#not in a 'it's gone forever' sense but a 'I've left this in another location i can't visit' sense

[david-watts]

I'm fragile at the moment. like those times people have dipped flowers into liquid nitrogen. have you seen how easily those frozen petals shatter

[delopsia]

how much of the truck do you think Rhett has replaced over the years? (maybe the better question is what hasnt been replaced at this point) like do you think hes completely rebuilt the transmission and engine? is there a point that he will give up on it? or do you think hes the person that will say that as long as the seat is the same one its the same truck? cuz it isnt going to last forever because that truck is how old and its also been a farm truck all its life. regardless of what state we are all living in now its safe to say that the Wyoming winters have taken a toll on the truck in the form of rust and wear and tear. if he rusts through the frame (a death sentence for vehicles) will he buy the same make in model that has had an easier life and just take his transmission and engine (he just put those in less than 80,000 miles ago god danmit!!) out and put it into the one with the good frame. i think if he ever does throw the towel in on the truck hes going to keep the seat and put it in his room in the house because theres too many memories on that seat for the thruple

I am so happy that someone is asking me about the trucks because I have put so much unnecessary thought and work into them. But Rhett's truck... Jesus Christ, it is the bane of my existence. I cannot figure out what year it is, and it's been driving me up the wall, but I'll admit I've been using this sale listing as a reference.

I'm in trouble if this truck ever sells.

That old truck has close to 225,000 miles on it at this point; it's practically gone everywhere, and for some damn reason, it's still alive and kicking. Had about 100,000 miles when Rhett bought it, and he's driven it to all hell ever since.

He's replaced the front and rear wheel hubs three times now. Had to put in new ball joints, and rust essentially forced him to replace the transmission, fuel, and brake lines after a couple of years. Shortly after that, the transmission failed and forced Rhett to gather a few buddies to help him rebuild it. But it's been a lot of small fixes here and there, the forgettable things that take an afternoon, and that's it.

The old truck was built to last, and even though nobody is 100% sure where it spent its early years, it's been well taken care of. If there's an odd noise or it starts to act out of character, the problem is located and found within the week. It's always best to fix the issue when its small, rather than wait until it gets worse.

Trucks last on the Abbott ranch. Royal's vehicle is older than Rhett's, and it's still alive and kicking! I haven't done a ton of research into what Royal drives, but I think it's an '80s GMC C/K Sierra Classic.

Honorary comparisons.

Nifty how Rhett and his Dad both seem to have Sierra's, lmao.

Regardless, it's an old truck. If Royal's truck can make it, so can Rhett's

Unless it becomes a money pit that can't stand to run for more than a few hours at a time, then Rhett's going to be hanging onto it. He could replace the whole vehicle over the course of time and still believe it's the exact same truck. But if it does fail, he'd likely go with another older-model truck with a bench seat. Maybe not the same make and model, but he'd be happy to bring home another in a different color.

As of the "current time" in the story, the Sierra is living herself a nice little life in the garage. Her Pavement Princess era, if you want me to start sounding cripplingly Gen-Z. Rhett's new work requires a lot of trailer pulling and things that the Sierra just couldn't keep up with, which means a new truck!

In Whispers In The Dark, I vaguely hinted that Rhett left the Sierra in Wyoming for a period of time because he'd bought a new truck after moving out.

This was the truck!

A 2019 Ford F-350 that I picked out back in February and simply never mentioned to anyone 😭 it never made sense to mention the exact make and model, so it got reduced to "Rhett's other truck."

After the Sierra comes home, she gets to become the official date night vehicle, alongside Bob's. It's her only job now!

I haven't mentioned a ton about Bob's truck, but since we're already on the topic, he's got a 2021 Toyota Tundra in the color Midnight Black Metallic. I exclusively picked this truck for him because some models come with a front-row bench seat.

Who would have thought that I'd have so much truck lore 🧍‍♂️

[ruddrow]

" Sharing "

Hello everyone,

My name is Ron Rudd AKA He who's name can not be spoken.

I'm currently living at a homeless shelter at 1501 Imperial Ave San Diego CA, 92101.

It still hurts, the way everything unfolded.

Originally the goal was to shame me into submission but I'm not really wired that way.

Can not begin to emphasize how dangerous sharing innovations and politics on social media can get. 

Shortly after my mother's death my life started getting strangely cloak and dagger.

Four Poisoning attempts on my life once I discovered that I was being broadcast to everyone on the planet without my knowledge. 

Shortly after arriving in Puerto Escondido Mexico a German agent would pick the lock to my room and take my phone. 

I saw it through the window but thought it best that he didn't know I was on to him so I let him keep it. 

Just before that another German agent sharing the same room as him would poison a package of cheese that only he had seen me bring back and place in the community refrigerator full of other people's food.

The other attempts would be made before I left Louisville by people that I thought I knew.

No joke what I've gotten myself into. 

I Had no idea that sharing on Facebook could be so incredibly detrimental to one's health, peace of mind and personal safety.

I've been tortured by pain Drs and Butchered by back surgeons.

If you're going to speak truth to power be ready for whatever they might throw at you to shut you the Fuck up.

Facebook posted several images of a dead white cat on my timeline.

The Jewish owned media would have you believe that I was the one broadcasting from my phone by accident.

That's the joke, that I'm too dumb to work a phone and accidentally broadcast myself. 

The cocktail of drugs added to my Cybalta capsules would make me sound exceptionally slow over the phone so I get why that might possibly ring true.

I have an associates degree in computer science and I can build a computer but I'm too dumb to understand how a broadcast button works.

Your phone is just a hackable handheld computer

Your number or app permissions are all that's required to access your ideas, hard work, microphone, camera and location.

Hackers can hack every single app you own. 

Including Waze and Craigslist, Congress approved and carried out by Fuckerberg and his NHS thugs. Via Google.

Anyone with your phone number can hack you but there were months when I was being hacked that only Facebook and Instagram had my number because I had to keep getting new ones.

There are plenty of Ron Rudd's out there so it would be difficult to know which was mine and my full legal name was never posted on Facebook.

However Zuckerberg did contact me to request my new number while he was broadcasting me.

Every time I would write about what happened on my phone my notes would be hacked and lost.

I took screenshots to try and preserve them and they were blurred out. 

My computer was sabotaged while I was out.

The phone and app locks are nothing more than a false sense of security. In Fact you can turn off your data, WiFi and phone, they will still be listening and they can still contact other close devices.

We now live in a Jewish run Mommy dearest style police state government thanks to a handful of Old white republican politicians.

A hacking device was hidden inside a power strip in my house while I was out.

You can also be directly hacked via Google play services That's how it's designed, with holes.

The local cable company was offering me free cable until they realized I was unplugging the router when I used my phone. Then they cut off the cable and screwed my credit score.

I think pinhole cameras might have been used inside the house.

I couldn't get into my Mycroft account.

My Amazon drive account password was changed.

All my Google backups are gone.

Years of working on music compositions are lost.

Retouched family photos from three generations back lost forever.

All of my innovations were met with massive amounts of hostility on Facebook. 

I couldn't wrap my head around how angry people were about a concept.

They were just ideas take em or leave em. When I made the point that electric vehicles were being charged using fossil fuels instead of solar I was bombarded with insults.

Facebook made it impossible to contact me for startup funding.

Removing all Asian people from my friends list 

I wouldn't even see another Asian in my searches after that.

Then they blocked my phone calls, texts and messages from anyone other than my mom and my therapist.

They hid me among several other Ron Rudd accounts. All my age with beards and glasses.

For a long while you couldn't even find my account.

Fuckerberg hid contact info on my home page. Wouldn't let me download my timeline files. 

My messages were hidden from me. 

One day they all just showed up and then disappeared again shortly after. 

There were hundreds of them. 

Many asking for money.

The matrix pawns would call pretending to be someone from the bank needing my card number so they could call to check my account and see if I had obtained start-up money for my innovations.

Facebook hid the number of followers I had from me and likes on my posts until the very end of this whole ordeal.

My camera was hacked to photograph me naked.

Then they shared that picture with friends on Facebook.

Google home was listed as one of the WiFi connections at the hostel I was staying at in Mexico.

My phone was made useless. I would lose everything after I reset it every few weeks. 

