#clear 2: soft life ep

[girlielyrics]

Hardlife - Summer Walker

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately. 

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time. 

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner." 

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided. 

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots. 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her. 

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back. 

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain. 

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random. 

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?" 

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist. 

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away. 

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned. 

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV. 

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?" 

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside. 

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty. 

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off. 

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor. 

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off. 

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong." 

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change. 

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?" 

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?" 

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret. 

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?" 

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek. 

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this." 

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking. 

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were. 

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so." 

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?" 

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911." 

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!" 

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are." 

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?" 

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way. 

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?" 

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here. 

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary." 

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand. 

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed. 

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where. 

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time. 

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop. 

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man. 

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it. 

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending." 

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!" 

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer. 

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar. 

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing. 

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to. 

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner." 

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[xbinksc]

RUMOURS AND REVELATIONS

PT 2

⭒❃.✮:▹Nicholas Alexander Chavez

SUMMARY: singer Y/N and co-star Nicholas face rumors of romance amid their chemistry and rising fame, navigating media scrutiny while strengthening their bond. Where will all this take them?

WARNINGS: real mushy at the end, looooong

A/N: Requests are open! Still can’t figure out how to make a master list rip someone help me…Enjoy🤍

✧༺༻∞

In a surprising turn of events, Monsters star Nicholas Alexander Chavez and singer Y/N were seen enjoying a cozy night out at a popular cafe in Los Angeles last night. The duo, who play alongside each other in the upcoming series Grotesquerie, appeared to be having a great time, laughing and taking pictures with fans, sparking speculation about their off-screen relationship.

Eyewitnesses described the pair as "playful" and "affectionate," with Nicholas even wrapping an arm around Y/N during photos—a move that sent fans into a frenzy!

This public outing comes just days after news broke of Nicholas’s breakup with his ex-girlfriend, prompting fans to wonder if the split was influenced by his growing bond with Y/N. The timing has many fans theorizing that "The Boy Is Mine," Y/N's latest hit song, is a not-so-subtle nod to the love triangle drama.

Sources close to the pair have revealed that they have been spending significant time together both on and off set, which has only added to the swirling rumors. An insider claims, “They have an undeniable connection. It’s clear they enjoy each other's company.”

The pair’s chemistry has been undeniable throughout filming, leading fans to question whether their relationship is purely professional or if there's a budding romance behind the scenes. Social media is buzzing with reactions, with many supporters urging the couple to "just be together already!"

While neither Nicholas nor Y/N has officially commented on their relationship status, their fans are eagerly awaiting any updates. For now, the rumors continue to heat up, leaving everyone wondering: Is it just a friendship, or is there something more?

Stay tuned as we follow this developing story!

INSTAGRAM

@/ynuser: werk ♡

Comments

@/user gorgeous gorgeous girl

@/user I need the next ep of grotesquerie NEOW😵‍💫

@/zaralarsson trying not to say mother

- @/ynuser donatella VERSACE💜

@/user girl please tell me the rumours are true I won’t snitchhhh

@/nicholasalexanderchavez 🤓

-liked by @/ynuser

@/user my new flex is I met Nicholas and y/n last night😛

@/kyliejenner obsessed with u😍

@/user okayyyyy Nicholas I see you👀

- @/user we need a ship name ASAP

- @/user bro they’re so cute I cannot

- @/user not y’all supporting a homewrecker

COMMENTS TURNED OFF

IRL

The night was heavy with a storm, clouds gathering like dark thoughts in the sky. Nicholas sat in his living room, the flickering light of his candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. He stared blankly at the flick of his phone screen, each notification a new reminder of the whirlwind that had enveloped his life. Articles dissected every moment with you, twisting your innocent laughter into scandalous headlines.

A sudden, frantic knock shattered the stillness. His heart skipped as he opened the door, revealing you, your face streaked with tears, vulnerability spilling over in the soft glow of the hallway light.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Nicholas,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you sank onto the sofa, burying your face in your hands. “The rumors… they’re unbearable. And I keep thinking about your ex—she must hate me. I don’t want to be the reason for any hurt.”

Nicholas moved to sit beside you, concern etched across his face. “You’re not a homewrecker, Y/N. This isn’t your fault.”

“But I met her. I saw how hurt she was,” you whispered, your eyes brimming with regret. “What if she thinks I came in and ruined everything?”

Nicholas felt a pang of sorrow for both women, caught in a whirlwind of feelings beyond their control. “You didn’t ruin anything. Our relationship had its own complexities. It’s not fair to blame you.”

You looked up, your eyes searching his. “Then why do I feel like I’m drowning? Every article, every rumor, it all makes me feel like I’m stuck in this web. And I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt because of it.”

The tension in the room hung thick, an unspoken truth waiting to be unraveled. Nicholas took a deep breath, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. “Maybe we should talk about where we stand. We can’t keep avoiding it. This anxiety… it’s tearing us apart.”

Your gaze softened, and you nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve let this consume us. But where do we even begin?”

“Let’s start with the truth,” he suggested, his heart pounding. “What do we really feel about each other?”

The question lingered in the air, almost fragile in its intensity. You hesitated, your heart racing. “I care about you, Nicholas. More than I thought I could. But I’m scared. Scared of what this means, and how the world will react.”

Nicholas leaned closer, the space between the both of you crackling with a mixture of tension and longing. “I feel the same. You’ve become so important to me. I don’t want to lose you, but the noise outside… it makes everything complicated.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we really separate our professional lives from this… whatever this is between us?”

He considered your words, weighing them carefully. “We can try. But we need to be honest with ourselves. We can’t let the pressure of the world dictate our feelings.”

Your expression shifted, a flicker of hope igniting in your eyes. “So, we give it a real shot? Just… discreetly?”

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through the weight of the moment. “We can keep our lives separate while exploring this connection. I want to see where this can lead us without the distractions.”

The relief washed over you like a balm, and you took his hand, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you. “You make me feel seen.”

“You make me feel understood,” he admitted, his heart swelling. “In a world that often feels chaotic, you’re my calm.”

Just as you both began to find your rhythm, the storm of stress outside began to seep in. “But what if people don’t understand? What if they twist our relationship again?” Your voice trembled, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Nicholas felt his own anxiety bubble up. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we just ignored them. We can’t let every rumor dictate our reality!”

“That’s easy for you to say!” You shot back, your voice rising. “You’re not the one facing the scrutiny every single day!”

“Neither are you! We’re in this together!” he countered, the tension escalating as your emotions collided.

You both paused, the heat of the argument hanging in the air like a taut string ready to snap. You took a shaky breath, your eyes wide. “Wait… are we really mad at each other?”

Nicholas blinked, realization dawning. “No, we’re not. We’re just… stressed. This whole situation is making us take it out on each other.”

You nodded, the tension slowly dissipating. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just all so overwhelming.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. We’re in the same boat, fighting the same storm. Let’s breathe for a second.”

“Let’s breathe,” you echoed, the weight of the moment shifting from confrontation to understanding. You took a few deep breaths together, grounding yourselves in the presence of each other.

“Maybe we should focus on what we can control,” Nicholas suggested softly. “Like how we communicate. We don’t have to let this stress tear us apart.”

“Agreed,” You replied, a small smile breaking through the remnants of tension. “We’ll work through it together.”

You shared a moment of silence, your hands intertwined, the soft rhythm of your breaths echoing in the space between you. Each pulse of your hearts seemed to sync, bridging the gap of uncertainty that had kept you apart.

“Can we just enjoy being together without all the noise?” You asked, your eyes sparkling with a blend of mischief and sincerity.

“Absolutely,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s find joy in the little things—coffee dates, late-night talks, quiet moments where it’s just us.”

As you spoke, the heaviness of the outside world began to dissolve, replaced by a gentle warmth. Laughter bubbled between you, lightening the mood as you reminisced about your time spent on set, the shared glances and stolen smiles that had made everything feel electric.

Nicholas found himself enchanted by your laughter, a sound that felt like music, lifting them both above the fray. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “you owe me a karaoke night. I expect a duet.”

“Deal,” you replied, laughing through your tears. “But only if you promise to keep your mic in check. No sudden high notes!”

Your playful banter melted into deeper conversations, the night unfurling like a flower, revealing petals of honesty and vulnerability. You spoke of dreams, aspirations, and fears, each revelation drawing you closer together.

