#DRUNK AGENTS WITH POT ROAST

[rollingredneck]

Everything But Rap and Country

I don’t like rap or country music. According to some is an indicator that I might be racist and/or classist. Which is a weird thing to extrapolate from musical preferences. When there are perfectly valid reasons to dislike both. My main reason for disliking rap is the constant use of the n-word. You can say it’s “different” without the “hard R.” No it’s not. A slur is a slur. And it’s making it difficult to have needed conversations in this country. Hell just look at the conversation around “Try That In A Small Town.” The criticism of the pro-vigilantism (and that’s just me being nice) song got immediately drowned out by “But the rappers use the n-word!” And any conversation about race in an average household gets immediately derailed by “The rapper used the n-word!” The common defense is that they want to “reclaim the word.” Why? Trying to reclaim a slur is like trying to rebuild a Pinto that exploded multiple times. You only hurt yourself and anyone in the general area. And you look stupid. But that is *nothing* compared to country music.

Hypocrisy drips from modern country music and the culture that surrounds it like a pot roast.

They sing about how they “respect the law” unlike us evil smelly city people. But every other Facebook post by country music fans is them dreaming of the day where they can gun down government agents they happen to not like.Not to mention the fact that most country music has been a pornographic love poem to booze and getting into good ol’ boy fistfights. How law abiding.

They constantly sing about the moral superiority of small town values. Ignoring the fact that we had to create a whole new category of laws and sentencing enhancements because small town people were using various minorities as punching bags while the community pretended they didn’t see anything.

Their songs about America basically depend on who’s in offce. If a Republican is in office, every country song is “Stand For the Flag or You’re A Commie.” If anyone slightly to the left of Jerry Falwell is in office every song becomes “Rural Americans Are the Most Oppressed and Shat Upon People In the History of Ever.” But the thing I find most reprehensible about country music is that when it comes to content criticism, country music is constantly treated with kiddie gloves and it wants to be. Songs about booze, fast cars and getting ladies drunk for the purposes of having sex with them (otherwise known in the legal world, as date rape) are basically the only secular music allowed in most conservative Christian households. Publications that review music for lyrical content to see if it’s “family friendly” bend over backwards to ignore the decidedly family-unfriendly content of country music.

Hell, if some of the lyrics in country songs were sang in rap or metal songs, there’d be Congressional hearings and the artists would be called to the carpet while they get lectured by everyone about the messages they send to kids..

And worst of all, neither rap or country want to be treated with the same artistic scrutiny. If you dislike rap, you’re called anti-black. If you dislike country, you’re called anti-lower class white.

No other music style tries to shield itself from criticism this way. Some people say metal is bad and violent or that R&B is entirely too sexualized. The response from the artists and fans isn’t to accuse everyone of race/class bias. It’s to say “Well you have fun with your music and we’ll let our music speak for itself.”

Modern rap and country can’t do this because it has very little to say.

#rap #country music #politics #racism #classism #class issues #RuralAmerica #urbanissues

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 6: The Slowest Cooker

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s Friday, April 17th, and they’re eating lunch in the Hoover building’s cafeteria. They eat lunch together almost every day now, Mulder realizes. They’re practically joined at the hip.

Except in the fun way.

Today is different, though. Because today she invites him over for dinner.

Scully’s devouring a caesar salad, and Mulder’s heart is warmed by the evidence of her returning appetite. Five months ago, she was dying of cancer, and now she’s here stealing the occasional potato chip from the bag he got from the vending machine. He doesn’t mind; she could take his entire sandwich from him right now, and he’d happily watch her eat it.

“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. “My mother got me a crockpot for my birthday and I’m thinking of giving it a test drive.”

His heart leaps, and he wants to shout yes, but instead he asks “What about Mark?”

She gives him one of her patented Scully looks. “I’m allowed to have friends, Mulder. And I still owe you for going to the bar with me that one time, remember?” She takes another bite of salad. “Also, he’s working.”

“Ah,” Mulder says knowingly. “Sure; what’s on the menu?”

“Pork roast,” she replies. “My mom’s recipe. The leftovers make great pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Anything you’d like me to bring?”

Scully shrugs. “Red wine would go nicely, but I’ll be testing you at the door to make sure you’re not Eddie Van Blundht,” she says dryly.

“You gonna check me for evidence of a tail, Scully?” he says in a low tone, leaning in so they’re not overheard.

“Keep that up and I’m rescinding my invite and keeping all the leftovers to myself,” she replies, picking a wilted bit of romaine out of her salad.

It’s not a date, he reminds himself. Just friends sharing dinner.

Regardless, he takes a shower and puts on one of his nicer sweaters before heading to her place.

He knocks on her door at 6:30 sharp, a bottle of Pinot Noir in hand. His palm is a little sweaty, and he grips the wine tightly to avoid dropping it.

“It’s open,” he hears her call out.

