#just call me shawn spencer

[thedollopheadofcamelot]

I just realized a thing

This:

And this:

​(Anyway someone should make a Kurofai Psych AU of some kind or something with Detective Kurogane and pseudo psychic/psychic Fai…)

[leatherface-headspace]

lassie can hear the high pitched frequency that lights and electronics make

[wowowwild]

I'd put money on Money and Acro. Even if I haven't met the guy yet. One of my wild claims will be correct.

My first prediction is Ben did it. Sorry Ben if you're innocent you just seen hella sus. Maybe you can clear it up when I bring your puppet.

[pathologicalreid]

hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

[boom-bada-boom]

shawn spencer, through a series of comedic should-be-impossible hijinks, gets turned into a cat without anyone knowing its him. he elects to hang around the station and help out however much his four paws can.

hilariously, it doesn’t change that much.

some notes:

hes brownish-orange (kinda like henry’s hair in flashbacks??) which means he is close enough that he has the orange cat curse™

trying to decide on what breed he is. obviously mixed but what is in the mix?? main thoughts are havana, bengal, and siamese

okay final thoughts: bengal-siamese mix with a havana-like coloring for both eyes and coat.

hes a chatty cattyyyyyyyyyy,,,,,,,, yapper frfr

dog-person lassie and cat-person jules (she canonically has two cats)

he is so indecisive on if he should try and communicate that he is shawn to the station. on one hand theyd know hes safe and maybe be able to help him fix this. on the other jules has literally played fetch with him. a few officers have hand fed him. several cat things occurred. he would never live this all down (human shawn after hes asked where he was for like two months: (heavy sweating) i dont remember)

shawn sleeping in lassie’s chair and on his lap. he started doing it for the laughs but now he has realized that oh no this is actually comfy. tragedy.

half the station supports shawn’s cat shenanigans. a third just take videos. the remaining sixth try to call animal control on shawn but he always gets away and hes back in the station like two hours later so eventually they give up lmao

while all this is happening the station is also stressing because of shawn’s disappearance. they cant find any evidence for what happened. shawn went out to pursue a lead and just vanished. consequently, shawn is trying to make them all feel better with cat shenanigans

he refuses to use a litter box. it does not matter that he is so so small now he is using the fucking toilet. (the officers start leaving the bathroom door open a crack so he can slip in lmao)

shawn reading over case files while sitting on them. hes participating (and solving them)

shawn as a human accidentally left a pineapple stress toy in the station (maybe on some forgotten corner of lassie’s desk or smth lmao) and as a cat he rediscovers it and decides to play ball using it. all this to say that people start calling him pineapple because of it. honestly hes quite happy with that name over some other possibilities

jules is the only one allowed to touch the pineapple toy. he doesnt trust lassie not to try and dump it or something like the spiteful person he is and he certainly doesnt want anyone else touching it. (he would allow lassie to touch the pineapple toy if it werent for that fact though)

(shawn very carefully putting the pineapple toy down in front of lassie for the first timeand staring up with his big ole eyes and lassie stares back and externally his expression is hella flat but internally hes like oh no. oh no its growing on me)

BIG NEWS: cats can in fact eat pineapple, just not a lot since as a fruit it has a lot of sugar (not good for cats), HOWEVER… “It’s hard to see why because cats don’t have the taste buds that let them enjoy sweet flavors. The strong sweet and tangy taste of pineapple is mostly lost on them.”

shawn finally managing to get someone (probably buzz) to give him some pineapple only to be utterly HEARTBROKEN bc it DOESNT TASTE LIKE PINEAPPLE ANYMORE !!!!!!!!!

juliet holding him like a little baby as he is purring like a freight train

LASSITER HOLDING HIM LIKE LONGCAT AS HE IS WAILING LIKE THE DAMNED

literallyyyyyy thisss,,,,

he breaks into the chief’s office to lounge on her desk and she gives him hardcore side eye before, after a while, just sighing and starting to pet him. “this station doesn’t exactly need a mascot, you know,” she tells him, to a reply of mrrp, “but i suppose a little bit of cheering up wouldn’t be too bad.” very carefully, she taps him on the nose. “but not too much. this is a serious line of work—no making a mockery of my station.” the dull thunking of a tail smacking repeatedly into solid wood made no promises.

inconceivable amounts of cat fur everywhere and on everyone. no one can brush him because he wriggles away like an eel and dramatically grooms his fur out of their reach. so he just sheds everywhere. hes got a thick coat there is so. much. fur.

he keeps sneaking into crime scenes. no one is sure how but they suspect he is hitchhiking in lassiter’s car. no one can prove it tho bc they cant fucking find him. the crazy thing is that he leads them to evidence sometimes like a narcotics detection dog but with completely random items that usually seem nonsensical at first. until they prove otherwise. consistently.

lassie to himself: man this feels just like dealing with spencer’s psychic shit. weird.

GUS FIGURES IT OUT FIRST. not because he saw anything but he just saw a newspaper about this cat solving crime with the cops and he was like “oh my fucking god. it can’t be.” and then he pulled up to the station yoinked said cat and went to an isolated corner to freak the fuck out with it. “shawn what the hell happened” he goes, and shawn meows with feeling

juliet watching gus talk to pineapple the station cat in the corner of the bullpen: ???????

several cops having the all-important conversation of what to label him as. theres no snappy cat version of K9 they can use. K9 is supposed to sound like “canine” but there’s no letter to cover the fel in“feline”

some say F9 and some say L9 and a few say FL9 or just straight up FEL9

BY THE WAY!!!!! “Police cats are becoming an increasingly popular addition to law enforcement teams around the world. These feline officers are being trained to assist their human counterparts in various aspects of police work, from sniffing out drugs and explosives to providing comfort and emotional support to officers on duty” SND ALSO “Because they are uncommon, police cats receive a lot of press. Many show up regularly in media posts. If your local department has a police cat, don’t be surprised if you see stories about them on the news”

police cats are a real thing!! shawn is not an official police cat but he is at this point an unofficial one. on rare occasions he might even listen to an order or two (the station thinks he may have been specially trained by some probably-illegal group or smth, escaped, and decided to imprint on the station) (btw this is an actual issue with some police cats. as independent creatures theyre not as predictable as dogs and might not follow orders, which is an issue in high stakes situations n shit)

[crazyk-imagine]

Stealing is Not the Answer, but It Could Be

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Detective!reader

Characters: Shawn Spencer, Detective!reader, Burton "Gus" Guster, Chief Vicks, Carlton Lassiter, Buzz McNab

Warnings: Fluff, humor, Shawn being Shawn, Gus and reade being besties, Shawn trying to use his Shawn psych, Shawn trying to steal something, reader putting Shawn in his place, Shawn and Gus doing shenanigans

Word Count: 615

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walk into the department, aiming for chief Vicks office when you hear an alarming statement from your favorite chaotic duo.