Google never gave me back my previous account so I had to make several of them. Like eight.

I've gone years without a working phone over this.

I will probably go several more years after sharing this.

In some ways I kind of understand. 

Here I am a no family, weed smoking, twenty year pain pill addict who's been in and out of psychiatric facilities and disabled most of my adult life.

Not exactly the best role model for a society built on hard work ethics.

Still this was playing dirty and I wasn't about to just let it slide.

When I realized my phone was being hacked after sharing several innovations that got a lot of attention online I wrote letters to intellectual property attorneys all over the world. 

Shortly after they showed up at the door with QR codes.

Once in my phone they could witness for themselves exactly what was going on.

My medicine was spiked.

They must have used estragon because my beard fell out, sodium pentathol kept me talking and God knows what made me so uncontrollably angry.

As soon as I mentioned the possibility of this over the phone several bottles of medicine came up missing from my home.

I was already a little paranoid before all of this but now my dial is set to eleven. 

I have no doubt that my mental illness will be used to sweep all of this under the rug. 

"He's just paranoid." 

My character assassination was very well thought out.

The countless phone imposter agents used to create the perception of me being a completely irate dumpster fire of a human being by saying things that would make anybody lose their temper. 

Making my medical appointment transportation four hours late on a regular basis for example.

The government is literally playing Crank Yankers with its own citizens. redirecting our calls to imposters, paid for with our own taxes.

There was a short time that I thought only the FBI or homeland security was listening then after using the N word in the privacy of my own house I was clued in by a kick on my door and the side of my house that maybe someone closer was listening. 

Possibly the Police I thought.

My next clue was a Facebook post of a guy beating up another guy the exact way I had just described my brother hitting me to my virtual therapist over the phone. 

I told her so many things about my family and childhood sexual abuse that were meant to be private.

Finally some random black man attacked me on Instagram asking me why I deserve to get a break if he didn't get one.

That's when I was sure my privacy had been raped.

That's when I lost it.

I would later see a lot of things on talk shows, stand up comedy and SnL that would clue me in that the joke was on me all along.

About a week later I would learn that my mother had passed away. It was close to new years.

To this day I wonder if something I said may have led to hear death.

Their agents broke into my house and infected my PC and all of my thumb drives with viruses.

Insuring that I had no proof of concept for my inventions. They even stole a copy of my Myelogram. 

I'm guessing it showed how my Dr's Butchered me it would also insure I couldn't get pain medicine or take them to court. 

The disk was so well hidden behind a drawer inside the end table that there was no way anyone would find it.

That's when I realized they had to be watching me with inferred.

A door was made by some plumbers doing some work under the bathroom floor at the back of the house it would permit entry whenever I left and sometimes while I was sleeping. 

Also the front door had a combination lock. 

I'm guessing a camera was set up to watch me unlock it from a distance.

Infrared cameras and my phone's location would let them know when it was safe to come in. 

After gluing that point of entry in the bathroom shut I could hear them banging on it in order to try and jar it loose after I had been lying still for awhile one night.

Finally they drilled holes in the side of my house where a small divide separated me from my neighbor. They injected my room with an aerosol. 

My CPAP machine had a reservoir full of iodine colored water every morning for weeks.

My heart would start racing when I walked. I had to stop and set down from the dizziness and I was spontaneously losing control of my bowls.

I had constant fatigue and night sweats.

My face was swollen with a red rash around my eyes and nose. My sinuses congested and I would sneeze constantly. I was experiencing brain fog and my skin had turned pale and clammy.

One time they left a pair of plastic gloves behind

After doing a search.

My pain medicine came up missing and that month pain management called me in for a pill count. 

That was the first time in over twenty years of receiving pain medicine I had ever been asked to come in for a count.

Somebody kicked or thew something at my cat permanently damaging his ear.

I no longer felt safe where I was. 

People were shining flashlights through my curtainsbat night.

Sometimes I would hear extremely loud kicking on my front door. 

The message was clear.

I couldn't live there without water after receiving a five hundred dollar bill after I had it turned off so I had to leave my home of twenty years.

Leaving behind my beloved cat.

I packed up and left for El Paso where my roommate's car would soon be vandalized after he got too involved in the situation at which time I headed down to Mexico.

A British agent was one of many agents that came to Mexico.

He suggested that this was supposed to be something like the Truman show with Jim Carrey.

My thoughts on that.

Why not Clockwork orange or Shawshank? 

Better yet why not Trading Places?

This was done to humiliate me for political purposes, my fight for climate conservation and 

Maybe it had something to do with my innovations as well.

The government is constantly trying to set me up now. 

Apparently entrapment laws have been abolished for our generation. 

Usually it was someone that already knew I was being broadcast and wanted to be famous for kicking my ass. 

Other times they would use my location to parade attractive women in front of me a few times a week in hopes of getting me to try and solicit a prostitute. 

Sometimes they would do this on social media asking me to buy them an Xbox card for their kids to keep them busy while we had sex in the other room. 

This happened several times.

I have doubt that once I was behind bars I would be there for a long time.

Jewish owned social media completely disrespected me putting my personal safety in danger and leaving me completely humiliated and fearful for my life when they broadcast my microphone. 

So I gave them a taste of their own medicine calling them out for the role they played in raping my privacy. 

I probably went overboard but I've always had difficulty controlling my anger.

I still regret some of my comments.

It was also a great way to get canceled in a cancel culture.

Insuring that someday at least I would finally have my privacy, safety and peace of mind. 

Free of the stalker messiah and his army of Matrix puppets.

Yes, 

I like to look at photos of young ladies naked.

The website I used was the very first listed in Google's search engine. 

If anyone was underage it's because Google allowed it. 

I agree that some of those girls looked too young to be there.

It's a billion dollar industry so I'm not the only dirty old Man out there.

The difference being that they agreed to be filmed naked performing sex acts. 

I didn't.

Let me clear this up, 

I'm not anti semitic 

I still like many Jewish people. 

Adam Sandler had nothing to do with this.

Mell Brooks is still one of my heroes.

I could just as easily suggest that they're anti atheist or anti irish.

That's just a lazy way out of legitimate arguments.

I've enjoyed TV and movies created by the jewish community all of my life.

I honestly believe they have saved me from countless days and nights of painful boredom but clearly there's something diabolical going on behind the scenes of these mega monopoly media companies in conjunction with our government in order to get the people they want into office.

All of this needs to be brought out into the light and closely examined for the security of our nation.

"Ultimate power corrupts ultimately."

I'm tired of being divided by sexual orientation, gender, race, income and politics in the media.

We need unity now more than ever!

Meanwhile they portray themselves as being peace loving, family oriented and nonviolent.

The Jewish owned media completely disrespected my safety and privacy so I completely disrespected the Jewish people.

That's why I went off. 

That's why I threw in the towel.

I'm not really all that angry about my ideas being exploited. My privacy, yes!

I knew how the process worked before I shared them and I was aware that if nobody helped me with startup fund's any monetary rewards would be lost. 

All I had was proof of concept.

I took that chance because at the time I thought Fuckerberg was trustworthy. 

I wasn't expecting that my phone would be hacked so that nobody could reach me in order to insure my losses.

Meanwhile Facebook was sharing posts on my timeline giving me the impression that I should just be patient because I was already a millionaire.

Showing me luxurious homes and cars at the same time they were broadcasting my phone and using several of their infinite number of agents to try and entrap me. 

About a year later, once they knew it was too late for me to patent the idea they started harassing me through posts, implying what a loser I was.

Why is it that inventors are the only ones required to pay an exorbitant fee before they can get financially rewarded for sharing an idea that would better our society and the health of the planet?

What if our favorite musicians and artists had to come up with five to fifty grand before they could profit from their creativity? 

We would only get rich, white bread and mayonnaise sounding songs and artwork right?

After all that I had been through they still expected me to play ball and donate my time and creativity as though no fowl had ever been committed. 

I should just keep giving away my ideas as though nothing had ever happened. 

That is if I was really a kind caring human being then I wouldn't let any of this change me... 

Even if you do come up with a few thousand dollars to get help patenting your idea all someone has to do in this country is say that they thought of it at the same time. 

Easily done when these monopolies have total access to your electronic devices and ideas.

