#every time someone asks about their head I have to decapitate

[nrd-answers]

what does it feel like when smth brushes against your exposed neck wires is it like a nerves situation or

NRD: No need to Worry. In faCt it’S someWhat reLaxing at times To Remove It

< Previous || First || Next >

[darkmatilda]

ׂ╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 1: first day of investigation

part 2 here!

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mental illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 4k

“And how's school?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“It could be worse,” said Jeremy after a moment, in an indifferent tone. You sighed, wondering if, as a teenager, you also answered everything, even more serious, open questions with vague remarks, driving the person asking how you were doing to frustration.

Answering that question, no, you didn’t do that. When you were a teenager, you didn’t have anyone who cared about you. Precisely for this reason that you practically tormented your brother with phone conversations, feeling immense guilt for leaving him with your parents. The same parents with whom you ultimately decided to cut off contact. You had never faced a more difficult decision — cutting them off or continuing a relationship that tragically affected your mental health? After each interaction with them, you felt weak, defenseless, insignificant, and above all, exhausted. It wasn’t even about your mother’s illness. They were just terrible people.

Your sixteen-year-old brother didn’t have that option. He had to deal with them until he turned eighteen and moved out. You regularly made sure he was okay. However, lately, you had the impression that his voice was becoming more and more devoid of emotion. Depressed. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Prentiss appeared right in front of you. She noticed you were on the phone, so to avoid interrupting you, she tried to convey something silently. With her thumb, she pointed toward the main deck of the jet. From the movements of her lips, you were able to read, “Hotch is calling everyone.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let this topic go,” you said again to your brother. You could imagine him rolling his green eyes. “I have to get back to work; I’ll call as soon as I have time. Don’t get into trouble and take care. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and noticed a smile on the brunette’s face. Together, you joined the rest of the team.

“I heard part of your conversation,” she confessed. “Don’t tell me you have a kid that you’re hiding from us?”

“Who’s hiding what from whom?” Morgan chimed in as he walked in, holding two huge cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Reid.

Prentiss nodded in your direction.

“Did you know that y/n has a kid?”

You nudged her.

“I don’t have any kids. I was just talking to my brother,” you explained briefly. You didn’t like discussing your family, even with friends. In fact, you were often accused of being too secretive.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Reid added, frowning. 

He, along with the rest of them, looked at you with mild surprise. You muttered something under your breath, shrugging. You felt a bit embarrassed that your family was the center of the discussion. You were saved from the awkwardness by your own boss.

“Can we start?”

JJ handed out the case files. As soon as you opened yours, you were met with an exceptionally graphic scene.

“ The bodies were discovered by someone from the forestry service, but according to the local police, anyone could have found them. It wasn’t hidden very carefully, as if someone didn’t care about it being discovered. A man and a woman, both decapitated. Before you ask, the heads were found in the same place as the rest of the bodies. Except for that, no serious injuries, just a few minor bruises and scratches. As if they were trying to defend themselves while they still could. “

No one spoke; the only sound was the turning of pages as the whole team focused intently on analyzing the photos. Your brows lowered in concentration, your entire face tense. Maybe you looked at things like this every day, but that didn’t mean it had become pleasant or that it didn’t disgust you. Sitting across from you, Reid was the first to speak.

“What do we know about the victims?”

At that same moment, as JJ spoke up again, you flipped the page and were met with two photos that looked like they’d been pulled from a social media account. Both people were alive, happy. The man was crouching next to a young boy who seemed to be pulling away, unwilling to be in the picture with his father. In the background, there was a garden, a tall white fence typical of American suburbs, and a slide. You barely stopped yourself from glancing at Hotch — he had a son around the same age, and this case might hit him particularly hard. The woman in the photo wore square glasses, with a cheerful, friendly gaze peeking out from beneath them. Round cheeks, a wide smile.

"Andrew Ward, 37 years old. He was one of the city councilors. He had a wife and one son, and he’d lived in this town his entire life. Then there's Jessica Larsen, the deputy mayor—she and her husband were both heavily involved in public life."

“A city councilor and the deputy mayor?” Prentiss repeated, thoughtfully resting her elbow on the arm of her seat. “Does anyone else feel like this could be some kind of score-settling? Revenge? Maybe from someone who was wronged by the city council over… I don’t know…”

"Higher bills," you said absentmindedly, blurting out the first thought that came to mind, immediately wincing at your own foolishness. You were still distracted by the conversation with Jeremy. You pinched your arm, trying to force yourself to focus on the case.

"Raising bills doesn’t typically drive people to murder," Reid corrected, pausing to glance at the files again. You never felt embarrassed when he pointed out your mistakes—he had a way of doing it so skillfully and politely. "Prentiss is on the right track; it could be revenge. Our UNSUB might hate authority due to some personal experience, maybe sees themselves as an anarchist, though it's hard to lean in that direction with so little information. Garcia, have you checked if the victims were connected in any way?"

The blonde woman on the laptop screen nodded.

"I��ve checked everything I could find about them, but unfortunately, I couldn’t uncover a single connection that might move the case forward."

Hotch raised a hand, stopping you from further speculation.

"That’s not all," he began, looking at each of you in turn. "Right after those two bodies were found, three more were discovered."

Morgan raised his eyebrows high.

"Five bodies? No wonder they called us in."

"And here’s where our biggest problem arises," your boss continued “Look at the photos. These three bodies were also decapitated but except for that, treated in a completely different way”

You turned the page again, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Other victims were killed with much more brutality, all covers in cuts and bruises. It was even hard to define their gender, but when you looked at the description you knew that this time, they were all women."Were two different people responsible for this?" Prentiss asked.

“Two murders cutting their victims' heads in such a small city?” spoke up Rossi, skeptically. 

"I don’t think it’s two different killers," you said hesitated, unable to look away from the photos. As you studied them, you absorbed every detail, trying to imagine the murderer inflicting these injuries. If anyone could have peered into your mind at that moment, they might have gotten serious PTSD. “Just…take a look at the wounds. There’s much more on these women and are visibly more brutal. But they look like they were inflicted by the same hand, the same person. The placement is often consistent," you noted. "How much time passed between the murders?"

“We haven’t gotten this information yet" said Hotch. "But based on my experience, I can say we’re looking at a matter of weeks."

You noticed that Reid was watching you closely. It seemed he was doing it unconsciously. When you sent him a questioning glance, he slightly blushed and immediately cleared his throat.

“I’m curious about what y/n said,” he admitted. It was clear to see the many calculations and analyses happening in his mind. This was evident in the increasing pace of his speech. “It really does look like the same person, but in different circumstances, perhaps influenced by different emotions. Maybe even with different motives. I realize the possibility of that is close to zero, but what if we’re dealing with a murderer with multiple personality disorder?”

A silence fell as everyone contemplated Reid's words. You made eye contact with him again — your tracks of thought began to overlap, your conclusions intertwining. Looking at his face, you felt, in a way, smarter and understood; it became easier to connect the fragments of ideas that had surfaced in your mind.

You shook your head.

 "No... I'm not sure. I understand what you're saying, but it seems to me that this isn't entirely true in our case. Your theory would suggest that two different personalities of our UNSUB committed these crimes, but in such cases, the crimes usually contrast more with each other. It's much harder to connect them, and here... I immediately noticed that this was the work of the same person."

Reid leaned in with interest over the table. Everyone seemed to look at you encouragingly, waiting for you to continue your theory. Yet you only took on a resigned, apologetic posture — nothing else came to mind. Any potential ideas felt too chaotic; some instincts accompanied you, but it was nothing you wanted to share out loud. You felt that they wouldn't help at all.

"We'll definitely know more after seeing the crime scene," Hotch stated, closing his files. With that, he ended the official discussion, giving you time to review the photos alone and think everything over one more time.

That’s exactly what you focused on for the rest of the meeting. You sat with one leg crossed over the other, a closed folder resting on your lap. You didn’t need to look at the photos anymore; you just needed to close your eyes and listen to your intuition. It definitely had something to say about this case. You just weren’t sure what…

Just before arriving at the scene, Hotch asked to speak with you privately. You couldn't hide it; you felt a bit anxious.

Maybe it was about your recent distraction. Of course, it was about your worry for your brother, but that shouldn’t have been an excuse; nothing should be distracting you. Or maybe he wanted to discuss something completely different, and you had just imagined this whole scenario in your mind. Knowing you and your tendency to overthink, both options seemed equally likely.

 "As I mentioned, y/n, I need to talk to you about something. It’s regarding your accommodation."

First, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious. Then, your eyebrows raised in surprise. Accommodation?

"There have been some issues with the hotel we’re planning to stay at," Hotch continued. "We couldn’t secure separate rooms for each of you. You’ve been assigned to share a room with Reid. If that’s a problem for you, we can always look for another place, but that would mean you'd be away from the rest of the team..."

“No, it’s not a problem,” you assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. You were relieved that the conversation didn’t involve any serious issues, just a trivial problem with the room. Besides, why would it bother you to share a room with Spencer? It was only for a few nights. "I was afraid you wanted to talk to me about something else," you blurted out.

“About what?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, nothing,” you replied quickly and somewhat squeakily.

Hotch smiled slightly at your reaction, but his gaze seemed to analyze you closely.

 Oh you idiot, why couldn’t you just shut up? you thought to yourself as you walked away.

*

The weather decided to play a trick on you.

 As you were driving to the crime scene, the waterfall was sliding down the windshield, almost making it impossible to see anything. In any case, there wasn't much to look at. After passing the main part of the town, you were surrounded only by forest — trees shimmering in shades of orange.

The view didn’t impress you much. You definitely preferred warm, sunny weather and lounging in the sun, rather than freezing every day after stepping outside and dealing with frizzy hair from the humidity. You liked the town better. It felt small and cozy, as if it were taken straight out of Gilmore Girls.

Prentiss was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, while JJ was your navigator. The boys took a different car.

“So,” Emily began, turning left at the intersection with her eyes fixed on the road. “You care a lot about your brother, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, sinking deeper into your seat. Why did she have to bring this up again? It wasn't that you didn't trust them; you just didn’t like talking about your family. It wasn't even about being ashamed — why dwell on unpleasant topics? Besides, as was well known, you were private. You had to be incredibly close to someone to open up, and even then, you didn’t lay all your cards on the table.

Together with JJ, they looked at you kindly and encouragingly. You acted like you were fascinated by what was behind the glass. Soon, you arrived at the crime scene. 

That means, before you reached your destination, you had to walk quite a distance into the forest. Since it was late October, the days had grown particularly short, and you could already see the first streaks of darkness between the enormous trees that seemed to watch you with their ancient gaze.

If you hadn't had the girls with you, you would have felt a thrill on your spine. 

The location where the bodies were found had been secured very thoroughly. Local police cars gathered there, and soon the rest of your team arrived. You glanced at your muddy shoes and made a mental note to start dressing more appropriately for the weather from tomorrow on.

The rain intensified. Emily pulled her hood tighter around her head. 

“Working in these conditions...'"

Her sentence was interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly tall man, somewhat resembling a bear. Long hair protruded from under his sheriff's hat, and he seemed to be about the same age as Hotch, with whom he immediately shook hands. 

“Agent Hotchner, we're from the FBI.'"

"Sheriff Russell” he introduced himself, pressing his hand to his forehead with concern. 'I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot. I can't believe anyone from this town could do something like this; I know these people and...'"

“Can we see the bodies?" you asked. It was getting dark, and you wanted to get as good a look as possible. There was something intriguing about this case that had unsettled you since the moment you first opened the file.

Without waiting for an answer, you and Emily moved toward the secured area. Despite the circumstances, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"God, I hate this chatter," she sighed in annoyance. "I know these people; they’d never do something like this," she mimicked the sheriff’s deep voice. "Neighbors of serial killers always say that. Someone can be polite in conversation and keep five bodies in their basement — it’s not mutually exclusive."

You stifled a laugh. 

"Don’t forget the how could he have done it? He always said good morning in the hallway!"

“Or about kids. Sure, he was killing small animals since he was four and had a knife collection, but deep down, he was polite! I can't believe he shot up half the school…”

Hotch appeared right next to you, so you cut her off with a firm elbow jab. You accidentally hit her in the ribs, causing her to let out a groan. This only intensified your incredibly inappropriate amusement. Your boss was standing so close, so you covered your mouth under the guise of a cough. 

In the next thirty minutes, the laughter faded away.

You began by examining the bodies of the first victims, in chronological order. These were the three brutally murdered women. The whole scene seemed to be waiting for your arrival. Not a single detail had been altered, making it easier for you to connect emotionally with the situation. Most of the profilers you knew were meticulous about keeping their feelings detached from their work. It was the only way to endure this job for more than a year without committing suicide. You applied that strategy yourself, but not entirely.

When investigating a case, you tried to imagine yourself in both the shoes of the perpetrator and the victims. Often, you would close your eyes, attempting to visualize and feel it all in vivid detail. To step away from pure theory and let intuition take over.

It was likely the reason that, for the past year since you started this work, you hadn’t imagined a day without at least one tranquilizer and a sleeping pill.

After thoroughly examining the first crime scene, you drove to inspect the next one. This time, the victims were two people connected to the city council. The previous victims had been a teacher, a former resident of the orphanage, and a social worker. When you learned this, a heavy feeling settled at the back of your mind. You were certain there was a connection between these victims.

"Let’s consider what drives the unsub to remove the victim’s head" Rossi suggested.

Before you could even define the meaning of the question, Reid rushed to answer.

"Decapitation is one of the most symbolic acts of violence. The head represents thought, intellect, and control. By removing it, the killer may be expressing a need to destroy those aspects. It could also be a form of humiliation, a metaphorical stripping of their power and authority," he explained in a slightly robotic tone, as if reciting from a Wikipedia entry.

You smiled subtly at the thought. He noticed and gave you a questioning look, which you chose to ignore.

“That would fit for the two later victims," Morgan said, resting his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "They were on the city council — the unsub might have felt he was stripping them of authority and power. But how does that apply to the others? A social worker, a teacher, and an orphanage employee?"

You fixed your gaze on your dirty shoes, Derek’s question echoing in your mind.

 What was it all about?

*

You’d forgotten your sleeping pills.

Once more, you searched your toiletries bag, where you usually kept them. Not a trace.

You pressed your lips tightly together, angry with yourself. Your sleep problems weren’t that serious — were caused mainly by overthinking and constant worry. You didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself in that regard. It was much easier to rely on the medication, and as long as it worked. Sometimes you forgot that you were even struggling with it at all.

“Is something wrong?” Reid asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Following Hotch’s words, you were sharing a room with him. “You seem upset.”

You shook your head dismissively.

“I just forgot something.”

Only then did you look at him. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. You realized it was the first time you’d seen him in such casual, everyday clothing. He usually wore shirts, blazers, and vests — somewhat grandpa-like, but you thought it suited him well.

You realized you had been staring at each other in silence for quite some time. To break the awkwardness, you cleared your throat and decided to return to one of the exhausting topics.

“There’s something strange about this case. You know, I’ve thought a lot about your theory regarding personality disorder, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Aside from the fact that it’s very, very rare, it’s just… my intuition doesn’t agree with it. I hope I don’t sound like a shaman. 

Spencer bursted out and sat on the edge of his bed. In your room, only the standing lamp illuminated the space, casting a dim orange light around. Despite that, you could see the thoughtful expression on his face.

“We once dealt with a case where the unsub was struggling with that very disorder. He was abused as a child and developed a separate personality, Amanda, who harmed men similar to his abuser,” he shared in a quiet, less confident tone than the one he used on the jet. He must have been tired after a long day at work, and like you, frustrated that you hadn’t found anything.

Above all, the circumstances were different. Your conversation had shifted to a more personal level, concerning two friends rather than coworkers. 

“Do you see any similarities between these two cases?” you asked, intrigued since you had never dealt with a similar case yourself.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “At one time, I read a lot about that disorder. There was another instance where we had an unsub who…” he trailed off, a visibly tense expression crossing his face.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassured him. You didn’t know what was bothering him, but it was clear he regretted bringing it up at all. You had never been one to push for more; you often felt uncomfortable with certain topics, and you were incredibly grateful when someone recognized your withdrawal and changed the subject. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks” he whispered. But I think there’s something to your intuition. This whole case is exceptionally peculiar.”

““Well, you can call me a shaman now. By the way, are you planning to go to bed already?”

“And you?” he replied with a question of his own. “Actually, I’d prefer to read for a while, but I don’t want to disturb your sleep…”

Your broad smile clearly surprised him.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to spend some time with a book too”

In fact, it didn’t stem from your desires at all. You loved reading, but your brain was usually too tired for it in the evenings. However, you were aware that falling asleep would take you an unusually long time, and you preferred to make use of that time rather than stare at the ceiling.

You pulled out the only novel you had brought, Kafka on the Shore. You were about halfway through. Then you remembered you had meant to call your brother, but when you glanced at the clock, you realized that due to the time zone difference, it was already late at night for him. You sighed with a pang of guilt. You promised yourself you would do it tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said when you both agreed it was finally time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, shaman” he responded. 

You smiled in your pillow. 

part 2?

[balrogballs]

"Bilbo had assumed accusing an elven lord of Tookishness in his own house would result in swift decapitation and not a decades-long camaraderie that both parties truly cherished, but it seemed that in this regard too, the Lord of Imladris defied expectation."

The Peculiar and the Deranged: Moments between Bilbo Baggins, Elrond Peredhel, and the most unprecedented friendship in Middle-Earth, under the cut!

(aka this friendship wasn’t leaving my mind so I wrote this on my phone and drew this with the 3 pencils I had on a train because I’m incapable of being normal about anything)

on Bilbo's first visit to Imladris, featuring Estel's pet snake:

"You had a rat?" Bilbo blinked, hoping Elrond wouldn't notice the snake he was glaring at had initially been curled around his own neck. "Sir."

"I did not have a rat," corrected Elrond imperiously, looking every bit the lord of the valley. "I would never have a rat, I do not approve of rats. My daughter had a rat. Lothinvar, it was called, the bane of my household. Until this terrible creature wormed its way in. The snake that is, not the child, though Estel is not in my good books at the moment either."

on the return journey, after the death of Thorin Oakenshield:

"What can I do? How can I ever move past this?" Bilbo asked quietly, unsure why exactly he was pouring his heart out to a being six thousand years older than him, who must have faced far greater sorrows.