He opens the door and is hit by the savory aroma of meat and herbs. His mouth waters instantly. When he turns and sees her in the kitchen, it waters for a different reason entirely.

Scully’s reaching into the cupboard above the sink, her soft green sweater riding up to expose a ribbon of creamy skin. He wants to wrap his arms around her waist, kiss her neck, tell her to forget dinner because he’s got something else on his mind.

Instead he just says “Hey”.

“Hi,” she greets him, bringing down two salad plates and setting them on the table. “Do you want to hear the good news first or the bad?”

Mulder blinks. “Uh,” he says brilliantly. That goddamn little sweater-

“The good news is that I’ve had the crockpot running for about six hours, and nothing’s caught fire,” she says, leaning against the countertop.

He nods. “And the bad news is…”

“I started the roast at almost half noon,” Scully admits. “I had to go to the grocery store first and that took longer than expected. So the meat won’t be done until eight-thirty.”

“That’s fine,” Mulder says, hoping his stomach doesn’t rumble loudly enough for her to hear. “Oh, and I brought Pinot Noir,” he says, reading the label.

---

They eat the salad she prepared; it’s spinach and apple with vinaigrette, and Mulder has to admit it’s pretty tasty.

“You’re a good hostess, Scully,” Mulder says as she pours him a glass of Prosecco. “Maggie should be proud.”

“Please note the size of crockpot she gifted me,” Scully replies, gesturing to the slow-cooker on the counter. “She fully intends for me to feed a crowd, not just you. I have a long way to go.” She sits across from him and takes a sip of her wine. “But this is a start.”

“Can I make a confession?” he asks.

Scully nods.

“I… I don’t drink much wine. So I have no idea if the one I brought is any good. I told the store clerk I was having pork for dinner and he recommended that one,” Mulder says, cocking his head toward the bottle on the counter.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Scully assures him. “I’m not a wine snob by any means. I’m kind of surprised you’re not one, actually, considering your background.”

Mulder shrugs. “I don’t drink much, aside from the occasional beer. But this is good,” he says, lifting his glass.

———

The Prosecco is… very good.

“How long until the meat’s done?” Mulder asks, resting his head on his hand.

“Half hour,” Scully replies, downing the last sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, Mulder. Do you want some cheese and crackers to tide you over?”

“M’good,” he says lazily, stifling a burp. He’s feeling warm and soft inside, and the wine’s put him in a charitable mood. “How are things with Mark?”

“Things are good… things are fine,” Scully says, then sighs. “He’s… god, he’s so nice.”

“Nice is good, right?” Mulder asks, toying with his empty wine glass. “People like nice.”

Scully narrows her eyes at him. “Are you feeling okay, Mulder?”

“We’re not talking about me,” he says, slumping in his chair and stretching his long legs out under the table. “We’re talking about Mark. Mark Eidolanterns.”

“Einolander,” Scully corrects him. “And yes, nice is good, generally,” she continues. “But sometimes I wish he weren’t so nice. I don’t know,” she says, exhaling. “I need more wine if I’m going to talk about this,” she says with a huff of laughter.

“Hey, we got it,” Mulder says. “Dinner’s almost ready anyway. Let’s try the mystery Pinot I brought.”

---

The pot roast is done cooking and they’re definitely a little drunk.

“Whew… I’m feeling this,” Mulder says, holding the bottle up too close to his face as he attempts to read the label. “It’s been so long, I forgot that wine does this to me.”

“Higher alcohol content,” Scully says. “And you’re a lightweight.”

“That your medical opinion, Dr. Scully?” he asks.

“Yes,” she mumbles, slicing a piece off of the roast and dumping it unceremoniously onto his plate. “Tada,” she says, pushing it across the table to him. “Meat.”

“I can see that,” he remarks. He takes another sip of wine. “Wine’s good,” he assures her, even though she’s already on her second glass of the red.

“Can’t say the same for the roast,” she admits, chewing. “I skimped on the salt and in hindsight that was a bad idea.”

Mulder shovels a piece into his mouth. “Tastes good to me,” he assures her. “But I’ve only had wine and salad since lunchtime so at this point I’d eat anything. I’d eat you,” he adds, pointing his fork in her direction.

“Pass that idea along to Mark,” she sighs, then covers her mouth. “I didn’t say that,” she says, face red.

“You did,” Mulder crows, too tipsy to feel jealous. “You did and I heard you.” He takes another draw from his glass. “The store guy was right, this is good with pork.”

“You’re going to have an incredible hangover tomorrow,” Scully says, chewing meditatively. “Wine’s a bitch.”

“You should swear more,” Mulder says. “It’s endearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “I can’t believe how drunk you are,” she says, almost fondly.

“I’m not that drunk,” he insists. Just in love with you.

Scully smiles. “No sober man has ever said that.”

---

“There’s no spark,” she blurts out.

They’d taken the rest of of the wine to the couch and are slumped on opposite ends, goblets in hand.

