength instead of a weakness.

I take a deep breathe, bringing my heart rate back down to the rate it normally was. “Yeah, all good. Sorry again, must just be jumpy today.” I say, sitting back down and returning to the food in front of me. Hunger, was no longer a pressing need. My stomach was churning, anxiety bubbling and that damn feeling of unease creeping back in louder than ever.

Sam didn’t hang out long, exhaustion a mutual feeling between all of us. I had moved to my bed, giving Sam my seat at the table with Dean. A wave of sleep was cresting over me at this very moment, threatening to crash down at any moment. I said goodnight to Sam as he turned to leave, giving him a sleepy wave as I burrowed further under my blankets. Dean closed the door behind his brother, locking it and tucking a chair under the handle for an added measure of protection. Something that I appreciated about him, it wasn’t a precaution he would take unless I was there in the room with him. “G’night Dean, Sweet dreams.” I whisper, rolling to my side and letting the wave of sleep finally crash over all of me, enveloping me in the darkness.

I am startled awake, a gasp leaving my throat as I sit straight up in bed. The dark room around me looming, shapes drifting that were most likely my eyes playing tricks on me. A small Yelp leaves my lips as the light in the room clicks on, revealing all of the shapes that had been worrying me, to be standard furniture. I look to my left and see Dean, his hand still resting on the lamp that he had turned on. His eyes focused on me, concern etched through his sleep dampened features. “You okay?” He asks, a yawn forcing its way past his lips. I rest my hand on my chest, my heart thumping against my ribs. I look over at him, my eyes wide with panic and my heart in my throat. “I-I don’t know.” I stutter, glancing around the room once again, nothing appearing to be out of place. Yet, whatever had awoken me was enough to cause me to startle nearly out of my skin. I swing my legs over the side of the motel bed, padding quietly into the small bathroom. I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, leaning over it and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The bags under my eyes are growing darker by the minute, pure exhaustion settled firmly across my body. It is only then that I notice the spider crawling across the counter headed straight towards my hand, before I can even blink a splitting scream leaves my throat. I jump away from the sink, pressing my back to the bathroom wall and covering my face, The fear that had travelled through my body in the split second, enough to bring tears to my eyes. I hear a clatter from the room, Dean not wasting anytime to shoulder open the bathroom door. His gun drawn, eyes wide searching the room for any threat. When he can’t identify one, he lowers his gun. His attention fully focused on me and the way I was cowering against the wall. He raises an eyebrow at me, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “What is wrong, Y/N?” He asks, and I raise one hand, shakily pointing towards the counter.

“S-spider, De, right there.” His eyes follow my finger and land where I was pointing, his gaze growing even more concerned as his focus lands on the spider, no larger than the eraser on a pencil. He silently scoops it into a paper cup, walking it over to the window in the bathroom and allowing it to scurry outside. There is a knock at the door to the motel room, which again draws a startled yelp from me. “It’s Sam, I heard a scream. What’s going on?” Sam’s muffled voice calls from the other side of the door, Dean hurriedly crosses the distance from the bathroom to the door and lets Sam into the cramped room. “She saw a spider.” Dean says, his tone hushed, concern obvious from the way he formed his words. I walk out of the bathroom, both of their eyes locked on my every move. “Since when are you afraid of spiders?” Sam asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

“Spiders are terrifying Sam! What are you talking about?” Taking offense at his tone, the demeaning way that he questioned why I would react like that to the arachnid. Dean lets out a low, ‘uh-huh’ and gives Sam another look. “Y/N, how do you feel about snakes?” Dean asks, crossing his arms and glancing towards me thoughtfully. “Terrifying.” I whisper, a shudder making its way through my body. “Motorcycles?” Sam asks, naming off things that I used to enjoy doing or being around. “Death traps on wheels!” They spend the next ten minutes questioning me on things like this, until I snap. “What’s the point of all of this? It’s just making me scared!” I whine, crossing my arms across my chest and resisting the urge to cover my ears in the most childlike manner. Sam and Dean exchange glances once again. “Y/N, did you happen to touch the body when you were in the morgue? Or get any bodily fluids on you?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, concern still evident. “Uh,” I hesitate thinking back over todays events, trying to recall just what had happened at the morgue.”Yeah, I touched his face to get a closer look at something, why?”