"Grief," Elrond replied, staring intently at him, "tricks you into thinking it’s all you have left. As though if you let it go, even for a moment, you betray him. You hold onto relics like lifelines, thinking what else is there to keep Thorin alive in your mind? It is a lonely life, Bilbo. It will turn you into the loneliest person in the world."

"Is there no way out?" he gasped, looking up at the elf.

"Start small. A smile, perhaps, when you think of a joke he made," Elrond said steadily, like he was reciting a recipe. “And then, try telling someone about him. Perhaps you could tell me. Something new each time you visit, perhaps.”

“You say it like you have experience of it, sir,” ventured Bilbo. “Like you know it by-heart. Did you get past it?”

“I did,” Elrond’s voice was confident, too confident. Bilbo chose not to probe.

"Thorin's nephews?" Elrond asked later, after Bilbo had gathered himself together, mopped himself up. "They were slain too? Both?"

"Yes, both."

"That is good," Elrond had said with a blank, intense smile etched into his features. "That it was both at once."

"What?" Bilbo sat up in shock, spluttering. "Good? What is wrong with you?"

"Were they not twins? Thorin's nephews I recall were twins, no?"

"Brothers. But what difference does that make? What do you mean good? I beg your pardon, my lord, that's an unhinged thing to say!"

"Oh. I am sorry, Bilbo," Elrond shook his head, the awful, blank expression still on his face. "I am sorry, I spoke without thinking. It is only that I had thought they were twins. Do forgive me, I misunderstood, and spoke out of turn."

"Don't worry," Bilbo sighed, finding to his own surprise that he could manage a laugh. "With names like Fili and Kili, it's frankly a surprise they aren't."

He still thought it was a rather unhinged thing for Elrond to say, but, well — Bilbo Baggins had always been fond of the peculiar and the deranged.

on a visit to the Shire, sharing burnt scones

"Cel was — is — remarkable. She had an exceptional appetite for burnt bread: she would go into the kitchens and instruct the staff to deliberately burn sweetbreads, just because she loved the crunch, apparently."

"She sounds like a Shire lass through and through."

Elrond laughed, shaking his head: "I am certain had I brought her to visit, she would never leave. Though she is not made for the rustic life. A total terror of any creature on four legs. The first time I spotted her she was in a garden, standing on the bench screaming, because she had seen an enormous beetle scuttling around the grass."

"Oh, so it was a damsel in distress situation, eh?"

"Quite the contrary," he admitted. "She threw a pair of gardening scissors right at my head, and called me utterly disgusting for the crime of allowing beetles to exist on my property, and threatened to cut off my hair with the same scissors if she ever came across another one. And mind you, this is Celeborn's daughter, and that soul would have married an Ent if Galadriel hadn't come around."

"Well, that truly is a surprise! Did she not even like dear Arwen's little rat?"

"Oh, you remember the rat!" Elrond's eyes shone, genuinely delighted. "If I remember right, she paid our boys to get rid of it and told Arwen she had sent it to, well, your people."

"I will be certain to invent an illustrious Shire-based family tree for the rat, if your Arwen ever gets around to asking."

on a Yule visit, when Bilbo forwent self-preservation, featuring the same snake:

"Oh, it was not I who named the snake after the Mariner, it was my… other father."

"That's impressive, sir. Quite bohemian."

"One would wish," Elrond muttered darkly, pouring himself more wine, as if all the talk of snakes had driven him to drink. "Estel is friendly with Maglor, who along with Maedhros, raised my brother and I. And I had banned all talk of pet snakes until Maglor showed up last year with a present for Estel: his very own snake named Gil-Estel, which they both insist has nothing to do with the Mariner and is simply a play on the child's name. Which I would have believed, if Maglor did not also own a remarkably ugly cat named Thingol."

"When they say you are Half-Elven, Lord Elrond," Bilbo blurted out, after a short, surprised silence. "Do they mean the other half is merely mortal man, or…?"

"Yes, the other half does indeed refer to mortal men," blinked Elrond in surprise, looking something other than perfectly composed for the very first time. "Do you… suspect otherwise?"

"Oh, I was certain there was a bit of Hobbit somewhere. Just your life, you know, your family, all of it," he waved his hands about the valley. "It's a little… well, Tookish."

"What in the world is a Took?"

on a midnight wander in Minas Tirith on the morning of Aragorn’s wedding to Arwen

When Bilbo came across the figure sat on the steps, he was ridiculously old and his memory even more ridiculously ragged, so he didn’t know why it was that he thought, reflexively, it will turn you into the loneliest person in the world. He didn't say a word though, only reached out a hand and sat beside the figure. Elrond didn’t say a word, only grasped the offered fingers so tightly Bilbo's knuckles turned white, held on as he shook. When it passed, he looked away and apologised, sniffing. "Forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to get melancholic, especially not on a day of such joy. I —"

Bilbo cut across him, too old to deal with the elvish tendency to be completely insufferable.

“How did you get past it the last time? With your brother?”

"I have one of the longest memories in this land, yet I cannot truly remember this one thing," the elf smiled bitterly, tapping his nails on the stone steps. "I slept, I think. A lot. I shrunk out of the world until the sheer pain of it no longer clawed at me. But I cannot do that, Bilbo. Now, I have duties, responsibilities. I have kings to oversee, a valley to hand over and a people for whom I must keep up something of a brave face. There is no longer any room for the small death I was permitted last time."

Elrond sighed. "You must think I am terribly privileged, or that I have too grandiose an idea about my place in this world."

"No, I was just thinking how unfair it is," said Bilbo quietly. "So unfair that for you there is a last time and now a this time."

Elrond, in tears again, was looking at him with an almost obscene gratefulness, as if Bilbo had done him some enormous kindness and not something any friend would do, looked at him in a way that made the hobbit think again, inexplicably, the loneliest person in the world.

“I’m sorry,” said the lord, catching his friend’s expression. “You should not be h-“

"Shut up," Bilbo huffed, looking truly offended, rolling his eyes. "You're insufferable, do you know that? Stop acting like you've jumped off a damned cliff before my eyes, Elrond. I'm starting to think elven history would have been a lot less bloody and tragic had more of you — and I mean that Fëanor, mainly, but the rest of you too — appreciated the value of a good cry. Emotional constipation is just as bad as the real thing, you know. And you can be sure I'll tell old Fëanor that to his face when I see him."

Elrond blinked, then laughed. "Oh, Bilbo, I am glad you found your way back to Imladris this year, I truly am."

"And I, in turn,” Bilbo found himself saying, cursing the fact that his memory decided to make its wondrous reappearance that night. “Am equally glad our mutual friend Aragorn tried to bribe me to put his pet snake in your office that very first day."

on a ship in the sundering seas, far too early

"Suffering from a spot of morning sickness, are we?"

"My apologies, Bilbo," Elrond stumbled back into Bilbo's cabin from the privy, looking only slightly less green than he had when he left it. "Please do not make any sudden movements."

"I am only pleased that you and I are now such intimate friends that you feel comfortable enough to throw up your breakfast in my bathroom. Maybe you should come around and do it every morning to wake me up, like the world’s most useless cockerel."

"It was not by choice, as you very well know," Elrond muttered, downing a swig of ground herbs and honey from a bottle in his pocket. "My mortal heritage does, unfortunately, mean there are some weaknesses to the constitution. Perhaps this is why it was Elros who took ship for Numenor and not I."

"Well, that, and you couldn't resist micromanaging six thousand years of Middle-Earth now, could you?" chortled Bilbo, settling down in a plush chair and laying his walking stick by his side. "Mortality is all well and good, but heaven forbid you lose a chance to develop domestic policy over the continental grain trade. Besides, and I don't want to be the one who brings it up, but…"

"Elbereth, what now?"

"Your father was known as the Mariner, you know," Bilbo snorted. "As in, the seafaring sort, no? It would truly be such a shame if someone were to… write a poem about the mis-inheritance of seasi—"

"Write that poem, Bilbo Baggins, and I will personally petition Ulmo to turn you into seaweed."

in the house of Elrond in Aman, with the chattiest woman Bilbo has ever encountered (which is saying something)

"I only burned that layer because you made me do it, mind you. You really are as remarkable as he said you were," Bilbo blurted out as she picked out pink sugared biscuits with a dark crust that he knew to be from burning. He had even spread jam on them for a second layer of sweetness. "Mad and irritating, to be frank, but remarkable. I am truly glad to know you, Celebrìan — not as Elrond's wife, but, well."

He gestured at her weakly, meant the peculiar and the deranged. She understood.

"Yes, I do pity all the folk that know me as Elrond's dead wife," she wrinkled her nose, sitting down by him and grabbing a second burnt biscuit. "And considering my poor husband's approach to grieving, and all the laments Lindir said he's made him compose, that is what most end up knowing me as. It is quite a pity, I am as you say, delightful. Oh, Bilbo, this is amazing! So wonderful, I didn't think pastries could be this sweet!”

"No, not when your cheapskate of a husband is in charge of the rations," he said in a carrying whisper. "In the Shire though, we know how to live."

"Who are we referring to as a cheapskate then?"

"The elf who implemented a sugar tax in his valley," said Celebrian dryly. "You may know him. Have a biscuit!"

"I would truly rather nail myself to the birch," he said dryly, picking up a piece of bread. "I do not get the logic behind oversweetening victuals. Impractical, unnecessary."

"Oh," Celebrían clapped her hands to her mouth. "Of course! The Lord Elrond grew up amidst the War of Wrath! Surely, he has not mentioned that to you, has he? He never does!"

"Ah, that he was raised in military conditions by a couple of kinslayers?" chuckled Bilbo. "No, not at all. Not once. He certainly never brought it up in our first ever conversation. Should we ask him to expand?"

[g0dwat3rwritings]

How's about head cannons for the bishops + the Lamb

𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲!!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 (𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧)

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛

The Lamb has a habit of making dirt balls and throwing them at Narinder for fun.

This is practically canon and no one can change my mind.

Also, depending on when you come in the picture, they will leave little love notes for you.

The funniest part about the letters is that they don't leave a signature, they just write 𝐁𝐚𝐚𝐚 and you know it's them.

Despite being a lamb, they have the ability to watch people like a hawk.

And by that, I mean they have an incredible attention span, as weird as it may seem.

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚

Shamura sews. A lot.

They could, and would, remake the entirety of all the bishops outfits by themself.

When they read, if you're in the picture, they prefer to have you sitting on their lap instead of at their side.

As odd as it may seem, kisses from Shamura are the best.

Shamura counts doors and windows when they're bored.

They'll go around their temple and count every door and every window.

𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫

Kallamar loves to dance but is far too scared to perform in front of anyone, that includes his siblings.

He can draw, and well.

He'll sometimes wander into his siblings territories and draw what he sees.

Once you come into the picture, he has a habit of drawing you.

And pretty quickly, his sketchbooks become full of drawings of you.

Of course, he would only show you them if you asked, but besides that, you're never seeing them.

𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

He bites The Lamb, a lot.

And it's not on purpose, it is a purely subconscious thing. And it's not a kinky thing either.

When you come into the picture, he is all over you.

Kisses and hugs galore. In private, of course.

He pouts when you have to leave, like. literally pouts.

Depending on how long you're gone, he'll be stubborn and pouty until he gets some sort of reassurance that you're not planning his demise.

𝐇𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐭

She needs help to change her bandages, she can't do it on her own.

There's been times when she's croaked and it hurt her throat badly to the point she didn't talk for the rest of the day.

Leshy also laughed at her for it and she beat his ass 🧍‍♂️

She has a habit of kissing your throat lightly.

Not your neck, under your chin where your throat is.

Cuddles are a must for her, obviously in private, but she's in need of a little love.

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐲

Leshy, being the Bishop of Chaos, is.. well.. chaotic.

He will bite your ears out of nowhere and feel zero (0) shame.

His branches wiggle when he's happy.

If he gets extremely excited or extremely happy, there's a possibility they'll fall out.

And when they do, he'll just be dramatic and stare at the branch on the ground like someone's decapitated head just rolled toward him.

He will pick you up and you have no choice in the matter.

[hexologh]

ΉΣX — “ If dangerous why friend shaped? ”

BY : HEXOLOGH

Sun Wukong, Six-eared Macaque, Azure, Tusk and Peng reacting to you telling them your a Pixiu.

(Pixiu is a mythical hybrid creature with the body of a lion, the head of a dragon, and wings.)

˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ 🌟🐵 ₊˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐔𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐆:

So that's why you karate-chopped him into a mountain when he tried to scare you for a prank. Makes so much sense now.

You’re casually like, "Yeah, I’m a Pixiu." And he’s just staring at you with a blank expression, still processing the fact that you broke four of his ribs with one slap, and you barely even noticed.

“I mean... not everyone gets smacked through a mountain on their first date... But hey, no biggie, right?!”

He’s laughing nervously while secretly holding his ribs.

But, plot twist, this only makes him like you more. Wukong is head over heels for how badass you are. In fact, being a Pixiu just cranks up the dial on his simping by 1000%. Expect an endless stream of over-the-top, cheesy pick-up lines.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“Are you saying I’m Satan?”

“Uh—😨… no?”

Oh, but wait, it gets better. The minute you start doubting your horns, wings, or tail, Wukong is on you like a PR campaign. He’s already giving you a pep talk while admiring every single feature.

“You’re telling me you don’t think your horns are gorgeous? Horton hears a lying ass bi—”

If you try to hide your wings, he’s instantly pouting. He’ll say stuff like, “But they’re so cool! Why would you hide those?!” He’s so fascinated by all your Pixiu traits that his eyes start sparkling like a fanboy.

If you keep them visible, though? Oh, he cannot stop staring. His tail’s wagging, legs swinging, head resting on his hands while his eyes follow your wings around like he’s hypnotized. It’s borderline embarrassing.

One time you caught him just absentmindedly trying to groom your tail like it’s his. He immediately stopped, awkwardly laughing, “Uh, force of habit?” Sure, Wukong.

He's so interested about your stories since your older than him—Wait...You have a criminal history..?

Oh!

....

Hey..

A...Answer the question....

..HEY WHERE ARE YOU GOI—

˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ 💜🙉 ₊˚ 𝐒𝐈𝐗-𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄 :

He’s surprised, but at the same time, not really? I mean, let’s be real. The first time the two of you met, you elbowed him so hard that his head made a crater in the ground.

“Wait—you’re a Pixiu?” Macaque says, blinking.

“Yeah. What did you think I was?”

“I mean, I knew you weren’t normal, but a Pixiu? That explains the permanent dent you left in my skull.”

Not that he's complaining. In fact, even though you introduced yourself by nearly decapitating him, it might be the closest thing to a love story he’s ever had. Macaque is the type of emotionally-damaged guy who equates physical damage with affection. Yeah, he’s a mess.

Poor monkey, lettuce pray for him 🙏🏼.

What really makes him melt, though? Your tail. If you two ever sit close, Macaque will wrap his tail around yours, and it’s the cutest thing ever. It’s so natural for him to do it, and he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until you do.

“Uh… Macaque? Your tail.”

He glances down, sees them tangled together, and casually says, “Oh. Right. My bad…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Or maybe it’s not.”

He tries to play it cool, but deep down, he lives for that tiny connection. His love language is physical touch and acts of kinda violent service, so expect him to drag you into playful sparring matches constantly.

Fighting with you helps him relax. You both get to blow off steam, even if he limps away with a broken leg afterward. “So worth it,” he grumbles, giving you a smug grin through his bruises.

“Oh? You’re still standing? Guess I went easy on you.”

“You’re on crutches, Macaque.”

“Details.”

One of his favorite things is getting to ask you for wisdom since you’re older and wiser. Sometimes it’s serious, and other times… it’s not.

“So, what should I do if someone’s annoying me?”

“Punch them in the throat.”

“Good advice.”

But when it comes to your temper? He learned his lesson the hard way—when you punched a deity into the stratosphere for joking about hurting his feelings. Never again.

Since then, he makes absolutely sure you’re happy. He knows not to even joke about upsetting you, because if you get mad? That’s a one-way ticket to Oblivion.

Never again ....

˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ 🫐🦁 ₊˚ 𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍:

He perks up immediately when you tell him you’re a Pixiu. It’s like his lion brain short-circuits for a moment—eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped. Then, he gives you that noble, dignified smile he’s known for.

“Oh really? That’s exciting! I’ve read about your kind, but to meet one…”

You know he’s about to start gushing.

He’s not just curious—he’s obsessed. You’re a rare being, and Azure is the kind of guy who appreciates rare and powerful things. He’s practically asking for a Pixiu 101 crash course.

“Tell me everything—do you guard treasures? Can you summon storms? How many mountain ranges can you break in half?”

You blinks slowly with a neutral expression, “I mean, I once broke a boulder with my face.”

Azure is swooning, “Magnificent..”

If you ever feel self-conscious about your wings, tail, or horns, don’t. He treats them like royal artifacts. He might even get you a personalized grooming set for your horns. He's noble but extra.

Azure’s #1 Rule: Never let anyone disrespect you. If someone so much as looks at you funny, he’s already plotting their demise. "They don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“Azure, calm down—”

“I am calm.”

—Says Azure, who is ready to wage war.

He’s also super down for showing off his own lion mane in exchange for some wing flexing. "Let me know if you need help grooming your wings. I am, after all, quite experienced with luxurious hair."

˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ 🎗️🐘 ₊˚ 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋��𝐖 𝐓𝐔𝐒𝐊

When you drop the Pixiu bomb, Yellowtusk doesn’t react in a flashy way. He’s the most chill out of the bunch. He’ll nod thoughtfully, like he’s piecing together a puzzle that suddenly makes sense.

“So that explains how you broke that solid gold staff with one hand.”

“Wait, you noticed that?”

Tusk; casually sipping tea, “Of course. It was a decent staff too.”

He doesn’t say much, but you can tell he’s quietly impressed. He may not get all up in your business like the others, but when you two are alone, he’s soft.

He’ll sit with you in silence, enjoying the peace—because really, he’s not about the chaos the others tend to bring. Plus, he loves listening to your stories about ancient times, nodding here and there, occasionally offering a small smile.

If your wings ever get tired, he’ll immediately notice and offer a massage with zero hesitation, “You overworked yourself again, didn’t you?”

He’ll never say it, but he lowkey loves it when you flex your strength—especially when it comes to defending him or others. But when you do, he’ll just give you a simple, understated compliment.

