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tillidontneedfantasy · 3 years

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A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for.

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia

Pairing: Gen

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch.

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered.

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis.

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label.

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information.

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods.

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised.

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well.

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases.

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps.

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes.

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?”

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case.

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner.

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better.

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully.

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that.

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away.

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air.

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand.

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning.

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important.

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.”

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you.

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it.

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch & spencer #spencer #hotch #my writing #autistic spencer reid #autistic spencer #dad hotch

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

roots.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: another one from 2026! aaron retires from federal service this year, at 57.

words: 2.4k warnings: kids!, missing haley hotchner hours, language

summary: “Every day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more and more, that the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will be welcome.” ― George Washington, Farewell Address. au!october 2026

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

SSA Mallory Kagan asks you to outline your career with the FBI - purposefully using your first name instead of using your title. It keeps the students guessing and paying attention.

Plus, the payoff when they figure out who you are is the best part of the whole lecture.

“My career at the FBI is more like a big tree than a path or a journey.”

You look out over the classroom - blue shirts abound - and take a deep breath to center yourself.

You’re used to giving this lecture with Aaron, but this is your first fall without him, which also means that this is the first academy class who won’t know him in person.

They’ll only hear tell of the legend SSA Aaron Hotchner was stabbed nine times, lost his wife to a serial killer, and kept going. You know they’ll hear stories about his severity, his general lack of sunniness, hear rumors about the way he laughs with his children, his wife, and nobody else.

You know the older agents tell stories about you, too. They say you ‘tamed’ Hotch, made him a little nicer. They might even say they’ve seen him smile at you, or they’ve seen you give him hell in public.

Aaron Hotchner is practically a myth, now, only supported by your reputation, tall tales from academy classes of yesteryear, and his own legacy.

That retired bastard currently sits in your house with your kids, right on his fine behind, very likely falling into boredom-addled insanity.

“Everything that I am - a parent, a wife, a friend, and an agent - is because of my work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit over the past nineteen years. My unit is my family, and I can’t get rid of them. Just like our own families, we love to hate each other.”

The room laughs, and you know you have them hooked.

“Jokes aside, I would encourage you to get to know your colleagues. Each relationship I built within my unit put a root into the ground, made the proverbial tree stronger - to extend the metaphor. I work with very few of the same people I started with, but I feel as steady and supported as I did back when they called us ‘The Elite Eight.’”

You chuckle a little, clicking through your introductory slide to showcase a photo of the BAU in 2012. You point to each of them as you speak.

“SSA Emily Prentiss, current unit chief of the Behavior Analysis unit and former head of the Interpol London office, responsible for taking down one of the most prolific international arms dealers in modern history.”

The room is quiet, a little awestruck, so you add, “She’s a bit of a big deal.”

They laugh.

“SSA Derek Morgan - you’ll probably hear stories about how he survived the Boston bombing with SSA Gideon in 2005, but don’t worry. He wasn’t there. He was with his momma in Chicago, celebrating her birthday.”

Another laugh.

You’ve honed this routine over the last five years, knowing what to add, when to pause, what to cut if the students lose interest.

“That said, SSA Morgan is one of the best profilers I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Today, he’s a consultant for DC Metro SWAT and is otherwise retired.”

Continuing down the line, “SSA Jennifer Jareau - JJ. Former communications liaison for the BAU, State Department, and DoD. She currently serves with the BAU as a profiler. If any of you are interested in PR or media relations, find an opportunity to speak with her about her experience. Her husband, Will, is a detective with the DC Metro Police and has plenty of stories of his own.”

A student raises a hand, and you give her the go-ahead.

“Sorry for interrupting -“

You stop her. “You didn’t interrupt. You raised your hand. Don’t apologize for taking up space.”

She smiles a little. “Okay. Um, I’m curious. How many people in your unit are married and/or have children? My understanding is that the work-life balance can be difficult in heavy-travel positions like the BAU.”

“It can absolutely be a challenge.” You look back at the photo. “In the course of my career, six of my colleagues have been or were already married and all of them went on to have children.”

“And you?”

You laugh a little, forgetting you’re alone up here. “Right.”��

The class laughs, and you point yourself out on the slide.

“I still had my maiden name when this photo was taken, but now I share five children and a last name with SSA Aaron Hotchner.” You throw your thumb at Aaron’s likeness on the screen again for good measure.

You check in with SSA Kagan to make sure you can share everything you usually do with Aaron present - your marriage was often the punchline of your lectures, letting you toe the line of humor a little farther than you normally would.

She nods, a little smile on her face.

“While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend dating your unit chief or marrying your section chief -“ you pause, holding your hands up in surrender to the echo of laughter “- even if they are the same person - you can certainly find the best people without looking too hard.”

Hands shoot up into the air, but that always happens. It’s around this time people start asking the good questions. The people from their course materials and the people in front of them start to link together.

They also figure out that you’re Agent Hotchner. That Agent Hotchner - the one married to the Agent Hotchner.

You look out over the crowd again. “I know you have lots of questions, and I’m happy to confirm or deny any rumors about myself or my family, but,” you pause for dramatic effect. “Hold them for now - you’ll want to know the players before you ask the questions.”

Hands drop, but pens start moving. You continue down the line, skipping over Aaron.

“SSA David Rossi, a founding member of the BAU in the late 1980’s. He worked closely with SSA Jason Gideon, developing a database that we use to this day - one that outlines signatures, modus operandi, and victimology of modern serial killers. SSA Rossi is also well-known for his books - ten of them, in fact, that cover what we do in a kind of…”

You search for a word.

“Conversational format. He retired a couple of years ago, and is a full-time grandpa to all 16 of the BAU offspring.”

A few scattered chuckles pass through the room.

“And then we have Dr. Spencer Reid - I could enumerate his degrees, but we don’t have that kind of time. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and remains an asset to the BAU in the field today.”

You click to another slide - a photo of all of you taken a few weeks ago.

“SSA Matthew Simmons - retired from the United States Army and former member of the FBI International Response Team, or IRT. He’s been with the BAU for ten years now. Like Dr. Reid and SSA Prentiss, he knows multiple languages - which comes in handy.” You look out and raise your eyebrows. “I hope all of you did well in your Spanish classes in high school - you might need it.”

Another laugh.

“SSA Luke Alvez and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia are another pair that come from, shall we say, nontraditional backgrounds. While Garcia is no longer with the BAU, SSA Alvez is also celebrating his tenth year with us this fall.”

A student raises his hand, and you call on him.

“Isn’t Penelope Garcia the hacker known as The Black Queen? I learned about her work when I was at MIT.”

You snort. “Nice way to slip in you went to MIT, there, bud.” You pause, waiting for the ruckus to die down as the student in question turns bright red. “But yes. Her experience was invaluable to our team. Just to keep up, we stole an analyst from the NSA to replace her - nobody else could cut the mustard.”

You look back, stepping forward and pacing as you speak.”And finally, Dr. Tara Lewis. Formerly working in the FBI Counsel’s office as a forensic psychologist, she joined our team on cases where specific pathologies were in play before becoming a full-fledged member of our team.

“So, as you can see, there are so many varied qualities we look for in profilers, and your own path will be informed by the skills you develop, your temperament, and your dedication to the work itself. There’s no right way to be an agent, and when you leave the academy in five weeks, the whole world of the bureau will be open to you.”

Clicking back to your introductory slide, you turn to the front of the classroom. “I know all my colleagues well enough to take any questions you may have about their careers and paths through the bureau. For any questions I can’t answer, I am happy to direct you to them with the understanding they may not get back to you due to our caseload. I’ll take your questions now.”

Hands shoot up into the air, and you specifically call on the student in the back - the one you know has a question about Aaron.

“So, when you say SSA Aaron Hotchner, you mean the same one that worked the Boston Reaper case for ten years?”

SSA Kagan checks in with you, ready to shut him down, but you call her off.

“That’s right. SSAs Jareau, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, Dr. Reid, Miss Garcia, and I worked that case in its final year as well.”

“I have a follow-up if that’s okay.”

You tacitly give him leave to continue.

“How do you handle cases that get that… close? I know there were considerable...” He searches for the right word. “...challenges. How did you guys deal with that?”

Good question.

Returning to the podium, you lean heavily against it, lacing your fingers in front of you. “You’ve all read the Reaper case file, yes? It’s still included in the MCRT training courses?”

There are nods around the room, but you check in with Kagan anyway.

“The declassified version is covered,” She says. “They’re familiar with the full scope of the case.”

“Okay. So, as you all know…”

You remind them what happened, from 1998 to 2009, finally landing where the students want you. “And on November 23rd, 2009, Haley Reneé Hotchner was George Foyet’s 40th and final victim. She was thirty-nine years old. And she was my friend.”

The room is dead silent, all eyes on you, somber and attentive.

“The case was personal. It became personal because Foyet forced our hands. He attacked Agent Hotchner in his home and then targeted his family. So, the question is, how do we deal with that? Right?”

Even Kagan’s watching you closely. It’s the first time you’ve covered this case without the rest of your team. In your joint lectures with Aaron, the case is off-limits for questions. She’s never heard you tell the story in your own words.

You take a breath. “And the answer is… you don’t.”

There are some confused faces, so you elaborate. “There isn’t anything you can do to push the case away from you - that’s how people get hurt. In the meantime, you make adjustments. Agent Hotchner placed Agent Morgan in an interim unit chief position until the case was over, for the sake of his health and sanity. We chased down every lead, understanding that the faster we caught Foyet, the faster Haley and Jack, Agent Hotchner’s son, could come home.”

A young woman in front tentatively raises a hand, and you open a hand to her. “Yes?”

“What happened, you know, after?”

“We moved on as best we could. Going back to my original point -”

You leave the podium and take your place in the center of the floor again.

“- the trust you have in the people you work with can carry you through a great many things. And not all of you will see horror every day - but some of you will.”

You pause for a moment, hoping this is the part that really sinks in for them.

“Always have something to come home to. Always have something or someone that brings you peace, that can take you away from the work.”

+++

You set your things down and walk through the door, immediately accosted by two almost-eight-year-olds and their over-eager little brother.

“Momma!”

You haul Elliot onto your hip and kiss Sophia’s head as Caroline burrows into your side. “Hi, darlings! Did you already have dinner?”

Sophia moves to answer, but Aaron’s voice shoots around the corner. “Yes!”

With a smile, you seek him out, dragging the girls along with you. Lo and behold, Aaron’s at the sink, washing dishes. Isaac’s supervising - sitting on the counter, swinging his feet.

Aaron gets a kiss on the cheek from you as you pass and he turns over his shoulder, chasing you until you peck him on the lips, Elliot squished between you. Your son squirms, and you set him on the ground to chase after his sisters. Isaac hops off the counter likely off to investigate the happenings before retreating to his room for the rest of the evening.

For once, you’re left alone.

“How was your lecture?”

Your arms free, you wrap around him and rest your full weight against his chest as he backs himself into the counter. “Went well. Missed you, though.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Did they ask about Foyet?”

“Mhmm. It was a good segue into trusting your team and building each other up, knowing when to step back, etcetera.”

He nods. “Good way to bring it back around. How’s Kagan?”

“She’s good, loving it, as always.”

“Think she’s ever gonna retire?” He asks, tucking into your neck.

You laugh as he presses kisses to the underside of your jaw. “Probably not.”

Aaron leans back to look at you, bringing his hand to your face to brush over your cheekbone. “Are you ever gonna retire?”

“Probably not.”

“What if,” he says, his hands slipping into your back pockets, “you retired in…” He does the math in his head. “Thirteen-ish years and I make it worth your while.”

“Oh yeah? Worth my while? And you’ll be, what, a hundred years old?”

His eyes roll so hard you’re sure he could see his own brain. You pull him down for a kiss, but it doesn’t stop him from mumbling, “Give me a fuckin’ break,” against your mouth.

“Never.”

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @mrs-marcus-moreno @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @jeor @wakatoshislover @word-scribbless @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @joanofarkansass @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @itsmytimetoodream @pinkdiamond1016

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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asset35-maya · 3 years

Note

Since it's your birthday, a prompt came into my mind. "Birthday Prank" it can be any character. Anyways happy birthday again Maya :D

Yo thanks Blaire! Wasn’t initially planning to, but looks like I’m doing it. Thanks for kicking off:

MAYA’S BDAY WEEKEND ASK EVENT

Send me whatever writing requests or nosy asks you want. Go bananas, my good people.