“Sometimes I think it would be easier to steal something than ask for it,” Shawn blurts out.

You owlishly blink, wondering if you heard that correctly.

“That is both frightening and alarming, Shawn.”

He turns to face you, putting on an innocent face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree.”

You look over his head to see what his buddy’s expression is. “Gus?”

He nods, gesturing to you. “I’m with her.”

“What? Gus? Aw, come on.”

He shakes his head, “I am not agreeing with you on stealing. Last time I agreed with you, we wound up in jail.”

“That was here though!”

He turns towards Shawn, “Lassie kept us there for five hours.”

“Yes, but then Buzz let us out.”

Gus shakes his head, “no, I’m not going back in there.” He stands up, whispering in your ear, “I almost had to pee in front of the other people locked up. You know how I feel about that.”

You nod, patting his shoulder to comfort him. “I know, Gus. I know.”

“Well, this has been nice.” Shawn tries to slip past you, “I’ll be off now.”

You shake your head. “Not so fast.” You hook your arm in his and pull him back. “Where do you think you’re going with the chief's favorite figurine?”

He yanks his arm from you, “how dare you! How could you even- okay, that was a little dramatic even for me but look at it.” He presses his face against the fish figurine. “It’s so cute.”

You shake your head, “put it back.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “It was just a harmless little prank."

“Harmless or not, you tried to steal in a police station, how smart is that?”

“You tell him.”

“Can it, Gus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shawn snorts, “ma’am? What are in the 1950’s and you're the little harmless housewife?”

“No, it’s called I have respect for those who are in a higher power than me.”

You smile at him, “thank you, Gus.”

The doors open.

“Anything I can help you three with?”

“Actually-”

You cut the psychic off and grab his arm. “Nope, thanks, chief. Keep being awesome.”

You sit him down at his dad’s desk and stand in front of him, holding a pen and a piece of paper. “Now make with your chicken scratch and write, stealing is not the answer fifty times.”

He opens his mouth to whine.

“Whine and I’ll add twenty-five.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, patting his shoulders, “attaboy.”

Gus covers his mouth to hide his amusement.

“Come on, Gus. Let’s go make like Shawn’s humor and scram.”

-

“Hey! Where are you two going?”

“To get some jerk chicken and a pineapple smoothie.”

“I want to come!”

“No!”

“That sounds amazing,” the pharmaceutical rep adds.

“I know right.” You close the door only to be hit with a breeze before the car shakes.

“Here. Now let’s go.”

You grab the paper. “Wow, you already, did it?”

You look in the left corner, “wait- nineteen- this is from when we were fourteen.”

“You never specified when I had to write it.”

“Shawn that’s not- that’s actually really good, you got me.”

He lets out a victory chuckle. “See, Gus. I told you; it would work.”

You gasp, “how dare you. Gus, I thought we were besties.”

“Uh- you see the thing is-”

You shake your head, “no. I’ve been betrayed enough.”

You lean against your arm, watching the world go by as he drives, unable to hide your smile as Shawn tries to bug you and tell you it was all him.  

-

Tag list

@kmc1989

[themortifyingordealofbeingloved]

just thinking about how lassiter always calls shawn "spencer" but when he got kidnapped was calling him "shawn". so you're telling me the term of endearment is a conscious choice and when he's worried about him and not thinking he uses his real name? ok.

[obsidiancreates]

Bad Day

Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic of the SBPD, doesn't have bad days. He had exciting days, setback days, annoying days- but never bad days.

Shawn Spencer, the ADHD and CPTSD riddled human man, does have bad days. He had them Fairly often from ages 0 to 8, Frequently from ages 8 to 18, and Near Daily from ages 18 to 28.

But he'd tucked the Regular Human Man away when the Head Psychic became a real, viable option, so if you asked him "How often do you have bad days?" he would put a finger to his head, smile, and say he never has bad days because he can see them coming to avoid.

At least, he usually would.

Today though. Today started with a groggy morning escape from a Greatest Hits Roll of his most upsetting moments in life posing as "dreams", then an empty fridge, his go-to cafe being closed for a health code violation, the office fridge being empty, and finally a voicemail from his dad scolding him about some thing. A case, maybe, Shawn doesn't know- he's already lived a full day, as far as he's concerned, and now it's time to lay in the empty office and reset.

So he lays down on the couch, closes the blinds, and lays his slightly-pounding head on the armrest.

Running through woods, sweating in a trunk, failing the math test and knowing the bully did too, gun to his face, gun to Gus's face, tape on his Mom's face-

"Shawn!"

Shawn's eyes snap open, taking a breath like a barb that stabs the back of his throat. Great, he slept with his mouth open and now his throat is sore and dry. Just what he needed today.

"The Chief just called me, she's been trying to reach you all morning." Gus picks up the office phone, and tsks. "How many times do I have to tell you which way the phone goes in the charger?"

"You could try telling me when I care." Shawn throws his arm over his eyes.

"Wha- Shawn!"

"Wha, Shawn!"

"You better knock that off before we get to the station."

"Sure, Dad."

"I'm serious, Shawn! Get up! She said it's important!"

"She always says it's important."

"And it usually is!"

"And sometimes it's her needing a babysitter!"

"Fine, then I'll go get the case, and keep your part of the check."

"... Fine."

The ride in the Blueberry is quiet. Gus keeps looking over at Shawn, and it makes his skin prickle. It's not the first time- Shawn loves attention, but sometimes someone looks at him in just the wrong way at the wrong time and it feels worse than having a weapon waved at him.

They pull up, and they walk in, and Lassie and Jules are already in the office.

"Gentlemen, nice of you to finally join us," The Chief says, her controlled tone the perfect example of Passive Aggressive.

"Sorry, Chief, it's just that we have lives sometimes."

She pauses her flipping through files, and looks up at Shawn with narrowed eyes and lips pressed thin. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Gus begin his Lamaze breathing, Jules's eyes widen as she dips her head, and Lassie smirk a bit at the oncoming trouble Shawn's surely just invited for himself.

"Well, Mr. Spencer, so do we, but-"

"But you're city employees, aaand we aren't." Gus elbows Shawn, hard, and Shawn just grits his teeth and pushes back.

Lassie looks at him with equal amounts shock and wicked delight, Jules with just plain shock. The Chief blinks, letting out a huff of what could be laughter, but probably isn't.

"I don't know what's got you in a mood, Mr. Spencer, but I suggest you sort yourself out now. This case is looking like a high-profile murder at the moment."

