#i'm staying up tonight remaking all my gifs

[scintie]

Remy LeBeau in Deadpool & Wolverine - hd edition #01/??

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.

Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.

Word Count: 6,296

Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name. 

So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else. 

She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners. 

Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’? 

But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late. 

Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita. 

The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought. 

She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling. 

It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy. 

At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.

At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could. 

When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that? 

The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend. 

Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base. 

Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet. 

Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her. 

Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back. 

His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her. 

That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.

Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine. 

When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again. 

David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface. 

She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting. 

She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner. 

She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed. 

She had to have you. 

Present Day- March 5, 20XX

Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?” 

Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”

Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded. 

“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall. 

Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up. 

Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room. 

Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him. 

The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought. 

Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,” 

And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that. 

March 6, 20XX

You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you. 

A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out. 

You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much. 

You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine. 

You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up. 

You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys. 

You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking. 

Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key. 

Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever. 

You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible. 

You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep. 

March 6, 20XX

JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner. 

Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.” 

JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.” 

Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.” 

“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women. 

Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk. 

JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her. 

Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?” 

“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone. 

Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway. 

“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.” 

Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?” 

“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.” 

Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope. 

Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting. 

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.” 

“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.” 

“You are an angel, Garcia.” 

“I always aim to please,” 

“And you never fail, baby girl.” 

JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go? 

Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record. 

As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb. 

“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise. 

His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.

Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that. 

It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle? 

She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father. 

She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David. 

Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van. 

Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday. 

She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house. 

Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before. 

Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.  

They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.” 

The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?” 

“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.” 

“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?” 

“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?” 

Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,” 

Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?” 

Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her. 

JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.” 

Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage. 

JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned. 

“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch. 

He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door. 

“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.” 

“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage. 

“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,” 

Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?” 

“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.” 

Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.” 

Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?” 

“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.” 

Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears. 

His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh. 

“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?” 

JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-” 

“Spencer, go!” 

Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s. 

“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest. 

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.” 

Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.” 

“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.” 

Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.” 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.” 

Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-” 

“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment. 

Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’

“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently. 

“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him. 

“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently. 

“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.” 

Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift. 

She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger. 

Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.

Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face. 

You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”

You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.

Tag List: @dollykisses4reid @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

[g4yforethan]

RELAX

pairing: chris redfield x male reader

summary: reader treats chris to a great night after a hard day at work

warnings: cursing, kissing, smut

a/n: AHHH i just got re4 remake and i’m so excited to play it !!!!! i finished village a while ago so that’s why i’m writing this fic because look at himmm ;))

you were in the kitchen making a meal for you and your husband, chris redfield. he was away for two months on a mission that his team sent him on but he kept daily contact with you and left some text messages that were no doubt nsfw. tonight was going to be the night that you would see him since he left and he would only stay he night as he had to be gone in the morning for his next mission. as you prepared the table, you heard the doorbell ring. you went to the door and opened it. "hey baby miss me?" it was chris. you gasped and ran into his arms as he caressed your hair. "chris i missed you so much. please come in i just made dinner." you kissed his lips and guided him inside.

"haha thank you baby boy but i'm not really hungry to eat right now. i'm hungry for something else." you grapsed as to what he was saying and gave him a devious grin. you went up and kissed him as he picked up your legs and made his way into the bedroom. he threw you onto the bed and quickly took off his shirt. you did as well and touched his toned and muscular back. "god i missed touching your skin. it's the only thing that's been on my mind since i've been gone." he said as he roughly kissed your neck and chest. "fuck chris i’ve missed you so much. i’ve been waiting for this for so long.” you replied as he continued leaving kisses on your chest.

“fuck me please.” you said as chris immediately turned you around. “whatever you say pretty boy.” he took off his pants and took yours off as well before smacking your ass. he began licking your hole and leaving kisses around it. you moaned and grabbed his hair to make him dig deeper into you. he then put one finger inside which made you eager for more. “stop teasing me chris and put your dick inside me.” “calm down baby i’m getting to it.” he said as he spit on his 10 inch cock and slowly made his way into you. the first stroke hurt and he knew this and tried to go as slow as he can.

