#yes—because I’m mentally whumping myself in the process!

[generic-whumperz]

Write story?

No work on crazy world building and spend all day writing a 6 page fake essay-esque info sheet on an imaginary parasitic worm that turns people into crazed cannibals. The lengths I go to for this fucking story and au I stg.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

why does it comfort some people or bring them joy/excitement to imagine their favorite characters in terrible situations and being hurt physically or mentally? wouldn’t you want your favorite characters to be happy and safe?

I’m sure I’ve seen this exact ask being sent to another writing blog before, so seeing one in my own inbox was a little surprising. but anyway, I’ve said this before, but I don’t mind saying it again because lots of people seem to still be confused about this; the enjoyment of imagining or seeing fictional characters in terrible situations in which they are hurt and/or scared is called whump. people who enjoy whump tend to express their interest through art, such as drawings, writings, etc. whump has a community on several online platforms, as well as here on Tumblr. we are simply known as “whump community”.

moving on to your question, “why does it comfort us to imagine our favorite characters in agony?” — there is no definitive answer to the question, because different people enjoy whump for various, different reasons, and all of these reasons are valid. however, what I can give you is some examples of the reasons why people enjoy whump

reasons why people like whump:

some people use whump as a reflection of what they’ve been through, and they let their trauma out by channeling the trauma through fictional characters. to make it as simple as I can, some people use whump as a coping mechanism to help them heal from any traumatic events in their lives.

while whump is indeed about pain, it can also be about the comfort (the healing process) that comes after the pain. I personally known several people who heal by writing whump stories in which their favorite characters went through and survived terrible things that happened to them. the comfort part of the whump was used as a symbol of hope for these people, in the sense that they hold on to the idea that if these fictional characters can survive horrible things that happened to them, they (the writers) can survive and heal too.

some people use whump as a way to let out their frustration, trauma or pain. an abuse victim may fantasize about hurting their abuser back by creating a fantasy world in which their favorite character was hurt, but later healed and/or get their revenge.

it’s also worth mentioning that one doesn’t have go through their own trauma in order to be able to enjoy whump. 

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they just Want to Hurt These Little Guys. 

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they like the part where their favorite character gets comforted and is nursed back to health after they are rescued.

whump that’s followed by comfort (whump with a happy ending) is valid.

whump that has no comfort (whump without a happy ending) is also valid.

because whump is a genre, just like how lots of people like horror movies just for the sake of liking them. 

the term whumperflies is used to describe the euphoric feeling a person experiences while watching, drawing, writing or reading a whump scenario that hits right in the feels. for lack of better comparison, some people experience whumperflies that come close to an orgasm, whether or not whump is a sexual thing to them (some may enjoy whump as a form of kink, while some may enjoy whump for reasons that aren’t sexual at all). for some, whumperflies are these tingling sensation in the chest and/or the stomach, for someone else, whumperflies is like when you ride a rollercoaster and the ride is going down from its highest stop. there's no wrong way to experience whumperflies, as different people describe and experience them differently.

so, yes, some people may enjoy whump just for the euphoria whumperflies bring. and some people — myself included — can’t get whumperflies unless the character that’s going through pain is their most favorite character; it’s like… because you love this character so much, you’re so connected to them, you're so emotionally invested in them that you can only get whumperflies if it’s them going through the torture, meanwhile other characters just don’t make you feel half as strongly.

and that’s explain why people in the whump community prefer their favorite characters to be the ones going through hell.

and again, just like how movies have different genres, whump is a genre — people who like whump aren’t “freaks” or “red flags” in real life, even if they like whump for reasons that aren’t about coping mechanism. whump is a genre and a form of art, and most importantly, whump is fiction. it’s not real.

I do understand why people who aren’t into whump tend to be confused by the concept of whump, and I do understand why these people think being a fan of a fictional character only means wanting said fictional character to be safe and happy, which is why whump is not for everybody, and that’s okay too.

the thing is there is no wrong way to be a fan of something that’s fictional, you can like this fictional character so much you want to see them cry and covered in blood for whatever reasons, and that’s okay. as long as you’re not hurting anybody in real life.

there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who enjoy whump, just like how there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who like horror movies. it’s fiction and it’s a form of art. and I believe everybody is allowed to express and enjoy their interests through art in whichever way they want, as long as they’re not harming anybody in real life.

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

In regards to Talk Shop Tuesday, what projects are you currently working on?

Thanks for asking! I have a lot, so please bear with me here

Well there’s ofc Trophy; the fic where Zoom wins that no one wanted but me :> I also have a few AUs for that but probably won’t post them because they’re usually just 3 am writing sessions that aren’t very polished.

Got my Coldflash royalty AU where Barry’s the {former ?} prince of a kingdom that had just been overthrown by Eobard Thawne and Len’s the son of a former Royal Guard captain but wants to stay as far away from that legacy as possible. Their paths converge when Len is invited to an event celebrating the new king’s victory where poor Barry, chained beside Thawne’s throne, is used as a sort of trophy. Len doesn’t truly know yet; but his life will never be the same. Whelp— idk why I got all dramatic but that’s the beginning/premise lol

“For every One you didn’t save” is going to be rough for Barry… (I say, as if any of them aren’t. BUT this one is going to be particularly awful for his mental health). Our favorite awful bastard Eobard Thawne will fulfill the whumper role and I think that’s all I need to say. Need to work on this more ngl

“one thing” Mm. Another one with Eobard as The Worst. Honestly I’m not even sure if this would be considered whump— it’s just. Hmm. I tried to rewrite a certain scene in Coex and something happened that I Did Not mean to happen.

Get whumped idiot (placeholder title). Coldflash fic where Barry’s kidnapped as a sort of guest of honor at a fun little party for all the worst criminals in Central City. I really really need to revisit this soon cause it’s been a bit.

Enemy of my Enemyyyyyy we gotta start tormenting Barry next chapter and I WILL— I swear—

Ah yes. The Thawne kidnaps Barry instead of Eddie AU. Instead of using him to get back to his time, Thawne decides to use the blood sample from Farooq and steals Barry’s speed. Well. The process of stealing said speed is estimated to take around a week so Barry’s time is running out fast while the team desperately tries to find him. Will they get to him in time or find Barry just too late? Knowing me, it could go either way :)

Courtesy of @shrinkthisviolet I now have a ‘Savitar kidnaps and impersonates Barry’ AU that is marinating atm but has part of a scene written and an outline in progress.

Lastly, I won’t be talking about it much because I do have some rules to keep myself from spreading too thin; and one of them is only one big project at a time. But I’ve been planning a Hurt/Comfort Flash longfic (estimated 40k; probably more) for a while now. I will be talking about it —after I finish Trophy— because I have been c o o k i n g . It’s what I like to call slow burn whump. It will take a bit to get to the whump but BOY WILL IT BE WORTH IT. And this one is specifically whump aftermath (with some flashbacks to the whump). I literally can’t wait— but first, I must finish Trophy. (I do pick favorites and Trophy is #1 while this is #2)

Talk Shop Tuesday

[newbornwhumperfly]

Hello! Just curious, but what did you mean with the tag about how the community tends to be escapism focused?

hello, anon! thx so much for the question - i hope you don’t mind if i ramble cause i have a lot of thoughts on this! <3

what i meant by my tag - that the whump community tends to be “escapism focused” - is that the very format of whump allows for quick satisfaction, low effort. this is by no means to diminish the efforts of all the creators in this community! and i also understand that the original post was exploring the comforting distance involved in writing things that “escape” from the painful realities of the non-thump world. 

what i see as the main appeal of whump - as a genre and a community - is that we all sort of...know what we’re here for? we know we’re here for pain and suffering of all flavors and intensities. we know we’re here to hurt some people! there’s this one great post which talked about how the best thing about whump is that you don’t need to worry about world-building or backstory or character development because we all we want is pain. 

i believe there’s a ton of validity to that! it’s why tagging exists, it’s why these selective filtering categories exist - so we can get what we came for! this is true in “regular” fandom communities and your average fanfiction as well. however! i also see how many popular whump bloggers on here have long-running series and richly developed characters - as well as delving into important, sensitive issues (usually having to do with trauma and mental illness, but not exclusively!) in the process.

however! as i have read many fans - particularly fans of color - in various fandoms i am a part of speak openly about how escapism - more specifically, who gets to “escape” into fandom - is a privilege. and...like...it is? it really is! 

whump is not some magical bubble that is insulated from all of the privileges and prejudices we carry into “regular” fandoms - therefore, we are not immune from questioning our “tastes” in whumpees or whumpers, just as we aren’t immune to criticism about our fandom “preferences” in more conventional online communities. we aren’t immune to writing insensitive, prejudiced depictions of people of color, of queer people, of disabled folk, of neurodivergent folk, etc. just because it’s “just whump”.

