#up police si

[sarkaariresult]

UP Police ASI Accountant Additional list

UP Police ASI Accountant Additional list has recently released , So If you want to check it or know complete details about this exam and many others . Now you can SEE HERE

[proustianlesbian]

je suis très contente de voir anatomie d'une chute avoir de la reconnaissance à l'étranger mais comme j'aime beaucoup swann arlaud depuis plusieurs années et i am not imune to gatekeep, du coup une partie de moi veux moins de popularité mdr (alors que le film la mérite vraiment).

[famouscyclenerd]

some of you seem to forget that it wasn't just Cassian who thought Elain looked poopie in black, but also Nesta... and Elain too .... probably :D

[lokiusly]

this is a delulu account btw 🤠💃🏽💅🏽

[tariah23]

Had an emergency come up at work 😭

[oakwolves]

I keep forgetting Train Chasers is written in past tense because I'm used to writing in the present tense

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

This is why Puss in Boots: The Last Wish was better than Coco's chancla waving and way too short songs. Especially cuz Diddnee tried to TRADEMARK A HOLIDAY.

I think even more condemning is how the Coco creators clearly thought they had "Something to Say" about immigration with a heavily policed border for a magical world.

This guy says it way better

reposted and i just wanted to say they literally thought they were doing magic realism with encanto.

[famouslook1987]

अतिक्रमण को लेकर थानाध्यक्ष से मिले व्यापारी

पिंडरा/संसद वाणी : सिंधोरा पुरानी बाजार मेन रोड से चौरा माता मंदिर रास्ते पर कतिपय दुकानदारों द्वारा नाली के ऊपर अतिक्रमण किए जाने के चलते जाम से परेशान व्यापारियों का एक प्रतिनिधिमंडल थानाध्यक्ष से मिलकर न्याय की गुहार लगाई। जाम से मुक्ति न मिलने पर प्रदर्शन की चेतावनी दी।बताते हैं कि पुरानी बाजार में अतिक्रमण होने के कारण इलाहाबाद बैंक, पोस्ट ऑफिस ड��कखाना, रामलीला मैदान पहुंचना आम लोगों के लिए…

[sarkari-resultss]

UP Police Recruitment 2024 Apply Online 61256 Vacancies

UP Police Recruitment 2024 Notification Overview: Positions: Constable, Sub-Inspector, Sports Quota, and various others Eligibility: Both male and female candidates Application Method: Online Application on the UPPRB Recruitment Portal Latest Uttar Pradesh Police Jobs 2024 Post NameTotal VacanciesRegistration DateDetailsPolice Constable60,24418/01/2024UP Police Constable 2024Sub…

[nataliesnews]

It is a very sad day. Veronica phoned me this morning to tell me that Uta's mother had died after a long illness. I spoke to her just a few days ago and she knew she was dying and was so brave. I am glad that I had the opportunity of meeting her, even if only for a few days and since then we have been in touch all the time. I often thought of her when I was writing my letters and wondering what she thought.

Then yesterday too my friend's grandson was mortally  wounded. He has particles in his brain and there does not seem to be much hope. It was only the other day that I had supper with her and Robbie and she said that she does not sleep at night. That it would break them if something happened to him .

 I can think of nothing positive happening in my life. Then I read of our president whom I realise does not have a brain in his head.  He signs a rocket which is going to kill people as if he were writing on someone's bandages leg or knee?  And then there are people who laugh at their sufferings. 

It is getting harder and harder to write.  woman Orit Stroch. a settler, who wrote demanding to know whether the pilots who said they would not report for future reserve duty had refused to take part in the war? By the way she is also the one who said that  no doctor should have to treat anyone from the gay community if it conflicted with their religious beliefs. And for support which Netanyahu gave the general who replied to her read the attached

Outrage as far-right minister suggests some pilots refusing air support for Gaza troops

Settlements Minister Orit Strock widely reported to ask at cabinet if some in Air Force are failing to carry out their duties for ideological reasons

Today the Jerusalem municipality came to the tent of the families and took down and tore  all their signs  and a bunch of hooligans came past screaming that all the families are traitors and caused the death of their children and the war and that piece of shit whose two sons cower behind them is quiet. That is Israel today of Netanyahu.  

