#anyways can you guess who’s been really freaking deranged about this show lately !

[nvskyprospekt]

gonna crack a rib when i get home

[catxsnow]

KIDNAPPED

Request: Can I please request something with "have I been kidnapped?" + "Um.. that's unclear". Go crazy with it.

Warning: car crash, uh, swearing, cringe (I was 3/4 done this and realized I hated it so, uh, Sorry Amanda) 

A/N: Reporting to you live and Tipsy friends what’s good

Word count: 2.6k

San Francisco usually wasn't a crazy city. Sure the traffic sucked, but at least the views were nice. The local shops always had something interesting and you were guaranteed to find a coffee shop on every block. Over all, you were glad you moved there, it was a nice change in your life - one that you needed.

However, when this group of so called 'Titans' showed up, things got pretty out of control. Buildings got destroyed, people were put in harms way with the sudden increase in villains showed up to take these guys out. You hadn't had the luxury of running into any of them, hopefully you wouldn't have to.

You moved there to get away from your hectic life, you didn't want to be thrown right back into something even worse. The news was filled with these guys - a girl getting chased on rooftop by her deranged father, Robin falling to his death only to be saved by someone who resembled Superman, even a green tiger.

It was interesting seeing them all on the news, but other than that, you never wanted to be involved in any accident that they caused. It seemed they were used to hurting people more than saving them - even if it was accidental.

San Francisco seemed to be safer than the last city you were in. For once, you could walk home with your headphones in and not worry about your surroundings. Just like any night, you walked from work back to your apartment in the late hours of the night, wanting nothing more than to just crash in your bed.

The night was cold and no matter how tightly your wrapped your coat around yourself it didn't bring any more warmth. The sound of traffic was tuned out by your headphones. Street lights illuminated your path and you were so close to your home that you could almost smell the inside of it. Not actually, but you really missed your room after that long day.

The sound of a crash overpowered your music. You turned back to see what had happened by the second you had done so all you could see was the tail end of a car coming directly towards you. There was no time to move out of the way or even to think. Even if there was, you were frozen in your spot with fear.

A body crashed into you before the metal of a car. Your heart rate was going so incredibly fast that black spots filled your vision. You should have been dead, that car was coming right at you. You tried so hard to keep yourself awake, but the only thing that you saw was a red 'S' on a black t-shirt as you passed out completely.

><

You woke up to arguing and bright lights staring down at you. Your head was pounding and it took you a moment to remember what had happened. A car had nearly hit you and somehow you impossibly had been saved. Then, embarrassingly you completely passed out from shock. Wherever you were now, it certainly wasn't a hospital.

There were several people standing together, each of them trying to talk over one another. You sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes in hopes that this headache would go away. "Uh," you spoke up, but none of them had heard you. They were too engrossed in arguing to notice that you had woken up.

"Hello?" You tried again. Still nothing. You tried to listen in to what they were talking about and quickly came to the conclusion that it was you. Whoever saved you obviously wasn't supposed to bring you there, that was what the yelling was about. There was also the point that you couldn't just be left in the street unconscious - another good point.

This time, you coughed loud enough for one of them to look over at you. Your eyes narrowed in on his t-shirt, it was the same one that had saved you. And it wasn't just any 'S', it was Superman's logo. Whoever this guy was, he was obviously fast enough to be related to the man of steel himself.

As you looked at the others in the group, you picked up on who they were as well. Fiery red hair, bright green hair, these were the people that were on the news. You were in the Titans home base with the heroes themselves. "Holy shit," you mumbled out, eyes wide. There were a few there that you didn't recognize and you were sure it was only because they were in civvies.

"You're the Titans," your jaw fell slack. As much as you bashed them to your friends, saying how much danger they brought to this city, meeting them had been completely different. This was a group of people that kicked ass and had quite literally saved your life. You never thought you'd meet them, especially under these circumstances.

The oldest one - or at least you assumed him to be - looked at the one with the green hair. "Don't let them leave," he ordered. The others followed him out into the hall. They had no idea what to do with you, that was obvious. Conner shouldn't have brought you there. They understood he was still new at this, but he should have known better.

You still felt in shock. Shock from nearly dying. Shock from being saved. Shock from waking up in the Titan's home base. You never expected your day to go like this, and you never wished it to. These masked heroes brought nothing but trouble to San Francisco... and yet if it wasn't for them you wouldn't be standing there.

The green haired one awkwardly rocked back and forth on his heels. This must have been the one that could turn into the tiger - at least it made the most sense in your mind. He avoided looking at you. The squeak of his sneakers against the floor and the hum of the medical equipment at your side was the only sound in the room. It drove you nuts.

"Can you turn into any animal or just a tiger?" You suddenly blurted out, unable to take this awkward silence any more. His eyes widened at your question. How did you even know that he could do that? How had you pieced together that they were the Titans so quickly anyways? None of them were in their suits.

"Uh..." Gar trailed off. "Tiger is just the easiest," he answered. "How did you know that I could do that?" You raised your eyebrows at him - was he serious? Without words you point to your own hair. He seemed to understand what you meant. Green tiger, green hair, it was pretty easy to put together. You could see his cheeks tint red.

"My name's Garfield. Gar," He tried to cover up his embarrassment. Gar cringed at the sound of his voice cracking.

"Should you be telling me that?" You asked. Wasn't the whole point of being a hero having a secret identity? This was the first time that you had met one, and it certainly felt like he didn't really know what he was doing. Nonetheless, you were just happy that they didn't kill you for knowing their identity - or their secret location.

"You already know what I look like what's the harm in knowing my name?" Gar shrugged. He wanted nothing more than to get the attention off of him - so he decided to throw the new guy under the bus. "Besides I think Conner kinda already has a crush on you, so."

"Super-rip-off?" You asked. To be fair, you didn't know his name, or if he even was related to the great Superman. All you knew, was that he had saved your life and you were grateful for it. And from what small glimpse you got of him, he was pretty cute too.

"He probably heard that," Gar told you. Heat rose to your cheeks with embarrassment. "But yes. Superboy. He's the one that saved you and brought you here. Really, he probably should have taken you to a hospital but he's kinda new at this whole thing so, yeah. I guess now they're trying to figure out what to do with you."

"So, have I been kidnapped?" You asked again. The leader had said that you weren't allowed to leave and that Gar was supposed to stop you if you tried to. Would you ever be allowed to leave again if you knew their secrets? Would they really trust a stranger that they just met? They didn't even know your name!

"Um, that's unclear," Gar answered. To be honest, he really didn't know what Dick planned to do with you. After growing up alongside Batman, it was drilled into him to be super cautious. He knew how to keep his identity safe and not let anyone know who he really was. Conner had ruined that pretty quick.

