#Morgan is the one guarding the apple | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whump-town · 2 years

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Red Dot

Another mess is not finished, you're lucky it stops where it does because the OG idea was much much much worse. This way you can decide what comes next.

I really only like the first part but I wrote a second part too so might as well keep it

Another mess is not finished, you're lucky it stops where it does because the OG idea was much much much worse. This way you can decide what comes next.

Squatting down at the mouth of the alley, street lights still pouring damply into his line of sight, Hotch tugs at the thighs of his dress slacks. His knees protest the deep crouch but he’s stalling, taking a very out-of-character indulgent moment to just be enraptured by a stray cat. A cute little tabby that looks about as friendly as Emily before her second-morning coffee – like it wants to claw his eyes out but something keeps it just interested enough to stay within his line of sight.

“Agent Hotchner?”

He looks over his shoulder, catches the glint of the badge on the officer’s shoulder, and uses the edge of the dumpster to stand. It’s probably best not to touch something that smells so foul but his knees are about two decades too old to be picking him up without a little aide. “Officer,” he greets with a nod. He remains passive, completely caught off guard, tilting his head innocently, curiously. “I thought you all were dispatched to the south quadrant.” His fingers itch close to his belt, ready to draw his gun. All officers report to South and Washington, he remembers it word for word. It swayed his final decision on how to split the team-up.

“Oh?” The officer shakes his head, “not all of us, I guess.”

It would be incorrect to say he can remember a whole lot about how it feels to be stabbed and he’s certainly got the resume builder to back up any experience he says he has, but he really can’t. Snippets, moments all tied together by wet blood or a moment of panic between breathes when he anticipates this one thin inhale as his last. The weight of Foyet across his hips, how cold he felt but was unable to shiver. Sweaty and cold.

The blade slips beneath his vest, an upward punching motion easily executed with a thin boxcutter. Two more, so quick he can’t process them, but he feels them. A sharp sting and deep, deep pain far below the surface of the sting. The pain is what he processes last. First and forevermore is this weird deja vu. The way the knife first takes his breath and then there’s nothing just a silent, panicked fueled moment as his face gets hot and then drains completely of blood. Sweat stinging his temples. Shock.

He falls down to his knees, hands too uncoordinated to work at getting his gun out of the hostler. Slick with sweat and likely blood he can’t do anything.

He’s pulled upright, neck craned back by a sharp grasp on his hair. His breathing has already quickened, dragging his adam’s apple up and down as his pants. This is it and prepares for the sharp tingle of the blade across his throat. Jack – imagines the little boy waiting for him at home. All the times Haley told him he’d loose them both in the end and, finally, finally, she is right. He’ll lose it all. He’ll never see his son again. Or his friends. They’ll see him, though. Throat a gaping wound, his bloody, lifeless body left in an alleyway.

The tabby cat long gone.

–––––––––

One little red dot has stopped moving.

Penelope frowns at it, turning to listen to the hard breathing coming through the radio at her left. Six tired agents running around downtown, trying to find their escaped UNSUB. She knows it’s not a mechanical error because she created this system herself and she doubts it’s a matter of handler error because she set up each tracker herself. Placed them and secured them herself. Each one. Which leaves so few other answers she taps her computer screen, willing it into motion with an encouraging little tap.

It remains stationary.

With a hum, she contemplates doing what she knows has to be done. “Morgan?” concern immediately seeps into her tone and she curses her own carelessness. Not that Derek wouldn’t have immediately known something was wrong if she’s calling. His little red dot stops moving, his breathing coming harshly through the phone.

“What is it, baby girl?” Derek leans against a street lamp, blinking sweat from his eyes as he looks around him. Trying to keep an eye out even as he takes a moment to rest, you can never be too careful. Virginia in August is one of the many reasons he contemplates moving back to the North East. The humidity makes the air impossible, even after the sun has sunk below the mountains, its harsh rays hidden, the heat permeates like steam from a pressure cooker.

His dot stops and she frowns, he’s too far away from her unmoving dot. She pulls up her programming, manually trying to find where an error might have occurred. “Have you seen JJ?” Her mind naturally fills in concern, not a matter of favorites but, rather, survival skills. It wouldn’t cross her mind to check on either Emily or Hotch first, the things those two are capable of are beyond her ability to comprehend – mostly because she doesn’t want to think about the things that have happened to them. That’s not to say she doubts JJ or Reid couldn’t handle themselves, it’s just that Emily and Hotch have both buried the men who tried to kill them.

Well, Reid did too but–

“Why?” Derek pulls himself back upright, on high alert as his heart pounds with a new fever. A new motivation. “Is she alright?”

Penelope chews her lip, “one of my trackers has stopped moving. It’s by itself.” There’s no technical error, nothing wrong with her coding. Each tracker was securely placed. Top-of-the-line utensils. It didn’t just fall off. “I – I can’t tell who it is, which is why I called you…”

Derek nods nervously brushing his palm over his head. “When and where did it stop moving? I saw Reid and JJ not that long ago.”

“Two minutes ago, nearly three now.” She moves the map around, switches screens, “uhm… It’s Maple Street. It’s stopped at Maple Street.”

“Nah, can’t be them, then. Saw JJ and Reid just a second ago,” Derek looks over his shoulder, trying to think quickly about what to do. Maple isn’t on this half, he thinks, but he’s not got an eidetic memory. He could be wrong. “Alright, listen to me,” they split up, easier to cover more ground. “Call Rossi, old man’s probably taking a breather right now anyways. He’s bound to be with either Emily or Hotch.” They wouldn’t leave him out here uncovered, one of them stayed. Actually, she should have started there. He’d say without a shred of doubt it’s Emily or Hotch. Anyone else would be far too afraid to get an earful from Hotch but Emily is invulnerable to them. And no one bothers to chew Hotch out like Hotch would chew them out. No one else would have ventured off alone.

That’s kind of a relief, if it’s stopped then it just had to have fallen off.

The radios to her left start to pick up on one another, too many people using the same frequency at once. She listens only for the sound of the team’s voices, pleased to hear Reid telling JJ he’s waiting for her a street over. They have one another’s backs. They'll keep each other safe.

One of the lines crackles, half of what the officer says is lost to poor connection. Amidst the crackling, what isn’t lost to the man’s thick southern accent she hears Maple Street. Her chest aches with sudden pressure, her pulse light and jumpy as she turns back to her computer screen to double-check what she already knows. “Suspect spotted on Maple Street!”

Maple Street.

“I’m on Fourth, headed toward Maple Street.” It’s Emily. Penelope holds her breath and stares at the screen as Emily moves toward her stationary dot. “Someone’s approaching,” Emily’s radio cuts out, and Penelope can’t hear her.

Emily told Hotch she’d be fine, they split up all the time. He was worried about her but he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t dare, but they could cover more ground apart than together. She’s wished him around on lonely trips, would prefer to sit in his silent company rather than her own, but never before had she wished he’d just show up. Annoyingly stepping from the shadows without a sound, just coming to her side. “Someone’s walking towards me right now,” Emily says and curses, her radiofrequency cutting in and out. “Fuck me,” she raises her gun, fear gripping her sternum. There’s something wrong. They’re tall and hunched over themselves, walking zombie-like with animalistic lurches. Her heart pounds but her hands remain steady. “FBI!” She keeps walking, “stop right there.”

The figure steps under a light and her breath catches. Long spikey bangs plastered to his forehead Hotch looks back at her, he staggers suddenly to the right and catches himself on the lamp post.

“Hotch?”

He falls down onto his knees.

Emily runs towards him, shouts his name again but he’s too out of it. “Hotch!” She falls down to the ground beside him, pulling him down against her. “What the hell happened?” She’d seen him not even half an hour ago. Grouchy, sure, but fine. He lays limply in her arms, quick, sudden breathes that make her chest hurt just to listen to. “Hey,” she tries to rouse him. Her normally pale skin is dark in contrast to his colorless face. His eyes open but they look over her shoulder, off to the side.

Emily fights to get to her radio, stuttering out, “it’s Hotch. The UNSUB isn’t on Maple Street. The suspect was Hotch. Send – Send help. Officer down. Something’s–” She looks down at him, the blood seeping into her pants. He’s covered in blood.

There’s blood on the inside of his mouth, slipped between his teeth. “He’s – He’s dressed like an officer,” Hotch suddenly pants. What, she hisses. His breath is short and quick. He grabs hold of her shirt, grip firm. His fingers gripping her blouse tightly, knuckles bloodless. “He has a – a uniform. A gun. He has a – he has a –” A chill bites up his arms and his mouth goes suddenly dry. His eyes roll up, vision blackening out. All he can hear is ringing in his ears, the warmth of Emily’s hand on his neck makes him shiver. She pushes his head towards her, and makes his head roll so he’s tilted back looking up at her. He can't make out what she’s saying.

“Hotch?” she asks, tapping uselessly against his cold skin. “Hotch please.” This night has gone badly enough. She wished him here and now he’s gone, weakly shuddering in her lap.

He only got up off that alley floor with this in mind. The need to find a phone booth or run into another person. The UNSUB had stripped him of both of his guns, and taken his radio and his vest too. He needed to warn them, tell them that the UNSUB was dressed like one of them.

And now his mission has come to an end.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia

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fahrni · 7 months

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Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

Another week in the books. It’s my favorite time of the year. Trees are changing color and dropping leaves. Temperatures are beginning to drop. We have Halloween and Thanksgiving coming up. What a wonderful season!🍁🎃🦃

Robert D. McFadden • New York Times

Dianne Feinstein, 90, Dies; Oldest Sitting Senator and Fixture of California Politics

A friend of mine worked for Dianne Feinstein when he was in college. He was a registered Republican but that didn’t matter to her. She still hired him.

RIP 🪦

Moira Warburton and David Morgan • Reuters

WASHINGTON, Sept 29 (Reuters) - Hardline Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives on Friday rejected a bill proposed by their leader to temporarily fund the government, making it all but certain that federal agencies will partially shut down beginning on Sunday.

And, here we go. All these knuckleheads want to do is tear down democracy. They don’t legislate and pass laws. You’re there to do the work of the people you represent back home.

Anyway, the modern GOP is full of idiots like Gaetz, Boebert, and Green. Why Republicans are so angry and hateful is beyond me. 🤬

Jacob Kastrenakes • The Verge

“Did he say we were moving to it specifically or is thinking about it?” Yaccarino asked.

That was Linda Yaccarino’s reply when asked if Twitter was going to start charging a fee for all users, a claim Space Karen made. She was caught off guard, she didn’t know that was the plan. She’s not the CEO of the company. She’s probably there just so Space Karen can say he lived up to his stupid poll.

I’m sure Linda Yaccarino is a more than competent executive but she’s made a deal with the devil. She should be nervous. Especially once he’s fired her. I originally said she be gone in six months. I’m sticking by that. She’s 100 days into her new role and already out of the loop.

Christian Tietze

SwiftUI.View is actually a view model – a model of the view. It’s a blueprint for what to display, but doesn’t contain any actual pixel drawing.

This is an interesting take and I think Christian is right. Once you think about it for a bit it starts to make sense. At least it did for me.

Now, I’ve done a bit of work on one of my apps — Arrgly — that has a few view models and they fit right into the new SwiftUI I’m writing. So, view models work as well, but is it an unneeded level of indirection? Maybe. 🤔

Jenny Gross • The New York Times

A 16-year-old boy was arrested Thursday on suspicion of criminal damage after one of Britain’s most famous trees, a sycamore that stood in a dip in Hadrian’s Wall, was cut down overnight in what the authorities described as “an act of vandalism.”

This is one of those head scratchers. Why in the world would someone just cut a down a random tree?

Hopefully we find out.

Craig Hockenberry

The only explanation I can find for the Timer’s design regressions is an unfamiliarity with some use cases. In the following critique, I’ll focus on how the watch is used in the kitchen and how older customers struggle with the new layout. Suggestions will be kept to a minimum: the effort here is to be descriptive, not prescriptive.

Wow! Craig does a deep dive into the Apple Watch Timer. I also used the built in timers when I’d grill.

Umar Shakir • The Verge

Google is offering its employees a new incentive to come into its Mountain View, California office: discounted hotel stays. The company is promoting $99 per night rates for its on-campus hotel to help remote employees transition into a hybrid working schedule, according to a report from CNBC.

Yeah, that’s not what I’d call good marketing. 🤣 you pay us $99 a night so you don’t have to commute to work! Brilliant! How ‘bout you just let folks work from home? 🧠

Gabriela Galindo • WIRED

The Fruit Union Suisse is 111 years old. For most of its history, it has had as its symbol a red apple with a white cross—the Swiss national flag superimposed on one of its most common fruits. But the group, the oldest and largest fruit farmer’s organization in Switzerland, worries it might have to change its logo, because Apple, the tech giant, is trying to gain intellectual property rights over depictions of apples, the fruit.

If Apple goes after a company over 100 years old because the have a logo with an apple on it they’re pathetic. 🤬

Believe it or not it’s part of what motivated me to change my little company’s name from Apple Core Labs to Hayseed.

Scott Jenson

Android and iOS share a common problem: they copied desktop text editing conventions, but without a menu bar or mouse. This forced them to overload the tap gesture with a wide range of actions: placing the cursor, moving it, selecting text, and invoking a pop-up menu. This results in an overly complicated and ambiguous mess-o-taps, leading to a variety of user errors.

I’ve mentioned I compose all my blog posts on my iPhone. I do it largely out of laziness. 😁

I’ve used Tot for a number of years and it has the best editing experience of any iPhone apps I’ve used.

Once I’m happy with my post I copy it to Micro.Blog and post it to my blog. Easy peasy.

Jeff Seldin • Voice of America

White supremacists appear to have settled on a new strategy to grow their numbers and ready capable fighting forces across the United States, Canada and Europe while avoiding the scrutiny of law enforcement.

I’ve been waiting for a war to break out in our country. At the least a bunch of very targeted attacks. If these wannabe soldiers can actually get their act together folks may have to start worrying. If they’re as disorganized and dumbass as they were on January 6, we’ll be fine. Yes, people will die, and that’s a terrible price to pay for stupidity.

Rogers Cadenhead

I publish this blog and seven other sites with Wordzilla, a CMS I wrote for myself and have never released. I began it 20 years ago and the PHP codebase is best examined in small doses because to look upon its full extent would bring a descent into madness worthy of Yog-Shoggoth.

I’ve read Rogers blog for years and years and I had no idea it was a home rolled solution. Good for you, Rogers! I’ve always wanted to create my own publishing system but I don’t have the gumption any longer to do it. 🎩

Ross Dellenger • Yahoo Sports

About 20 minutes after the conclusion of, let’s call it, the Autzen Stadium Massacre — Oregon 42, Colorado 6 — Prime Time himself nicely summed up the sordid affair.

I knew they’d lose eventually. It’s just going to happen, especially with a program in rebuild mode. They’ve already doubled last years win total so I’d say this year has already been a success. I also suspect they’ll win quite a few games this season. More than they lose. 🏈

X Out Hate

We are a group of rabbis, leaders of Jewish organizations, artists, activists, and academics. We have diverse ideologies and beliefs, but we have come together to address the danger Elon Musk and X represent to Jews and others.

Space Karen strikes again. He’s a racist and antisemite and has no place running a social media sit with so much power. X has become a home for the worst of the worst and it all his fault.

Hopefully we get some regulation around trust and safety issues that force social media companies to police their platforms better. 🤞🏼

It’s beyond time to leave Twitter. You now have much better choices; Mastodon, Threads, and Bluesky. Very selfishly I’d recommend Mastodon. It’s not controlled by a corporate entity who’s interest is using your data as the product. It’s a rag tag, loosely federated, collection of misfits and absolutely beautiful people carrying on the best conversations. It’s a place to build your community with a site controlled by your community. You don’t answer to anyone but yourself.

Aaron Brooks • MakeUseOf

A critical vulnerability in the WebP Codec has been discovered, forcing major browsers to fast-track security updates. However, widespread use of the same WebP rendering code means countless apps are also affected, until they release security patches.

Yikes! Make sure you patch your browser ASAP.

Evan Low • The Mercury News

Contrary to how some have misrepresented the letter my colleagues and I sent to California Attorney General Rob Bonta, we are not asking to “unilaterally strike (Donald) Trump’s name” from the ballot.

I’d love to see Trumps name stricken from as many states as possible. Especially those where he encouraged election fraud.

As a nation we need to do everything legally possible to keep this dangerous man out of office.

David Jays • The Guardian

A star with incredible presence, Gambon – who has died at the age of 82 – brought heft and delicacy, mischief and feeling, to the stage and screen

Most folks will remember him as Dumbledore. I remember him best for his roles in Sleepy Hollow and Mary Reilly. He played a real nasty piece of work in Mary Reilly and that stuck with me. 🪦

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draconic-distress · 1 year

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Hey um M crew? isn't it like 3:00 pm rn? Shouldn't u guys be heading for the flying castle? /rp

“We are about there, I wager, if my initial hunch was correct."

*sure enough, the floating kingdom comes into view and Morgan and co fly over Mount Drakechi, the city that once stood there below the kingdom gone*

"Holy shit. did Heartstone do this?”