But as the clock ticked on, reality loomed like a specter at the edges of your newfound intimacy. “This isn’t going to be easy,” You said, your expression sobering. “The world won’t stop watching.”

“I know,” Nicholas replied, his voice steady. “But we have to stay true to ourselves and each other. As long as we communicate, we’ll find our way through.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your heart. “Then let’s take it one step at a time.”

The moment stretched between you, a fragile yet beautiful thread connecting your hearts. “What if it doesn’t work out?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll still have this moment,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “This is ours, regardless of what happens later.”

As the night deepened, you shared a quiet moment, eyes locked, the understanding between you solidifying into something undeniable. In the midst of chaos, you had carved out a sanctuary, a bond that felt like the softest whisper against a storm.

When you finally stood to leave, a mix of reluctance and exhilaration coursed through you. “This was… everything I needed. Thank you for being here.”

Nicholas walked you to the door, feeling the glow of possibility surrounding him. “I’ll always be here for you. Remember that.”

With a shared look of promise, you stepped into the night, the world outside still tumultuous but your hearts intertwined in a newfound hope. As Nicholas closed the door behind you, he felt the glow of possibility surrounding him.

[risuola]

REAL LIFE SURPRISE — GN. READER x GOJO SATORU

Life has been heavy on your shoulders lately, so instead of going out with your friends on a halloween night, you decided to stay in bed, catch up on the last episodes of JJK and just rest. With that in mind, you fall asleep while watching the second season, but what you couldn't prepare yourself for is the voice that wakes you up.

cw: none really, except for anime spoilers, season 2, but everything written happened already in the anime — 1,4k words

a/n: it's just my brain babbling, don't mind me. I had this idea for a long time now, it's written quickly so errors might occur!

It was halloween night, you're alone in your house. Life has been heavy on you lately, so you decided to stay at home, binge watch anime - you had few eps of your favorite anime to catch up on. You've been so busy for the past few weeks that you weren't even thinking about watching JJK, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity.

And you did just that; snuggled with blankets, you put the second season on. First part somewhat eased your mind. Gojo's memories really filled you with melancholy, it cleared many things from what you watched in the first season. Then the Shibuya arc started. It was exciting, even though you kinda knew what will happen, you read the manga, but the animation just hits different.

Your eyelids began growing heavy, the pillow below your cheek seemed to suck your consciousness away and finally, you just passed out. The sounds of episodes playing in the background did nothing to wake you up, even the light from the screen wasn't bothering you as you dozed off into the dream lands. And you'd probably be sleeping until morning. You'd wake up not knowing where you really stopped watching, but that's okay - you can always start over, you loved the anime after all. But you didn't sleep that long.

You woke up nervously, the sound of a long hum made your eyes flutter open in an instant. You noticed the screen in front of you, it wasn't playing anymore, the video stopped and you recognized the scene from the manga - Gojo just got sealed into the prison realm, but when you looked closer, you could tell the screen was glitching. It never did this before.

"You're awake," the voice reminded you of itself and you almost shit your pants. Someone was in your room, someone was inside your house. And the tone... it seemed oddly familiar, you felt like you know it from somewhere, but there's not a single person you could really tie it to. But you knew the voice, you knew it for sure.

Without thinking much, you grabbed the first thing near you. Armed with the soft-cover notebook you jolted up, ready to aim the deadly weapon at the intruder, but your heart stopped at the sight.

A man was there, sprawled on the chair next to your desk. His long legs clad in black pants were spread widely as he was sitting comfortably, leaning against the backrest as if he wasn't inside your house. But it wasn't his large form that shocked you the most. It was his features. A human, but ethereal in every way. In the faint light of the led strips on your wall, you could tell his hair was light, maybe even white, just as the thick row of lashes that framed his eyes. His face was gorgeous, too perfect to be real but he was real, he was there.

"Let me turn the light on," he chuckled, noticing how much you struggled to see him in the pathetic imitation of lights. He got up, nearly hitting his head on the cheap chandelier in the middle of your ceiling and once his long fingers flicked the lights on, you nearly passed out. He really had white hair and it was easy to tell that it was white by nature. There was not a single discoloration near his roots nor a sign of it being dyed. It wasn't a wig either. And his eyes... bright blue, almost glowing with their crystalline beauty.

"What the hell is going on?", you asked, still gripping the notebook for dear life as if it was going to harm anyone. You probably couldn't kill a fly with it, not to say this tower of a man.

"Hmmm, I'm probably just as confused as you are," he replied, this time dropping his weight onto the edge of your bed. "I got sealed, my bad. I suppose the prison realm sent me into some kind of different dimention."

You blinked at him, taking in the information but your brain refused to register it properly. What the hell does he mean he got sealed?

"It's quite odd actually," he continued, "I can't really feel any cursed energy in here, or maybe my six eyes are not working all that well in this world. I hoped you'll tell me what kind of dimension it is. Ah, sorry, how rude of me. Gojo Satoru, nice to meet you."

"The fuck you mean Gojo Satoru?!", you nearly screamed, throwing the notebook at him, doing about as much damage as you suspected. None. He just dodged it. "It's not a dimension, it's the real world. You do not exist, you're a character from anime, for god's sake..."

"That's harsh, sweetheart," he chuckled.

Maybe it was a prank? Maybe your friends wanted to scare the shit out of you, maybe it was a cosplayer? Very good one, but it would make more sense than him being here. How the fuck he even got here? You're sure you locked all doors and windows were closed as well. And why was your computer stuck on the frame in the video?

"It's not funny," you whined, getting up from the bed and leaving the room to check on the doors. It really frightened you to see that everything was exactly how you left it. It was closed in the same, very odd way you always do it, with the upper lock twisted two times, the lower one twisted just once and the key still hanging from the keyhole. The windows were just as you left them as well, all closed except one in the kitchen - the one that's too small for anyone to squeeze in and it had an anti-mosquitoes mesh outside. You were also on the 7th floor. What was going on?! "It's really not funny..."

"You seem really nervous for someone who just woken up, you know?", the man followed you and when you looked at him, he was standing next to the entrance to your room, leaning against the doorframe. "I must admit, I can't really recognize myself in the mirror, I remember my face slightly different."

"Yeah, like this?", you grabbed your phone and showed him your homescreen. Embarassment of having his picture both there and on the lockscreen you pushed away, it wasn't important right now. His gorgeously blue eyes scanned the wallpaper, the orbs glistened in the harsh light of your screen and you listened to the soft hum he made. You suddenly realized why his voice sounded familiar. It was Gojo's voice. Or rather his voice actor's...

"Oh yes, that's more like it," the man gave it a nod and then turned to look at himself in the small mirror on your wall. "Still handsome though. What you think?"

"You are gorgeous, but THAT'S NOT THE POINT," you almost screamed. What do even do in this situation?

"Well, I suppose I'll stay in this world for as long as my students get me out of the prison realm," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging with nonchalance, completely unbothered by the way he isn't supposed to exist in this world. "What about the cursed energy? Are you heavenly restricted or-"

"There's no such thing as cursed energy in real world. No six eyes, no limitless, no cursed spirits, domain expansions, no nothing. In this world we are just flesh and bones. Strength is measured in brains, muscles and money. Nothing else."

"That's interesting," he paused for a moment, taking in the information. You could tell he was more confused than before but still, he was keeping himself together better than you.

"Listen, it's not like I don't believe you but... is there any way you could prove that you are Gojo Satoru? I mean, I don't even know if it's possible... Fuck, you're not supposed to be anything more than an animated drawing," you shook your head, slowly feeling paranoid. If that was a joke, it really was a good one.

"Prove? I mean, I'm not sure, never needed to confirm my identity," the man chuckled. "If I don't have my powers in here, it might be complicated. But you can check, I'm not dressed as anyone. It's my hair, my face. Jujutsu uniform, though it's slightly bloodied now. I have my blindfold with me."

"Sure, sure... Nevermind, I'm just confused. I'll wash your clothes, I guess... tomorrow I'll get you something to change. You can stay here."

"Thanks, sweetheart," he smiled at you. Stupidly attractive.

Deep down you wished you're sleeping. Maybe it's your brain that's playing tricks on you, maybe it's just a fantasy. There was no way this man was standing here, in your little kitchen right now, waiting for his tea to be made. There was no way he could somehow get out of the screen and just... materialize in your little studio apartment. There was just no way, right?