“No spark?” Mulder echoes. It was an admission he wasn’t expecting. He angles his body towards hers, careful not to spill his glass.

“With Mark. I like him, I really do. He’s kind, intelligent, a devoted father, and quite attractive; and yet…” She gestures loosely to her body with the hand not holding her wine. “Nothing.” She takes another sip. “I can’t shake the idea that I should be feeling more. And the fact that he hasn’t kissed me yet... I understand wanting to move slowly and let things grow with time, but not even a single kiss?”

“Th-that did strike me as odd,” Mulder stumbles. “You have nice lips.”

“I do,” Scully agrees, seemingly unfazed by the comment. “I should be kissed.” She drains her glass and holds it out to him.

Mulder pours out the last of the bottle into her glass. “Maybe if… maybe if you kissed, you’d find the spark.”

Scully shakes her head. “No. No, it does’t work that way. At least not for me. I don’t want to force chemistry that’s not there,” she explains. “It should come naturally, feel like it does with-”

Mulder waits expectantly for her to finish her sentence. “With?” he prompts.

Her face is flushed with wine, and she licks her lips. “Mulder, tell me honestly; do you think I’m settling?”

The room suddenly feels too warm, and he takes a nervous gulp of wine that does nothing to calm his body. “Scully, I- I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“You’re my closest friend,” she says softly, eyes cast downward. “Who else would I ask?”

She has a point. “Your mother-” he begins.

“She set me up with him in the first place,” Scully reminds him. “Clearly she’d be no help.”

“What do you want, Scully? If you’re honest with yourself.” He raises his glass. “In vino veritas, or whatever,” he says, taking another drink.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I always do this. I find a man I want to impress or gain the approval of, then resent the authority I let them have over me. This cycle of… of compliance and defiance is exhausting.”

He can tell she’s tipsy, and yet at the same time she’s strangely lucid. He’s never gotten to experience this particular kind of vulnerability with her before, and it gives him a thrill. He can feel the warmth of her body permeating him from across the sofa, her bright hair like a wood stove fire on a winter night. He wants to wrap her entire body around him like a blanket and have a long sleep.

“Yup, I’m drunk,” he declares, and throws back the last of his glass.

#my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #DRUNK AGENTS WITH POT ROAST #i don't drink so i did a lot of research for this okay like a LOT #the next two chapters are gonna be WILD aaa

[dwiankus]

MC TAG - LOVE ISLAND THE GAME SEASON 3

full name: Mingmei Wu 吴明美

nickname: MeiMei

Age: 27

Hometown: London, United Kingdom

Born: Shanghai, People's Republic of China (PRC)

Star Sign: Leo

Occupation: Scientist (Biotechnology)

Sexuality: Straight

Nationality/Ethnicity : British/Chinese

Languages: Shanghainese, Mandarin Chinese, English

Personality Traits: Stubborn, A Goofball, Competitive, Loyal, Sweet, Kind, Understanding, Honest, Independent

Her style? She was born in strict family and always got rules on everything, include how to dress properly. Since she worked at London, she was kinda adapt to the london style but if you want to know: she loves red, doesnt like jeans, more comfortable with flat shoes than high heels, usually she dress bad when she worked at lab and sometimes she was a mess like "i sleep on my office because i dont want to be late", but she can killed wearing suit with high heals.

MC Family: Wu Family. Family sigil: Dragon

- Strict Family

- They all good at martial arts, kungfu, etc.

- They only have Mingmei as the successful one. Mingmei break the gender of success in wu family and she made it.

- Mingmei has 3 older brothers: Xiuhuan, Kangjian, dan Yuwen. 1 older sister: Tao. I will told all of you about the siblings in another post.

- Mingmei's parents still alive: Hong Li and Jia Li. Include her grandma, Xia He.

- Her family run a lot of business. Beer, Wine, Electronic parts, etc.

- "Family above all" as their motto.

Hidden Talents:

- sing and dance

- play guzheng, play piano, guitar

- learned kungfu, shiaolin, etc.

- not a girl who drunk easily. One time she beat a man who challenged her shots 20 tequila and she still fine.

Favorite drinks:

- Roasted Milk Tea Boba

- Hot Tea, especially Chamomile Tea

- Her older sister's only wine made label

- Beer include Butterscotch Beer

Movie and Music genres:

- she enjoys all type musics and vibing easily at it

- she loves action and horror movies.

- her favorites series: how to get away with a murder, madame secretary, NCIS, Bones, American Horror Story, Strangers Things

- her favorites movies: Agent 007, Fast Furious, Saw, Incidious, and she watch some romantic movies too but mingmei shy about it.

Favorite's food? She eat very well. She loves ice cream. She loves hot pot.

Favorite place: chilling at home maybe. Ok, mingmei will mad about but lowkey she loves and enjoy a company to museum, aquarium, amusement park. Ok i will stop, she glare at me.

Some things her values the most: Family, Friendship, Soulmate or Lover.