"Looking like?"

"We've got blood, a broken-in door, and a knife missing from the residence. The body is missing, but our victim was one of the top, tobacco production CEOs in the entire west coast, and he had enough enemies to fill the station and more."

Lassie whistles. "Impressive."

"And time-consuming. We need-"

"Me to get a reading on the suspects, right, can I see the crime scene photos?" Shawn grabs them without an answer. Jules gasps like she just witnessed a stabbing- or is about to, which she very well may, given the look The Chief gives him. If Shawn's head didn't hurt, and he didn't feel like every emotion he's ever felt in his entire life were all compacting into one horrible apathetic brick in his chest, maybe he would care enough to scale back a little.

He flips through. Standard crime scene, terrible photos, worse than the time the murderer was the one taking them. "You should fire whoever took these. I mean it."

"Shawn!"

"Shh." He waves his hand in Gus's face. Knife missing from the knife block, no evidence of it anywhere else in the house, blood on the bedroom rug, smearing suggests a body being dragged, but ooooh, what's that?

"Who checked this crime scene?"

"We did." Lassie looks at the photos over Shawn's shoulder- well, head. "Why?"

"We were really thorough."

"Do we both think that word means the same thing?" He doesn't want to say it, but it slips out, and Jules looks hurt instead of shocked this time. But he's not wrong.

"The victim isn't the victim, he's the killer. Oh, I see it." he half-heartedly waves a hand and closes his eyes. "Yeah, the blood spray, the victim was attacked by someone laying in the bed. And this one-" He flips to another photo in the stack, eyes still closed but knowing it's right. "-This one shows the knife block, I can see there are no grooves in that slot of the block, it wasn't regularly removed and returned but all the others were. I think our 'victim' knew someone was after him and probably slept with that knife under his pillow."

"We did find a journal with some paranoid ramblings," Lassie mumbles.

Shawn opens his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Well, they were written like a whackjob. Just pages of the same thing over and over."

"What thing, Lassie?"

"I don't know, some bull about being watched and being ready."

"Like maybe by an enemy? And being ready to kill to defend himself?"

"Geez, Spencer, what is wrong with you today?"

"You're right, I'm sorry. Clearly, we should throw out all the important evidence because it seems just too helpful!"

"Watch it-"

"That is the usual procedure around here, right? Just sort of miss and ignore evidence until I show up? Follow all your worst leads first?"

"That's it!" Lassie grabs Shawn by the collar.

"Detective!"

"Carlton!"

"Shawn, say you're sorry!"

"You've been an ass before Spencer but this is- CHRIST!"

Lassie yanks his hand away, and Shawn makes a face as he wipes at his teeth with his shirt. The fabric comes away slightly red.

Jules pries Lassie's good hand off the hurt one, and then looks at Shawn like she's never even seen him before. "Do you even know what you just did?!"

"Assaulted an officer!" Lassie growls, accepting tissues from The Chief to press to his bleeding knuckles.

"Not my fault you have thin skin. ... Literally."

Lassie reaches for his gun.

"Enough!" The Chief slams both hands on her desk. "Mr. Spencer, out. I am letting you off with a warning this time but if you ever, bite one of my officers again-"

"He won't," Gus says quickly. "Right Shawn?"

"Did everyone miss the part where he tried to choke me?"

"Shawn!"

"Right, sorry, I'm sorry, everyone, I forgot that Lassie gets special privileges when it comes to police brutality."

"That's a serious accusation, Shawn!" Jules is backing away now, standing closer to Lassie's side.

"Wow, I had no idea! It's not like I know everything about police procedure because I was drilled on it my whole life!" Shawn knows he's out of control now- he knows, he hates it, this isn't fun out of control, this is bad out of control, this is that Out Of Control that pushed him to steal a car and run away without goodbyes and try to just burn every bridge. It's building up, brick after brick of compressed bad days and weeks and years, and it's not fair to take it out here and now but he can't help it.

"Mr. Spencer, you are officially withdrawn from this case."

"Got it, uh, good luck, detectives, with actually arresting the right person."

"MCNAB!" The Chief's shout makes Shawn flinch even through the foggy, half-aware state he's slipped into. He's just... mad.

Buzz comes running in, almost slipping, barely avoiding hitting his head on the door. The laugh that sneaks out of Shawn is ugly even to him, and he hates it, hates everything he's said and done this whole day, but it happens away and Jules looks at him with unfiltered contempt and Lassie looks ready to actually kill him and Gus looks like he might help out.

"Escort Mr. Spencer out, of this station."

Buzz points at Shawn, mouth slightly agape as his eyes travel over to Lassie cradling his hand and Jules now refusing to look at Shawn at all and Gus holding Shawn like he's a misbehaving dog.

"Careful, I bite." He's not really in control of his own mouth anymore. He feels more like he's dreaming now that he did earlier. Is this the part that isn't real? Is this the nightmare? God, he hopes so.

"Oh, geez." Buzz hesitates for a second, and then tentatively puts an arm behind Shawn. Shawn smiles at him. The look in Buzz's eyes makes him think there's still some blood on his teeth.

He jerks at Buzz a bit. Buzz only startles, but Lassie, Jules, and The Chief all brace to get in the way. Why did he do that? This is getting dangerous. He should just stop.

"Um, just, this way." Buzz puts only a little pressure on his back, but it sends a shock through Shawn's system like a car battery. He has a full-body convulsion away from the touch, and in the shocked silence that follows it he shoulder-checks Buzz as he storms out the door through the station. Eyes are on him, prickling and stinging at his skin, brick on top of brick and-

... Ow.

He blinks at the blood on the rough wall of the station lobby, and looks at the mottled skin on his knuckles.

Gus catches up to him and takes in the scene. The whole station is probably staring too. A numb feeling in his hand starts to spread, but it's not numb-numb, it's pain-numb.

"I think I broke it." His voice sounds jarringly solid and steady to him.

"Yeah." Gus approaches carefully. "Are you uh... feeling better?"

"... No." Shawn clenches his fist and watches the skin stretch, fresh blood beading across the wounds. That should be bothering him. It should be snapping him out of it. It's not.

"Are you gonna do something if I try to touch you right now?"

"... I think so."

"So this is bad-bad."

"And I thought I was the observant one."

Gus tsks. "Will you go to the car? Without anyone making you?"

"... Maybe." He wants to say no. He's just barely holding back from saying no, from calling the car stupid and pointless like it's driver and he doesn't want to think that but he's barely here right now and it's just ringing over and over in his head and-

"Can you stop yourself from punch the car?"

"Yes!" It comes out a snap, a shout, and Gus backs up, and Shawn feels sick but he can't seem to do anything about it.