After a long interval because of the war, we had not been to the DCO and decided to go.  We were surprised to find about 15 men there. They had all been summoned by the ISA, the secret service. One indignantly told us that he had to pull his trousers down to his ankles and did not know why. They also told us that the Satmar cult comes into their neighborhoods with the Palestinian flag with no problem. They were all very pleasant.

We then decided to see what is happening at the entrance to Beit Lechem from road 60. Until the war the road was completely open but this is the way it looks now. We stopped a short distance before the checkpoint. 

Shlomit got out to photograph and immediately a soldier came running up demanding our IDs. We told him we only have to show IDs to a policeman and when he said he was also a policeman asked to be shown identification.  Also , as we were on the main road of the town and not in the area of the checkpoint, to be shown proof that where we were standing was a closed army area. He claimed that we had photographed him and said that it was easy to identify him....I leave that to your judgement,He said he would phone the police and we said to be our guest. I said to Shlomit that it was just as well we  had not driven off before we saw him approaching us as in this day and age he would probably have taken a shot at us. But all's well that ends well....He had evidently phoned the representative of the DCO. He   knew us from former days at Etzion and we showed him the photo which he did not  ask to have deleted  and  after a short and pleasant conversation continued on our way home. 

Today we went to plant trees with one of the farmers from Burin. Not that I could help but I go to identify. This is how the others went up. Her ladyship went up by taxi. i don't think it is the help which is important but that we come. We left early though as the Palestinian authority phoned and said that the area was getting restless and we should go and then too soldiers and settlers started coming down the mountain. But people bought a lot of his olives and olive oil. I asked where his family was ...usually it is very joyous there and the house was so empty but he said it was too dangerous from them to be there so they had gone to live in the village.

But then we also have this......I remember how Israelis said what animals the Palestinians are that whenever there was an attack on Israelis they would go out to celebrate and give out sweets. Evidently Israelis are also keen to learn from Palestinians as this is what some soldiers did.... singing and dancing in the street and giving out sweets at the death of one of the Hamas. Not that I feel any grief for him but this is not the Jewish way. But today I no longer think that there is a Jewish way. I think we have learned only too well of how to hate and how to conduct pogroms. They should remember the Peisach seder where God rebukes his angels for singing when the Egyptians drowned. 

and this caricature appeared in one of the far right newspapers. If it  had been from a newspaper on the left or a journalist/ whoever published it would already be sitting in jail/ If you want to know what this is about look at the pdf below. It is too complicated for me to go into it.

Sorry I wish I could write something positive

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Kiryat Hayovel

Jerusalem 9650230

Israel

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

It is a very sad day. Veronica phoned me this morning to tell me that Uta's mother had died after a long illness. I spoke to her just a few days ago and she knew she was dying and was so brave. I am glad that I had the opportunity of meeting her, even if only for a few days and since then we have been in touch all the time. I often thought of her when I was writing my letters and wondering what she thought.

Then yesterday too my friend's grandson was mortally  wounded. He has particles in his brain and there does not seem to be much hope. It was only the other day that I had supper with her and Robbie and she said that she does not sleep at night. That it would break them if something happened to him .

 I can think of nothing positive happening in my life. Then I read of our president whom I realise does not have a brain in his head.  He signs a rocket which is going to kill people as if he were writing on someone's bandages leg or knee?  And then there are people who laugh at their sufferings. 

It is getting harder and harder to write.  woman Orit Stroch. a settler, who wrote demanding to know whether the pilots who said they would not report for future reserve duty had refused to take part in the war? By the way she is also the one who said that  no doctor should have to treat anyone from the gay community if it conflicted with their religious beliefs. And for support which Netanyahu gave the general who replied to her read the attached

Outrage as far-right minister suggests some pilots refusing air support for Gaza troops

Settlements Minister Orit Strock widely reported to ask at cabinet if some in Air Force are failing to carry out their duties for ideological reasons

Today the Jerusalem municipality came to the tent of the families and took down and tore  all their signs  and a bunch of hooligans came past screaming that all the families are traitors and caused the death of their children and the war and that piece of shit whose two sons cower behind them is quiet. That is Israel today of Netanyahu.  