Bestfriend: Seb. I am sorry guys, i said before it was elladine but Seb was very interesting.

- she had a childhood bestfriend called Yenny Song, mostly Yenny was supportive and loving bestfriend.

LI: Harry

Behind the story, Love Island:

- mingmei already on the age of marriage.

- mingmei was arranged marriage with someone but her family never told her who he was.

- mingmei refused but got backfire from her family.

- finally with all her siblings help, she got a chance to find her own.

Face claim: Fan BingBing (Chinese Actress)

Actually i have been conflicted looking for MC face claim. My choices were Victoria Song, Liu Yifei, and Fan BingBing. Also i want a fierce and mature face, but with a twist sweetheart personality. I suppose fan bingbing can do that.

Let me know your opinions about her☺

#litg #love island the game #litg s3 #litg harry #litg seb #mc tag #litg3

[kateyandthecloset]

Sect Bound . Aaron Hotchner [2.1]

Request . Prompts . Masterlist . Sect Bound

David Rossi has an unconditional love for coffee so strong it could wake the dead. Whether he be recovering from a late night of poker, or a case had been active so long her had become easily agitated, coffee was his stimulant of choice. As a true Italian, he wouldn't drink the fancy coffee that he had seen Penelope order from Starbucks, no, David would only drink dark roast with a splash of milk. The way it was supposed to be.

That was why he was in the break room when Annabel's visitor badge was traded for an employee ID. To say he was surprised would have been a lie, David had seen the secret meetings between the newly reverted ginger and Erin Strauss, with the occasional addition of Aaron, but he hadn't expected it to happen this quickly. He had spent a great deal of time with Annabel over the past few months, particularly as she seemed to live in Aaron's office when they only had paperwork to complete, which meant that he knew that she still had a closet full of skeletons.

David watched carefully as the woman shook hands with Erin, the latter surprising him by encasing Annabel's hand in her own. David wondered if the two could possibly know each other, the mere fact that she was given visitation privilege so often being an indication in that direction. However, it wasn't until that moment that he came to believe his own hypothesis. Erin's smile seemed genuine - and almost proud - as she looked at the women, almost as though she were looking at her child.

There was a quick nod of Annabel's head that ended the conversation between the two women, Erin crossing the floor to her own office without hesitation. David couldn't tear his eyes from the ginger as she stood, seeming lost, outside the glass doors that lead to the bullpen. The newest Bureau employee let out a large breath, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands, before finally walking through the door.

She saw David almost instantly, throwing him a quick smile as she crossed the bullpen to join him. He hoped that she hadn't caught him staring, though he also knew that she was understanding of the team's fixation on her and the mystery that surrounded her name. However, none of them had known her before the disappearance, and, while he hadn't been as familiar with the girl as Aaron, David had been an acquaintance of Annabel's back when she had been a young adult with big dreams.

Having pulled a second mug from the cupboard, David held up the coffee pot causing her to grin as she nodded. It wasn't until she was stood just a few paces away from him that the Italian could see the dark patches below her eyes. Aaron had told him about her restless nights during their many conversations over scotch once they had finished cases, but, from the way the girl laughed with the rest of the team, he never would have guessed the physical toll it had on her.

Annabel thanked him as she took the mug, her eyes scanning the rest of the floor as she said, "I don't know how to do this Dave."

"What do you mean?" He questioned, watching as she rested her hip against the counter, still ensuring her back was not to the door the way she had since late November.

"Strauss has brought me in as a victim communications and support officer," she explained, causing David's eyes to widen. As she mentioned it, he remembered how she had always dreamed of helping people recover from traumatic events. He always assumed that she had her share of darkness in her past, and now he realised that, by that point in her life, she must not have suffered the half of it.

Annabel has taken a breath, and a mouthful of the coffee her nose screwing up at the taste in a way that David was sure his had the first time he had drunk the Bureau's mixed blend. Shaking the sour look from her face she continued, "JJ just left you all, and I've not exactly done anything to earn your trust. I keep running different scenarios of how doing this job will go, none of them include it going well."

"The old first day nerves," David mused, a low hum leaving his chest as he withheld a laugh. "Let me tell you something, that team in there respect you more than any outsider. We've watched you pull yourself up from the ground over the last couple of months, and none of them wish they could go back to before they knew you."

"I just," she paused, shaking her head, "it's stupid really."

"I can assure you; I've heard stupid and I don't think you can say anything to match it." David chuckled, causing Annabel to smile in a way that lit up her entire face.

She looked at her feet, not matching David's gaze as she muttered, "I guess I'm just scared that they'll think I've gotten special treatment."

"How so?"

"Well, getting this job in the first place seems like a miracle to those I've just met," she explained, tilting her head. "Before all this I was an intern here."

"I remember," David declares, managing to hide the shock in his voice. "You were with child crimes for a while before moving to sex crimes."

"Crimes against women," she corrected. "Strauss said that my training was still valid, that was why she spoke to me around Christmas."