Gus is about to say something more but Shawn is moving and slamming the door behind him and he could get shot he could get shot but he does and he avoid The Blueberry and just walks. Away from the station, his apartment, the office-

His phone chimes and his hand is shaking as he rips it out of his pocket and throws it against a wall, gritting his teeth so hard as he walks away from it shattering that he breaks a tooth as well. He hears it happen. The phone is more of a good solid bam! while the tooth is a smaller crrrk!

The wandering is the most dreamlike he's ever felt. Just passing buildings and people and seething over nothing and going nowhere.

And then all of a sudden he's Back.

He blinks, and stops, and sucks in a breath, and it all crashes down on him.

The bricks blocking up his chest crumble, their dust clogging his lungs, and he can't breath as it all replays with a sharper clarity than he'd had in the actual moments. He sinks against a wall in some... somewhere, and stares at a tree while it all plays over and over and his head screams to go back and face it an apologize while his everything-else screams to just leave, just go and keep going and never look back-

It's nearly dark out when he sees The Blueberry come into view, but he just stays like he is, arms on his knees and head leaned against the dirty concrete wall. Gus slams the door as he gets out. Shawn feels a flinch try to make it's way to the surface, but now he's in a different dream. It's not so mad, but it's still not good. He's still not here. He was, for a few minutes, and then he'd sat down and... when exactly did he go away again?

"Dude, you have problems." Gus is sweating, breathing hard, eyes bloodshot. "You have serious problems!"

Shawn would nod, but his neck is stiff. He hadn't really noticed until now.

"... Get in the car." Gus's voice is a little softer this time. "I'm taking you to see someone tomorrow, I mean it. ... Chief's orders. It's that or we never work for them again."

"That's fine with me." It's not fine. It's not fine! Why'd that come out of him? He didn't say that.

"No, it isn't." Gus moves out of his vision. Shawn hears fabric against wall, so Gus probably sat down next to him. "... What is this, Shawn?"

Shawn swallows. His throat is dry. He hadn't noticed that, either. No, not hadn't noticed- hadn't been capable of feeling it. Like how he can't feel his body, really, and can't seem to control his words, and can't even control where his thoughts are going.

He has to try a few times, to be able to say anything. To even pry his dry, cracked lips open. To even wrestle back control of his vocal cords. To even identify the problem.

He licks his lips, and Shawn Spencer the ADHD and CPTSD riddled human man, speaks.

"... I'm having a bad day."

[philtstone]

ok so originally i tacked this on as a rb to this post abt shawn spencers true calling as a stay at home girldad but then i decided its my blog i can do what i want so im making it its own post. obligatory disclaimer, i love the movies, this is not a dig at their choices, etc etc. anyway. i need to lay out my Vision to the people in a formal capacity

shawn needs a baby because psych was his baby

hear me out

i wont get into like, the thematic/narrative reasons why shawn and jules should have a kid to subvert their mutual Fear of Becoming Their Parents growth, bc that's a whole other dimension that requires its own post. i wont even mention how many times shawn talks about wanting kids in general. but purely based on the narrative role that psych as an agency played in shawn & gus's lives:

psych starts out as shawn and gus embarking on this big adventure that's an actualization of their childhood dreams. from the get go, gus has a day job; psych is an initially just fun, then great and meaningful thing he does in addition to that day job. on the other hand, psych is shawn's main Thing. it's his only real outlet (if we don't count the random 2-day long jobs he does for the bit) and full concentration point for all his energy, creativity, caring, and altruistic impulses. its the first time in his life he's ever committed to a job -- responsibility, long-haul endeavor, whatever -- that uses his skills, intelligence, and compassion in any kind of lasting way.

over the course of the show, shawn and gus's relationship to psych shifts and changes, and it becomes increasingly evident that shawn's personal relationship to psych is a representation of selfless versus selfish motivation within him. as he matures, he's less inclined to use it as a way to prove himself or show off or mask his personal insecurities/arrogance. he becomes more overtly reliant on it as what it was meant to be along: a way for him to help others.

obviously, the boys' evolving relationship with each other, shawns evolving relationship with juliet, and, critically, shawns evolving relationship with his dad are all key mediating variables in his maturation and subsequently his relationship with the business. parallel themes of commitment and responsibility -- shawn proving to his dad that he can be genuinely responsible for something as big as other peoples' well being and shawn proving to juliet that he's capable of committing to her long term -- run and grow here. imo a point where u really see all this exemplified is his willingness to give psych up to earn back juliet's trust in s7.

through all of this, gus still has a day job. that's not to say psych isn't also a hugely important part of his life and key factor in his own growth and maturation, but it's not the focus of his whole life, because gus has always operated with relative (relative ...) moderation. the peak of gus's growth is realizing that what was most important to him all along was being able to live life with the people he loves (shawn) at his side, even if it meant everything was chaotic and messy and imbalanced all the time. his last act of maturation was leaving behind stale security to bravely dive into the sincerity-filled unknown.

shawn on the other hand is fundamentally an obsessive person who will latch onto something and put 112% effort into that thing for as long as it holds his attention, and the show demonstrates to us that very very few things have been able to hold his attention for very long -- except psych. and despite the fact that this tendency changes in his personal relationships, it never really demonstrably changes in his ... employment habits.

we arrive at the end of the show. shawn gives psych up to move to san francisco to be with juliet (again; the selflessness). gus moves with him (again; the growth). so what now?

once again, their detective work does not pay many bills, so gus has his day job. but even with all of his growth, shawn spencer is not a day job kind of guy. juliet is extremely employed, of course (no one even slightly less employed than her could be with shawn long term, employment being not necessarily literal but a spiritual state that gus, too, possesses in spades). it's here that i posit that shawn's psych replacement has to be a baby.

thematically, he's left psych behind. whether or not he does still do detective consulting work is immaterial; psych in its original form has been irrefutably outgrown. he's in a different phase of life now, one that is explicitly marked by his commitment to juliet (who incidentally is the way she is because she never had a father who put her first). if we're going to continue the story, shawn and gus need another big adventure: one that will help them grow in this phase of life just like psych helped them in the last one. given how significant shawn's healing relationship with his dad & realizing how much of who is is comes from his dad was over the course of the series, AND given how raising a child is probably one of the biggest and scariest responsibilities an adult can take on (plus see jules note above), what better great adventure for shawn and gus to embark on than fatherhood?

as with before, gus will be a pharmaceutical salesman on the side, while the more interesting, exciting, meaningful work he does is Being Dad. gus has his baby first, because unlike before, he's comfortable tackling the scary and unpredictable without reservation from the outset.

and, as with before, shawn's kid will be his whole world.