After a long interval because of the war, we had not been to the DCO and decided to go.  We were surprised to find about 15 men there. They had all been summoned by the ISA, the secret service. One indignantly told us that he had to pull his trousers down to his ankles and did not know why. They also told us that the Satmar cult comes into their neighborhoods with the Palestinian flag with no problem. They were all very pleasant.

We then decided to see what is happening at the entrance to Beit Lechem from road 60. Until the war the road was completely open but this is the way it looks now. We stopped a short distance before the checkpoint. 

Shlomit got out to photograph and immediately a soldier came running up demanding our IDs. We told him we only have to show IDs to a policeman and when he said he was also a policeman asked to be shown identification.  Also , as we were on the main road of the town and not in the area of the checkpoint, to be shown proof that where we were standing was a closed army area. He claimed that we had photographed him and said that it was easy to identify him....I leave that to your judgement,He said he would phone the police and we said to be our guest. I said to Shlomit that it was just as well we  had not driven off before we saw him approaching us as in this day and age he would probably have taken a shot at us. But all's well that ends well....He had evidently phoned the representative of the DCO. He   knew us from former days at Etzion and we showed him the photo which he did not  ask to have deleted  and  after a short and pleasant conversation continued on our way home. 

Today we went to plant trees with one of the farmers from Burin. Not that I could help but I go to identify. This is how the others went up. Her ladyship went up by taxi. i don't think it is the help which is important but that we come. We left early though as the Palestinian authority phoned and said that the area was getting restless and we should go and then too soldiers and settlers started coming down the mountain. But people bought a lot of his olives and olive oil. I asked where his family was ...usually it is very joyous there and the house was so empty but he said it was too dangerous from them to be there so they had gone to live in the village.

But then we also have this......I remember how Israelis said what animals the Palestinians are that whenever there was an attack on Israelis they would go out to celebrate and give out sweets. Evidently Israelis are also keen to learn from Palestinians as this is what some soldiers did.... singing and dancing in the street and giving out sweets at the death of one of the Hamas. Not that I feel any grief for him but this is not the Jewish way. But today I no longer think that there is a Jewish way. I think we have learned only too well of how to hate and how to conduct pogroms. They should remember the Peisach seder where God rebukes his angels for singing when the Egyptians drowned. 

and this caricature appeared in one of the far right newspapers. If it  had been from a newspaper on the left or a journalist/ whoever published it would already be sitting in jail/ If you want to know what this is about look at the pdf below. It is too complicated for me to go into it.

Sorry I wish I could write something positive

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Kiryat Hayovel

Jerusalem 9650230

Israel

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

[kdrama-movies-more]

That finale's Nam-soon makes me think she's actually a long lost child of Moon and Bong...

[oceantornadoo]

protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

[pathologicalreid]

the build up | s.r.

in which you and Spencer spend an entire day just waiting to make it to the hotel room

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: reader is fine she's probably just ovulating, fingering, protected p in v sex, spencer does the post-coital pick up clean up, heavy petting (in the beginning), jealousy, kind of one bed trope?, spencer does math so he doesn't come too fast, not very edited, some case details and the case mentions drug use, hotch is a cockblock, spencer's tie is a cockblock word count: 4.23k a/n: okay we are so back thank you for letting me take a day

It starts first thing in the morning.

You and Spencer didn’t need to find your way to the hotel lobby until eight, so once you were both ready to go, the fact that it was only six-thirty took you by surprise. The two of you had been the first to make your way back to the hotel last night, immediately falling asleep once your heads hit the pillows.

As far as hotels went, this one wasn’t so bad. The hot water lasted long enough to get the both of you through the shower, and the promise of a continental breakfast always gave you something to look forward to. It was by pure luck that the hotel just barely had enough rooms for the team—contingent on one pair sharing a king bed.

Hotch had begrudgingly handed you the key cards, letting you know that HR could never find out that he allowed this.

Though, with the home Spencer’s hands had found on your waist, you couldn’t care less what HR had to say about it.