“I dunno anyone who could do anything like that, so I'm gonna say yes."

*they land on the edge of the kingdom, the toon and vampire hopping off their sibling's back as they change into their human form again*

“Well then, this is it. The captain is somewhere inside. We just have to find him and take down Heartstone."

"I don't think it's gonna be that easy, there's probably gonna be a lot of guards in there.”—Toni rubbed his chin—“A-and it’s, yknow, a castle. So it’s probably, like… really big.”

“Maybe, but I think we’ve got a fighting chance. He may have some weird magic, but we’ve got our own tricks. Fucker’s not gonna know what hit him.”

“I like the enthusiasm. Before we go, I have some gifts I’d like to give you two,”—from their cloak the dragon pulled out a pair of fine daggers and handed them to Valiant—“For you, these apple knives. I suspect they will be suitable to your fighting style.”

Valiant whistled in awe. “Damn, now that’s a beut.”

“And Toni, I think you will quite like what I have for you,” another thing, they pulled out an oaken bow, with colorful paints and a fine silver ribbon wrapped on the ends

“Dahlia?!” The wolf took the bow from his siblings’ claws, tail wagging and starry-eyed

“It took a bit of work, but she’s good as new now.”

“Oh my god,”—he held the bow tight with a bright smile—“I’ve missed this!”

“Alright, with that settled,”—Val takes her daggers in one hand and pulled from her sleeve a pair of shades, taking off her glasses and replacing them with the former—“let’s do this.”

#morgan commits war crimes #rp-verse #toni steele #valiant steele #asks #anon #mission stop the monarchy

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imagine-darksiders · 2 years

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On the Ropes, Chap. 7

Two Sides, One Coin

Five Nights at Freddy’s; Security Breach.

Montgomery x Reader

Archive of our own

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

You elbow your way through the swinging, double doors that lead into the daycare's pick-up area, expecting to be met with the usual glare of overhead fluorescent lights and ostentatious colours that have been slapped with reckless abandon all over the walls.

Instead, when you step foot inside, you're taken aback to find yourself walking straight into pitch-black darkness.

“Woah!” you blurt out, pulling up short and keeping the door open with your shoulder to allow what little light there is behind you to spill into the room.

Absolutely everything is engulfed in shadow, with the only available light stemming from the faint glow-in-the-dark stars that are scattered sporadically across the distant walls and ceiling, and even they, numerous though they may be, are useless in helping your eyes to adjust.

Ahead of you, illuminated only by the paltry shaft of light at your back, stand the vast, wooden doors that would take you into the walled-off daycare proper.

Before you can take a cautious step towards them however, you're startled by the blinding beam of a torch that rounds the corner and flashes directly upon your face, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from it, hissing through your teeth. “Gah! Watch it!”

“Y/n!” At once, the light drops to the ground at your feet and a squeaky voice stammers, “Oh, thank god, it's you!”

“Hughie?” you respond, squinting through the inky spots that dance across your vision, “Mind telling me what you're doing skulking around in the dark, fifteen minutes before open?”

The circle of light bobs up and down, turning focused and sharp on the floor as a shape melts from the darkness in front of you, swiftly taking on the recognisable form of a short, trembling teenager.

Even in the gloom, one glance at the quivering boy has you breathing a sigh of resignation.

Hughie Morgan – Fresh out of college, shorter than you by at least three inches and utterly, indisputably scared of his own shadow. He'd barely turned nineteen when he was hired on by the company last month as a security guard for the daycare. A nice enough lad, if skittish, though you can't help but wonder what Fazbear's was thinking when they hired him to be in the security division. He's a waif of a boy really. Sometimes, you worry that a solid gust of wind will blow him off his feet when you walk together to the bus stop.

Perhaps the company was desperate, not that you can especially blame them. The turnover rate for guards at the daycare is astronomically high, so much so that you seem to meet a new face every week.

Hughie, however, despite his jittery disposition, has lasted an entire month.

You'll be the first to admit that you're surprised, and admittedly a little proud of the boy for exceeding even your own expectations.

Checking over his shoulder every other step, he scurries up to you, his boots squeaking noisily on the floor. “It wasn't me!” he insists in a hushed whisper, “Power went out like, five minutes ago! Nobody's come up to fix it yet, and people are gonna start arriving, and - and-!”

“Hughie!” you bark, cutting him off mid-sentence.

At once, his mouth snaps shut and he gulps, the flash of his adam's apple quivering in the dim light.

Easing your voice into a softer tone, you reach out and touch your fingertips against his upper arm, flashing a reassuring smile. “I'm not blaming you. It's fine. These things happen from time to time. The circuits in here are notorious for overloading, and sometimes it trips a fuse.” Stopping to utter a wry chuckle that sounds to the boy more bitter than amused, you add, “I have the same problem with my own fuse box at home – we just need to flip the switch back up.”

In the dim light of the torch, you see his face turn sheepish, suspiciously so, twisting up until his lips are pressed into a thin line and he darts his eyes away from yours.

“I – uh, I already... knew that...” he admits.

Cocking your hip, you shoot him a smirk and drawl, “And, you haven't tried to fix it yet because~?”

Bashful, Hughie digs a finger underneath his shirt collar and tugs at it, loosening the purple tie around his neck as he fidgets underneath your expectant stare.

You already know why he hasn't tried to trip the switch yet, because you know where the fuse box is situated. You also know that if there's one animatronic that frightens the boy more than any of the others, it's the daycare attendant's secondary personality; Moondrop. And Moondrop only ever comes out when the lights are off.

Sure enough, Hughie lowers his gaze down to look meekly at his shoes, oozing the embarrassment of a teenager who knows he's been found out. “I didn't want to go in while he's active...”

Breathing a gentle sigh, you point out, “But, you're always in there during nap time.”

“Well... yeah, but that's because the kids are in there to distract him from, you know, like, talking to me or something.”

“God forbid he tries to talk to you, Hughie,” you snort, offering a wide grin as an afterthought to appease the boy whose meagre pride you don't want to dent any further.

But the guard merely brushes off your light-hearted tease and begins to fumble with a set of keys attached to his belt, pulling them off their clasp so that they jangle noisily in the relative silence of the daycare.

“Can't you just go and flip it?” he pleads, thrusting the bundle of keys at you, “He actually likes you!”

“I'm sure you'd find that he likes you as well, Hughie, if you stopped trying to avoid him.”

He at least has the tact to look bashful, clutching onto one elbow and dipping his gaze to your shoulder rather than your face. “I know... but, it's just... his eyes, and the way he's like, always smiling and creeping about.”

You sweep your arm out into a vague gesture and exclaim, “He creeps about because he's programmed to move quietly, so the kids can sleep.”

“But the kids don't sleep because they're so scared of-”

“-SHH!” Lurching forwards, you clutch the box to your chest with one arm and raise a finger up to your mouth, motioning for the guard to lower his voice as you glance at the daycare's entrance.

Startled, Hughie's eyebrows fly up, but he does press his lips together firmly and nods, showing that he understands.

Moondrop isn't slow on the uptake, never has been.

He's tragically aware that his manner and appearance are things that frighten many of the children who have to stay at the daycare - and that he makes most adults wildly uncomfortable with nothing but his presence alone.

After you witnessed a former employee tell him as much out loud, thoughtlessly giving voice to some of his deepest insecurities, you'd begun to make a habit out of discouraging that particular kind of talk, for the animatronic's sake, if nobody else's. It had taken almost a week of coaxing before he would even approach a child after that particular incident.

“Okay, all right, I'll go,” you relent, swiping the keys out of Hughie's grasp, “Here, swap.”

You hold out your box and all but dump it into his hands, absconding with his torch as he fumbles to keep your bleach bottles from toppling out onto the floor.

Brushing past him, you waft away his sputtered apology and tread carefully up to the wooden doors, sliding your fingers around one of the heavy, black knockers and giving it a few raps, filling the empty daycare with the hollow thunks of metal on wood.

“It's just me!” you announce needlessly. You've no doubt that the animatronic already knows you're here. “I'm coming in!”

Despite their cumbersome appearance, you hardly have to give the doors more than a gentle nudge for them to swing open, allowing you to angle your torch's beam between the gap and cut a swathe of brilliant light through the darkness.

You certainly don't expect the light to immediately fall upon a round, luminous face, towering above you scant feet away from the entrance.

To your credit, you valiantly keep hold of the startled yelp that tries to jump up your throat and even manage to stop short of flinching backwards, away from the imposing animatronic.

“Moondrop!” you choke instead, pointing the torch at his star-spangled breeches so as not to dazzle him, “Sorry, I didn't expect you to be... well, standing right there.”

Red, unblinking pinpoints of light stare down at you through the gloom, snapping sideways as his entire head tilts at a sharp, right-angle without warning.

After a moment of silence, there's the subtle click of his recognition software activating and then, his voice is slithering across the space between you and into your ears, thin and rasping, sounding more like a man on his deathbed than an agile, cognizant animatronic.

“Wanted you to know where I was,” he almost breathes, tapping two, slender fingertips together and making the bells on his wrists jingle faintly, “No surprises.”

A smile tugs at the edge of your mouth and you nod, echoing, “No surprises. Thank you for remembering.”

You hadn't know that an animatronic was capable of making promises before you met Moondrop.

Your very first day on the job had brought you to the daycare after you spent far too long wandering helplessly around the Pizzaplex in search of a fellow employee who might be able to tell you where to find the West Arcade, and why in the world your first assignment was to 'wash Fizzy Fazz from some DJ's hands.'

Moondrop had clocked you from the moment you pattered haplessly through the wooden doors of his daycare and threatened to disturb the sacred sanctity of 'nap time.'

Before you could wake the sleeping children, he had slunk up behind you and urgently grabbed your wrist, with no intentions on his processor except to simply escort you back out of the room.

What he hadn't expected though, was that you would promptly drop to the ground and throw an arm over your head the moment he touched you, calling him by a name he didn't recognise and begging not to be hurt again.

He didn't know. How could he have possibly known?

Your history wasn't in the employee database.

Afterwards, you didn't blame him, but you also didn't tell him anything outright, of course. All you did was plead him not to do that again, shakily citing that you 'don't like surprises.'

He had logged the request at once and even sent a ping to his jolly counterpart, alerting him, just in case.

The two of them had kept their word from that day forward.

The attendant's gentle swaying stills for a moment and he turns his head the right way up again, peering down at you with an intensity that would have been unnerving if you didn't already know what it entailed. No matter whether you run into Sunny or Moon, the first thing they do upon each and every one of your visits is scan you.

It does give you better insight as to why the children are so afraid of him.

He often stands over them as they're trying to nap and scans them in much the same way, staring with petrifying focus for a long moment before moving on to the next child. The way he goes about it is undeniably eerie, but his intentions couldn't be more benevolent.

He's scanning them to see if they're healthy and unhurt.

Twirling the bundle of keys around a finger, you quirk your brow at him and ask, “Anything amiss?”

Several more seconds pass before the corner of his permanent grin seems to twitch downwards. “Scan complete,” comes the inevitable response, “Body temperature is below optimal levels-”

“-I'll warm up in no time,” you butt in, knowing that you'll be promptly handed a blanket if you let him have his way. Moondrop holds up a finger to say something else, but once again, you interject, aiming a fond smile his way as you bustle past him into the play area. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but the doors'll be opening soon and I've got to fix the lights before poor Hughie has a coronary.”

Moondrop's frame creaks as he twists himself about to tread softly after you. You've long since gotten used to the fact that each of his paces are twice the length as your own.

He's an animatronic of few words, as opposed to his counterpart, but by now, you're used to the unsettling silence as he shadows you past the enormous slides and around the soft-play area, the bells on his wrists and sleep cap tinkling with every step he takes, letting you know how far behind you he is, which is to say, not very far at all.

You can tell there's something else on his processor. He's walking far too close, and you can hear the mechanical buzz that seeps out of him periodically - his own approximation of a troubled hum. At last, after another beat of hesitation, he exclaims in a rush, “You have a minor laceration on the second digit of your right hand.”

You have to resist the temptation to roll your eyes, thinking to yourself, 'Here we go.'

Out loud, you're quick to reassure him, “It's fine, Moon-”

“-How did it happen?”

“Just had a little accident yesterday. That's all.”

There's another pregnant pause that last several seconds, just enough time for an overbearing animatronic to pull up the workplace accident log and skim through it.

“....You did not report an accident yesterday,” he accuses.

“Well, some accidents are hardly worth reporting.” Your reply remains patient as you round the ball pit and head for the rear wall of the play area.

“...They're worth reporting if you're involved,” Moondrop softly protests, almost treading on the back of your heels in an effort to peer over your shoulder at the injured hand.

Letting out a snort, you reply, “It's barely a scratch.”

“Did it hurt-?”

“No, it didn't.”

“I don't like seeing you hurt.”

“Moon-”

“Was it Hunter-?”

“Moondrop, please!”

He ducks his head at once and shies away from your snapped retort.

Regret hits you like an oncoming train and you wince, turning to face the tall animatronic and swinging your torch up to his chest, breathing a weary sigh. “Sorry.. I'm sorry for shouting,” you tell him at once, knowing full well that he takes more to heart than he lets on. “I'm not angry at you, I just... I don't want you to worry.”

With his hands clutched below his chest, he flicks his piercing eyes from the ground to meet your gaze.

“And you're definitely not to worry about Hunter,” you press, stretching your fingers through the space between you and resting them on the back of his hand, “Okay?”

The animatronic's pale face plate spins around until he's peering at you upside down, as if scrutinising you from a different angle will help him determine whether you're telling the truth or not. His indigo sleep-cap dangles comically from where it's been affixed to his frame.

Another second or two passes before Moondrop's face twists upright again and he nods, uttering a quiet, “Okay,” in response.

Withdrawing your hand from his, you shoot him your most encouraging grin. “Okay. Now, please can you show me where the fuse box is?”

You know where it is, and he knows that you know, but the prospect of being helpful is too tantalising for him to pass up.

The animatronic flexes his fingers a few times before finally, unprompted, he reaches down towards your hand, watching you closely as he goes as if, even after all this time, he expects you to deny his silent request.

The corners of your mouth quirk up and you lift your hand to his, sliding your fingers around the slender metal of his appendage and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

You've come a long way from when he first tried to hold your hand. You don't even hesitate anymore.

The moment your fingers meet his, a capricious little line of code falls into place inside him, settling back amongst his circuits with a contented whine.

His face ticks happily to the left before he spins it around in a full circle and pulls that familiar laugh from your lips that has his neural network thrumming with excitement.

As he turns to lead you obediently towards the fuse box, he can feel his friendly counterpart pushing giddily against the confines of his personality chip, likely in an attempt to access Moon's sensory output so that he too can relish in the feeling of your hand in his.

With a gentle nudge, Moondrop coaxes Sunny's consciousness back. The exuberant animatronic will have you all to himself soon enough.

Guiding you into the space between an enormous climbing frame and the play area's rear wall, Moon points wordlessly at a small, white box that has been affixed firmly into the plaster.

“Ah! Good job, Moondrop! You found it!” you chirrup, moving ahead of the animatronic and mindlessly slipping your hand from his grasp to fumble with Hughie's keys, squinting down at the tiny labels printed on each one.

Moondrop, fighting back a surge of disappointment at the loss of contact, reaches across you and gingerly pries the torch out of your hand, angling it at the keys.

“Oh, thanks, Moon,” you tell him with a grateful smile before resuming your search, “Okay! Fuse box, fuse box, fuse box... Ah! Here we go!” You select a small, silver key from the bunch and slot it into the waiting lock, jiggling it a little before it slides into place with a satisfying 'clunk.'

Tugging the door open, you beckon for the animatronic to venture closer, pointing at the box. “Mind shedding some light on this thing?”

Obligingly, Moondrop leans over your shoulder and holds the torch steady.

“Perfect,” you tell him, oblivious to the hum of his fans clicking on at the praise.

Casting a quick look over the fuse box, you soon spot the odd switch that has dropped down as opposed to the rows of other switches that are all standing steadfast in their proper positions. “Ah ha!” you announce triumphantly, “There's our culprit.” Reaching up, you let your finger hover beneath the downed switch, hesitating for a second or two whilst you crane your neck around to look at Moondrop, who is still staring down at you with that immoveable expression on his face.

“You ready?” you ask.

All at once, the animatronic's optics go dark, losing their eerie glow.

Even before he moves, you know what's coming.

“Oh, all right,” you huff fondly, “But make it quick. I'm on a schedule here.”

Needing no further prompting, Moondrop eagerly extends the struts of his neck down towards your face and he presses the gentle slope of his forehead against your own. The cool plastic hums ever so slightly, the movement brought on by a myriad of wires and motors running underneath the surface of his faceplate.

You aren't sure why he does this when you have to say goodbye. You don't know who would have taught him, or even if it's just something that was programmed into his algorithm to assist him with forming bonds.

Whatever the reason though, you can't bring yourself to mind all that much. It seems to please him to no end, so you allow him to indulge in this strange ritual of his.