"My name's (Y//N), by the way," You told him, sticking your hand out for him to shake. Gar grinned and accepted it. For everything that just happened to you, you were taking it all pretty well. He expected you to freak out, or even something worse like faint again. "I guess if I am being kidnapped you should at least know who I is."

Gar pulled one of the chairs beside the bed to sit across from you. He started asking you questions about your life - what you did, what you liked to do in you spare time, things like that. It was nice talking with him. For a kid, he seemed like a very genuine guy. You wanted to ask about him, but considering his lifestyle, it didn't seem like a good idea.

It felt like hours that you were stuck in there, chatting away as the people outside that room tried to figure out just what to do with you. Finally, the man that saved you - Conner - and the one who ordered Gar to stay with you, came back in. The two other women that were with them earlier hadn't come back.

You smiled at them both, hoping that your kindness would lessen whatever sort of punishment they had coming for you. Conner looked flustered at your smile, proving Gar's theory even more.

"Superboy shouldn't have brought you here," The oldest one spoke. He looked familiar, and it took you a few moments to realize why. He was that kid in the circus - the one that's parents died in the middle of an act. The Flying Graysons - this must have been Dick. "We talked abo-"

"You're Dick Grayson!" You grinned. Excitement grew within you for meeting someone you idolized as a child. "I went to like four of your shows when I was a kid! Oh my god you and your family were like my heroes! We stopped at Haly's Circus for three weeks straight. You were the reason I joined gymnastics, I wanted to be like you!"

Dick looked taken aback by your sudden outburst, as did Gar and Conner. His shock turned to a smile, it was nice to see someone who remembered his time in the circus. It reminded him of his childhood, being back there - no responsibilities, no drama, just fun. What were the odds that Conner picked up one of his old fans?

Why was he here? What connection did he have to the Titans? The three men watched as the gears in your brain turned as you pieced everything together. Bruce Wayne took him in when he was a kid - right around the same time that Robin - another childhood hero of yours - showed up. Was he Robin?

No, the one on the news a couple months back was shorter, and had different hair. But the Robin that was in Gotham - the Robin that you looked up to - had the same acrobatic techniques as Dick had. "You're Robin," you looked over him, picturing him with a mask and green suit. "The old Robin. Which means... Bruce... Holy shit!"

"Wow you put that together a little too quickly," Gar looked impressed by your analytical skills. First guessing that he was the tiger, then Conner being related to Superman in someway, now Dick being Robin? You were good. "And you look angry," he looked over at his mentor. Dick's arms were crossed and his jaw tight. This little revelation just made things far more complicated.

"Oh I'm so fucked," You whispered to yourself. Knowing who Batman was? That was something that very few people knew about. You certainly weren't supposed to know and yet here you were. "I don't suppose you'll just believe me when I say I'm really good at keeping secrets and that I promise to never say anything?"

"I do, actually," Conner spoke for the first time since you had met him. The three of you looked at him in shock. This man didn't know you, he couldn't possible just believe your word like that. "I can hear your heartbeat, you weren't lying."

"So I can go?"

"No," Dick stopped you. "If I find out that you did tell anyone out secret, I will find you. Trust me, I'll be far more kinder to you than Batman." Conner could hear your heart rate once more. This time, it was erratic - you were scared. You gulped and nodded your head. The last thing you wanted to do was get on their bad side.

Dick gestured for you to follow him. You did, with Gar and Conner only a few steps behind the both of you. The apartment was massive, and beautiful. But if Bruce Wayne was funding it you expected nothing less. You didn't get to look at much before reaching an elevator. Dick pressed the button and the doors opened wide for you to walk in.

"You don't want my name? Address? Anything to track me down?" You asked.

"I've already got a file on you," Dick answered. You should have known that he would. If he was really Robin, he would have found out everything about you the second you were carried through those doors. "And if I really wanted to find you, it wouldn't be that hard. Just remember what I said."

"Right. Don't tell anyone or Batman will break my bones. Got it," you shuddered at the thought, walking into the elevator. "Nice meeting you all, I guess." You looked over at Conner, "Thanks for saving me, and uh, feel free to call me," you winked right before the doors closed. Gar was right, and he was cute.

Conner's face flushed red. They watched in the small screen as you went down. A smile grew on your face - it wasn't very often you were so forward like that. But hey, you weren't going to see him again so why not? Unless, he did actually call you - which was unlikely. Did heroes have romantic partners?

Conner looked over at his friends. Gar was giving him a thumbs up at the win and Dick was holding back a chuckle. None of them expected their evenings to go like that, but it sure was interesting to see it play out. You seemed like a nice person, and by the way that Conner could tell that you weren't lying, a trustworthy one as well.

"You have their number in that file, right?"

[darksideofparis]

Some writing I’ve been working on..

This is from an as yet untitled Criminal Minds Hotch/OC. And yes, it was inspired by the TV show, Castle.

Takes place in season 2 between ‘The Boogeyman’ and ‘North Mammon’.

Also, this is a rough draft so forgive me if some stuff seems off! And, yes, I AM working on ‘Pros and Cons’. This is just to get Delaney’s voice out of my head for a little while. :)

The sound of a door opening jarred Delaney out of her flashback. Her eyes darted to Agent Hotchner, now holding a small stack of files. She eyed him as he took the seat across from her.

For his part, Hotch was also eyeing her. He suspected, going off her physical appearance alone, that most people did. Delaney Tyler was unquestionably an attractive woman. She had dirty blonde hair that hung several inches past her shoulders. Her face was heart-shaped and nearly dominated by her big brown eyes. ‘Doe eyes’, Hotch thought they were called.

As evidenced by where he’d found her, Delaney was dressed for a party. She wore a long-sleeved royal blue dress with a laced-up front. The revealing front dipped down to just above Delaney’s belly-button, perfectly showing off her cleavage and a nice glimpse of her breasts. Her shoes were five-inch snakeskin patterned stilettos. Her only jewelry consisted of a pair of dangly black crown earrings. Her other accessory, a pair of oversized black Gucci sunglasses, rested on the table beside her.

Her face had been made up but not extravagantly so. Her eyeshadow was neutral, serving only to accent her large eyes and her lips were painted a vivid, but not overly bright, shade of red. It had been presumably chosen so as not to look too harsh against her pale, porcelain skin. Overall, her appearance, while extremely daring, was also remarkably classy. An interesting contradiction, in Hotch’s opinion.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Tyler,” he said as he opened a file. “You know most bestselling authors don’t have a rap sheet.” Keeping one eye on Delaney, he perused the contents Garcia had dug up. “Public intoxication in October 1996.” He looked up. “You’d have been what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Delaney’s lips were pinched. “Fifteen,” she said coolly. “I was at a friend’s Halloween party. Neighbors complained about the noise, cops showed up.”