Very slowly, you grind your hips into Spencer’s, sparing a moment to smile against his lips. He had pulled you onto the bed while you were in the middle of getting dressed, electing to take advantage of your room assignment while you still could.

“Spence,” you whisper, your voice gentle in the dim light of dawn.

His hands were firmly set on your waist, you felt the callus on his finger that had been left by his gun, the coarseness of his hand in direct juxtaposition with the soft skin on your torso. Carefully, his thumb sweeps over the band of your bra, wanting to undo your half-adorned outfit.

With your knees on either side of him, you settle onto him, the chiffon of your blouse fluttering onto his bare chest.

Your phone going off is the most unwelcome sound, the LED screen flashing as the phone call comes through. Remaining at your perch, you reach over to the nightstand, unplug your phone, and answer the call, “Hey, Hotch.”

Recognition and a little disappointment dawn on Spencer’s face, his hands dropping to your hips.

“Are you able to be ready in fifteen minutes? There was another killing overnight, and I’d like to get a look at the crime scene while it’s still fresh,” your unit chief asks over the phone, and you find yourself thankful that he hadn’t knocked on your door.

Pressing your lips together, you nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah,” you sigh, “We’ll be right out.”

The third body makes this the third dumpsite, the magic number that gives Spencer all of the starting points he needs to make headway on a geographic profile. He’ll be directed to the police precinct while you go to the crime scene with other team members.

Groaning, you melodramatically fall sideways onto the mattress, letting your hair fan out on the starchy white sheets of the hotel bed. “We have to go,” you announce mournfully, recognizing just how wrong it is to bury your sexual frustrations while you mentally prepare to spend your day hunting a serial killer.

In your defense, it has been a while.

Spencer gets up before you do, carefully doing up each button of his dress shirt, the plastic buttons sliding through eyelets as he does so. Against your better judgment, you pull yourself to a sitting position in bed, doing up the buttons of your own shirt with considerably less poise before standing and adjusting your pants.

Begrudgingly fully clothed, you step up to Spencer, pulling him closer to you by the fabric of his silk tie. Taking the bottom tail of his tie and pushing the double Windsor knot closer to the hollow of his throat, ignoring your impure thoughts as he hooks his fingers in the belt loops of your dress pants.

Tenderly, Spencer drops a soft kiss on your hairline, “Do you have everything?”

You nod, stepping up on your tiptoes to kiss him, “Yeah, let’s go.”

You’re about ready to sing Emily’s praises when she lifts up two cups of coffee in the air for the two of you to take, you gleefully accept one and take a sip while Spencer takes the other one. Preparing for the burnt sludge you can usually find at a hotel; you cringe when what you find in the cup is almost painfully sweet.

Reaching out your hand for the cup in Spencer’s hand, you shake your head at him, “No way, trade,” you prompt, swapping paper cups with him while he looks at you curiously, “You won’t like that one.”

He lets you trade out the cups without a debate, carefully maneuvering the cups so that you don’t get burnt by the hot coffee. Now you have your proper sludge, bitter to the tongue is better than the sugar rush you would have gotten. Part of you thinks you might be totally desensitized to the taste of burnt coffee, as that’s what you usually find in police precincts, but when you take the first sip of your coffee, you’re immediately proven wrong. Next to you, Spencer chuckles at the distaste that’s sure to be written all over your face.

Trying to ignore the way Spencer is one-handedly adjusting his satchel in front of his crotch, you stare straight ahead to where JJ and Morgan are emerging from the other hallway, “So, what do we know?”

“Similar victimology, about two miles from the last dumpsite,” Prentiss responds, taking a swig of her own coffee, “Hotch and Rossi are bringing the cars around.” She frowns at you slightly, eyeing your appearance as if she knows something you don’t.

Before you can ask, she leans in closely to you, her dark hair brushing your shoulder as she whispers, “The buttons on your shirt are done up wrong.”

Your face warms, eyes widening as she pulls away from you, “I just… got ready in a hurry this morning.”

“I’m sure you did,” she jests, raising her eyebrows as she looks out the door.

Handing your coffee off to Spencer, you reach down to undo the last few buttons of your shirt, grateful that the hotel lobby was empty while you fixed yourself up. “Thanks,” you breathe, taking your coffee back from Spencer before looking down at the redone buttons, just making sure they’re properly done now.