Bluetooth came out the same year as 9/11 allowing our cellphones to communicate with our devices, the patriot act would give permission for government monopolies like Google and Facebook to keep an eye on us, opening the door to intellectual property theft.

It would also give them unlimited access to their political rivals' email communications and personal life. 

Making Watergate look like child's play. 

Now they are using their Matrix puppets to command hard work and obedience while snitching and stealing from the rest of us.

This is my opinion based on what's happening to me.

These companies have COMPLETE control over who we can talk with. 

Our forefathers would have gone to war over less. 

Still we market ourselves to the rest of the world as the land of the free.

How do we know that the same thing that happened to me hasn't happened to our more liberal leaning politicians in order to sway a vote or get them to resign?

Read that again.

How all of this has effected me long-term.

I miss the people and pets that would have still been in my life had none of this happened.

I am always suspect of anyone that comes into my life. 

What are their motives? 

Do they know who I am? 

How are they going to try and entrap me?

I keep my devices in Feraday cloth now and I'm careful around phones and camera's.

I think the government's ability to use their Matrix puppets to influence friends, family and neighbors with threats of incarceration for past crimes or monetary rewards paid for with our taxes was the most disheartening part of all this.

Not one of you has ever told me straight out that my phone is broadcasting only subtle hints by repeating the things I have said in the past.

Usually being done by an agent trying to provoke me.

What did I do to justify this attack on my safety and privacy? 

I wouldn't change political parties to republican.

I fought for climate conservation and I didn't support Israel's occupation of Palestine. 

That's all it took.

Mr. White from breaking bad approached me on Facebook to try and get me to join his team.

I WAS given a choice.

The last poisoning attempt on my life has changed me. 

My memory and focus are wasted.

Once this has happened to enough people you'll know the truth. 

Once it's happened to you it won't seem as funny.

Keep stealing from the creatives and all you'll be left with is lawyers and accountants. 

It's taken every bit of my strength to keep from turning to the dark side.

I have no doubt that this is the kind of thing that has led to the ridiculous number of mass shootings in our country.

Random People see me and chuckle or laugh.

An orthodox Jew called me Ron Rudd the masterbator at the Chicago airport.

While sleeping on the sidewalk a man approached to yell something about Yahweh.

Now I live in a homeless shelter in San Diego where I've witnessed two stabbing and several fights. 

Every night after I fall asleep a security guard taps on my metal bunk and shines a flashlight in my face. 

The plastic mattress is destroying what's left of my back.

I would welcome any legal advise.

I can't even get the pain medicine I need after they broadcast me doing a small bit of meth that I hadn't done in over twenty years.

This whole ordeal has cost me everything.

Even my beloved cat.

I'm nervous wreck now.

225 degrees in Texas. I've done all that I can.

I am completely ruined now thanks to sharing.

Steps I've taken to unf#ck my phone:

If you can't get a phone in someone else's name here are some tips on keeping them out of your android.

Once you download everything from playstore 

Disable All of your Google apps, anything that says Google clear the cache then turn on do not disturb some apps like Spotify and Shutterfly will no longer work. 

You can enable Google services for a moment now and then but not playstore.

Now uninstall the Meta and Facebook apps all four of them. Do not install Whatsapp, which is a Gateway for hackers.

Instagram is the most insidious downloading viruses disguised as apps.

Once they have your number all hell breaks lose.

Switching to WIFI won't help using your location they will access your phone as soon as you inter the password.

They're going to upload everything to your Google keyboard now. You'll need to clean the cache on a regular basis.

Get a non WiFi motion detection alarm with a siren to keep Matrix puppets out of your house when you're not there.

List of innovations:

The iPhone GPS tracking devices that help locate your keys and wallet.

Fresnel lens powered water heaters

Electromagnetic earthquake proof buildings.

Revolving metal detector security door.

Gps chips in children's shoes to prevent kidnapping.

Several environmental ideas.

Using airbags to stop oil leaking from pipelines.

Metal case to hold GPS trackers for your catilitic converter. Attached with JB weld.

Solar powered lawnmower that worked like the robots that clean our floors.

Air bags to seal leaking oil pipeline

Reflective marbles made of desert sand to help cool the planet.

Using seed bombs to plant the most carbon reducing trees and plants.

Piping water from plentiful lakes to the ones drying up.

Giant circular submersible farms utilizing condensation for hydroponic irrigation.

Political ideas that would have pissed them off.

Verified voting checked online with a password.

A government supplemental coupon to save money on electric mowers and weed eaters.

My stance against the fossil fuel industry.

Public Voting to decide which companies get subsidized.

I was pointing out the hypocrisy of threatening disabled people's income and calling it intilements while the wealthy do no actual labor for the income they make off the interest of their money.

Complaining about the amount of money we send to Israel and the resulting gentrification of our cities leaving thousands homeless.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Secret's Out

Summary: Request! Reid and Y/N are secretly dating, but their business doesn't stay their business for long.

Warnings: Criminal Minds level violence

Word Count: 2974

a/n: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it :)

Sorry this took forever! It took me a while to think of case details that I liked and then I kept rewriting parts. I think I'm finally happy with it though!

Masterlist

"Spencer!" You pushed him away. "The doors could open at any moment! How are we supposed to keep this a secret if Morgan walks in on us kissing in the elevator?" You raised a brow at him.

"On average, elevators travel at a speed of 200 ft/min or about 4 seconds per floor. Being on the fifth floor means we have about 20 seconds to ourselves." He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah, until someone surprises us on floor 3." You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the doors once they opened.

"I can't help it. I'm just... really happy with you." He whispered softly.

"I'm really happy too." You smiled at him. You were about to lean in when the elevator doors opened once again to reveal JJ and Emily.

"Hey guys, ready for another case?" Emily glanced between you suspiciously, but thankfully didn't ask any prying questions.

"Yep, let's go!" You turned quickly, walking into the round table room without so much as a glance back at the three agents by the elevator.

"What's with her?" JJ questioned.

"Said she didn't sleep well last night. Must be all the caffeine." He held his own cup off coffee up in solidarity before also walking to the round table room.

"Alright, we've got 3 dead in Billings, Montana. All three were law enforcement, and all three were found this morning around the city." You listened as Penelope introduced the details of the case.

"Could be someone who feels the police didn't do a good enough job protecting a loved one?" You threw out a theory.

"Or someone who feels wronged by the criminal justice system as a whole." Rossi added on.

"Either way, they likely won't stop until we catch them. Wheels up in 20." Hotch rose from his seat as he spoke, wasting no time in preparing for take off.

You all dispersed briefly to grab your go bags, meeting back at the SUVs to head to the jet.

Once boarded, it didn't take long for the conversation to start up again.

"When we land, L/N go to the morgue. Dave, Prentiss take the first and second crime scenes, they're only a mile apart. Morgan and Reid, check out the third scene. I'll head to the precinct with JJ."

With Hotch's instructions set, you took what little time you had left on the flight to go over the causes of death.

-

"Anything stand out to you on the bodies?" You asked the ME after going over the blunt force trauma and bullet wounds.

"There's tape residue and bruising on the wrists and ankles. Based on the state of bruising, they were likely held for about 3 days before they were killed."

"Thank you for your help." You shook hands, pulling out your phone to call Hotch.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, they were held for days before they were killed. How did nobody notice they were missing?" There was nothing in the reports that indicated the victims were reported missing prior to being found.

"We just found the same pattern. They all used vacation days for various reasons in the days leading up to their deaths. Meet us back at the precinct and Reid can explain the whole pattern."

"Okay, I'm leaving now." You hung up just as you reached the SUV. Throughout the drive, you couldn't stop thinking that something wasn't adding up.

The victims were taken in the same day. It didn't make sense for the unsub not to escalate. So, why aren't any officers unaccounted for?

Suddenly, a truck crashed into your SUV, sending you flying off the road. A figure dressed in black opened the door and dragged you from the car.

"Agent L/N, it's so good to see you again." A male voice spoke, but you couldn't place it.

He hit you over the head with a handgun before dragging you to his own vehicle.

-

"Where's L/N?" Emily questioned when her and Rossi returned from the second dumpsite.

"On her way back from the ME." Hotch answered. "Did you find anything useful?"

"They truly are dumpsites. Both bodies were found by dumpsters, sending a pretty clear message." Dave replied.