like i said: narratively, shawn does not need a another job. he needs a baby. he needs to be a part time p.i., full time stay at home dad, who is totally, delightfully, chaotically, sincerely obsessed with that kid.

do all these points lead us to believe he'll have a "balanced" approach to parenthood? no way. is this a "healthy" dynamic to have with one's child? unclear. will there be multiple catastrophes along this great journey? undoubtedly. no one ever said he doesn't still need to go to therapy. BUT. 1) shawn's always been intense. we know this. we love this! we wouldn't want to change this about him. 1b) he loves the way his dad loves, and i'd personally be really interested to see a version of that love that's been tempered by shawn's growth and has (correctly) improved on henry's parenting style while retaining the obvious love and devotion. and 2) gus and juliet are right there with him! henry did not have a gus and juliet! everything will be fine!

finally, psych is a story about learning to be brave. all of the characters are forced to learn this, in a multitude of different ways. for shawn, a lot of his fears do stem from his relationship with his dad. having a kid would be his final boss battle! and i for one believe that he can win!

idk. i just think it fits so well. shawn as a dad would be imperfect, messy, sometimes disastrous, and full of love and sincerity -- just like psych was.

has to be a girl tho. amen

[centipede-rain]

I really wanna fucking know how Shawn messaging Despereaux on twitter went..

@TheSPENCERINATOR69: Omg hi Pierre!!!! ✨ 💪 Can I call u Pierre...👀 no worries if not, lolz! just found ur profile here by pure chance haha. 💯 didn't go looking for it, the algorhytm just showed me, crazyyyyy i knowwww 🤣 🤣 😶‍🌫️ ANYWAY how is prisonnnnnnn

@TheSPENCERINATOR69: Shawn here btw!!!!! ya know, Shawn Spencer, super awesome psychic 💪🤣was kinda hoping u remember me... no reason.

@P.Desperaux: Yes Shawn, I remember you. You put me in prison yesterday.

@P.Desperaux: ....

@P.Desperaux: ....

@P.Desperaux: Yes, you may call me Pierre.

[thespiritssaidso]

Psych incorrect quotes: a series (cont. 🍯🧎‍♂️🚙) (warning: there will be Shassie and Gules)

—————

Juliet: *talking about Gus* call my man Honey the way he’s always sweet on me.

Shawn: *about Lassiter* Call my man Honey the way I’m always eating him raw.

———

Shawn: I’m definitely the one that’s in charge in the relationship–

Lassiter: Spencer, stand up.

Shawn: *stands up*

Lassiter: sit down.

Shawn: *sits*

Lassiter: look over here

Shawn: *does so*

Lassiter: hm

Lassiter: interesting.

———

Shawn: Wow, this parking job is about as straight as I am.

Gus:

Gus: I don’t know whether to address the fact that you just came out to me

Gus: or that you insulted my parking.

Shawn: do both, it’ll save us some time

Gus: I don’t think that’s how that works

[afewproblems]

Psych Amnesia Ficlet continued.

Just how does a man with an eidetic memory cope when he can't remember who he is? You're can read part one here.

"Who the hell is Shawn?"

There is a moment of stunned silence that takes over the room as he shifts in the bed, stretching his stiff leg, he hisses as something twinges painfully under the blankets.

The man in the salmon button-up stares at him, at this distance he can now see that the shirt is actually white with thin salmon stripes. The blonde woman's mouth soundlessly opens and closes three times as though trying to find the words to respond.

Its the tall irritated man that finds his voice first.

"Knock it off Spencer," he grumbles, placing the chart back in the holder at the end of the bed, "this isn't a joke".

His head throbs suddenly as several images of the man in front of him flash across his vision.

The tall stranger sitting at a desk writing a report, pausing to look up at him with an amused smirk.

Blue eyes crinkling at the corners as the stranger barks out a sharp laugh and the thrill it fills him with to be the one to illicit that sound.

A large hand on his small of his back, moving him through a police station with much more gentle force than he would have expected.

He blinks rapidly against the onslaught, lifting the hand attached to the monitor up to cradle his head.

Shit, that hurt.

He opens his eyes just in time to see the woman smack the tall man in the stomach, he grunts at the impact but doesn't look at her.

His expression is decidedly more closed off. If it wasn't for the way his blue eyes follow...Shawn? Spencer?

Whatever his name is, this guy is definitely more concerned than he's letting on.

"I'm calling Henry," the other man in the salmon--striped shirt, says abruptly, he pats one of Shawn's knees awkwardly and moves away towards the curtain blocking his line of sight to the door and hallway beyond.

Oddly, he feels a little adrift without him here.

The woman takes a deep breath, her shoulders square slightly as she takes his hand in her own, "Shawn, you're in the hospital."

Well, that much is obvious he thinks a little bitterly, but he finds himself unable to hold it against her as she continues in a firm voice.

"I'm Juliet, we work together," she says slowly, as though carefully sifting through her words, what she wants to say verses what she should.

"You've been...unconscious. For ten days, they--the doctors didn't know if you, if there would be--"

"O'Hara, you can't possibly believe he doesn't know who he is," the grumpy one says bluntly as Shawn gets another flash, this time of a dog bounding through a field.

"Lassie?" He croaks, forcing their attention back on him.

Juliet squeezes his hand gently and smiles, though it's watery at the edges now, "yeah Shawn, Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter.

Shawn doesn't miss the way the other man steps closer to his bed, his brow pinched with surprise.

But of course Shawn would remember Lassie, or rather Carlton.

How could he forget someone clearly so important, someone he loved to make laugh, who touched him so gently and smiled like that when he dropped by unannounced.

"I'm okay, Lassie," he slurs, blinking sleepily as the wave of fatigue begins to break over him, "I promise I would never forget you."

Carlton blinks, his head tilts slightly as he and Juliet exchange a look with one another.

"Why is that Shawn?" She asks him as his eyes begin to flutter closed. He feels her tap the back of his hand and opens his eyes at half mast.

"Why is that Shawn," she asks again leaning in a little closer as he breathes in and out.

"Cuz he's my boyfriend of course".

His eyes flutter closed again, even as a chorus of startled, 'what the fuck?' and 'excuse me?' and the clatter of something hitting the floor rings out in the small room amid the beeps of the heart rate monitor.

Shawn lets himself be pulled back to a dreamless sleep, uncaring of the raised voices and sound of his name, repeated again and again.

He sleeps and dreams of warm hands and blue eyes.

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

A/N: It’s time for another song imagine y’all! I was going through my wattpad drafts, there’s still some more that I haven’t posted.

This one is also really sad, literally almost cried editing this. I don’t know what I was on, when I made this one. But please enjoy!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

——————💔——————

I heard the sounds of something heavy. Like fists hitting a wall in anger. "Anybody here?!" I heard, yelling.