🎆TINA’S 30TH🎆

Tina Chen was a super lowkey kinda girl. She was definitely fun and easygoing, but to be honest, she was the kind of person who enjoyed celebrating other people’s birthdays more than her own.

Suffice to say, she didn’t expect any grand celebration for her thirtieth. Everyone said it was the big one… but to her it was just another day. Another year over. Same old, same old.

Her mother didn’t seem to think so.

Mama Chen insisted on smothering her in kisses and making an elaborate breakfast and getting all their relatives to speak to Tina over the phone. It was very unlike her family to have such overt displays of affection. Perhaps they were all getting sentimental with age.

By the time she extricated herself, she was almost an hour late for work. She wasn’t too worried though. Hank was an extremely understanding boss.

But when she arrived at the station, Tina discovered utter chaos had broken out.

Nines came running up to her anxiously.

“Where on earth have you been, T! We’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages!”

She grabbed her phone and found a long series of missed calls and angry texts from Gavin and Hank and Fowler and apparently everyone in the department.

“Shit! I didn’t get any of these!! I’m so sorry! I don’t know how! I had my ringer on-”

Nines grabbed her by the elbow and steered her into a briefing room before she could finish. There was an intricate map on the projector screen and Hank was deep in the middle of an explanation.

Gavin impatiently tugged at her to sit down and shoved the case file into her lap. She opened it guiltily. All pleasant birthday thoughts receded to the very back of her mind.

Apparently a dormant serial killer had just resurfaced. His thoroughly unique MO had been identified on a body found the night before, and the DPD had reason to believe he was active and about to strike again.

Tina’s heart raced with fear and anticipation. She paid rapt attention to Hank’s instructions and soon found herself behind the wheel of a police cruiser.

She absently noted that it was the very first one she’d driven as a rookie patrol officer. Out of sheer habit, she popped open the glove compartment to retrieve her shades.

Tina kicked herself when she remembered that she’d lost her favourite rayban aviators on a recent mission… and that it would make no sense for them to be in this car anyway… but then her fingers curled around a very familiar shape. A suede leather case.

She opened it to find shades identical to the ones she’d loved and lost. Before she could think any deeper, Gavin got into the passenger seat and barked at her to drive. Tina put the sunglasses on and floored the accelerator.

At the location, Nines and Connor had already begun scoping the building and scanning evidence. Both gave her brief but tense smiles. She’d hoped Connor would at least wish her a happy birthday, but her boyfriend was busy knocking on floorboards and looking for hidden compartments.

What had she expected? Human or android, all the men she dated had turned out to be as obtuse as her father. With a sigh, Tina got on her knees and joined him.

“What do you think made him do it again?”

“You tell me, baby. You’re the one with the criminology degree.”

Their eyes met and the warmth of his chocolate brown irises made her irritation fade away. They fell into an easy pattern of swapping hypotheses while scrubbing for evidence. The whole thing was incredibly reminiscent of the first case they’d worked together on, and fallen in love while solving.

After searching the house from top to bottom, they ended up with an impressive stack of evidence. Gifts from a secret admirer intended for a hapless victim. Jewellery, red-bottomed shoes, perfume and a lot of other trinkets that were strangely to Tina’s exact liking.

The killer’s purported next mark was a mystery woman who seemed to embody Tina’s personality entirely. A shiver went down her spine as she contemplated the idea.

Just as they were about to leave the house. Nines came hurtling down the stairs with the ultimate clue. A midnight blue dress with no back. It was draped beautifully over a wire hanger, with a note attached to it.

Gavin seized the note and read aloud the place and time indicated. That very night. At the swankiest jazz lounge in Detroit. The elusive killer would make an appearance.

After ten years spent trying to catch him in vain, the DPD would finally have a clear, undeterred shot. Tina could hardly believe it.

Gavin thrust the dress into Tina’s hands. The implication was clear.

She looked at the others. Hank shrugged. Nines smiled apologetically. Connor cocked his head to the left and arched an eyebrow, as if to say… chicken?

Officer Tina Chen was many things but that’s one thing she wasn’t.

So it came to be that on the evening of her thirtieth birthday, instead of celebrating with at least a quiet glass of wine at home, Tina was squeezing herself into an evening gown and getting ready to play killer’s bait.

She considered throwing her hands up and walking away, but then her phone buzzed with a series of messages from Captain Fowler. After showing up late to her shift, she wasn’t about to risk getting into his bad books.

Tina took a deep breath and slipped on the sparkly heels found in the house… put on the big golden hoop earrings… slipped the Swarovski chain around her neck… and spritzed the expensive perfume all over her body.

She made her way into the lounge and found a place to stand. Discreet, but obvious to anyone looking. Right at the edge of the bar. As the music began and other patrons began to dance, a false sense of calm flooded her. Tina had to sharply remind herself to focus. This was an undercover mission. A big one. The whole team was counting on her.

A drink slid towards her. A lychee daiquiri.

Simple, but quite specific. It was her personal favourite. Her eyes widened but before she could ask, the bartender pointed along the bar.

Tina’s blood turned to ice.

It was time.

She went over the mission brief again and again in her head. She revised every protocol, every bit of police scenario planning, every word of caution from her senior officers.

Tina steeled herself and turned slowly.

The man was standing closer than expected. Before she could react… either fight or flight… an arm curled around her waist and warm lips pressed against her own.

Her eyes fluttered shut and Tina sank into the familiar sensation.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Tina opened her eyes and found herself Connor’s embrace. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in relief.

As she looked over his shoulder, she spotted his fellow conspirators. Nines, Gavin, Hank, Fowler, Chris, Person, Sixty, Allen, the whole damn DPD it seemed… all her childhood friends… and of course… Mama, Papa and Grandma Chen. All dressed up and smiling mischievously.

Connor swiftly manoeuvred her onto the dance floor, and so began a night to truly remember.

Tina’s thirtieth.

@blaireunstable

#maya bday ask event #dbh tina chen #dbh connor #dbh tina #tina/connor #rarepair #dbh gavin #gavin reed #dbh nines #rk900 #dbh rk900 #hank anderson #captain fowler #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Chapter Three

Hiiii, all you cool cats and kittens 😂😂😂😂. Okay but seriously, imma just word vomit all the things I need to cover in this author’s note — that I can remember.

I’ve been writing this chapter for like a week, I’m super nervous about it, I’m really sorry if this angst is upsetting you, I am gonna do my best to make it all right in the end, the angst is gonna continue though for a bit longer, yes this fic is only 10 chapters, yes I still want your comments even if you’re upset, my eye is still having trouble so I can’t look at a computer screen for too long because it physically hurts so I’m editing on my phone and there is a high chance I’ll re-edit these chapters after my eye isn’t all Heltor Skeltor anymore.

Okay I think that’s everything, I very much am gratefully for all the feedback I’ve received and I hope you all continue to read this fic.

Peeta stayed for hours after that. He smiled and laughed and, for a while, made me forget all about my unbearable loneliness, how empty this home feels, how uncomfortable I am with the prospect of my mother moving on with her life, how much I really miss my sister right now.

How I miss my sister more than anything.

He still makes me feel safe, I realized, as we sat on the couch and ate our third helping of the chocolate cake he’d baked for me. He knows how much I love chocolate from all the meals we shared on the train.

“Actually, from the time you decided to just eat the chocolate fountain by itself,” he had corrected. Off my quizzical look, he added, “At Snow mansion? We were there for a party?”

“Our engagement party?” I amended, teasing him a little.

My attempt at levity works as I watch his mouth contort into smirk in response. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what party it was.”

“They did drag us to a lot of them,” I agreed, not foreseeing the jab he was about to throw.

“And you pigged out at every one of them.”

I pretended to be offended for a moment but his proud laughter made me lose the facade far sooner than I should have. The joyful glint to his gaze, the way his body language was relaxed and open, the way he seemed to remember small details of our shared past now, I just couldn’t hold even a false grudge against him. I just couldn’t help giggling alongside him.

But he had to leave around dinner time, having an appointment to get the construction for the new rebuilt bakery approved and in motion.

As soon as he departs, and I’m left once again inside a void, hallow house that only emphasizes the greatest loss of my life—the one I’ll probably never go a single day without feeling the ache of—I decide I need to leave too. I decide as soon as I glance around the empty place that it’d be in my best interest to get out as well, to prolong the inevitable despair the deserted home brings come nightfall.

My first thought is to drop off the liquor I picked up for Haymitch a few days ago at the train station. He was passed out drunk and I was already there and it seemed at the time like a good bargaining chip when he was feeling particularly caustic towards me. Which lately had been often.

Now it just poses a good excuse to go talk to the sour man, to perhaps pick his brain about Bailey Robyn. To perhaps see what he knows that I don’t about the mysterious girl who blew into both our lives.

And only evidently disturbed one of them.

He has clearly has gotten to know her better than I have, and he’s quite transparently taken quite a liking to her. If I want to know this girl, or even begin to understand what Peeta sees in her, it only makes sense to get Haymitch to share some details in exchange for his favorite liquor.

After all, our entire relationship has always been a series of bargains, one way or another.

Throughout mine and Peeta’s entire time together—which amounted to the whole afternoon—he had never once mentioned Bailey. He hadn’t said she was waiting for him or what she thought about the cake or if she even knew he would be at my house today.

And for some reason that led me to assume she was busy in town somewhere. That she was working on the salon she mentioned wanting to start up, that she was out doing things herself, that she wasn’t even concerned with Peeta celebrating my birthday today.

That she wasn’t sitting on Haymitch’s counter, talking to him about that very subject.

“It just doesn’t make me feel great, you know?” Her clear and high voice rings out from the window right as I’m gearing up to barge my way inside the pig sty. “I want to go with him, in case he has an episode or something, and he tells me no. Like flat out, full stop, no.”

I slip in through the unlocked front door, quiet as a mouse, eavesdropping like I know I shouldn’t. Like I know is a complete violation of privacy, both for Bailey and for Haymitch. And maybe even Peeta, since he’s the one they’re conferring about.

“He’s stubborn,” Haymitch agrees, sounding more sober than I’ve heard him in months. Sounding more sober than I’ve seen since we were in Thirteen. “Try mentoring him in the games.”

Bailey scoffs at that. “No. You couldn’t pay me enough.”

They share a laugh and I feel my hands tighten around the bottle, as an extremely uncomfortable sensation settles into the pit of my stomach.

They sound like old friends. They sound happy and pleased to be hanging out and conversing. And if I’m being honest, it gives me one more reason to instinctively dislike Bailey, despite the fact that I’m trying hard not to.

Because in the short time she’s been in Twelve, she’s slid into my place in both Peeta and Haymitch’s lives with complete and utter ease. Even beyond taking my place, she’s outrankedme in both men’s lives and entirely knocked me out of the saddle.

That’s what disturbs me above all else. Because—even though I’d never admit it about Haymitch—they were mine. They were my family. They were all I had. They were my haven from the darkness surrounding my entire life. The three of us were a team once.

And now it feels like she didn’t join the group, she kicked me out of it entirely. Haymitch has never had me sit on the counter of his kitchen—not that I really wanted to, the place is absolutely filthy—and talk about my problems. He’s always mocked my feelings and troubles, when they didn’t pertain to the war or rebellion.

I don’t get what is so special about this girl that the two most important people in my life are willing to just let her in. Are just willing to let her take me out without a second thought.

“I mean, is it odd that I wanted to be included?” She inquires genuinely and to my surprise, once again, my old mentor gives her a pretty thoughtful answer. For Haymitch Abernathy, at least.

“They’re both a little weird. War messes with people. Especially kids,” he murmurs and then grunts uncomfortably. “Don’t get worked up over nothing. Just let whatever happened go and try to be happy.”

For some reason, even without hearing my name mention specifically, I’m fully convinced that they’re conversing about me as well as Peeta. About our afternoon together, void from Bailey’s presence. Without hearing my own name, I still know in my bones I walked in on a talk about me.

Bailey wanted to come today and Peeta told her no? Peeta told her an unequivocal no? Because he wanted to spend time with just me?

That satisfies me beyond measure. That makes me even happier than the carefully handcrafted birthday cake did.

Suddenly, for the first time since she’s arrived in Twelve, I don’t feel like Peeta put me on the back burner to make her more comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m being slided so she can be accommodated to her liking. And that’s a better present to me than anything else I could have asked for.