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, panic now growing ever more present on his features. He pulls out the EMF reader from his bag, turning it on and watching it go crazy the closer to me he placed it. “Ghost sickness.” Sam chimes in, the expression on his face mirroring the one on Deans. I look frantically between the two of them, waiting for them to explain what they mean. “What the hell is ghost sickness?” I ask, my own fear level rising quickly within me. Dean explains the whole thing for me, in detail. Recounting the time that he had ghost sickness in the past, the grip that fear had on him entirely. The steps they had to take to get rid of the spirit and the timeline on the whole thing. Sam had already sequestered my laptop, his fingers flying over the keys before pausing as his eyes scanned the webpage for any piece of information that could help. I did my best to remain calm, but failed miserably. My heart pounding, eyes watering and body shaking.

Petrified of the thought of death that is fast approaching. Dean can see this, its obvious as I have no sense about me to try and appear okay. “Hey,” He whispers, tucking a finger under my chin and raising my head so he can look into my eyes. “Its going to be okay, we’ve got you, I promise.” I bite my lip, my chin quivering as a tear begins to fall from my eyes. Dean notices immediately, his thumb wiping away every tear as it fell. He pulls me to my feet, embracing me in a tight hug. It doesn’t make the fear go away, but it does ease the anxiety the slightest bit.

—

The next several hours are a blur, a constant search for who the spirit was, where their body might be and how we can get rid of all remnants before my clock runs out. There is a constant stream of occurrences that Sam and Dean take turns handling, little things that normally wouldn’t have been a big deal, but in this moment are absolutely terrifying to me. A moth, the sound of a door slamming. When I looked out the window and saw a thunderstorm approaching, I was convinced that I was going to be struck by lightening from inside the motel. All of which the boys handled with grace. Except for the moth, Dean tried his hardest but couldn’t help his small laugh that escaped when he saw me cowering in the corner terrified that the moth was going to hurt me.

He apologized, when he saw the absolute hurt and betrayal sweep across my face, pulling me in for another hug. Sam is mostly quiet, his eyes glued to the screen on the laptop, I can tell by his concentration that he is slowly growing closer to a possible answer. “Ive got it!” Sam exclaims, causing me to nearly fall out of the nest that I had constructed of blankets and pillows on Deans motel bed. I steady myself and look at him, waiting for his explanation as to what he had found. “Curtis Marshall, he was murdered back in 1973, found shot to death in his kitchen. There was never much of an investigation and it was swept under the rug and labeled a suicide. But from what I can see, everything was definitely pointing towards a homicide.” He says, his face growing lighter as he reads, relief flooding over him. A solution, to a heavy question. “It says here, that he was buried in a cemetery in town. So, simple salt and burn and we should be good to go.” Sam stands, shutting his laptop and grabbing his jacket that he had slung across the back of the chair he had been occupying. “Ill stay here with Y/N, if you want to take care of the salt and burn.” Dean offers, Sam looks at him and they appear to have a silent conversation that ends in agreement.

“I don’t need babysitting, we can all go.” I mutter, a bit of spite coming out in my words. “So you can get scared by a bee and find a way to accidentally get yourself killed?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I don’t think so.” I resign myself to contempt and slouch back in Deans bed. I watch silently as Sam grabs a few things that he will need, catching the keys to the impala when Dean tosses them to him. He bids us a quick farewell and heads out into the early morning darkness, the sun just starting to approach the horizon. Once the door shuts behind him, Dean focuses his attention on me. I stare back at him, unsure what to talk about or what to do while we wait. My main focus on remaining calm, the thought of dying from a heart attack a thought that drives me to the edge of pure panic and terror.

