#csi: husbands

[csilevelthree]

[forthegoob]

I started to watch CSI : Miami a week ago. And now, I understand why you are all so in love with Eric Delko.

[hollygl125]

“Thank you.” Insp.

[https-wildchaos]

CSI;; S15, EP1 " Karma Burns. "

# NOTE;; sorry for the bad quality but oh my god when I tell you I had to hold in a scream I'm being serious

— "think I need someone older..."

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Hydrate or Else.

by @moonmo0n ♥

[h31fd3ad]

The only cops I respect

[m-jay-gee]

crime drama tv writers start foaming at the mouth when they see a wife

[julie-finlay]

Finlay Friday

12x15: "Stealing Home", script extracts

[hollygl125]

Sorry that I'm easily seduced by a man in a black tshirt.

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter One

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does. | Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s): strong language, mentions abusive relationship, gun mention, talk of death, trauma/PTSD themes, Fem!Reader

A/N: gonna be honest I got this idea from a c.ai bot. If you want to be on the taglist for this let me know <3

���꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ next chapter | masterlist | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

On The Lam

The luminance of the sun beating down on you nearly distracted you from every tense thought telling you to back out. It felt ridiculous, standing out in the open like this, even if it was a populated area. The conversations of bypassers came in pieces.

A woman bickering with her husband about what takeout to get; an elderly woman talking to a most likely disinterested grandchild; a fuckboy bragging to one of his friends about how he scored the previous night—you yearned for the days where life was that simple. Living in blissful ignorance, when you were hopeful for the future ahead of you.

If you’d seen your past self, only a few months younger, you’d have called her a moron. How could you have not known? The red flags were all so obvious in hindsight. And for your stupidity, you’ve been living a life of recluse, wondering which stranger who passes you will eventually have his face.

In the present, cursing yourself for making an even denser decision: meeting a stranger online, someone to keep you safe. Shelters are too crowded, the police department is a joke, and cat and mouse can only go on for so long.

What can you say? Desperation makes people do things far from themselves. The saying goes both ways, you figure—each day that passes when he can’t find you is an increasing jeopardy to your safety.

You nearly squeeze the life out of the coffee cup you’re holding when the black pickup truck parks near the curb, just like you’d planned. His car was real, that’s all you knew. The windows were tinted, as dark as the law would allow. It could be anyone sitting inside the driver's seat.

The engine idles for a few seconds, before it comes to a stop. However, the driver doesn’t leave the truck to reveal himself. It’s up to you to make a decision. He’s surely already staring at you, as you stand there like a roach that’s staying still to avoid detection.

The speed of your steps towards the vehicle are about as fast as the pitter of your heart, increasing when you climb inside. You look in the backseat first, and indeed, there’s no one back there waiting to ambush you.

He’s staring at you, hands resting on either of his thighs, as if this wasn’t some sketchy meetup straight out of CSI, where the unsuspecting woman ends up wrapped in a tarp by the five minute timestamp. But he’s not giving you a look of malice or anger, it was the absence of emotion.

You fish out the envelope from your pocket, the deposit for his trouble, and then flash your phone screen, showing proof that you were the other text bubble responding to him. He takes the package and skims through the bills with his calloused thumb, giving a nod of approval.

If he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve locked the truck door by now and drove off God knows where. But he hadn’t. This ridiculous situation could be real after all.

He speaks first, revealing his weathered deep voice, with an accent you can’t locate. “Apartment or house?”

You take a few moments to process, shaking away the metaphorical cat that has your tongue. “It’s an apartment… Downtown, by the projects.” Your voice wavers slightly as you meet his callous gaze.

The ragged voice dripping with disdain, the eyes that look like they’ve witnessed it all, muscular arms that could choke you out in seconds, the insignia tattooed on his forearm, the small scars you can see around his eyes. You can only imagine how he looks under the balaclava tightly gripping his face.

You feel like it’s one danger stacked on top of the other—on the lam from an ex-lover, living in a chancy neighborhood, and now sitting in the car with one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever laid eyes on.