“ugh fuck your dick is so big.” you said as he started picking up the speed and grabbing ahold of your waist. “yeah you like that don’t you? fucking slut.” chris replied as he rammed his dick inside your hole. you rolled your eyes back and reached out your hand for him to stop but he didn’t. he flipped you over and lifted your legs up before entering you again. you kissed his neck as he fucked you and moaned into his ear. this turned him on even more as dug deep in your hole causing your toes to curl. his cock was hitting your prostate as an overwhelmed feeling of pleasure filled your entire body.

“oh my fucking god chris. i’m gonna fucking cum.” “me too y/n fuck.” he replied as you released your cum all over your stomach and his inside your hole. you felt his cum inside you and craved more. the both of you, now wet from each others sweat, laid next to each other now. chris’ arm was around you as you laid on his soft, muscular, and hairy chest. “you really missed me huh?” you said as chris started to blush. “yeah was it obvious?” “well considering the way you fucked me, it was pretty obvious.” the two of you laughed as you closed your eyes and began to fall asleep.

[deadcrowcalling]

the olive theory

Neil hates almonds, and Todd loves them. Giving almonds to Todd becomes a tradition, lasting even after one's death.

warnings: angst? major character death (canon-compliant), grief, sad :(, some fluff at the beginning maybe, not proof read we die like neil, bad formatting due to the fact i'm writing this on my phone in the notes app lmao, ooc writing??

a/n: my first fic yayyy!! this was supposed to be rlly sweet and fluffy anderperry but it most definitely isnt :(

It was an oddly well known fact around Welton that Neil Perry did not like, perhaps even despised almonds. It was a not-so well known fact that Todd Anderson loved almonds. 

"Who wants my almonds?" Neil spoke over the hubbub of the dining room. One boy named Anthony had snuck in bags of trail mix from town and had been using them as payment for notes and homework answers for weeks.

Todd immediately perked up. He gestured for Neil to hand him the almonds, and as he did, Todd immediately put a few in his mouth and began to chew.

Charlie, who had been in the middle of telling off Cameron, quirked his eyebrow at Todd. "Since when have you liked almonds so much?"

"I love almonds," Todd said in his usual quiet tone. "Always have."

Charlie scoffed. "Where were you all those times Neil made me eat the damn almonds?"

Todd shrugged and kept eating the almonds. Neil watched as the scene progressed. "If i had known you liked almonds so much, Todd, i would've given them to you sooner," he smiled.

And so a tradition began, if Neil received almonds, they'd go to Todd.

•December 10, 1959

"Meeting tonight?" Todd asked Neil as he sped up to walk at the same pace as the brunet. 

Neil hummed. "Oh, that's reminds me," his hand traveled to his pocket and pulled out a bag of almonds. Todd's eyes brightened. "I've had everyone forfeit their almonds from Anthony's trail mix for the last few days."

"You didn't have to do that," Todd smiled sheepishly, taking the bag from Neil.

"I wanted to." Neil smiled. "You're my friend, and nobody else likes almonds, with good reason,"

"Hey!" Todd interrupted. "Almonds are great."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself." Neil shrugged, shaking his head as Todd rolled his eyes.

That night in the cave, as Pitts read a poem from the book, Neil bumped Todd's shoulder. In his hand was an almost-empty bag of trail mix, everything gone except the almonds. Todd gratefully took the bag from Neil's hand and began to eat.

•December 13, 1959

Neil paced back and forth in his shared room with Todd, reciting his lines as Todd wrote something in his notebook. Per usual, he had a bag of almonds next to him, snacking away.

"Have you told everyone when the play is?" Neil asked nervously. "I don't want anyone missing it."

Todd nodded. "You mentioned it at the last meeting, remember? And you've already told Mr. Keating."

Neil sighed. "Oh, yeah, right."

Todd set his notebook and pencil down. "Is everything alright? You seem on edge." 

"It's just, the play, my father, it's-" he sighed, messing with his fingers. "Nerves."

Todd hummed. "You'll do great, i know it. You'll be the next Frank Sinatra within no time." he smiled. Neil's mouth rose into a small smile. Todd gently kicked at his leg from his perch on his bed. "If they ever remake Around the World in 80 Days, you better be in it. I'll go see every showing of it if you do." 

Neil smiled and sighed. "I'm getting worked up over nothing. Thank you, Todd. For everything."

Todd smiled and continued eating his almonds. Neil groaned and mumbled about how he had zero taste for liking something so disgusting and Todd giggled.

