#watching episodes again as a reminder for tomorrow for when i keep going.... its been nearly a month :')

[hauntingblue]

Okay making my bet. Vivi is with the revolutionary army

[mrslankyman]

Do I Wanna Know?

Wrote this a while ago - 2,906 Words

Daryl Dixon - Prison Era (Not based on any episode in series)

February 12, 2012

As far as I know today is February 12. That's what Carol tells me. She keeps the days tracked. I guess she does a lot around here.

She's pretty reliable. Rick's been out scouting for a while. We're running low on supplies. Might have to make a trip to the closest town.

I head out of the main corridor of the prison where we've been staying. Pulling my pistol out from my holster and switching it into my dominant hand.

I opened the door that lead outside. The sun hit my face and I squinted. Living in the dark of the prison sure as hell made your eyes sensitive to any bright lights.

I passed Glenn and gave a curt nod. He was heading to the watch post for his daily steak out. I walked up to the fence. Looking out into the field. Only a few walkers today. Better than yesterday. There was a whole hoard out there. Thank god for Daryl. Him and his cross bow. That damn cross bow. He loves that thing more than anyone.

Speaking of the devil the familiar sound of a motorcycle filled my ears. I turned to the gate as Glenn pushed it open. Daryl came riding into the prison. Stopping his bike and taking the keys out of the ignition. He unwrapped the three rabbits he had killed. Of course he was out hunting. When wasn't he doing something? He barely slept because he refused to be useless.

"What ya catch out there Daryl?" Carol asked walking out of the Prison. Daryl looked up at her and held up the three rabbits. "Nice." She smiled and took them from Daryl. Forgot, the cook and the hunter were best friends. I groaned and looked back out into the field. Everyone in the group seemed to have someone.

I was just left out. I joined late and it felt like when you joined a friend group but the kids before had been friends for years. I was always the odd one out. At least I can survive here. That I am grateful for.

"What are you doing just staring off into the field?" A low voice asked behind me. I'd be lying if when I first joined that voice didn't set me off. In a good way.

Now it's just a constant reminder that I'm just lonesome. Daryl never cared for me. I knew from the day I joined. At first he tried to come across as friendly. In his own way. He just said Hello. Which was more than anyone else did. After about a week I guess he got tired of it.

"Yes I am. Does it bother you Dixon?" I asked not looking at him. My voice was laced with attitude. Hoping he got the point to leave me alone. It was what he did best. Ignoring me.

Daryl must've gotten annoyed. At least I assume because I heard him turn away and head inside. I let out a sigh and put my pistol in its holster on my waist. "I hope this shit ends one day." Such an idiotic thought. It was never going to end. The world was over.

-----

"Alright, we need to plan out the group's going out for supplies tomorrow." Rick said as we all sat down to eat. "We need more canned foods, medicine, and first aid supplies. Ammo too if we can find any." As Rick carried on I looked over to Daryl.

He was sitting next to Carol on the floor. They were talking about what I don't know. I rolled my eyes. He was starting to get really close with Carol. It was annoying seeing him make friends. I don't know why but it did.

"Y/N did you hear me?" Rick's voice pierced through my ears. The angry dad tone. I looked up at him. "What?" I asked. "You and Daryl are going out to Greens Burrow to search the market place up there for food." Rick said pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ok everyone else listen up." Rick said gathering everyone else attention again.

I looked over at Daryl. He was looking back at me and chuckling.

I guess me getting scolded is what made a almost 40 year old man laugh now a days. I rolled my eyes and ate my stew.

----

After we all ate dinner everyone headed to their cells to sleep. Besides Rick. He headed out of the prison. I assume to go on watch or snoop around somewhere. I don't really care.

As I headed down the short walk way to my cell I bumped into a broad shoulder. I looked up and groaned. Daryl. "Watch where ya going." He huffed out. I rolled my eyes and went to walk past him. "Annoying asshole." I mumbled under my breath.

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt collar and slammed me into the cement wall. I groaned as a slight rush of pain pierced my head.

Daryl looked down at me. His hand holding my shirt to the wall. He leaned closer his eyes squinting at me. "Wha'd ya call me?" He asked in a low whisper.

I glared at the man in front of me. No way in hell he was talking to me like this. "Wha'd ya think?" I mocked him.

I smirked a little in sanctification as the annoyances crept its way onto his face. "Is the big hunts man mad?" I teased as his hand bunched into fist. I took the opportunity before he could speak to flip our positions.

I slammed him into the wall. Watching as his eyes widen in shock. "Before you go around shoving women into walls.." I leaned into his ear. "Make sure shes not a professionally trained wrestler." His face scrunched up.

I laughed as I let go of him. "Ass hole." I cooed as I walked off to my cell. Completely satisfied for once.

----

"I seriously cannot believe I have to go with you. Rick could've chosen anyone." I complained as I fixed my pistol in my holster.

Daryl was getting his bike ready. "Stop complaining." He grumbled in annoyance. He got on his bike and looked at me. I stared at him confused.

"Get on the fuck are ya doin?" He asked as I still stood there. In utter silence. "I'm not getting on that bike with you." I rolled my eyes.

He leaned his head back in exasperation. I was making this hell for him. I could tell. I kinda liked it.

"I'm gonna leave without ya." He kicked up the kick stand of his bike and revved it up. "Fine! But only because I don't feel like walking." I saw him smirk slightly from the side mirrors on his bike. Our eyes caught each other and he stared at me for a second before looking away.

I walked up to the bike and threw my right leg over the seat and sat down. "You're gonna have to hold on." He said as he revved the bike up again. "I think I can balance." I rolled my eyes. "Sure." He chuckled as the gates opened.

He revved the bike up one more time before shooting out of the prison and onto the road ahead. My body wobbled and I flung my arms forward. Wrapping them around Daryl's waist.

Daryl Pov

I knew she wouldn't be able to balance. I felt her arms wrap around me and bit my lip. The breeze of the wind flowing my hair felt nice. But not as nice as this. I'll admit it's been a while since someone has ever touched me like this. Maybe that's why I don't mind.

Or maybe I just wanted to prove her right. I closed my eyes slightly. It was nice to get out of the prison. Even with the dead being all over.

My thoughts slipped to last night. Her slamming me against the wall. Her face as she leaned into my ear. Her voice.. I felt a shiver run down my spine. No I couldn't like this snobby woman. She was also keeping to her self. A strange woman in a now strange world. Not so strange at all If you really think about it.

I'm too hypocritical.

I was and still am like that. Sure I've gotten closer to a lot of our people but I still keep my distance. I opened my eyes. Watching ahead for any walkers or living people.

I could see in my right side mirror Y/N looking around. She looked nice with the wind blowing her hair. A carefree look on her face.

I looked ahead and kept going. All the way to Greens Burrow. Trying my best to ignore the thoughts I had of the woman behind me. I'm just going crazy. This world has changed me.

----

I stopped at the local market. I kicked down my bikes kick stand and waited for Y/N to get off. Once she did I got off too.

She grabbed a stray shopping cart and headed inside. She better not fill that shitty thing up. The two bags on my bike only had enough room for a few things. If we found any.

I shoved open the door. Carts and random shelves blocked the entrance. We climbed over them and got to the main center of the store. Empty shelves and random new papers littered the room.

I looked over at Y/N to ask her what we should do but she was already walking off. Pushing the cart down a random isle all the way at the back of the store.

"Is she dumb?" I asked myself as I followed her. I left my cross bow back at the prison. Fuck. I pulled out my pistol from my holster and lifted it up. Checking each isle as I walked over to her.

This idiot could've been eaten. I guess not everyone is as smart as you think.

Once I finally made it to her I saw the cart. Stock pilled of random canned goods and chips. "We can't take all of that." I grumbled as I lowered my pistol.

"We can just take some and then come back for the rest." She shrugged like it was no big deal. She is starting to really piss me off.

"I do not wanna be stuck running around all day with an idiot." I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance. I felt her hand pat my chest and I looked down at her. "Get over it." She smiled but her tone was rather angry.

I shoved her away and headed off down the rest of the isle. Checking for walkers so this idiot of a woman doesn't die.

----

Regular POV

It's been about a week since me and Daryl's run. He has been avidly ignoring me. I guess I really pissed him off when I said this walker with the ugliest fucking face looking like him. I thought it was funny.

Today I was out checking the other cells around the prison. Killing any walkers that I stumbled into or that stumbled into me. I had finally made it to the end of cell block E.

I was going to be late for dinner. Oh well. I headed back to the front of the prison and walked into the main cell block we were all settled in. Just as I thought.

Everyone had ate and there was nothing left. I groaned and mentally cursed Rick for giving me the worst jobs. I lowered my head and started walking up to the stairs.

"Not gonna eat?" A familiar deep voice asked. I looked over at Daryl. He was holding a bowl of stew. I rolled my eyes. "No." I huffed and turned to keep walking.

"Come on and eat. I don't need you to starve." He insisted. Talking to me like he cared.

"Why do you care if I starve?" I sneered. He just gave me a look. The 'you better do what I say.' look. I gave up and walked back down the steps and over to him. He held out the bowl to me and I took it.

"Thanks.." I say unsure. Should I be thanking him or telling him off? He had ignored me for a whole week.

Why do you care about me so much all of a sudden? You ignored me all week." I antagonized him. He just stared at me. Bitting his bottom lip. 

"I didn't ignore you. Now good night." He turned away and began to walk up the stairs to his cell. I rolled my eyes and started to eat my stew.

Then it hit me.

He wasn't ignoring me. At least he was verbally.

He would purposely bump into me and give me a rude look. Even if it was his fault. He'd look at me anytime we all ate dinner together. Constantly pick the same time to do guard duty as me. Even if he didn't speak to me.

I shook my head. Maybe I was just over thinking it. We were in a prison after all. With maybe 10 people. It's bound that we bump into each other and have the same shifts.

———

Again. Today I had to check Cell block A. I groaned as I walked down the hall. I was always chosen for the dumb jobs. I headed into a cell unit. Checking each cell for any sign of life .. or death. As I got to the end of the cell block a hand grabbed me and pushed me down to the grown.

"Ah- what the hell.." I looked up at the walker infront of me. It's jaws slammed together as I pushed it away with my hand. Keeping its mouth away from my face and neck. "ah- fuck!" I looked over to my side. My gun had fallen out.

"Shit shit shit! I kicked at the walker. It didn't budge. I tried shoving it off. No use. My arms grew tired and I trembled under the weight of the dead. This can't be how I die. No way.

As the Walker lowered its self. Close enough to take a bite out of my flesh. I swear I could've felt the pain of teeth bitting into my skin. A loud 'phew' echoed and an arrow pierced the Walker through the head. It flopped down. I pushed it off my quickly and scrambled away from it. Catching my breath.

Daryl stood at the end of the corridor. His crossbow in hand. He lowered it and walked over. Pulling the arrow out of the walkers head.

"What are you doing here?" I asked still trying to recover from the shock.

"Saving you. Dumb ass." He grumbled and set his cross bow down. He walked over to me and held out his hand. I hesitantly held my hand out and took his. He pulled me up and I stumbled into him.

He looked down at me as I looked up at him. "I heard you. I was walking around tryna find you to tell ya dinner was done. Since you missed it the day before." His voice echoed in my head. This time it wasn't annoying.

"Oh really? What makes you care so much if I miss dinner? It just mean more food for you. I don't get why you're trying to be so nice to me but stop."

He stared at me. His eyes narrowing slowly. "I just saved ya. Doesn't it prove I are about ya?! Do I have to spell it out!" He yelled flipping his arms into the air and back down.

"Why did you save me? Aren't I just an annoyance to you?" I went on. His hands bunched up into fist. "Maybe you are!" He sneered.

"Good I like being the reason you're so mad." I smirked and pushed him against the wall. He stared at me. Slowly catching onto my game. "Agitating you makes my day." I clicked my tongue in his face at the end of the sentence.

He bit his lip and glared at me. His hands grabbing my sides slowly but firmly. My heart rushed slightly. I pushed the feeling down. I wanted him to make the first move.

"Maybe I like that you agitate me." He added on, pulling me closer by the waist. His voice was deeper now. More low and quite.

I pressed my body against his. My arms wrapped around his neck. "I like that you like it." I whispered in his ear in a slow, low tone. I could feel him growing hard as each one of my silky smooth words touched his ear.

I pulled away and looked at him. I laughed slightly. Who knew a women could make a grown man melt at a few words so easily.

"Maybe I'll-"

He cut me off and pressed me against his chest. "Just shut up and kiss me." He demanded. I smirked and gladly listened. Pressing my lips against his cold chapped ones. His stumble rubbed against my face and I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on more.

We stayed like that for a few minuets. Just kissing and saying things I'm sure he wouldn't want the others to know about. Men get embarrassed so easily.

[paulagnewart]

RIP Pauline Newstone

10th December marked 25 years since the Beast Wars episode Other Visits: Part 2 aired on Australian TV. Taking a moment to reflect, I vividly remember watching it (along with much of that season) on a small wall-mounted TV in a dimly-lit hospital waiting room. Hardly my idea of a grand way to spend multiple afternoons, but the prospect of more checkups and needles paled compared to the swelling dread of how, as the credits rolled, I might never see my favourite character again.

When Candice Santora announced three days later that Airazor's voice actor Pauline Newstone had passed away, that all-too familiar dread seeped its way back.

Beast Wars was far from my first foray into the world of those warrior Robots in Disguise, but certainly played an integral part of my life during the latter half of the 90's. Its writing and expansion of the Transformers history was captivating, its animation at the time second-to-none, and its voice acting nothing short of immaculate. Vancouver's finest breathed life into what could've easily been written off as another 20 minute toy commercial, but it excelled. They made the characters memorable, raw with wild, well-rounded emotions and truly raised the bar for future actors.

From the moment she burst onto the scene, I adored Airazor. Smart, sassy, more than strong enough to fight tooth and claw in battle, refused to put up with Rattrap's antics, and mistress in the art of dry wit. A welcome addition to the Maximal cast with a plethora of potential to grow. Granted the good times weren't to last; she was swiftly demoted to cannon fodder and later the role of "Mrs. Tigatron", but I was happy just to have her around. Whenever roleplaying our favourite scenes or making new adventures at school, Airazor was always my first choice. The original (and Transmetal figure a cherished Easter gift the following year) continued to have imaginative adventures after the show ran its course. For a time, something as trivial as a cartoon alien robot bird meant the world to me.

And it all came down to how awesome Ms. Newstone performed her.

It's a feeling the Aussie public clearly shared, as her video pack became one of the top 10 selling boys' toys of Christmas '98 (or maybe it's because the VHS repaint was, and remains to this day, the only version of her basic-class toy to see release here. But I digress). Yet Beast Wars proved a tip of the iceberg for Ms. Newstone's career. She lent her voice to shows including G.I. Joe, Mummies Alive!, Inuyasha, Monster Rancher, X-Men Evolution, Ninjago, and I certainly can't go without mentioning her portrayal of big baddie Frieza during Ocean Group's tenure on Dragon Ball Z (The infamous "Caressing the Balls" meme? That was her. Iconic).

Ms. Newstone was one of those voice actors I always hoped to meet someday. No means an easy feat, as she preferred to keep away from the spotlight in a fashion not dissimilar to the late Christine Cavanaugh. It would've been nice, but I understood and respected her desire for privacy, and commend the extra effort Pete and the other organizers went to adhering her "no photos" request at BotCon 2006.

Learning of her passing, let alone nobody reporting it until fellow actor Garry Chalk saw her name over six months later at the annual UBCP/ACTRA Awards, is a sad reminder how none of us are getting any younger, and each day those little things which used to give us joy slip further into the abyss of time. Cherish those memories and the ones you love, while always leaving room to create more tomorrow. Fiction generally doesn't last forever, but I like to think her memory and legacy both as a voice actor and person will for many out there.

The above image was taken back in 2011 while in Lithgow, but never made public until now. Far from my best work (assuming anything I do can be considered good to begin with :P ), but a decent day. History repeats itself, as that particular Airazor figure went on to appear in many more photos, accompanied me to multiple BotCons, a college graduation party (!), and most recently appeared on the official Oliver Brown social media page for their Rise of the Beasts promotion.