therefore - it’s even more important to be aware of our actions, yes, even our self-indulgent ones. this happens to be a primary concern of mine because my whump tends to have very...non-white casts and i am a white writer! i also love being self-indulgent and i am very sympathetic to the mindset that i just wanna turn off my brain and hurt some whumpees!

i just believe it’s possible to be self-indulgent and self-critical at the same time - whump is not different from fandom fanfiction and fanfic isn’t different from traditional modes of writing in terms of perpetuating stereotypes or feeding into harmful depictions of marginalized/vulnerable people. 

a trashy horror movie where “i’m just here for the gore!” where the scares are based on ableism might be self-indulgent but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to be aware of how it impacts us and our perspectives. yes, i think distance is desirable! i think projection onto a “safe” target is cathartic and necessary for many people - myself included. 

i just think there needs to be room in this conversation about the ways in which escapism can manifest as an empathy gap, as an expression of prejudice, feeding into a painful trope, etc. it doesn’t mean we can’t write what we want.

i just believe that in a community where escapism is the primary appeal? it’s important to analyze even our indulgences in the context that nothing - no, not even whump - exists in a vacuum. 

but that’s, just, like....my opinion. xppp 

thank you so much for the question on...a truly complex subject, i appreciate it! (please forgive the rambling)

[icypantherwrites]

Changes Coming to Patreon; Back to AO3 Icy Goes

An abbreviated and slightly different version of a post I made on my Patreon this evening:

Several months ago I made the announcement that I was switching my main platform from AO3 to exclusively post my works on Patreon. I had hoped it would help with some of my mental health issues with the reasoning that Patreon was a platform with a smaller, dedicated audience and would be better than posting into the great unknown and feeling let down by the sheer number of hits but no sightings of the people behind them.

Unfortunately, this decision has not panned out the way I had hoped. To be completely honest, I feel even worse than I ever have before. I truly thought this switch would encourage more engagement from those that were on my Patreon given that everyone now had that exclusive access and knowing that they'd want to be involved and that I'd be okay with knowing only a literal handful of people might be reading. That has not been the case. And to be clear, that's on me for having those hopes and expectations because certainly no one at my Patreon is required to engage with my works; you pay a subscription fee each month, you get content, and more always comes. And I will certainly continue to post those works that Patreon supporters paid for and expect to see under the original outline of my Patreon, but at this time...

At this time I've made the decision to return to posting on AO3 and no longer make that content exclusive to Patreon.

Any of the exclusive one-shots that did post here will remain, but I'll be adding them to my AO3 archive as well and the chaptered fics will only be posting for early release tiers on Patreon going forward, not posting later for all tiers. They will all instead be made available on my AO3 and just like before you are welcome to read them there. To be clear: none of your access to content is changing. You will still be able to read all of my stories, but they will no longer exclusively be on Patreon.

It is really hard for me to post works (and yes, I know they are all finished, it's still hard). It is hard to post in the author's notes and ask for comments and engagement because it is not fun to post and feel like hardly anyone is reading, and harder still when very few do because it just tells me that the majority of people either don't read those requests or they ignore them. Both don't feel good. And doubly so when you consider the majority of my content is about support. Ironic, right? ;p

Just like when I made this original decision, I didn't come to this one lightly. After all, there was a reason I decided to step away from AO3. But trying to bribe y'all with extra content via engagement hasn't worked. I've actually had 7 people in the two months that I made this switch join the page and quit within a couple days (sometimes a couple hours), accessing all content (and no doubt spurred on by the sheer amount behind a paywall) and that's a slap in the face to me and makes me feel even worse. And I certainly don't want to turn my works into a pay-per-view where I open a shop and sell PDF copies of individual works because the money has never, ever, been what the Patreon has been about. The finances help me to justify spending the time writing the works to keep this page active and going, but the whole reason I created a Patreon was to have an engaged, local community where I could be myself a little bit more, be a little more honest than I normally allow myself to be, and to share exclusive works with all those who made that decision to come here and financially support me with the hope that would extend to mental and emotional support via engagement on the site ♥

There are over 100 people on my Patreon and on average not even 10% make an appearance. It feels like I am posting and posting and hardly anyone is reading and the whole point of posting works is to share them because fandom is something that is meant to be shared. It's an experience for us all, whether we're creators or consumers, and we cannot exist without the other. It's a circle of fanfiction.

AO3 wasn't the best for me mentally. But the alternative I decided to pursue has unfortunately been even worse. And yet I still can't help but want to share my creations, want to make those connections, want people to laugh and cry and find comfort and support and experience emotions or feelings they may never had had, to learn and grow, to just enjoy the whump and angst and find a little escape sometimes from reality. Writing has been so important to me, it's what has kept me going through some very low times although it's catch-22 as the posting part of that process can make me feel lower than when I started. But I push through and hope that things get better, always.

Planning out this Patreon has meant so much to me. Writing stories for it, setting up polls, getting to create cover banners, write commissions, and, most importantly, interact with all of you... it has kept me going. And in order for me to not hate this page, to not delete it, to not call it quits, I need to make this switch back to AO3 and the chance for a larger audience. And I truly hope you can understand why I am doing this. I truly hope that even though the vast amount of my works will now be technically "free" that you still remain a member of my Patreon as those "free" works are only possible due to this site. 

And to anyone reading this now on my Tumblr, please read the above. I only continue to post because of the financial support on my Patreon. There is now going to be a burst of content posting on my AO3 and lots more to come, but please don’t ever think that this is “free” because it was not free. 

And this isn’t to tell you to go join my Patreon (although if you’d like to, please feel free) but to remind you that it costs nothing to leave a comment on a story that you read and that doing so means everything to the creator. Please don’t see this change as just an endless buffet of fanfiction to consume. Please see it as what it is: a chance to engage, to be a part of a fandom, and to support a creator whether that’s financially emotionally or both. 

A gentle reminder that Patreon on the whole was never meant to be just a "how much can you get" type of site, but a way to show your support to creators you enjoy with little bonuses as incentives to check out higher pledged tiers and to stick around so the creator keeps wanting to make more content to share. This page will still have all the bonuses it has always had: the FMs, the previews and bonus snippets, the ability to commission, and, in the event they happen, all of the events and contests :) 

I'm sad that this change didn't work out the way I had hoped, but there's no such things as failures; it has been a learning experience. Thank you all for your patience with me as I muddle through this and try to make the best choices for my own mental health ♥ Thank you to all for your financial support of this Patreon that allows me to keep writing and thank you so much to all those who comment and engage and inspire me to keep writing ♥

Much love,

Icy

[hotchley]

“sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you failed”

morehotchcontent day two: whump (in a hostage situation/hurt on the job)

tagged: @ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety

why should the team look for him? he was nothing. he would die for them, because they were his team and they deserved the world. but he was not the world. he was just one broken, old man and they could do better. they could do so, so much better than a drill sergeant, sexist, narcissistic bully.

an unsub kidnaps hotch. in his mind, he isn’t worth saving.

warnings: torture (choking, forced to choke on water, caning, punching, stabbing), depictions of violence, implied/referenced child abuse, non-consensual removal of clothing, references to the events of george foyet, references to tobias hankel and reid's torture, references to ian doyle and what he did to emily

read on ao3!

Hotch had taken one look at the case-file and immediately known it was going to be a bad case. The victims had all been kidnapped and tortured, before being dumped in the local park, stripped down to their underwear as a form of humiliation. A word- always a personality trait- had been carved into their back.

For the BAU, it was pretty standard.

For Hotch, it was like looking at a mirror. All the victims fit the same criteria, which on the one hand he was grateful for because maybe it would mean they would find the damn unsub without any more bodies appearing, but on the other hand made him want to be sick.

The victims had all been the leaders of their respective teams. The first was the manager of a supermarket, the second a senior partner in a law firm, the third a headteacher. He had no idea what the fourth was. He’d read it, but without ever really processing the words.

But their subordinates hated them. Deemed them bullies, narcissists, dickheads, evil bastards. When they’d been informed of the deaths, not a single one had cried. One had laughed. They had all been relieved enough to be considered suspects.

He looked out at the bullpen. JJ was sat with them, sat on the edge of Reid’s desk as she laughed at something Emily- Agent Prentiss, he corrected mentally- was saying. The case had come directly to him, the file lying on his desk as though it was mocking him because the previous day he’d told the team it was likely they’d be spending the weekend at home.

Morgan was watching the scene unfold with a wide smile, yet his eyes darted round the area, always watching over the other members of his team like it was his duty. Not for the first time, Hotch wondered if he should have stepped down permanently. Morgan had done well as Unit Chief. And he wasn’t hated by the team. They didn’t look at Morgan and think of a boring, misogynistic, horrid narcissist. They looked at Morgan and thought of a protector.