At least you had an easy fix, a quick glance at Spencer’s bag placement tells you he’s having a much harder time hiding the evidence of this morning from your teammates.

Being separated from Spencer allows you to focus all of your energy on the case at hand instead of drifting away to your morning, but as soon as you see him in the conference room, your resolve falters.

While he’s leaning over the table in the precinct, your eyes catch on the way he’s shed his jacket, pushing his sleeves up over his forearms in a way that makes your cheeks heat up. You take a quick detour to the kitchenette and get a glass of water from the jug, hoping to cool yourself off from the inside out.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from behind you, his voice is low as he gently sweeps a hand over your back. The movement is soft enough not to raise any local eyebrows about the ethics of your relationship, but it’s enough to send a wave of goosebumps across your body.

Staring at your cup of water like it’s the fountain of youth, you hum in response, “Hi,” you breathe, checking the time on your watch before you close your eyes. “How’s it going?” You ask, nodding your head in the direction of the chaotic whiteboard in the conference room. Whiteboard markers of varying colors and widths are scattered around the table.

“We have a two-mile radius near the neighborhood of Summit Cove, but I’d like to narrow it down. There’s a lot of tree coverage in that area and if the UnSub keeps accelerating his timeline, we won’t be able to cover that much ground before he strikes again.” He explains, either not noticing or not caring about the way one of the local officers is making googly eyes at him.

You keep your eyes on her, but continue your conversation with Spencer, “There’s a reservoir out there too, right? Do you think there could be a connection with the UnSub and the water?”

Thinking about it for a moment, Spencer shakes his head, “It’s not likely. There hasn’t been any indication that water is important to the UnSub so far.”

The two of you share a look, a silent acknowledgment that you couldn’t rule anything out—not in your line of work.

“Are you busy? Maybe a pair of fresh eyes could help narrow down the geo-profile,” he offers, leaning against the laminate counter of the kitchenette.

You hum, “I’m waiting on the toxicology report from our last victim.” Holding out your glass of water to him, you tilt your head to the side, “Will you bring this to the conference room? I’m gonna run to the restroom and I’ll meet you there.”

Spencer nods, taking the cup from your hands, “Are you alright?”

Already making your way to the bathroom, you give a thumbs up behind your back before nearly throwing yourself in the women’s restroom. Pacing around the small space, you take a deep breath, begging to pull yourself together. “You just have to get through this case,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair.

This morning was the third consecutive time you and Spencer had been interrupted. Every time either one of you initiates sex, something else comes up. The first time, his mother called, which you weren’t entirely sure you’d ever fully recover from. The second time, the fire alarm had gone off in your building, which was the first instance of that happening in the years you’ve lived there. Then, this morning, Hotch had called.

The universe was being a prude, and you were becoming embarrassingly frustrated.

Biting down a yelp, you jump in surprise when the door swings open. With wide eyes, you watch as Spencer shuts the door and locks it, bringing your attention to the fact that you had forgotten to lock it yourself. “What are you doing?” You ask, hoping no one spared him any mind when he went into the bathroom just moments after you.

“What’s wrong?” He ignores your question, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that makes you want to turn into a puddle. “You’re warm,” he observes, “Are you feeling okay?”

Your head bobs, nervously trying to assure him that for all intents and purposes, you’re okay. “I’m fine,” you whisper, looking into his concerned brown eyes.

His eyebrows lift, and you can tell that he doesn’t believe you. “Well, you’re pacing and talking to yourself in the bathroom of a police precinct, so, deductively, something is going on that you’re not telling me about.”

Groaning, you tilt your head back in an attempt to avoid his gaze, sometimes being a profiler and dating a profiler was a brutal combination. “Shouldn’t you be working on the geo-profile?”

“I’m waiting for the ink to dry on the map,” he expertly maneuvers through your deflection—he’s had years of practice doing it with you. “What’s going on?”

You huff, bringing your head back down and meeting his eyes, “Spencer, I’m horny. I’m like fourteen-year-old boy who’s just seen his first pair of boobs horny. I came in here to talk myself off of a sex ledge and you are not helping to deplete my need to jump your bones.”