RIP Pauline Newstone. May many glasses be raised in your honour. You came, you stooped, and you sure as hell conquered.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Things I Noticed While Writing Light The Fuse: Part 5, Episode 2

Turns out I had a lot to say again

He's returned! And this is why I gave the Phoenixes their own private room lol okay so other than this room, which is clearly for the patrons to have fun in since there's a giant speaker in the corner, and the single motel room from ep1 we never see where these guys sleep. If they had their own trailers, Ethan might've been able to steal a couch from one of them, and if he had his own trailer then obviously he would've had his own bed.

Of course, that doesn't get him to the bar in five easy steps whereas crashing in this room does, so it's good for filming, but the Phoenixes live here along with everyone else, and they're always changing as they become Brawlers, so having one big room they can move their stuff in and out of (like a motel hehe) until they get their own permanent trailer makes sense to me! I'll make a visual layout of their room at some point since I see it very clearly in my head, so that'll go in its own post since I have limited images here

Matty looks great in this outfit btw 🥰

Johnson's been back for two seconds and already he's reminding me why I love him the most 🥰 but I love this bit, Matty's highpitched giggle that makes me insane with how cute he is, him admitting he was scared and thought he really did it this time, Johnson vibing the whole way up to the bar and saying he wasn't scared at all before acting as their bartender, and Ethan just barely awake and following like usual

Can't or don't, Matty? ;w; there's a big difference

You're so weird that's so mean I'm in love with you

Johnson not getting it in the least, Matty saying that and then it not even being real and Ethan not agreeing lmao what a shot

The switch from Ethan telling the lie in the last shots, to telling the truth and getting uncomfortable, to Johnson picking up on that and changing the subject with a glance to Matty, and Matty taking the topic a lot more seriously than before always gets me. It really feels like Johnson wanted to hear the truth more than the story, just with the way he was watching him before steering the topic, like that look to Matty was because he knew how he'd feel about all this

Look at this expression. He's not about to joke around here. Matty takes family so seriously, he's completely bought into Burt's promise and to hear Ethan talk about his family treating him like that has him serious, protective. I nearly wrote this scene in his POV because I really wanted to get into his head while Ethan was saying all this, maybe I'll call back to it when I'm writing season 2 because this feels like such a key moment to how he feels about him and him being one of them

This expression too, this is someone who knows this is exactly who Ethan is and that he belongs with them and he's waiting for Matty to say the same, that's how I see this

You know how I keep saying I'm gunna cry and we all know I'm only half joking? Yeah I teared up rewatching this scene again. It's only episode 2 and already Matty has fully accepted Ethan as theirs, part of the family. This isn't even ship talk this is them all drinking to the fact that Ethan belongs there and they both believe it. It's these scenes that make me love them so much and make me so damn emotional over them, why I think about them and instantly try not to start sobbing in public, and that's no joke.

The music here is also so beautiful, this is such a beautiful moment

This is the face of a man who's starting to realize that they genuinely care about him here more than in Detroit ;w;

Phew, ended up giffing pretty much this entire scene again! I never know what I'm going to say about these apart from a few scenes, so it's been very surprisingly to me how many gifs I've had to make so far. I really thought they'd be more rare as I point out other things, but I guess I should've expected it since I'm predictable in how much I love them heheh see you tomorrow for episode 3~ 💛❤️💙

[evaxoxoblog]

9/4/24

sorry- havent written in a while. im on my easter break from school which is nice. I've been watching quite a lot of television, specifically 'end of the f***ing world', 'i am not okay with this', 'derry girls' (again) and 'rick and morty' (again). i think I've decided that I prefer 20 minute episodes compared to longer. i never really liked gilmore girls; too long.

anyway, i went to see family last week. 4 hour drive which was miserable but fine. i listened to a lot of music which was nice. i saw family too; my cousin has just had a baby and he is really sweet. it made me remember that I will only see him once a year and by the time he is my age, I will be 28. that feels so far away, but its going to happen. sorry if my tone is a bit boring; I'm tired and no is reading any of this so it doesn't really matter. My other cousin just broke up with her girlfriend. we are 4 years apart but we've always been close, and she was a bit drunk when we went to bed so we talked about deep stuff. we talked about love. i don't talk very much; I mostly listen, but she talks a lot, so it works nicely. she said that I've always hated romance, since I was little. it was a good reminder that people don't know your thoughts, because I forgot that I've changed so much. on the outside, I guess I've always acted like I hate love, but recently that's changed. i love the idea of love, of being close with someone. i would love it for myself. as long as I have someone that I love, I know I will be okay in life.

we drove back with my cousin. i get anxious about long car drives, and this was the first time I've done it with someone who isn't my parents (longer than 2 hours), since a year ago, so that made me nervous, but it turned out fine; I wasn't anxious the entire time, which is a nice change. i think I might really be getting better.

ive met up with my best friend a lot too. i love her so much. she makes me really happy. maybe she is my person that if I always have, I'll be okay. i wouldn't mind if she is, though I would ideally like someone who I could love romantically, not platonically. this isn't an invitation to all the tumblr creeps by the way. i went into town with my mum today, and I bought the new txt album with christmas money. it was fun opening it. i got the promise version. i am very happy with it, even if it doesn't seem like it. today has been good.

i am seeing my best friend tomorrow and we are going to walk around the golf course again. i am really looking foreword to it. i am also seeing family friends tomorrow, which will be nice. there is a younger child there too, who is 9 and she keeps asking if the photocards in my phone case are my boyfriend. its quite sweet to be honest.

i went climbing with my mum by the way. i got some harder climbs, and there was this guy my age watching me sometimes. he seemed nice. i was hoping he'd talk to me, but he didn't.

x eva

[bigtiddygandalf]

SPOILERS

ANALYSIS OF BARRY 4x04: It Takes a Psycho

I think at its core Barry is about how change, real genuine core character change, is difficult and that without the proper support mechanisms you cannot achieve it.

The whole story starts with an attempt at change. Barry wants out of his life with Fuches; go here, kill them, rinse and repeat. He wants to pursue a career in acting. He wants to make a change. And he goes pretty far! He moves to Los Angeles and he goes to acting classes and he tries (bless his heart) he really tries. He gets a girlfriend, and he gets a solid job, and an apartment he shares with members of his acting class. He’s a new guy now!

But then his past comes back to bite him again and again and again. He does one more job, one more hit, only one more, just to tie up loose ends. He can be a good guy, he can change. Starting tomorrow. Starting today. Heck, “Starting Now”

It’s not just Barry it’s everyone. It’s Sally leaving Sam and moving to LA and pursuing acting and sticking to her ideals. It’s Gene meeting (and losing) Janice, and reuniting with his son, making amends, and trying to be humble. It’s Hank leaving the mob and moving in with Cristobal, watching the sunset safe and sound.

They each find their own happy ever after. Barry happy and domestic with Sally (like he day dreamt about). Sally, steadily gaining fame and booking bigger and bigger deals. Gene letting his grief blossom into love for his family, content to know he helped catch Janice’s murder. No Ho Hank safe with Cristobal away from danger.

And one by one they lose their happy ever after because they cannot make the changes stick. They slip into their old ways, because their support system just isn’t there.

Barry’s theme is similar to the Good Place in that, if you don’t give people a real genuine chance to get better, then they won’t. But if you give them an actual chance to become a better person, they will always take it.

But Barry is a tragedy. The characters just don’t have that support system. Barry life is doomed from the start. Fuches was right in season 1, you don’t just ‘stop being a hit man’ his past effects his new life from episode one. There was no running from this one. Barry keeps one foot in hitman door permanently. Sure it’s to protect him and Sally (and later Gene). Sure Barry was groomed to think like this by Fuches. Sure, his behavior was reinforced in the army. But he keeps going back and keeps killing. So of course be walks right into a trap and lands himself in jail.

Sally recognizes the violence in Barry even if it’s not (at first) directed at her. For the first time, those things the ladies back home whisper about her, feel like the truth. “Sally sure knows how to pick them” Sally no longer trusts Barry, and loses her support. She doesn’t even have friends anymore, she lost them when Gene canceled the rest of his classes. She is so self absorbed and jealous that she calls the closest thing she has to a best friend an “entitled cunt”. It is her downfall, even Joplin being canceled wasn’t terminal. But boom, Sally cannot recover from becoming an misogynistic internet sensation. Even going home, she doesn’t find stability and support from her parents. So? Sally reverts, she runs back to Barry because even if he is a mass murderer, and even if he killed someone she cared about. Well, at least he adores her right?

Gene goes on stage in 4x01 and the room erupts with applause, roused just by the mention of his name. He feels that flicker of lust for fame. That reminder of what he has been chasing his entire life. One last chance he thinks. One more story to get him just five more auditions, just five more interviews, just five more seconds in the spotlight. He has his son, and his grandson. But there is a Janice-shaped-hole in his heart and the knowledge that he (by introducing her to Barry) killed her, is inescapably heavy. So he goes back to his old ways, sets up an elaborate goose chase, puts on a rehearsed show, and profits off Janice’sa tragedy. In the end it is his narcissism, that leads to his downfall. He is so sure Barry is going to kill *him* (he doesn’t even think about Sally) he shoots immediately and (probably) kills the only person who truly loved him unconditionally.

I’m honestly terrified to touch the PTSD riddled mess that is No Ho Hank. It’s Cristobal who wants to get back in the business. Okay. Sand is safe enough, Hank reasons. But it escalates. From a phone call, to a google search, to a plan, to a coordinated power couple speech at a dave and busters. And if he can get away with smuggling crimes, then surely he can get away with coming up with a plan b with his remaining mob contacts. And then the worst case scenario happens, Barry gets out, and Hank can’t even tell Cristobal, “it’s shit like this that makes people think you’re soft”, so he makes a decision. He goes back to being the mob boss he always was, the ruthless murderer he was trained to be. Even if he didn’t pull the trigger he killed Cristobal.

Each time they try to change, they revert to their old ways, and it always leads to their ruin. I don’t think any of them are getting out alive. I’m curious if there is a minor character that will survive and succeed in changing. Maybe one of the acting class kids (Natalie maybe?) I feel like we need this to see that it is possible, otherwise Barry is very close to feeling just nihilistically tragic.

[transmasc-rose]

Episode 3:

Nyx "Dean is slowly worming his way into my heart. I love characters who are like, smug kind of asshole characters, but they also love their family. And are stupid." and "The stupid is the important part. They can have all of those other traits, but they'd be a whole other character. Stupid."

Me "I will not call Sam puppy on tumblr. I will not." Nyx "Coward!"

Crosswords in a diner :) Classic roadtrip moments.

The rock music is charming, like early season House MD. They came out about the same time. I think the early Criminal Minds soundtrack was like this too, actually.

Nyx at Dean flirting with the waitress and trying to egg Sam on "HIS GIRLFRIEND JUST DIED. IF YOU WANT FUN HAVE IT YOURSELF."

Nyx "Don't they find it weird that between them and their dad there's a bunch of fucked up things? Isn't that a little weird? That there's a boss gauntlet between you and your dad's assumed whereabouts?"

Nyx "I don't think I'd be able to handle if it was a fucking Loch Ness monster episode"

Dean you stupid flirt

"Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over." He's about the age you were when Mary died, huh?

Is Dean wearing zip ties for bracelets

"That's my geek brother." You're cute.

Me "Do you think he's going to get sucked dow- yep"

@quietwingsinthesky wasn't kidding when it said the show has a focus on family. It's neat. Every episode has been about either the main family or a family they've found, and the connections they have with each other.

Dean's trying so hard to relate to the kid, who really looks like a baby Sam.

Dean deflects the moment he thinks they're getting too close, especially when Sam initiates it. "We're not going to have to hug or anything, are we?" and "No chick-flick moments." Something something masculinity in American culture. I'm still mid episode. I'll talk more about this later inevitably.

Nyx, said with irony, "Woahhh Milwaukee... just like in those ARGs..."

Back at it again, Dean's attached to the kid, Sam questions him about it, and Dean tells him to shut up.

OH KIDDO YOUR MOM.

Nyx "doesn't [Lucas] look like that kid in the picture?"

Nyx "Where do you get these kids with swept back hair and sad, black, victorian eyes."

Torvic rock murder moments.

Nyx "The trade was good. The trade was done."

Dean's jacket reminds me of Nine's.

Nyx make a squeaking sound at Lucas talking.

And one more time: the lady kisses Dean, and Dean immediately starts talking about how he and Sam have to leave and hopping in the car. Dean can do some amount of emotional intimacy (ie. when he brings things up with Sam) but only when he brings it up, and when its not about him.

Did they ever get the windows and headlight fixed? I think I saw glass at the end? Will keep an eye out for the next night scene.

Okay! Thats the end of watching tonight (it is late) but I'll probably watch some more tomorrow. God. Okay. At least season one has been fun so far.

I read the summary for ep4 and Curtis said "that sounds like a really elaborate porn setup."

So I think its going well 👍

More tired than I have reason to be, and Curtis is distracted playing Control.

So.

I said I would watch spn.

[wigglebox]

NYCC The Winchesters - 1x01 screening, panel

Good morning/afternoon/evening people! 

So I had to take a break from art in order to write down my first impressions on things for the prequel pilot and the subsequent panel after. 

Note that I haven’t had any time to watch any interviews the folks did before the screening/panel, so this is just me writing what I experienced in ~*the room where it happened*~. The bulk will be behind a read more! 

** Note, I try to avoid mega spoilers but I do go into my impressions of the pilot and my emotions with it, AND I do outline the characters. I try not to get into the nitty gritty since y’all will mostly be seeing it tomorrow anyway, but if you don’t want even a HINT of a spoiler, just don’t read it lol. 

The tldr; I loved it, it has so much to expand on, and I can’t wait to start speculating with y’all again on something SPN based. 

—

I won’t lie, I was nervous.

Not because I didn’t think this show wouldn’t do a good job, because it’s made it this far — which is a lot considering the last two attempts at a spin-off were dead in the water. I was more or less nervous of the audience reception.

Living in one's own head as a Supernatural fan makes you and your goldfish bowl of friends in your Twitter GC and Discord servers, have a set of parameters of what makes a good Supernatural episode or not. But not everyone else shares those parameters that you have convinced yourself are right.

And I was nervous because, given those parameters, I had to keep reminding myself that this isn’t Supernatural. It is its own thing. It’s its own form, own show, with a connection to the main show. These are new characters, even if we knew the older versions of two of them already. Everything is still basically brand new.

My nerves came from a mixture of anticipation, fearing audience reception after the year and a half wait we had to think about this show, and not knowing if I or the audience can see this show as its own individual self and not just another Supernatural episode.

Suffice to say after like, the first five minutes those nerves were gone.

The Pilot

I’m going to get this out of the way before I continue. Pilots aren’t ever perfect. Even Supernatural’s pilot, which is a pilot that I consider to be top-tier, has some clunkiness. 

Pilots can drag, or pilots can speed — there’s rarely an inbetween. The Winchesters pilot seemed to be a little fast paced, trying to introduce the premise of the show a little too quick. The pacing of events and understanding and dialogue kind of felt like this should have been a two hour episode and not the 40 minute one we’re going to get. 

And, some of the dialogue, just like in its predecessor, was indeed clunky exposition. 

But I’m saying this as someone who yes, understands that’s what that was — but also someone who doesn’t take this into account when it comes to what makes a pilot successful. In fact, I never expect perfection in pilots. 

The Winchesters pilot has a lot riding on it. Not only is it the third attempt at a spin off, but it’s having to perform two duties where the original Supernatural pilot only had to do one.

The Winchesters pilot has to both grab old fans, and intrigue new ones. The original Supernatural pilot just had to attract new fans and build up a new world.

So, given that The Winchesters has to do a little extra work, and given that it’s a network pilot, a pilot in general — for me — the fast-paced nature of the episode doesn’t really affect it negatively for me. I expected it, and I’m sure others did as well.

A successful pilot for me is 1) am I interested in this world/characters 2) did you make me ask enough questions to come back next week?

And, The Winchesters scored on both of those accounts!

The episode opens up with its standard cold open where you mostly see a character you have no idea who they are, doing something that’s going to launch you into the next 45 minutes of adventure with the main characters. But, this cold open also has to launch us into the entire season. It’s the first-ever cold open for The Winchesters and it worked very well.