“Yes, it says here the neighbors were complaining specifically about you standing on the sidewalk singing ‘Neon Moon’ at the top of your lungs.” Hotch raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Never heard that song before, Agent Hotchner? That’s a shame. It’s one of Brooks & Dunn’s best. I’d be happy to sing it for you, if you like.” Delaney gave him her mega-watt grin. She highly doubted this man, whose countenance was as cool as a cucumber, would take her up on her admittedly ridiculous offer, but she couldn’t help herself. The guy was hot.

Not to mention, but she didn’t really want to dwell on that particular memory. It wasn’t one of her favorites. The circumstances behind her arrest that night were occasionally too much to bear thinking about.

“I’ll pass,” was Hotch’s dry response. He went to the next arrest. “December 1996. Taken into custody at a movie theater for suspected public intoxication, no alcohol involved.”

Delaney put her hands in her lap. She didn’t want Agent Hotchner seeing them start to shake. “They let me go. Didn’t even do a drug test. I reacted badly to the movie I went to see. I shouldn’t have gone to see Scream. The events of which it was based on were still pretty fresh in my mind.”

This surprised Hotch. He remembered when that movie came out. Most people who weren’t law enforcement hadn’t dwelled on the real life murder spree that had inspired Scream’s screenwriter. “The Gainesville Ripper? That freaked you out so much?”

Delaney shrugged, though she was inwardly sighing with relief that Agent Hotchner had bought the lie – at least the no drugs in her system part. “My parents are university professors. Nowhere near Florida, but the murders did disturb me at the time. I was scared a copycat would start up where my parents worked.”

“I see.” And he did, probably much more than Delaney Tyler wanted him to. Her story about being freaked out by Scream because it had been based on real events she worried somehow impacting her parents had a ring of truth about it. But she was holding something back. He suspected it had to do with the ‘suspected public intoxication’ the police hadn’t bothered testing.

He also hadn’t failed to notice her putting her hands in her lap. That action seemed to indicate she was trying to hide something.

“Her hands are shaking, Hotch,” Morgan informed him via earpiece.

“Classic sign of anger,” Gideon remarked.

Hotch noted their observations, but continued with the arrest record. “Then quite a few truancies, and then in April 1997, arrested for heroin possession.”

Delaney clenched her hands into fists, though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She could feel her shoulders starting to tremble as well. So much for hiding it, she thought dryly. “I was not in a good place at the time.” The words were spoken slowly but even Delaney could hear the unsteadiness in them. She had no doubt Agent Hotchner could as well.

Hotch didn’t give anything away, but Delaney’s response was telling. She was clearly annoyed about her past teenage arrests being brought up, but this arrest in particular was causing her to literally shake with rage.

“Why are you even talking about this?” Delaney demanded. She didn’t even care that she was nearly shouting. “You didn’t bring me here to read me the riot act on things I did a decade ago! You brought me here to discuss murders.” She let out a scoff. “Where did you even get those records anyway? If you’ll care to look, you’ll note I was put in rehab after that last arrest. The judge dropped the charges and expunged my record after I got clean.”

“We have a very good technical analyst.”

Delaney looked like she was about to say something scathing in response, but she surprised Hotch by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She sat like this for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. After another moment, she opened her eyes. The big brown orbs stared right into his.

“You have not answered my question, Agent Hotchner.” Her words were slightly clipped, but spoken in a much calmer tone. “Why are we talking about an expunged arrest record from ten years ago? You said you wanted to speak to me about some murders.”

After staring at her for one long moment, Hotch grabbed the second file. He slid a photo across the table. “Jenny Kavanagh,” he said as Delaney studied the photo. It was a standard DMV photo, showing a pretty young woman in her late twenties with long, platinum blonde hair, brown eyes, and dimples on each cheek. She wore a simple green t-shirt and a necklace with the astrological symbol for Leo as the charm.

Delaney suddenly felt a sickening feeling in her stomach. “What happened to her?” she asked as she slid the photo away.

Hotch produced another photo. “She was found two weeks ago like this.” Jenny Kavanagh was now lying on her couch, eyes closed and arms crossed over her chest in the classic coffin position. Perched atop her pristine white blouse was a single white card with the words My Sincerest Condolences written on it in black cursive.

“Your Condolence Card,” Delaney gasped. Her doe eyes were huge as she stared first at the photo, then at Hotch, then back at the photo. She swallowed thickly before saying, “I’m guessing no outward cause of death except for a puncture wound on the back of her neck?

“Correct,” Hotch nodded. His eyes didn’t move from her. It was very hard to fake genuine concern for victims, especially people you’d never met. However, Delaney Tyler’s eyes were wide and unblinking. She stared at Jenny’s face, as though willing her eyes to open and show that everything was alright.

There was no way Delaney Tyler committed the murder of Jenny Kavanagh. Nor the others, if Hotch’s profiling was right.

Wordlessly, he slid another DMV photograph across the table. “Brian Tanaka.” The young man was barely out of his teens. His hair was cut in a bowl style and he wore a sweatshirt from the University of Florida. Before Delaney could really study him, she was being handed another photo. “Metro police found him like this straight out of Love to Hatred Turn’d about three hours ago.”

In terms of ways to die, Brian Tanaka had drawn the short straw. Delaney winced at the image of him lying on his back on a dark wooden floor, presumably in his apartment, limbs spread akimbo and an absolutely terrified look on his face. The reason for his terror was the gaping hole in his chest. Delaney knew without having to ask that his heart had been removed while he was alive. She glanced at his wrists. Ligature marks, presumably from the rope used to restrain him.

Just like in the book.

“Looks as though I have a fan,” she observed.

“A deranged one, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Delaney suddenly looked up and smiled broadly. “Oh, I don’t think you’re deranged, Agent Hotchner. Far from it, actually.”

Hotch blinked, then blinked again. “Excuse me?”

Delaney’s smile grew. She knew exactly what he’d meant, but really, how could she resist? The man was hot with a capital H.

Aloud, she said, “Oh, come on, Agent Hotchner. Love to Hatred Turn’d? A Siren takes the hearts of the men she sleeps with to sustain her so she can continue living on dry land?” Delaney snorted. “I only wrote that ‘cause I needed rent money. The story sucks and I know it. Only die-hard Delaney Tyler fans read that.”

Hotch struggled to maintain his composure. Admittedly, this wasn’t a difficult thing for him to do, but damn if Delaney Tyler wasn’t making a dent in his stoic armor. Instead of rising to her bait, he asked, “Have you ever met Ms. Kavanagh or Mr. Tanaka before? Book signing? Charity event?”