My chest growing tighter the longer that I focused on it, I couldn’t hear anything around me. The only sound flowing through my ears was the sound of my own blood whooshing, my heart beating roughly against my ribs, bile rising in my throat as I continue to fall deeper into the images being created by my mind. “Y/N?” Dean asks, the look on his face telling me that he had asked me a question and I hadn’t responded to it as it had fallen on deaf ears. “Huh? Sorry I am distracted.” I apologize, focusing in on him as he crosses the room to get closer to me. He sits down on the side of the bed, his hand coming to rest on my knee. “In all our years of friendship, did you ever think that this would be the way you died? Ghost sickness?” His words shock me to my core, completely unexpected coming from the man I thought cared about me deeply. I shrink away from him, pulling myself as far to the other side of the bed as I can without falling to the floor.

“What do you mean, Dean? Sam is on his way to salt and burn the body now, I’m not going to d-“My breath catches in my throat as I focus on his eyes. It wasn’t Dean looking back at me, It was a Demon. I watch in fear as they flash from his usual green to black, a nasty grin spreading across his face. I hurriedly throw the covers off of my lap, struggling to untangle my legs from the lengths of fabric. Just as my feet touch the grungy carpeted motel floor, he lunges for me, managing to lock his hand around my ankle. He yanks me hard, causing me to stumble and fall flat onto the hard floor. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, but I still struggle. Doing my best to crawl away from him, even though his grasp on my body is tight. I let out a scream, his body now shrouding my own as he straddles me. His hands finding their way to my wrists as he pins my legs to the floor with his hips. My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like it is going to burst.

The oxygen necessary to survive coming as gasps, unable to subside the burn within my lungs as I struggle for breath. He lets out a laugh, cold and bitter, enough to chill me to my core. It was Dean’s laugh, but twisted in ways that I never wanted to hear again in my life. “Look at you, so pitiful. So fearful. It’s a glorious sight, I can’t wait to watch you die.” He croons, his face coming down to hover close to my own. I spit at him, bringing my knee up to hit him straight in the groin, giving me the slightest chance to slip away from him. I take it and throw his weight off of me, just enough to scramble to the door of the motel. It’s locked, the chair wedged under the handle and in my panic I can’t get the chair loose. This momentary lapse in ability, gives him just enough time to close the distance between us again.

His body slamming my own into the length of the door, a desperate scream leaves my lips as I struggle to get him off of me. His hands move towards my face, I expect them to close around my throat and I lash out. My eyes are scrunched closed as I scratch, hit and use every muscle in my body to fight back. Instead of wrapping around my throat, his hands come to rest on my shoulders and they shake me, desperately. “Y/N!” He yells, his voice different, desperate but not evil. I hesitantly open my eyes and Dean’s green eyes are searching my face, desperate and horrified. “It’s me, it’s Dean, you’re okay.” I throw his hands off of me, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, allowing me the space that I was crying out for.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell, hugging my arms to my chest, surrounding myself in the smallest amount of comfort I can find. “You’re not Dean, y-youre a demon!” I cry out, searching the room desperately for the demon killing knife that I know Dean keeps close by at all times. Dean takes a cautious step towards me, his hands still up in an attempt to calm me. I keep him at a distance and cross the room in a way that makes it look like we are walking in a big circle. He reaches for a small bottle that he keeps on his nightstand at all times, he holds it up so I can recognize it for what it is, holy water. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip of it, the relaxed expression communicating what he was trying to tell me. Not a demon. Just Dean. I relax slightly, dropping my arms back to my side, relief flooding through me. “but, you were just trying to kill me!” I say, my voice shuddering and fear sweeping over me once again. “It was a hallucination, Y/N. We were sitting on my bed talking and then you were just off, running for the door. I pinned you so you couldn’t leave on your own and it took me awhile to get through to you.” I listen to his words, but they seem impossible. How could that have been a hallucination? I could feel him, smell him, hear the way he laughed at my impending doom, I could see the way his eyes changed from green to pitch black. It just didn’t seem possible. I’m going crazy. My body is a mass of nerves, my muscles shaky and aching for relief. I rest my back against the wall and slide down to the floor, my hands holding my head as my world caves in around me. I am going to die. This was it, hallucinations are the second to last progression of the ghost sickness. My heart is in my throat, regret flooding over me. “Dean, listen to me.” I say, raising my head to look at him. He had crossed the room to sit across from me, his legs crossed in front of him. He looks at me, his gaze holding my own as he gives me a small nod to let me know that he was listening. “I know I am about to die, this is how you told me it ends for people who get ghost sickness. The hallucinations-“ I shudder, my voice faltering for a moment. Dean goes to interrupt me but I stop him, “No, I need to say this. Please.” I plead, tears beginning to fall from my red rimmed eyes once again, my cheeks raw from how much I had been crying. He nods, allowing me to continue my thought. I bite my lip and lower my eyes to the floor, unable to say this directly to his face. “If this is my last day, I have to tell you. I love you. I have always loved you. Every day that you have been in my life on earth, and every day that you were in hell. I have loved you. I have longed for you and I can’t lose you again without telling you.” It’s at this moment, when the last word leaves my lips that a sense of relief floods over me. Fear lifting like darkness in the morning when the sun rises again. I inhale deeply, oxygen filling every space within my lungs for the first time in what feels like forever. I can’t explain it, the sudden lack of terror. But I am going to enjoy every second of it while it lasts.