"Did you pass the psych eval?" The elder Bureau employee asked, watching as the woman nodded a sheepish look on her face. "In that case, the team shall have no problem with the logistics of your arrival."

"But-"

David shook his head, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her out of the break room and towards the clump of BAU employees, "No 'but's. Now let's introduce you to the team."

"I've already met the team," she argued, but the agent simply shook his head.

"Excuse me," he spoke, interrupting whatever joke Spencer was telling. Each of them turned to look at the duo, Annabel's face pulling to an awkward smile. "I want to introduce you to Annabel Bradey-"

"Rossi, we've met Annie before." Derek interrupted, causing Annabel to raise a brow at David as he reiterated her earlier point.

"Ah, if you would let me finish," Derek nodded, intrigued with where the conversation was going. "This is Annabel Bradey, the new Victim Communications and Support Officer for the BAU. She will be joining our team for the foreseeable future."

There was a silence, the three agents sharing looks of shock at the new status of the ginger before them. It was Derek who broke the silence, a grin forming on his face as he clapped his hands together, "Alright, alright. It'll be good to have you out there with us, Baby Doll."

"Calm down, Morgan," Emily declares, rolling her eyes at her colleague's flirtatious manner. Having reprimanded Derek with a slight slap to the arm, she turned to Annabel, a supportive smile on her face, and added, "Welcome to the family, as long as you don't snore on the plane, we'll be good."

"To snore you have to sleep," she laughed, her eyes growing wide as she became aware of the over sharing. "What I mean is-"

"It's okay," Emily interrupted, placing a hand on the woman's forearm. "You've been through a lot; we are under no delusion that you suddenly went back to regular life."

Annabel smiled at Emily, reassuring, "I'm okay though, really. I even passed the psych eval."

"No one doubts that," Derek explained, watching as the woman became visibly apprehensive before him. "There's really nothing to worry about."

"Thank you," she blurted, the words having escaped from her mouth before she could even consider them. "Honestly, I owe you all a lot."

David placed his arm around her, stating, "You don't owe us anything."

She smiled back at him, wanting nothing more than for her heart to stop racing. As if he could sense it, David suggested he show her where she would be based. Nodding her head, Annabel bid farewell to the rest of the team before following him across the bullpen to Jennifer's old office. She grit her teeth, not wanting to take the BAU veteran's old office, but David reassured her that she needed a space to talk confidently to victims and families who required her support.

As he left her, David noticed how she had already begun to organise the room. It had been spotless when they had walked in, but she was straightening every small detail of the room. She would check everything multiple times, which he noticed was similar to how she had acted that morning when she had straightened out her skirt. Before then, he hadn't picked up on the quirk, but he was sure, had he have spent more time with her over the past months, he would have noticed it in every aspect of her life.

He also noticed that she had tried everything she could to separate herself, aesthetically, from the woman who stood in Aaron's office in late November, barely able to string a sentence together without bursting into tears. She had cut her hair, stripped the red dye from it leaving her with - what he assumed was natural - ginger and dressed in a way that contrasted the simple, almost hippie, attire she had arrived in. It was as though she was reinventing herself, but for Annabel, she was reverting to the woman she had been before her life had been turned upside down.

Tags: @fandoms-unite14​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ (Message to be added.)

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds fic #criminal minds cbs #cbs criminal minds #cbs #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x oc #hotch imagine #derek morgan #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #agent rossi

[dcvidsrossi]

Truth or Dare (14x15)

Since we've all already heard the arguments about the season finale — and I don't feel like delving down that particular avenue, lest I get upset again —, I'm here to talk about the things I actually liked!

(Goes without saying, spoilers for season 14 finale!! Shield your eyes and scroll fast!)

Firstly, hats off to Glenn Kershaw for a beautiful directing job. Admittedly, I don't know a whole lot about cinematography, but there were some really pretty shots in that episode that I could really appreciate

Rossi! and his! fucking! sneakers!!!

He never wears any shoes besides his boots, but damn, he dumb cute!

Also, thanks Krystall for not being a dickhead about his job. You go, girl.

You know, Dave's comment about commandeering the plane...I kinda wanna see it

Emily simultaneously being a strict boss and making them be at work, but also letting them play poker in the round table room that is essentially for presenting cases. But fuck that, I guess.

THE TEAM PLAYING POKER. I REPEAT, THE TEAM PLAYING POKER. THEY'RE ADORABLE W O W

TARA BACK AT IT AGAIN ROASTING LUKE'S PARENTS AHHHH

I love the Tara/Luke dynamic, and frankly, I'd die for that brotp

“We're still playing poker, right?” YEAH YOU ARE EMILY, I LOVE YOU CLUELESS BABY

Luke: Thanks for not letting me put Garcia's octopus mug in the pot

Garcia: [drinking from said mug] What was that?

THE TIMING I'M– It's safe to say I lost my shit. I'm a sucker for that type of humour

Luke and his fucking popsicle!! Marry me, Agent Alvez!