Delaney studied the DMV photos again. Try as she might, there wasn’t a single flicker of recognition for either victim. “No, I’m sorry. It’s possible at a book signing, but I sign so many books during those, it’s impossible to remember everyone’s faces or names.” She gave him another grin. “But I assure you, I’d definitely remember yours.”

Ignoring the snickering in his earpiece, Hotch reached into the file again. He saw Delaney’s eyes widen and her face become paler than it already was. He could practically hear her thoughts. Dear God, another one?! “Dominic Cavalleri. High school softball coach. Do you recognize him?”

Dominic Cavalleri’s DMV photo could have come straight out of a fashion magazine. He had tousled sandy brown hair, shining blue-green eyes, and the kind of tan that came not from a salon but from spending time outdoors. There was a light sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, giving him a kind of boyish charm. Overall, Dominic Cavalleri was one good looking man.

Delaney smiled appreciatively at the photo but it dimmed as she remembered he was now dead. Dead because some lunatic was running around killing people like she did in her books. “How did he die?” she asked quietly.

Hotch’s expression revealed none of his inner revulsion and slight nausea as he gave her the crime scene photo. “A Scythe for Schuyler. Three weeks ago.”

Delaney took one look at the photo and immediately whirled away with a gasp. Shutting her eyes, she did her best to block out the image she’d just seen. Dominic Cavalleri’s body had been lying on the floor of what was presumably his apartment. His head was several feet away, having rolled partway under a leather couch. The scythe that had sliced his head off lay right next to his body.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked as Delaney put a hand over her mouth. “Do you need a trash-can-,”

Delaney hastily swallowed back the bourbon threatening to make a reappearance. “I’m fine,” she said, voice slightly strangled. “Just . . . just give me a minute.”

Delaney tucked her head between her knees. She wasn’t sure if there was any scientific basis on this position curbing nausea, but right now, she figured there was no harm in trying.

As she breathed in and out slowly and evenly, just like the rehab therapist had taught her, Delaney’s mind whirled over this latest information. Not only was someone killing people the way she did in her books, they’d chosen A Scythe for Schuyler as one of them. Her breathing grew a touch harsher. Her eyes narrowed. How dare they! She thought.

When she rose back up, Hotch noticed an immediate change in her demeanor. Delaney’s jaw was tightly clenched, enough to where he could see a muscle in her cheek twitching. Her eyes flashed with barely concealed anger. She clasped her hands together. Her French-tipped nails rather resembled claws.

“Interesting,” Gideon mused. “She was upset about the other murders, but this one has her really incensed.”

“Almost like it’s affected her personally,” Morgan added. “More personally than it has already.”

“Is everything alright?” Hotch asked. His tone held a touch of wariness.

“I’m fine,” Delaney said, her words curt.

Hotch inwardly snorted. Yeah, right. “You really don’t seem to be,” he said, not unkindly. “There’s a muscle in your jaw ticking. In the past minute, your heartbeat has accelerated and your hands have started shaking. I suspect that’s why you put them in your lap earlier and have them clasped together now, to keep me from noticing.”

Delaney’s mouth falling open proved he was right. She gaped at him as he went on. “It’s a clear sign of anger. Interestingly, you haven’t reacted like this to any of the other murders I’ve showed you. Upset, certainly, but not this . . . infuriated.”

Delaney tightened the grip on her hands. Not that it would do much good, but maybe it would keep Agent Hotchner from commenting on them again. How did he even notice that? She wondered. She would have noticed it in someone, but she had trained herself to notice body language and behavior. Do FBI agents study it? None of the ones she’d seen on TV had, but then again, that was television. This was real life.

“I wrote A Scythe for Schuyler at a pretty low point in my life.” She kept eye contact with Agent Hotchner, making sure that, if he did study body language, he would know she was telling the truth. “It was . . . cathartic, I guess you could say.”

“About someone important to you?” Hotch asked. There was a little itch in his brain, but for the life of him he didn’t know what it was about.

Delaney’s eyes became slightly moist. “Very important,” she said softly. She averted her eyes for a moment. When she looked back up, they were clear.

“So what exactly is it you do?” she asked.

Hotch stared at her. His brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m an FBI agent . . .?”

“Yes, I know that,” Delaney said with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re clearly not some run of the mill FBI agent since you noticed all the minute aspects of my body language and what they meant in reference to my emotions.”

“You’re right,” Hotch nodded. “I’m a profiler with the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We profile criminals. Basically, by studying the particulars of a crime scene as well as the victims – also called victimology – we can tell law enforcement officials who, exactly, they should be looking for.”

Delaney was amazed. This man could actually study a crime scene and come up with an idea of who had committed it? “So . . . you’re like Sherlock Holmes,” she summarized. “You can tell if someone committed a crime in an organized fashion or a crazed one, why their particular victim was targeted the same way Holmes could tell that Dr. Watson had a clumsy, careless maid.”

Hotch couldn’t quite keep a small smile from appearing. “I’ve never heard anyone liken it in that way, but yes, if you like.”

Any other time, Delaney would have made a remark about his smile, maybe a little come-on about offering her assistance in getting him to smile by use of other, more intimate activities, but she didn’t for two very good reasons. One, there was this case to concentrate on. Finding out who the hell was copying her crime scenes and why was far more important than her getting laid.

And two, she had just noticed the gleaming gold ring on Agent Hotchner’s third index finger.

Typical, she mentally groused. All the good-looking ones are either married or gay.

“So if you can give a profile of a criminal based on the crime scene and victimology, why bring me in?”

Hotch silently thanked God for his poker face as he said, “We wanted you to see if there was anything in these photos that might tip you off on anyone who would do this.”

“I can’t think of anyone I know doing this.” Delaney studied Brian Tanaka’s crime scene photo. Unlike Dominic’s, this crime scene she had no problem scrutinizing.

There was, she thought, something off about this photo. Something to do with the crime itself? Delaney wasn’t sure. Her brain was more preoccupied in replaying Agent Hotchner’s words. For some reason, she suspected that he hadn’t been telling her the whole truth. It wasn’t anything in his body language or his expression; the man would have no difficulty in cleaning up Vegas if he ever set his mind to it.

No, it was something else. Something Delaney couldn’t name. Maybe it was the writer part of her brain, the part that said that in every scene she wrote where things were going great, there had to be some kind of catch involved.

She decided to test it.

“Of course, I highly doubt you brought me in just to act as a consultant.” She glanced up from the pictures just in time to see the startled look on Hotch’s face. She smirked. Two for two on surprising, she thought victoriously.

Again, Hotch struggled to maintain his composure. How does she keep doing that? He wondered. He pushed that thought to the backburner and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “That’s right,” he said simply.