•December 15, 1959

Todd was right. Neil did amazing. But, to the poet's disappointment, Todd wasn't able to inform his friend of his success before Neil's father dragged him into a car and drove off, not before telling Keating to stay away from Neil.

On the way back to Welton, Todd wondered how much trouble Neil would be in. His gut felt uneasy with worry. Mr. Perry was in no way fond of Neil's longing for an acting career, everyone knew that, even though he was spectacular. 

Todd tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours. Eventually falling asleep, he was soon rudely awoken by Charlie. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them. Charlie was... crying? The rest of the poets stood in the doorway. "What is it?" 

Charlie took a shaky breath. "Neil's dead."

Todd's insides were buzzing. The air felt thick and it felt like he was drowning. His ears rung with a painful sharpness and his brain ached. "What?" His voice was feeble, and his tone quivered. 

Charlie sniffed. "He-" he wiped a tear off his face. "They said he killed himself."

Todd shook his head. "No-no..." he chuckled nervously. "Neil wouldn't do that. He- he wouldn't kill himself."

"Todd.." Knox said.

"No!" he said, voice a bit louder than it should be. "Neil wouldn't leave us. He- he wouldn't leave us. Why.. why would he do that? You're lying." His breath was unsteady now, and his chest rose and fell with an unstable pattern. 

"I wish i was. I really, really do, Todd." Charlie said, voice shaking.

•December 18, 1959

Neil's funeral was somber. His mother was hysterical, sobbing the entire time while his father stared on, face expressionless as people spoke about his late son.

Todd's eyes never left his feet. Not while he was carrying his friends casket, not while he was speaking about his friend, not while they were putting him in the ground. God, they were putting him in the ground. Snow fell upon the dirt as they shoveled it upon the casket that held Neil's body. Todd felt numb even thinking about it.

The night they returned to Welton was hell. Todd walked into his room, some part of him still expecting to see Neil's smiling face practicing lines or doing trig homework.

Todd sat at Neil's desk and immediately fell apart. He sobbed into his hands just looking at the dogeared pages in Neil's chemistry book or the pencil shavings sitting on the desk. A single pencil sat out. Todd opened the top drawer of the desk to put it away, and sobbed even harder at what he saw. A little plastic bag of almonds, Todd's name written across it in permanent marker.

it was an oddly well-known fact at Welton that before his death, Neil Perry did not like almonds.

Now, neither did Todd.

[cordycepsfem]

Pageboy Readthrough, Part Fourteen: The One About the Rant About the Skirt

Happy Pride! Let's slog our way through the rest of this. I'm sick so I've been doing nothing but drinking my weight in Gatorade and FaceTiming my girlfriend, but she's sleeping so I've got time for at least two chapters.

If you've missed any of this delightful readthrough, you can find all the parts here.

Previously

EP goes to Old Navy and buys clothes she doesn't like because she wants to fit in

your reviewer commiserates

EP likes a girl but can't figure out how to handle that so she dates a boy (and sucks his dick) instead

I wish we'd left on a more memorable note, because that all sounds boring AF, but here we are

Now

Chapter Twenty-One

EP talks about the first girl she ever kissed

somehow she knew this girl was "queer" and all EP wanted was to be around her "queerness"

you had a crush, EP, it's okay to say it

so she'd go and hang out where this girl worked

they kiss:

first, of course we get to know a Canadian Fact

second, that's beautiful, what a good and memorable kiss; I hope I don't scroll down to read anything that ruins it

well, she ran away from Jessica, but that's okay because years later she meets up with Jessica again at a party, and it's all good

except now, like a dummy, EP says this:

So you fetishized her experience as either a bisexual woman or a lesbian, and you're now referring to someone again as "queer" without any notes on how they referred to themselves.

Knock that the fuck off. You do it every chapter and it's rude as fuck.