What I don’t see, is the way that Deans face flashes several emotions in a matter of seconds. Fear, at the thought of my death. Shock, at the revelation of the feelings that I have had for him for so long. Relief, at the fact that he shares the same feelings. Last of all, adoration. Absolute awe, that I love him in the same way that he loves me. He closes the distance between us, sitting with his back to the same wall and wrapping an arm around my waist. 
“First off,” He whispers, his lips brushing against the side of my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re not going to die. I promise you that. Sam is going to burn the body before anything happens to you. Second, I would fight though any hell to get you back, I don’t care what I had to do.” He pauses again, his hand finding solace on my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin that is peaking out over the top of his sweatpants that I had stolen to wear. “Third, I love you with all of my being, Y/N. You were the thought that got me through those years in hell, nothing else.” I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, utter relief and bliss rushing over me. I sob, every fear and emotion coming out in a rush. He presses a kiss to my forehead, his breath tickling my skin as he encourages me to match his breathing. We are both startled by the loud ring coming from his phone. He is quick to pull it from his pocket, both of us glancing at Sam’s name displayed across the screen. He hurriedly accepts the call and puts it on speaker phone, allowing both of us to hear what he has to say. 
“Sam? Tell me you’ve burned the psycho ghost.” He says, his tone pleading and slightly desperate. “Yep, salted and burned about three minutes ago.” Sam responds and the sense of relief I had felt around that same time, makes complete sense. It wasn’t my confession, it was the relief of the spirit no longer plaguing me. Dean and I both sigh in relief, Dean thanks Sam and tells him to hurry back as he is ready to ditch this “hellish town, in the middle of nowhere.” As Dean ends the call, I let my head fall back onto his arm, staring up at the ceiling. “So,” He starts, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Still mean what you said?” He questions, his tone cautious and slightly anxiety ridden. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, so I turn my head to look at him. He takes this as an opportunity to cup the side of my face and pull me towards him. I let out a sharp exhale through my nose, anticipation building within me. My eyes flutter shut as he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing ever so slightly against my own. He pulls back momentarily, whispering words that I had longed to hear for years. “I love you, all of you.” I close the distance between us once again and press my lips fully against his, desperate and searching. Conveying every fear, hope and want through our shared intimacy.