He sighed. Part of him wanted to ask Rossi to inform the team they had a case but that was just being unfair. It was his stupid comment about getting to spend time at home that had undoubtedly landed them in this situation. The least he could do was own it. At the last moment, he decided to read through the casefile one more time. It would give JJ enough time to finish showing them the pictures of Henry at the beach.

When JJ tucked her phone back into her pocket, he stood up. Took a deep breath and exited. Almost immediately, the laughter stopped and they all turned back to their reports. JJ slid off the table and started to head back to her office. Hotch tried to disguise his hurt as indifference and he knew he’d succeeded when Reid swallowed and Morgan looked disappointed.

It had been five years since Tobias Hankel, and yet nothing had changed. The team still hated him. Cases still ruined their everyday life.

“We have a case. Roundtable in ten,” he said. The rest of the words wouldn’t come. Because if he said more than the bare minimum, he would reveal too much and they would hate him even more than they already did. It was bad enough that he was everything they’d called him, but it would be even worse if they realised just how weak he was.

He went back up to his office to pack things away and send a quick text to Jess and Jack, before he realised that they’d benefit from having Garcia with him. He had always wondered what Garcia really thought of him, but he’d always been too afraid to ask. A part of him liked to think she liked him, but that was impossible.

JJ thought he was a bully, and when he thought of the number of times he’d snapped at Garcia for not being fast enough, he understood. Morgan considered him a drill sergeant, said they weren’t friends, and he was always breaking up their fun, teasing comments. It didn’t matter he was doing it for professionality, that was one of their only reprieves and he was constantly taking it from them. Prentiss accused him of not trusting women as much as men, and there had definitely been times when he’d looked at Garcia and felt the urge to ask where she’d got the information from. Reid told Hankel he deserved to die because he was a narcissist. How many times had he asked Garcia to look at the worst of humanity, knowing she was too good for that?

Garcia never told him what his worst quality was. He’d heard enough by the time it would’ve got to her. Jason had opened his mouth, probably to tell him to stop, but he’d had enough. He wished he hadn’t stopped him. Maybe if he’d known, he could’ve changed and then Gideon would still be with them and Reid would have someone who was actually competent as a father figure.

It was with a heavy heart that he took the elevator down to Garcia’s lair. As he’d passed through the bullpen, he saw the haggard faces of his team, and he wondered, not for the first time, how many more crime scenes they could suffer through before their hands stopped going cold and they lost their humanity.

He knocked on the door, once, slightly hesitant.

“You don’t need to knock Kevin!” Garcia called out.

Hotch swallowed the lump in his throat. Yet another relationship he was ruining. He coughed once before saying it was actually him.

Almost immediately Garcia flung the door open. “Sir! I didn’t realise it was you. What is it?”

“We have a case. And, well, I’d like you to come with us. It’ll be easier,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Of course! Just give me sixteen minutes to pack my stuff and then I’ll be up, okay?”

He nodded, then the Southern manners kicked in. “Would you like any help?” he asked, slightly hopeful that she’d say yes.

“Oh no, of course not. It’s much simpler if I just do it myself. I know where everything goes and it’s just easier.”

“Right. I’ll err, I’ll see you in a bit then,” he said, trying to not take it personally. Garcia probably wouldn’t let anyone touch her computers or equipment. It wasn’t just him. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it. He was about to exit when she called out his name and he turned.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed distant recently. And normally I wouldn’t comment, but I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to us? Any of us. I know the others weren’t particularly fond of Haley, but you didn’t have to be a profiler to realise you loved her.”

He started fidgeting, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he brushed his thumb over his fingers.

If Garcia noticed his discomfort, she didn’t comment. “It doesn’t matter that you got a divorce, you still loved each other. Recovering from that is hard. Add in the fact that you’re going back to the same job, and it’s a recipe for disaster. What I’m trying to say is: are you okay, and do you want to talk about it?”

He wanted to say yes. He so desperately wanted to hug Garcia, fall apart in her arms and confess all his fears to her. He wanted to tell her how ever since Hankel, he’d hardly been able to look at the team, or how the list of people he’d failed to save- Elle, Jason, Kate Joyner, countless innocent victims, Megan Kane, Haley- seemed to be growing with every breath. He longed to finally tell someone who horrifying it was when Foyet was in his apartment, how he could hardly look in the mirror without gagging, how he had blinked because he was human. He wanted to say that there were nights where he couldn’t comfort Jack because how dare he touch his son with the same hands that had killed a man?

But he couldn’t. The only value he held as a member of the team was being stoic. Unshaken. The one that dealt with the politics, played bad cop, spoke to Strauss and the higher-ups, dealt with unruly lead detectives without flinching. If any of them knew just how choked up he got every time Strauss asked to see a report, how every case that involved him playing the role ended with him sat in the shower, water numbing his body as tears rolled down his cheeks, they’d cast him out.

And he would have nothing.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a little tired. Jack was keeping me up. He’s excited about starting school soon.”

Jack had kept him up, but not because he was excited about starting school. Because he was scared he was going to come home and daddy wouldn’t be there.

“Wow. I remember when he was just a little baby coming in to visit. Back when the Reid effect was still a thing.”

Hotch faked a laugh, ignoring the bile that was rising in his throat. He didn’t want to think about that. How the team had done nothing more than be polite, all stood a respectful distance away, as though he was poison. Or how just minutes after he said goodbye to Jack and Haley- who was still happy and in love- they were called out on a family annihilator case.

“Yeah. The time has gone by so fast. I’ll let you pack up,” he said, needing to get away from the lights and brightness.

“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry,” Garcia said, as though she had only just remembered why he’d come down.

“You have nothing to apologise for Penelope,” he said, before closing the door behind him.

Forty minutes later and they were in the air.

JJ was on the phone to the local P.D, convincing them that releasing any sort of information to the public, especially the name of a suspect, would not be beneficial to the investigation. Hotch wanted to intervene because it wasn’t fair that she had to be fielding their phone calls when she should be resting, but he didn’t want to overstep so he settled for keeping one eye on her and the other on the casefiles.

When they landed, JJ said that the local PD had wanted them all to head straight to the precinct, so they piled into the government SUVs. Hotch tried to not let it sting when Morgan sighed before getting into the passenger seat. Once upon a time, he would’ve said they were friends. But now he knew better. Morgan had only wanted him around because he could lead the team. But after Foyet, he’d proven that he couldn’t even do that, and that Morgan was clearly the better leader.

Why he was still on the team was a mystery to him.

“Miss Jareau, hello. I’m Sheriff Finkelstein, we spoke on the phone?” the sheriff greeted.

“It’s Agent Jareau, Detective,” Hotch corrected, voice betrayed his tiredness.

JJ looked over in surprise. She could have sworn she saw him drift off.

Hotch wouldn’t meet her eyes. He corrected people when they called Dr Reid agent. Of course he would do the same for the rest of them, regardless of what their opinions on him were.

“Of course, my apologies, Agent Jareau. We’re very grateful to have you here, we’re completely in over our heads. Our lead detective just took early retirement as his wife had a baby and he wants to be at home with the two of them- an admirable decision- but it just means that we’re now overwhelmed and still looking for a new lead,” Finklestein explained, leading them to one of the conference rooms. He held the door open for the ladies, who all gave him small smiles.

Hotch tried to nod. Yet another person who’d managed to do the one thing he had failed at. If he had taken the transfer, or left when Jack was born, then Haley would still be alive. There would be a tan line on his ring finger from where his wedding ring sat.

“Do you have any clues who it could be? It’s a very specific MO and victimology, which should help us narrow things down,” Morgan asked, always eager to get straight into things.

Sheriff Finkelstein sighed. “Unfortunately not. There’s no DNA anywhere. All of the team members have been questioned, and although they all hated their respective bosses, there’s no indication that any of them would’ve done it.”

“We’d like to see the recordings of their interviews,” Rossi said.

“And if I could have a map of the area to start creating the geographical profile, that’d be great,” Reid added.

“Whatever you need,” Finkelstein said, leaving.

Hotch left with him to gather some of the extra information they needed. The team- bar Morgan and Rossi, who had left to go to M.E’s office, were skimming through the files created on each of the members and their victims.

“I’m not saying they deserved it, but these men were disgusting,” Emily commented.

“Prentiss,” Hotch warned, but he knew she was right.

She stared at him, daring him to go further. He dropped his gaze and walked over to Reid. “How’s that geographical profile coming along?”