"Same for the third site." Derek added on.

"All three victims were single and took time off leading up to their death. Nobody would've notice that they were missing until it was too late." Reid supplied the final bit of information gathered.

Hotch's phone rang before anyone else could comment. The frantic sound of Garcia's nails clicking against her keyboard echoed through the phone. She was talking before anyone could greet her.

"You need to see this, check your tablets."

Confused glances were exchanged as everyone, barring Reid, opened their tablets. Reid glanced over Morgan's shoulder to observe as well.

A seemingly live video that Garcia received a link to was streaming to the tablets.

A single woman sitting in a chair could be seen in the frame. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair with thick, gray tape and a bag was over her head.

"Garcia, what is this?" Hotch asked almost immediately.

"I was emailed the link just now. It's not streaming anywhere else online." Her reply came quickly, the sound of typing still filling in the silence.

"Can you trace it?" Rossi questioned.

"I'm trying, but it's being routed through multiple proxy servers."

"Did the email say anything?" Emily chimed in.

"No, it was just the link- Wait. I just got another email." She paused as the new email loaded. "It's addressed to Reid."

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Reid.

"What does it say?" He felt the nerves beginning to grow waiting for Garcia to read the words aloud.

"Dr. Reid,

I hope you remember me. What am I saying, of course you do. I've got something of yours that you might want back. You see Dr. Reid, you and your team ruined me. My family, my career, all of it, just gone. I thought I'd return the favor. A person's phone can be so informative. Tell me, does your team know about your girlfriend? I've so enjoyed getting reacquainted with her.

Happy hunting."

Spencer's face went white as he looked at Morgan's tablet again. His thoughts were racing. How did he not recognize you before? Even with the bag over your head, he should've known it was you.

"It's her." His words were barely a whisper.

"This is your girlfriend?" Morgan gestured to the screen again. Spencer could only nod in reply, his mind unable to focus on anything except you.

"Reid, listen to me. You've got to tell us everything you know about her. We'll have to split up. You can go back to Quantico with Emily and Morgan, the rest of us will stay here to work on our current case." Hotch was already devising a strategy to work both cases.

"There's no need." His words made sense to him, but sounded cryptic to the rest of the team.

"Kid, of course there is. We'll help you get her back." Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively shocking him back to the present situation.

"There's no need to split up because she's here. She's in Montana." Before he could continue, everyone was asking questions.

"Give me a phone number and I'll get you a location." Garcia was already typing away again.

"Are you sure she's here?" JJ's brows furrowed. She did her best to hide the hurt of her best friend hiding his girlfriend from her, again.

"Why would she be here?" Rossi added.

"How did she get here? Maybe we can track the transportation and figure out means of abduction." Emily was the only one thinking about the case.

Like ripping off a bandaid, Spencer blurted out the truth.

"It's Y/N."

He was met with silence in the room as everyone absorbed the information.

Garcia caught up first, a sudden gasp sounding through the phone.

"So, then that's Y/N... in the video..." Her voice wavered.

As if a switch was flipped, the team was back on the case.

"Garcia, get me a list of anyone who would have a grievance with the team." Hotch ordered.

"Go through anyone who was falsely accused. Start with cases in or around Montana. He would want to keep this close to home." Rossi specified.

"We've only had one case in Montana since Y/N joined the team." Reid supplied the knowledge as it came to him. "A name, I need a name." He muttered to himself, pulling his hair as he roughly ran his hands through it and over his face. "Garcia, look into Jameson Braddock."

"Got it." She immediately began a background check, searching through case files and news articles for additional information. "i'll get back to you with locations." With that, she hung up.

"Fill us in, kid. Who is Jameson Braddock." Morgan lead Reid to a chair, gently easing him into it.

"Our last case in Montana, Emily and I went to interview a witness." Emily nodded, the memories slowly coming back to her.

"He wasn't very forthcoming, and then he tried to run." She added on.

"Exactly, except he didn't make it very fair. We arrested him, but it turned out he was only guilty of selling alcohol to minors. When word of his arrest got out, the whole town thought it was for the serial rapes and murders we were investigating even though it was never confirmed."

"By the time we corrected the media, it was too late." JJ supplied, also remembering the man.

"So, he killed three officers just to draw us out back out here?" Morgan refocused the conversation on the current case.

"It looks that way now. The media knew we were coming, so he must have as well." Emily theororized. "If he followed us from the airport, he would've seen Y/N leave by herself."

"He likely didn't know about your relationship until he abducted her and went through her phone." Hotch paced the room.

"He's flaunting his power over us." Rossi chimed in just as Hotch's phone rang again.

"Garcia, what've you got?"

"Three addresses in Billings, Montana. Jameson Braddock has been on a downward spiral since your last trip there. His entire life fell apart, like he said. Divorced, his wife moved to Nebraska with their two kids. He lost his job at the high school, and was evicted from his house when he could no longer pay the bills." She listed the information quickly.

"He has ties to three addresses. Nobody has moved into his previous house, so it's vacant. He's got a small apartment in the northern part of the city which he pays for through working odd hours at Taco Bell. Finally, he briefly worked security at a now abandoned warehouse."

"An apartment wouldn't be enough space to hold her without the chance of someone hearing. She's not there." Rossi eliminated the location as an option.

"We'll split up to cover the warehouse and the house-" Hotch began, but Reid cut him off.

"No, we shouldn't split up. She's got to be at the house. The warehouse has no connection to his previous life. He wants revenge for our perceived wrongdoing, he wouldn't make his last stand at a new location." Reid was already putting on a bullet proof vest. Despite how his mind was racing, he refused to show how afraid he was.

"You're sure?" Morgan asked, on the fence about committing to one location.

"Absolutely." With that, Reid was out the door heading for the SUVs.

-

"Rossi, Emily head around back. I'll take the front with Reid. JJ and Morgan, the side door." Hotch instructed the team to split up upon arrival at the house.

Reid wasted no time in approaching the house. He was confident you were inside, but he didn't know what was happening to you.

The main floor was cleared quickly. Again, the team split up to cover the upper level and the basement.

Knowing you were likely downstairs, Reid immediately started that direction, JJ and Hotch following him.

It wasn't hard for him to find you. You were still tied to the chair in the middle of the room, bag over your head.

Before anyone could stop him, Reid lowered his gun and ran to you. He gently maneuvered the bag off your head, stopping his movements only when he felt something press into his back.

"Dr. Reid. So kind of you to join us." Braddock spoke maniacally, pressing the gun against Reid's head.

"Drop your weapon." Hotch commanded, but the man only cackled in response.

'Y/N... Y/N." Reid gently shook you in an attempt to wake you up.

"She can't hear you." Braddock singsonged.

"What did you do?" Reid tried to turn to him only to feel the gun press further into his head.

"Like I said in my email, you people ruined my life. They took everything from me, so I thought I'd try to return the favor." During his short speech, Braddock shifted just enough for JJ to get a clean shot.

He fell to the ground, gun clattering across the floor.

Reid moved quickly to remove the tape binding you to the chair while Hotch called for a medic in the basement.

The entire team watched as you were wheeled into the ambulance, still unconscious, none more scared than Spencer.

-

"She's going to be fine, Spence." JJ tried to reassure him, nonetheless his pacing continued.

"You don't know that. We don't even know what he did to her." He had one hand anxiously running through his hair, the other pinching the bridge of his nose in distress.

Just then, a doctor emerged from behind closed doors.

"F/N L/N." She called into the waiting room, slightly taken aback when the group of agents rushed to her.

"It was touch and go for a while, but she got here just in time." It was visible to even the least qualified profiler how relieved the team felt. Their previously tense shoulders relaxed, frowns turned to small smiles, wide eyes and raised brows pinched together with joy.

"What happened?" Emily posed the question everyone was thinking.

"In short, she was drugged. It's not clear what exactly was used, but it was likely a mix of drugs that attempted to stop her heart."

"Can we see her?" Morgan spoke next, cautiously eyeing Reid.

"You may, follow me." The doctor lead them through a series of hallways to your room. "She should be waking up soon."

With that the doctor left, allowing the team to file into the room. You looked strangely peaceful for someone who almost died.

"So..." JJ glanced between you and Spencer. "Girlfriend, huh?"

