#the bunting is killing me

[mjrral]

Finally finished two (2) of my holiday cards. This year’s theme is snow buntings hanging holiday bunting! I really made things hard on myself this year but I’m so happy with how it turned out.

Only family I’m seeing tomorrow are getting them for Christmas. The rest of the family and my friends can hope they get them by New Years. We’ll see lol

[nylwnder]

hiiii just wanted to share this *really rough* little thing i finished today just cause 😗🫶

[mitchmarner]

bloody, angry bunts

bos v tor | 02.01.23

[lilworms]

FUCKKKKKKK

[onlyforalwayswith]

Man watching worlds I finally understand how frustrated leaf fans must be never having homer broadcasters, like these dudes are being brutal against team Canada and praising Denmark like theyre paid by the compliment

[lvrhughes]

I cannot stand leafs management rn

my team is dead goodbye brb becoming a diehard Habs fan 🧍‍♀️

[that-crazy-scorpio-man]

Imagine actually believing this lie.

Öyle güzelsin ki

kuş koysunlar yoluna...

Nilgün Marmara...

[highdefinitions]

that time of night where i get into my bed and shut all the lights off and watch all the edits that were so devastating i saved them to my camera roll until i make myself sick what it do baby

[alchemistc]

43. undone if it speaks to you <3

Getting back to these because I have a lot of fleeting half ideas I need to get rid of to focus on the Cap Buck series. This once again got longer than I meant it to so happy new year.

It takes Eddie about half an hour to realize Buck and Tommy are actually having a drawn out argument, right here in public, instead of just bickering the way he's so used to.

It's...strange.

The thing is he's always seen Tommy with a lid on it - he projects a certain image in a public, and a slightly less restrained image in private, and Eddie is absolutely certain the Tommy he knew six months ago would have rather eaten a live scorpion than air his shit out in such a public setting.

He supposes six months into their second at bat and Tommy's a little less concerned about laying a bunt.

It's subtle, is the thing. Eddie has had screaming matches with Buck in very public places before, he knows the usual script. Emotional land mine after emotional land mine exposed to whoever's in hearing distance, no holds barred, knock down, drag out shit. It's probably why it takes him so long to notice, because this is some fucking terrible amalgamation of Buck and Tommy at their worst and he is not a fan.

Hen goes to get another round with a raised brow in Eddie's direction that means she's definitely noticed too and will be taking her damn time getting back.

Chim's too busy staring all moony-eyed at a ready-to-pop Maddie absolutely killing her karaoke song to care when Tommy grimaces and rolls his jaw while Buck whispers something Eddie doesn't quite catch.

Eddie takes a drink. Then another.

He's down to the ice in his rocks glass.

"You aren't seriously trying to argue that projected stats have more weight than a full career, are you?" Tommy asks, and Eddie sort of wants to hit them both, because what? What? This whole thing started when a song reminded Buck that Tommy had once implied he didn't have enough gay experience to really love Tommy. Or. That was the gist, according to Buck. Famously not a reliable narrator in high emotion moments, but Tommy's never outright denied it, to Eddie's knowledge.

"I'm just saying, Gretzky's goal record is gone, so how can you say people with a decade of play left in them can't be in the conversation to surpass him? Statistically -."

Tommy's eyes glint. He looks mad.

When he stands from his seat, Buck throws both arms in the air. "Yeah, walk away," he spits, and Tommy, two steps towards the restroom already, spins on his heel with clenched fists.

Eddie has a sudden, clarifying memory of Buck reading off the statistics for couples who make it past the first six months. First year. First two, and five. Statistics for couples who took a break. Statistics for gay men, specifically, when he realized his sample size was skewed too straight.

Jesus Christ, he'd rattled those off to Tommy, too.

"I'm not subjecting Eddie to the shit I have to say to you right now, Evan," Tommy says, jaw clenched, hands digging into his pockets. He rocks back on his heels, tension fucking rolling off of him.

Buck stands too. Makes a sweeping gesture that seems to piss Tommy off more, and then they're both disappearing into the crowd.

Hen sets a new drink down in front of Eddie twenty seconds later.

"Thank you for leaving me to witness that by myself," Eddie manages, with a wry twist to his smile, and Hen grins back.

"Their foreplay sure has kicked it up a notch," she says, and Maddie crinkles her nose as she drops back into the booth beside Chim.

"If Jee hadn't been there they'd have screwed in my bathroom last week, I just know it."

Eddie shakes his head between them. "They - you guys know they were fighting, right?"

Maddie raises a brow at him like he's cute. Like a cute confused little puppy. Oh he hates that.

"Tommy deciding one of them dying was the only way they'd be free of each other has opened up a whole new world of ways for Buck to get his rocks off," Hen intones, like it's obvious. "This is just their flirty bickering turned up to eleven."

Eddie takes about twelve minutes to digest that - just long enough for Hen and Chim to get a duet in, long enough for him to drain another drink, long enough for Maddie to decide the baby's officially tapped out for the night, long enough for Chim to grab their jackets and toss a few bills on the table before he's herding his wife out the door.

Tommy rounds the corner and settles back into his seat looking decidedly more relaxed. There's at least one less button hooked on the flannel he's been wearing all night. It takes Eddie a second to register that his face is a little dewy, like he'd recently splashed water on it.

Hen makes a face a second before Eddie gets it.

"Oh come on, man."

Tommy's lips twist into a grin, and he yelps when Hen kicks out at him under the table. "Low hanging fruit, Kinard."

"I mean, one of us did," Tommy manages with a shrug, and only winces at the second kick.

Buck slides in next to him with a fresh beer for each of them and slaps a hand high on Tommy's thigh. Possessive. Still clearly a little riled.

"Yep, I'm out," Hen murmurs, and Eddie scrambles after her.

[brotherscain]

precanon wincest hair washing drabble, 2.3k, teenchesters/weecest

The hunt that night went well. Dad had this shifter pinned under his thumb since the first night in town, all they had to do was get to the thing and kill it dead.

If Dad had only brought Dean along, they would’ve weeded it out a day earlier. He wanted Sam in on this one, though, and Sam was still new enough at hunting to warrant a training wheels protocol. It had to be nearest to a sure thing as they could hope doing what they did. And it was. For Sam—for John and Dean right there with him—it was no question. Dean staked the final blow, gravely recognizing it kept Sam from being a killer for however longer.

In the car, John stretched his hand behind Dean’s head and scruffed his nape firmly enough to jostle him. Father to son, man to emerging man. Dad smiled, disheveled and not quite happy, but proud. He wore it to glance at Dean, then Sam. Proud and grateful.

“You boys did good tonight.” John served up no elaboration, he didn’t need to. Dean let the praise wheedle its way into him. He wanted to look over at Sam but didn’t because he knew Sam had already forged himself indifferent to Dad’s opinion. Dean wanted to enjoy it for a second longer, Sam wouldn’t get it.

Back in the motel lot, Dad fished his pocket for a few crumpled bills to give Dean. “Why don’t you take your brother to the vending machines? I’ll unload.” Dad stopped giving them so much junk food change right around the time Sam started wearing Dean’s too small hand-me-downs. Tonight he prompted Dean almost like he had a thousand times years ago, to a different kid.