“Well it’s interesting. See, their workplaces are all the ones in red. The places in blue are the last locations they were seen in- which is another common factor actually because they were all in restaurants, cafes and takeaways which is actually similar to a previous case we solved so I may look into that to see if there are any links- and I’m doing that rambling thing again aren’t I?”

“You’re okay,” Hotch said, not wanting to cut Reid off when they didn’t really have a time crunch.

“No I’ll just get to the point, we all have more important things to be doing. Look at the area where the victims work and then where the unsub takes them. They’re all within five minutes of each other. Our unsub probably work somewhere where they can watch their targets from, otherwise how else would they be able to find them?”

“We need to deliver the profile,” Hotch said.

Two days after they delivered the profile, and the unsub still hadn’t been found. Garcia’s tech skills had given them a suspect, but he’d been out of the country during the last murder. Since the development with the geographical profile, they hadn’t been able to find anything. Hotch had felt like someone was watching him since they landed, but he hadn’t said anything, not wanting to distract the team.

Morale was low. Patience was running out and tempers were going to be lost if there wasn’t a break in the case. Officers had started joking with each other in the macabre way only people that dealt with these things on a regular basis could that they were lucky none of them were evil as the station was extremely close to the other workplaces, bur Finkelstein had shut them down almost immediately.

Hotch had cried in the shower that night. Reid had wanted to say something, but ultimately refrained because it was Hotch and Hotch didn’t blink; he’d be okay.

So things weren’t going great, and the team were exhausted. They needed a pick-me-up.

Hotch picked up his jacket. “I’m going to get us food. Does anyone have any specific requests, or is donuts and coffee okay?”

“You’re going to go?” Prentiss asked, a little confused. Hotch had gone yesterday. It was supposed to be Reid’s turn.

“Yeah. I am. Reid’s busy, and it’s not fair to ask him to go and it’s unfair to get someone else to go because they’ve all be running themselves into the ground. And before you say it, I’m not saying that you haven’t, because you have,” Hotch said, his own temper also fading. He was trying so hard to be good, to not treat anyone the way his father had but the lack of progress, combined with the way Emily seemed to get off on undermining him, even now, after everything that had happened, was beginning to wear on him.

“Hotch? Are you okay?” JJ asked, entering with another stack of files. As it turned out, the town was full of white males in their mid-to-late 20s that worked jobs where the person in charge had a bit of a dodgy history, and they were still trying to narrow it down.

“I’m fine. Any requests for dinner? I’m probably going to go to that café because Reid will want coffee as soon as he gets back from the workplace with Morgan, and Rossi likes their croissants but I don’t mind making another stop if you want me to,” he said.

JJ smiled at how well her boss- well, family member- knew their team, and also at how willing he was to go out of his way for all of them. But her smile faded when she took in his appearance. The circles under his eyes were getting worse and his suit seemed to be looser. She knew Reid was having trouble sleeping as the fifth anniversary of his abduction approached, and she knew Emily was still struggling with her place on the team in a world without Doyle, but their trauma was not Hotch’s responsibility. She just wished he would stop blaming himself.

“Surprise me with something from the café. But are you sure you should be the one going?” She didn’t tell him it was because he looked exhausted; she liked her job.

But she had her back turned to him. She didn’t see him clench his fist, rubbing his thumb over the nail of his index finger in a self-soothing motion. She didn’t see the tears form in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine JJ. Tell the others I should be back in thirty minutes,” he said, voice cracking slightly as he fled.

“Is something going on with him?” Prentiss asked.

JJ shrugged. “Jack mentioned him being unwell right after you came back, but I thought he was doing better now.”

Emily watched the space where he’d been previously stood. “I just wish he would talk to us. He has to know we love him and wouldn’t think any less of him for struggling.”

JJ nodded in agreement.

Hotch was driving, unable to focus on the road properly. He knew his team thought they were being subtle with the way they hated him, but he was a profiler. He knew JJ was only questioning whether or not he should go because he was just like all the other victims and it had been a week since the last body was found, meaning there was bound to be another abduction soon.

It wasn’t going to be him. He wasn’t deserving of even that attention.

“Oh hello again. I was wondering if I was going to see you again,” the barista said when he entered.

Hotch noted that there was nobody else there. “I’m so sorry, is it really close to closing time? I saw that the light was on and I just assumed it was okay.”

He laughed. Hotch shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“We’re still open, don’t worry about it. What can I get for you?”

“It’s another long order,” Hotch warned. The barista just shrugged, used to it. When Hotch was done, he took a brownie out and warmed it up.

“This is on the house because you look like you need it and your order will take a bit of time,” he said, sliding it across the counter.

Hotch stopped observing the artwork. “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Yes you can,” the barista said, his tone so much like JJ’s when she was mother-henning them all that Hotch silently took a bite. It was a good brownie. He took a few more bites, wincing when his head started to feel fuzzy.

“Do you like it?” the barista asked.

“It’s really good. But my head- I have- my head feels, not right,” he whispered, vision starting to blur as well.

“It’s not supposed to,” the barista responded, jovial tone gone.

The world went black.

The first thing he noticed when he came round was that he couldn’t move his arms. Or his legs. He struggled, unable to see what had happened to him as his eyes were taking forever to adjust to the darkness, but there was no movement to be had.

He was tied to a chair. He struggled even more, but his bonds held.

“You’re awake.”

“You,” Hotch whispered. “It was you the whole time.”

“Yep. And my name is Jonathan. You would know that if you had just bothered to read my nametag,” he said.

Hotch scanned the room, searching for anything that would act as a weapon. There was nothing. He tried to calm his racing heart and think logically but he couldn’t. The last time he’d been this vulnerable was under George Foyet. George Foyet who had destroyed all feeling in the lower part of his stomach, who had killed Haley, who had made damn well sure Aaron would never be able to look at himself without seeing the victory on Foyet’s face right before his eyes fluttered shut from the blood loss.

“I’m sorry for forgetting,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

Jonathan slapped him across the face. Hotch recoiled as much as he could, not making a sound. It was always worse when you made a sound.

“Stop lying to me. I know who you are. I know how you people work. You think that if you convince me that it was all just an honest mistake, then I’ll forgive you and let you go running back to your team. Well I won’t and nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Jonathan scoffed, slapping Hotch again. Both his cheeks were red now. “You’re all the same. You do one small thing for your team, and you think it will make up for the lifetime of pain you caused them. Well it won’t.”

He turned. Hotch tried to see what he was picking up, but he couldn’t. Before he even realised what was happening, pain blossomed in his stomach. Above him, Jonathan bought the cane down again, and again, and again.

Tears were streaming down his face now. “Please, stop. Please, I’ll do anything, just stop with the cane.” He hated begging. He hadn’t begged since he was a child. He hadn’t flinched when George Foyet fired a gun at him. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was tired now. More tired and more broken that he’d ever been before.

Jonathan laughed. “Okay. I’ll stop. But I’m going to release you from the chair, and you’re going to raise your arms high enough for your hands to touch that chain on the ceiling. If you fail, I’ll cane you till you’re curled into a ball, begging for mercy.”

Aaron was half-delirious now, but he managed to follow the instructions given.

When Jonathan ran the cold metal of his knife, the same knife he’d used with all the other victims, down his cheek and across his chest, Aaron flinched. Minutely, but he flinched.

Jonathan smirked. “Normally I killed them quickly. I made them die quickly because they didn’t deserve to live. But you, you I want to have fun with.” He cut down the centre of Hotch’s shirt with one clean cut. Aaron closed his eyes, unable to look at the scars.

“My, my, someone must really have hated you,” Jonathan laughed.

Hotch didn’t respond. Jonathan pressed the metal to the scar over his chest. Hotch jerked at the coldness, straining his arms even more.

“You’re a bad man Aaron Hotchner. I’ve been watching you since you landed. You’re very bad. Do you want to know why you’re bad? You’re a bully. I saw the way you shouted at your technical analyst over the phone because she wasn’t fast enough.”

Hotch hadn’t meant to shout. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to remember it.

“Oh are you ashamed now? You don’t get to be ashamed. Open your eyes.”

Hotch shook his head.

Jonathan wrapped one hand around Hotch’s throat and pushed down. Hotch opened his eyes, panicked as he tried to inhale. He relaxed his hold then.

“Good boy. You shouted at her. And then you undermined the blonde one by taking over her interrogation. And the other one by interrupting her conversation with the officer. Sexist pig.”

The plan had always been for him to take over. The officer had been making Prentiss uncomfortable with his flirting. Hotch tried to say that, but Jonathan just laughed, then punched him in the stomach. Claimed those were just lies they told him to protect themselves so they kept their jobs.

“You tried to control their every move. You wouldn’t let Mr Strong do the right thing and come look for me. Drill sergeant. You cut off the baby because you needed to speak, acted like you were better than him. Like you were better than all of them.”