He closes off the envelope again, sticking the wad of cash into the cup holder. Next, he reaches into the center console, pulling out an ancient flip phone and a scrap piece of paper and pen.

“This is the burner phone you’ll use until our contract is up. No outside calls, no texting, and under no circumstances will you use your personal cell.” He has the phone outstretched, but won’t allow you to take it until you’ve nodded to reassure that you’re listening.

You flip up the screen, seeing only one number listed in the contact. No photos, no apps, nothing else. You stuff it into the pocket of your jeans, retrieving the paper and pen next.

“Write down your address, flat number, and cell. Everything we discussed before.”

You scribbled down all the info, cursing yourself at the awful handwriting before you. He doesn’t glance at your work, just hastily takes the items back and stuffs them into his pocket.

He then gives you a look of vexation, like you’re supposed to know what the next step in all this is.

With the tightening of his brow, he huffs and reaches across your lap, so close it makes you lean as far back into the seat as possible at the sudden proximity. His elbow is digging into your abdomen as he outstretches his arm toward the lock.

Click.

You jump at the sudden noise, despite the threat of him immediately harming you diminishing now that you have a possible escape. You’re not going to take your chances now, despite the fact that your address is folded in his pocket. Not your smartest decision, but neither was marrying the one that landed you in this situation.

You climb out of the vehicle, giving him one last glance before you shut the passenger door. There’s no going back now. You’re a few hundred dollars less, and a few hairs away from packing up and skipping town again.

You get inside your own car, turning the key to begin your drive home. His black truck tails you the whole way back, looking even more out of place in the sketchy neighborhood your apartment resides in.

When you enter the lobby, you gaze out at him through the window. He’s parked in front of the opposing building, probably trying to appear conspicuous. The landlord is sure to notice a “visitor” taking up your second parking space day by day. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s thought of every way for someone to flag his presence.

By the time you reach the stairwell, he’s behind you, following your path up to your apartment. When you reach the inside, it’s as if you’re seeing your own place for the first time.

The barren walls where you hadn’t bothered to tack anything onto, the pathetic looking sofa in front of your box TV, not to mention your kitchen—the counters and stove untouched. The only sign of life is little traces of you; your laptop, still open and displaying what you were last browsing, the laundry you hadn’t folded yet, not to mention the mess of luggage in the corner.

It’s obvious to him by now that you’re not here to stay for long, and there’s a palpable reason for him being here. No one lives like this by choice. That wasn’t his problem, though. He was your muscle, your already paid muscle, so what does he care about the disorderliness of your apartment?

“I cleared out the spare room for you. It’s not much, I know.” You turn the corner, revealing what was more of a broom closet than a bedroom. You’d put out an air mattress for him, as well as a folding chair to pose as a nightstand.

He doesn’t react, just gives the scene a glance, then moves on without you. He’s casing the place, taking note of the layout in his mind. The lack of grandeur would come in handy. Two exits—entrance and terrace, only a few small windows, and not many rooms for an intruder to hide in. This was nothing to him.

Once he’s finished his walkthrough, you’re both standing in the entrance again.

“I supply my own weapons,” he pronounces, giving the living space one more scan. You had noticed it by now, the holster on his dominant side.

His eyes instinctively come back to you as you fiddle with your fingers in apprehension, how you’re wearing a wedding ring, but clearly no sign of a lover with you.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation at hand: a woman fleeing from her spouse. But he knew there was more to this plight than just a hotheaded spouse. You weren’t the stereotypical battered woman he was expecting—no visible injuries, no cowering at the sight of his large frame, nor were you a petrified dear in the headlights.

He’d prefer it that way. Less strings attached, less drama, less chance of this job turning messy.

You force your nervous hands to your sides, noticing how he studied them. Though he was technically on your payroll, you felt you were in no position to question him.

He was actively standing in your apartment, had access to your information—it was a little late for cold feet.

—

“Did your husband strike you?” The officer questioned, not bothering to read the cues in front of him.

You hadn’t called them. It was your nosy neighbor, who somehow spent more time eavesdropping on your arguments than anything else. The icy concrete steps provide no comfort to your shivering legs as you’re perched on them, still in shock of it all.