“Impressive. As usual.”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ 🏅🪽 ₊˚ 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐆:

Peng nearly drops his weapon when you casually tell him you’re a Pixiu. His initial reaction? A tsundere mess.

���Hmph, so what if you’re a Pixiu? Not like it’s a big deal,” he says, crossing his arms and looking away with a dramatic huff. His face is 90% red though.

But underneath that "I don’t care" exterior, you know he’s mentally screaming. You just became 10x cooler in his eyes, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. He’ll act like he’s not impressed, but you’ll catch him sneaking glances at your wings, especially when you stretch them out.

“Hey, stop staring.”

“I-I’m not staring! Why would I stare at you?!”

If you fight together, Peng gets super excited, pushing you to unleash your full power.

“I bet you can’t even keep up with me,” he teases. But deep down, he’s hoping you obliterate whatever enemy you’re facing in the most brutal, glorious way possible. When you absolutely wreck shop, he’ll just smirk and say, “I knew you had it in you.”

But if anyone else even thinks about crossing you, Peng’s temper flares.

“What did you just say about them?!”

You might be a Pixiu, but Peng still sees himself as the one who needs to protect you. Not that you need protecting, but it’s cute seeing him get so worked up about it. He’s the type to yell at your enemies while you’ve already knocked them out.

He'll also make snarky comments but immediately regret it when you flash your fangs at him.

“You’re terrifying,” he says with a blush.

“You like it.”

He turns away with an awkward cough.

"S-shut up."

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Could you write a spicy thing with a villain and hero who’ve been fighting for a long time and basically see each other as friends or friendly rivals at this point, and the villain starts trying to flirt, expecting the hero to just brush them off, but the hero flirts back— like, really well— and it’s agonizingly (sexually) tense for a moment and then the hero just snatches the moment away with a joke and a wink, leaving the villain dumbstruck?

Very specific I know— it is absolutely okay if you don’t want to do it, no pressure!! I love your writing style <3

"Oh my god," the hero gasped. Their lungs burnt from the fight and they needed to put their hands on their knees as they took in greedy gulps of air. Sometimes, they asked themselves why they had chosen a job which forced them to do physical activities. What an actual nightmare. "That was..."

"Unexpected, yeah." The villain next to them looked down at the bodies and they seemed fairly unimpressed. They were completely calm, not even breathing heavily. They had been efficient and the hero would've found it unfair if the villain wasn't so nice about it.

"Unexpected? I thought we were gonna die." Slowly, their body calmed down. Their racing heart found a rhythm even the hero could agreed with. Their gaze turned to their nemesis whose eyes were basically glued to the hero. At times, the villain looked at them like they were the centre of the world but the hero figured, they did that to everyone every once in a while, just to freak people out.

"I thought no one was supposed to be here," the hero said. The mission, in its entirety, was rather simple: break into the facility to steal documents and get out alive. The team-up was spontaneous. Months ago, the hero would have been suspicious but now, the villain was rather an annoying friend they disagreed a lots with than someone they wanted to decapitate.

"That was the plan." The villain tilted their head and closed their eyes, as if they were trying to gather their thoughts.

"We need to be more careful," the hero said. "Security seems to be more intense than we thought."

"Nothing we can't handle." The villain shrugged. "You're bleeding."

"Wha—?" The hero followed the villain's gaze and, indeed, there was a huge cut in their biceps. The hero hadn't noticed it, hadn't even felt any pain. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, they could see this being a problem.

"Sit down."

"I'm okay," the hero answered.

"You're not okay and I won't catch you if you fall over. Sit down." The hero rolled their eyes and (reluctantly) sat down. Immediately, the villain was on their knees and held the hero's arm, observing the injury. Luckily, they had thought of bandages which was something the hero never did. They wondered if they should start carrying those around with them.

"You're being dramatic." The villain's hands worked fast as they bandaged the hero's wound. It hurt more than the hero wanted to admit. Whenever the villain was a little too harsh, they swallowed a groan. "It's just my arm."

"Yeah and in an hour it's just your pretty face." The hero stared at them. Admittedly, their face felt quite hot. Suddenly, they were all too well aware of the proximity between them. The villain's fingertips were warm and they were gentle, despite the raging pain the hero endured. The villain was kind and funny. They cared enough to make the hero greedy for more.

Someone they could give everything, the good and the bad. The hero wished they could be that person for the villain and vice versa.

Was it a sarcastic comment, though? Or did the villain mean it? Did they really think the hero was pretty? And not this broken thing that needed help? God, the hero sometimes really felt like they weren't anything more than a burden. Even back then, the villain had done most of the work.

"I don't have a problem with that," the hero answered quickly. "If it means that you'll be on your knees for me again."

The villain stopped and looked up. Their eyes found the hero's before they dropped down to the hero's lips. Shy. The hero had managed to make the villain shy. Even though the villain had always tried to portray someone heartless and cold, they were blushing now and the hero's heart was beating so loud, they feared the villain could hear it too.

Sometimes, they wished they weren't enemies. Sometimes, the hero hoped they could trust the villain forever. But they knew that was a dream and they were scared of the day when it turned out that the villain would betray them.

"I-" The hero watched them swallow.

God, they wanted to kiss them so bad.

"We should go," the hero said. They forced a smirk and winked. "I doubt the documents will fly away but you never know."

"Oh...yeah..." The villain watched as the hero stood up and for the rest of the day, they seemed rather distracted.

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 2 Part 1 (2/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

IANTHE TRIDENTARIUS

Her number one hobby is ruining every person's that she knows life. Her second hobby is being soooo slutty about it despite looking like a literal wet rat. Her third hobby is having an extremely unhealthy relationship with her twin. Her other hobbies include cannibalism, wearing a maid outfit, being extremely convinced she is the main character, the badboy sexy love interest and the villain. 'Why', you may ask. Well, the answer is, for shits and giggles #justgirlythings i, aswell as literally everybody else in the fandom have gone through the pipeline from hating her to desperately wanting to fuck her. expect for i still fucking hope she dies and doesn't come back for good. (that would literally solve all of everybody's problems) as god intended (EXPECT FOR. one of her hobbies literally is gaslighting god) She is fucking horrible i will love her until i die and even after that

parks and recs jean ralphio voice she's the woooorst!! The moment she learns she has to kill someone to become a Lyctor (aka a more special necromancer), she doesn't hesitate to kill and cannibalize the guy who has been her cavalier since childhood… cavalier who she also totally bullied as kids, she was allowed to choose one guest for her and her twin sister's birthday party each year, and she would always pick whoever she thought her cavalier didn't want to see there! While other characters are shown to regret the process of becoming a Lyctor (which involves someone close to them dying)/were forced into it because of circumstances, Ianthe has absolutely no regrets, she believes she did what she had to do

The author once said of Ianthe: "I don't think she's been nice to anyone, if she has I'll go back and change it." She killed and ate the soul of someone she has known all her life so that she could become a necromantic saint and tormented him plenty before that. General negging, ganging up against him, always inviting people he didn't like to their birthday parties. She doesn't regret killing him. I think she is repulsed by the idea that his digested soul is affecting hers. She helped her crush lobotomise herself so she would be in Ianthe's debt, and later lied and said she didn't see the corpse of a woman her crush killed under her bed (why did she do that? I do not know). She has a bone arm because her original arm was cut off, she hated the replacement so her crush cut THAT off and grew her a new one out of just bones. She had it gilded and only after that did she decide to help her crush deal with the person who had been repeatedly trying to kill her. She wants so badly to be the main character but people keep interrupting her villain monologues.

she has her own content warning tag

She's such a bitch to everyone all the time, she causes nothing but problems, she tries to do a villain speech but fumbles it because her tummy hurt, she is the awfulgirl of all time

THE SKULL

he is an evil ghost who used to be an assistant to a mad scientist gravedigger. accomplice to murder and torture and general evil scheming. now he lives in a jar and is besties with a teenage girl. and by besties i mean he encourages her to kill people and constantly cheers when her friends almost die. overall a silly little decapitated head <3

It is literally a skull in a jar. (More context if you don’t know the books/show: it’s a ghost source that’s been trapped in a silver container so it can’t escape. And it’s exceptionally powerful which means it can actually communicate with mc.) It frequently encourages the mc to commit various morally reprehensible acts such as homicide (she never does). When it was alive, it was a teenage boy who was apprenticed to an evil scientist.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Rite Of Passage: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: A case brings you to a small town in Texas that is close to Mexico's border. Someone is killing people who illegally cross the border, and he's a lot closer than you think.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"A lion's work hours are only when he's hungry; once he's satisfied, the predator and prey live peacefully together." - Chuck Jones

"Hey, where's Hotch?" Emily asks when she walks into the briefing room.

"Budget meeting."

"Maybe he'll give us a raise," Derek jokes.

"They're cutting, not raising. I just hope they don't take the coffee."

"I'd quit," Spencer says.

"Oh, yeah. That'll save 'em like fifty bucks a week."

"Hotch will meet us on the plane," JJ says when she walks in.

"Where are we going?"

"Last night, three decapitated heads were found in front of a sheriff's station in the small border town of Terlingua, Texas."

She passes out the file on the victims which includes pictures of their crime scenes.

"Three victims at once?"

"Actually, they appear to be in different stages of decomposition."

"The ME confirmed that one of the heads is a day or so old. The other two appear to have died a few months ago, but the wound edges suggest that they were decapitated recently," JJ explains.

"There is dirt in their mouth, ears, and nose. At some point, these two heads were buried and then dug up."

"Okay, so why the sudden need to display them?" Emily asks.

"The need may not be so sudden. In Mexico, in 2009 alone, ten heads were in coolers and the people belonging to these heads were killed just hours before they were found. It's the result of a battle between feuding drug cartels."

"The DEA isn't interested?" you ask.

You'd think the Drug Enforcement Association would want a crack at this.

"They asked us to take a look at it. Considering the different decomposition, this might not even be about drugs."

"Alright, what do we have?"

"Well, the victims are two males and one female so there isn't a gender preference. Staging the heads in front of a sheriff's station is aggressive. All three victims are Hispanic and unidentified. Terlingua has a large illegal population. It's made IDing the victims that much harder."

"He might be trying to make some type of political statement. Volunteer border patrols do a lot of personal policing down there. Groups like the Minutemen prize law and order above everything else, and those patrols serve their political agenda. Murder would be bad for their image," Spencer explains.

"Staging the heads in front of a police station suggests that the unsub might be local. He'd have to have knowledge about how to do something like that without being seen. So, what we have is hundreds of miles of unincorporated desert and an endless supply of anonymous victims crossing the border every day."

"It's a serial killer's perfect storm," you sigh.

As JJ said, Hotch met you at the plane when he was done with his meeting.

"Explain this to me. The unsub hunts along the US-Mexico border. How big is that area?"

"Over five thousand square miles of desert," Spencer answers at the same time as you do.

The entire team stares at you two and you look away with heated cheeks.

"He could have gone undetected for years," Hotch says eventually.

"Why announce himself now?"

"What do we know about crime in Terlingua?" Rossi asks.

"It's a stop-over town. Immigrants stay only twenty-four hours before moving on, but that also makes them narco-trafficking hubs. Outside of immigration violations, most of the arrests are drug-related."

"That, my pretties, is an understatement." You look to your left and see Penelope's face on the screen. "Anyone familiar with the Lugo Cartel out of Baja, California? Their greatest hits include multiple brutal murders along with importing and distributing nearly two tons of cocaine and copious amounts of heroin between 1990 and 2009. Now, if we get in our BAU time machine, flash forward to now, a super cheap, highly addictive, and totally impure form of black tar heroin just showed up on the streets of Terlingua, and the DEA thinks the Lugo Cartel is directly responsible."

"They're expanding their operation which is often announced by a wave of violence. The Lugo Cartel killed two DEA agents last year. We're going to need to watch our backs. To Cartels, the Feds are fair game. There's even usually a bounty, so we're going to bring in the toys," Derek talks about the big weapons.

"Be careful with those. I don't need broken MP-5s on our budget," Hotch says.

"Guys, here's the thing. I don't think I technically have authorization to carry a weapon like that," Spencer says.

"You don't," Derek and Hotch say at the same time.

You reach over and put your hand on his arm. You want to grab his hand but he still has a gross ick when it comes to germs. Yes, he held your hand when you were going through it with prison but that was because he decided to. You don't want him to feel like his choice is being taken away when it comes to germs. Instead, you touch something much safer like his arm.

"You know, we're going to have a victim pool that is extremely hesitant to talk to us."

"Prentiss, you and Morgan start with the migrant community, see what inroads you can make. Stress that we're only there to catch a killer. Rossi, Y/N, and Reid, the ME is waiting to show you the heads."

"Maybe they can tell us something," you say.

The entire department only consists of five people including the sheriff. When Hotch and JJ got to the station, eight men were posted outside of it. The fact that they had eight despite there only being five officers inside shows that they outnumber them, asserting their dominance. Deputy Ronald Boyd isn't too worried about it only because those eight men are just a handful of men who work for Omar Morales, the head of the narco-trafficking ring. They picked him up this morning outside of town where he was heading to the airport.

Deputy Boyd would have talked to him only Sheriff Eva Ruiz wouldn't let her men talk to him. Hotch is worried about the men outside but she plans on ignoring them thinking they'll get hot and tired and go away on their own. The reason why she won't let her men talk to Omar is because she doesn't agree that they arrested the right man. The heads at the police station, in her opinion, are a message that demands for her to butt out. Just in the six months she's been Sheriff, there are more than twenty missing immigrants; that's more than three a month or one victim a week.

There hasn't been an official investigation because no one wants to be the snitch. However, she believes that someone has been killing for a lot longer than they let on. The Lugo Cartel kills to send a message, it's how they communicate but Eva seems to think otherwise.

You walk into the ME's office where there are heads in jars so that they can be preserved. You touch the side of the glass and allow the energy to paint you a picture. Fear. Desperation. The victims are running through the open desert as someone wearing a mask is chasing them on a quad made for the terrain. The victims are terrified for their lives but the unsub doesn't show any mercy.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, decapitation is not that easy," Spencer says, bringing you back.

"You don't often hear popular and decapitation In the same sentence," Rossi says.

"You'd need to strike on the weakest point of the spine. It's normally between the C3 and C7 vertebrae. There are multiple strikes but they don't show any hesitation."

"I realize you didn't have much to work with here but outside of the obvious, was there anything unusual about these victims?" Rossi asks the Me.

"The second victim appeared to have been blind, if not completely, then he had cataracts bad enough that it was difficult for him to get around."

"What about the other two?" you ask.

"No."

"I only had their teeth to go by but the most recent victim is older as well as the first one, the woman. It'll take some time to get an accurate age but I'm confident that they were older.'

"We're looking for something that we call a signature. Something that all the victims shared like a physical mark or something postmortem."

"I don't know if this is what you mean," she grabs the reports on them, "but they all had sand residue in their noses and throats."

"Could that be from being buried?" Spencer asks.

"Possibly, but the trachea and the nasal passage were kind of torn up. If I had the lungs here, I'd guess that they were full of sand as well like they breathed in the sand enough to lacerate the passages."

"They were running," you say. "The unsub chased them on quads through the desert. Trust me when I say he didn't show any mercy."

Hotch is able to talk to Omar who isn't too happy to talk to a Fed. Omar is cocky and arrogant only because he knows he or his crew didn't do these murders. If Omar had, he'd gut the victim from crotch to chin then leave the intestines open for the animals to eat. He'd send his hand to his wife, his eyes to his mother, and his tongue to his kids with a note saying their Daddy had died wetting himself. Omar doesn't believe that these murders are a message, none that he recognizes.

Hotch asks him about what he thought of the recent murders only because Omar likes to be a man in control. He has an army standing guard outside the station who will protect him because Omar has somehow convinced them that they need him, and Hotch expects to believe Omar doesn't know what's going on in his town? What Hotch is looking for, according to Omar, is Santa Muerte, the Saint of Death.

The Saint of Death is a drug dealer's version of a doctor's Raphael the Archangel or a cop's Saint Jude--someone they pray to. Omar has learned that someone loses track of the ways they can die when they cross the desert from Mexico. Sometimes, it's easier to blame a superstitious figure than someone real. Santa Muerte has been coming up more and more with the illegals Eva sends back, the coyotes she arrests, and the drug traffickers around town. All of them are afraid.

Evan once handled a homicide where her only witness was a four-year-old girl. She told Eva that her mom and dad were killed by a dragon. It turned out that the bad guy wore a green rainsuit with a pointy hood. To the little girl, it looked like a dragon. So, when hundreds of people are talking about the same monster, it's a sure bet that something is going on. They don't know what to call it so they settle on Santa Muerte.

With a town like this, you're not surprised that by the next morning, another murder has surfaced. This time, there is a head on a post right outside the Sheriff's house. The team heads over there along with some of her own men. You get there before her men do and you approach the head that hasn't been moved. You slide some gloves on and touch the side of his face delicately. This man was trying to cross the border last night with his family. He fell to the ground after not being able to continue either because he couldn't physically or he was sick. It doesn't matter. He was the only one left behind so the unsub targeted him until he killed him.

"I told you we should have kept that bastard locked up."

Eva let Omar go because there was nothing she could charge him with. The officers only had assumptions that he was involved with no evidence. You turn to look at Deputy Boyd and freeze in your steps. He walks past you without so much as a glance in your direction but he doesn't need you. The energy surrounding the head is the same as Deputy Boyd's. He either killed the man or he knew about it to move it to Eva's house. Your first instinct is to shout to the rooftops that Boyd is the unsub but you have to think about this through Hotch's eyes. He'll want evidence so you keep your mouth shut for now.

"I'm telling you for the last time, Boyd, go back on patrol," Eva says.

Boyd rolls his eyes but does as he's told.

"There isn't any decomposition. It's a new victim," Spencer says.

"He's becoming more focused on you, Sheriff. May I have a word?" Hotch asks. He and Eva step off to the side but you can still hear them. "It's clear that this is personal."

"It always was."

"How's that?"

"Look, I have no idea how many of these people have gone missing over the years, but one thing is clear. I'm the only one who seems to give a damn. That's as personal as it gets for me."

"We're here because we care."

"All I've got is a bunch of stories and superstitions. What if it isn't even happening?"

"Sheriff, I can't tell you how long this has been going on but something's definitely happening now. From the way the unsub is acting, it's obvious that you've touched a nerve. Whoever he is, I think you've probably talked to him."