Dean’s door creaked on its hinge, Sam’s following moments later. An ease settled over Dean. Everyone made it out okay. Dad wasn’t losing his head bunting orders at them about what they should’ve done better. Sam likewise kept whatever brewing comments he had under the lid. Dean figured he could count on at least one of the lit up vending machines having a Reese’s. As far as hunts went, it could’ve been a lot worse. They did do good.

The vending machine’s artificial blue-white beam bugged every so often, dimming before a kick-start into throbbing fluorescence. Sam scuffed his beat up sneakers against the pavement directly in front of it, eyeing up the options and sticking an open palm out in Dean’s direction. Dean slapped a bill down into his waiting hand.

He watched Sam hunch to look down at the buttons while punching in a code. Off behind him, Dad lifted a bag over his shoulder and reached inside the Impala for a second one. All around them cicadas chirped over one another and the night swelled with trapped mugginess. Dean thought about melted chocolate on his fingers and instead of feeding the leftover change into the slot, he stuffed it all in his back pocket.

Sam straightened to his full height, lifted the chilly soda can closer and tapped on the top rim three times before cracking it open. It burst in loud fizzy pops. Sam tipped his head back to swing a short, gulping chug. This way Dean could see parts of Sam in a new light. Small spatters of dried blood flecked the underside of his bottom jaw, a shiny red sheen bloomed on the high swell of his cheekbone. Dean kept himself from lacing his fingers through Sam’s hair, but made a face at the matted mess of it.

“You have monster guts in your hair,” he said, staring as Sam used the back of his limp hand to wipe the carbonated trickle from his mouth. Sam felt around his head curiously, coming away with a tacky coat of muddy crimson and a grimace. Dean laughed at him, couldn’t help but to. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get out, man.”

Sam cut a glare Dean’s way. He was extremely touchy after hunts, and Dean knew better than to prod him. Knowing better didn’t make it any less funny. That was Sam’s fault.

“Eat me,” he threw back dryly, annoyed Dean had the nerve to carry around a sense of humor about these things.

Sam wet his caked hand with driblets sweating off the soda can and cracked a small grin. Before Dean thought a little smarter about what that meant, Sam was dragging the mess all down the side of his shirt. Not that it hadn’t already been stained and ruined with a lot worse, that’s not what mattered. It was his snot-nosed brother thinking he could retaliate.

Dean jumped on him seconds after, first by shoving him away hard, then fisting the ribbed collar of his tee and tugging him closer. This past year Sam’s gone through a growth spurt, shot straight up like a beanstalk, but he still only came up to Dean’s shoulders. Between that and his knock kneed gangliness, Dean could still push and tilt and trip him any way he wanted. His shirt twisted up in Dean’s grip against the current of Sam’s squirming to get away. They were laughing together or maybe just panting or maybe they weren’t making any noises at all except for their shoes on the ground and their hands nipping each other’s skin. Dean thought about wrestling him to the concrete and shoving his face into all the boot prints. It would be easier to wrangle the drink out of his hands and spill it down his boxers. In all its sloshing, it had already splashed them enough times Dean could smell the cola while it dried sticky.

A door opened and shut firmly somewhere close in the long line of identical rooms. Dean didn’t really care to stop their roughhousing until the commanding voice boomed out. “Boys!” Dean positioned ramrod straight, Sam’s shoulders hunched while he uselessly looked to iron out all the wrinkles in his shirt. Dad waited for Sam to finally glance up. He was going to chew them out for being so loud at the late hour, for acting like mutts more than sternly raised men.

None of that happened. Dad stalked a few steps closer to the parked car, raising a brow at them as a wry smirk fixed itself to his face. “Gonna pick up some dinner. You boys get cleaned up before I get back.” He was in good spirits, but it was still a demand all the same.

“Yes sir,” Dean shot off. Sam didn’t say anything, only nodded his head to show he’d heard and understood. And if it had been a worse night Dad would call him out on it, start a whole thing that didn’t need to be started. Dean felt lucky when Dad just tapped the roof a few times before getting in.

In between the engine roaring to life and tires crunching gravel, Sam stuck Dean in the side with his pointy elbow. “Your bet?”

Dean zoned out on the glowing tail lights, thinking. “Burgers,” he finally said, blinking back to Sam. “Yours?”

Sam drew in a heaving breath before pressing his lips together. “Chinese.” They used to bet each other’s left overs on it. Now it’s habit enough just to go through the motions.

Mosquitoes ate him alive, buzzed around the lip of Sam’s drink enough to keep him from sipping any more. He really was a mess. Hair knotted in clumps, face scratched up. Sam wouldn’t mind until he saw all of it in the mirror and remembered other kids his age didn’t track monsters down for a living. Then he’d get all huffy for first dibs on a very long shower and not want to talk much the rest of the night. There was no such thing as a good hunt in Sam’s eyes.

“Come on.” Dean bobbed his head in the direction of their room. “First shower’s yours.”

Inside the A/C churned cool air out through a low and steady humming. It was prone to spit water out, so Dean couldn’t comfortably sit in front of it and soak up the chill. He dropped himself down on the couch and sprawled out, feeling gross and mucky but sated somewhere deep in the pit of his belly.

Sam dug through some bags and came out with a fresh pair of boxers, a towel, and some small miscellaneous bottles. He padded in a direction opposite the shower, Dean didn’t have the energy to search his motive out. But then Sam was behind him, gazing down at him without saying a word. He’d taken his shirt off and since neither bothered turning on any lights when they were walked in, the moon pooled shimmering light across his chest as it fell and rose strongly.

“There won’t be enough time,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Not for both of us before he gets back.”

The solution was easy. It was what it was. Sam knew that as well as Dean. “Okay Sam,” Dean replied slowly. Sam had red marks down the base of his throat, and Dean wondered if that was from earlier tonight or left hy him near the vending machine.

Sam didn’t break their tense staring, but he did inhale a terser breath. “Are you going to make me say it?” He didn’t look pained either way, only impatient and intentionally guarded.

“What are you talking about?” Dean still asked anyway. Like he didn’t intimately know. Like he didn’t lay awake thinking about it a lot more than he should, when Sam would look for him next. Ask for him. And pretending not to know should’ve made it easier, too. To stop letting it happen. But it didn’t.

Sam became fed up with Dean’s pretending. “There won’t be any warm water left for you.” He took off, headed toward the bathroom without turning around or faltering even once.

A panic peeled the skin from around the achy center of Dean’s chest, awoke the crescendo of its relentless pounding. It felt worse than anything Dean’s ever felt before, and it was always the same at this crossroads. One day he should see if it kills him in letting it run its course. One day, maybe.

“Sam.” Dean caught him as Sam’s finger flipped the light switch. “Okay.” He nodded and got up, trying not to give away his shakiness, hoping Sam would still wait.

They shut the door and turned off the flickering light since there was a window in here, too. The bathroom didn’t make space for two people, but neither of them wanted it anyway now that Dean had given in. He brushed past Sam’s warmed skin to turn the shower knob. Then he worked around Sam’s form, pressing into it, to get to the sink. He tried avoiding his own reflection as he bent for a drink of tap water.

Sam set down his things and caged Dean in from behind, his hands finding the hem of Dean’s top, skirting along and underneath it to dance goosebumps across his abdomen. He moved up, up, up. Traced the thick chain of Dean’s amulet, had it bouncing subtly off the plane between his ribs.