I wanted to tell back the only thing I could muster was a wee groan.

Help me, it's like the walls are caving in

Sometimes I feel like giving up

But I just can't

It isn't in my blood

They continued to yell for me as they keep searching. I then heard the one voice, I loved so much. "(Y/N)?! Can you hear me?!"

Spencer.

I wanted to yell, back and tell him that 'I was okay,' and that 'He didn't need to worry,' and knowing that my voice was horse and scratchy, I tried.

Boy, did I try.

"Spence.." I just ended up in a coughing fit.

Laying on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing

I'm overwhelmed and insecure, give me something

I could take to ease my mind slowly

Just have a drink and you'll feel better

Just take her home and you'll feel better

Keep telling me that it gets better

Does it ever?

I tried to call out to him again, but I just ended up in a coughing fit once more. I didn't want to move, I didn't want any of my wounds to get worse.

I have to wait for them to find me. I kept trying to apply pressure, but with how weak I was getting, the pressure I had on it, was getting weaker too.

Help me, it's like the walls are caving in

Sometimes I feel like giving up

No medicine is strong enough

Someone help me

I'm crawling in my skin

Sometimes I feel like giving up

But I just can't

My eyes were starting to shut, I'm trying so hard to keep them awake, but it's hard. But what caused them to jolt open was the steps that approached the basement door, and it being swung open.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)!" Spencer ran over to me, putting his gun in its holster.

It isn't in my blood

It isn't in my blood

I'm looking through my phone again, feeling anxious

Afraid to be alone again, I hate this

I'm trying to find a way to chill, can't breathe, oh

Is there somebody who could help me?

"Get a medic down here!" I heard Derek yell, out the door.

"(Y/N), look at me. You're going to be okay." He said, applying pressure on my wound, seeing as to how weak I had been.

"Okay?" I nod, and put my left hand to his cheek.

It's like the walls are caving in

Sometimes I feel like giving up

No medicine is strong enough

Someone help me

I'm crawling in my skin

Sometimes I feel like giving up

But I just can't

It looked like Spencer tried to hold in his tears, and I managed to crook out a few words. "Don't cry..Spence..." I wiped his eyes gently with my thumb, he shook his head.

"Where is my medic?!" Derek yelled again, clearly impatient, leaving the room so it just Reid and I.

It isn't in my blood

It isn't in my blood

"Spence..just know that.." I closed my eyes, for a couple seconds, before opening them up again. "..that I love you." He shakes his head again.

"Don't say that (N/N). We're going to get you out of here-"

"Spence-"

"If we don't then how am I supposed to call myself an FBI Agent, but more importantly-"

I need somebody now

I need somebody now

Someone to help me out

I need somebody now

"Spence." I said a little louder, but Spence keep going.

"How am I supposed to call myself your boyfriend-" I used a lot of the strength, I had left to kiss him. I pulled away and rested my forehead on his own.

Help me, it's like the walls are caving in

Sometimes I feel like giving up

But I just can't

"Promise me, this." He didn't respond, but I know he we definitely listening. "Repeat after me, okay?"

It isn't in my blood

It isn't in my blood, oh, oh

"I take you Spencer Reid..to be my lawful wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward.." He then started to repeat after me.

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, from better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for sickness and in health.."

It isn't in my blood

I need somebody now

It isn't in my blood

I need somebody now

It isn't in my blood

"..until death do us part. I love you Dr. Spencer Reid." I said laying back down.

"I love you too Special Agent (Y/N) (L/N)." I heard before, resting my eyes, with a small smile set on my lips.

[returnsandreturns]

@snakeoilsalesdepartment, I saw you reblog the original one and my brain spit this out. For you:

All that Foggy hears is someone frantically saying, “Kiss me,” before he makes eye contact with an objectively hot guy and kisses him first. The guy backs him up against the nearest tree and they make out for about a minute before the guy backs up.

“We could have stopped that like forty five seconds ago,” the guy says, breathlessly, patting Foggy's arm, “but you're an extremely good kisser, dude. Gentle but firm, somehow. Props for that.”

“Thanks,” Foggy says, laughing. “Are you going to explain what just happened? Did you suddenly get hit with the need to kiss someone and I was the closest person? I'm Foggy, by the way.”

“Shawn Spencer,” Shawn says, “and I'll have you know that I am extremely discerning about the people I kiss to hide myself from the very large men who chase me because they think I cheated at poker games that I actually won because I have a keen sense of observation and, also, natural charm.”

Foggy takes a second to process that sentence.

“Are you implying that you're chased by large men frequently?” he asks.

“I live a wayward life, Foggy,” Shawn says. “I'm a nomad. A vagabond. Frequently unemployed. So, I occasionally sneak into high stakes poker games to keep food in my belly and gel in my hair. The essentials.”

“You seem. . .very interesting,” Foggy says, slowly.

“You have the softest hair I've ever had the honor of touching,” Shawn says, reaching up to tuck Foggy's hair behind his ear which is stupidly charming, “and a truly stunning smile. What do you say we ride this moment out as long as we can? Coffee? Laser tag? Gay sex?”

“Let's. . .start with coffee,” Foggy says, grinning and letting Shawn throw an arm around him as they walk. “See how it goes.”

—

“How did you know I was into guys?” Foggy asks, when they're tucked away in the corner of a small coffee shop.

“Oh, I didn't,” Shawn says. “You just had a kind face that also said ‘strong ally or a Kinsey two and a half,’ so I figured you probably wouldn't punch me, at least. Then you kissed me, y’know, the way that you did, and blushed when I touched your hair. Adorable, by the way.”

Foggy blushes again, shaking his head when Shawn beams at him.

“Adorable,” he repeats. “So, laser tag?”

“Or gay sex,” Foggy says.

“I'd be interested in exploring a hybrid of both,” Shawn says, warmly, “but I'll admit, the second one sounds—oh, shit.”

He grabs a pen from Foggy's messenger bag and scrawls out a phone number on a napkin before giving Foggy a firm kiss, saying, “Please call me,” and jumping over the table to run out of the coffee shop.

Closely followed by multiple very large men.

[ktdragonborn]

Another Spencer. (Chapter 1)

Carlton Lassiter X Female Reader (Shawn's Sister)

Summary: You finally moved back to California after almost 15 years away. When your mom and dad separated, your dad got Shawn and your mom took you. (Don't ask me why it's just what they agreed on). But now you're back! And you never expected to meet such a dashing Detective that would sweep you off your feet.

Characters: You, Carlton, Shawn and Gus, Juilet, Henry Spencer (dad), Madeleine Spencer (mom), Chief Karan Vick, mention of many other characters.