Right?

[franki-lew-yo]

Wendell and Wild and Kat

Not a headcanon or a sequel pic, just a soft redesign of Wendell and Wild.

This movie is super SUPER flawed, but endearing in one way while also highly maddening in that same way it's endearing. The pacing and storytelling is really very bad. I mean, it'd be good for a four ep miniseries but not an under 2-hour film. Sorry. If their minds were set on an hour and thirty minute film than they really out to have worked out some of the bugs and cleared over some story problems a bit. As with Book of Life, this is a movie with characters I kind of really like but whom the story is too packed and busy to let me love them like it wants me too. The biggest victim, in my book, is Kat's relationship with Wendell and Wild, which I think could have been done better. They had exactly one good scene together as partners in crime. I really wish the film was more about that and the human girl/incompetent demon brothers trying and failing to double cross the other but in the end becoming their own found family. I think, in the end, that's what they WANTED the film to be but that's not how it came off, sadly.

I really like Kat. Ya'll are weird to give her so much hate. For her circumstances it makes total sense why she's so angry at things, in fact I'd argue she doesn't go hard enough with making her bitter and angry at the world. This is where though I think you could have had a cute moment- after first meeting the brothers, Kat actually yuks it up at them like the teenager she is for the first time in years, which is how she'd know the brothers are alright and how Wendell and Wild would 'know' they could use her better.

GIVE ME A DAMAGED GIRL AND HER FAILTASTIC DEMON FRENEMIES, NETFLIX! No, that's NOT the same thing as Cartoon!Lydia or Billy and Mandy and even if it were it's a great trope for a reason. Give me fail Key and Peele demons!!

[wordy-little-witch]

I am now hip deep in the Edge of Midnight campaign from legends of avantris and lemme tell you some shit -

1) I would lay down my life for Jericho Sticks without any hesitation. Torbek and Jericho are my sons now, no takesies backsies.

2) Lethica and Marius are so perfectly aligned to be end game lovers but I personally adore the idea of them being queerplatonic if only bc it's funny to watch people be confused and I think Lethica would adore that.

3) you can pry the concept of Briggsy having a some kind of magical fantasy cellphone equivalent from my cold dead hands - sending stone or smth idfk - and he's been keeping his buddy/boyfriend Torbek updated on all this like "Becky you would not BELIEVE what happened today-" ((listen I know the flirting bit between them in the yuletide one-shot was a feycurse but leave me alone it's funny as fuck))

4) briggsy @ jericho in ep 24 appropos nothing: Jerry, maybe we have to kiss ((sad, silly twinks with Literal Darksides are his type /j))

5) I have a friend-crush on Nikkie and I will never recover

6) I have an unyielding NEED to have Jericho get a final hit on a boss and yell yeehaw

7) I know stylistically Jericho doesn't have "skin" but I personally hc that his clothes aren't effectively his skin, he has a burlap body - and he has "tattoos" in the form of embroidery. It started when he had to stitch up his own cuts and stuff and he just kept it up.

8) Only Yorgrim has any constant sense of cooking in an actual kitchen-like setting. Farryn, Marius, and Briggsy can do journey or on-the-road cooking, but it's never.... great. Lethica burns everything somehow or gets the bright idea to 'experiment', and it's never good - she's fine if she's got clear end goals. Jericho is understandably skittish around fire due to his body and straw, but he is the closest to being able to cook well and do so semi regularly.

9) Virgil is a weird mix of a hater and lowkey overprotective. He does hate being imprisoned, but also he's kinda bound here so he HAS to keep this disaster of a bard safe. He refuses to admit he might have a soft spot. He is Stressed.

10) Farryn doesn't get the appeal of Girls Nights, but Jericho does!!! They join Lethica for some fun relaxation. Briggsy once asked why Jericho was allowed since he's also a dude, and Lethica just responded "he's allowed to be there - on account of him being a scarecrow and not a literal man after all." It's an inside joke which later has to be explained - Jericho is nonbinary but doesn't rightly care about stuff like that.

11) Yorgrim is the group dad, no I will not explain.

12) sometimes after a battle, Lethica and Marius will help stitch up some of Jericho's tears. Farryn may also add in random flowers she finds around because it makes him happy.

13) Briggsy is small but mighty. The only person he has yet to pick up and carry is Yorgrim - he swears that one day that tombstone will be gone and he'll be able to do it. It's all the rock's fault, he's sure of it.

Spoilers under the cut (caught up to present)

OKAY so I am caught up completely and have decided that Canon is not important leave me alone

• Yorgrim did not die - he got wounded heavily but survived.

• Farryn almost got taken but they got to her in time. She is mute for a time due to injuries and trauma - idk if she ever talks again bc we could use more sign language in the world. Maybe it comes and goes, fuck if I know, idk and idc

ONWARDS TO SILLIES

• Lethica strong armed her way into giving Jericho The Talk after he revealed he had no idea what a penis was. Scarecrows cannot blush, but apparently his fiendish glow can ebb and flow and he glows much MUCH brighter when he's embarrassed - she tries so hard not to laugh.

• Adella and Jericho btw are simply besties. His "crush" on her is a friend crush and Phillip just finds it painfully cute. ((Also -> Jericho has mommy issues and Adella always wanted a son/nephew/little brother. Peaceful alignment))

• Dark Mode Marius is a colossal flirt but still a giant dweeb. He's cool and suave until someone flirts back - then he's a mess.

• Briggsy is very happy with his Kannon & makes "shooting my shot" jokes at every and any opportunity

• Yorgrim, with his reward, manages to finally lay many souls tonrest but he still carries the tombstone on journeys - just not constantly now. He still believes he must pay penance, but it's a little easier to share the burden.

• Farryn, with her own reward, has not chosen to activate it yet. Something tells her to wait, to bide her time and remain. She does, however, get a little more at ease with the others. She and Jericho have come to an understanding, too - that being they they are a package deal, no takesies backsies, and they refer to each other as twin, much to the confusion of many, many, many people. WLW and NBLM solidarity.

• Jericho is pining HARD for Marius, but he's absolutely terrified of damaging the friendship so everyone is watching two oblivious dummies look longingly into each other.

• POLYAMORY POLYAMORY POLYAMORY

• Marius grows rather fond of Virgil, and the sentiment is very much NOT reciprocated bc this angry knight vampire is not good enough for his vessel and he's mad about it.

• Yorgrim: I've only had my friends for a few days, but if anything happened to them, I'd kill everyone in Druskenvald and then myself.

• I fully expect for Jericho to somehow befriend an enemy in disguise, not realize, and accidentally fuck up the evil plan with the powers of puns, music and friendship (/j)

• the first time the party sees Jericho presenting more feminine, he's been lended one of Lethica's dresses after his own clothes got torn up and the rest are being washed. Marius has a nosebleed and faints. Briggsy is staring somewhat respectfully. Lethica is trying valiantly not to laugh. Farryn and Yorgrim regret not dying when they had the chance.

• Marius: i cannot have a relationship because I have sworn to follow the duchess of sin

Lillith: whoa hold up, Do Not use me as an excuse to avoid the cutie pie over there. Besides, he has a demon. I'm queen of hell. I can make a small exception.

Marius: shit

• Briggsy Bi Icon: OH if ONLY Jerry here had a DASHING KNIGHT to SAVE THEM from this PERILOUS INCIDENT

Jericho: captain, I'm just getting off of a horse??

Marius: no no Briggsy has a point, no maiden should be unaccompanied or unassisted. Allow me-

Lethica&Farryn: We Know What You Are

• Yorgrim is watching all this inter party flirting and is definitely wondering if he's gonna have to have an aside with everyone about flirting tactics and communication skills. Briggsy is making it worse by enabling everyone.

• Farryn gets some sweet, succulent healing, that is all.

[carigm]

A BREAKDOWN OF THE POTENTIAL S5 EPISODE TITLES!!

Okay, so today entertainment journalist Jeff Sneider shared some alleged insider info about S5 of ST, mainly directors and titles of the first 6 episodes.

Here’s a screenshot

It’s important to keep in mind that this guy isn’t always the most reliable, and considering he also said he believes S5 could come out before the end of this year, let’s not take any of this too seriously. (Many cast members have mentioned they’re filming until December of this year so that’s literally impossible). The information about the possible directors I believe is correct, because it’s been circulating around from other sources too.