Several, long moments pass before inevitably, you have to be the one who pulls away. You've never tested your theory, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he would stand there all day like this if he could.

“Okay, Moondrop,” you say with an air of finality that causes his spindly frame to droop until he almost stands at your height. Undeterred, you hold out your hand for the torch and reason, “The kids'll be here any minute, full of energy, I might add – so, maybe we should bring Sunnydrop out to manage the ruckus, yeah?”

Very slowly, the attendant's optics bloom with light once more and illuminate your face in the darkness. He can already feel his counterpart's impatience tickling at the back of his processor.

Giving another, owlish tip of his head, he utters a single request of you – the same one he gives every time you see one another. “Come back soon?”

And just as you've done dozens of times before, you offer him a warm smile and reply, “I always do.”

At his acquiescing nod, you turn back to the box and flip the switch.

The lights don't come on all at once.

First, the entire room seems to come alive with a droning hum that emanates from the walls, floor and even the ceiling high over your head as one by one, a series of loud clunks echo across the daycare and you tip your head back to watch the large ceiling lights flicker to life, spreading throughout the room until at last, the daycare is back to its former, gaudy glory.

Behind you, the clicks and hisses of mechanical parts shifting over one another reaches your ears, but you pay it no mind as you set about closing and locking the fuse box again before giving the door a final pull to test that it's definitely locked.

Suddenly, the nose abruptly stops and you can't help but brace your body, knowing very well what's about to happen.

There's a sharp gasp in your ear, and then...

“BUDDY!”

Long, gangly arms are thrown haphazardly around your stomach and you let out a wheeze as you're hoisted into the air without ceremony and tugged backwards against a smooth, plastic torso.

“I missed you!”

It's difficult to hide your chuckle of fond exasperation in the face of such enthusiasm.

Luckily, you're more than accustomed to being greeted in this manner, otherwise you might have taken umbrage at being manhandled so easily by an overzealous animatronic.

His grip is certainly encompassing, but hardly painful, no matter how firmly he squashes his sturdy, cragged face between your shoulder blades.

“Ha! I missed you too, Sunny,” you beam, knowing that telling him anything less will earn the attendant's petulant pout, “Now, can you put me down, please?”

With an obedience that stems from his eager desire to please, Sunnydrop gives you one, final squeeze before he lowers you carefully back onto your feet, allowing you to turn around and crane your neck back, blinking up into his grinning features.

Sunnydrop, by name and by nature, is the perfect, polar-opposite of Moondrop.

Though one in the same animatronic, Sunny's jester get-up is far better suited to the colourful slides and climbing frames that are dotted around the daycare. Where Moon's breeches are soft, satiny indigo, interspersed with golden stars, Sunny's are a ritzy, wine red broken by vertical stripes of eye-catching yellow - a pattern that perfectly matches the ruff collar fastened around his neck.

His face, much like Moon's, spins in a full circle when you turn towards him and he can finally drink you in.

You know that Sunnydrop tries very hard not to play favourites, especially when it comes to the children.

But with adults, even he has admitted that he's a little guilty of the crime. And although it was comically easy to find your way into the prized position of his 'number one human,' you find it a little sad that the spot is so easily kept. Initially, it took precious little for the animatronic to decide you were the best thing since sliced bread. All you had to do, for your part, was show up out of the blue at the daycare one day with your arms full of cleaning products and timidly announce that you'd been sent to help him clear up. He hadn't even been insulted that management thought he needed help. It was the first time it had been offered to him, and at last, he had someone to talk to whilst he stacked up the soft-play shapes into neat piles, ready for the next day's fun.

Your designation of 'Cleaning Lady,' went down well with him too.

You appreciated the effort he put into clean up that first day, stating that it was nice to have some help for once, and when the time eventually came for you to leave, you had offered the animatronic a mousy smile and said it was a 'pleasure to meet him.'

A pleasure.

Him.

Your smile then had been far more timid than the one you're giving him now. This one, he much prefers. It's bright and crooked and familiar, and he never tires of seeing it.

He never tires of seeing you.

“You fixed the lights!” he declares loudly, clasping his long, slender hands together and shaking them excitedly in front of you, “Clever, little cleaner! I told Moondrop you'd come to save the day!”

His flair for the dramatic is something you're still getting used to.

Giving your eyes a playful roll, you reply, “I don't know about saving anything, Sunny, but I'm glad I could help. Now, come on. Let's go give Hughie back his things, and then I'll help you sanitise the slides, okay?”

As if you'd said a magic word, he smothers a strangled sound of exhilaration and claps his hands, hopping deftly from one foot to the other. “Yes! Yes, yes, let's go!” Whereas his counterpart had shown hesitation in reaching out for you, Sunny is quite bold and unabashed, quick to bend down and capture your hand with his large fingers before he turns to skip merrily back through the play area, dragging you behind him like a child on a tether. His movements are fluid, more akin to a rubber-hose character from those old cartoons you used to watch than any kind of machine.

'Helped' along by the animatronic, you soon round one of the slides and spot the security desk in front of you, at which sits Hughie, who's face looks pale and sickly in the harsh light, somehow turning even paler when he spots Sunnydrop dancing towards him with you in tow.

“Officer Hughie~” the animatronic sings as he skids to a halt in front of the desk, snapping his frame to attention and raising his free hand to his head in salute, “Sunnydrop and his best pal, reporting for duty!”

It's nice to know that you still hold your honorary title.

“Here you go, Hughie,” you say, pulling out of Sunny's grasp and placing the boy's torch and keys on the desk in front of him.

He takes them with the barest hint of a smile, keeping his eyes locked safely on you, rather than the animatronic. “Hey, thanks,” he bleats, “And, uh... cheers for... you know, turning the lights on again.”

“Not a problem,” you reply, waving his thanks aside and screwing one eye shut playfully, “Maybe next time, you'll be able to do it all by yourself.”

“Ha! Sure. Maybe...” Bending down behind the desk, he retrieves your trusty box of products and hands them over to you, earning a shrill squeal from the animatronic bouncing at your side.

Hughie spares you a quizzical look, but you hardly notice, too busy fending off Sunny's grabby hands as he tries to snatch some of the bleach from your tub.

“Thanks, Hughie,” you say, moving off towards the colourful soft toys, “Let me know when the kids start to trickle in and I'll make myself scarce.”

Sunnydrop whinges loudly at the prospect of you disappearing so soon, but luckily for you, he's easily distracted by the bottle of germ-killer that you brandish at him with the promise of letting him keep it until the end of the day.

Bewildered, Hughie slumps down heavily into his chair and blows a rough exhale out through pursed lips. He watches on in dazed silence as you move about the daycare with the cheery animatronic all but velcroed to your side, never straying more than a few feet away, even when you hand him a rag and suggest that he go and clean another spot across the room.

The security guard doesn't know how you do it, frankly.

If he had that grinning bundle of energy dogging his every step, he isn't sure he'd come out of the Plex with his sanity in check.

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #security breach #fnafsb #montgomery gator #sunnydrop #moondrop #monty #Reader #montgomery gator/reader

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mmmmalo · 2 years

Text

More dubiously credible Nazi imagery

There was a flash of discourse in the Psycholonials discord when chapter 5 dropped: a burning police station was adorned with a huge blue sheriff star (hexagram), but some readers had read it as a Star of David (hexagram), giving the distinct impression that the Jubilites were burning down a synagogue. Others quickly pointed out the widespread police usage of hexagrams (and other stars) as emblems, someone found the original photograph of a police station that had been repurposed for the story, and the resemblance came to be regarded as an unfortunate coincidence. I'm less certain though, for a couple reasons.

1. I've recently become firmly persuaded Homestuck devotes a fair amount of attention to veiled obscenities. Damara's crass barrages being concealed behind shoddy Japanese is the blatant example, but the comic contains many more subtle instances, eg Dave hurling his "ninja sword" at a crow as euphemism for hurling the n-word at a black person (it just slipped out, Dave is mortified), eg Cronus's Harry Potter schtick drawing attention from his double lightning scar's resemblance to the Schutzschtaffel logo (but he still laments being unable to cull the disabled). These disguises in mind, the possibility that a reference to anti-semitic invective might exist beneath/alongside references to anti-police sentiment seems distinctly plausible to me.

2. In the same way that the Goonies made its way from Problem Sleuth (Ace Dick does the truffle shuffle) to Homestuck (Vriska borrows One-Eyed Willie's Eyepatch), I suspect some of Psycholonials' narrative DNA might arrive in the form of references at a remove from their original invocation. One movie on John's wall was Contact, which featured (1) a greeting from aliens utilizing footage of Hitler's commencement of the Olympic Games, (2) a resultant conspiracy theory alleging Hitler is alive in outer space, (3) a devil-coded billionaire who finances the heroines mission to meet the aliens and eventually flees to space, accused of engineering the Hitler-alien scenario as some kind of hoax, and (4) the billionaire's guards for the atom-shaped warp gate, who are sort of dressed like Nazis. So the heroine's quest for truth (atom) was facilitated and financed by this combinatory figure of evil, in what loosely scans as a secularized retelling of Eve and the serpent (Lucifer, light bringer), who offers the fruit of knowledge. Homestuck shares this interest in the Fall of Man (see John's entry item, the apple), and even connects it to reactionary politics by conflating "falling" with "the rise of that which was below", being flooded by social inferiors (which was the point of Morgan Freeman presiding over a flood in Deep Impact, another of John's movies).

Psycholonials seems to share with Contact a protagonist driven forward by messages from a space-bound conqueror (Riotus) and the financial support of a billionaire (Abby)... so, putting Abby aside for a moment, Riotus would be the demonic space-Hitler, if the analogy holds. Which brings me to the especially dubious thing that originally prompted this post:

3. The Jubilite crest (derived from Riotus's face paint) resembles a variant badge of the Hitler Youth. The white and red are reversed (allowing the Jubilite crest to depict an eyeball adorned with a red X of face paint), instead of a Swastika the center is simply solid black, and all squares have been reformatted as the harlequin's lozenge, but the general form is eerily similar. Again, it's an obscure variant -- the standard badge has only 4 red/white rhombuses, plus the central Swastika, and the only record of this variant I've managed to find is on a website peddling WW2 era Nazi memorabilia. The sheer obscurity strains credibility somewhat. But given the above, I can't help but wonder if plausible deniability is the point... the Bitcoin scam leaves us some room for a "crypto-fascism" pun

4. First, Homestuck again: I recently found that horses are used as metaphors for black people. See Zebruh enslaving low-bloods, see the racist Horuss trying to downplay his dating a brown blood (the term BUOY recalling racist usages of BOY), see Dirk’s Pony Pals highlighting a vulgar neighbor of the word “nicker” by adding the phrase “VILE SLURS OMITTED” shortly after, et cetera. John’s foundational trauma of falling off the slime pogo becomes in this capacity a sort of reactionary reframing of the end of slavery -- boohoo, I got bucked off my horse.

This racial encoding of horses carries over into Psycholonials: Percy the horse (named after a simp) is the realization of Zhen’s early idea of a “simp farm”, the American Dream bequeathed by the (racist, by Zhen’s own reckoning) founding fathers. Zhen is imagining a slave plantation: her followers (simps, the lot of them) are non-persons who exist to do her bidding, ergo slaves. Not even Abby is wholly exempt from this, her exclusion from Zhen’s machinations and (half-joking) designation as a “trophy wife” perhaps best exemplifying Zhen’s need to be atop the hierarchy, and Zhen’s denial that Abby’s manifesto might involve any psychological depth perhaps best evincing Abby being slotted with the sheeple.

An excellent thread on twitter focused on Zhen bullying Abby over Horse Gender -- the first example she trots out for Abby’s identity is a designated TERF, JK Rowling, in the lower right corner as a Horse Woman. At the lower left is Barack Obama, the quintessential Horse Man. And at the top (as Abby notes) is Zhen, Clown Gender, who transcends these categories. Given the established iconography of horses (which brushes against the inclusion of Obama), and Zhen’s attitude of domination towards simps/wives, I'd wager that Horse Gender disguises the category of Slave Gender.

Which leaves Zhen’s position atop the pyramid as the Master Gender. There was a hint of this in finale: as Zhen rejects being subject to the control of the audience (rejects having her own will overridden, rejects being a “slave”, she goes Super Saiyan, which I wager is being invoked for its connotations of blonde-haired, blue-eyed übermensch. Rejecting personal slavery by asserting herself as the master race (well, master gender).

5. So, all that in mind, I think the idea that Zhen’s strike against the rule of cops would be tinged with anti-semitic notions striking against shadowy overlords is less surprising... Given the propensity in Homestuck to indulge the notion of hatred being rooted in envy (in art, in gender, in race), and Z assuming the role of summary executioner that once fueled her contempt for cops, you might replace Master Gender with Cop Gender for a more generalizable picture... is the word ‘gender’ even doing any work at this point. Eh

Afterword. I’m still puzzling over what Psycholonials is doing with all of this, exactly, but here’s an example from Homestuck that might help: in the cursed lore, ICP were created by fusing Laurel and Hardy with Hitler’s evil essence. But this was itself a riff on the notion of white comedians being corrupted by the adoption of blackness -- Hitler as a figure of evil stood to make a villain of hip-hop, in yet another example of Homestuck’s reactionary farces. I am too sleepy to puzzle out if/how this relates to Zhen’s own engagement with ICP, blackness, and slavery, and how it relates to the hints of weird Nazi shit. Food for thought tho

#pun brain wants me to flip COP into POC for more race fuckery but i will #resist that inclination #psycholonials #antisemitism cw #race mapping

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wasteofanarrow · 3 years

Text

Arthur Morgan Head Canons Part 3

He smells like warm leather, tobacco, and sage—sometimes with whiskey mixed in...and I would like to I N H A L E

He gets hit on by men pretty often. He finds it flattering even though he isn’t really attracted to men. It doesn’t bother him at all.

If Micah makes a creepy remark to one of the ladies around camp, Arthur will threaten him and keep a close eye on him, making sure he stays away. He’s gone as far as to stand guard by the ladies tents at night

He can fall asleep in any postition due to his life on the road. If he can find a place and some time to nod off, he will. Sitting upright, standing up and leaning on something—doesn’t matter.

Very self conscious, even though he has zero reason to be. His opinion of himself isn’t really that high. He supposes he has pretty eyes and that’s about it.

He’s got a thing for brunettes

His kisses taste of whiskey, butterscotch candies, and tobacco

His lips are typically chapped

He really likes Charles—the comfortable silence is nice when they sit together at the campfire and make various upgrades to their weapons. If there is conversation, it comes naturally. Nothing is forced and it’s refreshing to him

His morning voice is super deep and rumbly—100/10 would recommend listening to it

He draws portraits from memory—it’s rare that he’ll ask anyone to sit for him so he can draw them

Somehow has never broken a bone in his life—but he’s been shot, stabbed and cut many times

He’s a pretty hairy dude—there’s for sure a happy trail 👀

He never backs down from a bet or a dare—he once ate an onion like an apple for five bucks without batting an eyelash. His breath smelled like onion for days

Drinks his coffee black, doesn’t use a coffee filter

He likes to build things and put things together, he always helps set up camp because it keeps his hands busy. In another life he would have pursued carpentry

He gets super hangry—please keep this boah fed

He gives thoughtful gifts to everyone but John—John gets gag gifts or things that are absolutely useless. John does the same for Arthur

#rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan headcanon

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masterwords · 3 years

Text

The Sum of Us

Summary

: Post-Mayhem car ride back to Quantico, but this is the version where Hotch is flying high on hydros and it’s just mostly cute. Nearly all fluff.

Pairings: None

Warnings: Hotch’s Mayhem injury aftermath, some swearing, pain killers

Words: 3.8k

“New car smell,” Derek muttered, adjusting the driver seat beneath him, sliding forward and back until he hit the sweet spot. “Just covering up the smell of stank ass from everyone else who drives these things.”

“Morgan,” Aaron rolled his eyes and eased himself into the vehicle, wincing as he felt every strained vertebrae grind and shift. Morgan reached over without even looking and pressed the seat warmer button for Aaron's seat before settling himself back in. Aaron watched his sly move as he shifted his weight, tried to get comfortable, and a soft little smile betrayed his carefully set scowl. It was in those little acts of service, seemingly insignificant moments, that their friendship still lived, specks of brilliance in the crevices just waiting to be found.

“The least they could do is give us some island sunset or apple orchard, hell I'd even take that one that smells like Christmas trees over new car smell.” The small of Aaron's back was a swell of bulging knotted muscle and bruises that spread all the way around to his stiff hips, the rest a tangle of road rash and gashes. There was a patchwork of itchy bandages placed from his shoulders to his calves, gravel scrapes and shrapnel wounds hiding beneath. He tested out approximately one thousand different variations of sitting before coming to the realization that he was in for hours of torture, the only relief he would get at all would come in the form of the seat warmer against his strained muscles, if the thing actually worked. Getting back home was going to test every ounce of mental fortitude he had at his disposal. In his pocket were the painkillers he hadn't taken, and he was acutely aware of how very, very stubborn he was knowing relief was sitting at his fingertips and his nose was in the air like a child who wouldn't eat its spinach.