“No, we were arguing,” you mutter, feeling overwhelmed by his grilling and the blue and red flashes lighting up the street. He hadn’t struck you. That was the truth. Why was it so goddamn difficult to tell the truth?

You felt this was all smoke. That the tension between the two of you would ease up after your place is swarmed with cruisers.

It should’ve been, at least. The serenity came and went as fast as the impatient officer. Instead of the previous dramatics of flying cutlery, it was hushed threats and holds on you that bruised where only you could see.

It was those evenings that you prayed for your nosy neighbor, or anyone for that matter to give you an out. No one did. He was too stifled, and too smart for that; the type of temper more disturbing than any man throwing violent punches.

You weren’t foolish. Things would get worse, you’d be completely dependent on him, and then dead before you had the chance to make an escape. You swore that wouldn’t happen to you—becoming a martyr for abused women. You weren’t going to be the next awareness story spread on social media.

Legalities were laughable, so you bailed. Packed up each of your belongings piece by piece, and bought the first plane ticket out of there. The leaving wasn’t the daunting part, like you’d heard before. No, it was the running—hiding away in your apartment, having to look over your shoulder in the checkout line, all of it.

Your husband’s wit was what charmed you in the first place. Then, it was his determination; it was jarring and never ending. But now, they were parts of him so potent they sent a chill down your spine. 

You weren’t going to cut and run without that damn persistence of his close on your tail.

—

You find yourself repeating the same routine. Laying there, staring at the water damaged ceiling above you, worrying endlessly about the road ahead of you.

Fate was something you once viewed as the reason for all the bullshit—the happenings already in place for you, sometimes ending in a lesson or a new chapter. It had to be fate, the way he’d find you eventually, no matter how much distance you make.

As you wandered out of your room, you rub the fatigue away from your eyes, steadying your view of the dim apartment. The carton nearly slips through your fingers when you see him lightly snoring in the armchair instead of his room. That was something you needed to get used to, that’s for sure.

He stirs awake, coming to attention immediately. You give him the pointless offer of something to drink, met with the rejection you were expecting. He remains there, hands folded across his chest in restlessness.

You flick on one of the shotty lights, which flickers constantly as it does a terrible job of lighting your kitchenette. You pull out a chair and take a seat at your table, rubbing your thumb along the glass in a soothing fashion as you take small sips from it.

It was becoming a pattern, long before you moved here. Gazing out at the shimmering stars in the sky, using them as a distraction from the chaos around you.

When you’d run out of tearful words, or the dread of what he’d do wouldn’t let them escape your lips—you look out the window at the stars. It felt sick to find solace in something that reminded you of him, but you did nonetheless. Your mind wasn’t plagued with remembrances—rather, it was deserted, as if its way of coping with the scars it still harbored.

The man sitting in your apartment knew that freeze all too well—the pause of total dissociation. The eyes of the person glossed over and expressionless. All he could do was hold his gaze on you as you sat at the table, unable to form any words of reassurance.

An intruder busts in, and his countermoves would be swift, precise, and lethal. Beyond the shadow of his nonchalance, he was a man yearning for the distraction of the night sky.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Stalking me, Stalking you(CSI Nick Stokes)

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count:  2,240 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part one of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama

Next

Sunday, 10:45 am

With your acquired piping hot morning cup of decaffeinated coffee, confined to the conveniently supplied to-go cup, you were ready to head out, to head back home and get the final chores finished before your mother arrived. Tomorrow could not come soon enough, it had been way too long since your mother last visited a few years back but this would be different. 

Dinner reservations had all but been confirmed. You were awaiting the relevant information as soon as your partner had it in his possession as he had insisted on handling this little task himself. This would be the first time your mother and he would be in the same room. It was rather nerve-racking as you hoped that nothing would go wrong and they'd get on like a house on fire.