Damn right, she has. He's right under her nose and she doesn't even know. You don't want to talk to her about this now because you don't want to freak her out when you don't have to.

"I've talked to anyone who will listen—drug dealers, immigrants, and even business owners."

"Well, one of them is your Santa Muerte and he's feeling the pressure. When we get back to the station, I want to go over every single interview you've done."

"How? Who are we even looking for?"

"We have a profile to give you and your deputies."

"Hotch, a word?" you butt in. He steps away from the Sheriff and joins your side. "I know I need evidence but you want to know what I saw when Deputy Boyd showed up? His energy matches the one on his head. I didn't see anything else but that can only mean one of two things—he's the one who killed him or he knew about it."

"Pay attention to his behavior during the profile. After, get your evidence."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

I've seen your child reader stories and I love them ❤️ can you do slashers (Michael Myers Jason Voorhees Freddy Krueger and Sinclair brothers) reaction when child reader is being kidnapped/attacked. Sorry my English is not very good

Yes finally someone specificed the slashers, god is good, god is greeaaat. Also don't worry your English is amazing!

Slashers when child! Reader is being attacked/kidnapped.

Michael 🔪

It was very uncommon for Michael's 🔪kid to get attacked, since more than half the town knows about the presence of Michael always seeming to loom around you.

So whoever attempted such a thing must've been one hell of an idiot. Especially on Halloween.

He walked insanely fast over to the girl who was dragging you into her car with a cloth stuck to your mouth, limiting the range of your scream.

"I can gain so much money and fame by doing this. After I'm done with you I can send some money to your parents to shut them up." Her smile was cut short when she suddenly jerks and the sudden sound of her screaming escapes her throat.

She let go of you and cried and wailed as the man behind her yanks her hair up and keeps slashing her back until her back was nothing but a dark bloodied mess.

It was night and this scene had already caused half the town to wake up and get ready to fight against the shape but he grabbed your hand and walked back somewhere secluded instead.

You were now somewhere in a playground with michael standing next to you. Him not quite understanding that you actually need to be at home right now but what happened earlier was traumatising and having Michael protecting you was better anyways.

You fell asleep and found your parents pick you up frantically and bring you inside and asked if you were hurt or anything. All you said was.

"he protects me."

Jason 🪓

Now it really is unsafe for a kid to be roaming around the woods with bear traps laying around. And so Jason 🪓 is also watching you 24/7. He just puts you underground when he has to deal with trespassers.

But you and him were outside and it was just 12 seconds when he turned his back, heard the sound of a vehicle and you were gone. So now he was running to every inch of the forests making sure you didn't trip near a bear trap and crushed your head or got kidnapped.

But just as he feared he heard your echos of cries and a man swearing at you. He marched over to the location of your cries and was having absolutely no hesitation in chopping off the man's head. As his mother was basically yelling for him to do so.

"Shut the fuck up before someone hears us! Bi-" in a flash the man was pushed aside roughly and Jason pulled you next to him, looking at you he pat your head a few times and then pushed you behind him.

Your crying earlier was visible on your face and he couldn't contain his anger any further.

"who the hell are you?" the man asked before Jason went to swing his mechete at the man's kneecaps, immediately the man fell and started screaming.

Stings of profanity rolled off his tongue as he was at the same time begging for his life and trying to crawl away into his car.

The hockey masked hulk cut off the man's arm and leg, now two matching pair. You were about to peak but Jason turned your head around and led you somewhere far and signaled you to stay here.

He will the end man's life quickly by decapiting him. But only because the most he did was make you cry.

Next person will have it much worse.

Freddy 💤

Assholes at your school weren't uncommon. And that's what Freddy 💤 was most annoyed about. It was about time where he had ought to teach you how to defend yourself.

He had brought himself into the outside world and he didn't find you getting beaten up by a group of rich snobby students very funny.

"are you sure this is okay?" a male chuckled nervously, his kicking to your ribslosing passion but not stopping. The girl next to him grip your hair (or scalp) roughly, her long nails adding pressure to your head.

"of course is it. No one will catch us anyways. Unless Y/n runs her mouth over to the police." the the supposeded leader of the group said while checking herself in front of a mirror. Ignoring your grunts and struggles, you could've fought them off or ran away but they suddenly came behind you and hit your hedda with a metal bat.

Freddy's fingers and eyes were twitching in frustration.

Her words immediately stopping the group. "what!? Are you crazy we can't just kill her and we can't keep her in our basement either. What will we do now!?" one of the other girls said, letting go of your hair. (or scalp)

"calm down, she'll bail u-"

"I know what you'll do."

The group snapped their necks to the sound of your voice, you are there. Standing and bloodied but you seem to pay no mind to your injuries.

"what the hell!?" they screamed as your body opened and out came a man in the appearance of a skinned man, with a Christmas sweater and a brown fedora.

This obviously freaking them out but it was easy for Freddy since they were in the schools gym and locked all the doors and windows. But they were persistent in openening them.

"It's an easy solution, you can't be charged if you're dead!" he laughed to his hearts content and did his thing.

You woke up somewhere in your classroom with zero stains and ambulances near the school gym, knowing exactly what happened.

(I have no idea what kind of father figure krueger will be but he seems to really want a kid in a few movies)

Sinclair brothers 🕯

Context: a soon to be dead man speeds up their death clock by attacking you because you're a sinclair.

Prologue: a man has his hand around your neck, cutting off your air supply but not enough to kill you. threatening to if any of them (your brothers) come closer.

You can't do much as this man was about 20-30 years old and you were already turning red.

You can only look at your brothers from the side of your eyes, waiting for their next move.

Bo 🧰 cannot think of how dumb of a person this man is. He really thinks threatening you will make him stop in his tracks and be at his mercy? Well yes. But not he won't be the one begging for mercy. He glares sharply at the man and he knows the man is not kidding, his eyes hold everything except pity, remorse and guilt. He's struggling and doesn't know what to do except try a telepathic plan with his artistic brother in the back. He feels helpless and how much fuel it added to his burning hate was enough to burn an entire forest "even if you're a child you are just like the monsters there. You have their blood.." the man's face really meant it. It took everything in bo not to scream and jump at the man but it was visible. But then...

Vincent 🕯 was pondering how this turned out so bad, you couldn't die yet. He just wished the man turned his back so he snatch you away. Vincent had no weapons on him and he was fast at running but they far, far enough that the man would notice. He couldn't take the risk. He hated this man currently to his guts why would someone stoop so low that's just pathetic. He knows expressions very well and the fact the man wasn't kidding makes him further more nervous. "even if you're a child you are just like the monsters there. You have their blood.." Vincent was irritated you could clearly see his eyes of anger through his mask, he guesses he should saving more wax for next time. He's about to lose but then...

Lester 🚙 didn't even need to tell Jonesy to start gnawing that man's leg off. Its never wise to piss off a dog. The usual happy and cheerful facial on Lester was no longer, he can't believe all of this was happening without his knowledge before a few seconds ago. It was just a few hours ago he decides to visit his cute dear younger sibling and now there's this. "even if you're a child you're still like the monsters there. You have their blood.." it was for their own sake. He's the one putting an innocent child's life on the line. He watched as he heard his two elder brother's sigh of relief and the growling and chewing of Jonesy and the screeching of the man who has let you go. He walked over to you and hugged you.

The man on the ground tried to kick the dog but to no avail. He only felt the unbearable pain of his disappearing flesh. He now laid down still crying and saw the three of the sinclair brothers above him. Looming over him as the worst torture methods flood through their head, it was too easy to see what they were thinking about. "wait, please, no, I was joking alright!? I wasn't serious about that!"

"too bad dumbass, we're way too angry to angry to have mercy on you now. really caused some trouble for me and my siblings." Bo crouched down. Looking at him smirking and sadistically. Unfortunately for him the two of their brothers hold the same look too.

WOWIWW I HOPE I DIDN'T MAKE IT TOO BORING.

[darthrevan-lord-of-the-sith]

a worse foe

The blaster bold freezes in mid air, and Krell and the clones all stare at it as it crumbles to nothing.

"Fives," a voice, filtered through a voice modulator, says softly. "Take Dogma's blaster."

Lord Revan is standing at the entrance to the cellblock, tall and imposing and crackling with the energy they know as the Force. Fives takes the blaster from Dogma and unarms it, then tosses it aside. Dogma looks small at his side as Revan approaches, and lays a gloved hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing just above where Dogma's blacks end.

"It's alright," Revan says softly, and leans forward slightly. Dogma meets him, resting his forehead against the cool, emotionless metal of Revan's helmet. "Fives, take your little brothers back to the barracks. Rex, can you stay?"

"Yes sir," Rex says. "Jesse? Kix?"

"We can stay, sir," the troopers answer.

"Good," Revan says, and everything is quiet as Fives gathers Tup and Dogma and heads to the barracks.

Once they're gone, the rumbling Rex has felt in the air becomes a roar, and then Krell is slammed against the wall.

"You don't scare me," Krell snarls. "You carry his name, but you are just a knight wearing old armour."

"Is that so?" Revan says, quiet. His hands go to the release clasps on his helmet, there's a hissing sound as the suit depressurises, and Revan lifts the helmet free.

It falls unceremoniously to the floor, and the sound echoes out across the room.

Rex sees Krell's throat contort as he swallows.

Revan's eyes are burning, flickering from red to gold to green, every line of his handsome face twisted in rage. His hands are clenched, muscles shaking, the Force roiling around him like a cloak. "You believe you can control the Dark?" Revan asks, and he pulls an unfamiliar lightsaber from inside his robes. "You believe you could be a Sith? You are nothing. You are an insect, vermin, compared to the Sith I have known. Have trained. Have inspired!"

The saber lights, and a ruby blade illuminates the room.

Krell's body is lying smoking and decapitated only a few hours later, tortured with lightning and lightsaber and terrible mind tricks that leave him screaming and babbling for mercy. For death.

Rex doesn't feel sorry for him as he picks up the decapitated head and hands it, smoking stump and all, to Revan, whose eyes still flicker between red and gold and green, but he's relieved to see the green appear more often than any other colour.

"Did Wolffe tell you?" Revan asks, taking the head and shoving it into a cryo-bag. "About-"

He holds up the lightsaber with the red blade, giving Rex a pointed look.

"You being a four thousand year old Dar'Jetii who is also the hero of the bedtime stories Fett used to tell the CC's?" Rex says. "No. General Skywalker complains about you a lot, some of that confidential information slipped out and Ahsoka filled in the rest."

Revan nods. "I want Dogma transferred," he says. "The 104th would be better for him that the 501st, he's lost his trust in the Jedi...Plo will be good for him."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Jesse asks.

Revan nods, and picks up his helmet.

"You'd be better for this army if you took command," Jesse says. "If you're really...really the Conquering Jedi-" Revan sighs at the title "-then you should be leading us, not the Council, not the Senate. You...you've done this before. You beat a better army than Grievous and Dooku."

"Mand'alor the Ultimate was a challenging opponent, yes," Revan says. "But after, the Republic faced a worse foe, one I could not defeat."

"Who?" Kix asks, always one for the stories. His eyes are big and full of wonder.

"Me," Revan says, and puts his helmet on. "The reason the Jedi don't want me heading an army is because they're worried I will turn it against them, like I did the last time someone gave me an army."

"But you wouldn't!" Jesse exclaims.

"Maybe I might," Revan says. "Perhaps I might start a war over you all."

[velvetyraincoat]

I enjoyed the show because it scratched that KotOR itch that I desperately crave, but I can’t get over just how many scenes in The Acolyte didn’t make very much sense.

It feels like a lot of characters ended up making strange decisions purely for the sake of plot and I kept having moments where I felt like I was an idiot or like I missed something.

I made a list of big holes that I had trouble filling in my own head. Maybe someone smarter than me can explain this show to me.

Spoilers for The Acolyte S01 below

- After Sol rescues Osha and she clears her name, she says that she wants nothing to do with the situation and that Mae is the republic’s problem. She’s very clear as to what her desires are and they devote a bunch of time giving her goodbyes and then trying to sneak off. Then Sol is like “but what if you helped me??? 🥺”. And she’s like ‘ok’, and changes her mind without any hesitation. Why?

- Why did Mae decide to tie up Manny Strangerface on Khofar and give up on her quest? When this happened, I assumed she was just making up an excuse to ditch him, but it turned out genuine which was really weird. Mae has devoted her whole life to killing these people. She also called her sister Jedi scum earlier and didn’t seem to bear any real attachment to her. Where did this change of heart come from?

- Why did Darth Nobody make his dramatic appearance and morb all over all those Jedi guys? Why not just kill Mae earlier when she tied him up? Surely if he can kill a whole squad of Jedi, he can Force his way out of a stupid rope trap.

- On that note, how is it that Jecki, the padawan, is capable of squarely holding her own in an extended fight scene against a guy who just three-man solo decapitated a bunch of Jedi knights in two seconds?

- Yord gets instructions to take Osha back to the ship, despite Osha’s protest to stay. But then Osha has a vision of her sister and suddenly Yord is like “ok that checks out guess we’ll turn around then”. What?

- The thing with Pip as a flashlight. Why didn’t Powerful Sith Guy just use the Force to pull it off of himself? Seems kind of obvious, no?

- Mae stuns Osha and then clothes swaps with her. Didn’t Mae just renounce her dark side master in the name of her love her her sister? But she’s going to just leave Osha to be found by her master now?? What? Why?

- Everything about Darth Swole Guy after he picks up Osha and nurses her back to health. We just saw him being the world’s biggest dickhead, but he’s nice now? Why? Osha even asks him why he’s being nice to her, lampshading the question, but it just never really gets answered. Guess he’s just a nice guy now.

- Everything with Mother Aniseya. We’re expected to see Ascension as this big culturally important thing that the Jedi are butting into, but none of it seems particularly important to Aniseya (the coven leader) who is willing to just look the other way and let Osha do whatever she wants (valuing her individualism the same way the Jedi do). The cultural relativism plot sort of breaks down when the two cultures don’t have, you know, conflicting values.

- Every single time there’s a question of whether to go with tradition or let the girls do what they want, Aniseya actively steps against tradition in the name of ‘it’s what Osha wants’. If the leader of the coven can say that it’s not that important and let Osha leave, then why is it bad for the Jedi to interfere? It don’t make no sense.

- In the finale, why does Osha agree to train with qimmy again? She says she will take her sister’s place, but why is this an option? Also, why doesn’t he want to kill Mae anymore? Didn’t he want to kill her for being weak or whatever back when he was still Darth Scaryguy the first time they met him?

- Why erase Mae’s memories if they are just going to leave her to the Jedi anyway? The whole Vernestra questioning scene where Mae does the Rosemary Kennedy bit just felt so weird, gross, and unnecessary. “Who am I? What is this place and how did I get here?” — Dude me too, Mae. Questions I ask myself when watching The Acolyte.

- Why leave her alive at all even? Why not just kill her and tie off the loose end? Isnt that kind of show of strength what the Sith are known for?

- Why torch Sol’s reputation at the end? If you have no moral backbone and are already about to admit there was an evil Jedi guy but are really Sol’s friend, then just put Mae on trial. You literally have her in custody. Why not just execute her and call it a day?

look I really want to like this show. The casting is fantastic, the acting is overall pretty good, and the special effects are so incredibly cool and perfectly capture the vibe of an older time in the Republic era. I wish I could say this show was amazing because it panders to the exact kind of Star Wars shit I love, but it’s so incredibly hard to get past the fact that the writing is so internally incoherent with its own plot and characters.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

I saw your thing about the reader insert being skeptical of Sun Wukong's immortality so I want to answer your wish and request a reader who is studying medicine being skeptical of it and being very worried about the reckless nonsense he gets up to.

Maiden…..you don’t know how happy I was when someone requested this because I love the idea that someone just thinks his immortality is just a claim (despite everything they’ve seen) and refuses to admit that he’s basically indestructible until he literally proves it. I was giddy while writing this cause I love messing with Wukong. Hope you enjoy!

“This bitch isn’t immortal!” “Let’s test that theory.” /// Sun Wukong x Skeptical!Wary!Nurse!reader

You are very wary of his recklessness and honestly have a bit of doubt about his immortality (Wukong is actually shocked that his s/o would doubt his ability to be indestructible), getting in debates with him literally grabbing a sword or knife and going to stab/decapitate himself before you knock it out of his hands. After every battle, whether it’s training or an actual fight, you’re always there to patch up MK and your lover and check on their injuries.

MK is very grateful but the monkey king is indifferent to your pleas, repeating the phrase “Don’t worry sunshine. I’m immortal like 5 times over…or something…I’ve lost count.” and showing his now healed injuries much to your surprise. If you go and ask Macaque (or some of his other friends if you can even find them in the heavenly realm or underground) then he’ll absolutely confirm that he’s fully thrown a mountain at the king and he just got annoyed in response.

He’ll genuinely start doing fatal things to prove his immortality like jumping from the top of flower fruit mountain without stopping or sleeping in a stream or beneath the waves or the beach because it’s been a while since he’s been told to prove it and he always has fun doing it. The monkeys don’t bat an eye at this since they’re familiar with their king's behaviors and some of them will try to calm your nervous self down since you are their queen, patting your head and chirping at you.

It’s finally after 2 weeks (and turning down Macaque’s offer about being happy to test it) that you fully believe that your Sun Wukong is immortal nth times over and make him promise that whenever he gets hurt he’ll come to you to get patched up. Also, do not hide major injuries with glamor or any deflections with humor.

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 3: the last day of investigation

previous part here

epilogue here

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town.

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mentall illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 9 k....i'm insane, i'm aware

Your dad was the one who managed to explain everything to you.

Once, you hated the coldness he exuded. Everything he said seemed so devoid of emotion, as if he didn't have any at all. Probably, if he had ever tried to say "I love you," those words would have gotten stuck in his throat, causing choking and death.

At that moment, you appreciated it for the first time. He told you how your mom had found Jeremy in the bathtub, the water completely stained with blood. If an outsider had heard it, they would have thought he was talking about some stranger's child, not his own son, so composed he sounded. But you heard all the tiny breaks in his voice, the pauses to swallow saliva that slowly dripped down his throat.

You stood with your back against the door, the phone slipping from your numb hand.