He expected Delaney to react with indignation, expressing contempt and fury for them having the audacity to consider her a suspect, but was once again shocked when she merely shrugged and went back to studying Brian Tanaka’s crime scene photo. Hotch stared at her for a few moments. “You’re not upset?” he finally asked.

“No. In fact,” Delaney looked up, “I’m impressed. In cases like this, your first suspect should be the creator of what the crime is based on. Gotta check and make sure the author isn’t some Catherine Tramell wannabe.”

Hotch frowned. “Who?”

Delaney stared at him. “Catherine Tramell?” she repeated. Seeing Hotch’s blank look, she added, “Played by Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct? Crazy author who kills people, then writes the murders into her books? Has a lot of hot as hell sex with Michael Douglas? During interrogation, she infamously crosses her legs and shows off her bare vul-,”

“We’re getting off track,” Hotch cut in. Delaney noted with a bit of amusement that the tips of his ears were a little pink from the word she had been about to utter.

“Right,” Delaney nodded, but she couldn’t resist adding, “Too bad my skirt’s too long to do what Sharon Stone did.” She turned back to the photos and smirked at the sound of Hotch choking on air.

As Hotch struggled to get the provocative images Delaney had painted out of his head, he heard a bunch of snickering in his ear-piece. “I like this girl,” Gideon was chuckling.

“Me too,” Morgan agreed. “Can we keep her?”

“H-have you ever received any disturbing letters?”

“Most of my fan-mail is disturbing. I haven’t read it since a few months after Your Condolence Card came out.” Delaney grimaced. “At nineteen years old, I was understandably freaked out by how many marriage proposals I was receiving from ex-cons. And I’m guessing the reason you’re asking is because you think whoever did this might be trying to contact me?”

Rather than being surprised again, Hotch was impressed. Delaney was incredibly intuitive to the team’s thought processes. Must be the writer part of her. “It happens a lot in cases like these.”

“I’ll tell my editor to deliver all my fan mail from the last six months here in the morning,” Delaney promised. “Or do you want it from further back than that?”

“Six months should be fine. We’ll let your editor know otherwise. And speaking of your editor . . . Would he happen to be a tall man in his early fifties with a slight French accent wearing . . . um . . .”

“Wearing a bright red suit and a red and white plaid fedora? Kinda looks like a pimp?”

“I . . . I wouldn’t have said it exactly like that . . .”

Delaney chuckled. He’s so adorable when flustered. She wished she could keep being the one to do that to him, but alas, he was married. Lucky girl. “Don’t worry, Agent Hotchner, you wouldn’t be the first to think that, nor will you be the last. I’m guessing he’s outside?”

“Insisted on waiting for you.”

With a nod, Delaney stood. Hotch did the same. “Well, if that’s everything . . .” Delaney trailed off as she watched him place the crime scene and DMV photos back in the file.

“Yes, I believe so.” His voice was a bit curt, in full-on ‘official’ mode. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Tyler.”

“I only wish I could’ve done more.”

[basic-banshee]

large black coffee (part 2)

A Carry On Coffeeshop - AU/ College - AU inspired by this beautiful art.

Word Count: 1964

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

“I don’t want to look at the cup. If it just says “Baz” I think I might absolutely lose it. This is our thing. I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose our thing.”

Simon

“Simon, he’s here!” Penny bursts into the alley behind the cafe where I’m trying to take my break. “He’s here!”

I knew she knew what I was talking about.

“So? He’s here everyday,” I say, echoing her words back to her. I’m in an absolutely shit mood, because I stayed up late last night to do my presentation, only to get to class this morning and realise that it actually is due on Monday, like I thought. I turned around to glare at him, and I swear to God I saw him smirk.

“He has a friend with him,” she says, her eyes wide. “You absolutely will not believe this.” She’s hiding something from me, I know it, but I’m on my feet already. Only because I’m curious what kind of person would be friends with a ten foot-tall asshole. I trail Penny back inside, but I don’t want to go to the register. I’m still on my break anyway, and I’m absolutely not going to waste my well deserved break on serving that shithead.

He’s there alright, same time as everyday (seriously, who is that punctual?) leaning against the counter while he talks to someone. I can’t see who they are because he’s too damn tall, but it looks like it might be a girl. Blimey, does Baz have a girlfriend?

He doesn’t even turn when Penny steps up to the counter, and it looks like they’re going to just keep ignoring her until the girl glances around him and sees me. Oh, shit.

“Hi Simon!” Agatha chirps, stepping out from beside Baz. She looks beautiful. I mean, she always does, that’s pretty much her main defining characteristic, which would be pretty shallow of me to say if it weren’t true. Everything about her is beautiful, from the way she speaks to the way she looks. I think her thoughts are even beautiful, probably. Not that I know many of them. She didn’t talk to me that much when we dated.

But more importantly, why the hell is she talking to Baz?

“Hey Aggie,” I say cautiously. I smile at her — because really, she’s the first person I met here, and she’s still my friend, I’m not going to freeze her out — but I go back to pretending to stack cups while Penny takes their orders.

Baz gets his cavity-inducing mocha again, I notice, and I scrawl his insult and order on the cup next to me as he pays Penny for his drink. He’s always perfectly nice when he talks to her. And he’s being pretty fucking friendly to Aggie right now, so I guess it’s just me he’s a dick to. Brilliant.

I try to eavesdrop a bit as I make their drinks, and it sounds like they’re talking about a club. Are they in an extracurricular together? Then Aggie mentions horses and I realise she doesn’t mean a university club, she means a posh rich person club. That explains it then. I’ve always figured Baz is posh — he’s got to be, with his tailored clothes and stupid names — and Aggie is probably the richest person I know. All rich people knowing each other just sort of makes sense.

“Please? This isn’t the kind of thing someone goes to by themselves. It would mean a lot to me,” Aggie says. I stiffen a bit. Is she asking him out? Or are they already dating? Not that I care. We broke up two years ago, and it was absolutely the right idea. We’re just friends now, and honestly I like it better because being friends with Agatha is a hell of a lot less stressful than dating her.

But she can’t be dating Baz.

I mean, his name is basically Tyrannosaurus. He looks like a vampire, but like, a fit Egyptian-looking one. Not that vampires can’t be Egyptian. I think that’s what he is. I don’t really know. But yeah. He can’t be her type. Because of the vampire thing. Not the Egyptian thing. That’s actually a pretty good look on him.

“I’ll consider it,” Baz says stiffly. He looks a bit uncomfortable. I guess he’s not into Aggie. How mental is that? How can anyone not be into Aggie?

“Baz, have you met him? He’s adorable,” Agatha laughs. I pause before putting the syrup in Baz’s mocha. Wait. Does Agatha have a new boyfriend? Is that who they’re talking about?