Lost in your thoughts, as you wandered through the crowded little coffee shop, one that you had regularly visited twice a week over the past four years. You only saw the stranger coming once it was too late to prevent the collision. His shoulder knocked into yours hard enough to send you spinning and before you could react, your coffee flew out of your hand, spilling its dark content all over the tiled floor.

“Damn,” You said, mildly annoyed but knowing the popularity of your favourite coffee shop. There was always a chance that something like this could easily happen. It's just your turn. You would look back and laugh about this later with your mother.

“It’s my fault, sorry about that. Let me buy you another one” An unfamiliar smooth baritone voice spoke, catching her attention. You raised her gaze to meet theirs, ready to politely decline as after all, it was just one cup of coffee nothing to cry over. With a friendly, nonchalant smile upon your lips, you open your mouth to reply…

Monday, 9 am

Evelyn had never been truly comfortable flying but when her daughter had called around two and half months back with an open invitation and her airfare fully paid, she jumped at the chance. After sending one more message to both her daughter and husband, Evelyn boarded the plane.

Driving down had been an option, Evelyn had never been the most confident driver, especially over long distances. On those long lonely straits of road, she would always worry needlessly about every little thing, even if her husband had been along for the ride. Flying had been the only option since her husband was still not back from his fishing trip. An hour and a half was nothing, it would be over before she knew it.

Just before she turned off her phone, Evelyn checked one final time to see if either of them had replied. Her dear Bob had but her daughter had not. This hadn’t been the first message that she hadn’t responded to.

Evelyn had spoken to her the previous morning to confirm what time she would arrive at the airport so that she would be prompt to pick her up but after that, it was utter radio silence. This was hardly unusual due to the nature of her daughter’s job but this felt different. For her daughter was truly a creature of habit, always calling back if she had missed more than one call that day from either parent and replying to text messages by the next morning.

She had done neither of these as Evelyn had tried calling last night and once more before leaving this very morning. She even used the keypad to text carefully a goodnight message and the one before boarding. She preferred to call over using the messaging function on this newer model of phone that had been purchased as a Christmas present. Her family wanted her to try and keep up with the times and have a way of contacting them whenever she left the house.

It had been sweet though but it wouldn’t have been her first choice of present. She knew that her daughter worried about her, but then Evelyn deeply worried about her child’s safety especially since they had not lived in the same state for the last five years. 

All she could do was wait until her plane landed safely at Las Vegas Airport and the sight of that ever-infectious smile beaming from just beyond the barrier in the Arrival Hall. The pleasant image would be enough to get through the flight as she laid back in her seat, closing her eyes and relaxed as much as she possibly could.

An hour and a half flew past and Evelyn found herself standing in the right place with a suitcase in one hand and her purse dainty held in the other as her eyes scanned the crowd. She had checked the signage on the walks to ensure that she had gone in the right direction, as it was most definitely possible that the airport had more than one arrival hall in this terminal but this hadn’t been the case.

She had been walking up and down for the last twenty minutes, her eyes passing over each of the many faces staring back at her from the barrier. None of them were the ones that she had been expecting. This was strange as her plane had not been delayed and her trip through security had not taken long. Maybe her daughter had been held up in a traffic jam, yes that had to be it.

Evelyn made her way through the crowd, all whilst looking for a seat to rest and continuing to wait as she was certain that her child wouldn’t be much longer.  

Minutes ticked past, soon becoming tens of minutes and before long an hour had passed. Evelyn was concerned as her eyes had remained fixed upon the exit doors, watching as they opened and closed as people flooded in and out but her daughter had never stepped foot across that threshold.

With one hand, she fished out that dreaded mobile phone and swiftly dialled her daughter’s number. It rang for a few moments before being diverted to voicemail. Without hesitation, she spoke knowing that she had few options in a city where knew no one beyond her child. 

‘Sweetheart. It’s your mother. I’ve been at the airport for a little while. I know you are on the way and have likely been caught up in some dreadful traffic on the way here so I’ll get a taxi as I do have your address and you head home. I’ll meet you there

She placed the phone back in the depths of her purse before heading outside to find a taxi as seeds of worry and doubt blossomed into life.