“You taking the 95?” Aaron asked, distracting himself momentarily trying to pull up the GPS on his phone. Morgan made a deep humming noise as he turned over the engine and fiddled with his phone, but not the GPS. He knew the way. Mostly. He'd figure it out, anyway. Like a ninja, he quickly snapped a picture of Aaron beside him and shot it off to Garcia to let her know they were hitting the road, she'd been keeping extra close tabs on him since his ambulance fiasco the night prior and he was indulging her. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“For Garcia,” he replied, winking. “You know how she gets. Okay, listen, we gotta get some gas but I wanna wait until we're out of the city so think about what snacks you want on the way.”

“I don't,” he began, but Derek cut him off.

“If you don't think of something, you're at my mercy. I don't do road trips without snacks. Take one of those hydros in your pocket and tell me what you want when we get to the gas station, that'll be a fun game.”

“I really don't think that's a good idea.” Being no stranger to injuries, he knew taking his pain medication in the company of others was likely a bad idea, he would let his guard down and then they'd both be in for it. No, he'd wait until he was home and he could try to sleep through the hazy, loopy floating feeling of complete loss of control.

“No? You're really gonna sit there for almost 5 hours like that? You've barely been there for two minutes and I can tell you're crawling out of your skin, but suit yourself man. I'm not your mama.”

“Five hours? You said three...”

“Yeah, well, I may have been a little off in my estimation. Change your mind about those pills?”

Aaron pulled the bottle from his pocket and regarded it, shifting his hips again. “Five hours?” Derek nodded, and Aaron popped the lid open and quickly tossed one of the pills into his throat, swallowing it dry. Derek cringed at the sight and watched as Aaron settled back into the seat and tried to relax into the warmth spreading across the leather and into his lower back. One point for him, he figured. It had almost been too easy.

The open road wasn't very open for a while, but Derek found a gas station once they were outside of the city limits and things weren't so bottle necked. He pulled up to an open pump and slammed the car into park, throwing his seat belt off almost immediately.

“Snacks?” he asked, and Aaron just worked his fingers at his belt buckle and ignored the snack request for a minute while he argued internally with the tightness and the pain in his shoulders. He could feel the hyrdo kicking in but it was just barely taking the edge off, he had a way to go. Derek went inside without waiting on an answer, told Aaron to stay in the car, but once the belt was unbuckled he got out to pump the gas instead. He wasn't an invalid, no amount of physical pain could overcome his stubborn streak and if anyone had wanted him to be taking it easy, they should have seen fit to chain him to a bed. They all knew better. When Derek returned to a full tank of gas and Aaron buckled back in, he just shook his head and laughed while he dumped the snacks into the back seat and rifled through them for the good stuff. The back seat was littered with pepperoni sticks and beef jerky and water bottles, an assortment of candy and a giant bag of pretzels. He hated pretzels, but he knew Aaron loved them. Dry mouthfuls of carbs that tasted like salted cardboard were not his choice of cheater snacks. If he was going to eat junk, it was going to be heaps of dried, cured meat. Aaron could have his sugar rush and salty carbs and Derek would take his chocolate raisins and meat sweats and they'd have a grand time.

“These still your favorite?” he asked, tossing a bag of chocolate covered gummy bears into Aaron's lap. Aaron nodded and smiled, it was an easier smile now that his pill was taking hold. His entire body still hurt but somehow, he just didn't seem to mind it as much, it was an afterthought. He picked up the bag, listened to the way it crinkled in his hands, eyed their little ears and tiny noses and wondered if he could still tell what flavor they were on the inside just by smell, a trick he'd worked endlessly on as a teenager for no reason other than he had the time. It had never impressed anyone.

“You remembered,” he muttered, hardly even realizing he'd said it out loud. Derek laughed and got them back on the road.

“Of course I did.” He hated those candies, it was probably the nastiest candy he'd ever tried, and his sister used to love black licorice and Boston Baked Beans. One taste of those chocolate covered fruity gummy bears and his gag reflex took control, it was just too much. Aaron assured him the cinnamon ones were even better (better than vile?) but they were harder to find, you had to go to those big candy shops in the mall for them, and going to the mall was rarely worth the trouble. He had spit the gummy into the garbage and asked Aaron who hurt him, but Aaron just told him they were better than the Whoppers that Derek had been shoving into his face earlier and thus began an epic month long candy war. Derek would sit down at his desk and find little chocolate gummy bears standing sentinel beside his phone, on his laptop, in his drawer. Aaron would find piles of Whoppers on his chair, in his briefcase, melted chocolate on everything. Gideon finally put an end to the madness by telling them they were both disgusting, there was nothing better than a classic Hershey chocolate bar, causing them to band together and wage their war against Gideon's taste buds. Gideon didn't give a hoot about the candy, he'd just wanted them to stop arguing and leaving bits of chocolate everywhere, and all it took was getting them to work together for a common cause. A sacrifice he had to make multiple times over the years. It wasn't until Spencer came along that the little battles ceased. They would both be lying if they said they didn't miss it.

“Hey, remember when you changed Gideon's speed dial numbers to all the best take out spots?” Derek asked, nudging Aaron with his elbow. Aaron had been staring mindlessly out of the window, losing himself in the haze of the melty feeling the drugs gave him. He never would have put himself in such a compromising and vulnerable position with anyone else, not even Dave if he was being honest. Not on purpose anyway. The thing about Derek that made him safer, made him different, was that he never tried to baby him, never tried to coddle him, he just let him be and scolded when necessary. He still had some semblance of autonomy, even if he shouldn't. Derek wasn't looking for someone to take care of, he just wanted his friend.

“The best part was that he couldn't resist ordering when they answered...” Aaron mused, an easy smile sliding across his face. “We ate a lot of really good Thai that week. I think we tried everything on the menu at whatever restaurant I put on number one.”

“That was an expensive prank,” Derek laughed. Gideon had ordered lunch for all three of them every single time, but he indicated he'd be paying in cash and gave the name Aaron Hotchner for the orders every time. “How much did it run you in the end?”

“Enough that Haley lost her shit and told me to change the numbers back or we'd be washing dishes for the restaurant to work off the bill. I changed them all to your number afterward.”

“You're a dick, you know that?”

“So I've been told.”

The road stretched out before them, state lines blurred together, and rest stops came and went before finally Aaron said he needed to stop, he had to stand up and walk, he was starting to feel sick. Derek couldn't believe they'd gotten that far without having to stop, Aaron hated not being the one to drive, he got motion sick and secondary road rage at the same time, though the hydros seemed to be taking care of one of those afflictions. They walked through the little dog path, through a small wooded area on the side of the highway, in silence. Derek kicked at the rocks on the path with the toe of his boots, listening to them land in the grass with a thud, feeling Aaron's careful concentration on his steps beside him. Every so often he stumbled but righted himself on his own, eyes blinking lazily, placing one foot in front of the other.

“Good?” Derek asked when they found themselves back at the car and Aaron nodded, climbing back into his seat with a peaceful look on his face, nausea quelled for now. The next stop was at a roadside produce stand, and they shared a laugh over both of them choosing to grab some oddly shaped carrots to snack on while they searched out somewhere to eat a real lunch. They managed to settle on a kitschy diner somewhere in south Maryland that played Dolly Parton and Elvis Presley on a loudspeaker to the parking lot, welcoming guests inside with a preview of what they could expect, which was just a lot of oddities. They chose to sit at a booth with a poster of an old Ronald Reagan movie behind them, while the next booth over was being loomed over by a statue of Betty Boop. In the loopy hydro daze, Aaron thought the place was both hilarious and terrifying, but sat stoic across from Derek trying to make sense of the menu. In the end, because he couldn’t seem to focus on anything long enough to decide, he copied Derek's order of chicken fried steak with steamed veggies and settled back into the squeaky red vinyl seat. The conversation drifted between stories about the old days, memories they hadn't dredged up in years, and how different things were now.

“Pretty crazy how much people can change in a few short years...” Derek mused, cutting up his food, watching Aaron just pick at his. Aaron nodded in agreement and he felt that statement land like a knife in his sternum. One he deserved. He turned his lazy, tired eyes up at Derek apologetically, opened his mouth to speak, but Derek shook his head and held up his hand, stopping him mid breath. “Nope. Don't. I get it, man. We've both changed, the team changed, the jobs changed, hell the only thing that's stayed the same are the monsters we chase around this country. I didn't mean anything by it. Don't spoil this trip by getting all serious now.”

“I am sorry,” Aaron said, ignoring Derek's request to stop. He could be such a stubborn jerk sometimes, he knew it. Derek rolled his eyes and groaned, but Aaron continued because he felt good and he was relaxed and the hydros had destroyed his carefully guarded fortress, melted it down to a puddle at his feet. He tried to soften it, to make it lighter. “I've missed you. I remember the last time we had lunch together like this, it was years ago in Miami at that little cafe in South Beach, the one they ate at in The Birdcage. We were both so hungover, and you did that John Wayne walk that made me laugh so hard I ended up throwing up my breakfast at my feet and got us thrown out.”

“Well, we're idiots,” Derek mused, finishing the last of his meal while Aaron had hardly touched his. “I think we gave Gideon ulcers.”

Aaron smiled. Being alone with Derek brought out a side of him that no one else saw, a side that smiled and made jokes and took it easy sometimes. Before Derek joined the team, he took the job so seriously, worked so hard to prove himself to the older profilers, and when Spencer joined he fell so easily back into it as he sought out a promotion, but for that short little while where it was just the two of them under Gideon's wing, he was different. Derek might have been the only person he'd ever really considered a friend, if he really thought about it, the only person aside from Haley and Jessica that he had ever let see the lighter side of him. No one seemed to reach that side of him anymore, it had vanished from sight entirely.

The ear pain broke through first, like shards of glass sliding down the side of his face and into his throat but he didn't want to say anything, to ruin the moment, so he hailed the waitress who called him honeypie and ordered a chocolate milkshake, hoping the icy drink would soothe his throat at least. It didn't do much for the pain but it provided a distraction, a way to focus on something good for a few minutes longer. When Derek asked her for a slice of pecan pie, she called him dreamboat and Aaron felt a little slighted but he couldn't argue. One of them looked like he'd stepped effortlessly right out of Sports Illustrated or GQ, and the other looked like a walking ad for Ambien or Zoloft. Aaron had no illusions about which side of that coin he fell on.

“To Gideon,” Derek said, holding a fork full of pie up in the air. Aaron smiled and held his glass up.

“To Gideon,” he repeated softly. “Wherever he is, I hope his ulcers have healed.”

Walking back to the car, Aaron was more aware of the stiffness in his joints and the pain in his back, but it was nothing compared to his ear. He wasn't ready for another pill though, so he walked close to Derek, leaning his shoulder up against the other man's, still hazy enough to feel unsteady on his feet but relishing the solid figure beside him, giving him the strength he needed to stay upright. He would never admit it without being coerced, but being in an explosion was painful. Derek had, to his credit, kept him focused on other things, things that were good or irritating (like the way Derek sang loudly and purposely off key to whatever song was on the radio, he knew them all, on every station somehow), embarrassing, but not sad. Not yet, he needed a break from sad. Even just a few hours.

The next rest stop provided a much needed bathroom break, and some very spirited inscriptions on the bathroom walls lead to intense discussion for the next hundred miles. Phone numbers, what the pictographs meant, how long ago they were written. Derek asked if he should call one of the numbers just to see if the person picked up and Aaron was mortified by the idea because what would he say? At the final rest stop before home they called Spencer and read him the historical information about the site, each taking turns doing their best Spencer voice. Derek's was better, Aaron had never been much good at impressions so he kept his short. In turn, Reid recited passages from the novel he was reading, doing his best impressions of both of their voices, which sounded more insulting than they'd imagined. Derek sounded like a Looney Tunes character, and Aaron sounded like Ben Stein.

“Do I really sound like that?” Aaron asked, and Derek and Spencer both laughed and agreed that yes, he did.

On the last stretch, Aaron's ear pain had gotten the best of him and he decided the best course of action was to sleep, so with Derek's seal of approval, he decided to try. It didn't take long before he was draped over the center console with his head on Derek's shoulder so his legs could stretch out, fast asleep. They managed to turn a five hour drive into seven hours, but they arrived in time for dinner. Though Aaron told him it wasn't necessary, Derek helped him to his apartment, aware now of how much pain his friend was in. He ordered them some Thai food from their favorite spot, because after they’d talked about that speed dial debacle it was all he could think about. They sat down with their takeout boxes and plastic forks and watched the first movie they could find that looked appealing, which happened to be the latter half of Goodfellas.

“You think Rossi's got mob ties?” Derek asked and Aaron nodded without even giving it a second thought, shoving pad thai into his mouth rather unceremoniously.

“Absolutely,” he muttered. “No doubt. I wouldn't ask him about it though.”

“Nah. I got no desire to sleep with the fishes.”

Derek rifled through the pocket of Aaron's jacket slung over the back of the couch, grabbing his bottle of hydros, and he extended it to his friend with a look that just said don't fuck with me. Aaron inclined his head, wondered a moment at the nerve of the other man, but took the bottle and complied. He wasn't going to sleep without it, the pain in his ear was almost unbearable and the ringing was torture. Every startling noise caused intense pounding all the way up into his eyebrows like a jackhammer in his skull.

“You still hanging onto that raggedy old blanket I got you?” he asked as Aaron lay down on the couch, his painful ear against a pillow to try and block some of the offending sound and he nodded, telling Derek it was in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It was easy to find, it was the only thing in the drawer and he shook his head at the state of the thing all frayed and worn and no longer deep green but more of a sickly sage color, but he plugged it in and draped it over his friend anyway. It had been a birthday gift years ago, one of the old ones that lacked any fancy safety features or temperature controls and you could feel all of the stiff wires webbed throughout the woolen fabric. It only had one temperature, skin melting hot, and came with the warning that it wasn't to be left plugged in and unattended. He found it at a tiny old General Store in North Dakota, sitting alone on a shelf in a box covered with what looked like decades of dust and knew Aaron would love it, he was always complaining about being cold and Derek mocked him relentlessly, so every year his gift was related to it. Gloves, a hat, hand warmers, wool socks, you name it, he'd bought it. Initially it was a joke, but he started noticing that Aaron always used what he gave him, every single thing. He had brought the heated blanket on the jet for as long as he could remember, though he rarely slept on board anymore. He always kept it ready in the hotel rooms because Morgan liked to sleep with the air conditioning on, so it provided a countermeasure they both appreciated. He wasn’t sure if Aaron still brought it along, but he imagined it was left behind these days along with all the rest of their memories together.

“Get some rest. Let me know how your appointment goes in the morning?”

“Mmm.” The blanket was heating and his eyes were closed, but Derek left the television on and heard the faint sound of Aaron thanking him, but it was more of a mumble. He knew what it meant anyway.

“See ya later, man.”

Aaron was asleep before Morgan even got the lights turned off, so he found Aaron's spare key, locked up and pocketed it, wondering if he would ever ask for it back. Might lead to a fun new game if he didn't, so he wasn't planning to offer it up any time soon.

The first thing he did outside was call Penelope, because she'd already sent him about a thousand messages, none of which he'd read yet. “Hey babygirl, I just dropped Hotch off and I'm headed home.”

“You guys were TWO hours longer than planned, I was worried.”

“Sorry dollface, we stopped a few times, got some grub, you know how it is. Maybe I'll tell you about it in the morning mama.” And maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd just keep it to himself, let people think he had the most boring road trip of his life, one he couldn’t wait to end – no one would ever believe him if he told them what really happened anyway.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #mortch #hotchgan

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

Summary: After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

Tags: high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Part Two

This is a platonic Derek & Spencer friendship fic because they are minors, but there are seeds being fairly obviously sown for part two of this series which will be set when they are both over the age of 18.

Spencer unfolds the creased piece of paper he’s holding for the eleventh time as he stares up at the house in front of him. He remembers the address scrawled on the sheet Derek Morgan had ripped from the back of his notebook earlier that day perfectly, the spiky peaks of his handwriting and the surprisingly loopy ‘y’s and ‘g’s are burned into his brain, but nerves have overtaken his helpless body. He’s not exactly in control of his actions.

It’s not much but it’s definitely a cheerful house, that much is clear from the brightly lit windows and colourful curtains, the many gnomes decorating the front garden and the carefully planted flowers neighbouring the vegetable patch. One of the windows upstairs is cracked slightly and he can hear 90s R&B floating through the airwaves, accompanied by a female singing voice. The welcome he knows he’ll receive, though, is exactly what’s giving him pause.

A happy home is so foreign to him he has no idea how to behave. He’s used to being the adult, but tonight he has to play the 16 year old he is, and his mask is so dusty and disused he’s worried he won’t be anywhere close to convincing.

Eventually, though, he summons up the courage to make his way up the stony path leading to the bright red front door. A brass knocker stares him in the face, but there’s a doorbell to his right as well, and the choice debilitates him for a moment, leaving him standing uselessly on the front step. He decides on the doorbell, since it’s a little more subtle, and he only has to wait a couple of seconds before the door is being yanked open and a smiling Derek Morgan is right in front of him.