His eyes went wide. Instinctively, he turned to you for help, but you were still asleep. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Relax, kid." Morgan grinned. "We're happy as long as you two are happy."

Spencer smiled gratefully, looking at you with an adoring gaze. "We are happy."

"How long?' Emily gestured to your joined hands. Just before Spencer could answer, you groaned.

"I want to hear your guesses first." Your voice was raspy, but there was a clear smile on your face. "Also, what happened?"

The quickly explained the email Garcia received and the events that followed.

"Now that that's cleared up, do tell us how long you think we've been together. I know you've got a bet going." You narrowed your eyes, playfully glaring at each team member.

"4 months." Hotch begrudgingly admitted. JJ followed with 3 months, Derek and Rossi both betting 10 weeks, and Emily going with 6 weeks.

"Ha, you're all wrong." You smiled triumphantly, leaning closer to Spencer.

"Wait, we haven't heard from Garcia." Derek smirked as he rung her on speaker phone.

"Oh, my beautiful crime fighters. Y/N, are you okay?" Your smile widened at the concern in her voice.

"I am indeed, but I have a very important question for you." You glanced as Spencer briefly before continuing. "How long do you think Spence and I have been together?"

"Oh, I know this one!" Her excitement caught everyone but you off guard. "7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days."

Spencer's jaw dropped as he stuttered out, "that's exactly right..."

"How'd you figure it out?" The group of profilers wore matching expressions of surprise as Penelope explained.

"Well, we had just finished testifying in the Bigelow trial. The whole team went out for drinks, and I could just see it in Y/N's eyes the next day that something wonderful happened. At first I just thought that she got some, but then I saw her and the good doctor in the kitchen getting coffee and I knew." Penelope's voice held a mixture of smugness and pure excitement.

"Babygirl, you didn't tell me?" Derek sounded genuinely offended.

"Y/N asked me not to." Even though you couldn't see her, you knew she punctuated the statement with a shrug.

"You knew, she knew?" Spencer turned to you in shock.

You nodded. "I could see it on her face the second I walked out of the kitchen. But she promised not to tell, so I didn't either."

"The two of you, thick as thieves." Rossi lamented.

"I love you so much." Spencer whispered into your ear as he pulled you in for a hug.

"I love you too." You whispered right back.

"Honestly, I'm glad the secret's out." You smiled at Spencer before looking at the rest of the team. "Although, I wish I didn't have to be kidnapped to tell you."

You spent a few more hours in the hospital before being cleared to go back to the hotel.

The next morning, you smiled to yourself as you were finally able to cuddle with Spencer during the flight home.

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@measure-in-pain

[spencerscoven]

— sad girl

about ; Spencer wants you more than anything, but he already has someone waiting at home for him.

gif by saramichellesgellar

CONTENT WARNING: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), slight choking, fingering, semi public intercourse, unprotected sex, cheating, brief mentions of violence, slight angst

a/n : came out of the fic closet for this <3 any request, concepts, or if you would like to be in a tag list, send your request to my inbox !! and enjoy

Being a mistress on the side, it might not appeal to fools like you...

What you could never tell a soul was that it started months before, weeks before he had ever first officially laid his hands on you. The lingering eyes, antsy hands, the words that had meant something else that went unsaid. They had implied the words that Spencer would never say out loud, in fear of the guilt that lined his stomach: I want you. But I have her.

Creeping around on the side, would not be something you would do...

JJ kissed him on the cheek, hands softly massaging the knots of his shoulders while she whispered the words that announced, "something came up..." and with that, she left Spencer with the taste of desire on his lips as his eyes gaped towards your direction. He watched you like he always did when he got a chance, seeing how the tips of your fingers ran across the edge of your cubical, your legs cross and eyebrows furrowed in thought. He knew what you were reading— only because his eyes glazed over the same file. The unsub was a 43 year old man with the signature of engraving x's into his victim's chests. And he wondered, thought hard, if you could focus on the case while you wore a skirt that tight.

"JJ's gone? Hotch just left, looks like it's just you and me. Now, what do you think of this?"

You inquired, shocking Spencer into looking up to see you standing beside him, the steps you took to get there unknown to him at the time they had happened. He pinched his thigh through his slacks. Get a grip.

You slid into his cubical next to him, stacking "The Narrative Of John Smith" in the next corner, along with his other books that were too advanced for you to even begin to understand, so you could sit your hips on his desk and place the annotated file next to him.

"So, I've found that Avery Pincher was abandoned by his mother at eight. She found another life elsewhere, and he didn't fit into the picture... you get the gist of it all," You looked up and smiled sheepishly, flattening out the top of your skirt which allowed Spencer's eyes to heed recognition of the smooth goosebumps laid on your thighs. He wanted skin to skin, mouth to mouth.

But you haven't seen my man... you haven't seen my man.

"Cold?" He questioned, sight trailing up your torso, only to see that your eyes already met his.

He could keep this up like he had for months, he could act like he couldn't cut though the tension between them. He could imagine that Morgan didn't squint his eyes at him every time he said your name in the conference room. He could set his hopes on thinking he had enough strength to go home and meet JJ, make love to her instead of fantasizing about fucking you. It was part of his job, bending people to his decree and staying in control. But he just didn't have the will when it came to you.

"Cold? No Reid— So I studied the letters his mother sent him after she left, all of them signed with an X, for kisses, as she signed them off. She thought it was endearing, he didn't seem to like it... hence his signature and the victims looking like her—"

"Then why do you have goosebumps?" He announced, rather than asked, as his long fingers wrapped around the top of your knee. He felt you take in a sharp breath before he heard it.

He's got the fire, and he walks with flames...

"Think about what you're doing, Reid. You think I haven’t caught onto these little things? Because I have,” Your words were spoken with quiet vexation even though you leaned towards his chest, but most importantly they told him that you knew. Your eyes were criminal, finally revealing your awareness of the depraved cat and mouse game that kept up between the two of you.

You'd seen the way he watched you. You'd felt his eyes down your blouse, his fingers that ghosted too long on your waist as he opened the door for you in the mornings. You’d spent nights thinking, rationalizing that Spencer was brilliant, and surely knew what was good for himself. You fought so hard, only to land on the realization he was just a man. A man with an insufferable craving in the pit of his stomache.

"I can feel your pulse. I have thought about this. Day in, day out. You don't think I've seen you looking too?" He stood, hands dragging further up your legs, to your waist, under your skirt, your hipbone, the insides of your thighs to feel your heat. He couldn't stop the soft smile forming on his lips when you sighed.

"Here you are, ass on my desk, pussy right in front of me, and you're telling me you didn't know this was bound to happen?”

His Bonnie on the side, his Bonnie on the side...

His lips mashed into yours, wasting no time, both your breaths hitching as teeth clashed and he fought to destroy you, to drown you in dizziness and lust. Finally, finally, finally, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. With his hands wrapped around your neck, nails digging in and stifling the moans threatening to uprise in your throat as he held you back from his lips, allowing you to gaze up drunkenly as your head lulled back and forth.

"I've barely touched you." You could hear the smirk in his voice, sticking your tongue out as he slowly pulled at your wet panties, your black skirt already bunched up your waist.

"This is what you want?" He mockingly laughed, gathering his saliva and spitting upon your tongue, serving his passion with hostility.

Obediently, you swallowed, thrusting your lower half into his own abdomen before your lips connected again, good sense and respect thrown out the window as you two forgot completely about the world outside, allowing each other to envelop each whole.

"You've been waiting to do this forever, I can taste it on my lips... so go ahead and ruin me." You murmured softly, as if the building was full and it was only meant for him to hear, but roughy in nature, your hands reaching for his cock that was already hard and showcasing a tent in his pants. Spencer slapped them away, placing your hands back on the edge of the desk as he situated himself in the leather chair of his office, pulling your pussy closer to his face.

"Spencer—"

"I think about you a little more than I should. I think about this," He hungrily ran his middle finger down your vagina, spreading your wetness from your hole to your clit, basking in the way it glimmered off the insides of your thighs before placing the tip of his finger between his lips, a selfish act. "well, I think about this a lot."