“But I’m his girlfriend,” she states quietly, before sighing deeply and setting down a glass that she must have been drinking from. Risk-taker, she is. “And I just feel like every day all he thinks about is Katniss. He’s either worried about her or afraid of her.”

Now that catches me completely off-guard. Peeta’s afraid of me? Is he telling Bailey something I don’t know? What did I do that he’s so afraid of?

Please, I internally beg to no one. Please tell me he doesn’t still think of me as a mutt. Please tell me he doesn’t feel the same way about as he did in Thirteen.

No, I venomously refute. That wouldn’t make sense. If he still thought of me that way—the way Snow tried to brainwash him into—he would surely not be baking me a cake and spending an afternoon alone with me.

At least, I don’t think so.

But I’m always wrong nowadays and I long ago learned to stop trusting my instincts because they don’t any good for me in the end anyway and I just end up more jumbled and confused and stressed than I started out.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down just as Haymitch mutters, “That description isn’t a far cry from the kid I met two years ago on the tribute train.”

Evidently, I breathed out too loudly almost immediately, Haymitch barks out, “Is that you, girl?”

Realizing I’m caught, I rip off the bandaid and step out of the corner of the entryway, where I was hiding. “Sorry, I just got here,” I quickly explain. And then, despite my atrocious acting ability, I throw out for good measure, “I didn’t hear anything you guys said, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

Neither of them believe me. In fact, they both appear pretty disgusted with me now. But when I pass Haymitch the bottle of liquor, his features shift and I feel him lightly pat me on the head as he passes me to grab a bottle opener.

“Haymitch,” Bailey murmurs unceremoniously, as she hops off the counter with a grace I have no dream of ever possessing. “I’m going to head on home.”

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before flirting away, and all I see there is irritation.

I hope she doesn’t try again to make nice in a day or so. Quite frankly, there’s a reason I never made many friends. Social interactions aren’t my thing and they just wear me out unnecessarily. Especially girls, who only want to gossip about other people or share clothes or irrelevant life tips. I’d much rather be left alone in solitude than have to yo-yo with Bailey’s mood swings.

Haymitch has always empathized with this trait of mine. More than empathized. He embodied it to the fullest, in a way I never even have. That’s what makes it so startling to me that he’s found such a friend with Peeta’s new girlfriend. It’s downright shocking how pleasant he is towards her.

When he returns now, she’s already gone and he’s right back to his surly self.

“No one clears a room like you do, sweetheart.”

But I’m not interested in swiping back and forth with one another. “Why are you hanging out with Bailey Robyn?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at his still unwashed kitchen table.

I mean, if Bailey wanted to help clean in here, that’s where I would have suggested to start.

“The better question, Katniss, is why are youhanging out with Peeta alone? How do you think that makes his girlfriend feel?”

“He’s my friend,” I argue, infuriated by the implication that I have to go through a random stranger to be around Peeta now. Infuriated that it’s Haymitch making the implication nonetheless.

“But he isn’t!” The old man snaps back. “Peeta isn’t your friend, Katniss. You look at him like he hung the moon and you do it right in front of his new girl.”

“No, I don’t,” I retort sharply, because I definitely don’tand I repel the accusation.

“Anyone with eyes can see your stupid little crush,” he exclaims and it stings. The words sting for some reason and I feel the ache in my chest come back once again, because apparently I’m stepping over a line I didn’t even know was there and I’m once again the root of every problem and it’s all becoming too much.

Evidently, Haymitch just doesn’t care if he hurts me today. “Just back off of the boy. Let him be happy for once.”

I uncharacteristically spit an unkind name at Haymitch as I slam his door in my furious wake.

Through his still open kitchen window though, I hear him chuckle. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before, sweetheart.”

Read More On AO3 Where The Italics Actually Work

#everlark #thg #hunger games #everlark fic #my writing #dancing on my own 💔👸🏼✨#fic #fanfic #creative writing #idk what else to tag

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beebrainedstudios · 3 years

Photo

*”Get This Party Started” begins playing loudly overhead*

Wall of text warning:

Here’s your first look at the James Bond AU- specifically the first arc Tooth and Nail, a storyline centered on all five of our main cast and a jewelry heist in the middle of a Bestiary-themed masquerade. There’s a lot of stuff about this AU that I want to share, but in the interest of saving time, here’s a few notes on all of the designs (because I worked hard on these and I want to ramble), character notes, and a brief overview of said AU. Enjoy!

As the name suggests, all of this is based on old spy books and movies (I’m not crafty nor historically informed enough to make super realistic espionage stuff, so the fun high-speed James Bond stuff will do). The basic concept of the AU is there are three modern countries- Makt, Arnes, and England, and each has a respective monarchy and capital London. They all barely get along, and naturally some espionage is a result of that. Kell is an agent of Arnes along with the rest of the Maresh family; they essentially do whatever their Crown needs them to. Meanwhile, Alucard, Lila, and the rest of the Night Spire crew are a band of thieves who specialize in jewelry heists. They’ve had several run-ins with the spy agency over the course of the AU, but Tooth and Nail is when the two groups really start to conflict. Holland is a wild card- the former henchman of the notorious Dane twins, Holland was presumably dead for a while, has no memories of his life before the twins, and a desire for revenge against Kell for reasons I’ll explain later.

In Tooth and Nail, these three groups all head to a Grey London masquerade ball in order to steal a priceless jewelry set- a historic crown and necklace studded with special diamonds from each of the three countries. Kell and the Maresh head there because their Crown feels they have more of a claim to the jewels than England, and it’s not up to them to disagree. Lila and Alucard’s reasons for being there are self-explanatory, but problems arise when Alucard bumps into Rhy due to a bad history he has with the agency and the pending warrant out for his arrest. Holland, with no past left to return to, wants to make a criminal name for himself by stealing the crown, and he’s got plans in place to make sure he can start his revenge against Kell in the process. Things go awry very quickly, and soon the problem is much more than a set of shiny diamonds as everyone fights to stay ahead of everyone else.

On to the characters;

- Kell’s up first, and as one may guess, he is a) the main, James Bond-esque spy, and b) dressed as a unicorn. I could ramble for ages about why I chose said animal, but suffice to say it suits very well. Beyond that, his outfit is based on English riding uniforms and his Kamerov disguise. On normal missions, his outfit varies tremendously, but he always at least has a coat with him that’s lined with pockets that hold a whole host of equipment. At the ball though, all he’s got is his cane and the “tail” of the costume, which is braided leather and can act as a whip if he needs it too (it’s longer than it looks). Kell the spy is extremely good at his job despite his vibrant appearance, and he has a stunning track record. Unfortunately, that track record is going to come back to haunt him when Holland shows up. Fun fact; he’s heterochromatic- he just wears a blue contact in his brown eye.

- Rhy’s next, and he’s an extremely flashy phoenix, as his job is to distract everyone while Arnes goes for the gems. His outfit is the most variable- the “wings” and skirt of his outfit can be rearranged using a series of hidden snaps, which makes it easier for him to get around and dance. Rhy’s a darling among the wealthy elite and is adored by almost everyone he meets, but his real talents lie in the tech department; Rhy is the “Q” of this AU, and his mastery of languages extends to computer code. He usually acts as the “guy in the chair” for Kell, but this mission has required him to be front and center as the ultimate diversion. When Kell ends up in danger after Holland makes his move, Rhy’s forced to further enter the field, and he teams up with the Night Spire in a bid to save his brother.

- Lila’s a sea monster/kraken, and she’s one of the most skilled lockpicks and pickpockets out there. She’s also Alucard’s plus one for the event, which doesn’t work out so well when he’s taken into custody. With the agency on one side and a villain she’s never heard of on the other, she makes a risky deal with a desperate Rhy so they can both save their best friends. Design-wise, her outfit was the hardest to figure out, but I think it came out good enough.

- Alucard has a lot of issues in this AU, and he’s dressed as a siren, specifically the feathered-and-finned bestiary variety. Luc’s not just on Arnes’ hit list for all of the heists. His family used to be part of the agency too, and he’s wanted for murder and arson courtesy of an accident at his family’s mansion. Rhy isn’t exactly happy to see him even with their history, but they don’t get much time to discuss it- yet. Let’s just say he’s lucky Rhy needs him around.

- Finally, there’s Holland. Holland’s dressed as a marble fox, and he has big plans for the jewels of both the Maresh and the English crowns. His story has spoilers for the prequel Dane arc, but he’s basically the prototype of a very specific bioweapon Athos invented, and Kell ruined his chances of fixing the damage. Now a henchman turned vengeful big bad, Holland’s a formidable threat with a surprising favored weapon- wire (every Bond villains’s gotta have a schtick, you know?). Note those bracelets, they’ve got a nasty surprise in them. Another fun fact; like Kell, he’s heterochromatic (sectoral/partial though, instead of complete).

Other random stuff:

- Maxim is the gadget guy, and he often works closely with Rhy to make cool spy gear. His special weapon include the Maresh manor defense system and cute little sphere droids with various functions.

- Vitari is in this AU, but it’s not human or magic. It’s a fledgling AI-virus thing that Rhy tries to “rehabilitate.” (I don’t know if this is pushing too far into sci-fi territory, but it’s not the biggest plot thread so I’m just gonna roll with it.)

- Osaron is also in this AU and is probably part of the third arc. He’s human and creepy. That’s all I’ve got at this point.

Congrats on getting this far! I know it’s a long post but I love this AU already and can’t wait to write for it. Having said that, asks for this AU are highly appreciated; you can also prompt/suggest scenes I mentioned too. Consider my asks open for this for now. Anyways, hope you all like it!

P.S.: I’m going to draw them in their normal outfits soon- I just did this first.

#sorry to ramble but ive been stewing over this all week #adsom #a darker shade of magic #shades of magic #adsom james bond au #adsom au #kell maresh #rhy maresh #holland vosijk #lila bard #alucard emery #bee rambles #adsomtoothandnail #a conjuring of light #a gathering of shadows #ve schwab #also lets all ignore how the backgrounds of the refs suck #i couldnt get them to work out

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

Fighting Fires - No Biggie (Lindsey x Reader)

Request: press or lindsey x reader where reader is a firefighter and she gets called to help with the fires in cali and press or lindsey is sad but they know it’s what she has to go do?

Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog for her amazing editing skills!!!

You loved moments like these. Moments where you were cuddled up close to the love of your life, buried under blankets. Moments where everything was still. Where everything just seemed to… pause. It was rare that You and Lindsey got moments like this, With her soccer career taking her all over the world and your insane schedule as a firefight. But moments like this always made it worth it.

The comfortable silence was shattered by your phone, ringing.

“Shit,” you sighed, taking an extra second to place a kiss on Lindsey’s neck before rolling over to reach for the offending device.

“Who the fuck is calling you at 2am?” Lindsey groaned, throwing the arm that had been wrapped around you over her eyes.

“The station,” you said, your voice rough with sleep. Lindsey hummed, her hand rubbing your back, as you placed the phone to your ear.“Hello?” you listened for a few seconds, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration, your lip caught between your teeth, the hand not holding the phone rubbing your eyes.

“Yes chief, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” You said, already standing from the bed. Lindsey sat up, the covers pooling around her waist as you scurried about the room, pulling on clothes and grabbing your go bag designed specifically for occasions like this.

You were a firefighter, and your ladder was one of the best in the country. Part of the job was always being available to help if you could.

“What’s happening,” Lindsey asked, her voice shaky, you sighed, pulling on your work sweatshirt. You would have to change when you got to the station anyway.

“I gotta go. There’s a massive fire and they need people to help,”

You made your way over to her side of the bed, cupping her cheek. She leaned into your hand, and you smiled sadly at her. It sucked when your time together got cut short.

“Be safe,” She whispered. You ran your thumb over her cheek, as you leaned in to connect your lips.

“Always my love. Play good,” You mumbled, your breath fanning against her lips as you pulled away. You sent her one last smile and wink before pulling your bag over your shoulder and heading towards the door.

****

“More than 30 departments have been called to help with the escalating fires, which have already caused more than 10 billion dollars worth of damage…”

“Would you turn that shit off please?” Lindsey groaned, glaring at the news man on the television. Knowing that you were out there, risking your life to save others, and seeing it on screen were two very different things. Christen smiled sadly at her, muting the television in the locker room.