For a moment, you felt simply empty. Without feelings or thoughts. What was this room you were in — the bathroom? A bathroom, what even is that? Syllables joined into a longer sound that should have some specific meaning. What meaning? You didn’t know. A loud ringing filled your ears, driving everything out of your mind.

The phone call had ended. The device was still pressed against your cheek, slipping further and further from your grip. After a while — you couldn’t tell how long — it simply fell to the floor, onto the simple black-and-white tiles. You didn’t even hear the sound it made.

You might have stayed frozen there for hours if not for the soft tapping on the other side of the door. You were only just returning to reality, so you couldn’t respond. Then someone spoke your name in a questioning tone. You ignored that too, though not intentionally. For a moment, you had simply forgotten your own name. This unsettled the person in the next room; after a few seconds, they grasped the handle and pushed the door. It met the barrier of your back, and that gentle jolt was what began to pull you out of your trance.

The first breath hurt; the first thought nearly brought you to your knees.

Jeremy. Your little brother.

Moving as if on autopilot, you turned toward the door and opened it. At first, Spencer seemed to exhale with relief, but then he saw the expression on your face, and his slightly hunched posture straightened, shifting to one of concern.

You’d taken over the bathroom as soon as you returned to the hotel, so he hadn’t had a chance to change. He’d only hung up his jacket by the door, taken off his vest, and remained in his shirt with a loosened tie and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“W-what happened? I thought I heard something fall…”

“It was...um...the phone,” you managed to choke out.

“I-I was talking to my dad, my dad, but first with my mom, and…and she was mad at me because of…because of…wait, what did you ask?” The words spilling from you were one big jumble. You pressed a cool hand to your forehead, burning as if with fever, your brain throbbing with effort, as if you were delivering a university lecture on nuclear physics.

Spencer was no longer just concerned — he was terrified. Seeing how you were barely standing on legs that refused to cooperate, he caught you just before you fell. You collapsed face-first onto his shoulder, surrendering entirely to gravity.

“Oh…okay, okay, it’s okay now,” he whispered, resting one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back, offering support.

You closed your eyes, only now realizing they were filled with tears. The shock was fading, the barrier that had held back every other emotion finally breaking down. They began to overwhelm you, resulting in a muffled sob against his body. 

“He tried to kill himself,” you finally managed to say, the meaning of the words slowly sinking in. You repeated it several times, each time quieter but with more awareness. “He tried…he tried…”

“No, you don’t have to... just... oh god, I’m so sorry...” He stammered. He realized that no words would be enough, none would help you. Instead of wasting energy on them, he poured it all into the embrace, holding you even tighter.

You simply stayed in that position, as time passed by.

"What's with him?" he asked when your breathing finally returned to a steady rhythm, and the pain wasn't as sharp. His voice was so soft, soothing like a lullaby. "Your brother?"

You realized that, because of your secrecy, you had never even casually mentioned Jeremy to him. This was the first time you were talking about him. Under these circumstances

"Dad said his condition is stable." You raised your head, and your eyes met by accident. You quickly looked back down at your hands. You felt exposed in a way you never had before with anyone else, and it was strange, unfamiliar. But you couldn’t say it was entirely negative. "He’s under observation now; he lost a lot of blood. If my mom hadn’t found him..."

You shook your head, trying to chase away the dark visions and scenarios.

"Spencer," you sighed, struggling to put into words what had been tormenting you from the very beginning. "I... I can’t stop thinking about how much of this is my fault."

"I left him with our parents. Fully aware of what they’re like. I told him he could rely on me but  I was in another city, only keeping in touch by phone. Irregulary. Since we started working on this case, I’ve spoken to him once…"

Until now, you hadn’t maintained strong eye contact; each time it happened, you pulled away. But in that moment, there was something in his gaze that wouldn’t let you look away. Reid was definitely not one to offer empty words of comfort or general platitudes. Seeing him remain silent, you were certain he was about to say something entirely his own.

“Blaming yourself is a very common, I’d even say natural, part of grief, and I’m afraid that nothing I say will make you stop feeling this way, but I’ll try anyway. You didn’t abandon Jeremy. Even if there was distance between you, you still tried to be there for him, you cared for him like no one else did. You know, even if you usually avoided talking about it, it was still very clear. Sometimes I’d see you from a distance talking to him on the phone. I couldn’t hear a word, but… I wondered a lot who that person was. The one who makes you so happy” He looked slightly flustered, blushing as he realized what he had mentioned, but continued nonetheless. “You seemed so happy and genuinely invested. I can tell that you didn’t stay in touch with him out of guilt or obligation alone. He truly meant the world to you. And… what I’m trying to say is that… sometimes, no matter how much we try, there are things we just can’t control. This is incredibly hard for you, and you blame yourself for all of it, but I hope that someday you’ll see that not everything depended on you, and none of this is your fault."

You stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say. His words… they touched you, pierced your skin, and lodged deeply within your body. They soothed you, like a lullaby sung to a child before sleep. You realized just how incredibly grateful you were that you both shared this room.

"I don't know what I would do if you weren't here," you answered softly, feeling the area around your eyes tighten, signaling the tears that were about to come.

Without hesitation, he simply embraced you.

With his chin resting on the top of your head and your forehead pressed against his collarbone.

"You would manage. You’re strong. But you deserve to have someone by your side in a moment like this."

You whispered that you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. He offered you one of the sleeping pills he had mentioned in the car, though it would take a little while for them to take effect. You lay on your side, with your knees curled up. It wasn’t until the morning that you realized you were on his bed, surprised to find yourself so far from the window. That was your first thought, still not fully sober.

The room was drowning in darkness, the only sources of light being the faint glow of the moon sneaking in like a thief through the imperfectly drawn curtain, and the alarm clock on the nightstand between your beds, showing the time as 4:47.

You stretched your sleepy eyelids open and rubbed them with your hand, not moving from your spot. You felt a little embarrassed that you had fallen asleep in Spencer’s bed, but then you noticed his silhouette in yours. It turned out you had simply swapped places. Since it was only your second night in this hotel, it hadn’t yet absorbed his scent. Not that you were looking for it. You were just curious, which is why you pressed your face so firmly into the pillow.

Spencer was lying with his face turned toward you. However, he didn’t seem completely relaxed, almost as if even the sound of dust floating in the air could wake him. This turned out to be a very accurate observation, as the moment you opened your eyes, he did the same.

"Hey, how do you feel?" he asked. His voice was quiet, hoarse.

"I'm too awake to go back to sleep for another week. Unfortunately," you muttered, turning onto your back. Of course, it was sarcasm. You couldn’t sleep for too long, you had to... you weren’t even sure what you had to do. You urgently needed to find out what had happened with Jeremy over the past few hours. Was his condition still stable, or had it improved significantly overnight, or…

The thought of another conversation with your father drained you. Or, worse yet, your mother. They were, however, your only source of information about your unconscious brother.

So yes, you needed to make a call, then get up, pull yourself together, maybe eat something… it all sounded more than overwhelming.

"I'll talk to Hotch, if you want. He’ll let you go back, even today."

The mention of the boss’s name hit you like an ice cube dropped under your shirt. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, you were still at work. In the middle of hunting down a seven-time murderer who had discarded his last two victims just yesterday. A murderer who, from the very beginning, had stirred your intuition, suggesting that the answer to this puzzle lay somewhere at the back of your mind.

On the other hand, you felt obligated to be by Jeremy’s side when he woke up. Who else would be there for him? A nurse? An emotionally absent father? An unstable, bipolar mother who had probably stopped taking her meds again?

As if against your own will, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, a certain thought suddenly entering your mind.

"I'll stay," you decided.

"Are you sure? If you don't want to talk about it with the others, I’ll do it for you," he offered, propping himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, eyes gleaming with worry. "You know Hotch, he may not seem like it, but he's very understanding..."

"Really, I can handle it," you reassured him, but he didn’t seem convinced. "Reid, I need to finish this case. I think I’ve realized something."

He sat on the bed, furrowing his brow. The sudden change in the tone of your voice must have intrigued him; you sounded almost determined.

"What is it?"

You opened your mouth, ready to rush out a chaotic response, but stopped yourself at the last moment. It was so early in the morning, and your mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders — how could it be, when you’d only just woken up? It made more sense to wait, to go over the latest findings with the team; maybe they would fit perfectly with your newest theory.

And that’s exactly what happened.

“The victims found on the pumpkin farm have been identified,” Hotch announced instead of a greeting when you met just an hour and a half later. Everyone looked slightly dazed; the coffee they were sipping hadn’t yet kicked in. Likely, only you and Reid had been up this early—physically, you seemed the most alert, yet it was plain to see that your thoughts were still rooted in the previous day, struggling to keep up with everything happening around you. You sat close together, shoulder to shoulder, entirely on instinct, as if an invisible thread connected you, tightening painfully around your wrists whenever you tried to drift too far apart.

From time to time, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you were okay. Twice, he gave a slight nod in Hotch’s direction, reminding you that you could still talk to him, ask for permission to go back home. You silently reassured him that you were feeling relatively fine and didn’t want to bring it up with the boss. Just as you broke eye contact, ending the wordless conversation, you noticed Morgan and Prentiss watching the two of you, their heads tilted at the same angle in an almost eerily synchronized way.

You took a breath, feeling slightly embarrassed. Your sudden closeness with Reid must have seemed at the very least… suspicious to them.

“Their names were Denise Grant and Alexa Miller, and listen to this,” Garcia began, her voice quickening as her face appeared on the laptop screen. “Both of them worked at the same orphanage. And what's more — it's the very same orphanage where one of the earlier victims worked.”

The atmosphere thickened as everyone absorbed the significance of the information.

"What are the chances this could be a coincidence?" JJ asked rhetorically.

"Well..." Reid began. His friend raised an eyebrow. "I get it, no large numbers. But small ones. Smaller than the chance that the asteroid..."

"Were the remaining body parts of these women found?" Rossi asked matter-of-factly.

Hotch shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no. The forest is so heavily guarded by the police that it's unlikely the unsub managed to dump them there."

"But he has to be doing something with them," Prentiss said, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Doesn't it make you wonder where he's committing all these crimes? He gets rid of the bodies quickly, and there were no signs on the victims suggesting they were held captive. Do you think he could be killing them in his own house?"

"That's possible," Morgan replied. "He wouldn't be the first. And unfortunately, he won't be the last."

"If that's the case, they're going to start smelling awful soon. He'll have to get rid of them, and with so much police presence around, it won't be that easy."

"Let's hope he makes a mistake in the process," Hotch summarized, scanning your faces carefully. Finally, his gaze landed on yours. "You’ll go to the orphanage with..." He swept his eyes over everyone around you, finally settling on Derek. Reid, sitting next to you, shifted uncomfortably.

"I'll go with her," he offered a bit too abruptly.

This shifted the focus of everyone’s attention onto you. You tried to act as if it didn’t matter who would go with you, but deep down, you were hoping it would be him.

You stared at your boss, waiting for his decision. Finally, he nodded and began assigning other tasks to the rest of the team. You couldn't help but smile, barely perceptibly, feeling grateful to Spencer.

It wasn’t that you minded the company of the others; it was simply that none of them had any idea what had happened the day before. They might ask questions about your more withdrawn-than-usual behavior or your subdued mood, and you didn’t want to talk about what had happened with your brother. You knew that with Reid, you would feel the most comfortable.

For a while, you continued discussing the farm workers, who turned out to be employed without contracts, and of course the owner who was hiring them off the books. But with each new statement from your colleagues, you became more and more detached. Your thoughts kept drifting to Jeremy and his behavior over the past few weeks. He had seemed down during your conversations, but you had chalked it up to just the usual busy period at school. On top of that, there was the family situation. Living alone, you'd almost forgotten what a typical day with your mother used to look like. You started to berate yourself, feeling guilty for not being more concerned about his state.

Eventually, everyone dispersed, ready to get back to their tasks.

You went to the car alone, as Reid had been stopped by Derek, who had asked him something with an unreadable expression. His eyebrow had raised suggestively, and you could have sworn you saw it even from several meters away. You stared at the two of them, leaning against the open passenger-side door, intrigued about what the conversation might be about. Normally, you weren’t the curious type; you didn’t like it when people asked you too many questions, and you avoided prying into others’ affairs. But this time, you couldn’t take your eyes off Spencer’s face, clearly embarrassed—maybe even… blushing?

Derek laughed at his reaction and gave him a pat on the back before walking away. Your companion sat in the driver's seat without a word, avoiding your gaze.

"Where is the orphanage?" he asked.

You turned toward him, brow furrowed.

"You remembered the whole map," you reminded him.

"Oh, right..."

You fell silent for several minutes, but your curiosity grew so much that you thought you might not be able to hold it in any longer.

"What were you two talking about? With Morgan?"

"Oh... just some stuff," he replied evasively, overly focused on the road. As if you were in the middle of a busy city during rush hour, rather than on a nearly empty road in the morning.

"You know Morgan and his... sense of humor."

"Yes, I know. Did he tell some great joke?"

"Not really."

"Go ahead. I'm curious."

"I’m telling you, nothing worth repeating... Besides, I've already forgotten it myself..."

"Reid, for God's sake, you literally have a photographic memory...!"

"Okay, fine!" he finally blurted out, removing one hand from the steering wheel and raising it in a defensive gesture. His voice went up a quarter of an octave. He then took a deep breath and put on a seemingly calm expression. "Morgan wanted to know if our... well, unusual... peculiar... definitely different from the previous days... behavior means that..."

"That what?" you asked encouragingly.

"That we slept with each other”

You blinked in slow motion, too shocked to respond. Spencer couldn't resist glancing at you, trying to gauge your reaction. For a moment, you sat frozen, then you burst into laughter.

"And what did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him?" he repeated in disbelief. "The truth, what else was I supposed to say?"

You realized how stupid your question was.

"Anyway, even if it were true... you know, that we... slept together... I wouldn't have mentioned it to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong” He quickly added the last part.“It's not that I’d be ashamed to admit it or... anything like that, I just would’ve preferred to sort it out with you first..."

You watched his growing embarrassment and... simply smiled.

"Sorry," you explained your reaction, letting out a slight chuckle. "I just thought... Well nevermind. Or…Fine, I was thinking about how strangely Emily was looking at me and how Derek probably wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion. Look, we share a room with each other for the very first time and then suddenly we become so close... and then there's the fact that you asked to come with me..."

"That's because I wanted... I wanted to keep an eye on you after what happened yesterday."

"I understand that, and... I’m incredibly grateful to you for it. Really, Spence. But to others, it might look really suspicious."

He paused for a moment, thinking about your words. Ahead of you, the orphanage building came into view. Made of a mix of red and cream bricks, it resembled a small private school. Behind the fence, there was a small playground with a pink slide, its surface now covered in brown leaves.

"Wait," Reid asked with a slightly hoarse voice as you were about to get out of the car. "Does this mean that... you’d prefer we saw each other less?"

You were momentarily speechless.

"What? Of course not. Let them think what they want. Especially those two…lacherours, Morgan and Prentiss. It doesn’t change anything between us."

The air hit your face in waves, occasionally accompanied by a stray raindrop, but overall, the weather that day wasn’t terrible.

You made your way to the orphanage doors, trying to adopt serious, professional expressions fitting for your line of work. However, you couldn’t help but let those fleeting, secret smiles slip through. You felt a tight knot in your stomach loosen.

But back to business, no staff member at the orphanage wants to see two FBI agents on their doorstep at eight in the morning. Well, no one wants to see FBI agents on their doorstep. Regardless of the time. The woman who opened the door greeted you with a slight look of confusion. She was shorter than both of you, with thick blonde hair, wearing a fluffy lavender sweater. At first glance, she seemed friendly, but… incredibly downhearted.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, clearly forcing a smile.

You looked at Reid and took a small breath, holding back a sigh. It dawned on both of you that… she probably didn’t know yet that the heads found on the farm belonged to her two coworkers.

Everyone in the town knew about the discovery, that was beyond doubt. The fact that these two women hadn’t shown up for work in several days should have made her realize it. But sometimes, as people, we prefer to deceive ourselves right until the very end.

You hated informing people that their loved ones had died, especially in such a horrific way. However, you knew you had to do what was required of you, reaching into your pocket for your badge.

"We're from the FBI," you said after introducing yourselves, trying to keep a gentle expression to spare some nerves for the already frightened woman. "Do you work here? We’d like to have a word with all the staff and the director."

The woman took a deep, nervous breath.

“Yes, I work here. Florence Terry. I’m… I’m a psychologist.”

She opened the door wider, letting you both inside. You quickly glanced around, immediately noticing how well-kept the place was. In your line of work, you’d surprisingly often found yourself visiting orphanages, and many — even in larger cities — were in far worse condition. In the spacious hallway stood a staircase made of light wood, leading to the upper floors. On one of the steps, someone had placed a teddy bear so that it looked like it was gazing down.

“Do you think it’s afraid of heights?” you whispered to Reid, careful that the psychologist couldn’t hear.

“I think it’s an inanimate object and therefore incapable of having fears,” he whispered back, leaning slightly toward you.

“I think you’re —”

“We’re just having breakfast,” Florence interrupted, leading you into the dining room, where a long table stood at the center. At the sight of you both, the adults seated there — likely other caregivers — put their utensils aside. There weren’t that many kids here; they could almost pass for an unusually large family, if not for the fact that nearly all of them were around the same age. There were no little ones — you noticed mostly teenagers. One boy spilled his tea on the table and wiped it up with his sleeve, his black bangs brushing against the glasses perched on his narrow nose. You weren’t sure if it was his appearance or his mannerisms, but he immediately reminded you of Jeremy.

Reid immediately noticed you staring. Of course he did. You gave a slight smile, reassuring him that everything was fine.

Your arrival didn’t cause much of a stir; most of the children didn’t even look up. It probably would have been different if they knew you were from the FBI. The expression on the psychologist's face, however, alarmed the adults. They exchanged tense glances, but tried to maintain appearances in front of the children.

 The woman with the tight black ponytail stood up, introducing herself as the director.

“We can talk in my office,” she offered, shaking your hand.

“We’d like to speak with all the staff,” Reid informed her.

“Oh, of course. Then please, follow me…”

She led you to a small room on the ground floor, with the word "DIRECTOR" written on the door in colorful crayons. Three more people followed you, including the psychologist.

"Not everyone is here today," the director noted. "Some employees simply work different hours, while others..."

"That’s something we wanted to discuss," you said slowly.