You reach your hands down to cup his cheeks in silent approval, his pupils dilated while he begins to pump just his middle finger in and out at a steady pace, your hips thrusting up to meet his just seconds before his tongue pounces. At first he doesn't hear your noises— too focused on your taste and allure as he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks, adding another finger. Above him, you grasp the short cubical wall, holding on as if you'd fall into endless abyss without it, making animalistic noises that make Spencer think he could die right there and here, his face and fingers buried in your cunt. He's a man of science, yet he thinks he's seen God.

He witnesses you grab his head of hair, pushing him up against you and grinding up and down as if you couldn't get enough, shouting his name, and spouting your release on his lips. You twitch, riding out your high with his face planted between your legs and your soul located on another planet.

You look down to witness Spencer cleaning you off with his tongue, his mouth swallowing your wetness that had spread to your thighs, his hips under a spell, causing them to thrust into the empty space, allowing you to realize in that moment that he hadn't even noticed he was doing it, either. You grab him by the top of his sweater bringing his face to your level with a simple request,

"Fuck me, Spencer?"

He smiles gleefully, reaching down to unbuckle his trousers that already spotted precum on the front of them, a moan rising lowly in his throat.

"I need to get this dick inside of you before I cum." He pumps himself a few times, before pushing into your cunt, hand rising to hold your legs back, unable to keep the strident moan from coming out of his throat, your fingernails drilling into his hips, waist, mouth, neck, anything you could grasp.

He's got the fire and he walks with flames...

One after the other, his hips snap to yours quickly, meeting in a smack as his thumb connects between the both of you in circles to rub, coaxing your second orgasm out.

He's got the fire and he talks with flames...

You both moan out, cumming over one another, producing what Spencer would call "the perfect melody", if there had ever been one.

He kisses you one last time, and this time's different. It feels like longing, and you can't be too sure as you draw back to look at him and he stares blankly across the room, breath heavy. You watch as he bends to look through his desk, pulling out a tissue and wiping his cum from your core softly, eyes focused on anything but your face before he's shoving it into his pocket to dispose of outside the office.

What shocks you most is when he takes your peach panties that were once discarded on the floor and tucks them into his desk, under files, for safe keeping. But Spencer still won't meet your eyes.

You hoist your hips up, sliding off the surface of the wooden desk to spread out your skirt, now wrinkled, and to sweep your hair out of your face, that to your surprise, he does himself to catch your attention.

"Look, I just..." He begins, and you bite your lip, the realization of what you've done setting in.

In the back of your mind, you know what makes you actually feel bad. It’s the fact that you don't feel much remorse, if at all, and it causes the high tides of your mind to drown, shame swallowing you from the inside out. The lingering touches, the stares— the everything, they happened before Spencer and JJ. You reminisce, afraid to blink, scared that you’d see the memories of Spencer telling you about her would come flashing behind your eyelids, replaying like they always did at night.

Before he was JJ's, he was yours. Part of you begged to say he still was, even though you watched who he walked into the office with each day when they exited the same car, hand in hand. You tilted your head, as if to encourage him to go on, to finish telling you he regretted it, even if his eyes showed the opposite. There was not a single chance in the world that he could utter what he really wanted to, not after he had been pining after her for years. Not one of you were stupid enough to do that and you knew it.

His Bonnie on the side, his Bonnie on the side, makes me a sad, sad girl...

"I just wanted to tell you that I know we shouldn't have done this but—"

He glances down as the phone in his left pocket begins to ring, and before he even pulls it out, both of you are eerily aware of exactly who it is, the ironical energy of it all lingers in the air as Spencer gives you a sad look, picking up the phone.

"Hello? Oh— no. I was just getting ready to leave. Just finishing up the night." He looks right at you, contemplating, before cleaning off the rest of your wetness on his chin with the sleeve of his jumper. He’s just fucked you silly, only to go home to her.

You find yourself shoving your heels on and collecting your things off your desk across the room, his eyes following you and doing the same.

I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl...

Spencer walks beside you to the doors of the BAU, knowing that hours from now, in the morning, you’d both come to work. You'd act like it never happened, avoid and ignore each other, until wondering hands wondered again. Until then, Spencer would deny himself of the woman he spent his time thinking about. He’d act as if he didn't need you.

He placed his hand on your lower back as he opened the doors ahead of you, slinging his messenger bag strap higher up his shoulders, and let his fingers dawdle there for just a second more than needed, the signal not unbeknownst to you. With just the two of you here, he loiters on the idea that that cannot ever be, you and him. And on his lips he tastes spite, mixed with wishful thinking.

I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl, I'm a mad girl.

part 2

masterlist

[yangssunglasses]

Ooohhh! I just saw you asking for prompts, and I got a bit excited! I love your fics! Ehrm, Sasuke's reaction when he finds out Sakura has a work husband? He's been away for so long and I've always been a sucker for jealous/doesn't-know-his-standing-in-sakura's-life Sasuke!

AN: Thank you! I hope you’ll like the fic!

Available on ffnet.

Work Husband

.

Ever since returning from his longsecret mission, Sasuke was slowly getting used to the normal rhythmof life in the village. For years he’d only known the uncertainty oftravel to faraway lands filled with unknown dangers, so adjusting thepeaceful daily routine wasn’t so daunting in comparison. Sasuke wasalready set in his ways, but he saw value in learning about thechanges in technology and society, even if he wasn’t going to use orcare much about them. Some would call him old-fashioned (Naruto cameto mind), but that was just the way that Sasuke was. His wife anddaughter didn’t have any issue with it and their opinion was the onlyone that mattered to him.

However, there was a certain noveltySasuke wasn’t prepared for.

One day at the Uchiha familybreakfast, Sakura looked up at the clock and shot up from her seat inpanic.

“Oh no, I’m going to be late towork! Ken-kun will kill me!” she cried out, frantically searchingfor her phone.

“Behind you,” Sarada pointed outhelpfully. Sakura grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter andstashed it in her purse. “And don’t be so dramatic, Ken-san adoresyou.”

“You don’t know how much thispresentation means to him! I need to be there, I promised him!”Sakura replied. “Anyway, I have to go! Bye, darling, Sarada!” sheexclaimed and rushed out.

Sarada got up too and collected thedirty dishes to wash them in the sink. “That Mama…” shegrumbled.

“Does this happen often?” Sasukeasked in amusement as he joined her in the kitchen. He took a dishragto dry the clean dishes she passed to him.

“Not really, usually mom gets upearlier so she doesn’t have to rush,” Sarada informed him.

Sasuke realized that he was the one toblame for this. Not only he had kept Sakura up late last night justtalking about everything that came to mind (and they still had somany years of catching up to do), but also he almost hadn’t let herout of the bed this morning. Waking up to next to her sleepingpeacefully facing him, with pink hair spilled over the pillowangelically reminded him how much he’d missed her warm presence inhis life, which resulted in a spontaneous make-out session when shewoke up.

Sarada turned off the faucet and movedto help him with drying.

“Leave it, I can finish this,” hetold her.

“Thanks, Papa,” Sarada said. Shetook off the apron and went to grab her things. He heard her groanand turned to see what happened.

“Papa, mom forgot her lunch. I havetraining with my team and then a mission today, so could you bring itto her?” his daughter explained. Sasuke mentally ran through hisactivities for the day. He could fit in a lunch delivery… but he’dmake Sakura pay for it in some way. He smirked to himself andpolished the plate in his hand.

“Sure.”

“Great! I can’t believe she forgotit all because of Ken-san’s presentation! It’s not like it’s soearth-shattering,” Sarada commented as she went to the entryway toput on her sandals.

“Who is this Ken?” Sasuke gaveinto the curiosity. Sakura hadn’t mentioned this name before, buttoday he inadvertently became the main topic.

“Ken-san? Oh, he’s mom’s workhusband,” Sarada said. “I’m going out, bye Papa!” The doorclosed behind her, so she didn’t get to see Sasuke’s reaction.Otherwise, she would have probably gotten a good laugh at hisexpense.

Sasuke entirely froze in place,expression blank as his mind processed the new information. It wassomething he’d never heard about and so it was hard to grasp itsmeaning, especially in the context of his wife. His brows scrunchedin confusion as he worked through this conundrum.

Work husband.

Work. Husband.

Sakura had someone called a workhusband.

This Ken, whoever the man was, wasSakura’s work husband.