“Yeah, sorry Linds,”

“It’s alright, it’s just difficult, you know? She’s doing what she loves and she’s helping people, but like it’s super dangerous,” Lindsey said, sitting heavily on the bench, unable to tear her eyes away from the flames on screen. She didn’t even want to think of you facing that wall of fire in person. You loved helping people, and she understood, but it still made her sad when you had to leave.

“We get it, trust me. Her mom had a heart attack when she found out that Y/N was actually going to go through with it,” Emily nodded, sitting beside the woman and running a comforting hand along her back. She had known you since the two of you were in diapers,/‘d she remembered the fight that had ensued after you told your parents of your career plans. Yes, it scared her too, but you had wanted to be a fireman for as long as she had known you.

Lindsey nodded, sniffing lightly. “I’m happy she’s following her dreams, but it doesn’t make those like that,” she pointed to the screen, displaying firefighters spraying what looked to be a 40 foot wall of flames with water.“any less terrifying,”

Tobin followed her hand, her eyes landing on the truck proudly displaying the Portland logo along with the ladder neither. She felt her breath leave her. There was no way right? “Hey, isn’t Y/n part of ladder 13?”

“Yeah, why?” Lindsey asked, her attention shifting to her fellow midfielder. Tobin Pointed in the direction of the television, and Lindsey. Mad Emily’s eyes widened in horror. The truck was surrounded by flames, the caption stating that they were trapped and unable to communicate with the rest of the group.

Lindsey’s heart stopped, it was as though all of her fears were being realized. She barely registered the breathless “Shit,” that sounded from beside her. You promised you would be safe, and now you were cut off from the rest of the group.

She loved you and now you were probably…- she couldn’t even think the word. The two of you didn’t have enough time together for that to even be a possibility. No. You had to be ok.

“Alright ladies, let’s hit the field,” Vlatko clapped entering the room, entirely oblivious to the crisis several of his star players were having. You might not be a national team member, but you were a large part of their family. Christen sent him a curt nod, turning to your girlfriend who looked like she was going to pass out if she didn’t breath.

“I’m sure she’s fine, they’d call you if she wasn’t,” Christen said comfortingly, carding her fingers through Lindsey’s hair and shushing her softly. Lindsey nodded, straightening up. You had to be ok. She wouldn’t give up on you until they were absolutely sure. Until they told her she had to. No news was good news at this point.

“Come on, let’s get your mind off this for a while and then we’ll figure out what’s going on,” Emily mumbled, hoisting your girl to her feet. Hopefully some time on the field would help them all clear their heads and prepare to help Lindsey through the worst, if that news came.

****

Lindsey sat at the airport, her knee bouncing with impatience. She had gotten the call just as practice ended, assuring her that you were fine and providing her with your ladders flight information. So here she was, with the seconds feeling like hours, waiting for you to make your way through the terminal and back to her.

She stood the second your limping form came into view, wrapping you into a hug the second you were within reach. She buried her face into your red sweatshirt, breathing in your scent that was slightly more smokey than usual.

“Hey babydoll,” You sighed, kissing her forehead and hugging her tight. You nosed her hair, smiling tiredly at the sweet smell you found there. It felt so good to have the woman you loved back in your arms.

“You scared the shit out of me,” She said, her voice muffled by the heavy fabric of your shirt. You brought your hand up to card it comfortingly though her hair, brushing her ear with each pass, your cheek still resting gently on her head.

“I know darling, I’m so sorry. We didn’t realize it had circled back, and we got caught for a little while, but I’m alright. I’m here,” You mumbled, pressing another kiss to her head and holding her impossibly tighter.

She didn’t need to know the gory details of your near death encounter. She didn’t need to know just how close of a call it had been. All she needed to know was that you were here, safe with her, and that you would be for a while. You took a little step back, and she looked up at you. You cupped her cheek, and gently brought your lips to hers. You needed to feel that she was here right now.

“I love you, even though you terrify me,” She mumbled against your lips, before gently probing your bottom lip with her tongue, asking for entrance. You smirked, pulling away just enough to huff out a, “Hey, I love you too even though you terrify me,” before reconnecting your mouths.

Your tongues entertained for a few seconds, before air became an issue. You connected your foreheads, your heavy breathing falling gently across her lips.

“I scare you?” She breathed out, and you felt your lips tick up at the question.

“Have you seen the size of some of the people coming after you?” You asked in return, pulling away as your girl nearly doubled over in laughter.

“I’m serious, people like Kelley are seriously scary,” You mumbled, warmth spreading across your cheeks. Emily and Lindsey insisted she was harmless, but that shovel talk she had given you had left you shaken.

“You fight giant walls of flames that can vaporize you for a living and you’re scared of squirrel?” Lindsey weazed.

“Hmm, not when I have you to protect me,” you smiled, pulling her back into your chest and flinging her over your shoulder, patting her but as you began walking towards the luggage carousel.

You were safe, and with her and that’s all that mattered.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #lindsey horan x reader #lindsey horan imagine #literalhedgehog

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

A Game of Chess

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request to write a fic that involved Spencer’s childhood friend Ethan that appeared in season 2′s episode Jones. To the anon who requested this, I’m so sorry it took so long to write, but I seemed to have trouble getting this fic perfect. But finally, I tweaked it and molded it into a story I’m proud of and really like how it turned out. Shoutout to the wonderful @multifandommandy for helping me with the inspiration for the unsub in this fic. With her suggestion of using the real Axeman of New Orleans from the 1900′s, the unsub in this fic was born. I hope you guys enjoy this fic. Enjoy some sassy, jealous Spencer. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 6,907

New Orleans.

Home of jazz, amazing food and beautiful sights.

Unfortunately, it was also the home of a current and active serial killer.

You and the rest of the Behavioral Analysis team had been called in for a serial killer running rampant in New Orleans, which meant that left little time to actually enjoy the sights.

“Remind me before we leave to take you to this jazz club I think you’d like,” your friend and coworker, Spencer nudged you with a smile.

“If we have a moment to breathe,” you groaned, taking a peek at the murder board that had already been set up by the local detectives.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make time for my favorite agent.”

He gave you a slight smile and a sly wink as he headed in the opposite direction of you to get started on some geographical profiles.

You felt a flush creep up from your neck all the way to your cheeks. It was no lie that you fancied the intelligent Dr. Reid and some days, you thought he actually reciprocated your feelings.

It felt like the two of you had been circling one another constantly for months, either pretending the feelings didn’t exist or shamelessly flirting with one another. At this point, you weren’t sure anything would ever happen between you two.

That still didn’t stop how flustered he could make you. Such as how he had just done.

It was something special to have his undivided attention. That was a recurring thing for you though. You always seemed to receive a more special kind of attention from him than the rest of your friends—aka the rest of the BAU team.

You were heading towards the table in front of the murder board to set down your things when JJ quite literally appeared out of nowhere by your side.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that wink,” she smirked knowingly, settling down in a seat at the head of the table.

“Don’t start,” you retorted, cutting your eyes towards her in a warning glance.

“I’m just saying,” she smirked, opening the file and flipping through it before she spoke her next words.

“It’s just a matter of time before the other shoe drops.”

Whatever that meant.

•

You hooligans think you can catch me, but you can’t. You won’t. I’m much more cunning than you think.

You’ve found victims one, two and three. What about four, five and six? Seven? Maybe they exist, maybe they will exist soon. That’s for me to know and you to find out. If I wanted to, I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

“Well, that’s not chilling at all,” you muttered.

A letter had been sent to the NOLA police department, apparently from the killer himself. He was taunting them and your team, that much you knew.

“Definitely a narcissist,” Rossi said, relaying your thoughts, “He thinks he’s untouchable.”

“Not to mention he actually took a line from the infamous Axeman of New Orleans case,” Spencer pointed out.

Everyone blinked at him, clueless.

“The Axeman was a serial killer from May 1918 to October 1919 here in New Orleans. He was never caught, but he typically murdered couples with an axe; axes that belonged to the victims. It’s similar to our current unsub although he’s killing women with an axe. That’s actually kind of similar to the Axeman because he did actually slay a few single victims, some being female and-”

Spencer paused, noticing the entire team staring at him, once again.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Just a bit,” you nodded, holding back a grin.

Once the boy got started on something, it was hard to get him to stop. Or not talk 100 mph.

“Is this guy a genius or something? I didn’t even know about that serial killer,” the local detective, named Valadez, whispered to you as Spencer started back up and more to the point.

“You get used to it, trust me,” you grinned.

“The Axeman actually sent a few letters of his own,” Spencer said, looking at the copy of the letter, examining it, “He quite literally copied one sentence word for word.”

“Which one would that be?” Tara asked.

“I could slay a thousand of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death,” Spencer read.

“That’s the copied line?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer answered distractedly, still studying the writing, “From the Axeman’s letter on March 13th, 1919.”

“So is this just a copycat?” Matt asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer answered, “Although the similarities shouldn’t be ignored. He kills women with axes and then sends a letter that has a line that’s verbatim for what the Axeman said.”

“So maybe he’s getting his inspiration from this Axeman guy?” JJ questioned.

“It’s possible,” Spencer nodded.

Spencer was totally in the zone, looking at the writing, tongue poked out of the side of his mouth.

“At most, he has an ego that needs to be stroked,” you said, “There will definitely be more victims.”

“Victim three, Raquel Clayton was discovered outside a jazz club,” Detective Valadez said, studying the murder board.

Spencer’s head jerked up.

“Did you say jazz club?”

“Yeah, does that mean something to you?” Luke asked, curious.

“The Axeman also mentioned in said letter he would spare anyone that was listening to jazz music on a specific night. That night the entire town had dance halls filled with people listening to jazz music. Either his motive is somehow related to this or this guy is just fascinated by the Axeman case. What jazz club was it?”

You were glancing over the detective’s shoulder, reading the file. The name struck you as one you’d just heard earlier in the day. With a smirk, you looked at Spencer.

“Up for a trip to your favorite jazz club?”

•

“It doesn’t surprise me that I managed to actually bring you here, but under the fact of work circumstances,” Spencer grumbled.

“Hey, we’re here aren’t we? We can enjoy a little music while we ask around and see if anyone has seen anything.”

The club was darkly lit, but was filled with soothing sounds of jazz music. You could see why Spencer liked it here.

“The music is pretty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agreed.

You stood for a few moments more taking in the pleasant sights and sounds around you before sighing.

“Guess we better get to work, huh?”

Spencer nodded.

“You start with the bartender and workers around there, I’ll start at the back. I’ll meet up with you later,” Spencer said.

You nodded and headed off to start your first rounds of questioning.

An hour later you met a disheartened Spencer. He’d had no more luck than you had. No one had seen anyone suspicious, no one had seen anything, there wasn’t even the first hint of who a suspect was.

This guy seemed to be as invisible as the real Axeman.

“Maybe Jazz was just a coincidence?” Spencer asked.

“You know as well as I do, that there’s no such thing as coincidences in our line of work,” you commented.

He was about to say something when a voice interrupted him.

“Reid, is that you?!”

You and Spencer turned to see a tall man, roughly the same age as Spencer with dark hair and dark eyes. His long beard would’ve been unruly on anyone else, but on this man it seemed to fit him perfectly.

“Ethan?” Spencer’s face lit up, as he hugged the guy.

“It’s been quite a long time since I’ve seen you. What’s it been? 13 years?”

“About,” Spencer nodded, “I didn’t know you were still here in New Orleans.”

“I just got back after some traveling. You can take the boy out of New Orleans but you can’t take New Orleans out of the boy.”

You watched the exchange back and forth, smiling politely.

“Are you gonna introduce me, Spencer?” you asked.

“Well, does Reid here have a girlfriend? Cause if so, he sure does have mighty fine taste,” the man said.

“No, he’s not my boyfriend,” you chuckled, “I’m his partner.”

You held out your hand.

“Supervisory Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N. But you can just call me Y/N.”

He smiled, shaking your hand.

“Reid, you didn’t tell me the FBI had such beautiful girls like Y/N here. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have dropped out of the FBI so long ago.”

You smiled bashfully as you dropped your hand from his.

“Y/N this is an old friend from Las Vegas, Ethan. We grew up together.”

With a sidelong glance at Spencer you could see him jaw clenching and unclenching. Something he did when he was annoyed. That intrigued you. What was annoying him?

“So you were in the FBI?” you asked, curious.

“Nah. After the first day of training, I dropped out. Left it to this guy here,” Ethan nodded to Spencer, “I knew Reid would be the better agent anyway.”

“What made you drop out?”

You winced, realizing your tactlessness.