I see the Luke/Rossi brotp is still going strong, despite both of them being literal children

Rossi: You know you coulda got me one of those

Luke: You have a wedding!

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY LUKE

That shot of Emily and Matt having a conversation on the balcony with the view behind them? Breathtaking. Amazing. Brilliant. The best.

Kristy asking about Mendoza was so cute, but it begs the question — how does she know about it?

There are only two (2) options here; 1) Emily told her and we have heaps of unwitnessed friendship goodness between Emily and Kristy, or 2) (and this is my favourite version) Matt gossips about his boss' (and potentially the entire team's) love life to his wife

Just,, the team at the wedding, man. They all looked so damn Good in formal attire

Garcia naming her drink “the Rossi”, and Tara not caring about anything besides if it'll get her drunk as a skunk

Garcia, Luke and Tara talking and being adorable,, Please agents, my heart is fragile and I love you all.

Emily's speech in which she drags Dave's proposal! We stan!

Must've been hard for her to hold back like that, considering how good she is at (and how much fun she has) dragging Dave

Luke, Matt and Garcia's energetic dancing made my mcfreaking night! They were just so happy! It's what they deserve!

Matt's reaction to Kristy being pregnant was so wholesome, I love them

Also Matt five seconds later: We need a bigger boat. Bigger house, bigger car, bigger paycheck...

Dave's voiceover, okay. That's it.

Rossi: As a good friend of mine once said, “All you need is love.”

#criminal minds

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @froggydarren!

Read on AO3

*****

Safe in Our Room(At the End of the World)

“Where were you approximately 11 months ago, Mr. Hale?”

Derek just rolls his eyes at the question that’s asked before he can even say hello as he picks up the phone.

“Hello to you, too, Stiles,” he says. “And I’m pretty sure 11 months ago, we were in Chile hunting down those Tinkerbell rejects. I know you remember that whole mess.”

Stiles laughs, no doubt remembering how they’d had to rescue Liam from a pack of honest-to-god sparkling fairies. Mean ones.

“Oh man,” he says, “that was the best. The look on his face!”

“So why the Agent Voice?” Derek asks, “the FBI doesn’t want to frame me for more murders I didn’t commit, do they?”

“I met this baby,” Stiles answers, “ok, this baby and his mom. And it had your eyebrows! Like… your exact, glorious and angry eyebrows! With the scowl to match.”

It’s Derek turn to laugh, at the sheer ridiculousness of Stiles and his everything.

“I didn’t impregnate anybody 11 months ago,” he says. “Or ever,” he adds, because he knows that would be the next question out of Stiles’ mouth.

“He bit my fingers!” Stiles exclaims, “are you sure you’re not related?”

“Why were your fingers near his mouth?” Derek counters, taking a moment to wonder how Stiles even got himself into this situation.

“Because his cheeks were so squishable!” Stiles huffs, “obviously.”

“Obviously,” Derek agrees, smiling into the empty room despite himself.

“You’ll be there for Christmas, right?” Stiles asks suddenly, switching topics so fast that it would have made Derek’s head spin if he hadn’t grown so used to it over the years.

“Well,” Derek says, “I did just build a brand new house, I should probably prepare for all of you inevitably trashing it.”

For a long, beautiful moment, Stiles is absolutely silent. Derek snickers to himself, he does so love when he can render Stiles speechless.

“YOU BOUGHT A HOUSE??” Stiles screeches a moment later.

“Built a house,” Derek corrects.

“Built a house,” Stiles parrots, before his indignation rises again. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Yup,” Derek says, because honestly, it’s just too easy to rile Stiles up.

“You’re such an ass,” Stiles says, grumbling to himself about stupid werewolves and their stupid excellent secret-keeping skills.

“Yup,” Derek agrees.

“Does everyone else know?” Stiles asks, once he’s gotten his hissy fit out.

“Nobody else knows,” Derek says. “Well, except Cora. But I wanted her blessing before I tore down the old house for good.”

“Jesus, Der,” Stiles sighs, and Derek can hear the catch in his voice. “That’s really cool, man. I bet it’s really nice.”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Derek says, “unless you aren’t going to be home for Christmas?”

“You just try and keep me away, buddy,” Stiles says, laughing again. “Scott and Mel have promised me as much pie as I can fit in my stomach. I’m not missing that.”

“They do make really good pie,” Derek agrees.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “Shit! I gotta get going, but I’ll talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here,” Derek says, shaking his head in amusement when the phone beeps to tell him Stiles has already disconnected.

.

.

“That your boyfriend again, Stilinski?”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at his partner, resolutely ignoring the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks.

“Shut it, Torres,” he says. “You know damn well that I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. It’s just me and Lettie Lefty, as usual.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t name your jerking-off hand, more people would be interested in you,” Torres teases, reaching out to ruffle Stiles’ hair purely because she knows it bugs him.