“I’m not a narcissist,” Hotch protested.

Jonathan dropped the knife, opting to punch him in the stomach again. Hotch let out a groan. “That’s what they all say. It’s been half an hour. They’ll be expecting you back now. I wonder what will happen when you don’t come back. Will they look for you? I think they will. Not because they love you, but because they’ll be afraid. What if you’re the one to survive? What if you escape?”

“They won’t come,” Hotch said.

Jonathan, who had gone back over to the table, turned. “What did you say?”

“They won’t come,” Hotch repeated.

Jonathan stormed over, holding a bat. Before Hotch could prepare himself, he was hitting him with it. In the knees, across the back of his thighs, everywhere that would cause the most pain. Hotch didn’t want to know what the crack he’d heard when that bat had hit his ribs was.

Jonathan liked the bat. When he heard the crack, he grinned. And then he Hotch over the head. For the second time that day, the world went black.

“He should be here by now,” Reid said, pacing up and down the conference room. “It’s been fifty-seven minutes. The journey should have taken an average of thirty minutes, forty with traffic, but it’s now after eleven when there’s virtually no traffic on the road.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Reid. There was probably some cute barista he got stuck talking to. You know how Hotch is. Never knows when people are flirting with him, and then when he does realise, he gets stuck in an awkward conversation,” Morgan said, but it was all an act. He knew there wouldn’t be a cute barista. But for the sake of Reid, he had to stay strong.

“Look Aaron wouldn’t want us to worry. In twenty minutes, we’ll go back to the hotel. And if he’s not here tomorrow, then we’ll start to investigate okay?” Dave said.

The others nodded, all feeling uneasy, but having the utmost faith in their leader.

Their leader that was still unconscious, Jonathan having moved him to the floor. The back of his head was coated with blood. He almost looked like Haley. But Haley had looked peaceful in her coffin, face void of any expression. Aaron was in pain, despite not being awake.

Jonathan didn’t try and force him to wake up. Aaron Hotchner was going to be his masterpiece.

“Is Agent Hotchner not with you?” Finkelstein asked once they got to the precinct.

They all turned to each other. Dave immediately dialled his cell.

“Voicemail,” he said.

Emily turned away, not wanting to think about the last time his phone had gone to voicemail. She still couldn’t get the image of him, so weak that he couldn’t even sit up without assistance, his face so defeated as he said goodbye to the one good thing in his life, out of her mind. It haunted her nightmares more than Ian Doyle did.

“We need to find him,” Morgan said.

“I’ll have Garcia track his phone,” JJ said.

She tracked his phone to the coffee shop. There was nobody there. No signs of a struggle. Nobody outside had seen anything strange or suspicious.

When Morgan and Rossi returned, faces grave, Reid excused himself. When he returned, his eyes were red. JJ hugged him, words not enough to convey how sorry she was for everything that had happened between them. Emily watched, biting her nails. Hotch had put everything on the line for her multiple times. He didn’t get to go missing like this.

Jonathan was bored of watching Aaron sleep. He kicked him in the stomach, grinning when he let out a soft groan of pain, but managed to open his eyes.

“Morning sunshine,” he greeted.

Aaron tried to flinch away, but found his legs and arms were bound. His head was pounding, his ribs ached, his stomach was bruising from where Jonathan had kicked him and there were angry welts from where the cane had struck.

“You’re a bastard,” Hotch spat, trying not to panic when blood splattered onto his clothes.

“You give me the sweetest compliments, I’m starting to wonder if you really are like the rest of my victims.”

Hotch tried to glare up at him.

Jonathan laughed. “And then you do things like that, and I remember that you’re all the same. You know, I wanted to have a conversation about what you said earlier, but now I think I’ll save that for tomorrow. There’s a few things I want to do before then.”

Hotch had choked on water before. It wasn’t pleasant. But having it forced down his throat was worse. He couldn’t keep swallowing it, and most of it ended up on his shirt. That angered Jonathan. It led to more pain. More torture. Hotch couldn’t feel anything though. He didn’t think that was a good thing. A part of him was holding out hope that the team would find him, but with every passing moment, it seemed to fade slightly.

Why should the team look for him? He’s nothing. He would die for them, because they were his team and they deserved the world. But he was not the world. He was just one broken, old man and they could do better. They could do so, so much better than a drill sergeant, sexist, narcissistic bully.

There were no windows where he was being held. But at some point, Jonathan forced him to eat. And at some point later than that, he told Hotch to get some rest as the next day was going to be big.

Hotch closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.

Nor did any member of the BAU. A whole day of searching and there were still no clues that would lead them to Hotch. Nobody had been reported missing either, which meant either nobody cared enough about the person that had been kidnapped or the unsub was developing a new pattern. Either way, it wasn’t looking good.

Rossi forced them all to get some sleep. He told himself that if they got Aaron back safely, he would make sure that man knew just how much he was loved by all of them. He would finally tell Aaron how he had always viewed him as the son he’d lost, and how he had never once regretted returning.

Morgan knew his relationship with Hotch would never be perfect, but at the end of the day, they were a family. He would spend the rest of his life convincing Hotch that he deserved all the happiness in the world if he needed to, as soon as he’d lectured him about being an idiot.

Garcia was already planning what she was going to make for him. She remembered when she had first started in the BAU, and Hotch had been the only person to treat her like an actual employee. They would eat lunch together because neither of them really had any friends within the unit. Morgan and Reid were still trying to adjust to her, and Gideon had always loved Reid more than he loved Hotch, which had made her sad.

Reid couldn’t lose another father. He lay awake, thinking of stories that he could recommend for Jack. He wanted to be in his own bed, where he could look at the constellations on his ceiling. Hotch had somehow found out about his fear of the dark, but instead of mocking him, he said he’d understood. A day later, he found glow in the dark stars in his bag with a note from Hotch saying he wanted to see a picture of the constellations he made.

Reid had returned the favour after Foyet.

JJ held Emily and they both hoped that he- the man that had already lost so much and struggled through it all for the sake of their band of misfit profilers- would come home safely.

“Rise and shine Aaron,” Jonathan said, throwing a bucket of water over Hotch, who immediately jerked awake as he started to shiver.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“You’ll see. But first, I need to make you a little bit more… presentable, shall we say?”

Hotch knew better than to hope that would mean a change of clothes. Jonathan removed the rope around his hands, but only to slide Aaron’s shirt off his shoulders. He pushed down on the bruises, only stopping when Hotch gasped.

“They’re going to be distraught,” he commented, punching Hotch in the face.

His eyes immediately started watering. Jonathan punched him again. Hotch recoiled, feeling the blood drip from his nose. He was dead weight now, but they had been right in assuming that their unsub was incredibly strong. He pulled Aaron into the chair before tying him up, bloodied and beaten and bruised and broken.

Hotch saw the camera.

And he suddenly understood what Jonathan meant.

“No,” he shouted, voice hoarse.

But it was too late.

“Hello Agent Hotchner’s team. I apologise for not knowing your first names, but Aaron only ever used your surnames. Maybe he wanted to detach himself from you all. Let’s see. Ah, the whole team is there! I don’t actually know who you all are, but that’s no worry. I bet you’re trying to work out where he is. It’s not going to work. You should watch the show instead. I bet you really want to see your fearless leader.”

Jonathan stepped back to reveal Hotch.

Morgan had to put his hand on the screen to stop Garcia from closing it. Reid whimpered, JJ shouted, Rossi cursed loudly. Finkelstein grabbed a whole bunch of officers and told them to do whatever it took to find that man.

“Now, Agent Hotchner talks in his sleep. Did you know that? And he’s said some quite interesting things. But first, we’re going to unpack something he said to me on our first day together. Do you remember what that thing was, Aaron?”

Aaron looked up at him, dazed. “No,” he whispered.

“You told me, they weren’t going to come and get you. I killed four people. All of them laughed and told me their colleagues, or their friends, or their families would find them. You didn’t. Why? Tell me. Tell them. They’re all watching.”

Hotch closed his eyes, needing to ground himself. When he opened them, tears were pooling in them, threatening to spill. “They already failed once. They didn’t- we had a case. But they never found me. I didn’t answer my phone, but they didn’t come looking until it was too late to save anyone. They failed to save me once. Why would they try now?”

Garcia was crying. She was trying to find him, but the unsub was right. It was impossible. They’d already dispatched officers to the man’s work and home addresses, but they all knew it was just a formality. They weren’t going to find anything.

“He’s right. We didn’t find him. We should have gone the moment his phone went to voicemail,” Emily said.

“That’s in the past,” Rossi said. “We need to focus on now. Where is he, now? How are we going to save him this time?”

“He’ll send us a message. Some sort of code. He has to,” Reid said, intently watching the screen.