Dean rocked back against him, to push him off more than anything. But he was still trying to be gentle. He didn’t want Sam to get the wrong idea. Dean was here, he was with Sam. But— “Get in, it feels nice,” he whispered, pebble skipping his gaze around his baby brother’s face. “Let me wash you.”

Sam understood and found Dean’s eyes before tipping his head in agreement. He stripped completely bare, tapped Dean’s arm to let him through and allowed Dean to pull the curtain back for him. Sam closed his eyes under the stream, loosed some of the tension his body clung to.

Dean got to work, shrugging his top off before reaching for the shampoo bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm and rubbing his hands together to coat them. “C’mere,” he murmured, even though he helped guide Sam close enough.

It had started when they were both younger, because Sam couldn’t do these kinds of things by himself yet but Dean could. Then, somewhere in all the gunk of their lives, it grew on them. There was routine in it; Sam would shut his eyes tight, roll his neck this way and that as Dean’s sudsy hands directed him, and they tried not to talk too much. Both began to understand there were going to be things Dad just shouldn’t know about.

Dean stayed careful around the tangles, worked them out with his fingers as gently as he could. Sam never winced or whined about it anymore or anything, but Dean couldn’t kick the habit. He threaded his hands through its soapy slickness, dug in by the base of his neck, eased the notches out.

Sam hummed and sighed, drooped and sagged. Content. His hand circled around Dean’s wrist for no reason other than to feel him.

Sometimes, more often than Dean could confess, it grew into more than this. Dean would undress himself, Sam would coax him under the water with him. They’d roam and glide their touch all over their slippery bodies. Tonight they would need to be quick, quicker than usual. So Dean crept in and pressed his chest to Sam’s back and scrubbed them both down without meaning to linger very often. Sam turned his cheek to Dean’s shoulder, pressed his open mouth to the wet flesh and scraped his teeth against him lightly. They were both close to hard, but there wasn’t time and Dean tried to believe it wasn’t about them, only bodies and their closeness.

Dean got to fooling himself this was better, as long as it was just this. Eventually he’d have the willpower to deny it altogether. Eventually.

[luke-hughes43]

surprise | luke and stella

this takes place like barely 2 months into them dating. and is really cute bc they are both still in that awkward phase.

~

stella's pov

so for columbus day weekend, i'm heading to michigan for a tournament and a visit with the softball program too. i was hoping to get to see luke but the timing of my games, his games, and then going to ann arbor, it just isn't working out.

but that's ok. i'm coming out for thanksgiving to see him anyways.

mom is coming with me to michigan and ellen offered to pick us up. i take a quick nap on the plane because as soon as we land, we're heading to the field.

it is borderline too cold for softball so i have my under layers on. i'm playing centerfield and in the leadoff position. we have a double header tonight and then a double header tomorrow. so lots of softball. and then sunday will be play until you lose and then i have my michigan visit on monday.

i'm hoping to be able to surprise luke at his game tomorrow night but we'll see how i feel. anyways, the game starts and it's going good. i'm getting good hits and making the plays in the field.

i get up in the 5th inning and bunt to get on. then i get the steal sign and take off for second base. i slide into the base and my cleat gets caught in the base and my knee twists. i hold my knee while staying on the base and the umpire calls time.

i still haven't gotten up yet and so my coach comes running out, "what's wrong? are you ok?"

"i twisted my knee when my foot touched the base. i think i'm good, i just need a second." i say and get up to my knees. i finally stand and just walk around a little bit. i do a little jog and tell my coach, "i'm good coach. hurts but i'm good."

"are you sure? i can sub you out so that you're good for the next game." he double checks. I nod, "i'm good."

he nods and goes back to the dugout and i get set at the base. the game goes on and we win the first game 4-2. my knee hurts the rest of the first game and all of the second game but i power through.

in between games, i'm icing my knee and both bella and avery (my bestest friends in the whole world) come over to me. bella asks, "are you ok stella?"

i nod and say, "yea. just hurts a little bit but i'll be ok."

avery says, "ok." and they just sit with me while i ice my knee and we gossip about everything going on at school before we have to get ready for the second game.

the second game goes fine, we win 2-1 but my knee kills. as soon as i get back to the dugout i take my cleats off and put ice on my knee. we had the last game of the night so i don't rush to get out. i lay on the ground with my knee propped up on the bench and ice my knee.

after i don't even know how much time passes, my mom comes in to the dugout and says, "hey honey. how's the knee?"

"it hurts but i'll be fine." i say with my eyes closed.

"ok. do you need anything from me?" she asks. i shake my head and then she continues, "ok. well honey, please hurry up. you have someone who wants to see you. and i think coach is waiting for you."

i nod and finally get up. i'm confused as to who would be here to see me but she does have a point that coach probably wants to talk with the whole team there. i put my sneakers on and grab my bag to head over to the team huddle. as i leave the dugout, i hear what sounds like my boyfriend say, "hey there superstar."

i turn and make eye contact with luke. he's here. oh my fucking god he's here. oh my god. i run over and hug him. he holds me tightly and kisses my head. i say against his chest, "i've missed you."

"i've missed you too stella."

we both pull away form the hug just enough to kiss each other. i smile into the kiss and hold him tight to me, not wanting to let go. i hear my coach yell, "zegras, let's go! kiss your boyfriend on your own time!" the girls giggle and so do i. i peck his lips and he says, "go. i'll wait right here for you."

i nod and hobble over to the team. the girls are giggling and bella elbows me. i smile and nod and listen to coach debrief the game. to be honest, i'm not actually listening. the only thing on my mind is luke luke luke.

i zone back just in time to hear coach dismiss us. i go straight back over to luke and into his arms again. not only because i've missed him so much but it's also cold as fuck. while holding me, luke asks, "how's your knee baby?"

"i'm fine. it hurts a little bit but i'll be ok. nothing i can't handle." i say into his chest. after like a minute, he asks, "are the two girls who are looking here every 30 seconds bella and avery?"

"yea." i respond quietly. i turn and wave them over. i say to luke, "and now you're about to meet them. bella is a guard dog and avery is really shy."

he nods and they come over. i say to them, "bella and avery, this is luke my boyfriend. luke, this is bella and avery. my best friends."

avery says quietly, "it's nice to meet you." luke smiles at her and bella says, "nice to meet you luke."

"you guys too. stella talks a lot about you guys. really good things." he says with a smile. avery smiles but bella's face remains the same, she's not impressed. she's very protective of me. she says, "so how do you expect to make long distance work luke? i know it's hard and i'll be the one picking up the pieces if you break her heart."

"i don't plan on breaking her heart. i know it's hard but we text almost everyday, we call twice a week. and have some trips planned to see each other. i promise bella, i really like her and i really wanna make this work with her. whatever it takes."

"good. because i have a bat and i will fly to michigan to hit you with it if you break her heart." bella threatens. i giggle and luke nods, "understood. plus, her brother is best friends with mine. if i break her heart, trevor knows where i live and will kill me."