Sakura, who was Sasuke’s wife.

Sasuke was her husband. The one shemarried, the one she promised to stay by his side, forever. The manshe shared a life, a home, a bed with.

But… he didn’t work alongside her.Their careers had gone separate ways a long time ago. He’d neverthought it was an issue, instead he always viewed it as a blessing.

Even during the lonely years on theroad, away from her, Sasuke was secure in the knowledge of theirmutual connection. It was unbreakable and transcending through timeand space.

Then why was another man now gettingthe title of Sakura’s ‘work husband’? What did Ken do to deserve it?Did that mean Sasuke was her husband only in the house? Why would sheeven need a ‘work husband’? Is this some new strange modern custom?

Sasuke was so out of sorts that hedropped the plate he was holding. Only thanks to his incredible ninjareflexes he managed to catch it before it landed on the ground. TheUchiha didn’t pay it any mind as he still struggled with the idea ofSakura having another 'husband.’

Sasuke had no idea what was going onbetween Sakura and this Ken and why Sarada was okay with this, but heintended to find out.

He put the dry dishes in the cabinetand took Sakura’s forgotten lunch box.

Operation Lunch Delivery would be agood start of his investigation.

.

Sasuke’s tracking skills allowed himto locate Sakura in no time. She was locked in a conference room inthe Hokage Tower with a group of important-looking people. The manpresenting before them had to be Ken. From the well-concealed spot onthe tree outside the window Sasuke assessed the so-called 'workhusband’. Ken was tall, dark-haired and definitely younger thanSakura, around twenty-five years old at most. He also worerectangular glasses, giving him a more professional, mature look. Interms of physicality he seemed to keep up with his ninja training,but in chakra capacity he was only average. Sasuke could wipe thefloor with him if it was ever necessary.

During the length of the entirepresentation, Sasuke also didn’t miss Sakura frequently sendingenthusiastic smiles to Ken and nodding in agreement whenever he madea point. He told himself that this was nothing out of ordinary, justSakura being her cheerful and supportive self. He chose to ignore thegouge in the tree bark left after he’d gripped it too hard when he’dseen one of her special sparkling smiles directed at the other man.

After the meeting, Sakura approachedKen in the hallway. They exchanged a few words and  then she leanedup. Sasuke’s eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as his wife kissed theman on the cheek in public. Fora moment, his chakra flared out of control and Sakura’s head whippedquickly towards the window, sensing him nearby.

There was noreason to hide anymore, so Sasuke transported before her with achakra flicker.

“Sasuke-kun?”she asked, no doubt wondering why he was there.

He showed thelunch box to her. “You forgot this.”

Sakura blushed alittle in embarrassment. “Ah, sorry about that. Thanks for bringingmy lunch, but you didn’t have to. I’m taking out Ken-kun here tocelebrate,” she said, gesturing at the younger man next to her.“Ken-kun, this is Sasuke-kun, my husband,” she finished theintroductions.

“Hello,Uchiha-san, it’s great to finally meet you,” Ken said and held outhis hand for a handshake.

Sasuke grunted andgave him a passing glance of acknowledgment. Ken retracted his handafter a few seconds.

Sakura stepped in,breaking up the awkward moment. “We’re going to the sushi place onthe main street for lunch. I know, how about you come with us? Youwouldn’t mind if Sasuke-kun tagged along, Ken-kun?”

“The more, themerrier,” the man said with a strained smile.

“Sasuke-kun?”

Sasuke considered.He knew that Sakura didn’t like that he’d treated her colleague withsuch disregard. She wanted him to make up for it but she wasn’t goingto push him into accepting the offer.

And it was hischance to observe them openly, ruining what suspiciously looked likea possible date.

“Very well,”Sasuke agreed, enjoying Sakura’s surprised, but pleased expression.

The lunch wasspent in a civil atmosphere. Sasuke stayed his quiet and taciturnself, giving only short answers whenever one of them tried to bringhim into the conversation. Soon, Sakura and Ken engaged in adiscussion of the meeting from which Sasuke gleaned that Ken hadpresented a new plan of expanding the research division, whichrequired a substantial budget. Basically, the man had  persuaded thevillage to give him the funds for his project.

Sasuke was contentwith just sitting next to Sakura and cataloging her every expressionand reaction, as well as the corresponding body language of Ken. Thelonger he watched them, the calmer he felt. They really behaved likeany other pair of coworkers who got along well and shared manyprofessional topics to talk about. This however still left himpuzzled over the 'work husband’ thing.

He loosened up bythe time the three of them parted ways after lunch and he even noddedin goodbye to Ken. The man was clearly no threat. It occurred toSasuke that Sarada might have pranked him. It was embarrassing thathe fell for it.

He resolved toforget about this entire matter.

But Sakura didn’t.

“I can’t believeyou acted so rude to Ken-kun!” she fumed moments after returninghome from work. “He’s a really sweet and good person, he didn’tdeserve that from you.”

Sasuke noddedwithout argument, choosing the safe option to let her rant and blowoff the steam. She gave him a detailed account of Ken’s goodnesswhich had him rolling his eyes discreetly.

.

It was late in theevening. Sasuke was waiting in the bed for Sakura to join him. Shecame straight from the bath, pink, flushed and a little damp,catching his attention in a sensual way a wife captivates herhusband. He flashed back to the happenings of the morning and whatremained unfinished between them.

Sakura slippedunder the covers on her side of the bed, then she switched off thelamp on her night stand.

Sasuke reachedover and stroked her bare arm lightly. “Sakura,” he said her namedeeply, letting her know what was on his mind.

She sighed andremoved his hand. “Sorry, Sasuke-kun, I really need to get somesleep tonight.”

“Sleep with me,”he suggested.

“Tempting offer,but I can’t. I have to be on time. I’m heading a brain surgery withKen-kun and I need to be well-rested.”

Sasuke scowled.Hearing all the day about that guy was tiresome, but this was thelast straw. He was overcome by a wave of intense resentment.

“Would youprefer if he was here instead of me?” Sasuke snapped.

“What?” Sakuraasked, staring at him in utter surprise. “What are you saying?”

Sasuke turned hisback to her. “Nothing,” he grumbled.

Sakura gentlytouched his shoulder and pulled him back. “You wouldn’t mention itif it was nothing. I know something was bothering you today. What’sgoing on, Sasuke-kun? Please tell me.” She peered into his facepleadingly, stroking his bicep.

Sasuke exhaledwith tired frustration. “Sarada said that he is your work husband.”

“Yeah, and?”Sakura pressed for him to continue.

Sasuke stared ather. How could she not get it? “I am your husband,” he reminded.

“Of course,Sasuke-kun. But what about Ken-kun? Sarada told you he’s my workhusband and?”

“I thought shepranked me.”

“Why? Saradawouldn’t lie to you like this.”

“How did hebecome your… other husband?” Sasuke finally asked, wincing at thephrasing. “Was it because I wasn’t around?”

“My other…?But he’s not… Wait.” Sakura’s eyes widened as she finallyunderstood. “You’ve got it all wrong!” she said with a chuckle.“Sasuke-kun, what do you think 'work husband’ means?”

“…I don’tknow,” he admitted gruffly.

“Well, it’s thisperson at work that I like to talk to and always brings me myfavourite coffee and remembers my birthday. 'Work husband’ or 'workwife’ is just a joking way to call someone like that,” Sakuraexplained.

“I see,”Sasuke replied with relief. Now things made more sense to him.

She gave him amischievous look. “What, were you jealous, darling?”

“Hmph. No.”

Sakura giggled,seeing through his thinly-veiled lie. “If you say so.” She leanedcloser to him. “What if I kissed him here,” she pressed her softlips to Sasuke’s cheek chastely to illustrate, “would you bejealous then?” She gave him a knowing look. She must have figuredeverything out.

“Annoying,”Sasuke grumbled at her.

“Or here,” shesaid, pecking his brow. “What then?” She fluttered her eyelashesteasingly.

“Sakura, don’ttest me…” Sasuke trailed off in a warning, but she was far fromending her fun.

“Maybe here?”Sakura kissed the tip of his nose and he had enough.

With a growl heturned her over on her back and straddled her. He was going topersonally show her all the places where only the husband wasallowed to kiss her.

Her real and onlyhusband, not some fake from work.