Jonathan looked at Hotch for a few long moments. And then he took the knife he was holding and he cut one deep line from Hotch’s knee to his ankle. Hotch begged for mercy the whole time, but it never came.

“How tragic. Did you ever wonder why they didn’t try?”

“I’m not worth saving,” Hotch whispered.

That caused Jonathan to pause. “What?”

“I’m not worth saving. I’m a narcissist. A bully. Drill sergeant. I have trust issues, I don’t trust women as much as men and they don’t want to be my friend,” Hotch said.

Rossi frowned. “Kid, what’s the message? I don’t get it.”

Reid was shaking. “I don’t- I called him a narcissist when Hankel told me to choose someone to die but I didn’t mean it. I didn’t, I said it because I knew he would understand. He never puts himself above the team. But when I said that it gave away my location. There’s nothing with what he just said. Nothing. I don’t even know where the other things came from.”

Prentiss pressed her hand to her mouth. “He genuinely believes that. He’s not lying. I know his tell. He’s not doing it. He’s telling his version of the truth.”

Rossi turned. “What do you mean he genuinely believes that?”

All three of them swallowed, unable to form a response.

“When Reid called Hotch a narcissist and then quoted the Bible, Hotch went off. He told everyone to say what his worst quality was. And in the moment Morgan called him a drill sergeant. JJ said he was a bully. Em said he didn’t trust women as much as men. He cut them off after that and it was never addressed. I told- when we got back to Quantico, I told him he didn’t wear casual clothes enough and he- he smiled,” Garcia explained.

Rossi had never been so angry at his family. “Why would you say that? You know what he’s like. You know how personally he takes things. It doesn’t matter that it was just in the moment, he needed to hear it from all of you that you didn’t mean it.”

Prentiss lunged forward. “Aaron,” she shouted. When Hotch turned slightly to face the camera, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Aaron, it’s Emily. I know you’re not sexist. I know that you trust me just as much as anyone else on the team. I promise. And Morgan loves you too. JJ doesn’t think you’re a bully. We love you, but we need you to help us. Please.”

Jonathan turned to face the camera too. “Stop ruining all the fun, Emily.”

Emily flinched. Jonathan said her name like it was something dirty, but Aaron had only ever said it like it was something to be cherished.

When Jonathan slapped Hotch, Reid closed his eyes.

“What do you think Aaron? Do you think she’s correct? Are you worthy of their love? Or are you exactly like the other victims, maybe even worse?”

Hotch shook his head. “I don’t know. Please, I just, I don’t know.”

Jonathan picked up the cane. Hotch curled in on himself as much as he could. For everyone else, it was like watching Hankel torture Reid all over again. When the cane made contact with Hotch’s stomach, the sound he let out made the tears in Rossi’s eyes fall.

“I think I’ll let you all struggle for a few hours before the grand finale. But, I am nothing if not generous. Aaron, is there anything you want to say to them?”

He looked directly at the camera. Not even Morgan could look into his eyes, so full of pain and anguish. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry for everything. I’m- I never meant for any of you to become so damaged and I am so- I will spend every last minute making up for the pain I caused you, but please, just, please forgive me. Forgive me. Please.”

Jonathan ended it all. There was no way of tracing them.

Reid repeated the words to himself. He needed to find the clue. He needed to work out what the message was. He refused to believe there wasn’t one. Morgan and Rossi slipped into their respective leadership roles, commanding everyone and barking orders. Garcia’s fingers were like lightning, she was finding everything she could on Jonathan. JJ dealt with the media, who wanted to know exactly what was going on. Prentiss flitted between the various groups, offering support. It was weird. Coming back had felt like coming home, but then there were moments like these where she wasn’t sure she’d ever been part of the team.

Hotch was confused. He knew Emily’s tell. She couldn’t hide it from him. He’d been searching for it as she spoke, but it wasn’t there. Which would imply she was telling the truth. But that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t let himself believe it was possible. Only, there was no other logical discussion. Maybe they loved him. Maybe they cared.

“What are you?” Jonathan hissed.

“Their friend,” Aaron whispered, momentarily forgetting where he was.

Jonathan kicked his bare foot. Aaron winced.

“No, you aren’t,” Jonathan said. “You’re a narcissist. You’re a bully. And a drill sergeant, and a sexist prick. I’m assuming- by the looks on their faces- the blonde with glasses and the old man never said anything against you. But I think I know what they would say. You’re rude. And you’re a failure. So what are you?”

“A narcissist,” Hotch replied. But he knew that wasn’t the truth. They were going to find him. They were going to save him, somehow, because that was what their family did.

Dave saved him by offering him the spot. He saved Penelope from a life of crime. Penelope saved Emily from doubting herself too much. Emily saved Jennifer from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Jennifer saved Spencer from thinking he wasn’t worth loving. Spencer saved Derek from getting too cynical. Derek saved Dave from getting too cocky. And the cycle continued.

Reid was pacing, wringing his hands, still mouthing the words to him. Everyone else had stopped because there was nothing left to do.

Without warning, Reid turned and punched the wall.

“Spence!” JJ shouted.

Reid stared at his hand, where blood was now covering his knuckles. Shaking, he fell to his knees, sobbing. Hotch would know what to do. Hotch would take his hand and gently wrap it before talking to him about whatever it was that was going on. He would help him sort through the information overwhelming him.

But Hotch wasn’t there. And it was all his fault.

JJ and Morgan ran over to him. Reid wanted to push them away but found himself powerless to resist their coddling.

“Guys,” Garcia said, answering the call.

She let out a gasp. Hotch’s stomach was worse. There were more cuts on his leg. His face was covered in bruises. But there was something else that hadn’t been there before. A defiant, hopeful glint in his eyes. Like he knew something else now.

“Hello again,” Jonathan greeted.

Garcia immediately started trying to trace the call, not even hesitating to try thousands of other methods when it failed.

Reid pushed Morgan and JJ away, taking the seat next to Garcia to try and find the hidden message.

“I’ve trained Aaron very well,” Jonathan commented. He was holding a gun. Hotch’s gun. Hotch’s back-up gun he’d kept holstered against his ankle ever since Adrian Bale had left him defenceless.

Under the table, Reid fiddled.

“What are you?” Jonathan asked Hotch.

“A narcissist,” Hotch replied, but there was something different about the way he said it when compared to earlier. Reid leant forward, determined to work it out.

“What are you?” he asked again, now pointing the gun at his head. Reid felt bile rise in his throat. It must have been like that for everyone else, watching him with Hankel.

“A bully.”

“And?”

“A drill sergeant.”

“He doesn’t believe what he’s saying,” Reid shouted, then covered his mouth, just in case Jonathan heard. But he was too busy taunting Hotch with the negative things that had been said about him.

“What?” Rossi asked.

“Look at his body language. He doesn’t believe it anymore. Emily convinced him. We just need to work out where he is. If he knows we love him, he won’t do anything stupid.”

Garcia started typing even more furiously.

“Tell them again what you are. Let them savour the moment. Let them always remember this as the moment where Aaron Hotchner finally admitted how dreadful he was.”

“I’ve got a location!” Garcia whispered. Everyone looked at each other, then nodded. Finkelstein and his team would arrest Jonathan and get Hotch out. They would follow as soon as the call had ended.

“I’m a narcissist. A bully. A drill sergeant. A sexist prick. A failure. And I’m rude.”

“I suppose you get the smallest amount of credit for admitting it. But it’s not enough to say it. I want you to prove it. Choose one of them to die.”

Reid dug his nails into the fabric of his trousers.

Hotch’s eyes widened, and for the first time his confidence wavered. “What?”

“You heard me. If you’re truly all of these things, choose one to die. Choose one of those team members that hate you so much to die by your own gun.”

“Come on Hotch. Give us that message that tells us how to get you out safely,” Reid muttered to himself.

Hotch wasn’t answering.

“Wasn’t Agent Reid in a similar situation to this? And didn’t he say that he chose Aaron Hotchner? That must have hurt.”

“It’s Doctor,” Hotch responded, voice weak, the adrenaline waring off as he lost more blood and as his previous injuries went untreated.

“Oh god,” JJ said, the first to realise his mistake.

Hotch’s eyes widened.

Jonathan smirked. “Oh dear. Have you been lying to me? Are you not actually these things?”

“Finkelstein is three minutes away,” Rossi updated.

“I am!” Hotch exclaimed. His voice was hoarse, his eyes glazed over and unfocused.

“Then choose.”

“No.”

“My patience grows thin Aaron. Choose.”

“Two minutes,” Rossi said.

“Hotch please,” Reid pleaded. JJ rubbed his shoulder, just as tense.

“I can’t,” Hotch said, pain starting to overwhelm him as he tried too hard to think of a solution.