“Sorry if that was too personal of a question,” you apologized.

“No need to apologize,” he held his hands up, “With a pretty agent like you, I’d spill all my secrets.”

A slight blush grazed your cheeks and you smiled brightly up at him. It was nice to hear such compliments. It was something you weren’t used to.

“I figured out I wasn’t up for being in the FBI. Much more of a musician, I guess you’d say.”

“Oh, you play?”

“Sax, piano, a little guitar.”

“Impressive,” you grinned.

“So, Reid. You doing better now? No more addiction?”

“Addiction?”

You furrowed your brows, looking at Spencer quizzically.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer mumbled.

“Last time I saw him he was pretty messed up,” Ethan said, demonstrating a shaking hand, “What was it you were on again?”

“Dilaudid,” Spencer answered, lips pressed in a thin line.

“What?”

You had joined the team only eight years ago, in your early twenties, just shy of Spencer’s thirtieth birthday. He’d already been with the BAU for eight years himself by that time. There were a lot of things you didn’t know about his past and apparently, this was one of them.

“Y/N is a newer member to the team,” Spencer said, suddenly seeming more relaxed, “She only joined a couple of years ago.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been in the BAU again man?” Ethan asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Fifteen years.”

“Damn. That’s impressive. I could never. Guess that’s why I ended up here,” he motioned with his glass, indicating this certain jazz club.

Spencer’s phone rang, but he ignored it.

“Speaking of,” Ethan turned to you, “How would you like to hear some great music sometime? I could get you front row seats. Maybe even play a request or two just for you.”

He winked at you, increasing your flush. It’d been a long while since you’d had a guy hit on you, hence your constant flushing. You were flattered and you were seriously thinking about taking up his offer.

Spencer’s cell started in again. Once again, it went ignored.

“If I get a chance, I’d love to come hear you play.”

He was about to say something when the cell rang again. For a second you actually thought it was Spencer’s phone again, until you felt the vibration against your thigh from your own phone.

“One second, excuse me,” you apologized, taking your phone out of your pocket.

You had a missed call, followed by a new text.

New body found. Meet us at crime scene ASAP.

It was from Emily.

“I’m awfully sorry to break up this reunion, boys,” you said, “But we gotta go. The job calls.”

“No problem. See you around dude,” Ethan said, patting Spencer on the back.

“Anytime you want to take up my offer, just drop by. I’ll hook you up.”

This was said to you.

He raised his tumbler in your direction with a flirty grin as he backed away.

When you turned to follow Spencer out, you realized he’d already left.

•

You and Spencer arrived at the crime scene ten minutes later.

“What took you guys so long?” Emily asked.

“Sorry, my phone was off and Y/L/N didn’t tell me you needed us.”

You shot Spencer a look.

What the hell was he talking about? You certainly had. Especially after he’d ignored his own ringing phone twice.

“It’s fine, you’re here now,” Emily said.

“Another body was dumped. Female, approximately 25-30, seems to be wounded from an ax,” Detective Valadez said.

“Man, he really did a number on this poor woman,” you mumbled, shaking your head, “She must’ve really pissed him off.”

The victim was so wounded and bloodied, it was difficult to identify much else about her.

“I know what that’s like,” Spencer mumbled.

You glanced at him again, your questioning glance being plainly ignored.

What was up with him?

“Split up. Witnesses said they had just seen her get off of the bus down the street. We need to know how she ended up here,” Emily said, “Y/N, Spence. I want you to start at the bus stop and see if you can retrace her steps.”

So that’s how you and Spencer ended up at the bus stop, him mumbling to himself and you exasperated at his silent treatment.

“How are we going to figure anything out when you won’t even talk to me?”

He continued to ignore you, walking up and down the sidewalk, thinking.

“If you’re mad can you just please tell me why?”

“I don’t know. You might be too busy flirting with some passerby,” he grumbled.

You were even more confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Back to ignoring you again.

“I think we’ve figured out about as much as we can from here, let’s go,” Spencer said, taking off.

He left you behind feeling even more confused than to begin with.

•

The only bright spot of the next few days was that there was a break in the case.

Thanks to Spencer’s excellent geographical profiling skills, he’d managed to narrow down the unsub’s hunting ground.

The icing on the cake?

In the dead middle of his hunting ground was a jazz club. The same jazz club you’d been to with Spencer the day before, the one where Ethan frequently played at.

Two more victims had been murdered, something that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. You’d been too late to help them, but now, you could get justice for the poor women who had met their untimely end.

To attempt to catch him, the team came up with the idea of sending an undercover in and staking out the place in an attempt to lure him out.

You were going to be the one that would be sent in. In fact, you yourself volunteered to. You wanted to arrest this guy and throw him in handcuffs. It’s what the bastard deserved after his heinous crimes.

Even though Spencer had hardly talked to you for the last few days, he still flat out refused. He kept trying to talk you out of it and convince Emily to send someone else in. But you’d already made up your mind.

“You’re not going in there, Y/N,” he protested.

“Yes. I am.”

Your voice had a steely edge. He wasn’t going to change your mind.

“Do you know how dangerous it is?!” he’d thrown back at you.

“Gee, no. I never thought about it,” your sarcastic tone was harsher than you intended, but it felt good.

If he was going to be mad at you for whatever reason, then so be it. But you had every right to be just as angry at him for giving you the cold shoulder.

“This is serious, Y/N.”

“You know what, Spencer? You have some nerve acting like you care about me all of a sudden. You have no right to order me around like you’re my father. Especially since you’ve been passive aggressive with me all damn week.”

With that, the plan was set.

And you went in.

•

“Remember, Y/N,” came Emily’s voice in your invisible earpiece, “If you encounter our unsub, we have to catch him in the act. It’s very likely he will attack you and try to hurt you, you know that right?”

You trailed a finger around the lip of your tumbler, looking around the mostly empty bar before answering.

“I’m aware. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay. Just act like a normal young woman out having a night out. We know he’s picked up all his victims here.”

“Got it.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Agent Y/LN,” you heard.

You turned around, seeing Ethan stroll up to you, a sly grin on his face.

“Well hello there,” you grinned, leaning against the bar, “And please, call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said trying out the name, “Might I say you look outstanding tonight.”

You smiled down at the deep teal ruched dress you had donned for the evening. It was a simple dress with thin spaghetti straps and a deep plunging neckline, showing off more of your breasts than you ever had at work. It fit on your body perfectly, hugging your curves and highlighting them. A pair of strappy, gold, stilettos were the only accessory you’d paired with it.

“Thank you. I’ve been anxious to hear you play.”

“Where’s Reid? Did he not come with you?” Ethan asked.

“Oh, he’s around,” you replied coyly.

Just outside, down the street sat Luke, Rossi, Emily and Spencer in an undercover van, watching the entire thing on their monitors.

The styrofoam cup in Spencer’s hand crumpled from his grip on it as he watched the scene unfold before him. Thankfully, he’d already finished his coffee earlier.

Rossi glanced at the cup then to Luke, with a raised brow.

“You okay there Reid?” Luke asked, knowingly.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out.

“Right,” Rossi drawled, clearly not convinced.

“Isn’t that your childhood friend?” Emily asked.

Yup,” Spencer said and nothing else.

“I saved you a seat at the front, just like I said I would,” Ethan said.

Spencer’s blood boiled when he saw Y/N’s hand on Ethan’s arm. She was doing that thing she did when she flirted: that cute half smile and a peek up through her lashes.

He’d seen it before many times. It was just one of the many things he’d noticed about her before.

“I’ll personally escort you.”

Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her towards the stage. They were briefly off camera for a moment and Spencer couldn’t help but feel the jealousy tugging at him. He wouldn’t even be in this position if—well it wasn’t important right now.

They appeared back on camera, near the stage. He sat her at one of the tables at the front.

“I’ll try hard not to mess up. It’s a bit nerve wracking when you have such a beautiful girl in the audience to cheer you on.”

Spencer fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Y/N actually giggled in response.

“Reid, you’re seconds away from snapping that pencil in half,” Rossi said.

He peered down, not even realizing he’d picked up a pencil to worry in his hands.

“Anything you’d like to share?” asked Rossi.

Spencer looked at the three expectant faces staring back at him and grimaced.

“Not particularly,” he grumbled.

“Reid’s just mad that his friend is making moves on his girl,” Luke stated, nonchalantly.

“She’s not my girl,” Spencer replied.

“Dude, come on. We all know that you like her and just refuse to make a move.”

Spencer glanced at Rossi and Emily who seemed in agreement to Luke’s statement. A glance at the monitors showed that nothing exciting was happening anyway, so there was no way to avoid this conversation with his teammates.

“It’s like a game of chess,” Rossi said, steepling his fingers together.

“What is?” Spencer asked.

“You and Y/N,” he replied, “But it’s like you’re both stuck in a stalemate waiting for the other to make a move.”

He had no reply to that. What was there to say? Rossi was right and it was all his own damn fault.

“Take this as a lesson, kid,” Rossi advised.

“A lesson how?”

“Let this be your motivation.”

Ethan had left you since he was up next.

You sat at the table, sipping on your drink when you heard an unfamiliar voice to your right.

“Looks like you’re awfully lonely tonight.”

You turned to see an average looking man dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He seemed out of place in such a casual outfit. That didn’t qualify him as the unsub though.

“Maybe I like to be alone?”

That stopped the guy in his tracks. He quite literally backpedaled and left you alone again. You heard a muffled snort in your earpiece.

“You sure know how to tell ‘em,” Luke scoffed.

“Yeah, well, if our unsub is picking up women with lines that bad, we’re in even more trouble than we realized,” you muttered.

You knew from the profile that this unsub was full of himself and egocentric. He would have to be smooth enough to actually lure a woman back with him.

“We’ll keep watching,” Emily said.

You sat alone in peace as Ethan played. He was rather good and you had to say you were impressed.

Your drink eventually disappeared and when you caught Ethan’s eye, you held up your glass just slightly, nodding towards the bar so he knew you were getting a refill. You stood, heading towards the bar, deciding you’d just go for a simple water. You were on the job, after all.

“I’ll take a water, please,” you told the bartender.

He was young, maybe early 30’s with dark hair. He seemed put together, even for a bartender. His outfit was neat and mess free and not a hair was out of place.

“For a beauty like you, you should have a drink, it’s on the house. It’s my specialty.”

He leaned forward to you, giving you a sly wink, as he reached for a glass without even hearing your answer.

“No, that’s okay, really.”

“Oh come on. One drink won’t hurt. I make the best drinks in the city,” he said.

Something in your mind was trying to piece together, but you couldn’t get it to completely form. Shaking it off, you reluctantly relented.

“Okay, I’ll take one then.”

He mixed the drink, poured it in the glass and slid it towards you.

“Now tell me that isn’t the best drink you’ve ever had.”

You took a sip. It was too strong for your taste but you smiled anyway.

“It’s very good,” you lied.

“So, have you heard about these weird ax murders happening around here?” he questioned, wiping the bar.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “Scary stuff.”

“It’s amazing these deadbeat feds can’t seem to catch him,” he shook his head, as if it were a real tragedy.

Neurons in your mind were sparking and there was something about him that was setting you on edge.

“What did you say your name was, again?” you smiled, flirtatiously.

“I didn’t.”

His grin was icy.

Red flags were going up. If he wasn’t your unsub, then this guy surely wasn’t someone to mess with.

“Oh my bad,” you giggled, playing the part of a flirty, young woman, just there for some fun.

“Anyway, all I gotta say is, is that this guy is really proving a point.”

“How so?” you asked.

“You just gotta give the ax to some people,” he replied, slamming his palm down on the bar top, making you jump, “You know what I mean?”

You nodded, seeming interested, but goosebumps were forming on your skin. It was too much to be a coincidence that this guy wasn’t the unsub and he sure had the ego to match the profile.

“Oh excuse me,” you said, reaching for your phone in your purse, pretending like you were getting a phone call, “It’s my boss. She can’t leave me alone even on a night out.”

You smiled apologetically and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello? Yeah, just a minute, I can’t hear you.”

You covered your other ear as if you were trying to hear as you headed towards one of the side doors.

Once you were out of the building, you pulled your phone away, hitting the speed dial for Emily.

“Prentiss.”

“Emily, it’s me. Did you hear any of-”

Before you could finish your question, you felt a hand over your mouth and you were jerked backwards. You kicked and screamed in tandem as your phone hit the pavement and you were dragged back into the darkened alley.