I’m not going to get too much into plot, to keep this spoiler free, however I will say in my head I described it as the Scooby Doo Avengers. When I say Scooby Doo I don’t mean campy, zoinks, goofy monsters of the week — but that there is this team, that is clearly already close, willing to do what it takes to figure something out. And... they have a van lol. 

In the group there is tension already from the get go, which I love. By group, I mean Lata [Latika but Lata is her nickname], Mary, and Carlos have already known each other.

Small spoiler, but at once point Lata tells, not asks, Mary “You’re still mad at me.” Carlos and Mary have tension and unresolved past things that they gotta talk about at some point probably. And John blends in with them rather effortlessly. I will say I’ll be keeping my eyes on John and Lata right now.

But all four of them had a chemistry that already worked. Not like “Oh we all love each other here, no problems at all!” kind of chemistry, but chemistry where you can tell that interactions aren’t being forced. Almost like they’ve been acting together for years by that point, even though they hadn’t.

That was another thing I enjoyed about this core four, the fact that they’re each their own characters but they’re also not standing out too much from each other. That they both don’t blend into each other, but also they’re not so over the top it feels like a caricature.

Here are my first impressions of the characters:

Lata is a book nerd, clearly the “brains” but she’s also rather timid, nervous about hunts, and finds her satisfying success when it comes to what she’s learned on the page rather than hunting down a monster. She’s softer-spoken, and I can see her being the more level-headed grounded one of the group. However, I can also see where her self doubt can get the better of her, and her fear, and given a conversation she has with Mary in the van — I have to wonder if something bad happened in the recent past that made her like this.

Mary is the kind of Mary I felt like we got with Sam Smith. Marching forward, doing what she has to do, almost “going through the motions” of being a Hunter. She already voices her desire to walk away from this, and it’s hinted in that conversation with Lata, something went wrong recently that caused a big upheaval in her life. But that’s kind of a plot point that can be saved for when you watch it Tuesday. Of all four of the characters, it felt like I knew Mary the most because we got later-seasons Mary for a hot second. However, you can see how Meg Donnelly brings her own understanding of the character to the table. I am so very interested to see where she goes throughout this series.

Carlos will be the problem child (affectionate). When the role was first cast, and you got his description, you saw JoJo getting cast, and then seeing him in the trailer, folks already pinged on him being the fandom favorite and I can see that. He’s sharp, witty, already has some one-liners, and I can easily see him causing but also solving problems for the group. One thing that gets me is that he comes across as almost stubborn, not willing to admit when he’s wrong, so I can imagine that comes back into play. That indication comes with a small conversation with Lata over something that happened in the past. It’s played off as a “ha ha,” but if you think about it deeper, you’re seeing someone who knows what he wants and likely will do what he has to do to get it. There are definitely two Alphas in this group, Carlos and Mary, and I can see them butting heads at some point.

And now we’re at John.

When this prequel was first leaked onto Deadline in June 2021, folks (save for myself and a few others that were on my timeline and Discord) immediately rocketed to their feet to voice their displeasure at John being a focal point.

Accusations of trying to twist the narrative and make excuses for John’s behavior in Supernatural-Prime (neglect, child abuse, etc.), or that the constant reminder that John and Mary’s love story was manufactured so how on earth could you have a story about it — or just the attitude in fandom that’s been in there since I’VE started, back in 2013, that John Winchester is an Asshole.

But, a few pointed out that indeed we don’t actually know anything about John aside from his father, Henry, “walking out” on him and his mother, and… that was it. The flashback episodes we had with Matt Cohen’s John were that of a story that we kinda already figured. “In the Beginning” was more about Mary and showing Dean how that deal was made, and “The Song Remains the Same” served as a lesson for Dean and Sam to understand that they “can’t escape fate” with their bloodline. 

Nothing’s really known about John at all, especially before 1973. 

That being said, I really have to spend this portion completely cheering Drake’s John on because holy moly. 

Drake has, and will continue to have, an uphill battle trying to get the most hardened Anti-John folk on board (a struggle Matt Cohen didn’t have to have as much I think). But, given the life that he’s brought to John in this pilot alone, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a struggle. 

I joked that with them casting Drake that “it’s almost like they want us to love and adore him” but I’m not even joking anymore. I adore him. 

Indeed, it’s important to note that this John is not the John we wind up with in the main show. And the cast and everyone involved knows that and have stated as such in interviews. They’re not erasing or rewriting anything. 

The truth, for me, is far more tragic:

The John in the pilot is likable with an almost puppy-like innocence, looking to get answers but also someone dealing with trauma himself as someone who went into the Vietnam War way too early and suffered the consequences of that. I won’t get into specifics, but there’s a touching moment when he’s describing what he saw and what happened to a dear friend and I almost cried. 

You have a kid, and yes I’m calling him a kid, suffering from this trauma in a way that you see twice in the episode, while also someone keeping his head held high while following orders and the motions from his new group of Scooby Doo hunters that he stumbled into. 

When asked how he found someone so fast, John remarks that’s what he does because he was in the Marines. So we get little glimpses of that. 

His ending moment after the final climax of the action was so adorable I wanted to squish his cheeks and yes, I know that’s weird, but he was so proud of himself. 

But, in my opinion, it also demonstrated something that I think may or may not come back — and that’s that he did what he did down there in the tomb almost a little too easily and without freaking out. And was excited to tell his new friends about it.

John in this show I think will become someone that even the most reluctant watchers may come to find they really like. 

And to me, that’s making him automatically, from episode one, one of the most tragic characters. 

Already in the pilot, I was mentally screaming for John to turn back, don’t investigate, don’t do any of this, because we know what’s waiting for him down this path.

I have to mentally make a line in the sand to separate Drake from Matt from JDM because there’s no way I can continue going with The Winchesters and not completely support and adore John and his efforts to understand the Men of Letters and also being with his friends.

With characters out of the way, I’ll mention we don’t get much with Ada or Millie, however I can’t wait to see more of them in the future and what they have to offer. Millie seemingly already knew about the Men of Letters and Ada — in my head when she was first announced as a character I saw her as a Bobby character, just the know it all that can be their “save us because we don’t know what else to do!” character. However it feels like she can, and likely will be, more than that. 

As for the plot of the episode, this is where my “Is a pilot successful” requirement is filled for “Are there enough questions to keep me coming back.”

The answer is, holy shit yes. 

Particularly two things, which I can’t wait to speculate on when the episode airs. One involves John and his letter with the Men of Letters star on it, and the other of who the big bad is for the entire season. I’m so excited to speculate with people on that.

But also, this hunters world in the 1970s is so different to me than what we were first introduced to in 2005. They don’t have cell phones, they don’t have GPS, they don’t have computers, they don’t have quick ways of communicating with each other. They will have a network, sure, but its the 70s. They also don’t have access to THEE Men of Letters bunker, at least for now, which holds a lot of information as well. 

So I have questions about those too. 

I didn’t want this show to just be about “hey let’s do a case study on John” and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be that. I don’t mind that, but I also wanted this show to stand on its own.

And it’s clear that they’re looking at it in a way that will provide an actual story that can get folded back into Supernatural-Prime.

The Panel

After the pilot screening, there was a 30 minute panel with Danneel, Jensen, Meg, Drake, and Robbie and holy wow.

I wish I could convey to anyone reading this, especially anyone who had any doubts over anything, just how much this group cares. 

Like, it’s not even just in their words saying it, but you can feel it, and I wasn’t even in the front row. It was this like, almost electrical current in the air that could reach you and make you truly, fully, 100% understand that they’re not doing this just for kicks. 

They’re not just tossing aside whatever they want, that they’re not just doing this as a cash grab or anything — but that they’re a team of creatives that really truly wholly believe in this world that the main show created and wanted to explore that more. 

They do treat the existing material with respect, and that they’re not going to just throw all those 15 years of blood sweat and tears down the drain.

I remember in the months following the Deadline leak, folks online kept stamping their feet about canon this and canon that. We haven’t had much press until just recently about it therefore come comments that would be made at a Supernatural convention by Jackles from time to time would have to suffice, but still didn’t convince many.

I think at the time also, when the Deadline leak happened, a lot of opposition I saw came from younger fans, or newer fans, who started season 12 and onward (or even after the show ended) and didn’t quite understand just how monumental it was that Robbie was brought on board.

Robbie stopped writing for the show in season 11 and I wanted to take an informal survey of fandom asking them if they truly understood the word that he did. Some folks don’t pay attention to who writes what.

His episodes I find tend to be some of the most gif’ed episodes on Tumblr or most talked about episodes in general. Any one of his episodes you’d likely find up in any fan’s top 10 list. He’s given us Charlie, Eileen, and even had a hand in bringing Chuck back both in Fan Fiction and in Don’t Call Me Shurely.

For many folks who were in fandom before Andrew Dabb took over some time in season 11, Robbie was easily one of the top three writers for many people.

And there’s a good reason for that. Between writing snappy dialogue and getting characterizations down really well, he’s also seemingly a master at these unconventional episodes. He’s had more normal ones like Goodbye Stranger, 8x17, and First Born (9x11) among others, but he’s also done Baby, Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo, LARP and the Real Girl, Bitten, Fan Fiction, Meta Fiction and the like.

He’s written episodes that were great for character showcasing while also having unconventional storytelling apparatuses as well. My favorite one of his episodes was Time After Time, 7x12.

Suffice it to say, them grabbing Robbie for this project really stood out to me, which is probably why when Deadline first leaked the project, I wasn’t upset. To me, if Robbie was involved, then that’s really all I needed to feel secure in knowing that whatever, or however, they were going to tell this story, he’ll have fun figuring it out.

And I can’t even begin to describe how much it really does come across how much Jackles cares. 

It’s very very easy for someone with that amount of talent to just peace out from a 15-year show that ended, a show that likely made taking other roles nearly impossible, and just go on to do bigger things. 

But the fact that he stuck around and that even before the show wrapped in Sept. 2020 (due to the pandemic) he was already starting on this? That means a lot to me. Like, no matter what he does, he seems to want to keep one hand on his roots and that can only benefit us because you don’t do that unless you really believe in it and care about it.

It’s also hilarious to me that in these press interviews, he’s basically being outed as THEE biggest SPN brain rot stan and, he’s not alone there. We have jackets, dude!

So yes, up on stage, with them answering questions and describing the process, how they’re viewing this — you can tell there’s a reverence they have for the material and understand truly how much time, energy, blood, sweat, tears, smiles, sadness, chaos had gone into the main show.

--

The pilot was good, it was something that would keep me interested with the characters they presented and the premise of the rest of the season to come. It established that we’re not in 2005-2020 anymore, it established a kind of big bad that we’re not used to seeing*, and it had enough easter eggs that satisfied my little Supernatural heart but not over doing it.

*This is something I can’t wait to speculate about.

On a personal note, I’ve been excited since that night, and had felt almost like I was in limbo for the last year and a half waiting for this moment and it was so satisfying seeing the pilot and understanding that my excitement and enthusiasm wasn’t misplaced in the slightest. 

I went into this with the question of “Will I be disappointed in all of this hype that I’ve helped build up for this, both in my head and outwardly?” And the screening and panel shot back: “Nah you’re good.” 

So I can’t wait to rewatch this Tuesday night, and then I can’t wait to watch it the following Tuesday, and again, and again. 

I’m excited for The Winchesters to grow its wings and fly! 

[nxrthmizu]

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

[winterscaptain]

no deal.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and thus begins the 100 arc! i am so excited to share this with all of you. these are going to include more canon episode moments than my other episode-attached fics because everything builds on itself and the details are key. i promise we’ll still get a lot of added scenes and little changes! 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own!  one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 8.4k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: a case comes back to haunt Aaron in more ways than you can imagine. you’re there to be his shadow, to catch him when he falls. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Hotch?” You poke your head around the door, and you find him at his desk, in a surprising ensemble of khakis and an earthy quarter zip.

Almost whimsical, for him. 

He looks up, his eyes softening for a moment before his brows pull in confusion. “You’re still here?”

You gesture to his desk lamp, the only light on in the entire office. “You are, so I figured…” You shrug. “I dunno. Is everything okay?” He looks exhausted, but it’s bone-deep - nothing sleep can fix. 

He shakes his head and sighs. 

That’s his tell.

But he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

You don’t believe him. 

“Are you sure?” You cross the room and lean on his side of the desk, quickly scanning over the documents you find there. He doesn’t mind your nosiness. He's mostly accustomed to it by now. 

Most of it is pretty normal - after-action reports, performance evaluations (it looks like you’re doing well), and task force meeting agendas - but there’s one file that sticks out. 

Your brow furrows. “The Boston Reaper?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m just reviewing it for an academy lecture about dormant or otherwise inactive serial killers.” 

“Ah, I see.” You know he’s still lying. “Anything I can help with?”

A little half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, thank you.” He looks up at you and you offer him a small smile. There are many things at work behind his brown eyes. 

He never keeps things from you without reason, so the lying doesn’t bother you so much as the unease radiating off him in waves. 

For now, you decide to let it go and pat his shoulder as you stand. “Alright. Walk me out?” It’s a pointed question - you know he won’t leave if left to his own devices. 

He’s about to throw you a denial, but the look on your face leaves no room for it. “Yeah. I’ll just be a minute.” He starts packing up, sorting the files into neat little stacks that will be there waiting for him when he gets back tomorrow. The Reaper case, you notice, goes into his briefcase, decisively snapped shut and taken into his hand before you can process much else. 

The walk down to the garage is a quiet one. You take the stairs, happy for the excuse to stretch your legs. 

You snag the sleeve of his (very soft) quarter zip before he turns toward his car. “Aaron?”

His eyes snap to yours at the use of his first name. 

“Just…” you aren’t sure where you’re going with this, but he’s probably used to that by now, too. “Just, erm...Drive safe, please? Get some sleep when you get home?”

He takes a little breath and nods, his gaze softening. He’s quiet as you release his arm, quiet on the walk to his car, quiet (you imagine) as he drives out of the garage.

You watch him until the echo of his tail lights fall out of your sight.  

+++

The next morning, JJ trots up the stairs to Hotch’s office and exchanges a few words with him before he flies out of his office and down the stairs. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the official request? We haven’t been invited.” JJ does her best to keep up with him, trotting down the stairs behind him with a file in her hand. 

“We will be.” 

You look at her with questions in your eyes and she shrugs. Derek, too, looks at her with confusion. Hotch continues toward the doors. 

Is he already headed toward the plane? 

She throws her hands up. “Well, it looks like we’re going to Boston.” 

+++

When all your things are packed and ready, you settle in beside Aaron in your usual place, on the arm of the couch across from the table. 

He walks you all through his work from a decade ago as you all review the files in your hands.  "The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate."

Emily’s the first to speak up. “So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?”

“Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics. Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering.”

“He even got it in writing,” Reid adds. He’s looking closely at the letter, likely starting the structure of what would become a linguistic profile. 

JJ looks up, a little confused. ”He won. Why start killing again?” 

“Because the only person who knew he'd won, the person he made the deal with, just died.” Morgan says, closing the file and tossing it on the table in front of him. 

That’s an easy train of thought to jump on. “Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power.” With a little smile, you remind her, “That's why they contact the media.”

Emily’s next. “So how did he stop for 10 years? 

“In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.” Reid pulls the book in question from his bag, placing it on the table. “Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception.”

“Like BTK,” you offer. 

You can see Aaron's eyebrows rise for just a moment in your peripheral vision. Good one. 

You purposefully bump his shoulder on your way to steal one of Morgan’s snacks. Thanks. 

JJ takes the book, thumbing through. “What has he been doing all this time? 

“Well,” you say, “I would imagine he was planning what he would do if he started killing again.” You look at Aaron, who nods with his mouth in a thin, grim line. 

Morgan opens the file again, running his finger down the metrics as he speaks. “So, from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims - men, women, all ages, all types, no specific victimology or MO.” He looks up at Hotch. “How did you build a profile from that?”

“We didn't. Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.” Aaron takes a breath before his next thought. “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Reid says. “The Reaper and The Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media,” JJ notes, “when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're going to be all over the Boston Police.” 

Aaron agrees with a brisk nod. “The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him.” 