“Do it,” Jonathan said, fingers fiddling with the trigger.

“I choose myself,” Hotch said.

“No,” Reid whispered. “There has to be a message somewhere in there. He said: it’s doctor, but before that he said what and after that he said no and- there’s no message. Rossi there’s no message. What are we supposed to do?”

“Finkelstein is a minute away. Hotch will keep him talking. And then we’ll get him back. I promise.”

“Why? Why do you choose yourself, when your team hate you?” Jonathan was angry and holding a gun. A dangerous combination at the best of times. But Hotch had no weapon. No vest.

Restrained and already weakened by his injuries.

“Because they don’t,” Hotch said.

“Yes they do,” Jonathan said through gritted teeth.

“They just need our signal to go in,” Rossi said.

“I can’t make that call,” Morgan confessed.

Rossi looked at him. “We can’t afford to wait.”

“No, they don’t. Your team did though, didn’t they? And then you lost your job for all the bad things you did and ended up being the victim of a person that was exactly the same as you had been. Aren’t I right? You’re not exactly hard to profile, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

“How fucking dare you-” Jonathan started, then sighed. “I want you to tell me. Tell me why it should be you and not one of them.”

Rossi turned away. “Now.”

“Because they are my family. I love them unconditionally. And they love me back. And when you love your family, you do everything you can to keep them safe.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“They’re your family? Who love you?”

Aaron used the last of his strength to look up into his captor’s eyes. “And I love them.”

Jonathan hmmed.

The gunshot that rang out was nothing compared to Reid’s cry of horror.

[anonymous-idfk]

BODY PARTS / BIOCOMPONENTS IN AN ANDROID I USE FOR WHUMP PURPOSES

This isn’t even fully complete because even I don’t really know what I think about them or HC but these are basically what I think of when whumping an android. It’s probably Connor let’s be serious here.

These are mainly based on the character Connor from DBH but I’m sure most of these would work on a lot androids from other games/movies/books/shows etc

If you’re a Canon-only person, an engineer, or some kind of expert and think something wouldn’t work pls don’t come @ me, I literally just bullshit my way through everything, I just wanna whump and hug the characters lmfao idc about strict canon

Some of these are canon, most are definitely not lmao

Okay so this isn’t completed, and may seem very all over the place but that’s because it was just quickly brainstormed and I dont have the mental capacity to sort it all out, ALSO they change to suit idea to idea so eh

So imma split it into 4 catagories, if they cannot eat, if they can eat, their heads and other.

TORSO COMPONENTS IF THEY CANNOT EAT

Thirium Pump – Heart (Pumps the Thirium around the body)

Thirium Pump Regulator – Pacemaker (Regulates the beat of the pump)

Ventilation Biocomponents – Lungs (Ventilates the body, helps it cool down manually)

Thermoregulator/Temperature Regulator – Hypothalamus (Regulates the body temperature, would be in the head but I’m shoving it in the torso)

Artificial Stomach – Stomach (Biocomponent that holds ingested Thirium and excess analysis samples)

Thirium Filter – Liver? (Filters out the bad things (contaminants) in the Thirium ingested before it goes into the main Thirium Supply)

TORSO COMPONENTS IF THEY CAN EAT

Thirium Pump – Heart (Pumps the Thirium around the body)

Thirium Pump Regulator – Pacemaker (Regulates the beat of the pump)

Ventilation Biocomponents – Lungs (Ventilates the body, helps it cool down manually)

Thermoregulator – Hypothalamus (Regulates the body temperature, would be in the head but I’m shoving it in the torso)

Artificial Stomach – Stomach (Where the food and beverages go)

Biocomponent I need a name for  - ?? (Where the Thirium goes, like the stomach, but separate from where the food goes)

Thirium Filter -Liver? (Filters out the bad things (contaminants) in the Thirium ingested before it goes into the main Thirium Supply)

They would have an android version of the epiglottis to shut off the tube that goes to the ‘Biocomponent I need a name for’ but maybe further down the body than a human so it isn’t so close to the surface of the mouth. The tube would be the same one until further down where it would break off into two, one to the ‘Artificial Stomach’ and one to the ‘Biocomponent I need a name for’ which would also be why the ‘Thirium Filter’ would be useful other than for just outside contaminants.

There would be one for the ‘Ventilation Biocomponents’ and ‘Artificial Stomach’ too whether they can eat or not so choking is technically possible if it fails for some reason, though breathing isn’t necessary unless overheating/panicking.

I like there to be a necessary Purge function to get rid of any contaminants. (Because whump)

HEAD

Gyroscope maintains orientation, helps keep balance, etc. Kind of like the cerebellum and the fluid in your ear but mainly just like the actual thing lmao. Located in the head, so it can get knocked off balance with a hit to the head (head injury) or affected by overheating etc, causing dizziness, unbalance, etc

Voice Modulator – Voice Box ig (In the throat where the human’s voice box is. You know what a voice is.)

Forensic Lab/Analysis thingy I don’t really have a name, it tends to change - Tongue ig (In the mouth, used to analyse and identify evidence in real time, basically makes him a walking forensics lab)

Optical Unit – Eye (Like a camera lens ig besides you know what eyes are and what they do)

Audio Unit – Ear (For aesthetic purposes)

Audio Processor - ?? (Plug inserted behind the ear, I’m going with that’s the actual thing that works as an ear)

Central Processing Unit – “The part of a computer in which operations are controlled and executed” So brain probably (I don’t really understand this myself, mainly I just say ‘processors’ and run with that, but basically acts as a human brain. An example might be movement, so it sends electrical impulses to the body, like in humans, to tell a part to move. Also controls speech, language, skin projection, simulations like pre/reconstruction, memory storage, etc.) That might have made 0 sense to people who understand but since I never go into detail and might just say ‘yeah his processors were damaged’ it’s all good lmao

OTHER

Thirium Lines/Wires – Veins/Arteries/Nerves (So basically, I also like to think that there are Thirium Lines running through the body like veins and arteries, alongside wires or anything like that I guess as nerves? So if you wanted to break the android’s back, you could potentially break the wiring too that connects the legs to the ‘Brain’. Ya know.)

Also I like to call certain parts ‘plating’ or their actual name to make it sound more…inhuman(???) For example, if I were to break Connor’s ‘cheekbone’ I’d probably write something along the lines of ‘Cranial Facial Plating’ or his fractured ankle his ‘Talocrural Joint’ etc.

Bruising is just blood under the skin so it might be like a Thirium build up under their artificial skin from broken Thirium lines.

Do I know what plastimetal is? No. Do I use it? Yes. I tend to say ‘their plastimetal frame is showing through the artificial skin due to power being averted somewhere else which makes them appear pale’ or some random bullshit, like I said, don’t @ me

Also, Prototype = more chances of shit to go wrong, malfunction, break, etc

Idk I just like to think that they were made to mirror humans in as many ways as possible, just so I have more ways to whump them lmao.

Many, many other people have also done stuff like this (which are all 10/10 would recommend cause they are amazing I’m jelly) so I’m not saying I made them all up, in fact I’m not entirely sure where some of them came from, but the eating/not eating comparison I came up with just now as I brainstormed lmao which I never do. Planning? Who’s that.

I never stick to the rules, even ones I made or HC, so these might change around from idea to idea but it’s a basic outline I tend to think about when hurting a beloved character. If it can happen to a human, chances are I’ll try to find a way for it to happen to an android or anything else not human (but no animals I caaan’t)

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part One

Author: Gumnut

14-15 Jan 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count:

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.

Timeline: After ‘The Proposal’ and before ‘Goodbye’.

Author’s note: This fic sprouted from two directions. The first was from a prompt by @scribbles97 who wanted some Scott whump, but shortly after that there was a discussion about poor Scott’s love life, so an OC has been born into Warm Rain. I hope you like her. Thank you to all my wonderful readers and supporters who continue to help me create more and more stories. I’m having the time of my life, you guys are wonderful :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“For the love of god, will you bloody well sit still!”

Kayo frowned.

“I need to-“ Scott. That was Scott.

“If you don’t stop moving, I will knock you out, you hear me?” It was a threatening tone. Kayo attempted to force her eyes open. They moved, but flickered closed again.

“Please, she’s my sister.” That sent alarm bells ringing. What the hell? Scott’s voice hurt. “Virgil...” Virgil! She struggled against the weight drawing her down. Virgil? Where was Virgil?

There was dust in her nose.

“Your sister is okay. It is you who you should be worried about. Sit still.”

“But-“

“What do you think your sister will do to you if you haemorrhage attempting to get to her? What do you think she will do if you go and die on her simply because you’re being a stupid ass and won’t sit still?