Warnings: None as of now! There will be smut and other graphic scenes as the story progresses.

~This story follows the show Psych. Plots from episodes are mentioned and some chapters will have you added to them. I do not own any characters from the TV Psych, just a big fan of the show and a bigger fan of our boy Lassie. I couldn't ever find something that hit my craving for Lassiter so here I am. This will also be a very long story. Very long. I'm starting it towards the end of Season 2 and plan on writing it throughout the whole show, skipping some episodes but in the end, it'll be very long.~

Please let me know what you think in the comments! This first chapter is kind of janky ngl, just wanted to try and establish the characters. But Lassie will the in the next chapter!

Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<Chapter 1>

Shawn and Gus were sitting in their office, scrolling through information for a case when Shawn finally remembered vital information he had forgotten to tell his best friend. “Oh, dude!” Shawn exclaimed and Gus looked up at him with a frown. 

“Yeah, Shawn?”

“I forgot to tell you. (Y/n) is moving back to town.”

“Are you serious? When? Does she need help moving? Are you two still all weird?” Gus made a little gesture with his hands and Shawn rolled his eyes.

“No, we’ve been really good for the past year honestly. We call every week or at least try to, and text when we can. I think she’s here right now honestly, I know my dad was gonna help her move in.”

“Is she living with him?”

“No, she got a house near the beach I think.”

“Does she… you know,” Gus trailed off and raised his eyebrows at Shawn. “Yes, yes, she knows Gus of course she does. She’s my sister.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Gus moved his head and went back to his research. There was a loud ringing that echoed in the office and Shawn grabbed his phone and had a big smile on his face. He answered and Gus tried to remember when he last saw Shawn happy to answer his phone.

“Hey, little sis!” Gus immediately understood and had a smile on his face too. You three had always been tight until you moved away with your mom in the divorce. Gus knew Shawn held some resentment towards you, leaving him alone with Henry, but Gus was happy that you two were friends again. 

“At Dad's house? Why not yours?... Oh you know your cooking is fine…Ah, yeah Dad is better at steaks than you are…Sure tonight works, can Gus come?... Perfect, we'll see you tonight!” Shawn hung up the phone and looked at Gus with his arms stretched out. “Dinner tonight at my dad's with (Y/n)!” Gus pumped his arms in the air and they both celebrated in their office before another phone rang. 

“It's Lassie, we gotta go!”

~I know,  you know~ 

You hopped out of your car and adjusted your shirt before grabbing the desert you bought on your way over. You smiled as you looked at your dad’s house. Not much had changed. You walked up the path to the house and saw that the main door was open, with the screen door closed, letting the cool air from the sea. You heard noises of pots and pans coming from the kitchen as you entered your dad's house. It had been years since you set foot in here and when you did it felt like a blast to the past. There was slight humming coming from the kitchen and your smile got even wider. You hadn’t seen your dad this happy in years, and with catching up with Shawn now and then you know your dad has been the same grumpy man towards your brother. “Hello?” you called out as you walked into the kitchen and your dad spun around with a big smile. 

“(Y/n)!” He exclaimed and walked over to you to hug you. You hugged him back with a laugh. 

“You saw me earlier today Dad and you’re still this excited to see me?”

“I’m excited for a lot of reasons. Shawn and Gus come over all the time but I can’t remember the last time I had all three kids in my house for dinner.” You smiled as he pulled away and took the dessert away from you, putting it in the fridge.

“That’s a good point, it's been so long since I’ve seen Shawn and Gus too, I’m kind of nervous.”

“Nervous for what?” your Dad inquired while he spun around and leaned against the counter. 

“I’m not sure exactly. I mean Shawn and I have been doing so well recently that I don’t want to mess us up again.”

“You know you did nothing to mess up your relationship with him. It was really just your mother and me. Once you and she left, Shawn became such a rebellious kid.”

“Well that and the fact that he had a cop for a dad doesn’t help,” you laughed and your dad laughed too.

“Don’t blame yourself, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong. Unfortunately, you and Shawn got pinned against each other in the divorce and that wasn’t fair to either of you.” You nodded along with what your dad was saying and stayed silent for a second to see if your brother had arrived yet. 

“Dad…is it true that Mom left you?” Your dad looked a little sad at the memory but gave a gruff nod in response. “Shawn thinks you left her. I didn’t say anything because I figured you or Mom should tell him, but why didn’t you tell him?”

“He was already so angry, but I couldn’t let him be any angrier at your mom. In his eyes, she took you from me and him, I’m not sure what reason he thinks that was for but I can’t imagine it's good.”

“Thank you for protecting me and Mom,” you said in a small voice with a tiny smile on your lips. 

“Anything for my girls,” your dad smiled and gave you another hug. “Now, help me set the table!”

~That I’m not tellin’ the Truth~ 

Shawn and Gus arrived right after your dad finished cooking the steaks. “Gus!!!!” you nearly squealed and ran up to him. He let out a high-pitched squeal right back at you and you both embraced in a huge hug. Gus wrapped his arms around you to pick you up and spin you once before putting you back down. 

“I can’t believe you’re back! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again!”

“Well even if I didn’t move back here I would’ve come to visit!”

“Uh huh, almost 15 years and you never came back to visit,” Gus said with a matter-of-fact attitude. 

“Fair point, fair point, however, I was working on my degree so I couldn’t totally afford to travel.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Shawn said while shaking his head. You gave him a big goofy smile and he did the same. You two embraced in a much more tender hug than the one you just shared with Gus. You both held each other tight, before pulling away and smiling at each other. 

“How are you, Shawn?”

“Better now that you’re back in California. Maybe you can help take some of the heat off of me from Dad.”

“I don’t know,” you laughed and started to walk to your seat at the table. “I don’t get into nearly as much shit as you do.”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Santa Barbara has something out for us ‘Spencers’.” You laughed and all sat down at the table while your dad brought the steaks over from the counter. 

“I’m not even gonna let you guys ask about me,” you stated as you filled your plate with the sides of tonight's dinner. “Tell me all about this Psych business.”

“Oh, I’m not sure-” Gus started, taking a big bite of his food. “After all, you’re the one who's been gone.”

“Exactly! And I’m back now so you’ll have plenty of time to hear how my life in Colorado was. After Shawn would tell me about a case you guys had I would try so hard to find somewhere I could read about it but it never really worked.”

“Fine, but we need to hear about you too.”

“I swear, I’ll tell you some stuff, but my life has not been nearly as exciting as your guys.”

“Why do you say that?” Shawn asked. He had known about your accomplishments and was shocked you were downplaying them so much. 

“I mean all I did was graduate high school, graduate college, get my Master’s degree and I started my own practice after receiving my Doctorate.”