Monday, 11:10 pm

Detective Captain Jim Brass had seen it all. There was not much that shook him to the core anymore, after all the years spent with all that he had seen with the ever-loyal team of hardworking CSIs that made up the graveyard shift. 

His officers were just as hardy as he was, well maybe a few were still green and somewhat naive but in time, they would be as hard as diamonds on the outside at least. Seated in his office, he was ready to burn the midnight oil when a quick succession of knocks alerted him to the presence of someone at his door.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, to summon them to cross the threshold and enter but this individual did not wait as the door was swiftly pushed open. He frowned, annoyed at this sudden intrusion but as his gaze fell upon the familiar face of Officer Rodriguez of Day Shift, a thousand questions rose erupted within his mind.

Why was he still here? His shift ended hours ago but yet he remained within the department. His pale and drawn face was far from the usual for this stern man who lived for the badge. 

“Sir, I’m sorry for just entering but I felt that you needed to hear this” His voice lacked its normal steady tone, it was similar to that of the many terrified fathers that he had encountered over the years. “I’m listening, Rodriguez” He patiently spoke briefly, to allow the man to find the rest of his words.

“My partner and I were called to the scene of a 406, from the information that we had received from dispatch just seemed like a run-of-the-mill job. However, when Sawyer and I rolled up at the address, it was far from ordinary”  

Jim watched on silently as the story began to unravel. “A distraught older woman was waiting outside the property for us, and quickly it was established that this was the mother of the individual that owned this unit” It was plain to see the professional nature waning as the officer continued to relay his report.

“The owner was discovered to be one of our own” As he heard the name, the cogs began to turn, as he tried to make sense of what had led to this but yet, he lacked the whole picture as if only a few matching pieces had found and place down upon the table, the jigsaw was slowly coming together. 

However, this still perplexed Jim, why was a simple burglary being hand-delivered to his door, unless there was more to this than a case of a stranger breaking into the home of a member of law enforcement and taking anything that wasn't nailed down. 

A small case that dayshift would need no assistance from either swing or graveyard but this didn’t feel as if they were reaching out for a fresh set of eyes to look over the evidence. He would bite and see where he ended up.

The memory of the morning still fresh lingered at the forefront of Rodriguez’s mind. It was hard to push aside as he relived each step, trying to see if he missed any detail. No matter how miniscule it initially seems could open doors down the line.

“She’s been paid leave for thirty-six hours as her mother was due to arrive this morning. Using a few vacation days left over from last year” He relayed the information readily to the younger man. A basic set of facts that most of the department was already aware of. She had been rather openly vocal about the pending arrival of her beloved mother. 

Each shift had been part of the active countdown that drove many mad but much like any other family, they took in on the chin and revelled at the sight of her excitement. Both men remembered the smile that never faded, it didn’t matter which end of her shift they encountered her, there it would be.

The years of service had not yet tarnished and hardened her heart, but it would come eventually. That one case that they could not get past, sleepless nights and a drive to find a way to justice that went above the call of duty. Jim had his, he knew that Rodriguez had his own.

The sight of Conrad Ecklie and the click of his office door closing behind the said man spoke volumes, this was not going to be good news in the slightest. “Sir, The Detective in question never turned up at the airport to pick up her mother and has not been seen since the morning before that”

Monday 11:20 PM

Nick held his phone as he walked through the station’s front doors, his focus transfixed firmly upon the tiny screen of the device. Still no message back but then again he wasn’t expecting her to answer straight away especially now that her mother was in town. He had the breakfast date to look forward to once he finished this graveyard shift.

Tomorrow was going to be his day with his girl, meeting up with her at their regular breakfast joint and then sitting down to dinner with her mother later in the evening. Nick would message her the details later on during his first break of the night.

Nothing could easily railroad this wonderful feeling, for the first time, in a long time things were going swimmingly with his love life. He never knew that these were famous last words, ones that would haunt him in the days to come.

As his eyes rose from his screen, he could not help but notice the scene in Brass’s office. Ecklie was a familiar sight, flitting in and out whenever the need arose but an unfamiliar Officer who should have clocked out hours ago, now that was unusual.