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Spencer yelled, panicked eyes looking at the others.

“Everyone move. Now. We believe the suspect has a federal agent,” Emily barked into her walkie talkie.

“Cover the parameter. We have no idea which direction he could’ve taken her,” Luke added over the radio.

Spencer was out of the door before anyone could stop him.

“REID! REID!”

He heard Rossi yell out after him, but he didn’t stop running.

If that son of a bitch dared to hurt a hair on Y/N’s head, he was going to leave here tonight in a body bag instead of handcuffs.

Spencer would make damn sure he’d see to it.

•

Your back hit the brick wall, the nearby streetlight hitting something metal just right that it gleamed for a split second.

Your heart stopped when you saw the blade of a hatchet in the bartender’s hands.

“I knew the feds had been around here snooping for me,” he sneered.

“How?”

You tried to act cool. This was part of your job, to be in dangerous situations. But truth be told, you were terrified.

“Your little boyfriend Ethan mentioned seeing you and your partner here the other day asking around about me. Little did he know he was really doing me a favor by letting me in on that little piece of gossip.”

Ethan. He had just gotten back from a tour of the world. He was innocent in all this, yet somehow he still ended up mixed up in it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you scowled, wriggling against his grasp.

He held you tight with one arm across your neck and shoulders, his arm almost to the point of choking you. You had to stall, had to do something. Where was Emily and the team?

“Where were you that day anyway? I never saw you here.”

“That’s because it was my day off. Lucky break huh?” he snorted, “Besides, I was in search of victim number five.”

Lillie Newton. She was victim number five. She had a name, she wasn’t just a number.

Anger boiled within you. Pure hatred for someone as evil as this man that stood before you.

“Why? Why do it? Were you just trying to be another copycat?”

“You know, one of the things said about the Axeman of New Orleans was that his crimes were mostly ethnically motivated. He killed mainly Italian-Americans or Italian immigrants. For some reason, he must’ve hated them. I found it...inspiring. Of course, I have nothing against the Italians. Unless they’re women, that is.”

“Oh so that’s it? You hate women? Talk about typical psychopath 101,” you spat.

A sharp sting came across your cheek as he slapped you, hard. Hard enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Listen here, bitch. I’d watch my mouth if I were you, because this baby?” he lifted up his machete for you to see, “This can do a lot of damage. I can’t wait to strike it into you and chop you up so your FBI friends won’t even be able to recognize you.”

You swallowed hard. Your brain was scrambling for a way to escape. You were just about ready to kick him in the groin when he was suddenly yanked away from you, his hard grip leaving your body.

You blinked quickly, not understanding what had just happened until you saw Spencer a few feet away, punching the guy. It wasn’t just one punch either. Two, then three came. You bounded into action then.

“Spencer! Spencer, stop!”

You tried pulling him away as the rest of your team came running into the alleyway. He managed to get one more hit in before you successfully pulled him away and Luke had pulled the unsub up, slapping cuffs on him faster than you realized he even could.

Spencer grabbed you and pulled you close, holding you tight. His head went into the crook of your neck as he clung to you, all of his apparent fear and worry being transmitted from him to you through the hug. No matter what tiff you both may have been in the middle of, he still cared about you.

“I was so scared something happened to you,” he mumbled.

He pulled back, looking over you, assessing you to see if you had any injuries.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

His finger brushed your cheek lightly and you winced.

“Did he hit you?!”

“Slapped me, but I’m okay. It’s just a little sore,” you told him.

“You might have a nasty bruise there in a few days.”

“Least it’s just a bruise, huh?” you smiled a tiny bit.

“Yeah.”

He was gazing directly at you as if no one else were around, as if there wasn’t a bustle of activity around you. In that moment, it was just the two of you.

“Spence.”

You both turned to see Emily, motioning for him, needing his help.

Spencer let go of your arms, stepping back a bit.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

With a nod, you watched him head in Emily’s direction. It had been a long day. A long week actually. But the murderer had been caught and there would be justice for the poor families who had lost their daughters.

That wasn’t all though.

Something had seemed to shift between you and Spencer. Sort of like a chess piece in it’s hesitant movement to another square.

•

By the time you’d handed over the unsub to the local precinct so he could be their problem, it was well past midnight.

Everyone had been way too exhausted to even think of boarding the jet tonight, so it was mutually decided that they’d spend one more night in New Orleans and head home tomorrow. Everyone had gone their separate ways once back at the hotel.

You headed to your room, managing to score an ice pack for your sore cheek. Unfortunately, after all the excitement, there was no time to talk to Spencer and he’d left the precinct before you had anyway. You made a mental note to check in on him tomorrow and maybe even see if things were okay between you two.

You’d changed out of the dress and into more comfortable clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt. You were sitting at the small table in your room, icing your cheek and pretty much about to fall asleep when there was a knock at your door. Sitting the ice pack down, you walked to the door, opening it. You were surprised to see Spencer standing on the other side.

Before you had the chance to say anything, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

After your brief initial shock, your lips moved with his so fluidly it seemed natural, like you did this every day.

Minutes may have passed, or it might just have been seconds as you kissed him back, your hands naturally finding a spot to rest against his chest.

You were so stunned when he pulled away, that it took a moment for you to realize he had said something.

“Huh?” you asked, still dazed.

“I asked if I could come in,” he repeated.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

You stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him. Your head was still reeling from the kiss as you turned around and saw him sit down on your bed, his hands running through his hair.

“Come here,” he whispered.

You walked over to him, standing in front of where he sat.

“I’m so sorry,” he began.

Your confusion deepened. Was he sorry about the kiss? About you getting hurt? About being mad?

He said nothing else as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him and holding you tight.

“When I saw the unsub had you…” he mumbled into your neck, trailing off as his voice cracked.

You pulled out of his embrace to look at him. You now stood in between his legs, even closer than you had been before, your body mere inches from his.

“I was so afraid I might never see you again. Suddenly, me being angry at you was the least important thing in the world.”

“Why were you mad? If I did something I’m so sorry, I-”

“Shh, no,” he mumbled, his finger covering your lips gently to silence you, “It was my own fault, I’m so sorry.”

You waited silently, seeing if he was going to elaborate. His eyes closed, his expression looking pained and even a bit embarrassed.

“I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” you questioned, your brows furrowed, not understanding.

“Of Ethan flirting with you,” he sighed, “And you flirting back.”

“I,” you paused, your mind racing, not being able to piece everything together quick enough, “I was just being nice to him, then just playing the part earlier. Why would you be jealous?”

He gave a half laugh, almost a humorless one.

“Because I’m crazy about you, Y/N,” he whispered, his gaze finally meeting yours.

His hand cupped the side of your face, his other hand resting lightly on your waist. You didn’t move from his touch nor did you make a move to push his hands away.

“And seeing you with someone else made me see red. Just the thought of you being someone else’s and not mine because I’d been too scared and stubborn, locked in this chess game, if you will, with you, not making a move. I was afraid I had been too late and I was mad at myself.”

“I’m not interested in Ethan. I only have eyes for you,” your eyes slid to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

You were still thinking of the way his lips had felt against yours. The softness of them, the passion in the kiss, the way his hands had cupped your face and held on firmly like he himself was afraid the moment was just a fluke.

“It’s always been that way.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now as your eyes slid closed and your lips found his again.

This time, the kiss was more heated. Your feelings for one another had finally been laid on the table, igniting a need to act on them.

Your hand tangled in his curls as you kissed him back fervently, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t get enough of him. You had spent years not knowing what kissing him would be like and now it felt like you were simply making up for lost time.

You smiled gently against his lips when he moaned into the kiss. Apparently, he was just as eager for your touch against him, as you were for his against you.

His hands reached for the hem of your top, pulling away to pull it up and over your head. His tongue moved out and over his lips slowly, his eyes taking in your newly exposed skin. Your own hands pulled at his loosened tie, dropping it once it left his body.

Spencer’s mouth met your neck, leaving soft kisses down it as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. The simple task seemed so much harder as you were distracted by the feel of his lips on your skin.

In one fell swoop, he’d picked you up and turned, tossing you in quite a gentle manner against the mattress of your hotel bed. His hand ran over your exposed stomach, his kisses moving lower. You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him, unable to control the growing desire forming between your legs.

You were so caught up in the sensation, it didn’t even register what he had been doing until you felt the slight tug of your waistband being pulled downwards. His fingers gripped the material and pushed it down over your raised hips until it was completely off.

You wasted no time in ridding him of his own pants as well.

Left in only your undergarments, you and Spencer laid practically skin to skin, taking a moment just to enjoy one another. He kissed you again, his slight scruff tickling your face, while his hands roamed your body.

You, also, took your sweet time exploring the new found territory of his bare skin underneath your hands. They ran over his back, his chest, his arms, his sides before finding their way back to his face, your lips moving in a fluid dance with his own.

He reached behind you, unhooking your bra, pulling the straps down until the item had completely left your body. You were almost positive he held back a groan as he took in your naked top half.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Your legs inadvertently clenched at his cursing. It wasn’t often he did it, but something told you that in bed it was a good possibility that he could be a completely different person.

His hands cupped each breast, his lips kissing your throat as he massaged them. His fingertips briefly moved over your peaked nipples, making you moan softly.

Spencer wasted no time though, his touch quickly retreated downwards to the only item left on your body. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them off, leaving you completely exposed and turned on beneath him.

Maybe it was a mixture of how close you came to death tonight and your feelings for him, but you didn’t want this moment to end. You wanted to hang on to it forever. That’s why you took your time, hands pushing off his underwear, your eyes meeting his.

It was like he could read your thoughts. Being as close as you two had been previous to this, it wasn’t surprising, but knowing you so well in this instance was just on a whole other level of mind blowing. He nodded, wanting to enjoy this for as long as he could too.

His hand covered yours, interlocking your fingers together as he pushed into you. The new feeling of him inside you was overwhelming but really good.

Your hands stayed laced together as he kissed you and moved within you. Your body met his rhythm and soon instead of two, your bodies moved as one.

Breaking the kiss, your head fell back against the pillow as you moaned. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he felt so incredible. His teeth bared into his bottom lip as he gazed down at you, his desire written plainly on his face.

“Spencer,” you whimpered, pulling your legs up his sides, allowing him a deeper access.

His movements quickened as your pleasure heightened, fulfilling the need for more. You couldn’t help but smile, even as you moaned, at the curl that fell over his brow, moving with each thrust.

“God, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his forehead falling against yours, eyes closing, “Fuck.”

You briefly registered the other noises in the room besides both of your moans: the bed creaking and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Spence,” you mumbled, whimpering as he hit a sensitive spot, “You're gonna wake up the entire team.”

“Let them hear,” he grunted, “Let them know who you belong to.”

“Whatever you want,” you mumbled, pulling him towards you once again.

Your fingers dug into his back as your high built deep within you. He moaned against your lips, his hands gripping your sides as you both moved frantically, desperate to reach complete ecstasy.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you moaned, your noises suddenly higher in pitch and volume, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He kissed you as you came apart, the fire in your veins shooting through you as quick as lightning. Luckily, his kiss muffled most of your loud moan.

He buried his face in your neck as he soon followed, his own moans filling your ears, much to your delight.

Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair as you panted, starting to come down from the high. His body was slick against yours as he finally turned his face to yours, kissing you once again.

The cool air of the hotel room hit your sweaty skin, cooling it gently, but your insides still felt red hot, both in reaction to the sex and the fact that it was Spencer, the fact that he was as crazy about you as you were him.

The fact that both of you no longer played this complicated game you’d inadvertently been involved in for so long.

It was only after he’d stilled, his body still flush against your skin that he smiled one of his heart stopping grins, before finally speaking.

“Checkmate.”

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queerbrujas · 3 years

Text

then it vanished away from my hands (part one)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro word count: 2.3k rating: T warnings: pure angst. not too hardcore yet (will ramp up in later parts), but this doesn’t have a happy ending.

part two | part three | read on ao3

Something unexpected happens during Eva’s turning.

See the end for more notes.

—

part one: take me home where I belong

The process and the preparations are much less complicated than Eva expected them to be.

Tedious, repetitive, but simple.

She speaks to Rebecca. More as a courtesy than anything else; she seeks her informed opinion as a colleague and as a member of her team, as an experienced mentor, but not, never, as a daughter.

Rebecca isn’t happy, not at all, but she has long resigned herself to the fact there is nothing she can do, that Eva wouldn’t listen to her even if there was.