“I have a gun, woman,” he warns, swatting at her hand ineffectively.

“This is the FBI,” she says slowly, swatting his hand back, “we all have guns.”

“Pfft,” Stiles says, shrugging, “you and your logic.”

“Kept you alive this past year, hasn’t it?” Torres says, giving Stiles’ shoulder a little push as they head across the parking lot to their agency car.

Stiles just rolls his eyes and ignores her as gets into the car.

It’s not until they’re well on their way to the assignment that Torres speaks again.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?” she asks, casually, eyes still trained on the road like the responsible driver she is, as if she hasn’t just tipped Stiles’ entire world upside down.

“What!” Stiles exclaims, “I’m not…what are you even talking… Derek doesn’t even like… I don’t even!… I mean…I… he…we…what?”

Torres manages to not burst into laughter, but just barely.

“So, that’s a no, then,” she says. “Do you know that you’re in love with him?”

“I am not in love with him!” Stiles says, vehemently, but the words sound wrong even as he’s saying them.

Torres pulls over to park as they arrive at the scene, finally turning to look at Stiles again, cringing when she sees the pure panic splayed all over her partner’s face.

“Oh god, you really didn’t know,” she says, “I’m sorry! Are you ok? Your eyes are like… disturbingly wide right now.”

“I’m just reevaluating every interaction I’ve ever had in my entire life,” Stiles says, chest heaving as he tries to breathe. “No big deal.”

“It’s kind of a big deal,” Torres says, “but hey, it’s cool! We’ll figure it out! Just breathe with me, ok?”

She grabs Stiles hands and wraps his fingers around her wrists, doing the same to his and taking a deep breath.

“Count with me,” she says. “Ten, Mississippi, nine Mississippi, eight Mississippi…”

“Seven Mississippi, six Mississippi,” Stiles continues after a long moment, breathing through it until his heart-rate matches the one he feels under his fingers.

.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he says once he’s calmed down enough that Torres is no longer worried about him passing out.

“Nah,” she says, “that was nothing. Remember when you literally walked in on me peeing in the bathtub because I was too drunk to get out of my dress and use the toilet?”

Stiles barks out a laugh at that, and Torres finally releases his wrists with a final soothing squeeze.

“You were White Girl Wasted,” he agrees, still chuckling.

“Exactly,” she says. “And if that didn’t ruin this, a panic attach here and there definitely isn’t going to.”

“You’re not so bad, Torres,” Stiles says, punching her lightly in the arm. “Come on, we should go do our jobs before they send someone to find out why we’re still sitting here.”

“Roger that, partner,” she says, giving him a mock salute before pushing open her door to start their sure to be long day.

.

.

Scott picks him up from the airport in the Jeep, which is somehow still running, and Stiles spends a good ten minutes patting various parts of her soothingly.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he says, stroking the dashboard gently.

“Aww,” Scott says, “I’ve missed you too, snookums.”

Stiles gives him the finger without looking up, and Scott just laughs.

“Come on,” he says, tossing Stiles’ bag in the back. “Let’s get this Christmas thing going.”

“Tidings of comfort and joy, bitches!” Stiles agrees, a little too emphatically if he’s being honest. Traveling always makes him loopy.

“Maybe a nap, first,” Scott says, laughing.

“You’re the best,” Stiles says, sighing and settling his head against the passenger side window as they start the drive home.

.

.

Stiles wakes up slowly, the smell of black coffee tickling his nose until he opens his eyes.

His bedroom hasn’t changed over the last few years that he’s been with the FBI, except that it’s less decorated now, and a little dusty and stuffy from being closed up for months on end while he’s gone. When he concentrates, he can hear the familiar sounds of his dad puttering down in the kitchen, no doubt drinking the coffee he’s just brewed and eating something that Stiles would scold him for if it wasn’t Christmas day.

He stumbles down the stairs and into the living-room, still half asleep, and stops dead in his tracks at what he sees.

“Daaad,” he calls out, still staring. “Did you do this?”

John comes in behind him, chuckling as he wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulder in a half-hug.

“Not me, son,” he says, pausing dramatically under the guise of taking a long sip from his coffee mug. “This was all Scott and Derek. Lydia supervised.”

Stiles laughs, because of course she did.

“It looks amazing,” he says, taking in the sight of the lavishly decorated Christmas tree that’s spread out across the entire far corner of the room.

“They missed you, kiddo,” his dad says. “It looks pretty nice though, huh? Almost as good as your mom used to make it.”

Stiles blinks against the tears welling in his eyes at the strain in his father’s voice.

“Almost,” he agrees, and they stand for a moment to collect themselves.

“Go get dressed,” John says finally. “We don’t want to miss all that pie.”

And that, Stiles absolutely will not argue with.

.

.