You sit up straighter. “Meaning, if we keep pushing at his ego, he might take another risk?” 

“Exactly,” he says. “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.” He assigns himself, you, JJ, and Reid to the crime scene.

You’re happy for the chance to keep an eye on him. There’s still something off about this whole thing, and the fingers on his left hand worrying his pen is only the most obvious clue. You reach out for his sleeve across the aisle when the team breaks, tugging a little, just like you did last night. 

He looks over at you, almost startled. “Yeah?”

You don’t say anything. Tell me what you need. 

“I’m fine. Just want to get on the ground and get to work.” 

Bullshit. Your squint says it all. 

He sighs and you release his arm. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. 

He always does. 

+++

You and JJ stand off Aaron's shoulder as he introduces the three of you to the local police authorities. Hotch is already on edge. 

An odd exchange between Hotch and one of the veteran cops leaves you with the entire department at your disposal. How he manages to do that every time is beyond you. 

Reid, the case file in his hand, walks you all through the preliminary findings. “Nina Hale, ninteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three. Nina's throat was slashed, she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found.” 

“A revolver, maybe?” You ask, in-step with Aaron, whose gears are turning as he examines the inside and outside of the car. 

“He preferred revolvers, .44 magnum.” If he weren’t so focused, you were sure he’d be impressed by your observation. “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

You point at one of the photos of the female victim. “Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort.”

Aaron’s on the other side of the car now, leaning close to the driver’s side window, looking at a photo of the male victim. “Do we have his wallet?” At your questioning glance, he adds, “The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him.” 

“That’s quite the signature,” you muse, straightening. 

One of the crime scene techs hands him the wallet in question. After a quick examination: “No corrective lens requirement.”

Your brow furrows and you look over at him. “The glasses aren't his?”

“He only took glasses from one victim--the ninth.” He looks increasingly agitated as he speaks and the crease in your brow deepens to match his. “We should have found them on the tenth, and we didn't. They were never found.”

How does he know which victim was the ninth? How does he remember? 

“What was so special about the ninth victim?” 

Aaron levels you with a look that sends cold wriggling up your spine. “He survived.”

Oh. 

+++

JJ and Dave take the second car back, intending to make a few stops on their way back to the precinct. You sit shotgun, staring out the window, while Aaron drives. His fingers tap arrythmically on the steering wheel. 

He’s restless. Fidgety. It’s weird. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” You ask. 

He shakes his head, just a little. “It’s not a copycat.” 

Your brow furrows. “We knew that, though.”

“Right.” 

Oh.

It must be surreal to have a case come back to life like this. “Wasn’t this one of your first cases? You joined the BAU in ‘98, right?”

When I was a sophomore in high school…

Oh, shut up. 

You snap back to the audible conversation as he nods. “It was my first case as lead profiler, so I’d been on the team a couple of months. Gideon thought, well...I don’t know what he thought. He gave me point on this one for some reason or another.” 

“Look at you, hotshot.” You reach out and shove lightly against his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a huff. “Only on the team a few months and you get assigned your very own case.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I did it with you.” 

It’s true - he did. Spencer may have saved the day in the end, but you polished, delivered, and implemented the profile throughout the investigation. As scared as you were for the professional leap (and the personal one, given the nature of your teams’ closeness), it paid off. 

“That doesn’t count.” 

He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Why not?”

You shrug. “We’re kind of…” You clam up, for some reason, a little embarrassed. 

Don’t be stupid. 

“...I don’t know? Friends?”

You get a real smile from him this time and you match it. “Well, ‘kind-of-I-don’t-know friends’ seems like a stretch, don’t you think?” He looks over at you and holds your gaze a little longer than he should, considering he’s driving a little more than eighty miles per hour. 

You’re an idiot, your eyes say, an amused chuff leaving your nose.

His eyebrows bounce before he looks out at the road again. And?

+++

“George Foyet, 28, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive The Reaper.” Aaron passes you files as he speaks, clearly not needing any notes or other aids to regurgitate the details of the case, verbatim. 

Dave snorts. “Not for lack of trying.”

Hotch walks you all through the Foyet attack, outlining the oddities and patterns that collectively create The Reaper’s signature. His good mood from the car has either entirely evaporated or been smothered by his focus on the case, leaving him with his normal operational stoicism. “The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims.”

“So, how did Foyet survive?” You ask. 

It’s weird he’s not summarizing it for you all, but then again, this case is odd in its obvious, meticulous execution. It’s probably best to let it speak for itself. 

Hotch wordlessly starts the recording. 

“911. What's your emergency?”

“I just murdered two more.” The voice is distorted, ominous. 

“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”

“Victims eight and nine, by a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”

Reid fills you in. “That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene. EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet barely breathing.”

“So,” you ask, looking over the case. “The Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies?”

Aaron nods. “Until this one, the ninth. If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him.”

You look up from the file. “Can I guess that the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one?”

Aaron’s brows raise for a moment. Exactly. 

“There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene.” Aaron looks grim as he presents the glasses again. 

Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, likely for access to Penelope. “Foyet could be in danger.”

“Uh, Hotch,” JJ pops her head into the room, looking more than a little confused. “There's a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.” At Aaron's questioning look, she adds, “Roy Colson. He says he knows you.”

You watch him leave and exchange words with the reporter, your lower lip planted firmly between your teeth. JJ hangs at your side while Derek comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“Is Hotch okay?” He asks. Spencer, Dave, Emily, and JJ also look to you for an answer. 

You shake your head the barest amount and when you speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.” You clear your throat and try again. “I don’t know.” 

+++

Dave peers into the car. “Another couple. Much older this time. One shot and one stabbed.” 

“No reason to stop out here.” You’re just off Aaron's shoulder, following the line of his flashlight. 

Dave sounds resigned, tired. “His license and registration are out of his wallet.” 

You squint. “Looks like he used a cop ruse."

“Good spot, isolated, few drivers.” 

Hotch sighs, coming in close to something with his flashlight. “He left Nina Hale's watch."

"Okay," Dave says. "So what'd he take?"

“His wedding ring.” You note the tan line on the man’s fourth finger - a dead giveaway. 

Pardon the pun...

A local officer is quick to give you the victim information, approaching Aaron with a file. “Arthur and Diane Lanessa. Weymouth. Married 32 years. They were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week.” He looks over at the press, rapidly arriving at the perimeter. “I gotta go make notification.”

You refocus on the crime scene, anticipating Aaron's wandering eyes and shining the light where he needs it most. 

“Looks like he went through her purse,” he says. 

You hover over his shoulder again. “Any idea what he was looking for?”

Hotch shakes his head, moving on. 

A photo falls out of the drop-down mirror during Hotch’s cursory check. It depicts the victims and who you assume are members of their family. In blood, FATE? is scrawled across the front of the photo. Aaron straightens, leaving the car and crossing to Dave. You, of course, follow. 

When you both reach Dave, you finally have an opportunity to take a look at the photo. “The question mark is new.”

“It's for us.” Aaron doesn’t need further examination for his assessment. “He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had ten years to save them and that these latest ones are on us.”

“You got all that from one question mark. That's impressive.” Dave’s compliment is only a little undercut by his sarcasm. You can’t help but agree with the implication. 

Aaron sighs, copping to it. “I may know him better than I've let on.”

“What does that mean?” You step closer to him, your brow furrowed. 

He levels you with a somewhat guilty look. “It means that there is a profile on The Reaper.”

Dave frowns. “I thought we were called off before we had one.”

“We were. I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case…”

“It stuck with you,” you finish for him. Your brows drop lower over your eyes, finally understanding the stakes at play. 

“I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone.”

The exhaustion in his voice, gravelly and low, worries you more than you’d like to let on. “So you never shared it with anyone.”

“I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't. I don't know, maybe if -” he sighs. “If I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction.” The doubt in Aaron's voice breaks your heart a little. 

“Now you think you're right.” Dave, of course, has the brief words to coax the thought out of Aaron. You’re thankful he’s here. Between the two of you, you’ll get more out of your unit chief in twenty minutes than anyone else would get in three days. 

“The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be.”

“Okay,” you say, “then we need to hear it.”

+++

It’s decided that Aaron will deliver the profile solo, with only a little input from Dave. It’s odd to see him up there all by himself while the rest of you stand off to the side. You’re students just as much as the local police, this time. 

You tune into Aaron, whose eyes are bouncing all over the room, from person to person, holding and keeping their attention. His eyes meet yours and you hope the respect and pride overflowing in your chest is visible on your face. 

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone.”

One of the local cops has a decent question (for once). “Why is he so democratic?”

“Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know.”

Dave chimes in. “The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims--it's all for us.”

“Why?” 

“Power,” Aaron answers simply. “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

It reminds you of the first time you saw him - alone, in front of a room of people focused only on him. It was one of your first lectures at the academy, your favorite, and the one that inspired you to ask for a placement with the BAU when Jenny told you to take a running leap. 

How far you’ve come. 

Without permission, your mind wanders to a few things that haven’t changed in the last year and a half. Aaron is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen - capable, worthy of deep admiration and respect. His voice is the same - demanding respect and carrying the weight of the world in it. 

Anything that won’t condemn you to a life of unrealistic expectations of men? 

No. Maybe you’re a better shot?

Great. That’s useful. 

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader,” Aaron continues, “The Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others. 

“I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him.” You’re glad Dave is there to help, his seasoned expertise coming in handy once again. “The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim, he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times.”

Yet another “Why?” from one of the local officers. 

Curious group, it seems. 

Aaron answers. “He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

Dave, again, has something else for you all. “The younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile.”

“Hebephile?” Naturally, that particular proclivity is not a familiar one to the layman. 

Reid lends an assist. “A hebephile is someone who's attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children. Teenagers.” 

“Look for men with access and authority -” Aaron assumes command again, “- high school teachers, counselors, coaches--and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years.” He checks in with you, and you nod. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

+++

You look up as Aaron walks into the room, Derek ready with bad news. “Garcia can’t find George Foyet.” You stand and resume your post as his shadow, beside Emily. 

Morgan holds the phone toward Hotch. “I’ve got nothing, sir,” comes Garcia’s voice from the speaker. 

“What do you mean? 

“I mean, he’s gone. He’s completely off the grid. He’s gone.” 

“How is that possible?” You tap Aaron's shoulder with the back of your hand as his tone grows sharper with Penelope. 

Be nice. 

He shakes you off and you clench your jaw, looking over at Derek as Aaron tries to wiggle more information out of Penelope. It doesn’t work. “Garcia, we don’t have much time.” 

“I know, sir.” 

You huff. “I mean, how would you even drop off the grid like that? There has to be someone he talked to.”

Aaron wordlessly dials a number, shooting you a somewhat grateful, if not a little rueful, look. “Roy, Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor.” 

+++

“That’s him.”

Aaron shuts the back door of the car behind you and out of habit, you take quick stock of him while he does the same for you. 

You spot the man you’re looking for skittering across the street and toward the apartment. “George Foyet?” He’s visibly skeptical, and Aaron pulls his credentials. “It’s okay. We're FBI.” He introduces you and Rossi while you flash your credentials for good measure. “I'm Agent Hotchner. We met once before. Do you remember?”

"Yeah, I remember.” He’s agitated, his eyes jumping to every moving person on the near-empty street. “Would you mind if we get off the street, please?

You follow Dave and Aaron into the cramped apartment, noting the clutter and general feeling of paranoia permeating the space. Everything looks rushed - half-lived in and half-finished. 

When you reach the kitchen, Foyet collapses into a coughing fit and Dave immediately supplies him with a glass of water. 

“Thank you.” He takes another decent gulp. “How'd you guys find me?”

“Roy Colson,” Aaron says. He’s focused on Foyet, but you can tell he’s keyed into the peripherals, just in case. 

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, though in what you’re not sure. “Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work.”

“What do you do?” You ask. 

“I'm a freelance computer specialist with the city.”

Dave steps forward. “We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible.”

Aaron pulls the evidence bag containing the glasses out of his breast pocket. “This yours?”

“I knew it wasn't a copycat.” 

You pull a chair for Foyet as he coughs again, feeling only a little odd about taking care of this man in his own house. 

“Thank you.” He takes another sip of water. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, remembering. “I was gonna propose to her that night...At the restaurant, but I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost. He had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me. Yeah...Perfect timi-”

You interrupt him, attempting to stem his agitation. “Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again.” Nevertheless, he continues, increasingly distraught. 

“I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her sixty-seven times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times? ...I never found the ring.”

For some reason, your mind drifts to the man beside you, the horrifying thought of seeing him stabbed, the life leaving his body. You shake it off with a little shudder. 

Why, brain? Why? That’s a fucking awful thought. 

And yet the image sticks with you, forcing you to manually lock it away. Aaron looks at you, almost like he can read your mind. 

That’s nightmare fodder.

The smallest flex of his brow asks, Are you okay? 

Fine. You offer him a tight twitch of your lips. It’s not a smile, but you’d be thankful for at least a mockery of one right now. 

With a little bit of a squint, Aaron turns back to Foyet. “He should have left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held on to them all this time.”

“What, you think he's got some special interest in me?” He almost laughs. “I've been living with that possibility for the past eleven years.”

“Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?” Dave asks. 

“I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in the car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone through great lengths to make sure that none of the things you've just mentioned ever happened.”

What a terrifying, sad existence. 

Dave offers George his notebook and a pen. “We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you.” 

“We can take you someplace safe until this is over.” Aaron’s brow is knit in concern - it’s a look you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to inspire a little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

Quit, would you?

“No. Boston is my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me.”

Aaron insists, pushing. “Then we'll protect you here.”

“You can't protect me. Nobody can.” He frantically writes in the notebook for a moment before handing it back to Dave. “Please be careful with this. Please.”

Dave assures him, “It's safe with us.”

“He's just a man, nothing more.” You hope it’s the right thing to say. You feel Aaron take a breath, and you almost feel bad. It’s a line he’s said before, one you borrow when necessary.

Don’t mean to steal his thunder. 

Instead of looking at you, he looks at Aaron. “Then why can't you catch him?”

“We will.”

+++

You’re both sitting in Aaron's hotel room, the photos from each of the crime scenes spread out all around you. It’s far later than you’d like, but the time spent is worth it if it gets you one step closer to this sick, scary bastard. 

“What was it like? The original case?”

Aaron sighs, pulling a hand down his face. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Like this.” He shakes his head. “Every day was another dead end, and then another pair of bodies every few weeks. Then…they just stopped.” He holds up the note. “Now I know why.” 

You tip your head to the side, studying him. “What would you do?”

“What, you mean about the deal?” 

“Yeah. What if -”

The phone rings, cutting you off, and you rise to answer. You’re stopped by a hand on your wrist as Aaron passes you and picks it up. “Hotchner.” 

You plant yourself back on the bed, legs folded underneath you. It’s probably one of the team, given the hour and -

“Who is this?” His voice is low, almost angry. 

You scramble to the edge of the bed, giving Aaron space while remaining completely keyed into him. 

“...You think I’d take that?...I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were smarter than this...Then you’ve misjudged me...I don’t make deals.”

Oh my god. It’s The Reaper. 

No. It can't be.

You pull out your cell and fire off a text as quickly as you can to Penelope. 

3:42am trace call to ah’s room stat

She doesn’t disappoint. 

3:42am on it. 

“I’m the guy who hunts guys like you..." Aaron laughs, dark and humorless. "You all think that...I’ll see you soon.” He slams the phone down and starts to pace, his hand over his mouth. 

“What’s going on?” You stand, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Hotch. Who was that?”

He stares down the phone like it’s a living thing, but doesn’t breathe a word. After a moment, he jumps back into action, sitting heavily on the bed and going over everything with a renewed, almost frantic, focus. 

You watch him for a moment before you pull out your phone. A text message from six hours ago blinks up at you. 

Haley Brooks-Hotchner

9:13pm when you get a chance, can you have aaron give me a call? no rush. just school paperwork for j. he’s not picking up his phone. thanks xx

You answer her, praying she didn’t leave her ringer on. The hour alone will reveal the extent of the team’s attention on this case and you can only hope she understands. 

3:48am can do. this one’s bad. might be a minute. 

Aaron looks up at you, a question in his eyes.

You shake your head with a little smile. It’s nothing. 