The episode titles I’m less convinced about because it’s also possible the Duffers could’ve put out fake episode titles in case they leaked. I remember for S2 all the episodes titles they announced were changed later on lol. But for the sake of fun, here’s an analysis of all of them:

1. The crawl (only confirmed title) is a very broad, open title. It personally makes me think of the UD and vines, or maybe even the idea of Vecna crawling back to life. Could also be an allusion to the military.

2. The Vanishing of ___ Wheeler is arguably the most insane one. The journalist said he wasn’t revealing the actual name of the person because it’s a spoiler ofc. My gut tells me it’s gonna be Holly, mainly because of the recast and her supposedly being involved in the hospital plot, which we have guessed takes place in episode 2. Could explain why she’s suddenly “more important” this season, especially if she’s used as a plot device of sorts. Could also tie into what Ted’s actor said in a podcast back in February about the first episodes being a rollercoaster of emotions, and that comment he made about Ted having a soft spot for Holly. It would be a perfect tie in for Karen to find out about the UD as well. The implications of naming the episode the same as the first episode, which is so intrinsically tied to Will, is very interesting. It’s also a new connection/tie between the Byers/Wheelers that I assume will bring the families closer together. I don’t think it’s about Mike because I doubt he’ll go missing in ep.2, or be dragged to the UD just like Will was. It would be an interesting concept but I doubt it. I also don’t think Nancy’s gonna go missing. Karen could be interesting but I doubt it as well. Ted would be an incredibly funny choice. Imagine he just goes missing while at the house 😭 Nonetheless, I think Holly is the clear choice here, and I do very much worry for her if she goes missing. Mainly because while Will survived this, I’m not sure they’ll do the same for Holly :(

It also ties into Vecna’s threat to Nancy against her and her family.

Here’s an interesting leak from the same anon that leaked the hospital stuff (which seems to be correct)

I think this could be the very same scene Holly goes missing.

3. Turbow Trap 😭 This one is utter nonsense. I have no idea what a Turbow is, so I assume it’s gonna be a code or nickname for something. Absolutely clueless here.

4. Sorcerer is incredibly interesting, and imo a clear allusion to Will. His D&D character being a cleric, basically a wizard. Could also be a reference to Vecna imo. Or both 😉

5. Shock Jock is clearly tied to the radio station plotline. Imo the title could be a reference to Steve, Jonathan, or even Murray (he fits that eccentric, somewhat annoying personality quite well) In case you guys don’t know a shock jock is like a very eccentric radio host.

6. Escape from Camazotz is another crazy title. He’s a figure from Mayan mythology who’s a bat spirit. That immediately makes me think of Eddie, but also Steve ofc. However, camazotz has a larger meaning that goes beyond “bat spirit”, it’s also a representation of death and night. So the title seems to be alluding to someone escaping from death or a perilous situation.

Even more interesting perhaps is that kamazotz is a name of a planet in A Wrinkle Time. It’s the planet where IT resides, the mind controlling antagonist of the narrative. So I guess in this comparison Kamazotz is the UD, and IT is Henry.

[dangermousie]

Ep 27 was all plot and no ship. In fact none of my favorite characters except Jiang Li herself appeared in it - it was devoid of the Duke, his sidekicks, Shen Yurong, Princess Wanning, any of the Yes and except for a few seconds’ appearance devoid of Jiang Jingrui.

Still it definitely moved the plot forward - namely the plot of the serpents’ nest that is the Jiangs. Because the grievances were not suffered by our protag but the original Jiang Li and any connections of love or blood were also not hers but the original Li’s, she’s able to be clear headed and not really emotionally involved except insofar as she feels bad for injustice and she’s gonna need that because stepmom has lost the few restraints she had and the rest of the family is useless.

I found this ep humanized both Ruoyao and stepmom for me. I found it so tragic that Ruoyao has finally stopped stepping out of her mother’s monstrous, smothering shadow (her mother’s love always looked controlling and conditional but this ep shows just how downright abusive it was and how Ruoyao had so little chance) only to have her agency taken away from her by mommy on the most basic level. A woman who would poison her own child to get rid of a stepdaughter should not be called a mother in any sense.

I hope Ruoyao gets some sort of a happy ending and a way to find out who she actually is but I doubt that since the drama very clearly implied in this ep she is not a Jiang but is a child of adultery between stepmom and diviner. Papa Jiang is not much of a father even to his blood (he just goes with whatever the woman he is currently sleeping with likes) but the moment he discovers she’s not his, that nunnery is gonna be best case scenario for Ruoyao. Not every family can be the Fans from JoL or the Xiaos from Nirvana in Fire 2.

Stepmom? What a horror show but the drama humanized her (while showing she shouldn’t be allowed to run around at all.) All the woman wanted at the start was to run off with that painter and live in obscure bliss (Ruoyao’s desire to run with worthless ex-fiance is quite reminiscent of that - like mother like daughter - tho at least Mom’s boo genuinely loved her.) But daddy prevented it and was going to marry her off to some sort of mental defective with a family that wanted that dude to have a child (and in that society that marriage is pretty much life of horror) unless she found herself another match and was all “why don’t you off Papa Jiang’s wife, she’s sick anyway” - and not excusing stepmom being a murderer but it’s like Shen Yurong - when all your choices are bad choices you are way more likely to do bad things to survive. In some other alternate universe, she married that painter who never became a diviner and is living a placidly virtuous existence.

Honestly, the moment she killed a friend to escape a hellish marriage it was the end for her - she sent Jiang Li away because of the whole “I murdered your mom can’t have you find out or just look at you” (and daddy blames her for soft heartedness in not killing her!!!) and the other kid was an accident - it’s basically she started out as a villain out of perceived necessity but then she had to continue and got worse and worse. The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, indeed.

I found it poignant she ultimately wasn’t able to maim monster daddy as requested by diviner. Not so poignant that she’s apparently repeating the way she was parented in the way she’s parenting her daughter despite knowing firsthand what that’s like. (But I wonder how much her obsession with getting Ruoyao the best marriage, the nicest reputation (no showing in public at age x), the best womanly skills (zither) is driven by her forever remembered terror of being a woman with no power and no options and no good marriage prospects.)

Even that scarred cousin who married the abuser got a little bit of interest from me - the way she tells his paralyzed body that even tho he beat her so badly she will take excellent care of him and the sheer terror in his eyes was great. Go girl!!!!

Still, hope next ep brings back the Duke and Co. (Jiang Li sent away the guard the Duke had on a mission for her and girl - bad life choice - guard had a big point in that he was there for her protection. And now diviner is coming and there is no guard. I guess she’s so bad at listening to instructions, the Duke will have to move in with her himself to make sure she does what he wants. What a hardship 😂)

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Thoughts I had during TGCF S2 Ep 2

Also watching this while sketching now here we go!

Previously on TGCF… 

-And starting off at the Gambler’s Den!

-Hey you’ve heard the old saying, “It costs an arm and a leg” I think this fits perfectly for the red demon masked gambler

-Hey! No getting sweat on the gambling table!

-Hua Cheng: No Thanks~ *fans myself with a hand*

-Yeah those are the best house policies San Lang

-Man, the loop braided ghost assistant is literally all of us fawning over Hualian amirite? (that Ghost maiden is going places!)

-This den operates on Hubris Logic

-Stop decreasing your child’s lifespan!

-Now Roll!  That just made think of DND, I dunno why

-Those dice weren’t loaded (Anybody seen Road to El Dorado 10/10 totes recommend)

-Worst dad I’ve ever seen and he’s just a gambling NPC

-Hehehe Just imagine Toph in the Gambler’s Den (For those anticipating The Scrap Immortal and the Avatar, I’m afraid that’s going to be a scene that won’t come to fruition, really sry readers)

-“It’s despicable, and that’s coming from a ghost like me” that was a really great quote ngl

-Kinda hard to accomplish since you were talking to a ghost

-Yep prolly the worst Dad I’ve ever seen in all of TGCF

-Hi Rouye

-Hi Windmaster

-Honestly, the reason they have Qingxuan switch from Male to female in this season is that from a Union Standpoint, they had to allow Anjali Kunapaneni dub other series while Jacob Eiseman took over and vice versa.  That’s just my theory, I’m not sure if it might be true.

-Aw, he’s worried over his complexion

-Man, Xie Lian’s expression shifts as he inspects Qinqxuan’s complexion.  I love that little attention to detail in the animation.