The women and one man exchanged glances. They knew.

"Is… is this about Denise and Alexa?" Florence dared to ask.

To their horror, you had to confirm it. It was incredibly difficult to watch someone take in the news of not only the death of colleagues, but likely close friends as well. You lowered your gaze, staring at your shoes, giving them a moment before they were ready to continue with the questioning. Together with Reid, you had to ask them countless questions, probing to understand why these particular orphanage employees had become the killer’s victims. Or perhaps, whether they remembered any former resident who had long since left but whose behavior had raised suspicions. There was a strong likelihood that the unsub had come from there.

But before you began the questioning, the doorbell rang.

"That’s probably the volunteer. A teenager from town who comes by to help from time to time, sometimes she brings friends along," the director explained, her trembling hands pressed against her chest. "Their help has been especially valuable these past few days since… since Denise and Alexa… disappeared."

"I’ll let them in," you offered, glancing at Reid. It would be worth asking these teenagers a few questions as well.

He nodded, and you headed toward the entrance of the building. One girl pulled back quickly into the dining hall at the sight of you; she must have been eavesdropping. At first, you felt like smiling, but then sadness took over. These kids didn’t know yet about the death of their caretakers. How would the staff tell them? How would they react?

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted you, equally surprised. She wore the same white jacket you’d seen her in yesterday, with a colorful scarf covering half her face, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold. You glanced toward the parking lot, where the sheriff's car was just pulling away beside yours. He must have dropped off his daughter before heading straight back to his duties. The town needed him more than ever. “Dad told me who those women were… the ones I found yesterday. Is that why you’re here?”

You confirmed, lips pressed tightly together. She stepped inside, unzipping her jacket.

"My partner is talking with the staff right now," you said, stopping with her by the stairs, not wanting the children in the dining hall to overhear. "I had no idea you volunteered here. That’s really, really kind of you. How long have you been doing this?"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Just a few months," she replied, but there was something incomplete in her tone. As if she wanted to say more but held back. You replayed your conversation from the day before in your mind, analyzing it moment by moment, trying to deduce what might be behind her behavior.

"My dad, surprisingly, isn’t too thrilled about it. I live on the other side of town, so he has to drive me here, and he also says I should be studying instead…” She lowered her voice to an embarrassed whisper. “…wandering around with the poor."

You were taken aback, even outraged, by the sheriff’s behavior. As a parent, he should be proud that his daughter took the initiative to get involved in charity work! Yet, as you looked at the girl, who was avoiding your gaze, you felt there was something she wasn’t telling you.

“I’m glad that despite his… forgive me for saying it, but rudeness, you’re still determined to help here,” you said, choosing your words carefully. Charlotte gave a shy smile at the compliment. “Out of curiosity, was it your idea? Or maybe your friends’, and you just got… drawn into it?”

The girl hesitated before finally sighing in surrender.

"My boyfriend grew up here," she admitted. "He told me a bit about this place, and… hearing his stories, I felt a need to help these kids. I started coming here, tutoring them, playing with them, teaching them to draw. You know, typical volunteer stuff."

Her answer didn’t surprise you much. Since she’d mentioned her boyfriend yesterday—describing him as someone who opposed rules and was the complete opposite of her father—you’d subconsciously known this topic would come up again. You didn’t hide the fact that the way she described him had raised concerns, making you question whether he was truly a good match for such a sensitive young girl.

"Does he know about this? Does he come help with you?"

"N-no. He doesn't have the best memories of this place... but he's really happy that I decided to do this."

You didn’t want to turn the conversation into an interrogation, but you felt you needed to ask these questions to get the full picture.

“How long ago did he leave the orphanage?”

Charlotte seemed increasingly tense during the conversation, glancing around as if expecting someone to come and rescue her. You couldn’t help but cross your arms over your chest, a gesture that may have seemed threatening or stern. Quickly realizing that you’d frightened her, you softened your posture, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

You were almost certain that this was a similar case. Charlotte was only sixteen, struggling with the death of her mother, a sensitive soul with an incredibly strict father—who also happened to be a cop. An older boyfriend might have given her a sense of escape from the heavy hand of her father’s authority, a feeling of freedom.

"Sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive. Just a professional habit," you joked. She smiled faintly, still clearly on edge.

The way she spoke about him—the hint of fear, her earlier request for you not to mention him to her father, and her avoidance of answering how long ago he left the orphanage—made you start to seriously suspect that he was older than her. It wasn’t unusual for teenage girls to seek out older partners, and in most cases, it wasn’t a bad thing... but sometimes, those older partners turned out to be much older men. Manipulators.

Before you could say anything more, Reid appeared in the doorway of the office, casting a curious glance between you and the girl, whom he surely remembered from yesterday.

"Uh...Can I have a word with you?" he called you. Charlotte greeted him so quietly that he probably didn’t even hear it. "I think I’ve found something interesting."

"Oh, sure," you replied, remembering you shouldn’t leave him alone with the work for too long. Before leaving, you smiled at the sheriff’s daughter. The topic of her and her boyfriend was still nagging at you. "I’d like to talk to you later, okay? Either after we finish talking to the staff, or... you have my number, right?"

The girl nodded, murmuring a quick goodbye before disappearing into the dining hall, where a child squealed with delight at the sight of her.

"Did you find anything out?" you asked Reid. He had been watching the girl with obvious interest, which was piqued by your almost agitated stance. However, you didn’t have time to explain everything to him yet; you needed to get back to the main investigation.

You both returned to the office. The staff were standing in the same spots, looking as if they hadn’t moved an inch since you left.

"I asked a few questions that might help us figure out why the unsub chose three people who worked at this particular orphanage," he began. You noticed he was starting to speak faster, which meant a breakthrough had occurred, at least in his reasoning. You watched him, holding your breath. "And I found out that none of the people here have worked here for more than eight years. Just like the victims."

You furrowed your brow, not sure what that meant. The director quickly offered an explanation.

"Eight years ago, there was a huge scandal involving this orphanage," she explained, swallowing hard. "It came to light that the caretakers and the director at the time were abusing the children. Seriously abusing them. What’s worse, the case was reported multiple times, but no one in the town’s leadership did anything about it. The mayor stayed silent... They say he was afraid to do anything, so as not to lose the funding the orphanage was receiving. It wasn’t until eight years ago that the truth finally came out, the staff was convicted, and they were replaced by us."

"The town’s leadership didn’t react," you repeated her words, your mind working at full speed. "The earlier victims were part of the town’s leadership. This is the connection we’ve been looking for, Reid. The unsub must have been a victim of abuse right here in this orphanage."

"We need to tell the others," Reid decided. You both headed toward the exit, and then you remembered that you hadn’t even said goodbye to the orphanage staff.

"Thank you for your help, these are really useful pieces of information..." you said quickly as you passed them.

In the car, everything felt like it was spinning.

"Look, the unsub isn’t directly killing the people who abused him. If that were the case, the old staff would be the ones dying, not the current one. Remember, one of his victims was a teacher, completely unrelated to the orphanage. I think it’s not about punishing those people, but more about a symbolic revenge, one that doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to make sense to us, but it seems logical to him," Reid shared his thoughts as you drove toward the police station, where you expected to find the rest of your team. "He’s struggling with trauma. He’s been managing it somehow over the years, but now he’s unable to control the rage building up inside him. Decapitation is another symbol. It strips these people of the power they once had over him when he was a child or a teenager, and no one listened to his cries for help."

You straightened up in your seat, all the information starting to fall into place.

"Do you remember this morning when I mentioned that something came to my mind? That’s why I didn’t want to leave?" you asked. "At first, we were puzzled that some of the victims were treated with a different level of cruelty, specifically the women. Others, the ones from the city council, only had their heads cut off, with no other injuries. The unsub believes these innocent people are directly responsible for hurting him, he’s delusional. Sometimes he blames the city authorities for not reacting. The anger he feels toward them isn’t as intense as for the orphanage staff, which is why he harms them to a lesser extent. I think... he’s experiencing manic episodes, where all his feelings and paranoia are stronger. That’s when he kills with much greater cruelty."

“Mania?” Reid repeated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You mean borderline?” You nodded. For a moment, he thought over your words, then his eyes lit up. “That... that’s very possible. There have been cases where borderline murderers nearly changed their modus operandi. During a manic episode, when someone with borderline personality disorder experiences heightened energy, a sense of grandeur, and excessive impulsivity, they may act more aggressively, brutally, and ruthlessly. In a depressive episode, on the other hand, the person may act more coldly, with calculated precision, focusing on their goal without emotional outbursts, but carrying a heavy load of negative emotions. It all fits.”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar rush that came whenever you were close to solving a case. Your heart raced, and warmth crept over your neck, like a fever. You and Reid burst into the station, practically supporting each other like two converging whirlwinds, nearly colliding with Hotch in the process. He was initially startled, then his eyes narrowed as he took in both your faces, his expression becoming more focused as you explained everything.

For a moment, he was silent.

“Let’s call Garcia,” he finally said. “Have her find all the men who lived in that orphanage eight years ago.”

You took a deep breath. This was really happening. You were so close to catching the killer...

After filling Garcia in on everything you knew, she immediately set to work compiling a list of men who might fit the profile. Meanwhile, you and Reid headed to the coffee and snack machine. You bought yourself a drink and a chocolate bar, feeling the rush of adrenaline start to subside.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of calm, you checked your phone for any missed calls.

“Neither my mother nor my father called,” you said, slipping the phone back into your pocket. Sharing personal details with anyone on the team still felt strange—especially when it came to your family. You wondered if it would ever feel normal. You noticed Spencer giving you a concerned look. “It’s a good thing,” you added quickly. “It means Jeremy’s condition is stable. Or maybe even improving. If it were bad, I’d have twenty missed calls from my mom—and one from my dad.”

You tried to turn that last line into a joke, but it came out sounding more bleak than funny.

“I hope everything will be okay with him,” Reid said, as his cup filled with coffee from the machine. He reached for it, his gaze fixed on you. “You remember that you can come to me if things get tough, right?”

“I try not to forget,” you admitted, hugging your arms around yourself. “But it’s not something I’m used to.”

For a moment, he looked at you silently, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes seemed so gentle and understanding that it was hard for you to look away.

"Hey, lovers!"

Spencer jumped and cursed as coffee spilled onto his hand. Startled, you both turned to see Morgan grinning at you with a playful smile.

"Come over here for a sec."

You felt the urge to cover your face at the sight of the entire team, who had all heard what he'd called you.

Some unknown force held you back from nudging Emily when she shot you an amused sidelong glance. But soon, your focus shifted to Garcia's face on the laptop screen, ready to share her findings.

"Tell us what you found, babygirl."

"So, I managed to pull up quite a long list of former orphanage residents. Surprisingly long, for such a small town. Hotch helped narrow it down a bit… I found twelve men who would now be between twenty and forty years old. Five of them still live in town, but one of them caught my eye. Well, actually, his story did. He was placed in the orphanage at ten years old after his mother, struggling with bipolar disorder, attempted suicide."

You already knew it was him.

"His name is Logan Osborne, currently twenty-four years old. He has one minor offense on record for selling weed, oddly enough, in another town. Here’s where it gets interesting—though not in a good way. His mother actually survived but passed away less than two years ago, and he inherited her house and apparently moved back into it."

"Returning to the town where he was abused must have been the trigger that pushed him to murder," said Reid. 

"That would fit with my theory about bipolar personality disorder," you summarized. "Genetics alone doesn’t determine the disorder, but the fact is that in families with cases of this disorder, the likelihood of it appearing in other individuals is higher."

At one point, you had read a lot about it due to your own mother. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reid looked at you intently, surely noticing the sudden shift in the tone of your voice. God, he must have been that observant?

"What's the address of his house?" Hotch asked.

You waited in readiness as Garcia provided the information. Once she did, you all gathered and headed out.

*

If you had found him there, everything would have been so simple. Almost too simple.

But there was no sign of Logan Osborne at the house, nor any indication that it was inhabited by a serial killer who decapitated his victims. Instead of immediately securing the building, Hotch ordered a stakeout. Inside, several agents, including Morgan and Prentiss, waited for the moment he might show up.

The rest of the team had no tasks assigned. You waited at the precinct, hoping something would happen. Meanwhile, Garcia sifted through thousands of bits of information about the man. Some were more important than others, but unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel a growing sense of dread among you all.

Since inheriting his mother’s house, he hadn’t paid taxes or most of his bills. He didn’t have a steady job, though he picked up odd jobs here and there. You checked with the local police, but most didn’t recognize his name. One officer who did recall him said he didn’t have the best relations with the authorities. With anyone, really.

"A little anarchist, huh?" Rossi muttered.

You felt the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Reaching for it, you saw a message from an unknown number.

hey it’s charlotte. you said we could meet and talk when i needed to please can we meet? i can’t handle what i saw on the farm yesterday and my dad isn’t helping with his behavior either

A few hours had already passed since the ambush was set, and still nothing had happened, though the darkness outside was settling in.

“Would it be alright if I disappear for a quarter?” you asked. “I promised something to the sheriff’s daughter, and it looks like I’ll need to meet with her.”

You didn’t receive any opposition. If anything happened, you would be immediately informed by phone. Reid offered to go with you, but Hotch needed him for something. You wouldn’t have minded his company—on the contrary, you would have been glad for it—but on the other hand, Charlotte might not feel too comfortable with it. After all, she had arranged to meet only with you.

As you drove toward her house, you spent a lot of time reflecting on your earlier conversation. It was the first time you really had the chance to think about it seriously. Her mysterious boyfriend, whom she had been so reluctant to talk about and with whom there was probably an age gap. And who also grew up in that orphanage...

You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you earlier. Maybe because of how well-behaved Charlotte seemed? Her big, bright eyes full of kindness. She herself seemed like the perfect teenager—sensitive and eager to help. Plus, she was the sheriff's daughter. For God's sake, you were about to go to the house of another cop.

You only realized how foolish you had been when, as soon as you stepped out of the car, something hit you in the back of the head.

*

You were woken up by nothing but the pain in the back of your head.

You opened your eyes, struggling to hold back a groan. Everything around you was blurry, as if you had a terrible vision problem and were forced to go somewhere without your glasses. The image, however, began to sharpen with each passing second, causing your heart to beat faster.

You were in…

It was hard to say what kind of place this was. Incredibly dark, the only weak light source was somewhere behind your back. It was possible it was a battery-powered lamp. You couldn’t confirm your suspicions, however… because you couldn’t move. You realized this with horror.

You were tied to the chair with rope. It wrapped tightly around your body, making it hard to breathe and pressing painfully on your ribs. Some of them might even be broken.

Wherever you were, the whole situation looked far from promising. Fragments of memories swirled around your head, randomly flying into your mind and helping you recall what had actually happened.

Of course, working for the FBI, you knew how to behave in the event of a kidnapping. The most important rule was: don’t panic. The problem was, it was damn hard to follow that. 

Inhale, exhale, something jabbed at your ribs. You couldn’t stop another soft groan from escaping.

As if drawn by the sound, a young man appeared in your line of sight.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning over you as if you were an infant. After a second, he straightened up, the smile completely replaced by a serious expression. “I don’t like killing people when they’re asleep.”

Garcia had sent you his pictures, and even with the poor lighting, you were able to recognize your unsub in them.

"Logan Osborne?"

"I see you've done your homework."

"Where’s Charlotte?" you asked, a sudden rush of panic flooding through you. Maybe she was behind you, somewhere you couldn’t see? Was she involved in your abduction? After all, it was her who sent the message...

"You think I know where she is every moment of every day?" he sneered, suddenly angry. The room was small, but to your left, there was a rotting bench with metal objects arranged on it. You had to turn your head sharply to confirm your worst suspicion. Knives.

It was getting harder and harder not to panic.

"Knowing her, she's probably painting. My work on the farm really inspired her."

There was a sound. Like a drop falling from the ceiling.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"None of your business."

"Is this a bunker?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What difference does it make if I find out? I'm tied up," you shrugged meaningfully, emphasizing your position. This caused a wave of pain to course through your chest.

For a moment, there was silence. The man was wandering around the surroundings, and all you could do was watch as he wiped each blade on his flannel shirt. The bile began to rise in your throat with every move he made. Pessimistic thoughts started flooding your mind, so tragic that you barely managed to hold back the tears.

First, everyone on your team thought you went to meet Charlotte. Meaning, it would likely be your prolonged absence that would eventually seem suspicious.

Second, you were in such a mysterious place that everything pointed to the fact that no one would find you, even by accident. Well, alive. 

You knew you couldn’t give up, even though there was little you could do in such a situation. The only real solution in such a hopeless scenario was… convincing him to let you go. A scenario that was damn unlikely, but since death was already threatening you, why not give it a try?

"Logan," you said, your voice trembling. In your mind, you replayed his profile, reminding yourself of facts that could give you an edge in your conversation with him. "Killing me won't help you. It's not me you want to hurt, it's those who hurt you in the orphanage. And those who didn’t react."

"Fine, it’s a bunker," he replied, as if he hadn’t even heard most of what you said. "Back in the Cold War, people built them by the dozen. They didn’t even inform the authorities. We found this one once with the kids from the orphanage, and we didn’t tell anyone, you know what that means, agent?"

You were painfully aware of it.

"Logan," you tried again. "My people know you killed those people. They'll find you the moment you step out into the open. Killing me won’t change anything..."

"Not killing me won’t either."

"They’ll look at you more favorably..."

"Favorably?" he exploded in a manic laugh, suddenly right in front of you. You flinched at the sight of his crazed face so close to yours. "They’ll look favorably on a seven-time murderer? Are you joking? Since I’m already screwed, I might as well cut off your head too..."

Fuck the fake calm, you were terrified.

You trembled, the pain in your ribs intensified, and the first tears began to fall from your eyes. You thought about how you’d never see Jeremy again. How he’d wake up and your death would probably be one of the first things he’d find out. What would he do then? God, your team would think you were an idiot. Of course, no one would say it out loud, but that’s what you were. You got yourself into this situation. Under these circumstances, they shouldn’t even particularly mourn, though they probably would, just a little.

Spencer would probably grieve a little more than the others. Those two nights in one room had brought you closer, you couldn’t deny that. Before, you had thought of him as just a regular coworker, the genius boy, sometimes amusing in his awkwardness. The way he supported you at the worst possible moment made you realize just how valuable he was.