Catherine lingered in the hallway near the locker room, leaning into the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes trained upon the glass-walled office. “Evening” He greeted his dear old friend as he stiddled up beside her. “Do you know what’s going on?” He enquired curious to know if she had any insight into the strange situation.

“No, but I don’t doubt we’ll be in the dark for long. All I do know is that it’s do with one of the day shift’s newest cases” She replied, her curiosity had been piqued the moment that she entered ten minutes earlier.

In tandem, their phones beeped and the same text message was displayed on each of their devices. What a way to start a shift, Nick knew that he would have to tell about this in the morning.

FAMILY MEETING

[space-helen]

Overwhelmed

Words: 541

Pairing: Nick Stokes x Reader

A/N: I'll admit this isn't the bed thing I've ever written.

Request: May I please request some fluff and a hint of angst for Nick Stokes x reader (maybe wife or girlfriend)? Just pure softness after a case? - @perasperaadastrawriting

______________________

Walking into the house you plonked down your bag before slipping your shoes off and heading straight for the kitchen. 

You’d done overtime. The case had been intense and tedious but it was finished. Nick had left work before you, getting Greg to bring him home, leaving you the car.

Grabbing some water you let the cool liquid run down your throat before going to the bathroom. You moved through the bare minimums of your nighttime routine and walked to the bedroom.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Nick was sat upright in bed, he knew something was wrong when you didn’t go straight to find him or call for him once you got in. Usually he would also make the effort to come and greet you but Sam was fast asleep over his legs.

You just shook your head as you found your pyjamas. “It was just one of those cases.”

He nodded and pulled back the covers next to him for you to get in. Sam raised his head to greet you and you ruffled your fingers on the top of his head. Moving from Nick's lap to yours he raised his paw to your shoulder and leant in, as if hugging you. 

Petting the dog you sighed. “We bagged and tagged one hundred and fifty individual bullets from such a tiny scene, all from about eight different guns.”

The man turned to you, a slightly shocked expression on his face “and it was only you and Sara on the case?”

You nodded “Yeah. It was manageable but not that late into a shift.” you rolled your eyes and relaxed into the pillows more “I’ll get over it.”

“They could have at least shoved Greg and I on it to help after we closed ours.”

You shrugged “It is what it is. It’s done now.” sighing Sam pulled away from you and looked you in the eyes before turning to Nick.

“Bed.” he said gently and the dog obliged. Jumping from his space, down to his bed in the corner of the room.

The man silently stretched his arm towards you and brought you into an embrace, curling into him you allowed him to hold you close as he placed a kiss to the top of your head. 

You felt all of the muscles in your body relax, there was no comfort like being with your husband. You weren't sure when it'd started but you could feel a dampness on your cheeks, tears running down them for no real reason. 

"What's wrong?" Nick spoke softly as he peered at your face.

"Nothing, I guess I'm just a bit overwhelmed." You went to move your hand to wipe away your tears but Nick's hand got there first. Gently wiping them away.

"We all get those moments." He reassured you "you've seen me have plenty of them" He joked as he gave you an extra squeeze. 

Burying your head into his chest you let out a sigh “I’m glad I found you Nick.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

The two of you relaxed into bed further, you could feel the worries and tension from the day melting away, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms.

Tag List: (open)

CSI: @perasperaadastrawriting @penny4yourthoughtsxtmblr @kitbydesign

[xrubi-hillx]

Omfg my two nerdy husbands 🫶🫶🫶🫶

Imagine being in a love triangle with Spencer Reid and Greg Sanders

[laeska]

they're twins

they'd grown apart

but now

they're gonna take down their shithead husbands

together

*cue csi music*

[apicelladonna]

Love your art 🥰

Some jealous Albus/jealous Gellert headcanons?

Thank you so much! I love them to bits.

*cracks knuckles* Here we go: Albus/jealous Gellert headcanons!

Gellert 'What makes Albus Dumbledore so fond you' Grindelwald: aka someone talks to your SO what do you do?