-And then Qingxuan happily exclaims while putting both hands on his cheek was 100% precious!

-“If I were a mirror where would I be” they have the best lines of this Season 2 so far!

-Wind Master laugh is clearing my pores

-Hi Qianqiu, Hi Mengyou

-Not so smart to me

-All the ghosts have really unique and distinct designs (it’s that kind of uniqueness I’m trying so hard to capture in my TOH Oc murder mystery au)

-“Aw man!  What was his number!  Not cool Taihua!” - Literally every ghost in the Gambler’s den, and also me.

-Well, you’re not wrong, Qianqiu

-Hehehe the double facepalm XD

-Not the brightest candle on the altar

-Let’s face it, we all lost it during Hua Cheng soft chuckle!

- He noticed the laugh!

-Man the background ghost voices are on point

-And I’m like at Qingxuan, “You didn’t read the signs?” Does anybody other than the ghosts, read the signs???

-“He might be fine if he doesn’t reveal who he is” Qianqiu: *reveals who he is* Too soon dude

-That blue masked ghost woman sure has sass

-That blue beaked ghost also has a cool design tho

-Don’t mind me just fanning myself whenever Hua Cheng speaks cause it gives me the vapors~!

-The fact that they thought the same thing!

-No not the gambling table!  

-Woah he sent it right back!

-This is infinitely better than the live action martial acts films I’ve seen in my whole life

-It’s like a stake raising tennis match

-That glow in his eyes

-He’s going Super Saiyan

-That animation really did get better

-“He’s stuck up there!” My comment: “Like a fly on fly paper” My sister’s comment: “Like an idiot on idiot paper” lmao

-Yep just point and laugh ghosts, point and laugh

-You mean from bad to worse

-I told you Ghost City’s the Las Vegas of Ancient China, told ya~

-A new table!

-You’re not wrong on luck

-Snake eyes is even worse

-“Like I said, biggest is so overdone!  Crazy idea, what if smallest wins? Sound fun?”  Qingxuan is spitting bars in the dub people!

-They’re just gonna believe that from two newcomers?

-Xie Lian, internally chanting: “Small…small…small…” His cursed and horrible misfortune: LOL nope :3

-Not your fault for looking like a snack Qianqiu

-Wait till you see the fandom, Taihua

-Alright, hat got Hua Cheng enticed

-Literally everybody witnessing a man in white robes desperately shake a pair of dice: Is…that guy ok?

-His smile widened!

-“I can’t watch!”  I can and it’s gonna be something!

-Oh he sees a lot in that raggedy jerk than you do right now buddy

-“What’s there to teach about shaking dice?  It’s just shakin dice!”  The best random quote of this episode, and the tone when that side character said it!

-“And you’re the expert!” He got sassed back

-*Hears Hong Lian Qian starting up like* Aw yeah, the best song of the new season! *Vibes out with writing and sketching like no tomorrow*

-Dude! Pass me the Aux cord!  You better not be playing mainstream garbage!  *Casually plays Hong Lian Qian like a G!*  WOO!!!

-There he is, just a red transparent curtain keeps them apart, also Hua Cheng’s status but let’s not get ahead of ourselves

-The wind animation!!!, and Wind master’s not even summoning it

-Literally when my older sister first saw this scene she was like: It’s the pottery scene from Ghost

-He rolled an 11!

-If my underaged TGCf OCs witness the infamous dice scene like in season 2, Qing Tao and Chun Xue(both 12) look up to their older friends: “..ssShould we be listening to this?”  And then Lan Hai and Nuan Yu (both 14) frantically respond with covering their younger friends’ ears: “…pProbably best if we played it safe.” (Quotes are from an episode of Close Enough) heck I can imagine the Gaang reacting like this witnessing the dice shaking too, just swap Qing Tao and Chun Xue with Aang and Toph, and Lan Hai and Nuan Yu with Sokka and Katara, (Zuko would also try to cover the Southern Water Tribe Sibs’ ears, but this hypothetical scene also won’t happen in my TGCF x ATLA xover, now back to the reaction!)

-The singing really is timed well with the animation!  10/10 baby!

-“You see, it’s bigger now” …I got the joke

-“It’s starting to feel like San Lang is just teasing me” Oh yes he is~

-They’re chucking their dice at him!

-It’s a 10!

-“Now I’m sure San Lang is just teasing me”  Told ya~

-The chibi scene!

-Welp, looks like those rolls were just practice rolls

-You gotta love Xie Lian’s internal monologue

-Qingxuan chucked his fan at Taihua, and it came back like Sokka’s boomerang (I had to make that reference!)

-That tapir/baku headed Ghost

-It’s a 12, and it timed well with the rising crescendo!

-That one monkey like ghost

-Right on the gambling table!

-Did he cheat?

-The music change!!!  The soundtrack team knew what they were doing!

-“Who cares it’s gorgeous!  He’s so handsome I think I might just die right here!”  “What are you talking about?  You’re already dead!”  That was a really great exchange!

-And he is seeing his real face!

-“Please my lord don’t tease me!”  Oh yes he will~!

-Now the ghosts are suspicious it took em like half an episode!

-Hey guys I think we’re all gonna get a kick outta this, “The stale half eaten bun from Ep 5 was in Xie Lian’s sleeve the whole time!”  I’ve always wanted to quote that, and it was totally worth it!

-Man, I can’t wait to write Aang’s reaction seeing Xie Lian and Hua Cheng interact together!

-“Um, I’m afraid it’s gotten a bit hard” Yep, they slipped that in, and James was a boss at writing the whole english script for the season

-He tosssed the bun up and down like San Lang did with a small piece of a broken sword in S1 Ep 6, the parallels people!  The parallels!!!

-And him biting the stale bun got XL all flustered! AAAHH!!!

-Look at him go!

-Not that random stand, wait it’s still in tact

-Slay that performance Qingxuan!

-Chide him good!

-And Xie Lian’s still does a great job as a strategizer and a mediator

-The introduction that would change the season forever, also Qingxuan’s emotion shift when it came to describing his new friend’s current occupation with collecting scraps as a living

-He knew San Lang was Hua Cheng?!?!?!

-Hua Cheng is messing with them!

-They’re using him as bait!

-Oh yeah, that’s right, they’re friends

-Geez savage, Wind master

-Hey, no dissing Ling Wen she’s doing her best!

-Gone from Season 1 eps 2-3 and Ling Wen still couldn’t find him???

-Welp, there’s the cliffhanger

Does this reaction count for Hua Cheng’s B-Day?  More reactions will be on the way, I’ve got 3 weeks left of my quarter and I’ve got two big projects to finish so hang tight everyone!

[chainedupgirlsblog]

✎ Commentary of Ep 7 ~ The Loyal Pin (Thai GL-2024) - Part 1

This episode could easily be classified as the epitome of romance, but this series is so full of romance it’s hard for us single to keep up with it!

Nonetheless, this episode we have lots of gifts, romantic gesture, and lovely letters!

We knew it! It was only a dream—nightmare. Anil hasn’t left, yet.

Aren’t they cute? Pin doesn’t need medication she just needs to hug her Princess 😭

Clingy, aren’t we? AnilPin 🫵🏼

Pin demands to be fed and Anil takes on the challenge. But we knew she will and so did Pin, even if she acts surprised when Anil wiped her mouth…

Get it together you two!

Here, they “argue” about who love the other the most. Pin asks Anil to let her love her more only for this time and Anil accepts with none hesitation. She was not about to argue furthermore with her girl about that, nah-uh ☝🏼

Then we have this scene… HELP ME 😳

First, Pin states that she’s worried. Worried about all those suitors she heard are pursuing Anil. And then Anil gets back at her with a stronger—most worrisome statement…

“Hopefully, you won’t be married to Mr. Kuea when I return from England” And DAMN, is that some foreshadowing? Please say no. I refuse!

Pin immediately reassures her stating she already made herself clear to everyone (even if some annoying mister still doesn’t get the fucking hint) but she’s ✨taken✨. Thank you very much!

She even encourages Anil to do the same by offering to left her marks all over the Princess’ royal body. If that’s some sort of crime against the crown or the country that’s only for Anil to judge and she’s pretty much into it so…

The way they look at each other here should be criminalized! Stop it right now! (don’t you dare!)