Wherever you end up after death, you’ll miss him.

You didn’t know what motivated you to speak up again. Was it the thought of Jeremy and Spencer, or perhaps the sound of Logan sharpening some kind of weapon, probably an ax?

“Please," you pleaded simply, no longer knowing what else might reach him.

"Don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry. Charlotte does it all the time."

"Charlotte," you repeated. "Did she... know?"

You wanted to know if the girl you had tried so hard to help had played an active role in your murder.

"Of course not," he sneered. "She didn’t help me with anything, if that’s what you’re asking. But she told me about you, the nice FBI agent who snoops around a lot. She thought I was just some rebellious guy, attractive to a teenager like her. You know, with a tough cop dad. I won't lie, it turned me on, sleeping with the sheriff's daughter, knowing I was being hunted by him. And not just by him. Even by the damn FBI."

He seemed proud of himself. Maybe that’s what you should do? Appeal to his ego?

"You were really a tough case," you said, pretending to be impressed. "Seriously. Hours spent analyzing, we sat in silence, none of my colleagues knew what to say..."

“Spare me, I see what you're doing. You're trying to manipulate me... because... you feel superior." After saying those words, a sudden fury ignited in him. He knocked over the rotting table, the knives on it scattering to the floor. You took a breath, clenching your fists tightly in pure panic. "Just like they did. They thought they could hurt little kids, abuse them... because their position allowed it. After all, they were older, their word against a child's word. They say children have too vivid an imagination, have you ever heard that?!”

You closed your eyes, he was screaming it right in your face.

"No, Logan, that's not true... they were monsters, but I would have helped you if I... if I could."

"Then why didn't you?!"

"I... I... I..." Tears tore through you, and you got lost in your own words.

Logan opened his mouth again, but suddenly fell silent. His earlier screams were completely drowned out by a sound from above. You stiffened, recognizing it. Footsteps.

"They're here," you whispered, like a prayer. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

The man, jaw clenched, stared at the entrance to the bunker. He suppressed a scream of rage, turned around, and grabbed his head, not knowing what to do. But suddenly, he bent down to pick something up from the floor, one of the knives he had knocked over when he flipped the table.

"W-what are you doing?" you asked. Something urged you to struggle, even though you knew it was pointless, the ropes were too tight. "What are you doing?!"

The footsteps mixed with voices, even a shout, and the room was soon flooded with a tsunami of daylight.

"Since they’ve got me anyway, I might as well slit your throat..."

You couldn’t stop the scream as he approached you with the knife. A firm grip on your shoulder, keeping you from squirming. The cold metal on your neck, grazing the thin skin.

And then a shot.

NOTE:

I HATE THE ENDING THE READER IS SO STUPID....!

but in my defence i got kind of lost in my plans and i had to change many things in the last moment

but i want to say that im very grateful for reading 2 previos parts and all the notes under<3 i didn't expect so many likes and comments

epilogue for this story will be posted tomorrow!

taglist: @nightfullofparadox @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[hollybell51]

Gentleman

Navigation

Sam Winchester x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s03e02 “bloodlust”

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: you and Sam don't exactly see eye to eye with Dean's new friend, so you return to the motel by yourselves. Things... escalate.  

Content: smutty smut smut! Shameless, loving, gentle porn with a bit of a plot. Tooth rotting sappiness and fluff. Bit of hurt/comfort, bit of angst. Reader is just so in love with Sam (I am too dw). Sam is down horrendously bad for the reader (I'm horrendously down bad for him. I cannot emphasise this enough). Use of (Y/N), but not too much. Hickeys, making out, extremely light switchiness (barely noticeable, just healthily flexible dynamics), blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, safe sex, vaginal sex. Hugs all round (someone needed to give these boys one), Dean and the reader get along, Dean has like one soft moment, there's quite a bit of reminiscing and stuff. Gordon's vibes are Off. As above, set during season 2 episode 3.

Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! I'm (kinda) back, and my summaries have not gotten any better! Started watching Supernatural and got brainrot. Got lots of stuff planned but probably won't actually write it (sorry). The things I would let these two men do to me is insane like actually insane besties I am not ok. Anyways enjoy the by-product of my suffering, consider this a peace offering as I worm my way into the Supernatural fandom.

Also I have been working sporadically on some requests so if you made one chances are I've seen it and I have started it, but also I have Things in my Life right now that are very Stressful so yeah that's fun but yknow it is what it is, thanks everyone for being so supportive and patient with me xx

To say you were uncomfortable would have been an understatement. It wasn’t just how easily Gordon was talking about what had happened, or the too-bright light in his eyes as he recounted it, or Dean’s ease with the whole thing. It had been a freaking execution! And sure, the guy was a vampire, but the way the saw had just chewed right through his neck, the kicking of his legs as he’d died, the blood spraying over Dean’s face… yeah. As Sam had put it, decapitations weren’t really your idea of a good time. And it certainly wasn’t something you felt like laughing about over drinks. 

You could see Sam’s leg bouncing slightly, his face blank as he stared at the beer he was nursing. Your own stomach twisted with unease. Chances were, if he was on edge, so were you. The emotional interplay wasn’t new, and in fact, Dean gave you endless shit about it. “I don’t know what’s up with you,” he’d say. “I just gotta thank God I don’t develop some freaky emotional feedback loop with every girl I bang.” 

Now, Sam glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. You screwed up your nose. Not enough to be too noticeable, but enough to let him know you thought something was a bit off too. He nodded almost imperceptibly. 

“What’s up with you two?” Dean asked, frowning at your practically untouched beer. 

You shrugged. Sam shrugged. 

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a mouthful of his drink before turning to his new friend. “I swear,” he said, “they read each others' minds. He’s grumpy, she’s grumpy. She’s happy, he’s happy. I reckon if she stubbed her toe, he’d be limping.” 

Gordon barked a laugh, raising his eyebrows. “That so?” 

“Dean, come off it,” you sighed. 

He shook his head, smiling. “Lighten up, both of you.” 

You opened your mouth to say something about how you didn’t think lightening up was really appropriate given the circumstances, but the scraping of Sam’s chair cut you off. 

“I’m not gonna bring you guys down,” he said. “I’m just gonna go back to the motel.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed as he glanced at you, “I’m a bit tired.” 

Dean frowned. “You sure?” 

You nodded, standing. 

“Ok,” he shrugged. “Seeya.” 

“Seeya,” you smiled tightly, then passed him your unfinished beer. “You want this?” 

“You’re not taking it?” 

You shook your head. “Not in a beer sort of mood.” 

He gave you a searching look, then shrugged again and took the drink. “Sure.” 

“Thanks, Gordon.” You nodded to the other hunter. As much as you felt off about him, you didn’t need to be rude. 

He inclined his head back to you. “My pleasure.” 

Sam’s hand settled on your back as you joined him by the door, and you cast a final glance back at the two men remaining at the table. 

“Sammy!” Dean called, the car keys jingling in his hand as he tossed them to his brother. “Remind me to beat that buzzkill outta you later, alright?” 

Sam caught them with ease, Gordon’s enquiry of “something I said?” chasing you out the door. Hell yeah, it was something he said. It was everything he said.  

“Jesus,” you grumbled, shivering in the cold air. 

Sam snorted, absently shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. Equally thoughtlessly, you put it on. It had become something of a routine. Sam didn’t exactly get too cold very often, but you did. He was many things, and “gentleman” was pretty high on the list by you reckoning. 

“I don’t know about all of this,” he said, feet crunching on the gravel as he headed towards the car. “Something’s…” 

“Off, yeah.” You swung into the passenger seat, arms crossed firmly over your chest. 

“I can’t quite–” The engine cut him off for a moment, but he didn’t finish the sentence anyway. It didn’t matter.

“I know, it’s a brain itch.” 

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. Seatbelt,” he added as the car rolled out of the parking lot, another habit between the two of you. You could have sworn you’d have been dead years ago if you hadn’t had someone reminding you to use the damn things, a fact that both Winchester brothers were not afraid to attempt to drill into you. They hadn’t had much success. 

You hummed as you clicked the strap across your body, shrinking further down into the seat. You were feeling better now that you weren’t sitting across from Gordon, now that it was just you and Sam. You loved Dean, of course you did, but Sam was just so easy to be around. The two of you clicked, simple as that, and you adored it. 

“I’m gonna call Ellen,” Sam said decisively, frowning at the road. “Maybe she knows him.” 

You nodded. “Mhm, good idea.” 

You were still humming – the melody from something that had been playing on the drive that day, you thought – as you entered the motel room, gulping down a glass of water before jumping onto the kitchen counter. Your heels made a dull thud, thud, thud, on the cupboards as you swung them, the zipper of Sam’s jacket swishing over the cheap vinyl. You watched him take a seat on the bed and dial Ellen. 

You listened idly to his side of the conversation, eventually sliding off the counter top and coming to sit behind him on the bed. You rested your head on his shoulder, sighing. It had been an oddly long day. 

“But I thought you said he was a good hunter,” he was frowning. 

You thought you heard her say “Hannibal Lecter”, and frowned too. Shit, was Gordon some kind of serial killer? You hoped not. 

Sam’s back was warm under your cheek, but his shoulders were tense. The last few weeks hadn’t been easy. You hadn’t known John Winchester well, but the time you’d spent with him had been… Well, it hadn’t been nice exactly, but you could see the love he had for his sons. You couldn’t imagine going through what Sam had, almost losing his brother and then really losing his father in the space of a week. You thought he was handling everything reasonably well, all things considered.

There’d been one moment, just a few days ago, when you’d thought he might crack. Dean had been out like a light in the back of the car, and you’d reached around to snap a photo of him squished up against the window. You’d laughed at it – he looked ridiculous. When you’d glanced up to show Sam, he was staring straight at the road, a muscle in his jaw twitching. 

“Alright?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded.

You’d frowned. “Want me to drive for a bit?”

This time, a head shake.

He wasn’t alright, you could see that clear as day. “Sam, pull over,” you said softly.

He’d swung the car off the road so abruptly you’d jerked against your seatbelt, simply sitting with his foot on the brake and both hands on the steering wheel.

You’d reached over and put the car in park, switching off the ignition. “Come on,” you’d said, “out.” 

He’d leant against the side of the car, arms crossed, staring out into the field you were driving past. 

“Interesting grass?” you’d asked, bumping your shoulder against his. 

He hadn’t smiled exactly, but his mouth had definitely twitched up a bit at the corner. You’d consider that a win. 

“Seriously,” you’d prodded. “What’s up?” 

“I don’t…” He’d trailed off, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “I can’t…” 

You’d frowned as he’d shaken his head, looking anywhere but you. You’d told yourself something like this was gonna happen eventually, prepped the whole “I’m here no matter what” speech a thousand times, but now you didn’t really know what to do. The only thing you could think of was to put your hand on his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles like your kindergarten teacher used to do when you were upset. 

Sam’s voice was choked when he finally spoke. “I can’t lose you.” 

Four words, but you were convinced your heart had shattered right there. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, stepping to face him. You took his hands in yours, uncrossing his arms.

“How can you–?” 

You cut him off, shaking your head as you raised his hands to your face and kissed his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated. “Nowhere you can’t follow.” 

He’d just nodded, pulling you into a tight hug. You breathed deeply, the strong smell of the most recent laundromat’s detergent all around you, your fingers bunched in the back of Sam’s shirt. 

“I’ve got your back,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair, “I’ve got yours, too.” 

“Good.” You’d pulled away, smiling as you stretched up to kiss him. It was soft and chaste, but that was all either of you needed. 

Then Dean had woken up and shouted at you to save your “romantic moments” for when you weren’t supposed to be driving. You’d grumbled that he was just jealous, which he’d vehemently denied amongst a lot of vomit noises. But later, as you’d waited for Sam to get back with lunch, he’d put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side. 

“I’m glad he’s got you,” he’d said. “Real glad.” 

“You’ve got me too,” you’d smiled. “Always.” 

He’d just stared at you for a moment, his arm still around you, before he’d cleared his throat and stepped back. “Thanks,” he’d muttered. “‘ppreciate it.”  

Now, with the same softness, you let your hand slide up Sam’s back and across his shoulders, then down his side. You brushed over his chest, down to his stomach, then back up to settle over his heart. You always forgot how big he was until you tried to get your arms around him, then it was like hugging a mountain. You loved it. 

He cleared his throat. 

You smiled, placing a soft kiss where his hair brushed the back of his neck, using your free hand to sweep it away. 

“Ok, yeah,” Sam said to Ellen. He sighed as your lips trailed higher, up under his ear. 

“Mhm, we will.” His fingers curled in the bed covers as you sucked ever so gently at the spot you’d found, the one you knew drove him insane. 

“Yep, alright. Thanks, Ellen.” A forceful swallow as you rubbed slow patterns across his front, nothing but the thin material of his shirt separating your hand from his skin. 

“Ok. Bye.” 

You smiled as the phone beeped, then was thrown to the bed. You eased your hand under his shirt, shivering as your fingers met the warm expanse of his torso. You could touch him like this forever, if you were given the chance. 

“What’re you doing?” he breathed, tilting his head back, baring his throat. 

“Kissing you,” you whispered as you moved down the muscle of his neck, “touching you,” as your hand ran gently over his pectoral, thumb grazing his nipple. 

“Mm, do I get to kiss you too?” 

You smiled. “If you ask nicely, yeah.” 

“Please?” 

“Hm?”

He sighed. “(Y/N), come on.” 

“Nope,” you laughed softly. “Ask nicely.” 

You felt his chest heave under your hand, and you pressed your mouth to his neck again. 

“Pretty please,” he murmured. 

You pretended to be considering this for a moment, dragging it out. Truth be told, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as he wanted to, but God it was fun teasing a bit. Especially like this, when it was you draped over his back, hinting at giving him hickeys, touching wherever you pleased. 

“Go ahead,” you replied. 

Before you could even draw another breath he’d turned and brought his hand up to cup your face, pressing his lips against yours. You let him lick into your mouth, his tongue sliding languidly alongside your own, the faint taste of beer still clinging to him. It was all so soft and gentle and full of care, everything you adored about him. 

He shifted back on the bed, turning to face you. Your hands were still under his shirt, arm still stretched across his body as he pushed against you. 

“I love this on you,” he murmured as his hands found the opening of his jacket, pushing it back over your shoulders. 

You smiled. “You want me to take it off?” 

“And this.” He plucked at the t-shirt you wore underneath, already coaxing it upwards. 

“Alright,” you laughed, batting his hands away. “Patience is a virtue.” 

“Whoever said that clearly never met you.” 

You looked away, hoping to hide the pink you could feel flooding your cheeks. However many times you did this, Sam never failed to get you flustered. You could sense his eyes on you as you stripped yourself of your shirt and his jacket, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He started to shuffle back further onto the bed, one hand settling on your waist as he leant down to kiss along your jaw. You sighed, your mind halfway made up to just let him keep going like that. But no. 

“Uh-uh,” you said, pushing him gently off you. 

“What do you–? Oh.” 

You smiled as you slid off the bed, kneeling between his legs. You ran your hand up his thigh, deftly undoing his belt and fly. Heck, you’d had practice. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “God, yes.” 

You rolled your eyes, gesturing to his pants. “Well you gotta help me out a bit, yeah?” 

“Sorry,” he grinned, shedding them in one smooth motion.

“And those.” You pointed at his underwear. 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“Damn right,” you muttered as you kissed your way up his thigh, nipping gently at the skin of his hip. He smelled of the soap from last night’s motel room, faint but still there, a little sweat from the night’s earlier action. You could taste it where your tongue touched him, and man was it good.

His voice was breathy when he asked, “You gonna keep teasing me forever?” 

“Maybe.” You watched as goosebumps appeared where your breath tickled him, smiling to yourself. 

“Is that what’s got you smiling like that?” 

You sat back on your heels, arms resting on his knees as you looked up at him. He was so gorgeous, the shitty neon lighting of the room glancing off his hair in a kind of halo. You thought your next words through very carefully. 

“No,” you said slowly. “I’m thinking about how your cock’s gonna feel in my mouth. How you’re gonna say my name when I’ve got you so deep down my throat I’m almost gagging. I bet you won’t be able to keep your hands off me, I’ll make you feel so good.” 

Sam’s mouth fell open, his hands twitching where they rested on the duvet. 

“What do you think?” 

He swallowed. “I think I’m not even gonna take you up on that bet, I think you’re right.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ok then.” You smiled, leaning forward and taking his dick in your hands. It was hard and warm to the touch, already leaking precum. You licked down, then up again, swirling your tongue around the head. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Please, (Y/N).” 

“You want me to suck it?” 

“Yes. Please.” 

You shrugged. “Since you asked so nicely.” You sank your mouth down onto him, your hands working what wouldn’t fit. Sam’s thighs tensed, and you moved. You could have stayed like that forever, you thought, just holding him in your mouth. You had half a mind to ask about that, actually. 

Sam moaned, his fingers twisting in the covers as you pulled your head back, then forward again, sucking and licking along his length. You’d wanted to take your time at first, tease him and see how long it took for him to be fisting your hair and moving your head for you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure. 

“Oh my God,” he whispered as you increased your speed, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. His dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, something you might have been embarrassed about in the past. Now it turned you on. 

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Sam’s hips despite his best efforts. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. 

“(Y/N),” he panted. “Shit, (Y/N).” 

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos – before you met him, that was – as his hand finally flew to your hair, his fingers carding through it. He was trying so hard to be gentle, and you loved him for it. 

“You look so hot like that,” he whispered. “How’re you so fucking hot?” 

You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You vividly remembered a conversation you’d had with Sam and Dean in the car once, where Dean had proclaimed that “there are blowjobs, and then there are blowjobs.” Sam had turned and looked at you, raising an eyebrow. Dean had yelled at you both and told you to get a room. What you were doing right now was definitely a blowjob, and you were loving every second of it. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Sam was panting, “(Y/N) oh my God I’m gonna cum.” 

His fingers tightened in your hair, his head thrown back and his cock twitching in your mouth. You went all in, sucking and licking and jerking with everything you had in you. 

Yes, you thought as you swallowed everything he gave you, basking in his muttered curses and groans like they were water and you were a wilted houseplant. This was heaven, right here. Every time you watched him come undone, you were completely convinced it couldn’t get any better than this. And without fail, the next time it did. 

He was still panting as you licked him clean, as gently as you could. His hand had settled on your shoulder, large fingers caressing your skin so tenderly it made you want to cry. 