It is on SIGHT. Confront-

He will squeeze himself into any conversation that bats an eyelash at Albus.

He will be loud I assure you, not in the fun way as he grills you in the topic you were discussing a few minutes ago with his significant other. Finding any openings he can get to show Albus talking to you isn't worth it.

Whilst his arm finding his way into Albus' waist.

Interrogation style, out of a CSI episode.

He will be petty so get ready for some really weird quips coming from a guy who never got his diploma-

When confronted on why he is behaving such, he will suddenly shut up and fume about other things.

how to win back: Honestly, Gellert's too easy- just Albus kissing him senselessly and a promise if he behaves like a good boy

(Gellert finds out about Nicholas Flamel and Albus' research and that's why he hates Paris-)

Albus 'I am not affected if ignore it with enough sugar' Dumbledore:

He will be polite, smiling through it. He will be more formal, creating a distance between him and the person of he is jealous of.

Might casually display his vast knowledge on a certain topic in the conversation subtly." "Oh yes, I've heard of (topic/person) I'm actually well acquainted with them" you don't realize you are infront of a jealous man until you are lulled in the corner of the conversation-

But he won't make much of a fuss because he really doesn't want any warrant attention :")

"Everything is fine, what do you mean?"

Passive aggressive until you figure out what was bothering him in the first place. He will let you self-reflect on it while he nestles himself into his armchair, a box of sweet treats that he had hidden somewhere Gellert couldn't find, reading a book or grading papers.

how to win back: a bit more difficult really, but Gellert woos him in the privacy of their study. Never tripping in his words as he assured his Albus that all of him was for Albus alone.

(When Albus first sees Gellert after so many years, in the newspaper, with the black hair witch confidante he has--he ate out his heart with so much sweets that his tooth hurt-)

Bonus for old married Grindeldore husbands (in another lifetime)

Gellert will still talk out your ears. Watch out peepaws out for you if you made Albus laugh??? While he literally hold hands with his husband.

"If you peck out Elphias Doge's robes, I will never disturb your firepit" to Fawkes one day.

Albus would just be too happy to watch Gellert fume about how much time he was talking to a colleague (it's literally Minerva-)

Subtle territorial markings ft. Albus' very bright purple scarf around Gellert's neck or a scratchy yellow sweater with Albus' initials-

In totality,

Share your own headcanons, I live for these two bastards (affectionately)

[hollygl125]

On the background of one Dr. Gilbert Grissom (a few further thoughts):

This is a note from my first story on my two favourite science nerds, and I’ve been meaning for a while to put it up here on Tumblr as meta. I’ve also added some additional thoughts at the bottom.

I’m sure almost anyone reading this probably has their own thoughts on Gil Grissom and his background, so I wanted to expand a little on what my thoughts on Grissom were when writing this, beyond what fit into the narrative. (I guess I should give a spoiler alert on this, but I assume anyone reading this has seen to the end of the first season of CSI: Vegas; consider that your spoiler alert for my comments in the last paragraph.)

Growing up in the era he did, and seeing his parents’ marriage when he was a young child (his mother later claimed she and Grissom’s father had never spent a night apart when he, her late husband, was still alive), I imagine a young Gil had at one time vaguely expected he would grow up, get married, and have the stereotypical nuclear family—because he would have thought that was just what one did.

Toward the end of his doctoral studies (which he apparently completes at the age of 22, though I don’t know if that’s after his August birthday in 1978 or before it in 1979), when he’s finally around enough people his own age, he meets a girl who likes him and who is nice to him, and he starts dating her, and he thinks himself in love—he just doesn’t know any better.

There’s no spark, but Grissom doesn’t recognize that. He’s also really into his studies and his other scientific pursuits, and they always take priority—science takes the pot. When the relationship with the girl ends, he isn’t upset. He still generally imagines some future family life for himself, though, because, again, that’s just what one does.

After his relationship with the girl ends, he tries to date occasionally, but his heart is never in it, and he’s very much just going through the motions. He doesn’t have any trouble getting dates if he wants them because, hello, he’s young Billy Petersen, and he’s a stone-cold hottie. He doesn’t even have to ask girls out. The liberated ladies of the 1970s (and on) are asking him out. Still, there’s never any spark on his side, but he doesn’t really get that; he still doesn’t know any better.