“I thought you’d never come.” His voice is bright and cheery but Spencer wonders for a moment if he’s mad at him. He’d been early when he first turned onto Derek’s road, but his over-thinking and ritualistic obsession over the address written on a scrap piece of paper had made him late.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and his desperation to be understood, his clear discomfort in such a foreign environment must be obvious, because Derek’s face softens even further.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” he grins, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him deeper into the hallway as he kicks the door shut behind them.

Pretty boy. He’d used the nickname once earlier that day when they were planning when to meet up for their science project, and Spencer had flushed immediately. No-one’s ever called him pretty. He’s an awkward, lanky 16 year old senior who’s far too short for his age; his appearance isn’t exactly conducive to flattery.

The last time anyone had called him by a fond nickname was when he was eleven years old and his mother was still somewhat rational. She’d pulled him close and called him her baby boy, and while some pre-teens might have recoiled from such a name, he simply snuggled closer and tried to remember every second he was wrapped up in such warmth. Five years later, he’s so thankful he did. He replays it most nights before he drops off to sleep.

He blushes again at Derek’s easy affection, trying to relax into the warmth of his house.

“Is that your friend, honey?” A woman emerges from what Spencer assumes is the kitchen, drying her hands on a teatowel. She looks every bit the stereotypical American mother, dressed in casual, comfortable clothes with a warm smile plastered across her face. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Fran, Derek’s mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says shyly, trying to meet her eyes but failing miserably. He can’t help that this whole experience is so out of his comfort zone it’s ridiculous.

“Do you boys want any snacks to take up with you?”

“Are you hungry, Spencer?” Derek asks, and he internally panics for a moment. Yes, is the answer. Yes, I’m so hungry. The only thing I’ve eaten today is an apple this morning. But is he allowed to say that? He examines the both of them and it does look like a genuine offer, but will they guess that something is wrong if he says yes? It’s only six o’clock, though, so maybe he can swing it.

“Yes please,” he dares, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Fran says, putting her hands on her hips. “You both head on up. I’ll bring up a tray.”

Derek’s room is big, filled with football trophies and posters. It’s so achingly normal that Spencer’s stomach clenches as he gingerly takes a seat on his bed at Derek’s instruction.

“I did some research that will help us with our presentation,” Spencer offers as Derek sits on his desk chair, spinning around to face him.

It had been a shock when they’d been paired up. Derek’s friends had hollered and laughed when their chemistry teacher had paired them together, and Spencer had gone bright red at the humiliation, not that he could exactly blame them. Pairing up the skinny nerd who’d been moved up two grades with the jock who was almost guaranteed a football scholarship to an excellent university later this year had been a rather bizarre choice on their teacher’s part.

It’s not that Spencer minded: along with being the quarterback with a 4.0 GPA, he was also painfully nice. But everyone else certainly did. Every girl in their science class had sent him death glares as Derek had sauntered over to his desk at the end of class, wearing a lazy grin.

“Chill, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he pushes himself side to side in his spinning chair. “We got time.”

“I have to be back home by 9,” Spencer says sheepishly. He’s sure most people in their senior year are allowed to stay out later than that, and he hopes against hope Derek thinks it’s only because he’s sixteen and not that he has to get his mother into bed and try and force her meds down her throat so she won’t wake him up in the middle of the night convinced the shadows in her room are government spies.

“Still three hours. Anyway, I’m sure my mom can drop you home,” Derek shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, we have weeks until we have to present. Why don’t we spend tonight getting to know each other? I feel like I should know a little bit about my project partner, especially if we’re going to be working together for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the year?” His voice squeaks anxiously but he can’t help it, Derek’s completely catching him off guard.

“Yeah. Ms Farron keeps partners from the first project together for every assignment that year.”

This is news to Spencer, but he tries to keep calm. It’s a good thing, right? Derek has always been friendly to him, and he’s intelligent, too. It’s unlikely he’ll fob all the work off onto him. But being taken advantage of and subsequently left alone is what he’s used to: ‘getting to know each other’ is decidedly new territory. Spencer’s head is spinning.

“Oh.”

“So, pretty boy,” Derek grins, giving himself another 360 spin, “tell me what a 16 year old is doing in senior year.”

“I got moved up two grades back in elementary school,” he explains, grateful that this is at least a rather impersonal topic. “My teachers wanted me even higher but two grades is the maximum our school district allows.”

“I guessed that much,” Derek points out. “Why were you moved up two grades?”

They’re briefly interrupted by Fran’s delivery of a delectable spread for them to feast on. Spencer reaches for a cracker and dips it in some cream cheese, but as soon as he’s swallowed his first bite, Derek gives him a look that tells him he hasn’t exactly gotten away with it.

He sighs. “The last time I was tested, I had an IQ of 187,” he admits, looking down at his worn sneakers. He’d expected to be told to remove them, but he’s glad he wasn’t. His socks almost certainly have holes in them, and laundry isn’t something he can afford to do often. “And I have an eidetic memory.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Damn, I knew you were a genius but that’s some next level shit,” he says, before popping a grape in his mouth. “You’re going places, Spencer Reid.” He’s saved from having to fight his blush too hard by Derek moving swiftly on. “Your turn to ask me a question.”

Spencer takes a second to think before deciding to push the boat out, to ask something he actually wants to know instead of playing it safe. “You’re popular, star of the football team, get straight As,” he starts slowly, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “What makes you so nice? You could easily join in with your friends and be another asshole jock pushing me into lockers.”

When he looks up, Derek’s face is an array of emotions. “Kindness costs nothing,” he says seriously, and the intensity of his gaze surprises Spencer. “I saw my pops shot to death in front of me when I was ten and I got my ass kicked every day in freshman year, believe it or not. I know what kindness can mean to a person just as much as I know what cruelty does to someone.”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he knows that he’s finally relaxed a little. Derek’s stark honesty and vulnerability, as much as he doesn’t know quite the right way to react, is refreshing to him, and it’s made the icon of their school seem much more human.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Spencer says quietly.

“Thanks, man,” Derek says, a half smile crossing his face. “What about your family life?”

Spencer swallows another bite of his cream cheese and crackers, his empty stomach thanking him for finally filling it. “My dad walked out when I was ten,” he admits, treading as carefully as possibly. “It’s just me and my mom now.”

“I’m sorry. Are you and your mom close?”

How does he answer a question like that? They’re close in the respect that Spencer cares for her and spends every free moment he has with her. But he also holds his breath every time he turns down his street, half expecting to see his house up in flames, and they’re going hungry this week because she threw most of their groceries in a nearby river after convincing herself it was all poisoned. They don’t exactly have a typical mother-son relationship.

“Something like that,” he mumbles, stuffing another cracker into his mouth. Derek clearly takes the hint that he doesn’t want to elaborate and moves on.

They spend the rest of the evening taking it in turns asking one another questions, ranging from simple ones like their favourite colours to deeper conversations around their future plans and biggest fears. By the time 9 rolls around, they’re lying next to one another on Derek’s bed both facing the ceiling as they trade questions back and forth. Fran’s dinner tray is now covered in crumbs, her carefully prepared spread having been demolished by two hungry teenagers.

Their assigned topic, Enthalpy, Entropy, and Free Energy, hasn’t even been touched, and Spencer can’t find it in him to care. He could throw together a perfect presentation the night before if he needed to. Right now, getting to know Derek Morgan seems far more important. Ironically, the boy he’s only really started to get to know three hours ago is probably the person who knows him best in this whole world, and the thought makes his chest hurt.

The jittery nerves that had consumed him at the start of the evening have dissipated into a calm companionship, and he can’t believe how comfortable he now feels. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to take care of his mom; she’s already been on her own for so long today.

As if on cue, Fran knocks on the door, poking her head round. “Would you like me to drop you home, Spencer?”

He feels guilty accepting, but the last thing he wants is a twenty minute walk home through the streets of Chicago in the pitch black December night. “Yes, please.”

Derek comes with them for the short drive, and Spencer feels a little embarrassed as he points out the apartment block he lives in. It’s a shitty neighbourhood and his building is crumbling, but it’s home and it’s the cheapest they can afford on welfare. He ducks out of the car and shoots them both a grateful smile.

“Thank you for driving me home, Fran,” he says. “And thank you for a nice evening, Derek.”

“No problem, pretty boy,” Derek winks. “I’ll find you at school tomorrow and we’ll sort out another night to meet up, yeah?”

The smile the Morgans put on his face doesn’t fade until he opens the door to his apartment and reality brings him crashing back down to earth.

⭐️

Over the next few weeks, Spencer Reid gains his first friend. They finally end up actually writing their presentation and naturally, they get an A+ but Spencer’s anxiety that Derek would want to stop hanging out with him once the project that had brought them together was behind them ended up being for nothing. Derek had fist-bumped him as they’d walked out of their classroom. “Come over tonight?” he’d asked, and once Spencer had recovered from his shock, he’d beamed and nodded excitedly.

As Christmas comes and goes, they continue their bizarre friendship. Spencer runs up to Derek’s room as soon as the door is opened, and dives under the covers on his bed, always freezing cold. The first time Derek had cuddled Spencer, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling. He’s seriously touch-starved, and it’s only more apparent from the way he craves contact with Derek. He’s ridiculously thankful that the older boy is so free with his affection, not consumed by the same toxic masculinity that seems to plague the rest of the football team.

It’s nearing February when Derek asks the fatal question.

Spencer had whizzed home after school and made sure his mom was okay before running over to Derek’s, breezing past Sarah on the staircase and diving onto the soft, clean bed sheets. He’s sometimes jealous of all the home comforts his friend has access to, but he does his best to tamp it down. It’s not like it’s Derek’s fault that he’s well-loved and cared for.

“Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he spins around from where he’s doing homework at his desk. “Where’s that shy boy who sat right on the edge of my bed only two months ago, hm?”

“You prefer confident Spencer and you know it.” He moves up the bed a little to sit with his back against the headboard. He’s never become so comfortable around a person this quickly before but there’s something different about Derek.

“Can’t argue with that.” He gets off the chair and moves to sit next to Spencer on the bed, lifting his arm to let the smaller boy cuddle close. Spencer sometimes has nightmares that the boys at school find out how affectionate they are with one another and call them gay after which Derek doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore. (Secretly, he thinks he might actually be gay, but he won’t tell Derek that. Just in case.)

“Can I stay for dinner?” he asks. It’s a moot point: Spencer always asks if he can stay and the Morgans always say yes, but he doesn’t like assuming, especially since he knows how expensive food is. Not that Fran has ever complained about an extra mouth to feed, though. The dinners at Derek’s house are always a family affair, full of laughter and hearty, homemade meals and Spencer likes pretending he’s one of them, just for a little while.

The guilt that he’s leaving his mom for so long eats him up, only eased by the knowledge that she usually sleeps the afternoon away, worn out by a manic morning. He has no idea how to navigate this anymore. It was easier when the only person he had in the world was his mom, but now he has Derek and his family. And as much as he loves his mom and doesn’t mind taking care of her at all, spending time with Derek doesn’t automatically trigger gut-eating anxiety and heart-wrenching misery.

“Of course you can stay, don’t be ridiculous.” Derek elbows him playfully. “You don’t need to ask every night.”

“What if one night you don’t want me to stay, though?”

“I thought I told you to stop being ridiculous?”

Spencer can’t help but smile at Derek’s relaxed, easy grin. For some reason this popular football player with the world as his oyster and a million friends chooses to spend every evening with the nerd who’s two years younger than everyone in their year. For some reason, Derek chooses Spencer.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Derek asks the question. “Why don’t I come over to your place instead one evening?” It’s a casual suggestion, there’s nothing really behind it. “I’d like to meet your mom and see your bedroom. If you’re gonna make fun of my football trophies, I need some revenge material.”

Spencer freezes. He has no idea how to respond to such an innocent proposition. Derek takes his stunned silence as reluctance simply cured with a little more persuasion. “Besides,” he continues, “I feel bad that you always have to run home first before coming over here. It’s like a twenty minute walk.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer hedges, trying to buy time as he comes up with a cover story. “My mom is really particular about our space and she doesn’t really like visitors. I’m not sure your mom could spare you a family dinner anyway.” He pushes Derek playfully, hoping to God he’s even half-way convincing.

One glance at Derek’s face tells him he isn’t buying it, but he can clearly read Spencer’s troubled anxiety expression so he doesn’t push it. “Okay, pretty boy,” he says, relaxing back into the bed, “we’ll stick with the Fran Morgan dinner delight for now.”

Something tells him he won’t get so lucky next time.

⭐️

Spring is just starting to show her face the next time it comes up, and this time it’s completely Spencer’s fault. He shouldn’t have gone over to Derek’s. He should have made up an excuse and stayed in his shitty apartment with his mom, but he couldn’t help it. He was sore and desperately sad, and all he wanted was Fran’s comforting shepherd’s pie and a cuddle with Derek. So he’d made his way home, checked his mom was still sleeping before limping over to the Morgan’s.

He’d concealed it pretty well all day, but energy is seeping out of him and the pain is only getting worse, not helped by the decent trek across town.

He has a key now, so he lets himself in, hoping to avoid Fran until dinner time. Luckily, he’s quiet enough to not disturb her baking in the kitchen, so he makes his way slowly up the stairs, hoping Derek is not as perceptive tonight as he usually is. He’d briefly considered using bullies as a cover story if it came up, but Derek has spent almost every moment he could at school with him the last few days, he wasn’t out of his sight long enough to really encounter anyone cruel enough for it to be a viable story.

“Pretty boy,” Derek greets him, not turning away from the maths homework he’s finishing up. It gives Spencer a little extra time to make it to the bed like he usually does. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “A bit tired. You?”

“Training was rough today so I’m sore as shit, but otherwise I’m fine. Better now you’re here.” He turns to smile fondly at Spencer, finally locking eyes on his pale, sallow skin and defeated expression. He scrambles to try and make himself look slightly less terrible, but he’s not quick enough. “You sure you’re good? You don’t look it.”

“No, seriously, I’m fine,” Spencer tries to persuade him. “Just tired as I said. Can we watch a movie while we wait for dinner?”

Derek doesn’t look even close to convinced, but he gives in and brings up netflix on his computer. Spencer collapses against Derek and lets his eyes close as the film they choose plays across the laptop screen, but he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by his friend and he’s in a completely different position.

“Spencer, wake up,” he says insistently, and the urgent worry in his tone makes him sit up, wincing when the movement aches his core.

“What? What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily, obediently sitting up at Derek’s instruction.

“Pretty boy,” Derek says, sounding teary and a little desperate, “where did you get those bruises?”

He freezes for a second before glancing down at himself and realising that as he’d slept his shirt had shifted, revealing his black and blue stomach. How the fuck was he going to explain this? Not seeming himself wasn’t such a challenge, everyone has their off-days after all, but bruises like these aren’t the sort of thing your best friend just drops when you don’t want to explain them.

“I—” He has no idea what to say. Tears spring to his eyes in a terribly unhelpful fashion, and Derek moves closer, wrapping Spencer up in a hug.

“It’s okay, you can tell me, Spencer,” he promises as he holds him so tenderly it breaks his heart. “Take your time.”

He cries for a good few minutes — it just feels so good to let it out — but as his painful sobs draw to a close, he knows it’s time to face the music. There’s no other option. He has to tell Derek. And maybe a teeny tiny part of him actually wants to tell his best friend.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he confesses, keeping his head buried in his friend’s chest so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Derek’s hand combing through his hair doesn’t falter. “The reason I didn’t want you to come to my place is because of my mom… She’s a paranoid schizophrenic. When my dad left I became her primary carer, and I’m— I’m not doing a good job.”

Derek holds him a little tighter and presses his cheek to the top of Spencer’s head, shushing him quietly. “Don’t say that, I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job.”

“The other night she got confused because she’d refused her meds again. She became convinced that I was a spy there to hurt her. I can usually talk her down from these moments, or at least guide her to bed to let her sleep it off, but this time there was no reasoning. Eventually, she got so worked up that she shoved me backwards, hard. It sent me sprawling face first across the coffee table, and she kicked me twice before considering herself safe and barricading herself in her room.” He tells the whole story through thick tears, shoulders still shaking with pent up emotion. He wishes it didn’t feel so good to finally get off my chest.

“Spencer, oh my God,” Derek whispers, sounding thoroughly shocked. He’s suddenly fearful that he’s going to report Diana, and he sits up, finally meeting Derek’s teary eyes with his own.

“You can’t… you can’t tell anyone,” he begs. “If anyone finds out, she’ll be locked away and I’ll be put into foster care. I can’t do that to her and I can’t lose you.”

Derek takes Spencer’s hands. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, making him calm down a little. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, okay? Not without your permission. But I also can’t let you be beat up by your mom.”

“It’s not her fault,” Spencer says desperately, “it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she thinks she’s in danger.”

“I know,” Derek promises him, “I know it’s not her fault, but she still hurt you. Has this happened before?” Spencer’s hung head and refusal to respond speaks for itself. “Okay, listen. I know you need to go home tonight, but come over tomorrow morning okay? It’s a Saturday and we can spend the morning figuring out a game plan and the afternoon taking your mind off it. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is this… is this why you like being here?” Derek sounds nervous asking the question, clearly not wanting to offend him.