“You ok?” you asked, sitting back. You patted his knee, watching his face carefully. He was flushed, a light sheen of sweat sticking some of his hair to his forehead. You hadn’t really paid much attention at the time, but now you wished you’d made him take off his shirt too. You loved watching his chest heave as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Ok?” he echoed, opening his eyes. He grinned. “I’m more than ok.” 

You smiled back, licking your lips. “Good.” 

“Come up here,” he said, patting his leg. “And take off your pants.” 

“Magic word?”

“Please.” Then, on second thoughts, “pretty please.” 

You laughed, but got up and shed your jeans anyway. You slid onto his lap, straddling his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you softly, holding you close against him. The material of his shirt tickled your skin, very noticeably baring you from the silken warmth of his skin. 

“Off,” you said against his lips, plucking at the garment. 

“Off,” he repeated, tracing the line of your underwear. 

Almost perfectly in sync, the two of you shed the offending clothing. 

“I love this,” he whispered as he reached behind you, deftly unfastening your bra and pulling it away from you. He set it aside carefully, almost reverently, then bent his head and fastened his mouth to your breast. “Hey,” he said after a moment, frowning. 

You frowned too. “What’s wrong?” 

His finger traced a delicate circle over your other breast, tapping at a spot just above your nipple. “What’s this?” 

You squinted at the area, then laughed. The faded yellowish bruise wasn’t all that visible, but of course Sam would find it. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s a hickey. From you. From last time.” 

His face cleared. “Shit, didn’t realise it’d last that long. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you smiled. “Makes me think of you whenever I see it.” 

“Maybe I should give you more, then.” 

Your grin widened. “Please.”

“Mm?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty please.” 

“Ok.” He bent once more, sucking a matching spot into your unmarked breast. Then he added another one beside it, and a third right in the middle of your sternum. 

“No more low cut tops, I guess,” you sighed, stifling a moan as he moved downwards with another. 

“Shame,” he murmured into your skin, “I love those low cut tops.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“I’d be insane not to.” 

You laughed, then gasped as he ran his hand up your thigh. 

“Relax,” he said. 

“I’m relaxed, I’m so relaxed.” 

“Your heartbeat says you’re lying.” 

“That’s for you,” you told him, meeting his eyes. “That’s what you do to me.” 

“And this?” His finger darted between your legs, sliding easily with how wet you were. 

“Yeah,” you gasped, “all for you.” 

He cursed softly, then lowered you gently onto the bed. He propped himself half over you, half beside you, his hand stroking down over your stomach, your hips, around your pelvis. 

“Please,” you moaned. “Sam, please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Touch me. Please,” you added as an afterthought. 

“Nice manners,” he noted, rubbing achingly slow circles over your clit. 

You gripped his arm, fingers digging into the muscle as he bent and resumed his assault on your breasts. 

“You take such good care of me,” he continued, his voice muffled slightly by your soft flesh. “You always take such good care of me.”

“Cause I love you,” you whispered. 

“Mhm, you gonna let me take care of you too?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Of course.” 

“Good.”

You whined at the loss of his fingers on your clit, then bit your lip to quiet what would have been a loud moan as he slipped the finger inside you. The heel of his hand ground against your sensitive bundle of nerves, his finger putting just the right pressure in just the right places. You’d be a mess in no time, and you both knew it. 

“Fuck, Sam,” you panted, your back arching as you chased the feeling. 

“Hm?” His chest was warm where it pressed against your side, the muscles of his arm rippling subtly under the skin where your fingers dug into him. His free hand stroked your shoulder, his mouth busy littering your chest with hickeys. You could feel him growing hard again against your thigh. 

“Fuck me?” you half asked, half offered. 

He grunted softly at your words, nodding. “Got a condom?” 

“Mhm, yeah, sure. One sec.” You reached over to your jeans, rummaging in the pockets until you struck gold. Or foil, you supposed. You watched as Sam tore it open and slid it on, as easily as if he was tying shoelaces. He’d gotten stupidly fast at putting the things on, courtesy of the whole “Dean could get back any minute so let’s just be as fast as we can” element you so often found yourselves dealing with. You weren’t complaining. 

“Ready?” he asked, positioning himself between your legs. You rocked your hips gently, feeling his hardness pressed against your dripping centre. 

He nodded, then softly slid inside you. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch and the warmth of it. It was like he was made for you, the way he fit. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, your fingers twisting in the duvet. 

“Alright?” he asked, and you nodded. 

“Move,” you urged him. He did, slow and gentle. The light was doing that thing with his hair again, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it. Brush it off his forehead, kiss him there, smooth the faint worry line that seemed to be present more and more frequently. You’d do anything to make it disappear forever. 

“You feel so good,” he murmured, leaning forward to deliver more kisses to your chest. You were gonna have a whole forest of hickeys when you were done.  

“You feel good,” you replied. Your breath was coming short, a light sheen of sweat gathering over your skin even though you weren’t the one doing all the work. 

“Touch yourself,” he encouraged you, “I want you to cum while I’m fucking you.” 

“Shit, ok,” you replied, reaching down and running a finger in tiny circles over your clit. You loved how easily you could give and take control with him, how quickly and smoothly you could switch roles when you wanted to. It wasn’t just in bed, either, and you adored it. You adored him.

Your own hand combined with the steady thrusting of his dick was perfect. You weren’t going to last long, and judging by Sam’s shuddering breaths and muttered curses, your name sprinkled throughout, neither was he. 

“(Y/N), fuck,” he moaned, his abdominal muscles twitching and tensing. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped as you felt the tightness coiling inside you, more, more, more– “Holy fuck, I’m gonna–” You released with a frantic cry of his name, your spine arching and your legs locking around his hips. You felt yourself contract around his dick, the stuttering of his strokes as he too reached his climax. 

He slowed eventually, coming to a stop as the tremors receded from your body and your brain returned to your head. You were spent, content to lie there with his warm, comforting weight on top of you until the world stopped turning. 

He rolled off you, peeling off the condom and tying it neatly before tossing it to the floor to be disposed of later. You turned to face him, your head resting on his bicep, his other arm draped over your side. His hand stroked your back, soft and loving. 

You smiled as you reached up, sweeping the hair from his face. “You good?” you murmured, cupping his cheek gently. 

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss you softly. You reciprocated, then stretched up and placed a kiss on his forehead. 

“How about you?” he asked. 

“I’m great.” Then you sighed, your thumb stroking tiny arcs across the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered. 

“Look at you,” he answered. “You’re so beautiful.”  

You closed the few inches of space between you, pressing your lips to his. “I really do love you,” you said as you pulled away. “So much.” 

He smiled. “I know, I love you too. More than anything.” 

You went to kiss him again, but his phone buzzed and you froze. He groped for it blindly, frowning. You’d both learnt the hard way that if his phone went off and Dean wasn’t with you, it was best to check it. 

Sam snorted, flipping it around for you to see. 

The text, from Dean, was two sentences. “Back in 1/2 hour. Get decent.” 

“Screw you, Dean.” 

Sam laughed, tossing the phone to the side. “I guess we’ve got half an hour.” 

“I’m taking a shower then,” you said. “I saw a vending machine, like, right outside, and I really want a soda right now.” 

“I’ll get you a soda if you let me take the shower with you?” 

“Deal.” You held out your hand as if to shake on it, but he kissed it instead. Yeah, “gentleman” was definitely high up on that list. 

[slightly-sad-sloth]

Little fandom vent; sometimes I get annoyed at the way fandom reduces Damian down to stabby child who only cares about himself and does murder. Like yeah while I get fandom almost always reduces characters down to their funniest or snappiest traits Damian's just doesn't make sense.

Like his whole character is about how much he DOESNT want to be those things.

Damian cares so so so much about other people he just struggles to express it bc it takes a lot for him to trust someone enough to believe they're not going to pull the rug out from under him or betray him somehow. If he didn't care about other people he wouldn't have spent months trying to find Martha's pearls in the sewer, risking his life bc there was a bounty on his head at this point and further ruining his image with Bruce (who thought Damian was just sneaking off and putting himself in danger). He wouldn't have denounced the league and everything he knew to protect a man he'd met less than a year ago. He wouldn't have purposely failed a timed test as Robin to get across the city as fast as possible (a test that would've allowed him to go out alone as Robin and given him more independence one of things Damian values very highly) instead he went over the allowed time by more than 10 hours BC he helped old women with their shopping and walked women home after they were robbed and he sat with a man he saw crying in his apartment for more than 2 hours just having tea with him. I could go on and on about all the genuinely kind things he does bc Damian's empathy and kindness is one of his defining traits actually.

And yeah he used to kill people and he was more prone to violence than the other Robins but he was literally raised in an environment where his worth and by proxy his survival was tied to how well he did murder. I'm pretty sure if you raised any child in an environment where since they were born they were rewarded for killing and violence but punished for showing mercy and told them that it's for the greater good, that they're special and that there's nothing wrong with killing if the ends justify the means they'd end up the same.

Not to mention Damian fights so hard to not be violent bc he doesn't want to be, the people Damian admires most in the world (Dick and Jon) both based their entire personality around Superman (also it's confirmed Supes is his fav justice Leaguer in supersons). Damian wants to be like them so bad and wants to be kind and outgoing and as pacifist as you can get as a vigilante. Damian struggles so much to be that person but it's not as easy as just stopping when you've been conditioned your whole life that killing is the right move and that your worth as a person and the love of those around is dependent on you doing it. He literally keeps a sketch book where he just draws out all the intrusive violent thoughts he gets while fighting villains to get the anger and compulsion out so that he DOESN'T do those things. And Damian feels immensely guilty about all of his past murders which is shown over and over. When he kills no-body (an action he did to protect Bruce) he asks Bruce afterwards how he's supposed to make amends, how he's supposed to live with it.

Which leads me onto the other thing (and hopefully the last cause wow this is getting long) even Damian at his absolute worst only performs extreme violence out of either self defense or logic to him. He doesn't do it out of maliciousness (or at least that isn't the motivating factor). His worst actions were probably in his introduction where he 1) He accosted Alfred and stole the key to exit the batcave 2) Decapitated a villian 3) Attacked Tim

So let's get background on these events from Damian's pov. Damian has never been told who his father is and has to duel his mother every year on his birthday for the chance to find out. And then on his 10th birthday he wins and then that same night he's taken on a plane to go live with this man who he's told about on the plane ride over, then his first impression of him is Bruce fighting a bunch of manbats. His mother says she's leaving him with him indefinitely not telling him when she'll be back. And then this man who he only found out about hours beforehand takes him on another plane to a foreign country where he knows no-one and he finds out his father has other children as well. He's then locked in a small room adjoining a fucking cave full of weapons and told virtually nothing with no-one really talking to him except for them telling him that oh yeah everyone you know and trust is evil and your whole world view is wrong. And then when he yells at Bruce and has what's honestly best described as a temper tantrum (BC oh yeah he was literally 9 years old until a couple hours ago) Bruce in a bid to try and control his anger (since he's not sure how dangerous he is yet) uses league tactics on Damian telling him that he's dishonouring those who taught him. So the literal child whose spent his 10th birthday being flown around the globe to be a dumped in a foreign country with a man he's never met and only knows is a good fighter with a family consisting of an unknown amount of other allies who are similarly trained and then was locked in a room after being told his whole life is a lie might be forgiven for latching onto the only familiar thing here and going 'oh! Now I know how this works'

With the knowledge that Damian definitely decided from this conversation that the bats operate the same as the league it's pretty clear his reasoning is

1) Accosting Alfred and and stealing the key - a) I don't think you'd wanna be locked in a space by a bunch of strangers either no matter how nice the space is b) he probably assumed it was a challenge to see whether he was able to break out and a way they were testing his worth/ability

2) Decapitated a villian - once again assuming this is a test and trying to prove his worth/help his father in the mission to stop crime he was just told about

3) attacked Tim - a) Damian assumes that since Tim is home that he must be the current favourite and it's already known that in the league the way you replace someone is by killing them thus proving you were better than them. B) in the league if you were not the favourite/the best you were disposable c) the only way Damian knows how to earn/receive love is by performing violence, it's pretty reasonable that a 10 year old would try to go above and beyond to earn their new father's love (especially for a child like Damian whose always looking for that unconditional love he's been denied)

From Damian's perspective here he's being the best son anyone could want, he's doing the most past the point he'd be expected to and only being met with anger and disgust. Not to mention that from his view he's literally ensuring his safety since once again in the league Damian was one of the only people whose safety was ensured by proxy of him being the heir/favourite, we literally see them kill other leaguers as part of training.

Like this isn't to excuse what he did or say it's right but it is to point out that it WAS right from Damian's point of view and that he doesn't do what he does out of malice or blood thirst he's just a small child who quite literally didn't know any better.

(also him being mean is similarly a self defense thing, it's fairly common in abused kids. It's the logic of you can't hurt me if I hurt you first/you can't hurt me if I don't let you get close enough)

[romsabombs]

GUYS the new malevolent is insane so i just thought i'd drop my notes in here✍️ ENJOY it's a lot

freaky ahh cavern

😦😦😦

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!

the man is bathed in darkness👹 john thats racist

mf literally been crucified this is so arthurs religious trauma

that is not what bones sound like i think

shes so me awful posture

me at 4am in the kitchen looking for a snack

WAIT oh yuck :/

HAHA THEY'RE IN HIS NOSTRILS

PRINCE MENTIONED

car accident thats so season 1

this is kind of like a hat in time maybe

omgg a witch :3

arthur survives the wildest shit but i think a mcdonalds sprite would kill him

AAAHHH WHAT THE FUCK!!!!😨😨 YUCK YUCK EW EW RAAAHHH

WHAAAAAT

cant we only do allat to corpses

omg spit it out john

YEAAHHHH HES DEAD

🤭🤭🤭YIPPEE I KNEW IT

omggg thats so janey :33

hes bein puppeted by the maggots thats crazy

STOP TELLING HIM TO KILL THINGS HAHA

omgg kaynes dagger <33

how can this mf be helpful

this is so tmp a bit

rotten flesh mentioned minecraft ref

HAHA WHAAT THATS SO GROSS

the maggots be like i have your fucking eyes👹👹👹👹

OMG WHAT THE HELL zombie arc

claustrophobia again

imagine harlan recording this

omg that's so sexy 🔥🔥 decapitated his ass

HAHA WE'RE ONLY 11 MINUTES IN??

LMAO john stop saying things

YES JOHN it WOULD have been helpful to know this guy didnt have any eyes

"this isnt new york anymore" thank god amiright

his head between our legs🤨

its so funny how he calls it a pinky. didnt someone on tumblr say john wouldnt know finger names

im surprised arthur still has a shirt

the flesh feels stiff😟

this guy is still alive😦 or. dead. i guess

arthur is like weirdly normal about this guy being a zombie. i know hes seen shit (no he hasnt) but come on

faroes song ☹️

YEAHH PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTHH💪

oh what😐 the prince🙄

what did he sayy

oh gross come on guys😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 at this point just put it in your own mouth

"id like to think this is the most insane thing we've ever done" 💀

teehee they dont wanna seperate :3

YEAH! AND FAROE

"everyone we've ever loved" weak. also john doesnt care about anyone but you

"we cant afford to not use every resource anymore" HAHA this is so funny because didnt you throw away everything youve ever owned last episode

yippee welcome back vanguard :3

nothing😟 WAIT YIPPEE :3

WELCOME BACK VANGUARD‼️☝️

omg names mentioned

wait. yorick? llorick? thats the thing arthur said

its not lorick that was the guy from the dreamlands

WOAH WAIT WOAH HUH

hey what the fuck did that mean😀

omg what. rumpelstiltskin

HAHA hes so loser

OMG wait they said stanzyck right

ofcourse anna is dead bruh we were never gonna meet her

arthur and john both being "kings"😟

this tooth is so silly🥰

everyones walking over arthur today💀

they're so miscommunication <3

hey😀 hey whats that sound

DONT SAY IT ugh the prince

"ahh yes :3"

OH😨😨😨😨 A WHAT

SHUT UP🗣️👹 HAHA THATS SO SILLY

this guy is so kayne. and a bit autistic

wait r we just carrying around this skull

bro arthur sounds so tired

ooo this would go hard as a cosplay

i cant believe he has a belt

EUGH YUCK😦

ooo the black stone perchance?

ok i guess not

omg god forbid a girl has hobbies🙄

"im not saying its not risky. what im saying is, it might be worth the risk" that line goes hard

arthur agreeing to this is like a dad saying "okay fine we'll go to mcdonalds🙄"

no reward without risk✊💥

"we're in the lion's den already" "it is a hag's womb👹" HEHEHE

HAHA SILLIES HEHEHEEHE🤭🥰

oooohh johnn 😶‍🌫️

OH 😦 ohhh 😀 u have his memories

clever girl

"thanks yorick😐" "you too my king🤗" "shut up🙄👹"

yorick is so me absolutely no sense of social cues

ofcourse we'd encounter a witch here it was so obvious

"try to keep straight" pff

did john say im serving

hey yeah maybe dont go towards the light😀

LMAO LOOK AROUND? foul

when is the jumpscare happening

i have no idea what he's saying

"too much to make out" MAKE OUT?🤭

LMAO he doesnt know

pregnant meat☹️⁉️

hey i thought asking the vanguard questions would have a price🤨😀

imagine if he just crushed that zombies skull like its a good thing we just decapitated him

hes literally describing my room

you're my eyes☹️

they're acting as if the lighter would give us much light

omgg shes a little interior decorator

tapestry lore!!💪

five minutes left whats gonna happen

wuh ohhh somethings gonna happen

THE STAIRS ARE GONE!!!😬

ur literally in her home leave her alone

his ass is panicking

this is so part 18 the madness

we're trapped :( :(

"ingenious decision king🤓" "SHUT UP👹"

SPRINT!!!!!! 🏃🏃🏃🏃

OH???? 😦😦😦😦 WHAT

IMPALED???M???MNFJREJSJ HUHH

--

omggg he got marcy'd

i saw fanart of this but i lowkey couldnt tell if it was a spoiler or not💀

hot take but if he got bitten by that zombie he could prolly survive this

HUHHH bro this is like part 27 the roots. he was less dramatic about it this time tho

bro yorick finally shut up💀

sooo where did he get impaled. like if in the heart hes cooked😬