[galadrieljones]

Hello. As I've told u, I'm currently struggling a lot with my ongoing chapter. (Context : It's my first fic !) I was wondering whether you had some chapters of the dead season that you absolutely hated, and did you manage to come to terms with it eventually ? Luv u, xo

Hey Amburu!! (*^_^*) xoxo

First of all: Yes, yes, yes. Writing can feel like a struggle sometimes, especially when  just starting out. Part of this is because we just don’t always know what to expect out of our writing process yet, and so we’re often left wondering, “At what point will this start to feel right or finished?” It’s hard to trust ourselves, as writers, and this can be discouraging, but just like with any skill, we can’t get better unless we persevere. I like to think that writing improvement exists like a series of plateaus. It is not incremental. It’s like, you are on one plateau for a really long time, and then one day, you sort of hit critical mass. You’ve written so much, a pattern has struck. You’ve figured something out, even if it is not conscious, and suddenly, you’re just better. This process never ends.

Now, to your question: In terms of the writing process, it can take a long time and a lot of words to hit the point where you feel like you can actually trust your instincts. Or, at least it did for me. In fact, The Dead Season is my first project in which I feel like I’ve actually honed a writing process that works, and I have been writing fiction for a long, long time. Part of my writing process is experiencing a great deal of doubt, at some point in the week, as to whether or not the chapter is going to come together at all. This makes me anxious, as it would many of us, and certain chapters have made me more anxious than others. I wouldn’t say that I’ve ever hated any of my chapters themselves, but there are certainly chapters that have given me a lot of stress and self-doubt, and this is a feeling that I very much dislike.

For example, my early chapters, ie: about 1-7, feel super experimental and are very small. I’m not terribly happy with them by any stretch. But I have, over time, found small things that are working, and things that, in the long run, I actually like very much and would not change. For example, there are some rare, very strange and dark moments in the Fade, and we don’t actually go to the Fade all that often in TDS, so this is good. This is important. There are also some early seeds planted per Solas’s complex friendships with both Sera and Dorian, and Sene and Sera as well, plus Sene and Cole. These are big relationships that I was already investigating early on, and so while those chapters certainly aren’t perfect, I feel good about the fact that this has ALWAYS been a story about friendship, first and foremost, and that’s something I have not forgotten.

I’ve also accepted the fact that I was still new to the story back then and still feeling my way through and figuring out what was to come. So of course my early chapters weren’t going to be as careful and multi-layered as chapters that would come much later. This is a serial piece, which makes it feel, to me, a little like writing for TV, in terms of methodology. It took me a minute to figure out my formula, my process, my characters, but once I did, things started to take shape much more quickly and reliably.

Writing is hard, and it can be a struggle, but that is normal. The most important thing to remember, especially when writing more or less publicly, like for a fandom, is to not compare yourself and your writing to others and their writing. That is a toxic beast that we all fall prey to from time to time, but it will hamper your creativity more than anything. Also, and more practically, a lot of the time, when a chapter is causing problems, it might just be that you need to step back, locate the problem, and solve it in the quickest way possible so that you can move forward. Can’t get a transition to work? Then fuck it. Take the transition out and just put in a page break instead. Writing is sometimes just grunt work. It’s just problem-solving. Getting from point A to point B. The art we read on any brilliant page of any piece of writing we love takes many gruelling drafts to complete. It is a process. No writing comes out perfectly on the first try.

UNDER THE CUT: I go through some specific chapters in TDS that I really struggled with, mostly to give you some concrete perspective on the fact that YOU ARE NOT ALONE in your struggle to bring a chapter together. This is for anyone who’s interested!! (It was no bother and actually very productive!

Chapter 10: Hallelujah

I wrote that entire chapter while sitting on a bar stool at a cafe in my hometown in Wisconsin. I pulled a Patrick Weekes on this chapter, and it was hard, ie:  For all the Fade stuff with Sene and then Sene and Cole, I adapted the meter of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, hence the title. Looking back, it’s a little precious, per my aesthetic, but I’m glad I gave it a try and somehow made it work. It was just a blatant nod to Weekes and his brilliant writing in DA:I.

Chapter 21: It’s Raining in Val Royeaux, Chapter 22 & 23: Man of Faith, Pt. 1 & 2

These chapters were logistical nightmares. This was also my first go at using the stakes and politics of the world, plus a quest in the game, to really propel the plot AND Solas’s character forward. At first, what was so difficult, was navigating Josephine’s plan and introducing the “game” in a way that felt like it was informed by Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts without piggy-backing it completely. This would be an innocent affair. No murder, only sly quips and earning the favor of the Comte and Comtess Berrande. Plus, romance. Also, this whole thing was me building toward Solas’s diplomatic charm, which is HUGE per his history with Mythal, and then I just had to get to that scene with Blackwall like…I had been working toward that scene for weeks. So a lot was at stake. All told this was a LOT of writing, and I had a really bad head cold when I did it, and I was very very worried about these chapters for a LONG time. I still have not gone back to read them. I assume they’re okay?? Lol.

Chapter 25: The Mother We Share

This is the purple chapter, and I still think there is probably TOO MUCH purple and TOO MUCH mother imagery dumped in. This chapter took me FOREVER and was the moment I realized Solas had become too soft, and that he needed a shove in the other direction. So I had to introduce Abelas, and also, at this point, my stuff with Mythal/Flemeth disassociating began to take shape. Bleh. Thinking about this chapter feels like wading in molasses sometimes.

Chapter 30: Dust of My Dust

This chapter was hard, because it was transitional. I had to get us OUT of Crestwood, and Sene and Solas were in two different places, which had never happened before. Sometimes it is SO HARD to just get from one scene to the next. And so in the end, to save myself more pain, I ended up just splitting the chapter up into a couple separate sections and skipping the transition altogether. This was so useful that I ended up using the section format in multiple future chapters and will most certainly do it again. Half of writing is just problem-solving, it turns out.

Chapter 34: The Elves are Asleep

This is the chapter that comes after Sene learns the truth about Solas as an ancient elf, which comes right after he finally tells her about the miscarriage. This chapter was VERY hard, as it starts in the Fade, and then they come back hard to reality. Huge tone shift. Dorian is there, etc. I’m still a little unhappy with this chapter, especially the ending. It was difficult to find the thesis, ie: what is the ultimate goal? I knew it had to be something with Sene’s character, as this is when her flaws and fears truly start to take shape, but I just couldn’t get a grip on the ending. I probably wrote 14 different endings until I finally figured out what her state of mind needed to be and even still, I’m a little unsure, because I just couldn’t mess around with it anymore. I was going nuts. So I just published it and moved on. Moveon.org. Sometimes you just gotta. Bleh. Oh well.

Chapter 36: Hey, Morrigan. Spin me a tale.

THIS CHAPTER KILLED ME. Lol. Looking back, I am actually very pleased with it, but at the time, it was so much that I had to delay publishing, because I just could not get it right. In the end, it just ended up being a series of impressionistic, almost paratactic scenes, all with very oblique titles. Again, problem-solving. Though I love writing like this. It’s totally my wheelhouse. But to earn this kind of thing, I knew I needed to establish a really strong thematic drawstring to unite all the pieces. I had like thirty metaphors going at once with the knitting and the gloves and the hands, and then creating that sense of confusion in the end, between what Solas is experiencing NOW and what he is remembering–that was really fucking hard. This chapter took me two weeks to draft, and I remember publishing it at 2am and then dragging myself to bed like TIS FINALLY COMPLETE.

Chapter 38: Assassins

This chapter was another logistical nightmare. I don’t typically write a ton of consecutive, immediately chronological scenes, or scenes where the tension completely shifts based on real-time action. But in this chapter, I had to locate Sene’s state of mind with Mythal, coordinate the accidental reveal of Solas’s identity, then cue the assassins, trigger Sene’s response, locate Mythal’s state of mind, and then get everyone down to the brig. FFFFFF. Like this is NOT my strength as a writer, and so this chapter was a huge challenge and I feel like I actually learned a lot. Also, I remember I initially wrote past the ending of this chapter by like 2500 words, only later to realize I needed to save all that for later. So yeah. :deep breath: This chapter, in my mind, feels full of sharp knives.

@thevikingwoman, per your interests.