“Before I became friends with you,” he whispers, moving back to hide against Derek’s chest where it’s safe, “I went hungry a lot. We don’t have much money between rent and bills and mom’s medical expenses. I had to hide the groceries because she would become convinced they were poisoned and destroy them, but she got really good at finding them. I had to stop keeping them in my room because she would insist that I was corroborating with the government in trying to poison her.”

“Spencer,” Derek breathes, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know about any of this, I would’ve done something, I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I’ll keep you safe now. I promise.”

When Fran comes and asks them down for dinner a few minutes later, Derek points to Spencer’s exhausted form slumped against him and asks if they can have it up in his room. She relents, and Derek manages to get him to eat a few bites of the risotto Fran had made, not leaving his safe cocoon against Derek’s chest.

He insists on driving Spencer home himself tonight, surprising Fran who had her coat and boots on already, but he escorts his friend right up to his door. “If you come in, mom will get confused,” he explains so Derek gives him a long hug in front of his apartment door instead, holding him as close as possible.

“Spencer… you know I love you right?” he asks, expression intense and serious as his gentle hands rest on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“I love you, too, Derek,” he whispers, giving him another hug. It scares him just how much he means those five little words, all the meanings that dance behind them taking him aback. For now, though, he settles on one more tight squeeze before deciding to not procrastinate the inevitable anymore. “I should go in and see mom.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” His heart does an excited little leap at the thought of seeing Derek again in the morning. As he walks away back towards the elevators, Spencer takes a deep breath before inserting his key into the lock on his door and pushing it open. He only has to go 12 hours without seeing his best friend. He can do this.

His life suddenly seems like it holds infinitely more promise than it ever has. He supposes that’s the power of Derek Morgan.

Part Two

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith (taglist form)

#my writing #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #derek #spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid fic #moreid writing #hurt spencer reid #protective derek morgan #moreid fluff #moreid angst

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sazc94 · 3 years

Text

Bad Idea, a Bucky Fanfic

A/N Sensitive themes including injury, smut and kidnapping/suggestions of abuse. 18+ Also I'm still new at this so any feedback is appreciated.

Requested by @lannycleave

Prologue Part 2

Words: 3153

Part 1

6 Months ago: NYC Avengers Tower.

You rocked up to the tower with a duffle bag, Natasha had text you to say they had a mission for you, and it would be a 3 day one so to bring clothes. You were an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D not an Avenger. That being said Sometimes when agents were needed you got to go along on their missions thanks to your Friendship with Miss Romanoff and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers. The rest of the time you were on your own missions or helping to train new recruits.

“Hey Y/N, long time no see, did Mr. Roboto scare you off” Joked Sam as he clapped you on your back. You weren’t as good as FitzSimmons when it came to tech, but you held your own, you’d recently helped Sam with some upgrades to Red Wing, that was when you’d been introduced to The Winter Soldier, Sargent Bucky Barnes. You couldn’t help but stare at him when you met him, he was just so, well hot to put it bluntly.

Of course, he had barely acknowledged your existence other than polite conversation before he got called away to a mission.

“Ha, if anyone was going to scare me off it would be you with your creepy obsession with red wing” you winked at Sam before taking a bite of the apple you had swiped from the fruit bowl. Before Sam even had chance to think of a comeback, Tony walked into the communal dining/living area, followed closely by Nat and Steve. Nat nodded her head in the direction of the small briefing room. “That’s my cue” you smiled at Sam before following along.

“Agent Y/N, good to see you again, as your aware we require your assistance for a mission, I’ve been given clearance from Commander Hill, and you come highly recommended from the team. I’ve seen you in action in the training rooms and you seem like a capable candidate,” Said Tony. Your eyebrows shot up, it appeared Tony was running point on this mission, not unusual for the Avengers sure, but all your previous missions with the Avengers had been overseen by Nick Fury or more recently Commander Hill.

“This mission is off the books, I got the intel from Morgan actually, we have reason to believe there is a small cartel family, trafficking young children to Hydra” Tony continued.

“Morgan noticed a new kid at school, acting suspicious, they reminded her of how Uncle Bucky, and Steve are when lifting heavy things” Said Steve. “Morgan said they joined her class out of know where, quietly slipping in as if they’d been in her class all along, then a week later, they stopped showing up.” Concluded Steve.

“So, why do you need me?” You asked. At that moment, the door to meeting room opened and in walked Bucky, he didn’t move to sit down instead pressing himself into the corner of at the back the room. “We need intel” Said Nat. “Basically we need someone who’s not recognizable like me, but is someone we trust, and Y/N if Steve and I trust you then that’s good enough for Tony”. She continued. “Intel, right I can do that, so what’s the plan and where am I going” you asked.

“We’re going to Boston” said Bucky, your eyebrows shot up, you had presumed you were going by yourself. “I may not be The Winter Soldier anymore, but I can still remember some hotspots for HYDRA activity and Boston is their most obvious choice as a few higher ups from HYDRA own property out there” he continued.

“Y/N, we know we are asking a lot of you here, but we trust Bucky to keep this under wraps and we trust you,” Said Tony.

So that was how you ended up in Boston in the middle of October in a small one-bedroom apartment with Mr. Bucky Barnes. There was a fold out couch which Bucky took and left you the bedroom. You had been given Three days to gather as much intel as possible before reporting back to Tony, Steve and Nat on day 4

. Day one had been a bust, you and Bucky had split off to follow separate trails, your paths meeting at the same spot where the trail had gone cold. Day two had gone much better, as your paths had already crossed once you both decided to work on the same lead. Stark had been on to something with the human trafficking, you tracked a lot of vehicle traffic coming into an old gym/leisure center.

Day 3 was when everything changed. You had agreed with Bucky that he would stay back at the apartment whilst you tried to get into the building, you couldn’t risk Bucky being discovered by Hydra and whilst you knew what intel you already had would be a huge lead for Nat and the rest you decided you had come this far you might as well try and see inside.

“You promise you’ll get out of there the second you feel like you’re in danger?” Bucky asked. “Stark might trust me to keep this under wraps but that doesn’t necessarily mean he trusts me and if anything happens to you, I’m sure he’ll find a way to blame me” Bucky said, his blue eyes flickered over with confliction and pain. Before this mission you hadn’t really had much interaction with Bucky, but you could tell he regretted his actions as The Winter Soldier. I put your hand on Bucky’s Vibrainium arm and smiled at him softly.

“ I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, but if I’m about to get caught I will high tail it out of there” you said. (Spoiler alert you didn’t)

“For Fucks Sake Y/N!” Bucky shouted slamming the apartment door shut behind him, he looked pissed, like really pissed. His usually clear blue eyes had thundered over, turning them a deeper shade of blue almost black.

You’d had every intention of getting out of the building if you felt you were in trouble, but then you’d gotten cocky thinking that this could lead to a promotion, even if the mission were off the books if Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were impressed with your work then that would mean something.

Unfortunately, this attitude had nearly cost you the mission. You had let your guard down and not only that you had actually fallen down. You had been creeping along a ledge outside what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary on the first floor. You head voices coming from two windows along and had inched further to try and get a clearer listen, however you hadn’t realized the brick was in poor condition and had already started to crumble away from the wall. T

hat was the moment you knew you’d fucked up because you went barreling down. Thankfully, there was a balcony to break your fall or else you’d have done some serious damage. You also hadn’t exactly been quiet as you fell down the face of the wall, so you didn’t exactly stick around, you snapped a few pictures of the building entrance from the balcony, hearing the voices around the building getting louder you decided to jump from the balcony to the ground floor and just hightail it out of there.

“I know, I know I fucked up” you bellowed. You were in pretty rough shape and you’d had to text Bucky 911 when you were a safe distance from the gym. “I let my guard down thinking I could get enough intel to finally get a promotion within S.H.E.I.L.D or at least get enough recognition to be considered for a position within Avengers” you continued.

The black turtleneck shirt you were wearing was starting to stick to your side. You headed to the bedroom desperate to get the top off. “I don’t need you telling me how badly I fucked up” you shouted slamming the bedroom door behind you.

“Fuck” you hissed, you were in pain and felt utterly humiliated. You pushed your palms into your eyes to stop yourself crying. With a deep breath you whipped of your shirt, deciding to treat it like a band aid and that ripping it of would be better than an agonizing slow peel.

You were bleeding, thankfully not an amount that would require medical attention but enough that you were going to have to put some gauze over it. You really didn’t want to ask Bucky for help so decided to be a martyr instead and clean yourself up in the mirror using the first aid supplies you had packed into your duffle bag.

Thirty minutes later you were admiring your handy work and the feeling pretty pleased with your hard work when Bucky knocked on the door, he didn’t wake for you to respond before opening the door. “Look Y/N I know…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as you stood there in your underwear, in your anger and rush you hadn’t locked the door.

Everything in that moment seemed to go in slow motion as you went to grab a jumper off the bed at the exact moment Bucky’s eyes trailed your body taking in all the scrapes, cuts and injuries on your body. He knew you’d been injured but not to this extent.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s clear blue eyes had thundered over again this time a mixture of anger, concern and (all though you didn’t know it) lust swirled in them. You went to pull your jumper over your head but before you could even pull it on over your arm’s Bucky had closed the distance between you, pinning you to the wall with one arm above your head and the other to your side. You felt your breath catch in your throat, even though he was clearly pissed you liked the feel of him pressed against you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I cleaned myself up and patched it up fine, we don’t need to tell Nat about it”, you said turning your head away from him, you were protecting your reputation as much as his. Bucky’s eyes softened, loosening the grip on your arms just a touch, you felt a delectable burning sensation where his pressure had eased.

You could feel yourself growing farm under Bucky’s gaze. You’d fantasized about a moment like this since you’d met him that day helping Sam out, sure you’d imagined it would have been under better circumstances and he would have also had less clothing on. Suddenly all you could think about was how much you wanted Bucky. Bucky seemed to sense the change in your demeanor as he gulped. His eyes met yours.

“We shouldn’t… we really shouldn’t” he said his voice coming out at barely a whisper. “Oh, but we should” you said a sly grin on your face. Before Bucky even had time to respond you were kissing him. Bucky’s lips parted slightly welcoming your kiss, deepening it as your tongues crashed against each other.

Bucky released the grip on your arms as his hands danced their way down your body, the contrast between the cool metal arm dragging down your right side to the way his right arm left a blazing trail down your left side. Bucky crushed himself against you as your fingers tangled in his brown hair. You couldn’t help but moan as you felt Bucky’s hard cock pressed against you restricted by his jeans and underwear.

How you longed to reach out and grab his cock and release it from his jeans. Bucky was taking this torturously slow fingering the waistband of your underwear, leaving a trail of blazing hot kisses along your neck.

His cool Vibrainium arm cupped your ass. Something in you snapped and you decided you couldn’t wait any longer, so your hand moved to Bucky’s waistband. Before you could even undo the button on his jeans Bucky had your arms pinned above your head with his Vibrainium arm. He chuckled.

“My my, my, impatient little thing aren’t we” he said between kisses. “You should know by now Y/N I’m the one in charge here, that goes for the bedroom as well as the mission” he said, before you could even process what he’d just said Bucky pushed his hand down the front of your underwear Bucky shoved two fingers in making you gasp at the shock, the pain and how good it felt to have Bucky warm fingers inside you. You whined as Bucky’s fingers did nothing. He let out a slight moan.

“Holy fuck you’re dripping already, just from a few light kisses, just how long have you been imagining a moment like this” he asked. When you didn’t answer Bucky flicked his thumb over your clit sending shivers down your spine, you let out a moan.

“Don’t make me ask again Y/N” said Bucky. “So, so long, since I met you” You said between gulps as Bucky started gently pulsing his fingers in and out of you. Your admission seems to stir a hunger in Bucky, has his thumb finds its way back to your bud, Bucky gently swipes his rough thumb over it, making you whimper, suddenly he’s pushing his two fingers into hard and fast whilst his thumb swipes ferocious circles on your now throbbing bud, your hands clawing at Bucky back.

You feel your cunt tighten round his fingers. Your so close and Bucky can tell. Which only encourages him as he pushes a third finger inside you slowing his pace right down back to slow agonizing strokes. You’re putty in his hands and he knows it.

“You’re only allowed to cum when I say so Y/N” he says as his pace quickens once again, hitting that sweet spot. You had never been so fucking turned on before, but the way Bucky’s fingers played you like a fiddle and had you dripping was something else. It was taking everything in you to hold back your orgasm.

Suddenly just as you felt like you couldn’t hold back any longer and your legs were about to give out Bucky withdrew his fingers, you instantly felt empty. However, you didn’t have to wait long, as Bucky sank down onto his knees, pulling your legs up over his shoulders.

“Now what did I say Y/N?” he asked as he started peppering kisses and gentle bites along the inside of your things. You could barely think straight, and the sudden change had you gasping from the shock and delight.

“I – I’m only allowed to cum when you say so” you stuttered. “Good girl” he replied before picking you up by your thighs. You thought he would have perhaps moved to the bed, but no Bucky pushed your back up against the wall, standing tall with you sat on his shoulders with one hand still holding you up he removed your underwear which was soaked and took one slow lick up your slit, his tongue gentle yet rough at the same time.

“Fuck. Bucky” you hissed. Your eyes fluttered close. “Mm that’s right doll, you just enjoy the ride” he chuckled before he started licking at your bud, Bucky’s pace was frantic like he couldn’t get enough of you, you felt like every single nerve in your body was on fire. You could feel yourself getting close still sensitive from the feel of Bucky’s rough fingers pumping you. You weren’t used to being denied your orgasm, hell most of your escapades had very rarely even managed to get you one orgasm let alone deny you it.

“Please Bucky,” you whispered hands tangled in his hair you weren’t sure how much longer you would hold out. Bucky didn’t respond instead slowing his pace right down again his tongue dragged across your hypersensitive bud you opened your eyes to find Bucky’s blue eyes dark with hunger and lust staring straight at you as a small smirk tugged on his lips, it was almost as if he was staring straight into to your soul.

With Bucky’s tongue still slowly swiping your bud Bucky entered one finger into you, curling up to hit that magic spot, Bucky’s rough finger combined with the licking and sucking was almost too much and just as you felt like you couldn’t take any more….

“Y/N cum for me” said Bucky, that was all it took and suddenly you were screaming his name as you felt your orgasm crash over you, wave after wave as your cunt pulsed round Bucky’s finger.Bucky lowered you from the wall onto the bed, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Keeping his eyes on you Bucky popped the button on his jeans and unzipped them shimmying them along with his boxers down his body. His cock sprang out and you couldn’t help but lick your lips, it was magnificent, and you wanted nothing more for it to fill you.

However, Bucky had other ideas first. He leant down and pulled you towards the end of the bed when he straightened up you were at eye level with his waste, Bucky noticed the glazed look in your eyes and how transfixed you were with his dick, he chuckled all though the look you were giving was shooting straight to his cock, he was going to enjoy all you had to offer and make you work for it if you wanted his dick to pound your insides.

Bucky nudged your mouth open with his cock, you parted your lips and Bucky slowly pushed his cock into your mouth he was bigger than you realized and it took you a moment to adjust you took a breath and then slowly you dragged your tongue all the way up his shaft, lazily sucking his length you brought your and up to the base of his shaft moving in tandem with your mouth, your pace started to quicken hollowing your cheeks. Bucky moaned.

“Fuck Y/N you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, so fucking pretty” Bucky said tangling his Vibrainium hand in your hair whilst his right had gripped your shoulder, Bucky bucked his hips fucking your mouth. You drew your head back and licked his throbbing dick with little gentle kitten like licks before taking him back in all his glory into your mouth. Just then your phone rang you were going to ignore it until Bucky’s started ringing from the front room, Bucky seemed to snap out of whatever haze had taken him over and removed his cock from your mouth and quickly pulled up his boxers and jeans before walking out of the bedroom avoiding your gaze the entire time.

You felt your heart plummet and tears started to gather in the corner of your eyes, you furiously swiped at them taking a deep breath before getting up to answer your phone. Tony’s name flashed up on the caller id.

“Tony…” you said

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #avengers fanfiction #bucky x y/n #avengers

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breanime · 4 years

Note

How do the boys react to reader getting home late and not answering their calls because she lost her phone!?

Billy Russo: The fear and anxiety he feels translate directly to anger. He’s pacing the room when you come home, and your confused, innocent expression just pisses him off more. He starts an argument immediately, accusing you of being careless and forgetful. He was worried about you, but instead of saying that, he just argues with you... until you huff and say you’re going to spend the night at your friend’s house since he’s being an ass, and then he switches tactics. He races over to you and crushes you to his chest in a hug. “You’re so frustrating,” he sighs into your hair, “Just... Let’s go to bed, and tomorrow we’ll go get you a new phone...and an Apple watch...and maybe a pager too, just to be safe.” *cue make up sex*

Logan Delos: His mind immediately goes tot he worst. He’s spiraling out, eyes wide and chest pounding, thinking of all of the horrible things that could happen to you, wondering if you were ignoring his calls because you found someone else, someone better... So when you walk through the door, sighing and complaining about your shitty day, he’d run up to you, cup your face in his hands, and kiss you, taking your breath away. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you,” he’d ask, hating how insecure and panicked he sounded. But when you explained, sitting on his lap on the couch, he’d calm down. The next thing you knew, Logan was pulling out his laptop and ordering you all kinds of new gadgets that you hadn’t even heard of.