“What are you waiting for” SHE SAID 🥴

Surely my death, that’s what Pin is waiting for cuz god damn… the way she looked at Anil got me gasping for air~

Then we have the night previous to Anil’s departure and it’s just so sweet. Pin confesses she’s not strong enough to see her princess off and Anil asks her to wait for her as she gently caresses her cheek and then kiss her on the forehead… They’re so soft and adorable please 🤧

The next morning Anil is convinced that Pin won’t see her off but guess what? She does!! Are we even surprised they’re gone for each other!

Pin find the strength and go see her girlfriend off. They both end up a complete mess of tears (me along with them) but at least they see each other one last time :(

Here, we have a beautiful analogy by Princess Pattamika about Anil being like the wind or something like that, I don’t remember right now but it’s beautiful and I agree, Anil's free spirit is definitely like the wind.

Here we also have Pin sending a pink flower petal to Anil and look! The petal made it to England faster than me 😭

Here we have Pranot spilling the beans on Anil’s business once again, please he’s on a mission or something, always gossiping about his bestie’s love life.

But hey! At least that made Big brother help Anil on this hard mission of dealing and rejecting so many suitors!!

Please, look at Anil’s face. She’s a menace!!

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Finally I’m able to post episode 7’s commentary. Here’s Part 2

[lost-inanotherlife]

Hey, it's the same anon again. Thank you for the reply, I completely relate to everything you wrote!

I'd like to add that people often call Jack an asshole who "doesn't understand" other survivors, but the truth is, other survivors don't understand him either.

For example, I've seen many viewers bashing Jack for snapping at Kate in s1e12, after she retrieved her toy airplane, but they seem to forget the events of the earlier episodes.

Jack was the one who ultimately had to put down the marshal and even buried him by himself (Kate asked him why he didn't burn the marshal with the other bodies in the fuselage, and his answer was "I had to bury him").

Obviously, taking this man's life was a difficult moment for Jack (it's also implied that he sees mercy killing as murder), then just a few days later, Kate casually asks him to dig up the marshal's body, essentially asking him to reopen a painful wound. She then tries to deceive him with the key, and when he keeps his promise to her despite everything, she pulls out a random plastic airplane and shuts him out as if he didn't just desecrate a grave to help her retrieve this seemingly useless toy...

(I love Kate btw don't get me wrong hehe)

Omg Anon I love your cut-to-the-chase approach because YES! "Other survivors don't understand Jack", say it louder for the people in the back!

Let's be clear: I'm NOT making excuses for Jack's behavior. If people check my blog they will see that I call him out quite often. The thing is that I think that the way he reacts kinda makes sense with how the narrative treats him.

Let's take Kate as an example since you've brilliantly pointed out how people tend to side with her and call Jack a douche. Which okay, fair BUT.

Premise: I love Kate. I don't find her relatable at all but she's a goldmine in terms of characters whose potential was squandered because of a love triangle that ended in S3. But I digress.

Kate is a deeply, deeply flawed chatacter like honestly ALL characters on that damn island. This is not a flaw but she is like the other losties in that she sees Jack as an IDEAL.

Of course, compared to other people she actually gets to know him etc. But she's primarily fascinated by Jack because she wants his approval and validation so badly (I'll link some of my metas about this specific topic) sometimes it makes her look a bit... confused.

Take for instance that episode in S1 or maybe 2? where she drugs Jack. Not cool, am I right? Well, Jack finds out and takes it out on her but he's also quite soft about it. Well, to that what does Kate reply? She actually tells Jack in the face something like "how could you even think that I'd do something like that?".

I meaaaaaan, guuuuuurl. Come on. This is Manipulation 101. You can't get mad cause he got you. Change tactics. But no, she insists because she wants Jack The HeroTM to tell her she's a good girl.

I find all this absolutely compelling and fascinating because it makes Kate feel more 3D and alive and real. As any human being who's full of contradictions and unknown desires.

To sum it up: even Kate tends to see Jack not as Jack Shephard, A Real MessTM but as Jack The Good Guy.

If you ask ME who on that crazy island better understood the real Jack I'd say Sawyer.

Their relationshio could have been so much more than a love triangle and I'll forever be mad about it.

Thanks again Anon! Your smart takes give me the excuse to yap and I'm loving every second! Hahhaha!

My Meta about Kate (THEY ARE VERY LONG POSTS): detailed but incomplete analysis of the ep "I Do' (it's incomplete cause nobody was reading it so I stopped posting it).

foundational analysis of Kate, "What Kate Did" is THEE Lost episode.

[freshthoughts2020]

No More Big 3! What's Cole's Next Move?!?!

No More Big 3! What's Cole's Next Move?!?!

July 11, 2024

If you haven’t read my previous article, scroll down on the freshthoughts2020 tab and check it out. In that article, we discussed whether Kendrick’s feud with Drake might be pointless if he doesn’t aim for the commercial number one spot. With a clear task ahead for Kendrick (whether he follows it or not), we’re left to ask: What is Cole’s next move?

I.Cole's Strong Start in 2024

Cole came into 2024 in a great position in the power rankings and was a strong front-runner to take the lead. He outperformed Drake on “First Person Shooter,” went bar to bar with him again on “Evil Ways” from the “Scary Hours Edition of For All The Dogs,” and just completed a successful national tour.

II.The Apology and Its Aftermath

Cole was set to answer the call when he released his “Might Delete Later” EP. However, moments later, his infamous apology came, leading many people to write him off and not wanting to hear from him for a while. Then he reappeared on the bubbling New York sensation Cash Cobain’s track “Grippy,” which has been regarded as one of Cole’s worst verses. The verse wasn’t even bad, but if it wasn’t mind-blowing post-apology, any verse he penned was going to get panned anyway.

III.The Dismantling of the Big 3

The idea of the Big 3 has been dismantled. The world waits on a new K-dot album, ready to crown him as number one, while the Drizzy hive stands patient awaiting Drake’s inevitable return. Again, what is Cole to do?

IV.The Two-Part Plan for Cole's Comeback

I believe Cole has to do two things to ensure a great comeback and even get his name back into that front-runner conversation. We know he’s been hyping up his album The Fall Off, which is in a worse position post-beef. Here’s what he should do to make sure his album isn’t swept under the rug when it drops.

First, Cole has to address Symba. Why Symba? People may have forgotten about that freestyle he did on the “Control” beat, but it needs to be addressed. He sympathized with letting Nas down but went on to say he left Bas and Cozz down, the whole squad down. He slammed him for the apologies. Cole has to address how he didn’t have to clout beef with Kendrick, and most importantly, he has to spank Symba for even thinking he can say that. There are a few angles he can go with, but I probably shouldn’t reveal that. If Cole is capable like I know he is, he should know the angles too. There are plenty of lyricists who will probably make fun of that apology moving forward with general bars, but he needs to make Symba the poster child of what happens when you disrespect Cole.

He needs to do this because Symba has enough lyrical respect from peers and elder statesmen of hip-hop that he’s worth addressing, and because Symba doesn’t threaten Cole in popularity. It’s like Pusha T with Drake. Symba can scorch Cole until he’s blue in the face, but modern rap is a popularity contest, and Cole would never lose that. However, for this to be effective, Cole would have to scorch Symba as if he’s going up against JAY-Z himself—no mercy! If Cole does this, half of the two-part plan to dominance will be secured by everyone taking mental notes: “Maybe we shouldn’t mess with this guy; that apology stuff doesn’t really mean anything.”

The second thing Cole must do is very simple: hits on hits! He has to get into his Forest Hills bag. That’s far from my favorite project from him, but it’s his most commercially successful album, and his sound isn’t compromised! He should re-listen to that album hard while creating The Fall Off and study the singles from Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life. He needs smashes—songs for the radio!

With these two things working in unison, we’ll quickly forget the same people saying they “...never want to hear him again,” “he’s soft,” blah blah, will be the same people saying “oh Cole’s the G.O.A.T., Cole’s the G.O.A.T.”

These are only suggestions, and he can take these suggestions and stuff them up Rubi Rose’s ass for all he cares. But if he still cares and wants to get back in that conversation, he’s got to do something along these lines. It’s not even much, but it’ll be more than enough. Trust!