"fair enough. you're acceptable." bella says and winks at me. luke smiles and holds me tight. my mom walks over and says, "hey honey. i'm gonna meet up with ellen and catch up. you're welcome to come but i imagine that you wanna stay with luke. he's welcome to come to the hotel tonight but he can't stay over. i'll text you when i'm on my way back. do you guys need a ride?"

luke shakes his head, "no thanks mrs. zegras. i drove here so i can take her back, it's not a problem." she smiles and heads off. luke tights his arm that's around me and i say, "i think we should go soon because it's cold and my knee hurts."

luke smiles, "we will stel. bella, avery, it was great meeting you guys and i hope to get to see you guys again. i'm gonna get her back to the hotel to rest and i might see you tomorrow but i don't know yet."

they both nod and we walk off to luke's car. he opens the door and helps me in like a gentleman. he starts the car and hands me the aux cord. i start playing music and he makes the short drive to the hotel.

once we get there, we go up to the room and i all but collapse on my bed for the night. luke laughs, "comfy?"

"yes. but i need to shower and i want cuddles." i say into the pillow. he chuckles, "go shower. then we can cuddle and you can ice your knee."

i nod and take a quick shower. i quickly change and immediately get into bed with luke. he pulls me tight into him and i rest my head on his chest. i say in almost a whisper, "i wish we got to this more often."

"me too. i hate that our time is always so limited." he responds. he rubs my back softly and kisses my head. i wrap my arm around him and cuddle as close to him as i can. i say, "yea. but next year we'll be on the same campus and you'll be so much closer."

"i know. just have to get there." he says. i nod and we just lay together in the silence. i must've fallen asleep because i woke up the next morning to my alarm blaring and luke gone.

here's to another day of softball.

(thinking this deserves a part 2 no?)

[dirty-bosmer]

OC in fifteen

Tagged by @justafoxhound : share 15 lines or less of dialogue that showcases your OC's personality

This one was so much fun! I had to sift through a lot 😅 Tagging: @elavoria @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @kookaburra1701 @wispstalk @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @sylvienerevarine @lucien-lachance @bostoniangirl21

Going with Nim for this one and tried to pick quotes that were somewhat chronological:

1. "I bet you don't have any friends either. You're as pleasant as guar dung, and you look like a netch fart with a face."

2. "Were we supposed to kill him?" she asked, shaking her dagger free of the straggling bits of bunt flesh. "Sorry, I probably should have clarified earlier."

3. "Who are you becoming?" she asked it, tapping the face of the emerald as though it might respond. "Is that you in there? What are you doing?"

4. “Well only if there's more to it then. Please continue, Mr. Lachance. You have my undivided attention.”

5.. “Oh, little moss," she said to it. "Why couldn't I have been born such a little moss too?"

6. "Ah— oh." Nim looked back to the bottle like it was a long, lost lover returned from the dead. “Well then… a sip, maybe.”

7. "But it's our guild. It's our fight."

8. “We’ll fix this,” she said, reaching for Lorise's hands, holding them tighter than she'd held onto anything in her life. “I promise.”

9. “It’s quite alright, Master Wizard,” she mumbled hoarsely. “I really should go anyway. I need to, um, brew some potions.

10. “It makes me happy, Mathieu. Why is that such a terrible thing?”

11. “Because I’ve sold him a lie. A pretty one. One that masks all the ugliness inside me.”

12. Her face split into an ugly grin then, cracked like an open coffin. "Yes!" she cried out. "Yes, I'm fucking around! As soon as you turn your back, with everybody, on every corner!"

13. “Gods, Arquen. I’m just a woman. I’m not a war.”

14. “You watched gleefully as I tore my life apart. When you put your hands on me, I turned myself inside out. You touched pieces of me not even I’d seen before, and now what, Lucien? Now you’re scared of what lies beneath?”

15. "It’s me or something pretending to be me or I’m pretending to be it. I can’t tell, but I can feel it. Can you feel it? Have you ever? Have you ever looked at yourself and thought, ‘what will it take to get rid of you? Why do you keep doing this? What a truly remarkable feat that you’ve managed to fuck up your life this badly?’”

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Twenty-Four Ko No Mono

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Cannibalism, Guns, Animal Death, Mental Heath, Desecration of Remains, Pregnancy, Vomiting,

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY-

Will twists in the throes of his fevered dream. A sound Gagging competes with his pathetic moan. Will finally awakens, disoriented. The Gagging comes again.

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BATHROOM- DAY-

Will in T-shirt and sweats as he opens the Bathroom door to find Y/N leaning over the toilet gagging. “Honey?” Will calls to her. She groans back, she’s donned in one of his T-shirts. He goes over to her and holds her hair. Rubbing her back. Once she’s done vomiting, Will brings her Alkaline Water and anti-nausea medication. “I’ve been feeling so sick lately.” I take the pills with the water.

“Do I need to-” I shake my head, “no. I think its just a stomach bug or something.” Will kisses my Forehead and brushes my hair out of my face. “Are you sure because-” I give him a look. He nods. He helps me up and takes me to the kitchen. He makes me some buttered toast and then there's a knock at our door.

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - DAY-

Will in a T-shirt and sweats as he opens the front door. ALANA BLOOM Is on the stoop with APPLESAUCE. Will's DOGS mill around them, saying hello. Will watches as she bends to pet them. “Do we do friendly visits anymore?” Will raises a brow. “This isn't a friendly visit.”

“What kind of visit is it?”

“I guess I'm trying to convince myself of something. Or maybe I'm trying to convince you.” Alana is pensive, thoughtful, struggling with confrontation. “Or maybe I don't know why I'm here.” Alana adjusts her stance. “I know why. You're worried I killed Freddie Lounds.” The statement is matter-of-fact and sits there between them. “Did you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that's the wrong answer to tell somebody who is already wondering what you're capable of.” Alana says, the sound of breakfast cooking and the sound of soft singing comes from inside the house. Will smiles softly “Been wondering that for a while.”

“I know you're lying to me. You've slipped into some kind of skin and I think it fits a little too well.”

“I told everyone Hannibal was a killer and no one believed me. Just like no one would believe you if you said I was a killer.” Will's tone chills Alana. But she's brave and persistent. “I'm afraid, Will. But not of you. I'm afraid for you. I don't think Hannibal is good for you. I think your relationship is destructive.”

“But Hannibal's good enough for you.” Alana reacts to that, stung. Will tries to soften his remark. “You should be afraid. You're right to be afraid. I have something for you.” Will quietly goes inside and returns, brandishing A HANDGUN. “Whoever you're afraid of... don't be afraid to use it.”

Alana reacts in fear, then Will SPINS the gun on its TRIGGER GUARD and offers it to her. He holds her gaze. Alana takes the gun. And her certainty about him wavers. She sees the old Will for a second. “Takes 9mm rounds. Buy a box and find a range. Practice.” And he goes back inside. The door swinging closed behind him, leaving Alana alone in the cold.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

the fire flickering wildly. HANNIBAL placing it on the table in front of Will and Y/N. As the flames die down, we reveal THREE THUMB-SIZED BIRDS sizzling in their own fat and flesh.

“Among gourmands, the ortolan bunting is considered a rare-but debauched delicacy. A rite of passage, if you will. Each of the birds resembles an oval of butter with wings, feet and head still attached. Preparation calls for the songbird to be drowned alive in Armagnac. It is then roasted and consumed whole in a single mouthful.”