Jax Teller: Jax puts the prospects on the case, sending them out with strict instructions not to set foot in the clubhouse again until they found you. They found you in town, shopping, and they called Jax and told him that you’d lost your phone. Less than 15 minutes later, Jax was pulling up beside you on the street on his bike. Grinning, he held out his helmet to you. “Hop on, darlin’,” he says, “We’re getting you a new phone.” Jax takes you to a local electronics shop and buys you a new phone. He also gets you a burner phone because he assumes you’ll have to use it at some point in the future lol.

Coco Cruz: He was already feeling anxious when you didn’t answer his calls or respond to his texts, but as the day went on and he didn’t hear from you, his anxiety was getting worse and worse. He’d snapped at Chucky, been mouthy with Bish, and almost got into a fist fight with one of Miguel’s guys, and so Bishop had told Angel to take Coco for some air before he (Bishop) shot him (Coco) in the foot. So Angel, Coco, Gilly, and EZ went for a ride--partly to calm Coco, and partly to look for you. When they didn’t find you, Coco went back to the clubhouse and broke a few tables and chairs. He’s still keyed up when you walk through the door, and he yells at you. Thankfully, you stay calm and your gentle explanation calms him too. Coco hugs you to him for about 10 minutes then, before pulling back and growling “we’re getting you a new fucking phone right now, querida”

Angel Reyes: Angel knows you, and he knows this isn’t like you, so he’s immediately on guard. Living the kind of life he lives, he’s instantly afraid that something bad has happened to you. You always respond to his calls, and it’s getting late now... EZ, Coco, Gilly, and Felipe go out to find you, and Angel--on his father’s suggestions--stays home to wait for you. It’s hard for him, and when he hears your car pulling up out front, he’s outside and opening your door for you before you even turn your car off. The first thing he does is ask if you’re okay and checks to see if you’re hurt--which you’re not. Once that’s established, he’s glaring down at you, angrily telling you how worried he was and how much he loves you. Then he’s taking you to bed, and it isn’t until you’re both lying on your backs, grinning up at the ceiling that he realizes...he never told the guys that he found you.

Miguel Galindo: Miguel doesn’t even give you the chance to come home late. He has his men out and about looking for you, Dita at home in case you come back, and he and Nestor are out in the streets, too. He’s worried as hell--in his line of work, there are so many threats and so much potential danger, and you know that. He knows that you wouldn’t ignore him or field his calls, so there’s something that is preventing you from calling him back, and that terrifies Miguel. But when he finds you--safe and sound--he finally allows himself to breathe. He holds you close, whispering into your hair how concerned he had been. He doesn’t want to scare you, but his mind is still racing, thinking back on all of the horrible things that could have happened to you. And that’s the last day you go ANYWHERE without some kind of escort.

Nick Amaro: Nick is the human embodiment of anger and anxiety, and he goes into overdrive when he doesn’t hear back from you. Being a SVU detective, his mind circles back to some of the incredibly terrible crimes he’s seen on the job, and he’s nearly shaking with fear for you. This isn’t like you, and so he reaches out to the squad. Liv drives him around the city, going to some of your favorite places in search of you, while Carisi, Rawlins, and Fin canvas other areas. Cragen even reaches out to a few of his contacts, and it’s through him that Nick finds you downtown, trying to purchase a new phone. He’s out of the car and running over to you before Olivia can even finish parking, and as soon as he’s close to you, Nick pulls you to him. You try to explain what happened, even pointing out that you were in the middle of fixing it, but all Nick wants is to hold you--so you let him.

Johnny Tuturro: “You seen Y/N?” He asks everyone in the house a good 10 times. Johnny can’t sit down. He paces, he works out, he goes running (and looking for you), he bounces on Mike’s bed... He can’t stop moving. He’s trying not to come off as an overly protective, paranoid boyfriend, but it’s getting late and he hasn’t heard from you... Eventually, Charlie makes Mike and Paige play football with him on the beach while she goes out looking for you... You actually stumble upon the trio as you’re walking home. Johnny is so happy to see you, he tackles you to the sand. He’s still on top of you as you explain that your phone broke and you lost your wallet, so you had to walk home... So then he picks you up and carries you inside for a ‘Johnny Tuturro Spa Night’ where he pampers you, gives you a foot massage, and gets out a map of the city and shows you all of the places that have phone booths...for future reference.

Rio: This dramatic king... He’s sitting in the dark in the living room when you get home. After you missed his third call, Rio tracked you down and found you having dinner with some guy. So he went home, that cold, cool anger right in the center of his chest, and waited. “Jesus, Rio,” you gasped when you turned on the light, “what the hell are you doing?” “Yeah, you know, I was gonna ask you the same thing... Had a good meal? You enjoy yourself?” He asks back, his hands clasped in his lap as he glares over at you. You quickly explain to him that it was a business dinner, and he’s almost ready to believe you, but... “Why didn’t you answer my calls? Your job more important than me, mama?” At that, you walk over to him and dump the contents of your purse on your lap. It doesn’t take him long to see that... “Where’s your phone?” Once he gets all the details and learns that, yes, is was a business meeting, and you lost your phone, that knot in his chest loosens. He stands up and holds you, apologizing for thinking the worst, and promises to get you a new phone before lovingly taking you to bed. When you wake up in his arms, you see a box on your nightstand with a red bow on it, and you know that he’s already replaced your phone.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also, who’s gonna write an elaboration on Rio for me?...

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#Billy Russo x reader #logan delos x reader #jax teller x reader #coco cruz x reader #angel reyes x reader #miguel galindo x reader #nick amaro x reader #johnny tuturro x reader #rio x reader #bre's boys #bre's boys preferences

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archive-archives · 3 years

Photo

Coming in April!

NEW 2020 1080p HD masters JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS IN OUTER SPACE

Run Time 352:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio 1.33:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color COLOR

Disc Configuration 2 BD 50

Rock stars Josie and the Pussycats are out of this world...literally! When the bumbling Alexandra accidentally launches Josie and the gang into outer space, they travel through the galaxy searching for a path back to Earth. Along the way, they meet cat people, robot monsters, evil dictators, space pirates and plenty of strange creatures, including their new companion Bleep, voiced by Hanna-Barbera legend Don Messick. Fortunately, everyone’s a fan of Josie and the Pussycats, including aliens! Rocket through the universe with your favorite superstars as they save the day, sing some songs and have a hip-happenin’ good time in a 2-disc, 16-episode Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space complete series collection that hits all the right notes!

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from 4K scan of preservation film elements!

GREEN DOLPHIN STREET

Run Time 141:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color BLACK & WHITE

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: Lux Radio Theater Broadcast; Theatrical Trailer (HD)

The Academy Award® winner about star-crossed love that spans the years – and the globe. After her triumph as the lunchroom temptress in the crime classic The Postman Always Rings Twice, Lana Turner expanded her range with Green Dolphin Street. Set in 19th century Europe and New Zealand, this sweeping romance tells the story of two beautiful sisters, one headstrong (Turner) and one gentle (Donna Reed), and of the man (Richard Hart) who marries one even though he loves the other. The film’s riptides of emotion are matched by breathtaking physical tumult: a fierce Maori uprising plus a catastrophic earthquake and tidal wave that earned the film a 1947 Oscar® for special effects. With its dramatic story and spectacular visuals, Green Dolphin Street drew huge audiences for epic moviemaking, being one of the top-ten box office hits of the year.

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from 4K scan of Nitrate preservation elements!

BROADWAY MELODY OF 1940

Run Time 102:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color BLACK & WHITE

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: Making-of Featurette: "Begin the Beguine" (hosted by Ann Miller); "Our Gang Comedies: The Big Premiere"; MGM Cartoon: "The Milky Way" ; Original Theatrical Trailer (HD)

The job – a career breakthrough – is supposed to go to hoofer Johnny Brett, but a mix-up in names gives it to his partner. Another example of Broadway hopes dashed? Not when Johnny is played by Fred Astaire. Sparkling Cole Porter songs, clever comedy and dance legends Astaire and Eleanor Powell make the final Broadway Melody (co-starring George Murphy) a film to remember. Powell’s nautical “All Ashore" routine (a/k/a I Am the Captain”), Astaire’s blissful “I’ve Got My Eyes on You” and Fred & Eleanor's elaborate routine to Cole Porter's classic "I Concentrate On You" are more than enough to please any fan. But they’re just a warm-up for the leads to tap one finale number into immortality: “Begin the Beguine,” introduced by Frank Sinatra in That’s Entertainment! with, “You can wait around and hope, but you’ll never see the likes of this again.”

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from a new 4K restoration of the last-known surviving nitrate Technicolor print!

DOCTOR X (1932)

Run Time 76:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color COLOR; BLACK & WHITE

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: Alternate B&W version of feature; DOCTOR X (HD): UCLA Before & After Restoration featurette (HD); New documentary: "Monsters and Mayhem: The Horror Films of Michael Curtiz (HD); New feature commentary by author/film historian Alan K. Rode; Archival feature commentary by Scott MacQueen, head of preservation, UCLA Film and Television Archive. Original B&W Theatrical Trailer (HD)

Is there a (mad) doctor in the house? “Yes!” shrieks Doctor X, filmed in rare two-strip Technicolor®. An eminent scientist aims to solve a murder spree by re-creating the crimes in a lab filled with all the dials, gizmos, bubbling beakers and crackling electrostatic charges essential to the genre. Lionel Atwill is Doctor Xavier, pre-King Kong scream queen Fay Wray is a distressed damsel and Lee Tracy snaps newshound patter, all under the direction of renowned Michael Curtiz. The new two-color Technicolor master was restored by UCLA Film and Television Archive and The Film Foundation in association with Warner Bros. Entertainment. Funding provided by the Hobson/Lucas Foundation. Also includes the separately filmed B&W version (which has been restored and restored from its original nitrate camera negative) originally intended for small U.S. markets and International distribution, and which has been out of distribution for over 30 years.

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from 4K scan of original nitrate Technicolor negatives!

ANNIE GET YOUR GUN (1950)

Run Time 107:00

Subtitles English SDH

Sound Quality DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English

Aspect Ratio 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color COLOR

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: Susan Lucci retrospective & intro piece (from 2000 DVD release); Outtakes: Let’s Go West Again-Betty Hutton, Doin’ What Comes Natur’lly-Judy Garland, I’m an Indian, Too-Judy Garland, Colonel Buffalo Bill with Howard Keel and Frank Morgan; Stereo audio pre-recording session tracks including There’s No Business Like Show Business featuring Judy Garland; Theatrical Re-issue Trailer (HD)

Betty Hutton (as Annie Oakley) and Howard Keel (as Frank Butler) star in this sharpshootin’ funfest based on the 1,147-performance Broadway smash boasting Irving Berlin’s beloved score, including “Doin’ What Comes Natur’lly,” “I Got the Sun in the Morning” and the anthemic “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” As produced by Arthur Freed, directed by George Sidney, and seen and heard in this new remastered HD presentation, this lavish, spirited production showcases songs and performances with bull’s-eye precision, earning an Oscar®* for adaptation scoring. The story is a brawling boy-meets-girl-meets-buckshot rivalry. But love finally triumphs when Annie proves that, yes, you can get a man with a gun!

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master! QUICK CHANGE (1990)

Run Time 88:00

Subtitles English SDH

Sound Quality DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English

Aspect Ratio 1.85:1, 16 X 9 WIDESCREEN

Product Color COLOR

Disc Configuration BD 25

Special Feature: Theatrical Trailer

The star of Caddyshack, Ghostbusters and Groundhog Day headlines and codirects this uproarious Big Apple heist-and-pursuit caper. Bill Murray plays Grimm, a frazzled urbanite who disguises himself as a clown – and sets out to rob a bank. Geena Davis and Randy Quaid play accomplices in Grimm’s daring scheme and Jason Robards is the blustery cop caught up in Grimm’s “Clown Day Afternoon.” Swiping a million bucks is a snap compared to getting out of town. Grimm and cohorts commandeer a car, a cab, a bus, a baggage tram and a plane (and encounter future stars Stanley Tucci and Tony Shalhoub in hilarious supporting roles) to make what becomes a less-than-merry escape. But for comedy lovers, Quick Change is a ticket to ride!

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from 4K scan of best surviving nitrate preservation elements! EACH DAWN I DIE (1939)

Run Time 92:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color BLACK & WHITE

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: Warner Night at the Movies including 1939 Short Subjects Gallery: Vintage Newsreel, WB Technicolor Short: "A Day at Santa Anita", WB Cartoon: "Detouring America"; Restrospective featurette: "Stool Pigeons and Pine Overcoats: The Language of Gangster Films" ; Feature Commentary by Film Historian Haden Guest; Breakdowns of 1939: Studio Blooper Reel; WB Cartoon: "Each Dawn I Crow"; Radio show w/George Raft & Franchot Tone; Trailer for "Wings of the Navy" and Original Theatrical Trailer for Each Dawn I Die (HD)

Framed for manslaughter after he breaks a story about city corruption, reporter Frank Ross is sure he’ll prove his innocence and walk out of prison a free man. But that’s not how the system works at Rocky Point Penitentiary. There, cellblock guards are vicious, the jute-mill labor is endless, and the powers Ross fought on the outside conspire to keep him in. Frank’s hope is turned to hopelessness. And he’s starting to crack. Two of the screen’s famed tough guys star in this prison movie that casts a reform-minded eye on the brutalizing effects of life in the slammer. James Cagney “hits a white-hot peak as [Ross,] the embittered, stir-crazy fall guy” (Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide). And George Raft (Cagney’s friend since their vaudeville days) portrays racketeer Hood Stacey, who may hold the key to springing Ross.

NEW 2021 1080p HD Master Sourced from 4K scan of best surviving preservation elements!

ANOTHER THIN MAN (1939)

Run Time 102:00

Subtitles English SDH

Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English, MONO - English

Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 FULL FRAME

Product Color BLACK & WHITE

Disc Configuration BD 50

Special Features: M-G-M Musical Short: Love on Tap; Classic M-G-M Cartoon: The Bookworm

Dum-Dum, Wacky, Creeps, Fingers: They’re just a few of the hoodlums in the world of amateur sleuths and professional bon vivants Nick and Nora Charles. And now there’s a new hood: parenthood. A birthday – make that boithday – party that some of da boys hold for infant Nick Jr. is part of the fun in this third film in the witty series. The case begins when the Charles family arrives for a weekend with a Long Island industrialist who fears someone wants to kill him. Sure enough, his fears come true. Nick (William Powell) is among the suspects. Asta scrams with what may be the murder weapon. And Nora (Myrna Loy) has her own ideas about the case and sneaks off to a nightclub to ferret out a clue. “Madam, how long have you been leading this double life?” Nick asks. “Just since we’ve been married,” she replies.

#wac

22 notes · View notes

masterwords · 3 years

Text

Cough Up Your Ghost

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, a lot of swearing, alcohol, implied past abuse. You know, Hotchner stuff.

Notes: This was requested by @olivinesea for my 200 "celebration"- a Hotch & Sean "blurb" that got way out of hand. Like...it left blurb in the dust and became something that could have spanned a few chapters if I didn't cut it off. I just live for Hotch & Sean. The title comes from something Mister Moundshroud says in Ray Bradbury's The Halloween Tree as he's talking about each of the boys giving up one year from the end of their lives to save their friend, it has a very Hotch feel to it. The song toward the end is "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division. (Hotch in canon has trash musical taste so I fully admit that I take artistic liberties here.) So...here you go. A twisted, drunken Halloween tale starring the Hotchner brothers, taking place in the dark make-believe time between Foyet's attack and Haley's death, right after Hotch steps down and promotes Morgan. ~4100 words

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Aaron paused momentarily to study the proverb scrawled on the sidewalk in drippy red spray paint made to look like blood, he was sure, but they missed some key details. The depth of the color, the clotting, they didn't understand but he understood too well, he was not their target audience. He crouched and touched the paint, chipped at it with his fingernail, smiled at the clumsy way the letters fell across the pavement. It might have been the first thing to make him smile that week, imagining some sixteen year old kid with a two dollar can of paint and friends who would look out for the cops, tasting the intoxication of immortality as they lay down their work for their city to see. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture for posterity, maybe he'd show Spencer and listen as the other man told him about the origin of the proverb, the different iterations, the various meanings. Maybe he'd keep it to himself.