+++

“Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun--or more likely guns--and finished them off with his knife.” Dave looks around while Aaron stands stock still near the driver, slumped over the wheel. 

The scene inside the bus is macabre - bodies and blood everywhere. The numbers on the window send shivers up your spine. 

“There;s Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring.” You peer over Aaron's shoulder. “What'd he take?” 

He scoffs. “Does it matter?” 

He straightens quickly, shoving past you and getting off the bus. You get out of his way, letting him go with a frown. Dave meets your eyes and tips his head. You follow him out as he goes after Aaron, giving them just a little bit of distance 

Dave catches up to him. “Hey. What's goin' on with you?”

Aaron stops in the alley a little ways away from the bus. “He called me tonight and offered me the deal.”

So that’s what happened. 

You thought as much, but the thought alone was too much to consider. It’s never been less satisfying to be right. 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him, and then he does this.” Aaron gestures to the crime scene, NO DEAL staring you all in the face, along with all those numbers. 

The idea of The Reaper torturing Aaron like this is horrifying. Plenty of unsubs have made your skin crawl in the past, but this is a new kind of awful. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“So, you think this is your fault?”

“It is,” he insists. You’re shocked to see tears in his eyes when he looks back up at Dave. There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, but something keeps you back. 

Dave pulls his gun and releases the safety, turning the grip toward Aaron. 

What the fuck? 

“Well, here, use mine. You convinced me.” 

Aaron waves him off with one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. 

Of all the things you would have thought of at this moment, pulling a gun on SSA Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t have made the list. You watch, ready to jump between them at a moment’s notice. They’ve never gone after each other before, but you’ve seen more worrisome behavior from Aaron in the last forty-eight hours than in the preceding eighteen months. 

Even at the height of the divorce proceedings, he was steadier than this. 

“No, no, you hung up on him.” Dave pushes the gun at him, trying to wrangle it into Aaron's hand. “You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us.” He gestures to you and Aaron's eyes flicker to yours. You have no idea what you look like right now. “We'll get this guy without you.”

Dave is a genius. 

He blinks, tears wetting his cheeks. It’s certainly one of the more alarming things you’ve ever seen. He’s audibly frustrated, his hand flexing at his side as he talks. “Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it.”

That’s not fair. 

When has Aaron ever been fair, or even kind, to himself? 

Well, shit. 

That’s why you’re here. Do your job.

You step forward, keeping your voice down. Approaching him like a cornered animal seemed the best tactic at the moment. “Shaunessy made the deal. The killing stopped, as promised. He closed the case and sent you away, Hotch.” Your eyes beg for his as you continue. “You moved on. You worked on other cases, active cases. You saved lives in that time. It wasn’t wasted.”

Aaron huffs, clearly frustrated. “But I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile.” There’s something desperate in his voice and you know he’s trying to get you to understand something he can’t articulate. 

Dave takes over again. “Hey. I was retired. Should I blame myself for every victim who got killed while I was on my book tour? Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead.” 

Damn. Good point. 

Aaron’s eyes meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You keep your face soft, neutral. 

Safe. 

“But that voice in your head,” Dave says, “it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron. It's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me. I know.” 

Aaron checks in with you for a moment and you nod. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. 

He wipes at his eyes before leveling Dave with something that looks almost like his classic glare, gesturing to the offered gun at his chest. “You can put that away.”

With a cheeky smile, Dave says, “You sure?”

“It's a little dramatic, don't you think?” You ask, stepping up and clapping Dave on the shoulder. 

“My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” Dave’s deeply chuffed pleased that he was able to bring Aaron back to his senses. He holsters his weapon, throwing the safety back on. 

“Which one?” Aaron asks. You’re relieved to hear a little bit of humor in his voice. 

“All of 'em.”

The three of you share a little smile before you walk back to the crime scene. 

Aaron’s thanks is so quiet you’re almost certain you made it up. 

You’re only sure it happened at all when Dave replies, “Anytime.” 

+++

“He knows where Foyet lives. We’ll split up and cover each address. Go.” 

You rise and somehow end up with Derek. Though not your intention, it’s probably for the best. For good measure, you take Jameson, a seasoned SWAT agent. The three of you had the biggest of Foyet’s properties on lock. 

Derek speeds to the house, flooring it with sirens blaring. 

“I’ll take front,” Derek says, nearly shouting over the siren. 

You’re locked and loaded, ready to go in your vest as soon as the car stops. “I’ll take the back.” You twist in your seat to look in the back. “Jameson, you good on my six?”

“I’ve gotcha.” 

You’re clearing the house, kicking in the back door. There’s a thump behind you and you turn. Before you can do anything, something makes contact with the back of your head, sending you straight to the ground. You hit something else on your way down, and you’re done. 

Fuck. 

You’re knocked out cold, but come to only a few minutes later. You stumble to your feet as lights and sirens round the corner. Bringing a hand to your head, you feel the blood on your forehead. There’s probably a decent cut near your hairline and when you look down, you find an alarming amount of blood on your vest. 

Head wounds bleed. You’re fine. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Derek. 

You brace yourself on the wall as you rise, checking your service weapon. It’s not in your holster, but you find it nearby on the floor. 

Why didn’t he take it? 

Kicking it under the table, you draw your secondary weapon. The thought of leaning down to reach for the gun on the floor is too much and your only aim is to get to Derek, then Jameson.

Blinking blood out of your eyes, you do your best to clear the rest of the house before finding the mess in the living room and front yard. Without much of a thought, you haul yourself over the broken window sill, getting a nice slice in your arm for your trouble, and land hard at Derek's side. With a groan, you roll over onto your knees, crawling toward your prone teammate. 

You look up as headlights hit you, shading your eyes with one of your hands. The other rests on Derek's chest. To your relief, you can feel his breath under his vest. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

With the intensity of the lights shining on you, you can’t see Hotch as he lifts you to your feet by your upper arms. He shields you from the light with his body, his brows drawn and concerned. You’re dizzy in the extreme, your right eye almost unable to open with all the blood caked down the side of your face. 

He takes you under his arm and brings you to one of the ambulances posted on the street. The paramedic takes your vitals, but Aaron keeps a hold on your other hand. You’re not sure he realizes he’s still got you, but you’re not about to let go. 

“What happened?” He asks, quiet and tense. 

You shake your head even though it only increases your dizziness. Blinking a couple of times, you answer, “I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. I had the side of the house, Jameson had the back, Morgan the front. We were clearing room by room and he just…” your eyes float to the front of the house, where Emily has Derek with a paramedic. “He appeared and I didn’t have time before he hit me with...Something. I was out before I could blink. I think I hit the table on the way down.” 

Hotch sighs and to your dismay, you see the coroner approaching the back of the house with a gurney. Jameson’s dead. 

Why aren’t you?

“He didn’t take my service weapon. It’s under the table in the kitchen now, but it was next to me when I came to. I don’t -” you swallow, still dazed. “I don’t know why he left us alive.” 

You can see Aaron's teeth grinding as he collects himself. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.” 

“What, like you?” You know your functioning isn’t at one hundred percent - you’d never make a jab at him like that, even weak as it was, at a moment like this if you were clear-headed. 

He sighs as your eyes flutter shut, leaning on the inside of the ambulance. You hear the paramedic tell him you’re concussed and need to be kept awake for the next ten hours. Hotch gets the details on your other injuries before squeezing your hand once and leaving you. 

After another few minutes, EMS releases you with a packet of concussion information (which you immediately crumple and shove into a passing crime scene tech’s jacket pocket). Far too quickly, you make your way across the yard and into the house, avoiding Jameson's body and the coroner’s staff. 

You find Derek and Emily sitting together on the back of the couch as he, too, is patched up. 

“You okay, kid?” He asks. 

You nod. “Just concussed, a couple of lacerations. I’m fine. Are you okay?” There’s a compulsion to fuss over him, but you resist. 

He nods, bringing a pristine .44 caliber bullet into your eye line. “He left this.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. “Sadistic bastard.” 

Emily raises her eyebrows and cants her head, agreeing with your brief assessment. 

You look outside to where Hotch stands in the middle of the yard, with his arms crossed, looking over the damage to both the house and his team. 

Eventually, he returns to the house with Spencer in tow. You follow them, moving slow. 

Reid points to evidence as he talks. “Jameson was clearly killed outside. This is someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood."

"But no body,” you note. 

What the hell happened here? 

Reid nods. "Just the drag marks. The human body holds 5 quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive."

It begs the question, so you ask. "Foyet?” 

“It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job,” Dave says, appearing out of nowhere and leaning on the door jamb to the kitchen. 

With a firm conviction, Aaron says, “We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice.”

+++

JJ’s brow crumples as she looks over the files again. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"

Aaron, of course, answers her. "He was his only surviving victim, the only one he couldn't defeat."

“But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing.” You thumb through the case again, certain the answers are there for you to find. 

JJ’s persistent. “What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand? Wh-what do we know about her?”

“Nineteen. A freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses.”

“Michigan. Where The Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

“That can't be a coincidence.”

“He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose. But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started.”

“How long had she been in the class?” You ask

There’s an incredulous laugh in Emily’s voice. “Four weeks.”

“So it was either love at first sight or what?”

Derek picks up JJ’s thought. “Foyet was lying?”

“He's a 28-year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes.” Hotch immediately starts dialing a number, and you’re sure you know which one. As you suspected, he gets Penelope on the phone. 

“What are Foyet's aliases?” Quickly, you hand him Dave’s notebook, the rest of your body coiled for action. He bows his body over the phone, rattling off instructions. “I want you to look up in Boston city records Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education.”

“Well played, sir.” You hear her keyboard in the background. “They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science.” She pauses. “Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education.”

“They're not?” Aaron’s head tilts, listening. 

“No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”

Something clicks. You watch the gears turn and turn and turn, Aaron’s eyes flickering over the photos, the file, back and forth as he puts pieces together. 

“Hotch?” Your hand hovers over his shoulder, but he pays you no mind. 

“Roy Colson went to see Foyet.” He begins to stand, his voice rising as he gets farther from the phone. “Garcia, I need you to trace Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is The Reaper.”

Garcia gives you the address and the rest of you chase Aaron out to the car. The headache pushing behind your eyes is the least of your worries. “What? What do you mean George Foyet is the Reaper?” It’s almost comical, the efforts you take to keep pace with him down the stairs and to the car. 

Aaron communicates all the details he put together in the conference room, taking you step-by-step through his process. “He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself.”

You’ve already caught up, the pieces clicking in before he can repeat them. “He knew EMS would get there in time to save him.” 

“And between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect.” There’s frustration in his tone, but you know it goes deeper than that. It’s his pride. 

“Hotch, you couldn’t have -” 

Derek cuts you off. “Why would he do it?”

“It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him.”

Talk about inserting yourself... 

Derek is right there with him. “He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still, we didn't see it.”

Aaron nods, his jaw tighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Don’t blame yourself. 

Hotch rolls up to the house, no lights or sirens, and you surround the house, on his six. You quietly breach the back door, clearing the kitchen and the hallway. 

“It's over.” Aaron’s tone leaves no room for argument as he levels his gun at Foyet’s head. 

There’s a strange smile on Foyet’s face as he speaks. “I'll kill him.”

“You need him to write your story.”

“I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe.”

You step to the side, trying to get a better shot, but Aaron stops you with the smallest turn of his head as Foyet redirects his attention to you.

“I said I'll kill him.”

Aaron pulls his focus again. “You kill him, I kill you.”

“You think I'm afraid to die?”

“You're not afraid.” Aaron sneers. He’s aiming to hurt and it’s a good idea. “You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's gonna come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy.”

“I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy.”

“Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead.”

You’ve got him there, Aaron. 

“If you know me so well, how come some many had to die to bring you here?”

You can almost feel the lance of shame and guilt that shoots through Aaron. He almost flinches. Between you and Emily, if looks could kill, Foyet would be long dead. 

You fucking asshole. 

It takes everything in you not to leap on him and pummel him into the floorboards. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face. 

“That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer.” To your ears, it sounds like Aaron's convincing himself as much as telling Foyet. 

“That's right.” He turns, smirking. "Hello, Derek.” 

He drops his gun and Derek pounces on him, restraining him. "Where's my badge?” He jerks Foyet’s head back by the hair. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

He doesn’t answer Derek's question, but shifts his icy gaze to you. “How’s your head?” He gives you an imitation of a pout, and anger sears through your chest. “You took quite a spill last night, Agent. Probably had your unit chief very worried.”

You squint at him, but don’t respond. Aaron steps a little to the side and you’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s made himself a barrier between you and Foyet. 

The bastard notices, though, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

The look he gives Hotch makes you shudder. 

+++

Only an hour or so after you land back at Quantico, JJ jogs from her office to Hotch’s. Your heart sinks. 

That’s never good. 

“Foyet escaped.”

You grab the remote and stand from your desk, turning the volume up on the TV. 

She chases Hotch down the stairs as he joins the rest of you, surrounding Derek's desk. “Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital.”

“Get me the U.S. Marshals office.” He turns, but she stops him. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it.”

Aaron doesn’t stop moving until he’s at your side. Your search for his eyes and he meets your gaze after a moment. 

What do we do? 

His jaw clenches. I don’t know. Then, a huff. Fuck. 

You shake your head a little. It makes you feel a little dizzy. Fuck, indeed. 

“How’s your head?” He asks. 

Of all the things to worry about…

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Just then, Emily returns, a file in her hand. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.” 

You take it from her, looking it over before looking at Hotch. “He had the schematics. And not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And 10 years to plan,” Dave adds. 

"They're gonna find him, right?" Penelope’s voice is small, and you can’t blame her for it. Derek’s at her side, staring at the news footage with a grim look on his face. 

Aaron’s eyes are trained on the television when he answers. “No, they're not.”

Derek turns to you before looking at every member of the team individually. “He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @whoreforhotch @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster

[spencers-renaissance]

you look after everyone, but who looks after you?

Summary: Penelope is sad and lonely and thinks nobody can see her struggling, but Emily does. When she shows up at her apartment unannounced, one thing leads to another, and soon a miserable evening turns into one of the best in Penelope's life.

Tags: hurt/comfort, sad penelope, angst w a happy ending, cuddling, tooth-rotting fluff, getting together, first kiss, friends to lovers

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Penelope Garcia

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I'm imagining s5/6 penemily for this one!

Penelope's small and bright apartment is her only source of comfort tonight, and although she does absolutely everything in her power to maximise the cosiness, to feel as safe and warm as possible inside its protective walls, it still doesn't feel like enough.

She's sad, and she's tired, and a larger part of her than she'd like to admit is bitter, which is an icky emotion, and she hates more than anything that it exists inside of her but tonight, it does, and there isn't anything she can do to stamp that stubborn little flame out.

She has always prided herself on the way she acts towards others. She makes sure that people are okay, and she bakes homemade muffins and puts them on their desks with one of her colourful toys when the bad stuff is getting to them, and she gives out hugs like there's no tomorrow; that's who Penelope Garcia is, and it's something that will always be important to her, no matter what.

But sometimes— sometimes she wants her own Penelope Garcia. It's easier to cheer other people up, to make them smile on a sad and rainy day, than it is to pick herself up out of her own all-consuming, utterly inexorable funks that creep up on her every now and then. And because happiness, colour, and bright smiles are who she can't help but be, people don't always see through that facade when it's no longer an instinct but a mask.

And because she would never dream of putting her bad mood or her sadness or her heavy, weighty grief on the shoulders of anyone else, she's left on her own.

When the last candle is the living room is lit, and her favourite lamps are on; when she's taken a hot shower, and she's put on her favourite pyjamas; when she's placed the order for her dinner-for-one, she sits down slowly on the sofa and pulls her knees up to her chest, staring at the inky blackness of the one window she forgot to draw the curtains over. As she stares, the inky blackness she feels on the inside only grows until it consumes her, swirling aggressively until tears are streaming down her face, and she's choking back sobs that threaten to rip her chest in two.

She's only brought out of her miserable, desolate stupor when the intercom buzzes with a visitor that she supposes is probably the delivery man with her Chinese order. She'd fancied Indian, but it reminded her too much of the team dinners Spencer always dragged them to, and that was just a little too painful for a lonesome night like this.