Not in this.

(“Maybe there is some of me in you, after all,” Rebecca had told her, what seems like a lifetime ago. A different conversation, long before she knew the depth of what she was getting into, and yet it echoes, now, in her mind.)

Eva fills out a request form.

After the Agency greenlights it, and only then, she quits the police department.

This does require a few explanations, but Eva's involvement with the Agency isn’t a secret, even if the nature of it is.

Neither is it a secret that she had never wanted to join the force at all, and so nobody is exactly shocked—it’s not hard to convince everyone of what is, in the end, more than half the truth: they have offered her a better job that is much more suited to her skillset and inclinations.

A job that, most importantly, takes her away from Wayhaven.

(She had, after all, always wanted to leave. This is something everyone knows.)

Captain Sung is sorry to see her go, tells her she was a fine detective and that Rook would have been proud of her. She barely tenses at this.

Tina insists on throwing her a goodbye party.

Verda congratulates her on the promotion, with a smile and good wishes and love from Eric and Cara and Lacey.

She will miss them, a little. Not enough.

Not anywhere near enough.

—

Then there’s paperwork, more paperwork than she has ever had to deal with in her life.

There is counseling, endless sessions that she sits through with gritted teeth.

She finds them unnecessary. Redundant. She knows her own mind and doesn’t need, hasn’t ever needed any of this.

They are, of course, meant to ensure this is not something she will regret.

Why has she chosen this? What are her motivations?

She is made to list all of them. Outline them. Number them and rank them and develop them as though it is a test.

In a way, it is.

They do not say it is, but it hangs, unspoken, in the air. The idea that they might strongly discourage her from pursuing this if they consider she is not doing it for the right reasons, not fit for the transformation, for the shift it will bring to her life.

She is aware of this.

The minefield of questions she navigates with practiced ease. She does not say how the human world has lost every appeal it might have once held, but she does say her life is not, cannot be merely human anymore.

Not after everything she’s been through.

The counselor nods at this. They are a fae of some kind, but they were not born as one.

This, Eva knows, works in her favor.

It is not wise to tie these decisions to interpersonal relationships, the counselor says, their voice level and impersonal, almost flat. Of course, she must be aware of this already, is she not?

She is currently romantically involved with a vampire, yes?

It is imperative that she acknowledge the possibility of this relationship ending. Would she still want to go through with this, if that were the case?

Would she still want to live through eternity, then?

Immortality is not reversible. This is something she must remember.

Immortality is not reversible.

Eva suppresses a scoff, taps her foot on the ground. Taps her fingers on the arm of the chair. But she nods her assent anyway.

The process could be deferred for a year or two if she wished it; she is within the optimal time window still. It would give her additional time to reflect.

It is something they recommend. Though of course, they are quick to insist, the choice is ultimately hers.

She thanks them, and she declines it.

This, then, leads to more paperwork. Paperwork with questions and specifics about every last, minute detail.

Does she want to have the process handled by an Agency representative, or does she have a request for someone specific?

The Agency does not recommend that the process be carried out by a romantic partner. Is she aware of this?

She is, naturally.

(Nate wouldn't do it, anyway.)

(And after the conversation with Nate, she had wanted to ask Morgan. But Morgan—well, Morgan can't.)

Is she aware of the risks? The survival rate? The potential trauma? The changes that her body will/could suffer? The recovery period?

The unpredictability of her blood?

The risks?

The survival rate?

The potential trauma?

Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam.

She signs what feels like a hundred release forms, over and over.

She wants to do this the right way, the proper way.

(When has she ever done things any differently?)

She signs the forms and the paperwork without complaints, without hesitation and without delay.

—

The day comes.

(Weeks later, after all the forms have been processed and reviewed and approved, signed and countersigned. But eventually, it comes.)

With Morgan it's simple. It's her steely gaze and a raised eyebrow, questioning. Questions Eva is familiar with.

You sure about this? No taking it back now.

And then, same as always: you all right?

Eva gives a sharp nod, her shoulders relaxing.

That is the only answer Morgan needs from her.

(Morgan has always believed her when Eva tells her she can handle herself. That knowledge, in itself, is reassuring.)

—

With Nate—with Nate it’s not so easy. Not so simple.

It never has been, not with the way they feel about each other, not with the way they cling to each other, to every breath, to every beat of their hearts.

There is worry and fear in his eyes, dark and consuming, and she knows he is thinking about everything that could go wrong. She wants to soothe him, wants to kiss him and tell him it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

So she does.

And he sinks into it, grateful for the distraction (this, he always is; this has not changed). Grateful for any excuse not to think about what could be, his mouth almost devouring her own in a nearly bruising kiss and here she understands what he is telling her, too.

Please.

Please, I can’t live without you.

I spent three hundred years without you and I can’t do that anymore.

The pendant he had given her lies against the hollow of her throat, warm between them as their bodies press against each other’s, the heliotrope and edelweiss, the white clover and honeysuckle.

Deep devotion, eternal love.

Eternal love.

She does not mention it and neither does he, but she knows it does not escape his notice that she is wearing it. The agreement it stands for, the acceptance.

There had been arguments, before the choice was made.

(Though in reality the choice had been made long, long before, from the first time his hands left trails of fire on her skin and she wanted nothing more than to be branded, burned, for it to leave a permanent, indelible mark.)

(Everything that came after that was just confirmation of what she already knew.)

There had been arguments.

There had been raised voices that she regretted, that she very nearly hated herself for. But she couldn’t understand why or how—this is something she has never understood about Nate, and something Nate has never understood about her.

Humanity, humanity, humanity—

(“Would you rather watch me die?”

She spit out the words at him, not out of malice, but with the knowledge that they would hurt. Knowing, too, that the hurt was necessary. Knowing that unless she did things this way nothing would ever get done.

Nothing would ever get solved, concerning the very glaring problem they were facing.

“I won’t do that to you.”

Mortality was a problem, and this was the solution.

“Even if nothing happens to me, how long do we get before I’m too old? Thirty years? How long is that to you, Nate? You've been alive more than ten times that.”

She paused then, but he said nothing. He'd fallen quiet, and she could feel the harshness of her words and her voice, the knife being twisted deeper each time she spoke, but there was no point to gentling them when he refused to see what was in front of them: they did not, would not have another choice.

“Shit, Adam has been alive a millennium and you will too—are you going to remember me in five hundred years?”)

She pushes the memory away.

She cups his face with both hands now, the kiss turning gentle, soft. His lips brush against hers, lightly, so lightly, and send a tingling feeling through her entire body.

His skin is warm under her hands and the taste of him, mint and rain, almost makes her forget everything else, everything, nothing but him in her thoughts.

Nate.

“I love you,” she whispers in the space between their lips as she pulls away, only a fraction, eyes still half-closed and relishing the taste, the feeling of him. The warm comfort of his hands still tangled in her hair. “Te amo. I'll be fine, mi vida. Don't worry so much about me.”

“You know that's impossible, joonam,” he says in return, and though she knows he is serious (they have discussed this time and time again), there's still a soft smile on his lips.

“And I love you. More than I will ever have the words for.”

She smiles, warm, fond, and nudges her nose against his.

Words have never been her strong suit.

But she’s found them, with him, found words old and new as she has found warmth and light and life.

“I’ll be back to you in no time. You know how stubborn I am,” she says lightly, and kisses him again, short and sweet.

A promise, a beginning.

—

She had asked Adam to do it.

He was the obvious choice,

(choice, choice, choice)

if Nate wouldn’t and Morgan couldn’t; she and Adam don’t often speak but there is respect and there is understanding between them, too. There is determination and a desire for order that they share.

(he had also made a choice, once)

She would trust him with her life, and so she does.

(The fact of the matter is she would trust them all with her life and much more.

Farah just as much as the others, too, even if she is not as close with the younger vampire, by virtue of temperament. But she loves her as she would love a sister, as she would love someone whose absence would make the world dimmer—how funny, she thinks, that she loves her, that she loves them.

She had never loved like this before.)

—

It is difficult not to think of the warehouse on the outskirts of Wayhaven.

Not the one she has almost come to know as home, but the other one, the one where she knew, for the first time, what involvement with the supernatural would truly mean.

The sterile environment of the Agency facility is nothing like it.

Clean-smelling, almost like a clinic; white and well illuminated and with doctors and techs on hand to supervise and monitor.

She signs one final form on entry and then there is nothing standing between her and this.

It is difficult not to think of the first time she felt vampire fangs ripping into her skin.

Adam’s barely puncture her neck, instead of tearing into her wrist as Murphy’s had done. Almost gently, almost delicately—with care and quick efficiency.

It is not the first time since then that she has felt the bite of fangs (always willing, always wanted), but bury it as she may, the memory always resurfaces.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling.

There is a lingering something, an ache in her temples, like being underwater far too deep.

Pressure in her ears, a ringing sound.

It passes after a few seconds and Eva feels the pain in her neck, sharp and deep—there’s warmth and she thinks, oddly, incongruously, that it is not too unlike having her blood drawn.

She is aware of what’s happening: she insisted on knowing the mechanics of it, every step.

The warmth she feels is the injection of venom into her bloodstream, and within minutes it will start attacking her DNA, it will start melding with her own genetic code and changing it, altering it, molding it.

Enhancing it.

Adam withdraws now, pulls away from Eva’s neck and wipes away the very small amount of blood left on his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable as always.

She has been warned of the pain that comes next.

She has been warned of the way her body will feel like it’s on fire, of the way her muscles will pull and stretch and her bones will reshape and her blood will burn from within.

She has been warned.

But it doesn’t come.

The wound in her neck pulses along with her heartbeat, and there is a trickle of warm blood running down her skin, down her throat.

There is no pain.

By now she should, by all accounts, be undergoing a full transformation, genes and physiognomy rearranged, blood reconfigured.

She should be in agony.

All she feels is the warm trickle of the blood and the pulsing of the small wound.

Nothing is happening.

A different feeling starts to bubble in her throat.

She meets Adam’s eyes, and he looks just as confused as she is.

No mistakes have been made, she knows this, she is sure of this.

Everything has been controlled and accounted for; regulated, monitored.

She sees, out of the corner of her eye, the techs start to speak among themselves.

It’s not working.

Why is it not working?

———

This was inspired by a post by @crowsintheisland asking what would happen to a detective who discovered they couldn’t turn into a supernatural because of their blood. My brain took that idea and ran with it.

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #oc: eva #qbwrites #qbwritestwc

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writer-k-pop · 3 years

Text

Behind The Scenes

오늘 투위터 봤어요? Have you looked at Twitter today?

Description: Being the youngest and newest member of BTS’s filming crew, you grow close to other crew members as well as the BTS members. Specifically, BTS’s maknae, Jeon Jungkook, because somehow you always get paired to film him. After a perfectly timed photo during a filming hits the internet, rumors and words fly around excessively. And Jungkook shows his worry for you. Warnings: Swearing, none Genre: FLUFF Word Count: 3.7k

BTS Masterlist | Masterlists

"The filming will begin once the members finish up with their makeup." Our director announces as we stand around him in an empty parking lot. "Audio team is here?" He asks and scattered hands raise in the air, "8, 9. Good. Cameras?" He moves onto the next department: mine

I raise my hand as the others on my team do the same.

"And you know who you're following?" Our director asks.

We go down the line and say the member we're filming for the day.

"V."

"Rm."

"Suga."

"Jin."

"Jimin."

"Hope."

"And our youngest," Rena pinches my cheek, "Is with Jungkook."

I bat away her hand with an eye roll. Since joining as the newest, and the youngest, the older team members have been teasing me about how cute we'd be together. Though I highly doubt it. I think they're just teasing me because I'm the newest and the youngest. Like it's my initiation ordeal. But every time we do some filming that needs each member to have a dedicated camera person with them (nearly every time), they always pair me with Jungkook.

At first it was a little awkward: he wouldn't talk to me cause I was new and I wouldn't talk to him cause I was new. It took a few filming schedules until we were able to have comfortable conversations.

"Alright, here they come." Our director announces, "Remember their safety as well as yours!"

We all give a cheer of excitement then break out to get our equipment and into our smaller groups. Each will have a camera staff, an audio staff, and another staff to direct the content.

"Wonder where Jungkook will pick." Hyunwoo wonders as he adjusts his audio equipment belt.

"I pray it's not in the old park." Yeonseok, our assigned staff, says and places his hands in a prayer pose.