One look at him tells you he’s trying his best not to laugh, which would just make you feel more ridiculous. “Angel,” he says seriously, “What is a sex ledge?”

“I don’t know!” You reel yourself in, not wanting to draw attention to the bathroom, “It felt like the right thing to say at the time.”

Spencer chuckles softly, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ears before gently placing a kiss on your lips. Then another on your cheek before doing the same on the other side of your face.

Contently, you hum at your current predicament, “What-“ he kisses your lips again. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away, choosing instead to lock your lips together. Moving them against yours in a way that resembled this morning—it made your heart soar.

Hesitating slightly, you reach your arms up and loop them over his shoulders, kissing him back as you’d been longing to all day.  

“I’m kissing you,” he whispers, kissing your lips again. “Trying to tide you over until the case is over and we get to be alone. Until then, do you want to help me narrow the geographic profile?”

In awe of Spencer’s ability to make you feel normal when you feel absurd, you shrug meekly, “Maybe one more kiss?”

“I’m shocked it was the third victim’s mother,” JJ says from the back of the group, talking about the case. The arrest was made about an hour ago, and the local precinct will be able to build the rest of the case on its own.

You raise your eyebrows, “I’m not. Thinking about the stony expression she had when she went to claim the body, I’m not surprised at all.” You met the UnSub earlier that morning, as it turned out, and the lack of surprise when you told her about the drugs in her daughter’s system made sense to you now.

Hotch checks the time on his watch, “Everyone head inside. We’ll take off with the sunrise tomorrow.”

The team nods in unison, filtering in through the lobby as everyone takes their designated hallways to their rooms, you and Spencer being at the very end of one of those hallways. You were grateful to Hotch for making the executive decision not to leave Colorado tonight, with the three-hour flight taken into account, you wouldn’t make it back to Quantico until nearly midnight.

Spencer swipes his key card in the door, letting you in before walking in behind you. He takes a moment once he’s inside to lock the door and latch the deadbolt, leaving you to walk into the bathroom to use the clean towels that housekeeping had left to wipe your face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on your clothed shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you from behind and burying his face in your neck.

His body was warm against yours, a pleasant change from the cool temperatures outside. Leaving the towel on the bar, you turn around in Spencer’s arms, taking small steps so the two of you don’t get tangled up. Leaning your head back, you smile at him knowingly, “Hi,” you whisper, thrilled to finally be alone with him.

Carefully, the two of you move out of the bathroom, and you find yourself fiddling with the knot of Spencer’s tie, grumbling about how tight it is while trying to wedge your nail between the silk. “You’re the one who tightened it,” Spencer reminds you, making better progress with your blouse.

You roll your eyes instinctively, “I really am my own worst enemy.” You drop your arms, letting Spencer take care of his tie as you unbutton the cuffs of your sleeves and tug the chiffon off.

Taking the tie off, Spencer watches as you kick off your shoes, carefully leaving them at the end of the bed before losing your footing and toppling onto the bed in a heap. He looks over at you, a bright, loving look in his eyes, “Are you alright?”

At this point, he’s asked you that so many times that you’ve lost count, leaving you to reach our hand out and pull him onto the bed with you. You bite down a laugh when he scrambles to catch himself. “You were brilliant today,” you tell him, studying the everchanging glisten of gold in his eyes.

“You were brilliant today,” he responds, shifting so that he’s hovering over you. “You’re brilliant every day,” he reassures you.

Your eyes widen playfully, “Well if we’re getting particular—you are also brilliant every day.” You reach your hand up and thread your fingers in his hair, feeling the silky strands between your fingers, “Are we going to have sex now?”

Spencer chuckles in response, craning his head down to leave a soft kiss on your lips, “Yes, silly girl. If you still want to.”

You nod enthusiastically, “Yes,” you answer, continuing to admire the feeling of his hair between your fingers, the sensation of the heat emanating from his body warms you from above as you take a minute to breathe. “I love you,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, matching your volume level.