"Come on up," she says into the intercom, not bothering to hide the tiredness in her voice from a stranger she'll never see again, and without waiting for a response, she sits back on the sofa, staring at the purple walls of her apartment until there's a soft knock at the door.

Almost on auto-pilot, she stands up and opens the door, and her eyes widen as she stares in shock at Emily Prentiss standing in her hallway.

"You're not the delivery man," she whispers, still staring at her with wide eyes.

Emily chuckles sadly. "No, Pen. I'm not."

Penelope nods, blinking a couple of times, very unsure of what to do next or why the woman she's secretly in love with is standing in front of her at 10pm on a Tuesday night.

"Can I come in?" Emily prompts.

"Oh, uh— yes, of course." She opens the door wide enough for Emily to slip into her warmly lit living room and takes the opportunity of Emily's back briefly turned to scrub fruitlessly at her makeup-less, tear-stained face.

"This is cosy."

"Yeah, I just reread my favourite book about Hygge."

"Hygge?"

"It's uh. It's a Danish thing." Usually, she jumps at the opportunity to talk about Hygge and all the things she'd learned from her trip to visit her Danish friend last year, but right now, she's far too tired.

Emily nods, dropping her handbag by the door and walking over to take a seat on the sofa. "Come sit."

Penelope obeys and curls up in the opposite end to Emily, pulling a blanket over her lap and cuddling into it in another vain attempt to cheer herself up. Still, when pretty candles and the promise of takeaway can't make her happy, there really isn't much hope.

They stare at each other for a couple of minutes before Emily speaks, leaning forward a little. "How are you feeling, Penelope?"

Penelope blinks. "I'm fine."

Emily smiles, and again, it's sad. "No, Pen. How are you really feeling?"

She continues staring but doesn't say anything in response.

Emily scoots a little closer on the sofa. "Listen, I've watched you over the last couple of days. I know you're having a hard time, and I know that you won't say anything to anyone because you're brave and strong and quiet in your suffering. You look after everyone, Penelope, but who looks after you?"

Immediately at hearing those words, her face crumples, and she descends into the tears she'd only just managed to stop moments earlier. This time, though, the sobs she'd been choking back spillover, wracking her shoulders as she hugs her knees to her chest, desperate to hold herself together as she completely falls apart.

"Oh, Pen." Emily moves even closer and pries Penelope's hands away from her knees until she's able to guide her into a hug. Penelope usually tries to keep her physical distance from Emily, too scared of what she'll do if given a chance to touch her, but right now, she can't help but bury her face in her neck and cling on to her for dear life as Emily holds her back just as tightly.

"Shh, you're okay, honey," she soothes quietly, running her hand up and down her back gently as she lets Penelope fall apart in her arms. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She says everything Penelope needs to hear as she cries herself out, sobs eventually receding to tired sniffles as she pulls away from Emily slightly, a little embarrassed of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry on you like that."

Emily brings a hand to her chin and lifts her face gently until she's looking directly into Emily's warm, kind brown eyes. "You have nothing to apologise for, okay? I'm just sorry you've been having such a rough time and haven't had anyone to talk to about it."

Penelope nods, still embarrassed that she fell apart so easily but feeling soothed and comforted by Emily's warm words and gentle hands.

Just then, the buzzer goes again. "That's, uh, that's my dinner."

"Ah," Emily says, nodding in understanding. "Is that who you thought I was?"

Penelope looks away sheepishly. "Yeah."

"That explains the abrupt invitation upstairs," Emily says, smiling at her as she gets off the sofa and buzzes the courier up. "You mind if I stick around while you eat?"

"No! Please— please stay," she says, hating the desperation that bleeds into her voice.

"Okay, I'll stay, of course I will," Emily promises, rushing to soothe her again as she hears the agitation and distress in Penelope's voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Penelope nods gratefully. "You can even have some of my eggrolls," she says, managing a little smile as she references the well-known fact that Emily despises eggrolls and makes such a big, dramatic deal out of it every time any of them order Chinese.

Emily laughs, her head tipping back a little. "You're so generous."

She opens the door for the delivery man and takes the bag from him, before bringing it over to the coffee table and laying it out in front of Penelope.

"You should eat up, sweetie," she says in that kind, concerned way of hers as she comes to sit next to her on the sofa, "I'm sure that crying took it out of you, hm?"

Penelope nods tiredly and tucks into her dinner as Emily flicks through the TV channels before settling on a rerun of Will & Grace. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while as the familiar sound of a 90s laugh-track sitcom fills the room and Penelope eats her dinner.

"You need another hug?" Emily asks once she's finished her food and is inching closer on the sofa, and Penelope might be delusional but she swears she sees an inkling of hope on her face, so she doesn't hesitate in nodding.

Emily beams and pulls her closer, arranging them until they're lying horizontally on the sofa, comfortably tangled up in one another, idly watching the TV while they enjoy the comfort of one another's company.

"Pen?" Emily whispers, after a good couple of episodes; after most of the tealights Penelope had lit earlier have burned themselves out. "You know I love you right?"

There's something in her voice that makes Penelope feel brave. "Yeah," she whispers back, burying even closer into her side. "I love you, too, Emily. More than you know."

The last four words are uttered with a weight the fragile air in the room can't hold, and they crash back down between them, making Emily shift to look at her properly. Her face is a myriad of earnest emotions, and Penelope can't look away.

"When I say I love you," Emily says, nerves and anticipation and hope in the whisper of her voice, "I mean it. I don't— I don't love you like a friend, Penelope. I love you more than that."

Penelope stares at her, her heart pounding in her chest as she looks at the woman lying next to her, anxious, hopeful features illuminated by soft candlelight.

"I love you more than that, too."

Emily's nervous features smooth into something warm and eager and happy. "You do?"

Penelope nods, and she's sure her face holds a similar expression. "I do."

"Can I kiss you?" Emily whispers, lifting her hand to rest in Penelope's blond, tangled hair.

"Please," she whispers back, and not a second later she's being kissed like she's never been kissed before; like the ocean's dried up and she's the last gulp of water to be found; like all the world's oxygen's disappeared, and she's the only gasp of fresh air left behind. She's kissed like she is Penelope Garcia and that is enough for Emily Prentiss, she's kissed like she doesn't need anything else but to exist in this moment, right here, right now.

She doesn't want it to end, but when it does, when they've pulled away and their faces are inches apart and they're breathing heavily, when she looks into Emily's eyes and sees everything she's always wanted to find in them, she's glad it did, because the first kiss ending means that they can do it again.

Yes, I'm gonna keep writing that Penelope is very invested in Danish culture okay, it's my fav headcanon, leave me alone. I hope you liked this one! <3

taglist: @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @reidology @spencerspecifics @hotchedyke @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @sapphic-stress @wifeyprentiss @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[sturchling]

Gilded Poppy VS Hawkmoth

This is another part to the idea that I saw and talked about with @anastasian-dreamer and @musicfeedsmysoul12 . I just had to write it out! Find the first story here! The Gilded Poppy helping take down Hawkmoth. There will be some spoilers for the final episode of the first season of Jett’s route, so keep that in mind if you still haven’t read it. I hope you all like it!

The Gilded Poppy had never really paid Hawkmoth any mind. Sure he was a pain when his akumas interrupted their heists. But sometimes the chaos worked to their advantage as well. So they never really saw a point in worrying about it. Sure, they always made sure that Tom, Sabine, Marinette, and the bakery were fine after each attack, but that was about as involved as they got with the situation. That was until Hawkmoth came after one of their own. 

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

Jett couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He felt almost numb. One of his best mates, Jock was laid out on the floor in front of him. Dead. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings at all. So it was a good thing that the rest of the Poppy was heard the ticking sound, and pulled him out of the building before the bomb went off. Now, as he stood on the street, watching the building before him burn and a crowd gathered around, Jett didn’t know what to think. Then he saw him at the edge of the crowd. Hugo Vansittart standing there, staring at Jett. Jett instantly saw red. He knew that Hugo did this and he was going to make him pay dearly for it. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark butterfly fly towards his poppy pin. Then suddenly a strange feeling came over Jett, like his rage was increased ten fold. And a soothing voice spoke in his head. That is the last thing he remembered.

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

Jett had been turned into Judgement, a justice based akuma that used an attack he called truth bomb. Anyone hit with his bombs confessed to any crimes they may have committed. For most people hit during this akuma attack, it was small stuff like jay walking, or littering. But Jett made sure to hit Hugo who confessed, during the live TV coverage of this akuma, to killing Jock and making the building explode. The other members of the Poppy made sure to avoid Jett. They wanted to help their friend, but if they got hit they would reveal they were members of the Poppy and that couldn’t happen. Ladybug soon had Jett deakumatized and Hugo was arrested immediately, along with some other citizens who had admitted to more serious crimes. Now Jett and the rest of the Poppy were angry for a whole new reason. How dare Hawkmoth come after one of them. They were fine leaving him to Ladybug, until now. An attack on one of them was an attack on them all, and no one messed with the Gilded Poppy and got away with it.

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

That said, the Poppy knew they would need help. They knew they needed to contact Ladybug. So, they left a burner phone at the top of the Eiffel Tower, where she and Chat Noir often met during patrol. They also set up a camera pointed at the platform, so they would know when the two heroes arrived. As soon as the two heroes arrived on scene, the phone lit up with a new text message. The two heroes were confused, but looked at the phone thinking someone had lost it and maybe they could return it to its owner. But when they read the message they knew it was for them. Hi Ladybug and Chat Noir. We are the Gilded Poppy. We wish to help eliminate Hawkmoth as a threat. He has become quite a pest to us. Our only condition is that if we meet, you do not tell anyone who we are. If this is agreeable to you, meet us here same time tomorrow. -Thief Lord

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

Marinette was freaking out. She had been able to keep her composure while she talked with Chat Noir and they had agreed to at least hear the group out. But now that she is alone, she was panicking. That manner of speech from the text reminded her of someone. It reminded her of the way Nikolai spoke. And now that she thought about it, she remembered Nikolai, Remy, Vivienne, Jett, Leon, and Zoe all wearing the same pin. A golden poppy pin. Oh my god. They are the Gilded Poppy. I am friends with the Gilded Poppy. It didn’t bother Marinette, but it was certainly shocking. But she couldn’t be sure, maybe she was overthinking again. She wouldn’t be sure until she met with them tomorrow. 

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

Marinette was freaking out internally again. She and Chat Noir had just arrived at the Eiffel Tower when she heard Nikolai’s voice from behind her. “I assume since you are here, you agree to our terms and won’t turn us into the police?” Marinette did her best to curb her panic, and slip into her Ladybug personality. “Yes, we won’t turn you in. Come out here.” And then, standing before her, were all her friends. She had been right. They were the Gilded Poppy. For their part, the Gilded Poppy was also surprised. Sure they knew the two heroes were young, but they didn’t realize how young until now. They couldn’t be older than Marinette. But they pushed that aside, they had work to do.

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

Marinette quickly took charge of the meeting and brought the thieves up to speed on everything. That the source of Hawkmoth’s power was his miraculous and how once they took that from him, he wouldn’t be a threat anymore. The Poppy felt comfortable. This was right up their alley. Stealing some fancy jewelry was nothing new to them. It would be weird to return the jewels to Ladybug and not sell them, but the Poppy understood that it was too dangerous for that to happen. For the next few weeks, the Poppy put all their resources to trying to get any clues towards who Hawkmoth could be. They also continued to meet with either Ladybug or Chat Noir every other day or so to go over any information they may have found. It was one night, during one of these meetings, that Marinette made a mistake.

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

They had just finished up going over all their information. They were getting close to a suspect and the Poppy was sure they would have a name for Ladybug in the next week. As she turned to leave, Ladybug called over her shoulder “Thanks guys! See you at the bakery tomorrow.” Marinette froze as she realized what she just said. She hoped maybe they would just brush it off, but of course, the Poppy caught exactly what she had said. And it only took them about two seconds to realize what that meant. They had always thought Ladybug looked like Marinette, but convinced themselves that it was just a coincidence. But how else could they explain that comment. Remy stepped closer to Marinette, who still stood frozen on the edge of the platform in a panic. “Marinette? Is that you?” All of the Poppy was just staring at her and Marinette didn’t see a way out. So she just detransformed.

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

Needless to say, there was a lot of explaining to do that night. Marinette told them everything that had happened since she received her miraculous and all her adventures as Ladybug. The Poppy was horrified to learn that this girl that they viewed as a little sister had been fighting Hawkmoth without much help. And their rage toward Hawkmoth was renewed all over again. Now this monster had gone after another one of them. He had been making Marinette’s life hard for years now. And it was going to end soon. 

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

By the end of the week, The Poppy had used all their Underbelly resources and found a name as a suspect for Hawkmoth. Gabriel Agreste. He was the only person in Paris that had the resources and time to be Hawkmoth. They immediately told Marinette through the burner phone they had been using and the group of thieves met with Paris’ heroes. Chat Noir seemed hesitant to consider Gabriel as a suspect, but did eventually agree that it couldn’t hurt to check into the lead. Since the heroes couldn’t exactly be breaking into a random civilian’s home, it was decided that the Poppy would break into the manor that night and search for the two missing miraculous. With a description of the two jewels from Ladybug, Nikolai, Remy, Vivienne, and Jett quietly broke into the mansion and searched the place top to bottom for the jewels or any proof that Gabriel was Hawkmoth. Zoe remained at the hotel, monitoring all the security systems for the mansion as well as the camera feeds from the cameras being worn by Nikolai and Vivienne. Ladybug and Chat Noir were with her, watching the camera feeds. Leon was outside, ready to speed everyone away from the mansion at a moments notice. 

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

When the group went into Gabriel’s office, they found the hidden safe in the wall, and inside that was the Peacock miraculous. Vivienne grabbed it and put the jewel in her pocket, before continuing to feel along the wall for any other secrets. Meanwhile, Chat Noir watched in horror as Vivienne pulled the miraculous out of the safe. This at the least confirms his father is involved somehow. Then the group accidently hit the right buttons to open the secret elevator up to Hawkmoth’s lair. When the cameras being worn by Nikolai and Vivienne showed the room with all the akuma butterflies flying around, it was clear that Gabriel Agreste must be Hawkmoth. Finally, Nikolai silently entered Gabriel’s bedroom. And there, resting on his nightstand was the butterfly miraculous. Nikolai snatched it and quickly left the room, as quietly as he came. 

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

The Poppy returned to the hotel and gave the two miraculous to Ladybug. Ladybug called the police as soon as she had the miraculous. She told them that some concerned citizens had told her that they thought Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth. She also told them that after some investigation it was proven to be true and she had recovered the missing miraculous, making it safe for them to go arrest Gabriel. When the police arrived, they found Gabriel tearing the mansion apart, looking for his miraculous. He was arrested just in time for the morning news. Soon rumors started that the other members of the Agreste household were involved as well. Adrien, feeling he had no other choice at the time, had already revealed himself to Ladybug and accidently in front of the Poppy as well the night they recovered the miraculous. Marinette also revealed herself to him. So, knowing that Adrien wasn’t involved, Ladybug publicly announced that she had cleared Adrien of any wrong doing and that he had no idea what his father had been doing. Adrien ended up living with the Dupain-Chengs, being unofficially adopted until a more permanent situation was decided on.

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

Once everything had calmed down, Remy and Jett started joking that Marinette and Adrien should join them on a heist. Or at least, it had started as joking. Soon, the rest of the Poppy had joined in and they were completely serious. Jett would often wrap his arms around their shoulders, saying “Come on you two! You could do some amazing things for a heist. Think of the possibilities!” Of course they both immediately denied it. After all, Paris’ heroes couldn’t be involved in crime. But then Nikolai said that they could just steal back a stolen painting from another thief and return it to its rightful owners. The Poppy didn’t care about keeping whatever they stole, they just wanted to go on a heisting adventure with the two kids they viewed as their siblings. When he heard the suggestion, Adrien was excited and begged Marinette to agree. Eventually Marinette relented. The combined force of the Poppy begging and Adrien’s puppy dog eyes was too much.