Plus, the science and now his job still always take priority; he loves them both. This is a self-perpetuating phenomenon because, as the things that really interest him take priority, his attempts at dating and anything even resembling a relationship (and I don’t imagine there being any other relationships of note, nothing longer than a couple of months, maybe, at maximum—and even then with him barely seeing the women) do not go well.

As a result, even more Grissom prioritizes science and work. So then the dating and any attempts at relationships go even worse; he’s really not into them, and his heart is still never in it; ultimately, they make him feel sad and disconnected from humanity. At the same time, due to all the horrendous things he sees on the job, his opinion of humanity is plummeting.

As this continues, he begins to think there is something wrong with him; he sees something inherently lacking in himself and how he is with other people, if he tries to get too close to them. He builds walls: barriers between himself and other people, barriers between himself and the rest of the world, barriers between himself and humanity.

Grissom’s earlier vague ideas of an eventual marriage and possible family fade out completely. He otherwise remains good-natured but detached. He fears being known. A shell grows around his heart. He still very occasionally goes out on a date or a few dates and maybe very, very, very rarely goes home with a woman, but at that point it’s all just to prove to himself that he’s made the right decisions and he’s not missing out on anything; it still leaves him feeling sad and even more disconnected. Things stay like this for quite some time.

Then, nearly twenty years into this process, after he is (in his own mind) truly a confirmed bachelor for life, he meets this young woman. Her beauty and her brilliance and her wit (I think he’d find her witty, given how much they seem to speak the same language and operate on the same wavelength) and all her other charms all hit him basically at once, almost simultaneously. For the first time in his life, he feels a spark, and she feels it, too. For the first time, he really cares about beauty.

But by this point Grissom has put up all these walls and grown this shell, and he’s fully convinced of his own ineptitude in relationships. So he has absolutely no f***ing clue what to do about it—this spark, this woman, this beauty. He feels like he’d be this inexperienced teenager trying to court the woman, because he’s never done any of this properly; he’s never actually cared about a woman like this before. He’s convinced that he would ruin any serious romantic relationship with the woman, that he’s just not good enough for her. And, the longer he knows her, the more convinced of her goodness he is.

For over seven years, Grissom has no real clue what to do. But then really, even though he seems to learn for a while, we could say that for seventeen and a half years he still doesn’t completely get it; he still has this underlying insecurity about his own suitability for love and relationships and marriage; he still thinks he’s not good enough for the woman. In the end, though, I think he gets it. He is fully obsessed with his wife (in the best possible way), and I honestly don’t think he gives a f*** about much other than her.

Now, if perhaps you want a reminder of the hotness of a young (’80s) WP, this is my favourite GIF. I also recommend you check him out as Richard Chance in To Live and Die in L.A., Russell Murdock (seriously, the DILFiest of all DILFs) in Amazing Grace and Chuck, and Stud Cantrell in Long Gone.

(This note complements what I describe in the third chapter of my first story, so I’d recommend checking that out If you’re interested in reading more!)

I have to admit that my ideas on Grissom’s background really were a “necessity is the mother of invention” kind of thing. I needed him to have a backstory that fit with my understanding of him from canon but that also got me where I needed to go in terms of the story I wanted to tell about him and Sara and their first meeting.

But I will also admit that I have very much drunk my own Kool-Aid on this matter; what was once an invention for storytelling purposes has very much become my own headcanon. The more I’ve thought about it, the more it makes sense to me. If Grissom had never even tried to be in a relationship, to date, etc. before Sara came along, he wouldn’t have been so resistant to it all. He wouldn’t have been so convinced of his own unsuitability, his own inferiority, his own unlovability. For that shell to have grown around his heart, something else has to have happened. He has to have gone through the motions. He has to have at least tried to put himself out there. He has to have tried and failed at least a little bit.

Anyway, that’s my opinion; your thinking may vary! ��