“He’s not my type. I don’t like men with dark hair.”

What?

“Come on, Baz. When was the last time you were on a date?”

Baz is silent, and I can only see his back but I’m fairly sure he’s flaying Agatha alive with his eyes. His shoulders are hunched in an evisceration sort of way.

“If you’re not interested in him, I can name at least five others. There’s loads of good men on this campus. You just need to put yourself out there more,” Aggie says.

Baz

I’d like to skin Wellbelove.

I didn’t intend to come in with her for a chat, but she caught me when I was walking down campus, and she can be obnoxiously persistent when she puts her mind to it. I was going to shake her off when we got to the cafe. And then I remembered what Snow had said yesterday — “He comes in, always alone” — and I thought I’d further disrupt his world view, and invited Agatha to join me.

I immediately regret it.

When she started putting the press on me to bring a date to her mother’s ridiculous charity event I figured I could shut her down again, but I’ve forgotten that there’s no real way to constrain Agatha, and so here she is, dressing me down about finding a bloke in the middle of the cafe while Snow is clearly eavesdropping.

I hear a crash and turn around to see the remains of my mocha splashed all over the counter and dripping off of a bright red Snow. I want to kill her.

“Are you incompetent?” I snarl at him. It’s a bad insult. It’s not remotely well thought out, but I’m embarrassed and I’m not on the top of my game. I know Wellbelove didn’t mean to out me, and I’m not embarrassed about who I am, but I desperately wish she hadn’t. But I can’t blame her. She has no idea that I’ve been obsessing over this fucking barista for a year.

I used to absolutely hate him. He sat in the back of my Statistics class and was constantly talking and was always late, and I honestly don’t even know what he was doing in the class. He was so far out of his depth.

Then one day after class I stopped into this stupid cafe, even though I usually avoid the places on campus because they’re shit, and realised that Simon fucking Snow, the boy who was ruining my attention in Statistics, was the barista here, of course. Walking him through my order was more difficult than watching him try to use a calculator. When I went to pick up my coffee (he did actually make it correctly, I was a bit surprised) it looked like he had written “Bastard” in his awful chicken scratch font.

“Is this a joke?” I snarled at him. His mouth fell open and he stared at me in surprise.

“What?” he had said stupidly. It’s his default response. He says it to everything. “Snow, are you present?” “What?” “Today we have a test.” “What?” “You’re a fucking moron.” “What?”

I showed him my cup.

“Does ‘Baz’ really sound like ‘Bastard’ to you, you complete halfwit?” I snarled back at him. I watched the flush creep up his neck and he looked like he was going to go off on me right then, and the sudden rise of his anger was absolutely delightful.

“If I wanted to call you a bastard, I’d say it to your face,” he shot back through gritted teeth. It was not his best comeback.

“Work on your handwriting, this looks like a child wrote it,” I said, and then stormed out. I told myself I wouldn’t go back there again, even if the coffee was perfect, and I didn’t. For about two weeks. I was late to work and it was raining and I needed coffee. So I snarled my way through my order, grabbed the cup from his hands, and was almost to work before I noticed the neat, blocky, red letters on the side that read “Baztard.”

I was hooked. (Because I’m deranged.) (Ask anyone.)

And now he’s standing there, covered in my mocha, gaping at me like I’m a tall, gorgeous, gay freak.

Simon

I don’t know why I spilled the coffee. I get a bit clumsy when I’m focusing on things, and I was admittedly focusing pretty intently on Baz and Aggie’s conversation, and then my hand just sort of jerked, and now I’m wearing this revolting drink.

I don’t even know what he just hissed at me, I’m so embarrassed that my blood is roaring in my ears and I can’t really hear anything else, but I can see his face and I know he’s being a complete shithead to me.

So what if he’s gay? He’s still a shithead. You can be gay and a shithead. I grab a fresh cup, and that’s what I write out. I’d just put “git” on the last one, because I didn’t want Aggie to see me write anything too nasty, but I’ll put “shithead” on this one because I think it’s got a better ring to it.

I hesitate for a second though. Should I still call him a shithead? Will it seem like I’m just being an ass because I just found out he’s gay? But I’m not. I’m not being an ass. This is just our thing.

And I don’t want him to think I’m treating him any differently because I know. That would be kind of a shit move. So shithead it is. I write it carefully. (I always write carefully on his cups.) (He’s such a dick about handwriting.)

I place his drink on the counter without meeting his eyes and then head quickly to the back to clean up. I’m sticky and I smell like pumpkin.

Baz

He puts the cup down and then practically runs away. He doesn’t stay long enough for me to see what’s written on it.

This is my favourite part, when I look at what pathetic insult he’s chosen and then I sneer and insult it. He wrote something on the cup when I first ordered, I saw it. But then he spilled it, after Agatha outed me, and now I’m scared to see what he wrote when he remade the drink.

I don’t think he’ll think badly of me now. He’s too nice for that. I know he’s a nice guy. He’s a good guy. I’ve see him on campus. He smiles and talks to everyone. He’s that person who helps total strangers carry heavy things. If someone drops something, he chases them down and returns it. Now that he knows, he’s so fucking nice, he probably won’t insult me.

I don’t want to look at the cup. If it just says “Baz” I think I might lose it. This is our thing. I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose our thing.

The cup is just sitting there, staring at me. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man. It’s a fucking coffee cup. I pick it up hesitantly and turn it, slowly, so I can see what he scrawled on it.

Shithead.

I can feel myself grinning, I can’t even help it. I’ve never been so happy to be a shithead.

[heyheyohsorry]

Change

Summary: Ginny needs advice and turns to her favorite captain. Pairing: Angelina & Ginny Length: Drabble ~1,800 words

Ginny isn't surprised that she's the first one there. Even though she herself has a tendency to run late, Angelina Johnson is always the last to arrive places. In all fairness, as a professional Quidditch player, Angelina often has to stop and sign autographs.

People don't ask Ginny for her autograph, people just stare at war heroes and the girlfriend and sister of a war heroes, and  gossip about them when the tabloids print stories. Oh what a relief it was to be in Muggle London. She didn't need to be in tomorrow's paper as well.

The place Angelina chose was nice. Great outdoor seating, and today was turning out to be a lovely day, weather wise. Ginny's mood always relied on the weather, always had. Even on the worst of days, she could never manage to feel that bad when the sun was out and the sky was clear.

In strolled Angelina. Unlike Ginny, Angelina always stood out when she walked into a room. Not only because of her bold brown skin, or her 5'9'' stature, she just had an energy about her.

Luna once said Angelina had a yellow aura signifying optimism and inspiration. Ginny had learned that in cases like these Luna was often right.