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

They worked a small heist with the Poppy to steal back a painting that had been stolen from the Louvre many years ago. It didn’t take long to retrieve the painting and Ladybug and Chat Noir made sure it was returned, anonymously so as not to raise any questions about how they recovered the painting. Soon after the heist was completed, it was time for the Poppy to leave Paris for their next heist. The thieves came by the bakery to say goodbye to Tom, Sabine, Marinette, and Adrien. They never thought these four people would become so important to them, but now they couldn’t imagine their lives without them. After saying goodbye to the group and seeing them off, Marinette and Adrien went back up to Marinette’s room. When they opened the door, they saw something shining on Marinette’s desk. Sitting on her desk were two golden pins. Two golden poppy pins. The two teens smiled wide as they picked up the pins and fixed them to their shirts, happily waiting for the day they would see their friends, the Poppy, again.

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed The Radio Star - Chapter 6 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hello! I’m sorry for being so inactive, I just started up college again this semester and it’s been a long week and it’s only Wednesday. I think I might try to update Sunday every week starting next week so we will see how that works out!

Warnings: Soft mention of drugs once again, They are just talking again and things are being put in motion. 

Plot: Spencer and you have conversations and make some plans. You have a certain kind of dream. 

Word Count: 2.1K

Spencer could feel his cheeks grow warm, a grin creeping its way onto his face. There was the pesky idea of fate repeating in the back of his mind. Spencer suppressed the idea, not wanting it to ruin the moment. He was too busy zoning out, thinking about how easy the smile on his face appeared when he heard your voice, not noticing the growing silence over the line. “Spencer?” your voice called through the phone.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m here!” Spencer laughed quickly, clearing his throat nervously. “Why are you up?”

He heard you laughing over the phone, nervous knots twisting in his stomach. “Spencer, it’s seven o’clock.” You giggled, feeling lighter than you had all day. You heard him laugh nervously at himself as he muttered an embarrassment, “Right.”

Spencer licked his lips, “Why did you call?” he questioned, trying his best to relax on his couch.

You felt the weight in your chest replace the butterflies, swallowing hard. You had kept it all in, it was hard to pick the reason for your call. You took in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “Things have just been piling up, and I feel like I need some help.” your fingers pinched the comforter between your thumb and index.

“What kind of things have been piling up?” Spencer asked, straightening as he listened.

You pinched the comforter tighter, jaw clenching down. You didn’t want to cry with Dr. Spencer Reid on the phone. Maybe it was because you hated feeling vulnerable. You tried your best to relax and remember that he wouldn’t judge you, he said to call if you needed anything, and you did. “I don’t want to say something stupid,”

“You won’t,”

“Well, it kind of started when I left the hospital. I had a dream, a memory, one night. I could feel her, she wasn’t there, because she’s dead! Then,” you let out a calming breath, “Then, I was in my mom’s kitchen, and I saw this pink light. I was back there, like in the room, I could feel it, smell it.” You shivered, overwhelming anxiety dawning on you.

You felt safe with Spencer, you couldn’t explain why you did, but you did. Was it because he was the first face you saw that day? Or because he had come to check up on you in the hospital?

Despite your overwhelming feeling of trust towards Spencer, you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in the back of your mind that told you he thought you were crazy. Clammy hands rubbed against your pajama pants in a desperate attempt to dry them.

Spencer wanted to spew statistics, say something about how many victims experience post-traumatic stress disorder, but he stopped himself. He wanted to dig deeper, he wanted you to know you weren’t alone. He cleared his throat, trying to sound calm. “I know what it’s like, to feel like they’re still around. It seems irrational to think that a dead person is around, that getting saved was all a dream, but I know what it’s like.”

Your heart rate slowed at his words, closing your eyes as you chuckled gently. “You just have to say that because you're my federal agent,” teasing him softly over the phone.

“Hey, that’s Doctor federal agent to you.” Spencer joked, a tiny chuckle building up in his throat. “I’m saying it because I know,” he ruffled his hair as he tried to think about what to say, falling back into a silent panic. He wasn’t used to talking to people about it, especially people that he didn’t know. He tried to recall his emotions, trying his hardest to remember. He wanted to be a beacon of light for you, something to follow, something to trust. He swallowed hard, “About two years ago, I was kidnapped,”

“Spencer,” your tone was so soft, so sweet, he felt his chest pound. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” You heard a gentle protest on the other line, shushing him. “Spencer, really, it already means the world to me that you gave me your number. You didn’t even have to pick up and yet, you did.”

Spencer hesitated, wanting to insist that he was fine with talking about it, to insist that it didn’t bother him, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that it wasn’t something he was comfortable with talking about and you were right. He didn’t even know you, but here he was trying to convince you that you were safe. That you weren’t alone. “I’m sorry,”

“For what?”

Spencer grinned, feeling lame as he searched for an answer. After a few moments of silence, you spoke up again, “Spencer, I’m not working right now and I’m always alone,” you trailed off, your cheeks flaring, “Well, I was wondering if I could keep calling you. As long as you aren’t busy,”

You were waiting to hear Spencer’s calming voice reject you, but you could hear the excitement in his voice as he answered with an enthusiastic “Yes,”

You felt your chest tighten, “I’ll call you tomorrow at eight?”

“Eight sounds good,”

“Okay,”

“Okay,”

You quickly said a nervous goodbye, hanging up after hearing Spencer bid you farewell.

---

It was night, cool breezes blew through your hair, as you looked up with a smile. Your arms wrapped around his neck, large hands holding your hips. You ignored the excitement shooting down your spine, your body feeling nuclear under his touch, your emotions being the bomb and his touch was the impact. You felt so wonderfully warm if something touched you, you were sure it would heat up in a second.

You felt his hands move away, pulling at his neck for a thick scarf, wrapping it around your neck delicately, pulling you closer by the ends of it. He laughed, peppermint filling your senses, leaning down quickly. You caught a glance of hazel eyes before you woke up in your lonesome bed.

A pit formed in the bottom of your stomach as you push yourself up on your bed, blinking as you registered who you were just dreaming about. You let out a whisper of a desperate no, dramatically falling back down onto the bed with a groan. Your hands rubbed your eyelids, trying not to picture Spencer leaning down, trying not to remember how he smelt of peppermint. How did you even know that? You scolded yourself as you got up, throwing on some semi-appropriate clothes and heading for the door with your crutches.

You needed some air, you knew he was in your dreamland of romance because he was the last person you talked to last night. After the phone call, you spent the rest of the long night on your bed with a copy of The Picture Of Dorian Gray. Why couldn’t demonic Dorian Gray live in your dreamland? You limped into the coffee shop, holding back a giddy smile as you gave Spencer Reid’s lips one last thought.

You had spent the rest of your day, doing mindless tasks; you read, you cleaned, watched mindless television, anything to keep yourself distracted. Your mind kept drifting towards darker ends, today seemingly worse than the last. Your body yearning desperately for numbing bliss, a gentle reminder that despite all of your romantic dwellings you were still living in an unbearable existence.

You were about to endure another episode of staring up at the ceiling when there was a gentle knock at the door. You welcomed the distraction with a grin, hobbling as fast as you could, over to the door. You opened it to see a delivery woman smiling back at you as she handed you a tiny package, you signed for it quickly and politely shut the door. You sat at your kitchen table, opening the package with a tiny struggle.

It was free from all the tape now, but you couldn’t stop the sick feeling from eating at you. What if you had another stalker? How stupid were you to just bring a package into your house? After everything that had happened, you cursed yourself for your carelessness. You swallowed a quick gulp of air, opening up the package slowly. You let out the air with a tiny gasp, seeing a tiny card on the inside that read Spencer. The note was right next to a box of peppermint tea and a small copy of Oscar Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose.

You tried not to let it get to you as fire decorated your cheeks, you opened the note quickly, reading messy handwriting.

Y/N,

Since you said you were always alone, let this keep you company.

-Spencer

You bit the inside of your cheek, heart racing as your stomach filled with the fluttering wings of butterflies. Before you could let your mind go any farther, you suppressed them, choking the life out of beating wings in your stomach. It wasn’t fair to him, to Spencer. He was too good and you were here in your apartment, yearning for a drug to satisfy you. He didn’t need that. He shouldn’t have to fix you and he wasn’t going to be your coping mechanism.  

You stood up, grabbing the peppermint tea, slipping it into the cabinet with a dramatic huff. On your way back to the couch you grabbed the book, sitting down and letting it do the job of keeping you company.

After a cup of peppermint tea, you called Spencer’s phone. You felt a very familiar lump grow in your throat as you heard the first ring. Despite being in the good company of a good book, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer. It seemed that thoughts of him kept you more company than anything Oscar Wilde could produce. You let yourself be convinced that he was just a friend, that he was just someone trying to help you get through a rough patch. He was just someone who understood.

Another ring. You squeezed your eyes tight, the sudden urge to hang up the phone was becoming slightly overwhelming. You were about to hang up the phone at the third ring, but then you heard a very breathless “Hello?”

Anxiety exited your system, warmth replacing the void effortlessly. “Hi,” you chuckled, hearing a heavy pant on the other end of the line, “Did I interrupt a workout  routine?”

“No,” Spencer let out a breathy laugh, relaxing at the sound of your voice. It was a welcome distraction from his day, they didn’t have a case, it was just a long day. “I was just cleaning up,”

“Is the doctor dirty?” you questioned, the word choice setting in as your cheeks became a light pink, stuttering to fix your mistake. “I mean, messy! Are you messy?”

Spencer didn’t think the question was all that odd till he realized that it could have been taken out of context and then he let out a tiny chuckle, shaking his head slowly. “No, I’m not dirty, just cluttered,” he answered, a smile on his lips. “Did you get the package?”

“Yes,” Your voice rising in volume with excitement, “I did, it was perfect. Thank you so much.” A tiny piece of guilt slithering into your mind as you stole a glance over at the book next to you. You were about to speak when Spencer cut you off.

“I was just thinking about what you said last night and thought it would cheer you up,”

Your guilty thoughts came to a halt, a blush creeping its way towards your ears as you let out a gentle, “It did,”

“I’m glad it did,”

You let out a soft hum, trying to come up with something to say. You wanted to ask him how his day was, or ask him how he was feeling. But all of those questions seemed weak. You could’ve told him that you wanted to be friends, but your emotions decided for you. “Would you be alright with going out, like as friends?”

“As friends?”

“I would like us to go out as friends, yes.” your voice shook slightly with anxiety as you waited for his response.

Spencer couldn’t fight back the laugh bubbling in his chest, chuckling at how nervous you seemed. “I would love to,”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you might think I’m weird or something?”

“Y/N,”

“Yes?”

“I would want nothing more than to go out with you, as a friend, that is.”

[cafedanslanuit]

pairing: jumin x mc

tags/warnings: canon divergence from episode three of the jumin bad ending dlc, mentions of parental abuse, fix-it fic, happy ending, fluff.

summary: your late night conversation with jumin takes another turn into a much better scenario.

words: 1.9k

"When I was young, I had no idea such sweetness could exist. That love could be so heart-warming and good.”

Jumin’s eyes are tired and I feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. There’s a raw vulnerability in his eyes I haven’t seen since we lived at the penthouse and I’m scared the tiniest move or word from my part could shatter him in pieces. His hand is resting on my waist and I feel his muscles tighten in yearning as he speaks, almost as if he’s scared I’ll disappear.

“You said you had bad memories around your basement. Can you tell me about them?”

“I don’t know how that would help,” Jumin answers, his mouth forming a thin line. I push his dark hair away from his forehead softly and give him a small smile.

“How about we try?” I offer.

Jumin shifts on the bed a little closer to me. He rubs his eyes and then sets his hand back on my waist, his thumb sliding under the fabric of my pajamas and drawing idle circles on my skin.

"My mother would lock me up in the basement when I was a child,” he starts, his gaze unfocused. “Once I was locked up for seventeen hours and fourteen minutes. I managed to find a way out eventually.

My expression falls at his words, my chest clenching at his remembrance. I immediately flush my body against his, his arms holding him tightly. I feel his muscles tensing for a couple of seconds before melting under my touch. Jumin buries his head on the crook of my neck and lets out a long sigh, so long it makes me feel he had been holding it for longer than I could imagine.

It all starts falling into place. The subtle jokes about keeping me inside a cage to protect me from harm and the way he had done the same to Elizabeth the 3rd before she escaped. I had always thought Jumin’s desire for control was rooted deep inside his need to be on hold of things. I knew he had been handled several responsibilities from a young age and I always guessed that where my need to control his surroundings started but now I knew I was wrong. 

I was so wrong.

I had spent months feeding into his control fantasy, thinking it would ground him enough to find peace within himself and now I feel like a moron for letting it get this far. For thinking he would eventually start letting me go little by little when he felt better about himself. But I had definitely underestimated how much the man in front of me had gone through and how my intentions of helping him were practically useless.

I hold him in silence for a few more moments, my right hand caressing his dark locks while my arm is still around his body protectively. A million questions swim around my mind and I don’t know where to start. So, I decide to follow the line of Jumin’s story.

"Jumin, do you think your mother loved you?"

He lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyebrows scrunch for a couple of seconds while his holds tightens on me.

"... I have never experienced my mother's love.”

A lump forms in my throat and I carefully cup his cheek with my hand, my thumb stroking his skin softly.

"I know,” I whisper. “But when you were a kid, did you think she did the things she did out of love?"

"I guess? Parents are mandated to take care of their children. So I assume a part of me thought she did it out of maternal love, yes," he reasons, his grey eyes surveying the room as he spoke.

"So, do you think maybe you're keeping me in this mansion because a part of you thinks that it's okay to lock up someone you love?"

Jumin furrows his eyebrows and shifts on the bed uncomfortably. I watch him in silence, almost listening to the gears inside his head turn, hoping my questions would help him ease the mess of threads he had talked me about back in the penthouse.

"Maybe,” he mutters, his fingers drumming against my skin.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m not leaving you, darling. My heart only knows one name and it’s yours. There’s no need to keep me restrained when you already own every part of my soul.”

“You said this was okay,” Jumin counters. “You even chose the heels where I put the tracking device.”

“I did. I…” I sigh. “You were hurting so much, my love. I thought if I complied with your demands you would find peace. I thought if I let you control me you would feel better. But I was wrong and I’m sorry. I see you losing yourself more and more as the days go by and it breaks my heart,” I confess, my thumb grazing the space between his chin and his lower lip. “I fell in love with a noble man who would do anything to protect the people he loves. A honest man, who may come off as blunt, but you know he would never lie to you. A man who is kind and loving.”

Jumin listens to me, his eyes widened. In his pajamas he looks young, a glint of fear in his expression as he tries to sink in my words.

“I don’t know if I can give that love,” he whispers.

“You can,” I assure him.

“How can you know?”

“There’s so much love inside of you, Jumin Han,” I smile, letting my hand settle on his chest, right above his heart. “I saw it the night you read me to sleep. I saw it all the times you helped the other members of the RFA expecting nothing in return. I see it when your eyes light up when you’ve had a good dinner with your dad. I don’t know why you believe you are unable to give warm love, because you’ve been filling up all my senses with exactly that from the moment I decided to stay over at your penthouse. I am in love with you, Jumin Han.”

“Say it again,” he mutters, bringing my body closer to him. The remains of his perfume still linger on him and I love how relaxing I find it. How much it feels like home.

“I love you.”

“Again,” he demands, his lips lingering against mine. I smile.

“I love you, Jumin Han. I am in love with you. Truthfully, madly, without any sort of question or doubt,” I say, holding his face tenderly. “I am in love with your heart and soul.”

He finally breaks the distance between us both and his lips collide against mine. His kiss is soft, yet firm, his hands holding me into place. I let my body mold itself against his and wonder if it’s alright to love someone as intensely as I love this man. His tongue grazes against my lips for a moment before softly pushing its way inside. His grip on my body tightens as he keeps deepening the kiss and I have to remind myself we’re not done talking to have the strength to pull away as softly as I can. I lay a couple of more kisses against his warm lips before smiling at him.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to C&R,” I say and Jumin’s shocked expression doesn’t take long to show up. “Just a quick visit so you can take care of the paperwork Jaehee mentioned yesterday,” I explain, my fingers stroking his arm in a soothing motion. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs at C&R’s cafeteria.”

Jumin shakes his head. “No.”

“Jumin,” I say, holding his face and forcing him to look at me. “Just for a couple of hours and just so we can try something new. After that, we’ll return here. I promise.”