You consider yourself lucky to be able to work with Spencer every day. There were times when one of you had to call a time-out, and you never had to worry about asking for space. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” you let him know, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

He hums in response, dragging himself up from his place above you and standing up, giving you the freedom to move further up the bed, flopping your head on the pillows and watching him take his undershirt off. Unbuckling your own belt, you wriggle yourself out of your work pants, successfully leaving yourself in a bra and panties.

“C’mere,” you beckon to Spencer, stretching your arm out to him. He takes your hand, that all too familiar callus on his hand touching the one that’s mirrored on your own.

Spencer stops about halfway up your body, resting his hand on your hip and using his thumb to rub small circles on your hipbone, you sigh contentedly at the sensation of finally being touched the way you need.

The butterflies in your stomach don’t come out of hiding until he starts to shuffle your underwear down your legs, pulling them past your knees until you’re able to kick them off on your own. “Thank you for not making me feel bad about what happened in the bathroom,” you murmur down to him, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

He knits his eyebrows together when he looks at you, “Why would I make you feel bad? We haven’t had sex in two weeks. I’d be lying to you if I told you it hasn’t been on my mind. You just happened to bring it up first.”

A soft giggle escapes your lips, “It’s a good thing you carry around that bag everywhere, or else we could’ve been in big trouble.” Not necessarily trouble with work, but relentless teasing was always an option.

Thankfully Emily let you off the hook, or else you’d be more concerned with being harassed on the jet tomorrow morning. “Speaking of,” he says, pulling himself back up and heading to his bag, rifling through his belongings before producing a small lavender packet. He sets the condom on the nightstand before finding his place again, “Where were we?”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, peering down at him in awe as his hand slowly makes its way closer and closer to your core. “Just about here,” you breathe, leaning your head back while his index finger breaches your entrance, slowly sliding into you with a tentativeness to reflect how long it really has been.

The wet sounds reverberate through the room, making your cheeks burn even though you’re the only two in the room, “Let me know if it gets to be too much,” Spencer tells you, hoisting himself further up on the mattress. He changes the angle of his finger as he slowly finds a rhythm.

With him right above you, you tilt your head down, hoping he’ll take the hint and come kiss your lips. He does, his head ducking down until your lips touch, he carefully adds a second finger, eliciting a small gasp from your lips, but Spencer just takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Cloaked in a sensual silence, the two of you are finally free to enjoy the company of one another, you extend one arm down, slipping your fingertips in between his stomach and the waistband of his briefs so that you can palm his cock. He moans into your open mouth as you sweep your thumb over the tip of his length, gathering his precum on your fingertip and spreading it over the head.

“Spence,” you gasp, so preoccupied with touching him that you had lost sight of your own pleasure, the way his hand was angled, the heel of his palm barely grazing your clit with every thrust. “Wait, I wanna-“ you take a breath, “I wanna go together.”

He nods in understanding, chuckling as you help him make quick work of his underwear, “Eager,” he observes, reaching around your torso to unclasp your bra.

“Yes,” you affirm, letting the underwire fall from your body, your nipples standing at attention, matching his cock perfectly as he reaches to the nightstand for the condom, tearing the purple packet and pinching the reservoir tip before rolling it over his length with ease.

You let your legs fall open as he finds a place between you, kneeling between your legs before he props himself up above you, your head still spinning as his hand moves between your bodies, positioning his covered cock at your pussy before he eases himself in. He takes it bit by bit, giving both of you time to adjust before he fully sheathes himself inside of you. “Fuck,” he groans in your ear, the curse falling from his mouth in exactly the same way you were thinking it.

One of your hands drops next to your head, and Spencer takes the chance to intertwine your fingers together, your hands interlocked on the bed as he takes a deep breath. Hesitantly, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Thinking about what we have to get done when we get home tomorrow,” he tells you, dropping his head into the crook of your check.

You laugh breathily, “Right now?”

He drops a soft kiss to your collarbone, “Better than lasting thirty seconds. I haven’t done that in years.”

You hum thoughtfully, “What about last month when— ah.” He expertly cuts you off by withdrawing himself from you, almost leaving you entirely empty before easing himself back in. Apparently, he didn’t want you to bring up the time you caught him trying to hold off an orgasm by doing math.