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[strangesmallbard]

okay here are my not-drunk thoughts on the hdm premiere eps:

stelmaria possessing all of asriel’s fatherly brain cells is still a very good choice, but it was hysterical to have Everyone including his daemon go “lyra is the most important person right now” and he’s like “pfft. what’s a lyra.” like okay.

i wish they’d kept the dual images of marisa brooding over her double decker mommy issues while the monkey rips apart bat wings. i’m always concerned about the show de-fanging mrs c to show her motherly side, and i think that imagery would have helped.

nevertheless: ruth wilson flambéed me again. when she said “don’t look at me like that” and visibly shattered when ama hugged her i was weeping into my can of trulys pineapple seltzer. she GETS it. also i love her tentative bonding with the monkey, who carries all her softness and rage.

i think the ogunwe plot was interesting and i’m glad he gets more character development than in the books, but it’s also clear this was a scrapped storyline from s2 before james mccavoy was unable to appear. as a result, those scenes feel both rushed and boring when compared with others that include lyra + marisa or will—especially since lyra’s rescue mission is so time sensitive.

BARUCH AND BALTHMAOS. SMOOCHED!!! GAYNGELS. take that philip

however, i wish balthamos got to be funny like in the books. the change worked tone-wise, but the comedy factor of two ancient angels babysitting a 12 year old who can kill god would have added some great levity to the show.

i love mary malone and her sensible shoes for traipsing across the multiverse. she is on the adventure of her life. everyone she meets knows this is the nicest woman in the world. she has the best smile. if she’s not a lesbian i’m going to eat my foot.

the magisterium scenes are boring as hell, but i might have just been 1) drunk at the time 2) a lesbian, unable to appreciate father gomez. so who’s to say. can’t wait to see father-president macphail get slam-dunked into hell, however.

dafne keen looks even more like ruth wilson now and i’m crying about it. jack thorne & co making them the heart of the adaptation was so correct actually. i was slightly disappointed they didn’t include mrs c pleading with lyra to stay, but i think the scene still really worked for this version of the characters. i’m also nearly convinced marisa and lyra will talk again before [REDACTED].

[fangirleaconmigo]

Ok I just watched ep two of The Last of Us. For background, I’ve never played the game and am drunk.

SPOILERS

Ok. So I know 90% of non game people are watching it for mi Pedrito. Me too. But do you know how much Anna Torv is loved by queer women???! DO YOUUUU?? Bc WE LOVE HER so when I saw her I was like OKYES

And ok

Ep 1 and 2 I’m like…this is a cool fuckn relationship. It’s like two middle aged goddamned bruisers. They walk through the streets of that shitty town together and people clear out you know? Scary partners. She’s not the soft one he needs to protect. They are apocalypse partners. He is scary but with her he is the little spoon. He trusts her judgment. She always has the plan. She is badass. She is gangster. They are so similar. I loved it! Cool relationship.

SPOILERS WARNING AGAIN

I Knew she was gonna bite it bc the trailers are all Joel and Ellie. I knew at some point she must die. And then when the time came she was like Joel, help Ellie. And he didn’t want to. And you know what she said???

I NEVER ASK YOU FOR ANYTHING

like my good friends that line is lethal because if it is true in that relationship then you know he cannot deny her it is potent.

Then she’s like…I also don’t ask you to feel the way I do.

FUCK ME

Fuck ME

No. No. No.

Joel baby I’ll take her if you’re not sure.

But actually

You know if he isn’t opening up the problem isn’t her, he’s just so goddamn traumatized. Pobre he’s so traumatized.

But anyway.

Then she gives her speech trying to get him to help Ellie and have hope and she knew she was gonna die and I’m like KISS HER JOEL FUCKN KISS HER SHES ABOUT TO DIE TRYNG TO SAVE YOUR LIFE

Motherfckr doesn’t kiss her guess who kisses her???????????????????? MUSHROOM FUCKER

Gahhhhhhh it was terrifying!!

And CRUEL to see her not get a “you’re dying goodbye girl” kiss from the man she loves but then the mushroom kiss of disgusting death is forced on her WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS CRUEL

Anyway I’m sorry you had to go out like that Ms Tess you deserved better baby girl. Horrifying.

But RIP to a badass bitch.

[paperbunny]

S2, E1: The Arrival, Pt. 2

Not a meta, just a tribute.

[Starting at 22:22] Ep 1, Pt. 1

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is perfect and I am so happy that everyone instantly loved her.

(General Omens) The matchbox says "Out of his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." Job 41:19 This is interesting because it doesn't seem like it applies to Gabe or Jim, unless the sparks are the prophesies that he says, which seems redundant since those were pretty clearly prophetic and don't need any extra hints. Crowley as Aziraphale did shoot flames from his mouth, though. The extended passage is all about the Leviathan which could be a reference to Crowley the Serpent but I hope it's a more interesting forewarning of Guardian!Aziraphale when he gets to work upstairs. It could just as easily be a warning about the power of God as wielded by the Metatron though. Important but not clear to me where to point it.

(General Omens) The coffee cup on the wall of the shop outside (above the outdoor seats, near the "or") has orange flame-like whisps instead of white or light grey that one would expect to signify steam. Ominous coffee business. The coffee shop is blue whilst the record shop is orange. Opposing colors.

(Nina the Mirror) Interesting that the coffee shop is called Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, considering the lack of liberty Nina clearly has in her personal life. Nina and Aziraphale both taking up for others whilst trapped themselves. Sure, Az is technically unemployed, but he's certainly not free.

(General Omens) Not sure if there will be more to the story about the coffee shop being essentially USA-themed, such as a Greasy Johnson tie-in, but for now it just seems like another little UK joke about things getting set in the US or otherwise America-coded for the sake of mass marketing.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) He wants Crowley to be calm, he wants himself to be calm. He's also not familiar with the effects of espresso. And neither he nor Crowley are acting like it's at all unusual to be hanging out together, though they've not been together in this shop it seems. Eccles cakes? *pointed look at Crowley* Some eccles cakes please. He's just as nervous to show Crowley as he is about the problem itself, but not telling Crowley isn't even on the table. Because Crowley is there allll the timmmeeee and is an integral part of his world, too, of course.

(Nina The Shit Stirrer) How's your naked man friend? NINA. You know that this little book man has never brought this slinky goth fellow into your shop and you have no idea what their business is. But you just HAD to mention the naked man in front of Aziraphale's man-shaped friend. And she was so happy to do it. Has she seen the Bentley and Crowley coming and going? How much does she suspect? Is she poking that situation because of the volatility of her own?

(General Omens) "You're a dark horse Mr. Fell" First Dark Horse mentioned, of at least three.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Immediate embarassment! Where was that embarrassment when it was the WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD? But no, in front of Crowley suddenly you're shy.

(Domestic Moments) The tone of "go back a long time" is so sweet. They really aren't trying to hide much at this point, despite aggressively refusing to Address The Situation. And how nice that Crowley gets to be introduced. No "friends" no obfuscation. No labels, either, but there's a real tide change even so. And Nina does a cute little curtsy-ish move in response. Maybe she has a sense about how long "a long time" could be.

(Crowley With A Purpose) He's so happy that he has actual news. Is he happy that there's something to do, or that something bad might be happening to Gabriel? Both? The IMMEDIATE interest in getting into the bookshop. I can't imagine that he thinks Aziraphale would be harboring a recreational naked man for sexy reasons, but he certainly isn't laughing about it either. He asks Aziraphale if he can help, and poor Az seems to have had whatever his plan for a soft launch of the problem was completely obliterated by Nina's bomb dropping. Also that coffee cup was SO EMPTY.

(Domestic Moments) Despite Az clearly getting his plan for easing Crowley into the problem messed up, they are off to the shop. Whole plate of eccles cakes in hand, and no "after you" needed at the door. This is a well oiled partnership opening doors and holding things as needed. Nina watches them steal her plate. Why is the closed sign stuck on with tape? It's like he's not even trying to pretend he is ever open.

(Maggie the Strange) She stops Mr. Fell to thank him, while he's clearly in a rush, and he tries to give her eccles cakes. No intro for Crowley this time. Was her purpose just to make sure we noticed the Eccles Cakes? Because we did. Everyone is upset that he just stole the whole plate. People need to slow down on the "not going to parties" and "not being that kind of teenager" meaning that she's some inhuman being, because some of us were also not that teenager. More talk of names. Maggie gives her a record because it's the same name, Nina hasn't accepted Maggie giving her name yet. She's still Skinny Latte.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) (Domestic Moments) Why are you closing all the blinds, sir? Jim!Gabe has been in here for awhile with the blinds open, so maybe it's more about the reaction of Crowley that's concerning? Crowley who has his own place for his glasses, who seems entirely at ease in the shop, and who says "Do we know a Jim?" we! I love that we. And the casual conversation. Go on and guess. I know a storm comes later, but we really did get so many soft, romantic moments.