He lets out a long and tired sigh. When he looks at me again, my eyes are set on him, the smallest pout on my lips. To my surprise, he laughs.

“My mind keeps telling me there’s a chance you won’t be there,” Jumin admits, stroking my sides with his hand.

“You are my home, Jumin,” I remind him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be but your arms.”

Jumin stays in silence, his eyes lost somewhere in the bedroom and I can almost listen to the loud and contradicting thoughts inside his head.

“If you’re still not done after two hours, you can leave the rest for another day,” I offer. “Two hours tops, my love. Could we try?”

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He looks defeated, yet there’s love in the way he sets his eyes back to mine.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my love,” he breathes out and a big smile makes its way to my face. I press two soft kisses against his lips and then a couple more on his right cheek and forehead. “I’m sorry for my troubling thoughts.”

I shake my head. “I love you, Jumin. Troubling thoughts and all. I adore your mind,” I smile, pushing some of his hair away from his forehead. “I understand you’ve gone through rough times during your childhood and I know there’s nothing I can do to erase those memories. I want you to revisit them, understand them and finally heal. And no matter how long that takes you, I will always be there by your side”.

Jumin smiles and holds my waist as he turns on the bed, leaving me to rest on top of his chest. I see the warm smile back on his face and I realize how much I had missed it.

“Always?” he asks. I press a kiss on his lips.

“I promise. You are the love I always dreamt about since I was a little girl.”

Jumin arches an eyebrow.

“You dreamt about living in a mansion?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I dreamt about someone loving me exactly as I am, no matter how low I thought about myself some days I dreamt about someone caring for my well being and protecting me if necessary. Most of all, I dreamt about someone that would make me feel like there’s no one else in the universe but us both.”

“And do I make you feel that way?” he asks, a playful smile on his face that makes me wonder if it’s possible I love him more than I did an hour ago. I nod at him, an equally cheeky grin on my face strengthened by the knowledge that my words made him decide to do better.

I had never loved anyone as much as I loved Jumin. So any hardships that would come between us, would face to face us both. There’s a soft red hue on his cheeks again and for a moment it’s hard to recognize the cold man I first met in a chat room.

But Jumin Han is more than that. He’s more than his job, more than his money, more than the darkness and tangled thread inside his mind. He’s kind, he’s loyal and the rock his friends turn to when they find themselves in dire situations. He’s had everyone’s back before, in one way or another, and I love that he’s now giving me the chance to have his. To show him that he also deserves warm, pure love. That even if he can deal with everything by himself he doesn’t have to. Not anymore.

“You do, my love. You do.”

[capsicletho]

Sledding Away

​

a reader x tony stark and morgan stark one shot by @beaubatns

gif credit: @marvelgifs​

trigger warning: Get ready for a whole bunch of fluff!

word count: 1.3k

summary: It’s snowing at the cabin and Tony and Morgan loved spending time in the snow, but when dad has to help mom prepare for dinner, Morgan has other mischievous ideas.

author’s note: This my first time rewatching Endgame after I first watched it in theatres and I choose to focus on Tony’s happy domestic life instead of the sad ending. I don’t know if this has been done before, but here’s my take on this little headcanon! 

“Alright, Little Miss, Daddy’s gotta go help Mommy make dinner,” Tony groaned, his own weight straining him as he pushed himself off the ground. “Are you gonna be okay here for a while?”

“Yeah,” Morgan grinned, comfortably sitting on the little bean bag chair Tony had fit inside the igloo they built while watching an episode of Doc McStuffins that was projected on the wall.

“Okay. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Tony reminded her before hunching out of the cramped igloo.

From the kitchen, you could see Tony crawl out of the igloo he had made with Morgan. Well, Tony did all of the work with the help of Dum-E and U; Morgan mostly just sat on her little chair for moral support with some snickerdoodles and the hot cocoa that Tony had poured into a small thermos cup lid. Then again, Dum-E mostly knocks holes into the walls while U records the whole thing, so really it’s just Tony.

You smiled as he spotted you staring out into the playground from the kitchen. Tony glanced back one more time into the igloo to make sure Morgan is safe before heading into the house.

“She’s having fun,” he chuckled, immediately washing his hands and then checking the oven where a pie crust was blind baking.

“Is she gonna be okay there alone?” You asked, placing sliced Granny Smith apples into a bowl to start the pie filling. 

“Yeah, Dum-E’s feeding her snickerdoodles as we speak,” Tony eased your worries by placing his phone on the countertop which displayed your daughter lounging on her tiny bean bag chair with blankets and dolls watching her favourite show and drinking some cocoa while Dum-E held a small plate of snickerdoodles right next to her.

You smiled, your worries assuaged because of course Tony knew to put his surveillance cameras as baby monitors inside the igloo before leaving his daughter alone there to help you out in the kitchen. 

“Where do you want me?” He asked.

“Get started on the pasta for me,” you said. Tony was not exactly the best cook, but the chances of burning pasta is minimal and all he has to do was get them out of the box and wait for 8 minutes, so you knew it was a task you could trust him with. 

“Alright,” Tony obeyed and began to work. Once a while, he glanced at the monitor displaying Morgan and then out the window at the igloo.

You continued with the apple pie filling, combining all the ingredients in a pot. “Oh, I walked by the tower the other day,” you told him. Although you were living the quiet life now, you still come to work every now and again just to make sure things are in order and you happened to walk past the Stark Tower. “People were coming out dressed as Elvis Presley, I think they’re having a contest or something,” you laughed.

“What?” Tony looked at you, incredulous. 

“Maybe there’s a lookalike contest or something,” you giggled.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony shook his head. “That tower used to be where a puny deity from outer space gets his face bashed in, but sure, Elvis Presley is a legend,” he remarked sarcastically.

You and Tony very invested in the Elvis Presley lookalike contest and laughters that the two of you missed the scurry of little snow-boots-clad feet leaving the igloo and making its way into the garage. You turned around as the oven dinged, signalling that your pie crust was done and took them out, placing them on the counter when you noticed the flash of a familiar red and blue against the white snow.

You looked up to see Captain America’s vibranium shield floating on tiny little legs. The scene did not register to you until Morgan set the shield down on the snowy ground, star spangled-side down.

“Oh my God, Tony. Babe!” your right arm flailed around to catch Tony’s attention from across the room and pointed out the window. Abandoning the strained pasta on the countertop, Tony looked out the window with you to see Morgan sitting on the concave of the shield and pushed herself down the little hill of your cabin.

You yelled her name and Tony cursed, immediately running to the door and ignoring the fact that neither of you were wearing anything thick enough to keep you warm against the freezing weather. It was too late, however, because the little Stark spawn was already zooming past you and Tony with her gleeful giggles echoing across the property. U was right across from the two of you, recording everything as the two of you ran after Morgan. It would have been comical if it was not for the fact that you are getting a heart attack over your daughter’s antics.

“Tony, do something!” You pleaded in panic, but he was already one step ahead of you. Red and gold flashed right next to you, enveloping Tony’s form and he flew off in high speed to catch Morgan before she could make it to the barriers of the property.

You slowed down and stopped running as soon as Tony caught up to Morgan, floating right in front of her and putting his hands on the rim of the shield to overcome the inertia as smoothly as he could.

“Where do you think you’re going? Didn’t I tell you to wait in the igloo?” Tony reprimanded her with the gentlest warning tone a parent would ever use. It is part of the reason why Morgan was as mischievous as he was, because not only did she inherit the trait from him, but she also knew that her Daddy did not have the heart to be stern with her.

“Hehehe, hi, Daddy,” Morgan giggled as Tony lifted the shield off the ground, carrying her back towards you in it. 

Tony landed in front of you as you put two hands on your hips. God, you were turning into your mother; you always hated when she did that because you knew what was coming, and Morgan did too. She put on the best puppy eyes and little pout that she could muster to get into your good graces.

“Morgan H. Stark, what did you think you were doing?” You lifted her off the shield and onto your hips.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she hid her face in the crook of your neck. Tony’s suit disappeared to reveal a smirking and proud father as he brushed the snow off the shield. You shot a look at him, not wanting his proud smile to encourage the behaviour.

“Do not do that again, okay? Not when there’s no one to watch you, because you might have been hurt,” you told her, brushing her hair back in order to look her in the eye.

“Does that mean I can do it again now?” Morgan reasoned now that the two of you are there to supervise her.

It took all your strength not to laugh. “No, because dinner is almost ready,” you said and Morgan pouted, leaning her head on your chest to look away from you. No matter how hard it was, you had to let her know that what she did was not okay and letting her do it again would only encourage her more. 

You turned around and trudged back into the house, Tony right next to you, gently poking on the girl’s waist to catch her attention. Morgan’s head did not move, but her eyes were trained at him.

“Tomorrow,” Tony mouthed quietly and Morgan’s face lit up with a smile. You looked at the two of them and shot them a warning look, but your lips could not hide the smile you have been holding any longer. Tony pressed his index finger to his lips and Morgan stifled a giggle as the two of you entered the house.

[roseybulb]

Jealousy at its Best

In which the brothers are jealous of an angel stealing your time and reveal how they steal it back.

I haven't written an xReader fic before so I hope you like it! I was originally going to use this prompt for my oc Lenna but decided to give this a try! This will also take place in a time after the events of lesson six!

WARNINGS: None! :P

Demons were naturally very jealous creatures, the desire to own something or someone and keep it for themselves was a constant need. Sometimes their specific natures made it worse. Prideful demons took great pleasure in knowing the object of their affection wanted them and only them. Demons of greed needed as much (and always more) of their object of desire as possible. Beware if you caught the eyes of a demon of envy or wrath. Both would rage at the idea of someone stealing your attention away from them. A demon of gluttony would keep you around because, without you, food would never be the same. It would be dull and almost flavorless. They would be hungry for something sweet, something like that sweet smile of yours. It goes without saying why one should be careful in capturing the attention of a demon of lust. The burning desire would consume you. 

Somehow you had drawn the attention of all six. All six of them eager to steal you away and monopolize all of your time. 

If only that damn angel would go away. 

Since the day you protected him from Lucifer, Luke had clung to your side any chance he had. He sat with you in the classes you shared, delighting you with tales from Heaven and about his precious Micheal. You had lunch with him on school grounds, studied with him in the library. You were his taste-tester for new sweets recipes. He followed you like a lost puppy, yapping at your heels and growling at any demons that tried to approach you. 

Luke was especially weary towards Lucifer, for obvious enough reasons but it still annoyed the eldest brother to no end. You had forgiven him so what was the big deal? Lucifer had been gracious enough to allow Luke to live, the least he could do was stay away from you when Lucifer wanted your attention. Not that he would ever admit he wanted such a thing from a human of course. The brother Luke was least weary towards was Beelzebub, perhaps it was because you had also been protecting the Avatar of Gluttony that day or maybe it was because he had let Luke stay in his room. It certainly helped that Beelzebub was calm as long as he was eating which is why you carried sweets in your pockets just for Beelzebub.

It would be so simple for any of the brothers to separate you from the angel, he was awfully jumpy for a guard-dog. Despite that, none of them made any moves to scare Luke away from you. You looked so happy when you were with the angel. Your eyes the softest they had ever seen. It was like watching an older sibling spend time with their precious little brother. Your kindness and warmth moved them. The brothers wanted so desperately to have those eyes regard them as softly as they did Luke. They just wanted it to mean something a little more than familial love. 

Since most of your attention was on Luke at school, the brothers competed with one another at home. 

Lucifer would pull you into his office and have you do your homework there. When you had asked why he told you he wanted to make sure you were passing. He claimed that he didn't want you failing and making Diavolo look bad. You only agreed because you could see a hint of something else in his eyes. The two of you spent hours in comfortable silence, the sound of rustling papers filling the space. Lucifer would sometimes look over and watch you as you worked. The way you rested your hand against your head, the way your lips moved silently as you worked out a problem. His favorite part was when you smiled to yourself, giddy to have solved a problem that had been troubling you. You always stayed until your eyes were drooping from exhaustion, Lucifer would excuse you and watch as you left his study. He eagerly awaited your presence in here tomorrow. 

Mammon took you shopping with him. Well, it wasn't so much shopping as it was wandering the plaza and looking into windows. You usually ended up pulling him away from shop entrances, knowing that he didn't have money for expensive jewelry, clothes, or whatever it was that had caught his eye. While Mammon did find that part annoying, he also enjoyed the way you would laugh at him when he said something funny (some of it Mammon had said seriously but he wasn't going to correct you). He was greedy for the way you smiled at him, the sound of your laugh. Parting from you at the end of the day was pure torture. He always wanted more. Sometimes you let him into your room and he was able to spend even more time with you. Time with you was precious to him, even if he wouldn't admit it to your face. 

Leviathan was constantly inviting you into his room to try out a new game or binge an entire anime with him. You would bring his favorite snacks and settled in for a long night. He liked how you reacted to things. Your brows would furrow when you were frustrated with a level or when your least favorite character in an anime appeared. You laughed when something funny happened and you didn't get too upset when he beat you in a game. You listened to him ramble about theories he had about what was going to happen next. He would steal much more of your time if he could. He was so envious of the way his brothers casually stole you away from him. You were his Henry. His closest friend. He was certain he wanted you more than the others did too. Every time you left he thought of pulling you back into his room for just one more episode or one more round. But he didn't, too caught up in his insecurities. He worried that you pitied him as the shut-in-brother. Leviathan often reminded himself that it was better to let you go. No matter how badly his envious nature was telling him to pull you back to him. He just counted the seconds until he was able to pull you back into his little world. 

Satan loved reading with you. The two of you often sat on his bed, thighs pressed together with the only sound filling the room was pages turning. He loved these silent moments. If he was being honest, time with you was even sweeter when he had successfully stolen you away from Lucifer. The eldest was quick to hide his annoyance in your eyes but Satan saw it. It was so easy to wound a demon of prides pride. There was only one thing that Satan enjoyed more than reading with you or annoying Lucifer. It was when you fell asleep on his shoulder. Your breaths soft as the book in your lap slowly shut as your hands relaxed. In a place where you were at the bottom of the food chain and living in a houseful of demons that could kill you, the mere fact that you can fall asleep on him is shocking. You trusted him that much. Somehow you believed that Satan wouldn't hurt you or that he wasn't a threat. There was a part of him that thought you naive for such thinking but for now, he couldn't be bothered to care. He much preferred feeling your warm body so relaxed against his so for now he wouldn't do anything to disrupt that. 

Asmodeus was the one that was most likely to interrupt your time with any of the other brothers. He wouldn't pull you away from them or try to chase any of his brother away. He would enter the room and immediately head over to you. His arms would circle your waist and he would rest his chin on your shoulder if possible. It was even more enticing when you were in another brother's room. That was when he would tease you by kissing your exposed skin or stroking your arms and legs. He did that until he was forced out of the room. Sometimes he brought you into his room where he would convince you to try on outfit after outfit, each one more revealing than the last. He loved seeing your cheeks grow pink in embarrassment. He tried to convince you to stay overnight in his room countless times but it was like his idiotic older brother had a sixth sense for it because Mammon always ended up barging in right when it was about to get good. Next time he'd get you, he was sure. 

Beelzebub was rather simple, feed him and he'd be happy. As the brother Luke trusted the most (but not by much, the angel was worried Beelzebub would grow hungry enough to eat you) Beelzebub got away with being around you more. He liked how sweet you were, how kind. You always had a little something to feed him and you cooked a little extra just for him when it was your turn to make dinner. After the day you protected him, Beelzebub made it his personal mission to protect you on and off school grounds. He was happy to listen to you talk as he walked with you through town or on your way back home. Seeing you happy made Beelzebub temporarily forget about his hunger. He spent time with you in the kitchen and visited your room often. He didn't mind giving you up to any of his brothers as long as he was sure you were safe-it had taken him a while to stop feeling uneasy when you went to visit Lucifer but he didn't mind as much now. More than anything else, Beelzebub just wanted you to be happy here with him and his brothers. He just hoped that one day you could meet Belphie. 

They were strange, your demons, but you adored them for it. And they adored you too, even if some of them refused to admit it to you. You had made their lives brighter and they knew it was going to be impossible to let you go once the year was up. You would be taking a piece of each of them with you and they would never be the same again.