“And you’re only 26 right now!” Shawn exclaimed and Gus raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. 

“That is pretty impressive.”

“Well when you’re doing the same thing as your mom, she tends to have some pointers about how to get things done quickly.”

“How is Mom?” Shawn asked and you shifted your eyes to your dad, who had been very quiet since dinner started. You assumed he just wanted to watch and listen to all three of his kids talk and get along. You knew the side of Shawn that was showing right now was not something your dad saw often. Your dad’s eye shot to yours and he smiled a little when he saw you looking at him. 

“She’s good!” You continued, taking the smile as a ‘go ahead’. “She’s kicking ass in her own practice. She’s actually started traveling all over, performing psych evals on current and new law enforcement officers. She inspired me to do the same. So, although I have my own practice, once or twice a week, I’ll go around, not just to law enforcement, but to any business that wants to do psych evals on their staff.”

“Look at us! Two siblings who created their own businesses,” Shawn said excitedly and looked around the table. Gus shook his head and swallowed his food. 

“Shawn, I love what we created, but it’s not nearly as impressive as your 26-year-old sister. We’re both 30-year-olds running a made-up business.”

“It is not made up!” Shawn declared and put his hands on the table. “We solve very real cases and earn very real money.”

“Sounds real to me,” you defended as you took a bite of food. “Best cases, go!”

“Solved a murder at the spelling bee.”

“Oh, we helped a guy with multiple personality disorder. If he’s still in town you may wanna talk to him. One of his personalities was trying to get gender reassignment surgery without the main personality knowing. And the other personality didn’t like that and started killing all the psychiatrists they went to,” Gus said as he pointed his fork at you. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanna hear after you tell me to talk to someone,” you replied sarcastically. 

“We had an alien abduction case where a married couple was drugging and stealing from single men who went to a speed dating thing at a bar.”

“Where did the alien abduction come from?”

“That’s what all the victims said happened to them. They used some powerful drugs,” Gus explained. His eyebrows shot up when he remembered another case. “(Y/n), do you remember Scary Sherry?”

“Yeah, the lady who jumped out of the window of the asylum?”

“We had a case that involved that!”

“Yeah, some sorority girls accidentally scared a girl and she fell out that same window,” Shawn continued. “The dead girl's adopted sister went on a killing spree. Almost killed one of the detectives of the Santa Barbra Police Department because she was undercover.”

“Wow. All over some some prank because of an urban legend?” Your dad finally laughed and spoke up. 

“These two numbskulls weren’t supposed to watch what happened. And technically they didn’t. They saw Sherry in the window and then when they opened their eyes she was gone. I was able to grab her and pull her back into the building before she jumped.” You looked at Shawn and Gus slackjawed. 

“You’re telling me, you two started an urban legend?”

“That’s exactly what we did,” Gus said, very proud of himself. Shawn smirked before going back to their cases. 

“I unearthed a T-Rex skull.”

“We, unearthed a T-Rex skull,” Gus corrected and you laughed. 

“Like an actual full T-Rex skull?”

“Yeah, it's in the museum right now actually. I’ll have to take you to see it someday.”

“Before that, we made it to the finals on American Duos. We were Nigel St. Nigel’s bodyguards. He was the target of multiple assassination attempts.”

“Was he as much of a dick in real life as he is on the show?”

“Yes,” all three men at the table chimed in and you all laughed. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen all three of you agree on something. He must’ve been a real pain.”

“He also scored us poorly on what should have been the winning Duo of the season.” You could tell Gus was definitely still angry about that. 

“We helped prove Jimmy Nichols's innocence in a murder case too,” Shawn added. 

“You mean he didn’t actually kill someone? That’s out of character for him.”

“Hes a jockey too. Didn’t grow at all after middle school.”

“There was also that ring of thieves with the nanny cover. We found that because the Chief of the SBPD just had a baby and needed a full-time nanny.”

“The Chief hired you for that?”

“Yeah, it was supposed to be easy but Shawn had to read into everything like always.”

“And look what I got us, an organization that would rob people's houses by using their security cameras that come with the nannies.”

“That is pretty intense, I won’t lie,” you said and stood up, taking everyone's plates from them and cleaning up the dishes. Your dad got up to help you while Shawn and Gus kept talking about their cases. 

“Dad was also a part of a creepy secret lodge. He didn’t want us involved but someone was murdered with the slightest venom of a snake from Brazil. The venom was put in the weird masks they had to wear.”

“Dad you were in a secret club?” You questioned and watched him frown as he grabbed the dessert you brought and started plating up the food. 

“Yes, I was, but I wasn’t in it for long. Too many politics.”

“I love that for you. Your own secret club,” you laughed and took the plates of dessert back to the table. 

“Those aren’t all of the cases we’ve solved though. Just the most memorable ones as of now.”

“Well I’m glad Psych is doing so well,” you smiled and ate some dessert. “If you guys ever need help just let me know, I’ll be happy to help. Especially right now, I don’t have as many clients as I did in Colorado just yet.”

“You know the SBPD might be hiring for a head psychiatrist position. We could put in a good word for you if you want,” Shawn offered and smiled at you. 

“I’ll have to think about it for sure. Once you are your own boss, it's hard to go back to regular work.”

Everyone agreed with you and focused on their dessert. You and Shawn started reminiscing on old times and Gus and your dad would chime in every now and again. You were a big family again, and it was almost as if you hadn’t been gone for the past 14 years. And that’s exactly how you wanted it to be.

[marlenacantswim]

i'm so serious, "you are not a cop, spencer. you never will be." "thank god for that, b." is one of the most important moments in the show for me. and the episode itself: i know it wasn't breaking new ground or anything, but the fact that the showrunners added much more combativeness to the duo's interactions with the police — that they were willing to depict two of their titlecard characters as cruel barriers to genuine pursuit of justice — during a case that so heavily involves gus and black culture... i honestly didn't expect it.

jules and lassie spend the whole episode keeping shawn and gus out of the loop, getting short-tempered, downplaying their concerns, and calling it all "department-wide prerogative out of their hands" as though that has stopped them in the past. the connection is clear even without needing to be brought up explicitly through dialog, is repeatedly depicted as something systemic, and isn't resolved with a pretty tied-up bow at the end (it seems very intentional that jules and lass never apologize), which just feels surprisingly mature for a silly 2000's sitcom about a fake psychic.

the writers didn't need to depict systemic racism in their show (whose main two protagonists aren't even cops) but they did so anyway, in a manner that your conservative father won't notice but will have you feeling that twinge of discomfort that a reflection of that reality should.

again, it's nothing groundbreaking, but i'm still glad it exists.