(Heavenly Scandal) (Domestic Moments) So much of the Jim!Gabe is scandal but also tied up in the sweet domesticity. Crowley is pissed and scared but neither lashes out at the other in a real way. Aziraphale isn't scared of him, just worried about the whole mess. Jim!Gabe already trusts Az enough that he looks to make sure there's nothing wrong when Crowley first confronts him.

(Domestic Moments) The warm yellow-ochre walls. I thought people were exaggerating the yellow thread through the story but no. That's pretty intentional looking. I don't know if it's Az's favorite colour, but it certainly seems to be a color that makes him feel at home. Is there more than one room up here? Is this the room that Jim!Gabe ends up staying in? No bed up here it seems, though I don't know if our collective hearts could have handled A&C standing alone in a room near a bed. Az doesn't seem against the idea of getting rid of Jim!Gabe at first, just unsure of what to do. Crowley immediately is ready to dump him in Dartmoor. Az can't bring himself to not help. Would he go to Gabe to help him? Likely not. But once the person-shaped-being is in your care, is it your fault if harm comes to them?

(Husbands at War) This fight is well-trod soil. Neither seems legitimately angry at the other, but rather they fall immediately into defending their side in well-worn territory. Az wants to stay and help/fight/fix, Crowley wants to not make themselves a target/save their peace/refuse to get involved. There's strong arguments for both sides and we have our seeds of future conflict. Az tells him if he wants to leave he can, and that reaction from Crowley, "Is this how you want to do this?" as though this is one of a few versions that the argument takes.

(Bookshop Omens) The eccles cakes. Four of them. Next to a horse. Four horsemen? What are the cakes about!?

(Existential Crisis Crowley) His peaceful existence is at risk. He's so mad he's recognizing his own lack of control and tries to self-regulate. Did you learn that from a Richard Curtis film, Crowley? Or does Az have a self-help section?

(Nina the Observant) She sees Crowley smoking before the people on the street seem to. Everyone stops and watches though. There's no way that there isn't some kind of low grade miracle on this street that prevents these strange events from sticking in the brains of the passersby. Man smokes and yells and then is hit by lightning. Everyone watches and no one seems to retain it except Maggie and Nina. Also Nina I'm pretty sure those aren't auto locks. There's no sign of anything auto about the regular looking deadbolt.

(Heavenly Scandal) Why do I like Uriel so much? Michael does have the best claim to be Supreme Archangel Pro Tempore, as Duty Officer. I love the bureaucracy. It's great. Micheal is basically pulling a Dwight Schrute move. Saraquel is the one Muriel went to. Is Saraquel not an Archangel? Or are they just a more approachable one? It doesn't seem like they have a dog in the fight over who is the next SAAPT.

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is a scrivener, which immediately makes me think of Bartleby the Scrivener. I've been told that the job of scrivener comes up in games and stuff enough that it might not be a direct reference but it seems pretty pointed to me? Maybe it's just English Nerd Brain. The story tracks though, potentially, for where Muriel could be headed. From google, about the meaning of Bartleby: "...as the narrator is forced to admit, “Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance.” Refusing to kow-tow to the demands of his employer, and working to his own individual rule, Bartleby represents a challenge to capitalist, corporatist ideologies." Part of Bartleby's problem, from what I remember, is living in a place with no joy or interaction, and realizing that he can actually say no. Isn't that eerily similar to Muriel?

(Heavenly Scandal) Uriel looks at Micheal like, you want to be in charge so you get to touch the Material Object. Michael is not thrilled.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) He's sitting in that street, in his car, looking like the Saddest Boy-Shaped Husband. He's not having a good time, and now his little corner of peace is in high danger. He looks SO SAD. I didn't notice how sad he looked on previous watches. It's interesting to me that C always uses the honorific for Beeze. Lord Beelzebub. He also slides riiiiight into being cool and collected as soon as he realizes he's not actively in trouble. It's not a kidnapping, it's an offer. Watching him squirm immediately when he realizes this is about Gabriel is pretty fun. Crowley the suave, chill snake is just a flimsy cover for Crowley the clingy movie dork who uses affected disinterest as a defense mechanism. He's still one of Hell's best (ex)employees though. He's not suprised that Beeze wants to use his talents, but he is surprised that it's coming with an offer of a reward. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you're likely to say". Neither of them actually say anything solid. Hell is clearly better with contractual language.

(General Omens) Crowley says Extreme Sanctions don't exist. Beeze says they do. This remains to be seen.

(Nina The Mirror) More being mean to Maggie for no reason, then trying to make it up.

(Maggie The Strange) Maggie doesn't drink. That isn't weird. The "No Judgement" that feels awkward is a little strange. Especially since she waits til Nina is in the middle of a sip to say it.

(Maggie/Nina) They have a *moment*. It's a nice little conversation but doesn't seem very weighty. Not what you'd expect from a meet-cute.

(Husbands at War) I liked the use of Loverboy here. I seem to be in the minority. I hope it comes back again in S3, but I thought it was sweet. He's hauling ass to get back to his Angel. When it comes down to it, he's a good old fashioned loverboy. He always comes back.

(Eldritch Tendancies) I know things were a bit different in S1 but there seems to be NO concern about hiding from the human folk. Just explode on the street and then magically power-on the whole cafe. No big.

(Maggie The Strange) (Nina The Observant) Why doesn't Maggie seem to have the same level of awareness that Nina has? Also, one of Lindsay's texts says "I'm a real person. I Matter. Why don't you care about me?" Is someone not real? When the text is on the screen, the camera is on Maggie. [38:53]

(Domestic Moments) Aziraphale you petty bitch. He is just sitting in the chair waiting. Crowley sails in (does he have a key or did Az leave it unlocked for him?) and then suddenly Az puts on his glasses and starts pretending to look at his random papers. Our stage is set for the Dance of the Repressed and Afraid. This scene is so much funnier now that I've noticed that Az is clearly being a bitch on purpose. And that he is possibly delighted to have the chance to make Crowley do the dance, since Az clearly has done all the Dances lately.

(Husbands at War) The dance erases the tension and lets them move on without actually resolving the fight, but that's not really an issue here because Crowley has new intel. They immediately shift into planning and figuring things out. When it comes down to it they are both always on eachother's side. Az is nervous about doing a miracle, and it does sound like they've never done one together. Why they do it together this time isn't totally clear upfront but I guess it keeps the power used smaller on each side and shielding him from the other side helps prevent red flags being raised.

(Jim!Gabriel) He and Crowley don't like eachother, in this moment. Crowley is being "nice"-ish. But they make great faces at eachother.

(Husbands at War) Az suggests splitting the miracle and Crowley listens. Later we see Crowley not listen and steamroll Az. Unfortunately this isn't a great argument for listening to Az, since the teeny tiny miracle does NOT fly under the radar. There's a lot of wide angle or fisheye lens used here. And the chair Jim!Gabe is sitting in is on top of the portal. That might be a red herring, might not. Portal isn't active, but it could explain why alarms went off in heaven but not hell.

(Good For Me) I noticed the portal being under the chair. Also note that the rug is currently a general faded beige-y rug. Also Jim!Gabriel offers his hands crossed, left offered to Az and right to Crowley. They look distasteful (?) about it and awkwardly reach across to take the "correct" hand.

(Husbands At War) Crowley tests the waters, so to speak, and pokes at the air to feel the miracle. Az is happy that things seem to have worked. He reassures Jim!Gabriel and Crowley is still only in the fight to protect the Oasis, not Jim!Gabe.

(Heavenly Scandal) Michael seems to be ignoring the klaxon alarm on purpose? And Uriel is like, if you want to be Assistant To The Regional Manager, then you need to fix this. The miracle shows up as pink, and Saraquel is the one operating the globe thing. They refer to Aziraphale as a former angel, and there's no reference to Crowley. I really don't think that heaven or hell knows or understands much about the Az-Crowley situation. They clearly know there's something odd there, but I don't know what their impression of it is.

End Ep 1.

Ep 1, Pt. 1