“Ortolans are endangered.” Will remarks. Y/N smirks, “Who amongst us is not?”

“I haven't been gorged, drowned, plucked and roasted. Not yet.” Will says as he gazes down at the birds who have met their fate in the stomachs of them. “Traditionally, during this meal, we're to place shrouds over our heads, hiding our faces from God.” Hannibal picks up one of the birds by its head.

“I don't hide from God.” Will and Y/N pick up their own birds. Raising them in a toast. “Bones and all?”

“Bones and all.”

Following Hannibal's lead, The couple place the bird in their mouth. As the flavor fills his mouth, Will nods in appreciation. It's clearly delicious, despite the CRUNCHING of tiny bones. Never taking his eyes off of them, Hannibal draws in the bird's head and beak, blithely crushing them between his molars before continuing. “After my first ortolan, I was euphoric. A stimulating reminder of our power over life and death.”

“I was euphoric when I killed Freddie Lounds.” Y/N says and then smirks. If only she was truly dead. “Tell me, did your heart race when you murdered her?”

Y/N deadpans, “No. It didn't.”

“A low heart rate is a true indicator of one's capacity for violence. One might say you are genetically predisposed to it.” Maybe he’s right. My mother was a serial killer, I hunt serial killers by thinking like them, and inevitably i have grown to enjoy the blood that runs down my hands. “This is my design?”

All teeth, starkly white in the chiaroscuro of blackened, scorched skin. With lips shriveled back, it's almost as though this death mask is grinning at us.

BAU - MORGUE - NIGHT-

The slab bears the burned body of an adult woman. Hair crisp like black hawthorn. Skin charred and cracked open. JIMMY PRICE and BRIAN ZELLER attend to the body. Will, Hannibal, Y/N and JACK CRAWFORD are there as well. “Orthodontics confirmed. It's Freddie Lounds. A little kerosene and fwoomp. Incendiary journalism. If she were burned alive, blood would have boiled out of her mouth.”

“No scabrous crust on her chin. Dead before the match was struck.” Jimmy says as he points it out. “Blood already pooled to the lowest points of her body. She'd been dead at least twenty-four hours.” Zeller says. “Freddie Lounds's ultimate failing was her inability to keep herself out of her own stories.” Jack says with a not sorry tone.

“Freddie had the longing need to be noticed. She was noticed.” Hannibal then leans close to inspect her corpse. “Severely-burned bodies tend to split along lines of musculature –” He points to a JAGGED OPENING along the corpse's back.”-- but this looks like an incision.”

“Cut out her psoas muscles. Looks like he used a hunting knife.”

“A peculiar trophy.” Hannibal glances innocently at Will who averts his eyes. “Why did he burn her?”

“How many people has Freddie Lounds burned in her career?”

“Whoever did this was not striking out against Miss Lounds's exploitative brand of journalism. This is something else. This is something sacred.” Y/N considers the charred corpse in front of her, then: “Freddie Lounds had to burn. She was fuel. Fire destroys, creates. It's mythical. She won't rise from the ashes, but her killer will.” Y/N says.

“He's the one to be noticed now.” Jack Crawford studying Will, Y/N and Hannibal...

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BATHROOM - DAY-

I pace me and Will’s bathroom anxiously, the scary thing is what im hoping for shows up. the "+" of a pregnancy test. The test wand droops in FRAME so that the positive result icon looks like an "X", Oh my god. Is this real? I look down at my non-existant belly and then back at the test.

“Oh my god……OH MY GOD!”

CEMETERY - GRAVESITE - DAY-

The freshly-dug GRAVE and its MOUND OF EARTH are dark against the surrounding snow. a WREATH commemorates Freddie Lounds, sat atop a COFFIN at the graveside. An intimate group of MOURNERS are seated under a canopy – family and colleagues. They face the PRIEST who presides over Freddie's inhumation.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

ALANA is watching the intimate group of mourners. But more interested in the cemetery beyond. She waits. At last, she sees what it is she's searching for: WILL GRAHAM

He's mostly obscured by a tree a dozen yards away, standing with Y/N. He notices Alana's gaze and approaches her. “Funeral was long at the chapel and it's long at the graveside.”

“I'm here to mourn Freddie Lounds. Can't imagine it's why you're here.” Alana says with slight distaste. “All sorts of reasons why I would go to Freddie Lounds's funeral. All sorts of reasons why you would go.” Will says as he grabs my hand, guiding me to his side. “Which reason are you here for?” Alana looks to me.

“It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death. Attend funerals, return to crime scenes.” I say and Alana eyes Will, not amused. “Anyone suspicious?” She asks turning back to me.

“Besides Will?” I retort with a playful smile.

“That was implied.” She replies, still very clearly unamused.

“You were expecting me.” Will tilts his head with a slight furrow of the brow. “It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death.” Alana repeats my notion. Will sighs taking a step forward. “I'm not here to dance on Freddie Lounds's grave, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Not here looking for her killer, either. Don't seem particularly interested in the crowd.” Alana says, I watch as she tries to analyze Will. “Are you profiling me, Dr. Bloom?”

“A psychological profile is nothing more than statistical probability. You here makes it that much more probable you're Freddie's killer.” Despite her doggedness in pressing Will, Alana looks away..”I'm here because my psychiatrist suggested it would be therapeutic.” As one, the mourners start away from the gravesite and Alana starts after them. She continues away in the cold.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - NIGHT-

Will observes the amber light trapped in a tumbler of Scotch. I sit observing both men. “I've been so preoccupied with taking a life, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the possibility of making one.” Earlier in the day I asked Will about the possibility of children.

Hannibal stops behind my chair, stroking the ends of my hair. “When men become fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think.”

“You said the same thing happens when men become killers.”

“Fatherhood is not always a nurturing role. Fathers can be killers. In protecting a child, things trapped inside a man for years fly free, ready to explode in pain. And dangerous behavior. What sort of father would you be?” Will reflects on that, imagining a different life.

“I would be a good father.” Hannibal smiles warmly. He imagines Will would. I know he will be. Even if he doesnt know about you yet. My little love. “Do you see a life flashing before your eyes that's not your own?”

“Yes.”

“What about you Y/N…What sort of mother would you be?” I think on it, Thinking back to my own childhood. about my brothers and my own Mother. My first victim….and the woman who made me this way. “Better than my own….I’d be better than her. Because No child deserves what i went through.”

“How quickly we form attachments to something that does not yet exist.”

“I'm not attached. I'm only anticipating attachment.” Will furrows his brows in thought. “We have a deep-seated need to interact with our children. It helps us discover who we are.” Hannibal says inquisitively. “Have you ever been a father?” Will asks Hannibal.

“I was to my sister. She wasn't my child, but she was my charge. Abigail reminded me so much of her.” That derails Will's train of thought, almost sobering. “Then why did you kill her?” I ask softly, thinking of my dead child as I grown my new one.

“What happened to Abigail had to happen. There was no other way.”

“There was. But there isn't now.”

“Would you protect this child the way you couldn't protect Abigail?” I lower my head, No one will hurt you My little love. Not ever. Will studies Hannibal, then: “I still dream about Abigail. I dream I'm teaching her how to fish.”

“I'm sorry I took that from you. I wish I could give it back.”