"ello!" Angelina called, leaning over the table and kissing Ginny's cheeks.

"Lovely dress" Ginny commented, raising her eyebrow in question. Angelina rolled her eyes before slumping down in the seat across from her, "I had tea with my Mum."

Ginny nodded in understanding. Molly was the same, always wanting to see her daughter in dresses and skirts, as to confirm that she indeed had a daughter and not a seventh son. That explained Angelina's choice of sandals instead of sneakers, as well as the light lipstick she was wearing. Angelina's mother must have been delighted, Angelina looked beautiful.

"How'd that go?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her water.

Angelina huffed, "Currently she's preoccupied with my sister's wedding. She's freaking out because all the venues are booked solid, well, you know." yeah Ginny knew.

"Anyway, eventually she's going to ask me who my wedding date is and that will open a whole new can of worms." Angelina said, throwing her hands up in the air.

The last Ginny knew, Angelina was dating some muggle football player, a beefy meathead. Eric might have been his name. It was hard to keep track of the many different men Angelina was dating.

Ginny really wanted to ask if Angelina would consider taking George, but Ginny knew Angelina wouldn't answer. Despite being roommates with her brother, Angelina barely ever spoke about George or the new relationship they had formed. The two of them were so private when it came to each other. George and Angelina, in their own flat, with their own conversations, and their own secrets. That was the way it had been since they fled England together five months after the war.

"Not ready to take Eric?" Ginny questioned. Angelina smiled, "I'm thinking of letting Eric go. Lovely abs, just not that bright."

Ginny of course didn't think that this one would last. None of Angelina's boyfriends did. George couldn't keep a girlfriend either. Of course, George and Angelina saw no correlation.

"But maybe I'll keep him around as some arm candy for the wedding photos." She said waggling her eyebrows. "Anyway, enough about me. It'll be last call if I continued to talking about my problems." Angelina laughed.

A part of Ginny wished that Angelina would open up to her, but Ginny knew that was unlikely.

"It's been awhile since we've gotten together, just the two of us." Ginny said.

It really had been at least three months. Of course Ginny had just seen Angelina a couple days ago, at Teddy Lupin's birthday. It had been a small event just family and close friends. All trying to focus on the positive, and not the anniversary coming up a few weeks away.

Angelina smiled. "it's always too long" she said, placing her hand on top of Ginny's before picking up the menu.

"Have you seen the Prophet?" Ginny asked, already knowing the answer. Angelina responded still reading over the menu. "The team has a subscription. I didn't read the article but…" Yeah Ginny knew, she had made front-page news this time. Of course, she had. She had known yesterday she would when she finally calmed down enough to take in the faces of the other witches in the store, the shock, the horror.

"What do you think?" Ginny asks, "Is the article true?"

They all had dealt first hand with the press and the twists and lies the media could tell. Unfortunately for Ginny, this time, it was. Ginny nodded.

"Well. I guess the only thing to say is.." Angelina paused. "you have a flare for the dramatic" Ginny gasped, "Oh my goodness Ange!"

Angelina laughed, "I thought of it the moment I saw the headline."

Angelina Johnson and her puns, sometimes it surprised Ginny that such a poised girl had such an immature humor, but then she willingly hung out with Fred and George, so maybe she shouldn't be so surprised.

"I can't believe you're making jokes right now!"

Angelina shrugged, "So you knocked over a candle and set your wedding dress on fire."

Ginny blanched, and Angelina read her face "The Prophet wrote that it was an accident" Ginny shook her head.

In a way it was, accidental magic from the panic attack Ginny had when she saw her wedding dress and fully comprehended the giant step she was making in her life at only age 20. The Prophet writing that she knocked over a candle had to be Parvati's doing. Ginny would have to thank her. A fruit basket? A cheese platter? What do you send your friend for keeping the wizarding world from thinking you are a deranged arsonist?

"Hey, we don't have to get into the details now." Angelina said, probably sensing Ginny's stress levels starting to rise, "Let's order some food before we get into the nitty-gritty. I'm bloody starved."

"Appetizers?"

Angelina grinned, "and dessert".

There was a reason she went to Angelina. Hermione, as much as she tried, couldn't help but reprimand Ginny. Luna, well, her advice always came buried in tales about mystical creatures no one besides her and her father had heard of. Angelina wasn't like that.

Despite hearing about Angelina before Ginny arrived at Hogwarts through letters Charlie sent about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and then meeting Angelina through her close friendship with her older twin brothers, Ginny didn't really know Angelina until fourth year. Fourth year it had seemed like it was just Angelina and her, the two remaining members desperate to make their team work. Angelina jokes that she wouldn't have graduated if Ginny wasn't there to keep her sane. Their relationship worked, Angelina liked to talk out strategy and Ginny wanted to learn as much as possible. How many nights that year had Ginny flown with Angelina? How many hours had they spent in front of the Common Room fire? Ginny doesn't quite understand it, but Angelina always found the good that Ginny couldn't see in herself.

The meal was great. They discussed their lives, while skirting around their biggest problems. Quidditch was also a fun topic, and unlike Ron Angelina wasn't interested in showing Ginny up, plus she always had juicy bits of gossip about the other players. Sometimes it really made Ginny wished she had tried out for a team. The sun was setting as they looked over the dessert menu. Another great thing about Angelina, she could eat as much as Ginny.

"I don't know what I want" Angelina hummed in agreement. "I know it all looks so good"

"No, in life." Ginny watched as Angelina lowered the menu, her face changing, ready to listen.

"I love Harry, but-" Ginny paused, how could she explain it. "There are many different types of love"

Her love with Harry felt old and heavy. It felt obligatory, it was stressful. She wanted fun love, light love, consequence free love. She wanted real double dates.

"And you can't have these things with Harry?" Angelina asks.

Ginny blames it all on the war. After the war everyone was so desperate to move on from the lives they losts and the families torn apart. They wanted to see a romance for the ages. They wanted Harry and Ginny to get married and have precious children and be happy and normal. And for months, Ginny thought she was ready, but it took a burst of accidental magic that set her wedding dress on fire for her to see that maybe she wasn't.

"What has Harry said?"

Ginny huffed, "All the right things of course. "Ginny I love you" "Ginny I'll wait for you" But I don't think I want that."

Harry had been kind and patient as Ginny explained and cried, and said she was unhappy. He had listened and apologized and rubbed her back as she told him she couldn't marry him. Her sweet, kind, supportive Harry had been his sweet, kind, and supportive self, and yet Ginny still wasn't satisfied.

"Gosh, I'm so selfish"

"Maybe, but selfish isn't always a bad thing." Angelina proclaimed, taking the time to stare int Ginny's eyes so she understood.