Poking your head up, you guide Spencer’s head up, his lust-hooded eyes meeting yours when you set your lips on his, soft whines escaping from your mouth as you lock your ankles behind his back, “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, seemingly spurred on by your need to keep him close.

In an act of desperation, you move your hand from his jawline to your clit, rubbing the sensitive spot in time with his thrusts, “Baby,” you breathe, your voice a word of warning as you feel your impending orgasm twist through your abdomen.

“Me too,” he answers, dropping his head back into the crook of your neck, continuing his movements, though they grow messy as he gets closer. “Let go,” he encourages, “Come around me.”

With a whine, you do just that, your toes curling as you reach your peak, your walls pulse around Spencer’s cock as you come, the sensation just hurtling him closer to the same euphoria. “That’s so good,” you say, your ankles coming uncrossed with the movement as Spencer works you through your orgasm.

A choked sound comes from him as his hips stutter, his movements halted by his own orgasm, spilling his cum into the condom as you run your newly free hand down his spine, skimming your fingertips over the ridges as the both of you catch your breath.

Lifting his head, Spencer flips his hair from his eyes, sweat-dampened curls falling in front of his forehead, “Woah,” you breathe, flopping your head back on the pillows, whimpering when he pulls out of you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, carefully taking the filled condom off before speaking again, “I’ll be right back, honey.”

You nod absentmindedly, pulling yourself to a sitting position on the bed, a small puddle of slick beneath you almost made you wish you had a second bed in the hotel room. “Thank you,” you say when Spencer returns with a dampened washcloth.

He shakes his head when you reach your hand out for the cloth, taking it upon himself to clean you up. His gentleness as he takes care of you makes your chest tighten, he catches the way you’re looking at him when he moves to set the washcloth down, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head, “Nothing, just… can we cuddle for a little bit?”

Spencer nods immediately, leaving the washcloth on the dirty side of the bed before laying down next to you. You settle your head on his chest, letting your body melt into his.

You know you’re eventually going to have to get up, but right now, you’re just grateful that the world decided to slow down for you two tonight.

[shapelytimber]

Calypso and the Pink Unicorn's pirate drag show !!!!!

[PRINT] - [COMMISSIONS]

Wee john served so hard it should be illegal 16 dead countless injured, I am dead Calypso was so hot

Process (and my french rant on why I hate the choice of la vie en rose) below vvv

Final without the text

Rough colors

Sketch !

Sorry english people, but what follows is too french an opinion to voice in english (I'll sum it up for u in the end <3)

Ok alors je suis désolé, Con o'Neill chante vraiment très bien ca n'a rien avoir avec sa performance, mais vraiment la vie en rose c pas possible. Le man est sur les champs Elysées a me vendre des tours Eiffel en plastique jpp- Franchement pipe et jambe de bois ca serai mieux passer. Ou les demons de minuit !!!!pourquoi pas les demon de minuit ?????? Chanson hyper connu française. Ok c moins cucu que la vie en rose, mais bonus point plus kinky (je pensais jamais decrire les demons de minuit comme etant kinky mais here we are-)

Ou juste n'importe quoi d'autre-

(And words of wisdom from my evil advisor @quijicroix : légende vivante (de Lorenzo) ça va avec tout. Ou une chanson triste de jul (pas bande organisée, tu peux pas ken dessus). Après tout le monde déteste la police ou nik le front national c les chansons les plus romantiques que je connaisse. Y a santiago aussi, avec le gros mat la. Les trois mâts, pour le steddyhands.)

Tout sauf la fucking vie en rose pitier (meme si, encore une fois, Con o'Neill la chante vraiment bien)

Welcome back english people ! To sum it up : la vie en rose is a french song for tourists that set up a fight or flight reaction in every native speaker. I'm glad people enjoyed this, but I cannot describe the cringe and disappointment I felt when they decided to have him sing this song- (even tho he sings it beautifully (which is part of the disappointment))

They are SO MUCH love songs in french, why this one.

PS : at this point (ep7) I don't know why Stede is still bothering with Ed "I'm hitting the banks didn't tell him which one" teach, when Izzy hands is right there ????? Sir please open your eyes