“So do I.”

“Occasionally, on purpose, I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor. I'm not satisfied when it doesn't gather itself up again. Someday perhaps a cup will come together.” Will considering Hannibal's words --

CEMETERY - NIGHT-

Reflecting bone white in the moonlight. TRACKING across them shows their eerie shadows as the world opens a new day. A figure looming, silhouetted in the morning rays, the definition of its outline inexplicable until its sunlit front, a ghoulish representation of -- SHIVA

In multi-armed splendor, the god of the Hindu pantheon. FOUR ARMS fan out on each side of the torso -- eight arms in total. The composite deity made whole via composite body parts strapped to pose in a state of après-mort meditation.

THE HEAD Appears much larger than a normal human skull -- a result of THREE HEADS being strapped together to create a singular monstrosity. The center head faces forward as the ones flanking it point in opposite directions.

A THIRD EYE Leers sightless from a HOLE gouged into the forehead of the center head. As the sun continues rising, its light reveals the impromptu Shiva's many additions and accoutrements adorn and emanate from a SINGLE BODY at its core – The charred corpse of the late-but-not-so-lam

CEMETERY - FREDDIE LOUNDS'S GRAVESITE - DAY-

ZELLER Moves to reveal the RICTUS GRIN of Freddie's corpse. He and Jimmy Price are processing the grotesque Shiva. Will Graham and Dr. Y/N L/N watches them silently.

“Extra parts were harvested on-site.” Zeller takes note. “Just one night in the ground. That beats Jesus by forty-eight hours.” Jimmy says with a slight smirks. “Never thought Freddie would make it to heaven, much less get deified.”

ALANA BLOOM Is walking toward the gravesite with Jack Crawford. Will and Y/N are standing before the Shiva. Jimmy and Brian see Jack and Alana and nod greetings. Will is impassive. Alana holds his gaze. Neither looks away. Then Alana's eyes are drawn back to the Shiva. Its funny how no one ever thinks it Y/N… Always Will.

“This killer is trying to get somebody's attention.”

“I don't think he wants to be found. He has direction. His chaos is getting more orderly.”

“First he burns effigies, then he assembles them.”

“Burning Freddie Lounds wasn't his first effigy. Whoever killed Freddie killed Randall Tier. Mutilated him, dismembered him, put him on display.” I listen, Thats where her profile derails….The person who killed Randall Tier and the person who Created his sculpture are two different people.

“What connection do Freddie Lounds and Randall Tier have?”

“Will Graham. Randall Tier was his suspect and Hannibal's patient.” Will reacts to this and crosses to Jack and Alana. “Freddie was investigating his murder when she died.”

“Freddie was investigating a lot of things when she died.” Will states with an incredulous look. “This is a psychopath who has incubated fantasies of killing and is translating them into action. He's building himself up. Or somebody's building him up.”

“He could have a benefactor who admires his destruction. Hindus believe that destruction leads to new life. Shiva is destroyer and benefactor.” I say turning into the conversation, I cover my tracks well enough to not be known. Though Will and Hannibal make it to where i would never get caught. “He's being guided”

“This is a signpost?”

“Maybe Freddie's killer didn't do this. Maybe his benefactor did.”

“Why?” ALANA dawning in realization. “It's a courtship.” Alana watches Will intently now, determined.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Will and Y/N Sit with Hannibal. “Every creative act has its destructive consequence.” Will considers that and is compelled to ask: “What you did to me, what you did to Abigail, was that a creative act or destructive consequence?”

“The Hindu god Shiva is simultaneous destroyer and creator. Who you were yesterday is laid waste to give rise to who you are today.”

“Rise and rise again and again, until the lambs have become lions.” I say softly.

“Yes.” Will studies Hannibal a moment, then: “How much reality has had to be slandered? How many lies have had to be sanctified? How many consciences devastated?”

“As many as were necessary.” Hannibal says Without a second thought. “You sacrificed Abigail. You cared about her as much as I did.” Will says. “More. But then, how much has God sacrificed?”

“What god do you pray to?” Hannibal regards Will as though the answer is obvious. “I don't pray. I have not been bothered by any considerations of deity, other than to recognize how my own modest actions pale beside those of God.”

“I prayed I would see Abigail again.” I say softly, My hands play with the end of my dress. Hannibal lifts my Chin. “Your prayer did not go entirely unanswered. You saw part of her. Should the universe contract, should time reverse and teacups come together, a place could be made for Abigail in your world.”

“What place is that?”

“You've lost a child, Will. It seems you're likely to gain one.” From behind Hannibal, the WENDIGO RISES UP IN SILHOUETTE.

“God is beyond measure in wanton malice and matchless in His irony.” But the Wendigo itself has TRANSFORMED as it raises its arms revealing, Shiva-like, FOUR ARMS per side -- A FAN OF EIGHT.

Will entranced not by Hannibal, but the thing behind him.

BAU - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY-

Alana stands opposite a curious Jack Crawford. “What are you up to?”

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Dr. Bloom.”

“I think you know. You're not fooling me, Jack.”

“I'm not trying to fool you.”

“You're lying. You're all lying. Will. Hannibal. You're lying to each other and they're lying to you. This isn't in my head. You are hiding something and this will end badly for all of us.” Jack considers Alana's state and carefully asks: “What do you believe is happening?”

“What do you believe? Do you believe Will killed Freddie Lounds?”

“I do not.”

“Do you believe Dr. Chilton's the Chesapeake Ripper?” Alana feels as if she is going mad from all that has crumpled around her. “There was overwhelming evidence–”

Alana angrily interjects; “Stop lying. You think you've moved all your pieces around so cleverly.” Jack's eyes narrow, studying Alana. “What's changed, Alana?”

“I have no confidence that I know Hannibal Lecter anymore. Even with as much as you know or think you know Hannibal, you don't know him either. And you don't know Will. And I’m not sure anyone knows Y/N. You're going to lose, Jack. If you haven't lost already.” Jack stares a long moment, then: “I want you to come with me.”

BAU - CORRIDOR - DAY-

Jack leads Alana down the hall, toward the conference room. Every step Alana takes is filled with dread. Jack opens the door and he firmly ushers her through --

BAU - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY-

ALANA as she comes through the door. Jack following behind her. Alana follows his gaze and stops short, stunned. FREDDIE LOUNDS.

“How was my funeral?” Alana looks at Jack Crawford. Her eyes well up as the gravity of its meaning WALLOPS her. That she has been putting Will Graham in terrible danger.

MUSKRAT FARM - PIG BARN - NIGHT-

The barn is dark, but LIGHTS BURN on the raised platform. And OPERA MUSIC drifts toward us from the speakers. The maze is a BLACK MONOLITH in the center of the floor. RAISED PLATFORM Mason Verger sits in a wing-back chair, a SUCKLING PIG in hisarms, and he listens to the music as he strokes it.

He stands and looks into the dimly-lit pit, at the rooting PIGS, SNORTING and GRUNTING below him.

He raises a REMOTE CONTROL and changes the music -- the SUDDEN HORRIFIC SCREAMS ring out! “Carlo, I don't think they've had enough to eat.” Mason turns and is surprised to see Will Graham standing behind him. Mason shuts off the recorded screams, then:

“You must be the baby daddy. Excuse me if I don't offer you a cigar.” Will PUNCHES Mason, bloodying his nose. Mason touches the blood and examines it, then laughs in Will's face.