There was no answer. Scott? Virgil?

Her eyes opened only to encounter blur. Grey blur. “S-Scott?” That was her voice?

“Kayo!”

“God damnit, if you undo what little I’ve managed to do, I’ll kill you myself!”

That had Kayo moving before she could think. She sat up abruptly and her reward was a spinning vertigo and spikes of pain through her head, her back, her legs. She groaned, her stomach crawling up her oesophagus.

She swallowed desperately and only just managed to keep whatever she last ate where it was supposed to be.

“Keep yourself calm. You have a concussion.”

Her voice was parched. “No kidding.” Her eyesight was wobbly, blurry and grey. “Where are we?”

“Basement of Kenny’s Hotel, King’s Park.”

That made her blink. “Where?”

The voice sighed. “Perth, Western Australia. I guess you guys could find yourself anywhere on the planet at any time. You were here to help with a landslide.”

Landslide? In Perth? She frowned. Her memory was a mess. Only one name and one face kept resurfacing. “Virgil? Where is Virgil?” She reached for her kit, feeling for one of those light sticks her fiancé demanded she carry. There was the crack of broken seals and the blur glowed green.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who Virgil is, much less where he is. Only you, your brother Scott and myself are privileged to be caught in this hole.”

She frowned again, looking towards the voice. The green blur cleared a little, leaving shapes. “Scott?”

“Here, Kayo.” He didn’t sound too good. “Contact Virgil.”

Contact Virgil...yes. She hit her comms. Nothing happened.

She hit them again. “Virgil? John? Thunderbird Five?” No confirmation of an open line, no crackle of transmission. Nothing.

She ran her hand over her face, willing her thoughts to clear and the pounding to stop. Where was her helmet? A moment of discovery found it beside her on broken floorboards. How?

Calm. Now was not the time to lose control. If Virgil was okay, he would find them. If he wasn’t, she would find him. Concentrate.

Using years of mental discipline, she pulled herself into focus, desperately compartmentalising, shunting pain away, grabbing for control. She was needed. No time for weakness.

It helped. It forced more clarity. Her eyesight wasn’t much better, but it improved a little. The woman had dark hair and was lying beside her brother. Scott’s shape was crumpled on his side. He was staring at her.

They were in a hole, literally. Broken masonry and brickwork surrounded them, but they were in a clear spot created by a massive concrete beam above them capturing all the debris and leaving the open space that had obviously saved their lives.

“Scott, status?”

She knew the answer wouldn’t be good. She dreaded it.

“Er...” He didn’t want to tell her, it was obvious.

The woman answered for him. “Perforated abdominal cavity, broken ribs, arm and leg.”

“Your bedside manner sucks.” He snarled at her.

“Put yourself in a bed and it might improve. But for the moment, stop moving, stop talking, keep living. Be damned if I let you die on my watch.”

“As I said, it sucks.”

“Who are you?” Kayo blinked desperately trying to clear her vision. This could be a security situation.

“Em Harris. Doctor Em Harris. I’m supposed to be on vacation, but the hillside decided it wanted to fall on people. Tried to help, then this hotel decided to join the party.”

Kayo took what she needed from that and discarded the rest. “Your medical status?”

“Severe lacerations to my legs, possibly a cracked rib, bruising and a knock to the head. I’ve bound the bleeders as best I can.” There was hesitation. “I may need some assistance with that.” Another pause. “How’s your eyesight?”

“Not great.”

“Give it some time.” The hiss of an exhaled breath. “What about the rest of you? I didn’t see anything, but...”

Kayo did a quick mental check of herself. Her thought processes were definitely getting clearer. Everything was aching, but bruising was the likely culprit. She arched her back, argh, nasty bruising. She must have fallen some distance, the timber beneath them probably saved her. “Nothing serious.”

Silence fell for a moment and the lack of sound was oppressive.

“Did you want me to check your legs?” She had eyes on Scott, but from what she could see, which was admittedly blurry, the doctor had done everything she said. His arm was splinted to his body, his legs tied together, and cloth was wrapped around the obvious wooden cause of the damage to his side. Kayo was running scenarios through her head and none of them were good. They needed to get out of here. But lives first and the woman had shown her only hesitation at the mention of herself.

Not waiting for an answer, she shuffled her way over to the pair, a hand landing briefly on Scott’s fingers, her heart twinging at the sight of darkness staining his uniform. Iron control kept her in check, thoughts briefly flickering to Virgil shunted away.

The woman, Doctor Harris, was lying alongside her brother, the green light making her look sickly. Her legs were sprawled carelessly, the material of her pants shredded. There was that same darkness seeping through. Kayo bit her lip. Torn pieces of clothing, presumably her jacket and part of her shirt were wrapped in strategic places.

This hadn’t happened where she was lying. It couldn’t have. Kayo frowned lighting up a trail of darkness leading into the rubble. God. “What did you do?”

The woman looked up at her. “What was necessary.”

How was she conscious? Grabbing the remains of the woman’s jacket, she pulled out the small laser cutter that her fiancé also had on his list of must carry, and sliced up some more quick bandages and began first aid on the woman’s legs.

Halfway through the first wrapping, the doctor reached down and touched her hand. “I can’t feel it. Haven’t been able to for a long time. You’re not hurting me.” And she pointed to a half-crushed piece of equipment lying amongst the rubble.

A hover chair.

Kayo caught her eyes for a moment, but then hurried on to prevent the woman from slowly bleeding to death, whether she could feel it or not.

In the end, the IR operative managed to conserve enough material to bind the doctor’s legs together and immobilise them completely.

The woman smiled briefly, her fingers going once again to Scott’s pulse. Her brother mumbled something and Kayo slid herself around so he could see her.

His eyelids were drooping, but he was fighting to keep them open. “K, sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “For what? This isn’t the first time a building has fallen on either of us.”

“Virgil’s gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled, ignoring the fact she didn’t know his location or status. “The building is going to get it good. He is going to kick its ass.”

Scott smiled, an exhale of a laugh crumpling into a grimace. “Wish he’d get on with it.”

She reached out and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing away a single pain-filled tear.

Then as if in telepathic answer, there was a roar of machinery, followed by the familiar whine of her fiancé’s exo-suit in action.

The satisfying grind of shifting brickwork and finally his voice. She loved his voice at any time, but right now, she had to admit it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Kay?! Scott?! Can you hear me?”

“Virgil!” His name danced from her lips.

“Kay! Oh thank god.” More sounds of shattering brickwork. His breathing as he worked echoed over his external comms. “Status?”

“Three of us. Civilian. Female. Lacerated legs. Moderate bleeding.” She caught the doctor’s eyes. “Medical history of paraplegia.” She took a breath. “Scott.” She looked down at her brother. Still fighting to stay conscious. “Conscious but injured. Broken arm, leg, ribs and perforated abdominal cavity.” It hurt just to say it.

“Copy that.” Something outside crashed with attitude. “And you?”

“Concussion and simple bruising.” A pause. “I’m okay.” Love, I’m okay.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. There was another crash and a grunt. Light flickered around them through gaps in the rubble. Moments later, her fiancé tore through the last of the brickwork, his hydraulics wheezing as his chest heaved, his eyes darting between her and his brother.

Gordon and Alan broke the tableau by dashing in from behind him, a backboard and kit each, followed by local paramedics. There was a flurry of medical assessment, Scott attempting to yell, Doctor Harris equally yelling at him to shut up and keep still. Gordon taking charge and setting his eldest brother straight in the sharpest tones possible, enough to have everyone staring at him for a matter of seconds.

“Way to go, Gords.” Alan muttered the words, but was focussed on the doctor, busy securing her to the backboard.

Kayo struggled to her feet, ignoring the attention of the paramedic attempting to keep her down. Her body creaked as she walked over to Virgil. His eyes were on her, then on Scott, on her again, his chest still heaving from his exertions. She knew he was moments away from shedding the exo-suit and diving into help.

She put her hand onto his chest and felt his heart pounding through several layers of uniform and her glove. “He will be alright.” He had to be.

Then Gordon and the paramedics were racing past them out into the Australian summer sun, the blue of the sky denying the weeks of unseasonal rain that had caused the landslide in the first place. Alan followed shortly after with the doctor spouting off Scott’s condition even while being carted off herself.

She shook off the paramedic who accosted her again, and suddenly they were alone.

One arm slipped out of the exo-suit and she was suddenly in a crushing hug, her bruises protesting. He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

It was one self-indulgent moment and then he let her go. His voice was deep and hoarse. ‘Let’s get you checked out.” His hydraulics wheezed as he slipped his arm back into the suit and gestured her forward.

She blinked at the sunlight piercing her eyes, but straightened and walked out from under the building.

-o-o-o-

End Part One.

Part Two