Melissa greets them at the door with strong hugs, and Stiles isn’t ashamed at how much he melts into it. Scott and Malia are in the kitchen, managing several pots and pans in a controlled chaos that Stiles is not going to get in the way of. Melissa ushers them in and immediately pulls the Sheriff into the other room to have some of her fancy roast coffee and let the younger folks work until they inevitably start squabbling and she has to come back and get things back in order. She gives it thirty minutes, tops.

That leaves Stiles standing awkwardly in the doorway for a moment until he spots Derek sitting on the couch, flipping through an Ikea magazine and absently petting Melissa’s fluffy grey cat, Marmalade.

“I didn’t know Ikea still had catalogs,” Stiles says, appreciating the fact that Derek jumps a little at his voice, humoring him as if he didn’t know he was there the moment they pulled up in his dad’s cruiser.

“Stiles,” Derek says, looking up to smile at him in greeting.

“Wow,” Stiles says, before he can stop himself. Because it’s been years and hundreds of life-threatening situations, but he’s literally never prepared for the full effect of Derek’s smile when it’s directed at him.

Derek just laughs, and closes the catalog and puts it back neatly on the table.

He gestures at the rest of the couch for Stiles to sit down. “Tell me about FBI life. Catch me up.”

So Stiles sits, and he does.

.

.

The celebrating and eating goes well into the evening, until they’re all full and sleepy Stiles wonders how he and his dad are even going to get home without either of them falling asleep at the wheel.

The answer comes when his dad reappears dressed in sweats and telling him he’s going to crash in the spare room for the night. Stiles knows for a fact that those sweats are his dad’s own, that have lived in the dresser by his bed for the last ten years. And he also knows that Melissa’s spare room is full of boxes and a bed without sheets, definitely not made up for company. He sends Scott a questioning look from across the room, receiving an amused look that promises they’ll talk about it later when their parents aren’t right there and trying to subtle. He shakes his head, deciding to deal with it all later after he’s slept all the sleep. And maybe had some more pie.

.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Derek offers, when he realizes Scott and Malia are already headed to bed.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, getting up from his position on the couch to stretch and pull his jacket on.

The air is colder than he expects when they get outside, biting into his cheeks and waking him up as they walk towards the Camaro.

“Actually,” he says, once they’re settled into the car. “I want to see your new house.” “If that’s ok,” he adds, belatedly.

“More than,” Derek says, and Stiles thanks all the deities in the universe that he keeps his cool and doesn’t squeal at that answer.

.

.

The house is big, and barely decorated besides some sparse furniture a few throw pillows, but Stiles is immediately charmed.

“It’s really nice,” he says, gesturing around at the general lack of gloom and doom and blood-of-their-enemies.

“I’ll show you around,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ arm gently and leading him down the hall.

He points out the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom before leading him upstairs, fingers still burning into Stiles’ arm pleasantly.

“My room,” he points down the hall. “This one is mainly for Scott, or whoever needs it” he says about the one they’re next to. “Cora,” he says, pointing at the room in the middle, which is already adorned with a Knock First or Die sign that Stiles snickers at.

“And that one,” Derek says, pausing and pointing to the room next to his own, “is yours. If you want it, I mean.”

“Definitely,” Stiles says, and Derek’s grip stutters on his arm.

“I look forward to your calls every week,” Derek says, after a long pause. “at first it was just a pack thing, wanting to make sure you were safe…”

Stiles turns to face him, sliding his arm back so that Derek is holding his hand instead of his arm, and he squeezes their fingers together gently.

“At first?” he prompts.

Derek ducks his head slightly in embarrassment.

“I realized it was more than that when Malia mentioned that you might stay in D.C. indefinitely, and I almost snarled at her for even suggesting it.”

Stiles can’t help but shake his head and laugh at that.

“Not indefinitely,” he says. “That was never the plan.”

“What was the plan?” Derek asks, stepping closer into Stiles’ space until their only inches from each other, leaning against the wall outside the still-empty bedroom.

“Well, initially, it was to marry Lydia and get a picket fence and 2.5 kids and maybe a dog,” Stiles says, smirking.

“And now?” Derek asks.

“Now I think…maybe the dog is enough for me,” Stiles says, so sincerely that it takes a few seconds for Derek to realize he should be offended.

“You’re such an ass,” Derek says, but his hand is already curled into Stiles’ shirt, just waiting for the signal.

“Yup,” Stiles says, grinning wide before meeting Derek halfway into their first kiss.

It’s awkward and unpracticed and absolutely perfect.

“I’m not sure I’ll need that room after all,” Stiles says, heart beating so wildly even he can hear it.

“Make any more dog jokes, and you will,” Derek warns him.

“You knew what you were signing up for!” Stiles says, pushing Derek backwards towards his own room, pushing him against the closed door.

“Shut up,” Derek says, but he turns the doorknob, kicks the door shut after they’re inside, and lets Stiles push him all the way into the room until the back of his thighs hit the mattress.

“Make me,” Stiles replies, because he’s always wanted to have this exact conversation.

Derek just smirks at him and does just that.

.

The End

#froggydarren #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17