“I'm going to feed you to my pigs.” Will violently grabs Mason by the scruff of his collar and drags him off his feet and over to the pigpen opening. “Carlo? Carlo.” Will roughly pulls Mason to the edge and dangles him partially over the hungry, SQUEALING pigs below. Mason's eyes are more rage-filled than even Will's.

“No I’m not. I’m a friend. But do You think it was Margot's idea to have an heir? Think it was your idea to take it from her? My idea to come here and kill you? No….What you, your sister and I all have in common is the same psychiatrist.” Will drops Mason on the metal grating, hard. Mason gathers his wits, debating lunging at Will's back... then Will turns with a gun pointed directly at the prodigal Verger. “If Dr. Lecter had his dithers, you'd be wrapped around a bullet.”

Will tucks the gun back into his holster, adding: “He's the one you want to be feeding to your pigs…”

[lilybumblebee]

I called my boyfriend's cunt his bunt (boy cunt) and he wanted to kill me

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Retaliation: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Everyone can see just how much you're suffering, Spencer more than most. When he confesses to the team about your nightmares, Derek takes matters into his own hands.

Season Five Masterlist

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

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

x

"Men are more ready to repay an injury than a benefit because gratitude is a burden and revenge a pleasure." - Tacitus

Dale Schrader was born on February 6, 1967. A lifelong criminal, he began a series of armed bank robberies throughout New York in 1994. He married a woman named Connie on August 17, 1995. On June 16, 1996, the two had a daughter whom they named Jenny, less than a year after the wedding. On May 5, 2001, Dale was sold out by Dan Otey, a fellow bank robber, and was arrested. 

Evidence of his involvement in the other robberies provided by Officer Joe Muller proved damning, and Dale was sentenced to fifteen years in a Lockport prison. While incarcerated, Dale proved to be a model prisoner, and due to good behavior, was released in only eleven years. 

While serving his sentence, Dale plotted an elaborate revenge scheme which he set into action two days after his release. He tracked down the home of Joe, having discerned that he and Otey were the ones who were responsible for his arrest.

At Joe's house, he abducted his wife and two sons at knifepoint, subsequently placing them in a crack house frequented by Stacy Ryan, the sister of a deceased former cellmate, and a group of fellow addicts whom he paid to keep an eye on the hostages. 

With Joe's family taken care of, Dale approached Joe outside a hardware store, showed him a picture and phone recording of his captive family, and blackmailed him into helping him acquire a key in police storage. What the key goes to, you have no clue.

Before getting the key, Dale decided to abduct his daughter to spite his now ex-wife, stabbing Ryan to death en route and dumping her body on the side of a road. Dale abducted Jenny while Connie was away from home and placed her in a cabin near the Canadian border. Jenny's abduction was what called in the BAU, who created a profile for him. 

That's why Derek is chasing Dale close to the middle of the night in the middle of the woods. Jenny wasn't hard to track down which caught Dale red-handed, and Derek wasn't going to let him get away.

"Don't move, Schrader!" Derek yells.

"Dale Schrader, you're under arrest for the murder of Stacy Ryan and the kidnapping of your daughter, Jenny."

Derek pulls him up by his cuffed hands and brings him to the police car that is by the cabin where Jenny is being held.

"Let me say goodbye to her," Dale pleads.

"You lost that right the minute you took her," Emily glares.

"She's my daughter! Jenny!"

Jenny looks frightened by him and coils into the police officer assigned to watch her.

"No, it's okay. He can't hurt you."

"Jenny, I'm sorry."

"Are you going to ride with her?" the officer asks Derek.

"Yeah, I got it. Jenny, listen to me. I promise you he's gonna go away for a long time. It's going to be alright."

Email shoves Dale into the back of the police car and approaches Derek who is talking to Jenny. She takes out her phone and calls Hotch to give him an update, Derek lets Jenny talk to her mom on the phone, and the police officer going to ride with Dale and Emily is canceling the Amber Alert put on Jenny.

Soon after, everyone leaves the cabin in their respective vehicles and heads down the mountain to get on the main highway. Emily is the first car in the group followed by the ambulance followed by the other police cars. Derek relaxes in his seat for the long ride ahead of them when he comes across a sight he never wants to see.

The car that held Emily, Bunting, and Dale crashed into the ditch on the side of the road. Emily is on the side of the road with cuts on her head but it doesn't look like Dale is anywhere near the scene.

"Pull over. That's one of us!" The ambulance pulls over and Derek jumps out before the car has a chance to stop completely. "Prentiss!!"

"What the hell happened?" she groans painfully.

"Are you okay?"

"I think. Bunting's down there. He's dead. Schrader's gone. It was a big truck. New York tags, Victor Alpha 737. They went northbound about ten minutes ago."

"That son of a bitch got away," Derek curses.

"He's got a partner," Emily winces.

You're stuck at the station with Rossie, Spencer, JJ, and Hotch. He took the time he needed off before returning to work. This will be his first case back since the funeral so you're not sure how this is going to go for him. Spencer looks at you and notices how distant you look. He hasn't had time to tell the team how you've been feeling since you got out of prison, and he needs to tell them soon, or else you're going to crash.

You haven't been sleeping well because every time you close your eyes, the nightmares come. They're not even about prison. The energy stuck to you makes you see all sorts of shit at night that you'd rather forget. Spencer looks at his hands and flexes them because he's gonna do something he hates doing. He reaches over to you and grabs your hand as a way to show you that you have his support.

You do something that tells him you're dying inside and need help.

You squeeze his hand without looking at him.

"The first case back, we won, and you'll be home for breakfast," Rossi smiles at Hotch.

"We never figured out why Schrader killed Stacy Ryan. She had no connection to his daughter or his ex-wife."

JJ walks into the office with the phone in her hand.

"There's been an accident. Emily's in the hospital and Bunting's dead."

"Is she alright?"

"She has a concussion. Morgan's with her right now going to the hospital. Schrader escaped the scene northbound in a truck with a partner."

"We need roadblocks now. Do we have a license plate number?"

"Emily remembered a partial."

"It's better than nothing," Rossi comments. "He could be headed to Canada. We need somebody who knows the area."

"I'll get an officer. I'll make sure Schrader's face is everywhere," she says and leaves.

"Schrader was a bank robber. Now he's murdered a woman, kidnapped his daughter, and killed a cop. He's obviously more sophisticated than we originally thought."

"He's got a bigger plan. It's not just about getting his daughter and fleeing the country. We never profiled that he'd have a partner. We don't know this guy at all."

With two agents down, the rest have to reinvent the profile since you never anticipated Schrader to have a partner in all of this. Why did he escalate from robbery to murder and kidnapping? What's his endgame?

"Alright, so Schrader pulled a series of bank heists in the 1990s. He was the only one to ever go away for the crimes. He was a model prisoner, only served eleven of his fifteen years. He was released early on good behavior, and any friends he had are either dead or still in prison," Spencer recaps.

"A three-ton truck was found north of the accident, not too far from Canada. We have the heaviest presence at border crossings. He probably knows that, but I don't think he's gonna sit still for long."