Chapter Twenty-Two

EP is filming the remake of "Flatliners"

(I enjoyed it mostly, it ends like shit)

first we are told that she was not given a safety belt during a car scene

then we are told she is a huge fan of rollercoasters, which is surprising because I wasn't sure she was tall enough for any of them, but apparently her friends call her "the mayor of Six Flags Magic Mountain" which sure, why not, could also be true

she likes rollercoasters because they allow her to dissociate

also for those of us new to the world, thank you for doing the charitable work of describing how a rollercoaster ride starts

(I am a very specific type of asshole and am feeling very bitchy and uncharitable with EP tonight but now I want to go on a rollercoaster)

anyway, the car scene goes fine, if a little roughly due to no safety belt, which should have been handled more seriously

EP reports that the Black actress in the film was told that she (the Black actress) only got the part because she was Black

EP reports that she said "no" to dresses for her character (a medical school student who really has no need to wear a dress) but "yes" to other "girl clothes"

then EP gets asked if she's upset that her character isn't gay, and goes on what is either a good tirade or a weirdly aggressive tirade that I can't parse from how poorly she writes it

did you... did you need to amp up the conversation with "... a fucking skirt"? could it have stayed at, like "She's gay in my heart" or "Is this about my wardrobe choices?" or "Why does this matter?"

why was this where you chose to lose your shit, EP?

also stop calling lesbians queer i swan to john ep

EP very casually - and by very casually I of course mean not casually at all - continues to lose her shit

remember, this conversation started with this man being kind of a dick and questioning in a roundabout way why she hadn't wanted to wear dresses and if that was a gay thing

except now wearing dresses *can* be a gay thing and how dare he suggest they can't

what is she actually mad about? that he thinks gay women don't wear skirts?

then go wear the fucking skirt EP show him he's wrong

.... right? what am I missing here?

okay, so let's take this from the top

"I continued to prioritize the needs of everyone else over mine" - you were there to do a job, this was your job. at my job, I don't usually get to rant about how dressing up for a meeting with the head honchos makes me feel bad, because it's my fucking job on the line

"trying not to be 'difficult' anymore" - you lost your shit over a question about a skirt; true, it was a badly-asked question and shouldn't have been asked, but you were difficult and made it a much bigger deal than was necessary

we'll get back to being who you are in a minute, but detour with me to the next point:

what is this "queer walk"?

this is not the first time she's written about this

I for the life of me cannot figure out what she means

she, like all other humans who walk, walks in a way that is distinct to her body

like all other humans whose arms do these things, her arms dangle and bend; like all other humans whose hands do this, her hands move; like all other humans who sit, she sits

(I added caveats because obviously there are humans without arms and hands, and obviously there are humans whose arms and hands do not work in the usual way, and humans who do not walk... but she is not one of those)

(for instance, my arms and hands also dangle, bend, and move, and I am known to sit and was also told I do not sit in a "ladylike" manner, because... that's not what my body does, and I don't care...?)

(me being a lesbian has not changed how any of that operates, nor does anyone I see immediately say "Ah, a lesbian" upon seeing only my gait)

(at least, no one's ever said that to me)

(yet)

so I went to go watch her walk

she doesn't walk "queerly"

she walks like a woman and/or a bashful boy

is that queer? do all queer people walk this way? no, of course not so what the fuck is she referring to?

let's go back to this "I'm sorry who I am is repulsive"

this is because of the skirt thing again? you are claiming you feel repulsive because you said "no" to wearing a dress, which is a good and okay thing to do, and then a man made an insinuation about your character, which was a less good thing to do, and then you got potentially righteously angry about that, and you immediately went to "I'm repulsive"

Bubby, you need help.

I thought this was the end of the chapter but then I realized it wasn't.

so she goes for a screen test and the guy is there and he says "the studio" wants her to get hair extensions so she's "softer"

which she correctly interprets as "less GNC"/"less lesbian"

so in the one good self-advocacy move I've read her make, she calls someone who puts a stop to it!

Why did you not keep that feeling with you???

For so much of this book I've been waiting for her to get that spirit, that "I have boundaries" root in her spine, and here it is, and then... what? She forgets about it?

I said "no" to wearing dresses full-time and having a bowl cut at age 12. Too late? Maybe, but it was the first time I felt comfortable saying "no."

I said "no" to going to therapy when I was 22, after almost a decade of unhappy suffering. Too late? Yes, but it was the first time I knew what my feelings were.

I said "no" to a lot of things later than maybe I should have, but it gets easier every time you say "no."

No, I don't want that. I don't want to be treated that way. I don't want that job. I won't do that job. I won't do what you're asking. I won't go there. I don't like that. I won't wear that. I can't pick up those hours. I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to do that.

It takes practice. It's truly so hard.

But instead of saying "I'm not going to let you change me because I'm a lesbian," EP decided to just... not be one.

I forgot how maudlin and irritable this book makes me.

Welcome back, I guess.