A short twenty minutes later a knock at the door separates us, Sam had arrived and was waiting outside the entrance to the motel room. The lock and chair keeping him out until Dean moved them out of the way. Sam is quick to enter the room, not noticing the flush to my cheeks and the shit eating grin plastered on Dean’s face. “Everything okay here?” Sam asks, relief washing over him when he sees the two of us in one peace. “Yeah, it got hairy for a moment, but after you burned the bones all was well.” I sigh, giving Sam a tight hug in thanks. A slightly awkward silence fills the room, Sam glancing between the two of us a question forming on his lips, but before he can ask it Dean breaks the silence with a clear of his throat and a question of his own.

“So, spiders Y/N?” He says, a laugh forming in his throat. I roll my eyes and chuck a pillow at him that he catches with ease. 

“Shut up, it’s not my fault that I was being haunted by a stupid spirit.” I mumble and I can feel the blush spreading quickly across my face. He smiles at me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek once again. An action that is very quickly noticed by Sam, his eyes moving back and forth between Dean and myself. “I knew it, you finally admitted that you had feelings for each other, took you long enough.” 

As embarrassing as it was to have our revelations displayed like that in front of Sam, he was right. Dean and I had been tiptoeing around each other for years. Both of us desiring more with the other, but neither of us taking that first step. That was until, I thought I was at deaths door. In that moment, that haunted moment, where I thought I was going to die and lose Dean forever, I took a chance and I will forever be thankful for that moment of bravery in the midst of fear. 

Taglist, message me or comment to be added: @jc-winchester @roseblue373

[iheartchv]

could i ask for a matchup? also i hope your having a nice day/night/afternoon!! also, please excuse any bad grammar, english is not my first language.

im Cuban Puerto Rican, i speak both my mother tongue and English. kinda trying to get myself to learn German though. im a bit of an ambivert, i mostly enjoy spending time with those i know well.

im 5’2, i have a huge scar in my left leg due to an accident i had when i was younger. i have brown, nearly black eyes and i use glasses. i have a mole near my collarbone and another one just above. my hair is brown and medium sized with some side-tails.

currently studying with a forensic sciences major, a bit of a nerd.. i enjoy drawing, reading Sci-Fi and spending time with my pet snakes. (their ball pythons, they are super adorable…) i absolutely love heavy metal bands like Rammstein, korn, Slipknot, i listen to Type O Negative, Slaughter to Prevail from time to time aswell alongside jazz. i dress in a bit of a grunge way, it varies since i enjoy fashion a lot.

i enjoy watching true crimes series (Forensic Files being an all time favorite), watching Caso Cerrado, and documentaries regarding military history. i love the rainy weather and from time to time going to the beach. truly calming, really.

anyways, i really hope you are having a pleasant time, again. also i absolutely love your writing style!!

🤔I'll match you with...

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

I think Ghost would be your match

For this scenario, lets just say that Ghost was to keep an eye on you for a mission

You had shown potential that anyone working for the law would want you to work with them

You have an internship working for the police in your area, getting some practice for the field

You weren't bad, quite good actually

And because you were so good, you would also become a threat to any criminal facing charges for murder, etc.

One of such being Makarov and the Konni group

TF 141 got word that Makarov killed their spy that was sending feedback and intel

You were unfortunately the one looking over the said body of 141's spy; the FBI and CIA wanted to know exactly who done it

As Ghost continued to have constant vigil over you in the shadows, he didn't like the idea of seeing you make your way home alone

He finally decided to start blending in with people, and sometimes walking your way

It's just for the mission, he'd tell himself

🖤

At first, seeing his appearance was a little scary, intimidating

But you didn't sense no ill will coming from him, at least not toward you

You initiated conversations with him, and little by little he was talking more than just a word or a sentence

Over time he got to know you pretty well, as much as you allowed

He noticed how open you were to him, letting him know that you trusted him

You were just full of surprises;

One thing after another he learned so much about you besides what was in your personal records

He started to see you as you, not just another nameless target to protect

🖤

Even after the mission is complete, he comes back to see you...

Maybe stay for a while...

I can totally see you and Ghost going to the beach during times when there's no one around

Just you two

And rainy days?

He'd be all for it

A hot cup of tea and being with you is one of those perfect moments he feels at peace