"He might have to depending on how injured he is," Spencer says.

"What do we know?"

"Dale Schrader went to prison for robbery. He was hands-off. All of his crimes were impersonal. Two days after he's released, he kills Stacy and kidnaps his daughter. It's both personal and emotional. It doesn't make any sense.

"When he's not attached to the crime, he pulls it off, but the minute he's invested, he lets his guard down and gets caught. It makes sense. He's not the hard-ass we thought he was."

"If Jenny was what he wanted, he had her. He could have left. He could have taken her to Canada. Why didn't he?

JJ comes back in with pictures in hand.

"Here are pictures from the accident."

It's not as bad as it could have been but you're still worried about Emily.

"Any word on Emily?" you ask.

"Apparently, she's arguing with the doctors," JJ chuckles.

"This took a lot to pull off. What if he's got a group of guys to call on? All those bank jobs were solo but this is a lot for one man to orchestrate."

"Have you figured out why he killed Stacy?" JJ asks.

"We haven't found any connection to Schrader, but she may be connected to the partner. Killing her might have been advance payment for breaking him out of custody."

Hotch calls Pen over video chat so everyone can hear what she has to say.

"Garcia, I need everything you've got on Stacy Ryan."

"She was a junkie. If she wasn't high, she was waiting to get high. The only thread I have between her and Schrader is that Stacy's brother spent time with Schrader upstate five years ago."

"Why would Schrader kill a junkie? It doesn't make sense. Where's the brother now?"

"Dead."

"It doesn't feel like Schrader does anything randomly. Stacy must have meant something to him."

"Yeah, but what?"

"Can you figure it out?"

"I'm on it," Penelope says and hangs up.

You're not completely here but you try your best to think about the current case. Schrader's partner saw everything that happened in the woods but he ran away and stole a truck. He knew Emily and Derek were taking that road back to the station which is why he waited for them and crashed into Emily when the moment was right.

This whole thing feels meticulous. If Schrader didn't need his partner for Jenny, then he must need him for something else. For what, you're not sure of. It doesn't make sense because Schrader had five years to plan all of this in prison. He should have had backup plans for his backup plans. He had more than enough time to escape over the border with Jenny before his ex-wife got home and realized she was missing.

Instead, he stayed local in that cabin. He had what he wanted. He could have run. Logically, there must be something else keeping him in Lockport.

One AM rolls around quicker than you'd hoped, and you yawn from how tired you've been. Not only do you need sleep but you're running only on caffeine and energy drinks. It's not healthy for you but you don't know what else to do.

"Schrader's face is all over the news," JJ says. "He's been on the run for almost two hours and we're no closer to catching him."

"We need to find the partner."

"Hey," Spencer says and everyone looks behind him to see Emily and Derek walking into the police station. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Here, sit," JJ says and pulls out a chair for her.

"Thanks." Emily has Penelope on the phone and places her on speakerphone so everyone can hear her. "Garcia, tell everyone what you just told me."

"I have unearthed more of Schrader's past. What we do know is that he robbed fifteen banks in the state of New York in the nineties. However, what your resident glamour-puss smarty-pants just found out was that most of that money was never recovered."

"Where is it?" Spencer asks.

"My guess is that only he knows."

"That might be a good reason to stick around Lockport. The robbery that put him away should have been routine, right? What happened?"

"Maybe someone turned him in."

"I don't know. He kept to himself and always worked alone. Who'd turn him in? We're missing somebody. Garcia?"

"Yes, checking, sir. Records leading up to Schrader's arrest show this other bank robber named Dan Otey. He was looking at copious amounts of time, then he strikes a deal, and all of a sudden Schrader is arrested."

"It can't be a coincidence. You know, it's not uncommon for criminals to buy jobs off one another. Maybe that's what Schrader did but Dan Otey sold him out for a lesser sentence."

"It doesn't make sense. Otey was a rat and now he's the partner?" JJ shakes her head.

"You're right, Schrader wouldn't trust him. If anything, he'd want him dead."

"He'd probably use him first. He'd tell Otey that he owes him one and that he might save his life if he helps him get out of this jam."

"Where is he now, Garcia?" Hotch asks.

"Otey is a local. He lives off Route 7."

You get up from the table and head over to the coffee machines to pour yourself an extra strong cup. Spencer waits until you're in the other room before speaking up. This is his chance to tell everyone what's been going on with you.

"Okay, let's take a pause for a second. There's something going on with Y/N. Prison did something to her but she's pretending like everything is fine when I know it's not. I don't think she's been ready to come back. She's scared to go to sleep, she's crying all the time, and she is terrified. She keeps telling herself that she is fine but I know she'll crash sooner or later. It's not going to be pretty when it does."

"I noticed something was wrong on the last case we were on," Emily says. "She left one of the crime scenes and I found her outside begging for someone to help. It looked like she was locked in her own mind. I didn't want to say anything since it's none of my business but now that you put it out there, I had to say something."

"Let me handle her," Derek says. "Thanks for letting me know."

You come back with your coffee but don't notice how everyone is staring at you.

x

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[puffin-smoke]

here me out here. In Guy's christmas decorating audio, he says, "I am a man of many talents but I know unequivocally that I'm a better cook than I am decorator." and then lets Honey do the decorating. So may I introduce...

Interior Decorator Honey

For the low low price of a vague knowledge of interior decoration, you can have:

Guy consistently asking Honey if he "sparks joy" and Honey keeps threatening to kick him out of the apartment.

Whenever Honey's stressed they start reorganising furniture, so sometimes Guy will come home to the sofa in the kitchen and a brand new coffee table, and immediately ask what's wrong.

Guy keeps saying that Honey is the "Feng to his Shui". Honey baby darling why do you love that man

Honey going into someone's house for the first time and having to physically restrain themself from talking shit. Vibrating with rage, muttering under their breath, exchanging looks with Guy while he dies of laughter. The moment the friend leaves the room? Blows up like Mt Vesuvius.

Has assumed someone was colourblind before because of the pillows they used. Needless to say that someone wasn't colourblind. That someone was Guy.

Dragging Guy to charity shops. Smile a thousand photons bright. (old person hobby LLLLLL)

Guy goes to charity/thrift stores and looking for furniture and decorations without Honey. If he can't find anything he thinks they'd like, he'll find whoever runs the shop and give them his number, telling them to call him the MOMENT anything cool comes in. Ohh that's why they love that man

Owns many a "festive napkin" (it's called bunting, GUY)

Hates minimalism with a passion. Just based on vibes. Maybe I'm projecting.

Snuck into Guy's room once when they were roommates just to reorganise everything. When Guy got back it felt like he was stepping into another world, a world that smelt considerably less like pizza and oh my fucking god Honey put it back

Also that sleek, modern aesthetic? They are going to kill you

AND HAVE YOU CONSIDERED: Honey making their own furniture. DID YOU THINK ABOUT THE IMPLICATIONS. Them utterly refusing to use IKEA furniture, and making their own; rolling up their sleeves and going ham with a hacksaw and a dream, learning how to do things with resin and how to make carpets, AND making a lil pizza heart carpet for Guy as an anniversary present. THEM GOING FULL SEXY CARPENTER WITH LIKE A TANK TOP AND MMMMMMM