"You have to look after yourself first. No one should be pushing you to do anything but finding out what makes you happy. So what? relationships change. You and harry, me and George, we're all trying to heal. We're all still struggling, me included." Angelina confessed, sad smile on face, that Ginny had rarely seen of the strong woman.

"I'm not saying that calling off your wedding will be easy. There are going to be dozens of people who disagree with you, but that's on them. There are some people who don't understand that when we heal we change." It sounded like a mantra, but coming from Angelina it just made sense.

"Thanks Angelina."

Angelina smiled, "Hey, this is what friends are for."

"While we're talking about change. Alicia gave me this to give to you." Angelina said, pulling out a packet from her bag and sliding it across the table to Ginny.

"It's your decision, I just think you should know it's an option." Angelina stated. Ginny took a good look at the packet.

Breaking her engagement, trying out for a Quidditch team, taking advice from Angelina and yet...

"This would be a change-" Ginny said, running her fingers over the Harpies logo, "-healing is change."

[howimetmybaby-blog]

How it feels to be emotionally disturbed during ur last few weeks of pregnancy...

Dear baby, its ur apparently 37w1d today (20 feb) corrected EDD. Alhamdulillah, you've been doing fine and you've been moving well. I'm getting more tired to be honest and havent started my stairs which i've been bugging ur abah but he is busy with his deliveroo i can't bear to make him more tired. Maybe i shall do more pilates and yoga.... Anyway, i know that the past few months have been good with u, but these few weeks i've been worried about a condition that suddenly became so worrying. I've been having black nails since young - i guess since i was even in my teens... But they didnt really get really dark but these few weeks, my nails have gotten darker and more of the nails have been getting the bands. I shouldn't have googled it, im regretting it soooo much because it is scaring the heck out of me. I don't want to think too much of it or even mention t because im afraid its true. I wanted to go to the polyclinic and ask for a referral to National Skin Centre to check it out but my mum, ur abah and Dr su asked me to wait it out until after i give birth to check. I guess that is the better iption, because i wouldn't want to be extra depressed during my postpartum if its really bad news. But im hoping not because i did read that pregnancy causes it too and there are ppl who got it during/after pregnancy - just that there're no follow ups since they posted those issues... Anyway, im trying to think positive as much as i can and really hoping its just a pregnancy side effect of skin pigmentation due to increase of melanin when pregnant (it usually darkens ur skin and freckles etc). Anyway, alhmdulillah, it seems like ur sister Nawwal is excited for ur arrival. I've been conditioning her and letting her know of ur arrival. Washed some clothes for u and she assured me that they were for u (even though some were her previously worn clothes) She admitted that thise were 'for adik', so alhamdulillah. Also, alhamdulillah, she is starting to like and accept school. No more cries to get ready for school for whole of last week. She even wanted to go to school at 10.30pm on of the nights last week. Ur abah and I had to bring her down to show her the school bus is not coming until morning. It was hilarious but really cute. :D I'm abit worried because i've been having negative feelings about ur abah's family. They didn't do anything wrong, but i just felt angry... I dunno why. But anyway, last week, ur aki & nenek bought a rank with fish for ur sister... I know it sounds bad but i told them that we will not be bringing the fish home because: 1. I can't be bothered to look after more living things - especially fish, and im having another baby for goodness sake... I don't need the additional stress. 2. I simply told them nobody is gg to look after the fish and I am lazy to do it. Yup, direct and simple to understand. 3. To be honest, i felt that Hafiz and I shouldnhave been consulted first if they could buy a pet for my child. Because come on, who will be the one responsible to look after the fish? Me or Hafiz, right? They are living things, they have lives that we have to look after, and if i cant even look after plants well, what about fish, who will clean the tank? Who will feed it? Me? Kirim salam ok... Yes, i know its for ur sister Nawwal, but i still felt because if it was to be put in our homes and its another (many more) living thing (s), then we should have been consulted on this too. Imagine if it was a cat? I would freak out even more and be deranged. Nasib bukan cat cos i kmow they're all afraid of cats. Lol! So, i told them they can keep the tank for nawwal at their place - they have bibik anyway she can clean the fish tank or whatever, im not gg to be responsible for it - and i hope they won't be so hurt about it. Im sure they're abit hurt but i was quite upset about it too... I kmow they wanted to be fair to all their grandchildren... But.... I seriously DO NOT like the idea of keeping animals in our homes except for in the freezer to be eaten. But this is not why i am having negative feelings about ur abah's family... I guess i have a love-hate r/s with them. But maybe i felt that we always had to sacrifice for them. Well, we didnt bisit them for more than a month... I felt that knowing how tight we are with our budgets and how busy ur bah is working, if they wanted to meet ur sister, they should come down and visit us instead of us having to spend alot of money travelling to their place all the time. But i guess they dont see that. I know sometimes ur abah hs an ego and act like he has so much money but i know how tight he is and how we need to strap ourselves, i even try to reduce buying pantry items because i just dont want to burden ur abah too much... I also feel they like to celebrate birthdays alot within themselves, lole, they had to celebrate ur aki's bday 2 times, on the actual day and the weekend... Cant they just choose one day? Anyway, i had other plans on the actual day (visit from Yi Xiu mummy's Poly friend) and the day after, supposed to celebrate ur aki@: bday again but i was so sick i couldn't get up, so we didnt go (although i kept asking ur abah to go with ur sister but he refused). Ur father's family are nice ppl, im talking about ur grandparents and great-grandparents, but sometimes, i guess we just have different frequencies. But sometimes im in awe by how ur father and i can be compatible for each other... Funny huh? Ur abah is a wonderful man, alhamdulillah. I feel so blessed to be married to him. He loves me, i know that but im quite a bitch i guess. Oh Allah plwase forgive me for my shortcomings... Today he finally put up the shelves in ur sister's room (Which u are gg to share with her by the way) and it looks better' im so happy because the walls have been looking so bare... He also hung up the hooks i boight since forever in ur sister's room and i love them too! Alhamdulillah!!! So anyway, yes, i've been a tad too emotional these past weeks since the googling thingy and i am tryungggg not to google about it again and will check after my confinement i guess. For now, im just gg to keep praying its just a pregnancy side effect and will go away post partum. I hope i will get to live a long life to look after ur sister and u and also be a better wife to ur abah and a better daughter and daughter in law to both sets of parents. And at the same time, u, in there, dont be a crybaby like mummy ok? Remember u are strong, no matter what challenges he gives u. I cant wait to continue adding more stuffs for u innour home, like ur cot and some cabinets. Hopefully ur abah can find time to make them work.... Ok dear, its late... Time to catch my forty winks. We'll meet soon ok? Very soon. Be good and make my labour easy please! Love you!!!