New York City had always made him itchy. It was too big, too full, it made his skin feel like it didn't fit quite right. He didn't hate big cities, but this one, it was so old and loomed high over his head and deep beneath his feet and made him feel so impossibly small and insignificant that it was actually painful. He used to dream of the city, as a boy, talk about running away to the Big Apple because that's what you did as a desperately unhappy small town kid, or so he figured. He would lie on his bed and imagine all of the books and movies he knew set in New York and how exciting people's lives were and how you could disappear there if you wanted to, or become someone new every week if you were so inclined. Those dreams died with his father and he never looked back.

“Aaron!” Sean called, wiping his hands on a towel hanging from his back pocket before pulling his brother into a hug right in the middle of the packed restaurant. Aaron wasn't sure how much of whatever was on Sean's chef jacket transferred to his shirt, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged his brother so he squeezed back, just a little harder than he'd intended and held a little longer than usual. Without thinking, he buried his face in Sean's neck, in the sour smell of his sweat and fry oil, and he held tight. There was something so safe about his brother, his younger brother who was taller than he was. He hadn't anticipated just how much he needed a hug from his brother and it caught them both off guard. “Woah, you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer. Sean narrowed his eyes and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face.

“Last time we saw each other, you shook my hand like I was selling you a car. Now you're hugging me like you love me or something'.”

“I do love you, Sean,” Aaron replied quietly, a little too serious, scrunching his nose at the new smell his shirt had taken on since the hug. “But you need some deodorant.”

“That's kitchen musk, get used to it. So hey, I'm off in about twenty minutes, have a beer and wait.” Aaron nodded, pulling up a stool at the bar and watching as Sean poured him something dark with thick cream colored foam that stuck to his upper lip when he took a sip and sat heavily in his empty stomach. “You eaten?”

“No,” was his response and Sean rolled his eyes. You had to force Aaron to eat most of the time, otherwise he existed on a diet of anxiety fed by coffee and tums. It kept him sharp and angry, just the way he liked it. Sean popped into the kitchen and came back not a minute later with a plate of fries covered in what looked like cheese and bacon and tiny green flecks he thought were chives. “Eat these. They were gonna be my dinner but you need 'em more than I do.”

“I don't want to eat your dinner.” Sean just pushed the plate closer to his brother, sneaking a fry off of the top of the pile before rushing back into the kitchen so Aaron couldn't argue with him further. With a sigh, Aaron picked at the cheese and bacon, sliding it off of the crispy fries. He was a simple man. He liked bacon, he liked cheese, he liked fries...he did not like them all together.

As night fell and they wandered back to Sean's apartment, the streets began filling up with all sorts of people in costumes out ready to get a little Halloween wild. Aaron snapped pictures of decorations in windows, interesting costumes, skulls painted on walls, thinking of Spencer and how he wasn't able to have all of his normal Halloween fun on crutches. Maybe seeing Halloween in Manhattan would cheer him up, especially knowing how uncomfortable it all made Aaron. How Sean had convinced him to spend the holiday with him in the city he would never understand, he must have just been that desperate to get out of D.C., to get away from his life.

“Knew you wouldn't bring a costume like I told you to,” Sean muttered, throwing some clothes and a mask at Aaron. He held it out, a worn black sweatshirt with some crude looking painted bones and a very old, hand painted skeleton mask. Aaron recognized it as his own, a costume he'd made begrudgingly in his senior year of high school when Haley had forced him to go to the Halloween dance. She'd forced him to all of the dances that year for fear that she'd never see him again. He tried not to show a reaction, just stared blankly at the relic in his hands.

“I thought I threw this away,” he muttered, turning the mask over in his hands to see where he'd scrawled some lines from The Halloween Tree, the one single thing that made the whole holiday bearable. He'd planned to read it with Jack when he was old enough, but he couldn't let his mind wander there yet. “When you reach the stars, boy, yes and live there forever...all the fears will go, and Death himself will die.”

“God, you were such a pretentious asshole,” Sean muttered, but Aaron didn't pay him any mind. He ran his fingers over the words, his sharp chicken scratch, he'd written so hard it etched the thin plastic of the mask. He remembered wondering if he should write it in blood, almost did but he knew Haley would hate that, and she'd know. She always knew when his darkness found a crack in the foundation, its tentacles creeping out into the daylight. He settled for blank ink, because he was seventeen and he loved his girlfriend, but even still as a grown man he thought it should have been blood.

“Anyway. That's the creepiest fuckin' costume I've ever seen, I had to keep it. I wear it almost every year. Won a costume contest at this shitty little dive bar last year cos vintage is back in style, got picked up by a woman who said I looked just like I walked out of one of those scary old black and white Halloween photos. Got laid because of that fuckin' haunted old mask.” Aaron made a face at his brother and shrugged out of his jacket, ready to put on the sweatshirt and attempt to feel something other than contempt for this holiday. Or any day, really. They were all miserable anymore, moments of joy or reasons to smile came so infrequently. He rifled through his bag until he found a warm shirt and a black pair of pants to wear, to complete the half ass costume of his youth. He turned his back to Sean and crossed his arms, lifting his polo shirt up over his head and dropping it onto the top of his bag.

“Fuck,” Sean choked, and Aaron turned his eyes up slowly, locked with his brother for a moment. He hadn't realized Sean had moved, come around to see probably, to catch a glimpse of Aaron's new body art. He watched as something akin to horror registered on Sean's face, deep in his eyes while they darted from scar to scar, still shiny and pink and new. Aaron straightened up, licked his dry lips and slipped his long sleeved shirt over his head without a word. He tugged at the bottom, making sure it covered every last bit of skin. “Sorry. I didn't...” He looked sick, and Aaron's heart sank.

“It's fine,” Aaron lied, shrugging. He didn't want to talk about it, never wanted to talk about it. He was seeing a therapist weekly, ordered by people more powerful than he was, and he lied his way through every session. He lied to a professional, lied to his team, lied to Sean. It got easier each time. Maybe he could convince himself one of these times and complete the circle. Sean, to his credit, didn't believe a word of it but he dropped it, set to getting himself into whatever costume he could throw together before he drug his brother out into the world. “You ever take Jack trick or treating?”

“He's too little,” Aaron replied in a hushed voice, adjusting the sweatshirt that smelled like his brother on his thin frame. “We took him out to a couple of houses last year, we were going to try again this year...” He let his voice trail off, his mind wandering, wondering what Jack was dressed up as tonight. Probably Batman, and he thought maybe Haley was dressed as Wonder Woman or something fun to match, she always liked to do that. Maybe he would have dressed up too, if Haley did. He never missed Halloween with Jack, even after the divorce. He glanced down at his hands, the tattered sleeves of his painted sweatshirt falling too long, perfect for balling his fists up inside of when he got cold. He'd picked the sleeves apart at the dance, nervously fidgeting in a corner while Haley tried to pull him out of his shell and onto the dance floor with a school full of kids who didn't even like him. She'd pulled his mask down over his face and yanked him out anyway, like the mask would hide his identity, like he might become what she really wanted - a happy boy who was free, who danced and spoke his mind and smiled. Try as he might, he never was that boy, even on the best days.

“Right,” Sean mumbled, realizing just how hard it was to talk to his brother about anything personal all of a sudden. He hadn't realized just how bad things had gotten until he attempted real conversation. Landmines left and right, and he wasn't missing a single one. By the end of the night, he might be missing limbs.

“A graveyard, Sean, really? How old are we?” Aaron asked, following Sean and his pack of kitchen friends into a very old, crumbling graveyard far enough outside of the city that everything was quiet and there wasn't quite so much light pollution. You could almost see stars if you squinted hard enough. The headstones were cracked, some were fallen, all looked forgotten. Aaron felt a sad kinship with these lonely, crumbling relics that had once marked a life. There were already people there waiting, creeping around the graveyard with their costumes ranging from gaudy and elaborate all the way down to just got off work still in my chef coat. People of all ages were milling around, old men huddled together around paper bags of booze, young kids just starting out and trying to act far older than their years would allow. He felt so old, so out of place, so desperate to just be in a warm bed anywhere but there, surrounded by the dead and knowing the only reason he wasn't lying in eternal sleep right alongside them was because George Foyet decided it wasn't his time.

“This one's haunted,” a young woman called, raising her beer can high into the air. Aaron sighed, glad he'd left his credentials back at Sean's place. At least it would take longer before the cops who arrested them would know he was well connected in the FBI, soon to be disgraced and fallen. Sean handed him a beer and told him to relax, no one ever came to this place anymore, the cops would all be in the city. A few teenagers trickled by in costumes, out trick or treating between neighborhoods and causing trouble, Aaron figured. No one would care about a quiet party of kitchen ghouls and one very lonely FBI Agent haunting a forgotten old graveyard. No one but the dead buried beneath their feet, and he hoped maybe they were joining in the quiet festivities.

“Sean,” a young man who called himself Tuck muttered, leaning close to Sean while they walked to the center of the cemetery. “Isn't your brother a FED?”

“Yeah, but he's cool.”

“Okay, but...” Tuck started, and Sean turned to him and shook his head.

“He catches serial killers, man. He's not concerned with some stupid drunk burnouts in the cemetery. Leave the hard shit at home, don't kill anyone and you'll be okay.”

“Serial killers? For real? DUDE.” It only took moments for that knowledge to spread like wild fire through the group, and everyone was crowding around Aaron, asking him to tell stories. What's the worst thing you've seen? Have you ever met a cannibal? Do you touch the bodies? Have you been shot? They were all younger than Sean, he knew, the older crowd wasn't the least bit interested in whatever stories he could peddle. He felt his skin crawl and he opened his mouth to answer, to shut them down, but Sean spoke first.

“That's his job, man. No one wants to talk about work tonight. He doesn't know about the ghosts here, c'mon, someone try and scare the shit out of him. I dare you.” Sean looked at Aaron apologetically and was met with a silent nod of thanks and an extended hand, begging for a beer. It wasn't even cold when he popped the top and tossed the liquid down his throat in hardly more than one gulp, burping rather unceremoniously at the end. He hadn't done that since college, when it was for fun rather than necessity. Everyone huddled around the mausoleum at the center, piling onto the steps and around the various headstones crumbling around them. Aaron felt the grass squish beneath him, wet and murky, soaking through his pants. He leaned up against a headstone and tossed back another beer, half listening to the story about the supposed ghosts who would come and spend the evening with them. Ghost stories hadn't ever really interested him, he knew real monsters, flesh and blood terrors that walked the Earth and haunted his dreams. He didn't need these ghosts, he had plenty of his own.

“So you got stabbed by a real serial killer?” The voice came from a young man he hadn't realized was beside him, he'd slipped up silently with his whiskey bottle, dressed strikingly similar to himself, wearing all black but draped in shredded gauze pulled from a first aid kit like a half ass mummy, a last minute attempt at festivity. It would have been an easy enough costume for him to pull off just a few weeks prior, courtesy of the gaping wounds covering his torso. He nodded and shrugged, taking another beer from Sean when offered in passing.

“What was it like?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes at his infuriating youth. He couldn't have been more than twenty one, the world still held wonder alongside the pain. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so naive, never had the pleasure, but he had envied it plenty of times.

“It hurt,” he replied, popping the top off of his beer. “A lot.” It was mean, he knew it, but he was drunk and he was angry at the world and the mummy kid had painted a target on his own back. He flinched at Aaron's harsh tone but tried to play it off like it didn't mean anything to be brushed off like that by someone he'd thought was cool. Aaron softened a little and sighed, reminding himself that he wasn't the problem, he wasn't responsible for the shit storm he was navigating his way through. “I'm sorry.”

“S'ok,” he replied, slipping away as quickly as he'd come. He reminded Aaron of Spencer, young and inquisitive, desperately seeking firsthand knowledge any way he could get his hands on it, but ultimately intrusive and overwhelming to someone who just wanted to be a creature of misery alone in the shadows, wallowing in beer soaked sadness because it was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of his rage. Someone pulled out a guitar and handed it to Sean, and he played something strange and mournful, fast enough that his greasy golden hair twitched as his fingers raced over the strings and Aaron recognized the song, something he could remember listening to in his college dorm because his roommate thought it was good. It wasn't his style, but it spoke to him, it was so sad and it made him feel lonely but somehow known and he'd bought the cassette and sent it home for Sean, he knew his brother would love it. He closed his eyes, found himself mouthing words that floated through his mind with his head leaned back against the cool marble.

“You cry out in your sleep...all my failings exposed...and there's a taste in my mouth...as desperation takes hold...” he barely moved his lips, the sound was sweet and haunting and Sean played harder and everyone around them went silent but Aaron didn't notice, he was lost in the trance of the words. “Just that something so good, just can't function no more...but love, love will tear us apart again...” If he'd realized everyone was listening, he probably would have stopped but he was so lost in the moment, the way it felt when he'd heard it the first time, the way he'd hated the sound of it, the chaotic messy beats and the jarring synthesizer sounds, but needed those lyrics like he needed oxygen. No one said anything when Sean handed the guitar off to someone else and the singing stopped, they just passed around the beers and the guitar and tried to hide the joints but Aaron could smell it and he didn't care.

“Say cheese,” Sean called, taking a picture of Aaron lying up against his head stone as he stood above him. “Sending that one to Morgan...”

“Sean...” Aaron whined, but he was too drunk to bother with the protest. He was pretty sure he was still wearing pants, there wasn't any real reason to worry except that he was a well respected man in his 40s lounging around in a graveyard on Halloween like some cheap knock off Vampire Lestat. He felt the lines between reality and some hazy dream world blurring, a world where he was incorporeal, just a crackling ball of anger hovering somewhere over a vast stretch of nothing.

“We should hang out more often,” Sean said, stumbling down the sidewalk toward his apartment, Aaron by his side. They'd managed to grab the last train of the night that came to his neighborhood, and they'd nearly passed out in the seats, but it was an adventure. “We could go to New Orleans, or Miami, take a road trip. Fuckin' just...drive. You know? Drive until the gas tank runs out.”

Sean loved to make plans, and in his piss beer flavored haze, those plans weren't sounding so bad. He reached under his shirt, scratched at his scars and shrugged. “Sure. End up in the Gulf,” he muttered, turning the corner on unsteady legs. “Your car, not mine. Can't ruin my paint job.” He had nothing to lose, nothing to live for, no reason to stay at his soul sucking job. Sure, he could hunt Foyet and maybe he'd find him but Haley wouldn't magically be his again when it was all over, he knew that much. And Jack would probably hate him by the time it was all over, blame him for having to be on the run. Ruining his life. And he would deserve it all. This wasn't a fairy tale, and he was certainly not a knight in shining armor.

They sprawled out on Sean's floor and turned on a movie, huddled together in a pile of blankets and pillows that smelled musty like sweat and bacon and gravy, Aaron knew his brother wasn't a great housekeeper. He was too drunk and too cold to care when Sean had last washed his blankets, he just buried himself in a beaten up old comforter with his head in a pillow and let his eyes drift shut while he tried to watch some old black and white monster movie Sean had picked. He could feel Sean smashed against him radiating heat enough to warm his weary bones and he smiled, remembering the way Sean would climb into his bed at night when he had a nightmare or heard some scary sound outside of his window. Aaron had nightmares too, and the scary sounds he heard came from down the hall and did not belong to an imaginary threat or a twig scraping against his window, so he gladly let Sean squeeze into his tiny bed beside him, comfort and protection enough for both of them.

He woke in the morning with his head pounding and a terrible taste in his mouth, no longer in a nest before the television but propped neatly up in the corner beside the bathroom door with a bucket beside him and a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders. He could hear Sean snoring but he knew his brother had taken care of him sometime in the night, this had Sean written all over it. It was masterful, the way someone who knows would handle it. There was a note on the floor beside him with a handful of ibuprofen and a glass of water that was warm and bubbly at the sides of the glass. He pushed himself up and steadied himself against the wall, groaning in agony. His phone lay on the floor by the television and slowly, listening to his knees creak and protest, he crouched to pick it up, to check his notifications. Three missed calls from Derek, a few texts from Dave and a slew of pictures from Sean that he toyed with the idea of deleting immediately, not wanting to have proof that the night prior had existed at all. He had a long drive ahead of him and he felt like death, he needed coffee and, if he was being honest, to have his stomach pumped. He'd have to settle for the coffee. Before he hit the road, Sean treated him to an attempt at breakfast at a little diner on the corner of his block that claimed to specialize in hangover cures and Sean mowed through his but Aaron had to make a trip to the restroom every time he took a bite. It was going to be a very long day.

“You good?” Derek asked as Aaron rolled down the highway, stomach churning angrily as the coffee storm attacked what little food he'd managed to keep down. He gulped down the bile rising in his throat and nodded, gripping the steering wheel with all of his might. Derek had called twice more since he'd been on the road, and he finally felt well enough to hold a short conversation without his head exploding on his neck.

“I'm good. On the road. About an hour away now.”

“Good. Drive safe, man. We've got a case in Ohio, we'll leave when you get back.”

Aaron groaned miserably and Derek chuckled, he knew exactly how Aaron felt and was looking forward to getting to pay the man back for years of working hangovers.

“Thanks a lot,” Aaron replied through gritted teeth, hanging up on the other man. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, he thought bitterly as he pulled over to the side of the road.

#criminal minds #fanfiction #aaron hotchner #sean hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #halloween

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