"Knowing our luck, it'll be there." I joke while zipping the last extra battery in its pocket before picking up the camera.

"If it is, it's your fault." Yeonseok pokes my shoulder.

"Don't blame me!" I spit back, "Blame the one who actually chooses it."

"I could never blame Jungkook." Yeonseok shakes his head and places his hand over his heart.

"Yupp, you're definitely NOT whipped." Hyunwoo says sarcastically as we join the other staff members crowded behind the few standing cameras.

In front of the cameras, the seven members of BTS stand and wait for the cue to start their silliness for 'Run BTS.'

"Everyone quiet please!" The main director waves his hands and everyone ceases their conversations. "Camera, roll!"

"Wah, it's a really nice day." Hoseok comments, squinting up at the sun.

Jungkook and Jimin laugh at his random comment.

"Hyung, why are you so awkward today?" Taehyung giggles.

"It's not awkward." Jin comes to Hoseok's defense and throws an arm around his shoulders, "It is a nice day." He emphasizes nice and also looks up at the sun before slapping a hand over his burning eyes. "Ah, ah, ah, that hurts." This only makes the maknae line laugh harder.

"Alright, alright." Namjoon attempts to calm them down but Jungkook and Taehyung continue to giggle, "We all know why we're here, right?"

"Ah, yes." Yoongi nods slowly, "We were dropped off in this empty parking lot so we could get kidnapped." He deadpans.

From the staff, muffled chuckles can be heard and I have to press my fist to my mouth to keep the laughter in. Hoseok and Jin join the maknae line in loud laughter and Namjoon looks towards the director, his eyes pleading for help.

"Sorry, Joon-ah." Hoseok coughs out, trying to push the laughter aside. "We'll say it right. Ask the question again."

Namjoon claps his hands together and resets. "We all know why we're here, right?" He repeats his previous question.

"RUN BTS!" The other six members loudly scream towards the sky.

"Hyung, are you the MC today?" Jimin asks, gesturing towards the group's leader.

Namjoon shakes his head, "If I was, this show would be a disaster."

"No, I think you would do really well." Hoseok claps Namjoon's back in support.

"Thanks Hobi." Namjoon says and holds his hand out for a handshake. Only to be ignored. Again. "Anyway, today we're doing something different."

"We are?" Jin and Taehyung ask together with over emphasized curiousity.

"We are." Namjoon confirms. "Today, we'll each be on our own, completing missions to get a picture. Then we'll all meet up again and I think we have to line up the pictures in order. If we get the answer right, we get a prize. I think?" Namjoon finishes with an unsure ending.

"That's right." The main director nods then explains the game to the members in a shpeel that will be edited out later and replaced with written instructions on the screen. "Each member will randomly choose a location. At that location there will be four missions you have to complete. When you finish all four, you will be given a photo. After you receive the photo, you will all gather again and together will place the photos in the order that they were taken. If you succeed, each BTS member will be given a wish that they can use anytime within the next year."

"WOAH!" The members drop their mouths in awe.

"And we can ask for anything?" Jin asks.

The director nods, "As long as it pertains to this show, you can ask for anything."

"Can I ask to go home then?" Yoongi steps forward with a raised hand.

The director laughs, "You can but then you'd miss out on other prizes."

"Okay, so how do we know which location to go to?" Taehyung asks, his excitement shining through his eyes.

The director holds out a can with seven folded pieces of paper. Taehyung walks forward, grabs the can, and retreats back to his members.

"Who picks first?" He asks the group.

"Let's do rock, paper, scissors." Jin suggests, sticking a hand out.

"Not this game. I suck at this." Hoseok whines but sticks his hand out along with the rest.

"Winner gets to pick first." Jin announces.

They pick a piece of paper in this order: Hoseok, Jungkook, Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, then Jin.

"Should we reveal them one by one?" Jungkook suggests and the others nod. "Hoseok hyung first."

"Where am I going?" Hoseok teases then pops open his piece of paper. "The movie theatre?" He reads off his location with confusion.

"Ahhhhh, that would've been fun!" Taehyung whines.

"Jungkook, next." Jin gestures for the youngest to hurry up.

Jungkook opens his sheet and reads it out, "Cafe."

My fists clench in happiness that he didn't pick the outdoor location.

"Yah, that's a good one." Namjoon shakes his finger in Jungkook's direction but I can't make out if he's happy or disappointed. "I am going to the gym."

"I'm going to the park!" Jimin reads off his excitedly.

"Is it the old one we saw on our way here?" Jungkook asks the staff with bunny eyes. The director gives him a nod and Jungkook pouts. "Hyung, can we switch? Ah, I really wanted to go there!"

I narrow my eyes at the youngest and pray that the director won't let them switch places.

"No switching, Jungkook." Taehyung says and pulls the youngest away.

"Yoongi, Yoongi." Hoseok says the next member.

Yoongi slowly opens his paper but doesn't show the camera as he reads it. Then he suddenly starts screaming and jumping in happiness.

"What?" Taehyung asks.

"Where are you going, hyung?" Jimin asks, trying to take the paper away from him.

"THE DORM!" Yoongi screams happily and finally shows the cameras the piece of paper.

The other six members give sounds of disbelief and Jimin even walks towards us staff, asking if it's true.

While Yoongi happily bounces from foot to foot, Taehyung reveals his location.

"I'm going to the company." Taehyung announces before Jin swiftly opens his, the writing pointed towards the cameras and away from him.

"School?" Taehyung reads it out for him and Jin quickly flips the paper around to read it for himself.

"SCHOOL?" Jin repeats incredulously.

Yoongi bursts into laughter with Jungkook.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've been in school?!" Jin shrieks. "I have to go back?"

"Hyung, maybe they'll let you wear a school uniform." Hoseok laughs, leaning onto his shoulder.

Jin shakes Hoseok off and scoffs, "What are you talking about?"

"How long do we have?" Jimin asks the director while Hoseok and Jin giggle together about Jin's location.

"We'll give you 3 hours to finish your individual missions." The director said.

"Alright, let's go." Yoongi rushes the group, wanting to get to the dorm as quickly as possible. "Run!"

"BTS!" They all finish together.

I readjust the camera in my hands and wait for our small group to be joined with Jungkook.

"You lucky duck." Yeonseok nudges my arm.

"I prayed real hard." I smile as our team is called.

"Team Jungkook!" My director calls out.

I shuffle through the crowd behind my older male staff partners for the day.

"Yeonseok hyung!" Jungkook says happily as we make our way over, "Hyunwoo hyung!"

I peak out from behind the two and give an expecting smile for my greeting.

"(y/n)!" Jungkook snaps finger guns at me, "Woah, I got the dream team." As the car pulls up, Jungkook carries on conversation with the other two leaving me to fiddle with the camera and prepare to film. "How is Junsu hyung and the baby?"

"They're good." Yeonseok answers, "The kid is finally sleeping through the night."

"Makes him much easier to handle during the day." Hyunwoo jokes and juts a thumb at Yeonseok.

Jungkook chuckles, "I believe it."

"Yah, I'm older than you." Yeonseok scolds him and we all slid into the car: Yeonseok driving, Hyunwoo next to him and Jungkook and I in the middle seats.

"What do I have to do to there?" Jungkook asks while putting on his seatbelt and I do the same.

I shrug.

"How do you not know?" Jungkook asks me.

"Oh, I know. I'm just not allowed to tell you." I smirk.

"Oh come on, please." He drags out the 'please' but I shake my head as Hyunwoo wags a finger at him.

"No can do kiddo." Hyunwoo says, "We wanna keep our jobs."

Jungkook pouts and crosses his arms over his chest, "No fair."

I snort at his behavior, "Your a member of the world's biggest boy band and you're pouting over not being able to cheat."

Jungkook tsks, "If it were Jin hyung, you guys would've told him."

I raise my eyebrows at him, "I wouldn't. But Yeonseok might."

"Oi!" Yeonseok looks at me through the rearview mirror, "I would not."

"Sure." Jungkook and I say at the same time with the same unbelieving tone.

A few minutes later, Yeonseok parks the car in front of the cafe that we had rented out for the day.

"Hold on." I tell Jungkook as he reaches for the door.

"Why?" Jungkook looked at me like I'm crazy for not letting him out.

I roll my eyes, "Just wait until I get to the other side. I don't exactly want to film your butt." Without waiting for his response, I exit the car on my side and quickly jog around to Jungkook's side.

When I'm in my spot, Jungkook then opens his door and ducks out of the car.

"I go inside?" He throws an innocent look to Yeonseok who nods. So we walk inside with me walking backwards with the camera focused on Jungkook.

As we step inside, the cafe music fills my ears and the atmosphere turns cozy in a second.

"What's my first mission?" He asks, the desire to finish first before all of his members burns in his eyes.

Yeonseok hands Jungkook a piece of paper which he opens, reads, then shows the camera. I make sure to get a clear shot of the writing as he reads it aloud.

"Choose four drinks from the menu and make them." Jungkook says. "I have to, like am I actually supposed to get behind the counter and make them?" He points to the space behind the counter. Yeonseok, Hyunwoo, and I all nod our heads. After a few schedules with rolling cameras, I learned that I need to suppress the laughter I get from Jungkook's surprise. My amusement growing at his adorable bewilderment.

"Well, okay. Do I get to choose the drinks?" Jungkook questions and turns towards the menu. Yeonseok nods when Jungkook glances back.

"I have to make four?" Jungkook sighs, "Mmm, well, if we're going to drink them, then I should choose drinks that we'll like." He reasons. "So, for the PD hyungs I think I'll make Iced Americanos." Jungkook looks to them for approval which they give. "For camera PD, I will make a strawberry lemonade?" He raises his eyebrows looking for my response. I smile and nod, my heart skipping a few beats. "And for myself, I'm gonna make, ooh, a hot chocolate. Yeah, that sounds great."

Jungkook nods in determination. "Alright, let's do this." He walks around the counter and finds an apron and a book on how to make all the drinks on the menu.

"Of course you would give me a book." Jungkook smirks at Yeonseok while tying the apron around his waist, "Otherwise your drinks would've been terrible."

He laughs at himself and begins working on the two americanos. I move around the counter and capture Jungkook fumbling around with the espresso machine.

"Is this how it works?" He mumbles and glances up to me for help. I shrug my shoulders cause I honestly have no idea how to work that kind of machine.

Jungkook sighs staring at the espresso tamper in his hands, "I know we did an episode with this. Why can't I remember?" He looks underneath and fiddles some more before slowly but successfully attaches the tamper to the machine. "Success!" He smiles happily then the smile drops, "Now which button do I press?"

I suppress a laugh but Jungkook hears my snicker as he fills two plastic cups with ice.

"Don't you laugh at me!" He turns and pouts at me. "You're laughing."

I shake my head with a smile of innocence as I can't make a sound while recording.

Jungkook turns back to the machine and reads all the buttons until he finds what he thinks is the right one which frankly, I would've picked the same one. In about a minute, the two little cups below the tampers fill with the warm dark goodness of espresso. When the final little droplets fall into the cups, Jungkook takes each and pours them into the plastic cups. Then he pours water in till the cup is full.

As he pops the lids on and sticks straws into them, I can't help but admire him through the camera feed.

"Next up, strawberry lemonade." Jungkook sing songs turning around to find the right ingredients.

20 minutes later, Jungkook sits across from me at a table and I sip on the lovely strawberry lemonade that Jungkook made me.

"What's my next mission?" Jungkook asks, setting down his nearly half finished mug.

Yeonseok slides over a piece of paper from the next table. Jungkook picks up the paper, reads it and begins his second mission.

*The next day*

"You haven't looked at Twitter, have you?" Yeonseok ambushes me as soon as I step into the building.

I glance around, slightly nervous, "No, I woke up late and rushed here."

Yeonseok sighs deeply, "Thank goodness."

"Why?" I ask as he drags me further into the building.

"Because." Yeonseok says vaguely.

"Because?" I repeat, hanging onto the word.

"Because..." Yeonseok glances around and I do the same, finding some stares being directed at us. "There's a rumor."

"Stop being vague!" I exclaim and pull my arm away.

"Someone took a picture of us filming at the cafe yesterday." Yeonseok explains.

"Okay? What's so big about that? They do that all the time." I explain.

"Yeah, but this time, the picture was perfectly angled so Hyunwoo and I were hidden and your camera is hidden by one of the pillars inside so.." Yeonseok trails off as I pick up on where the sentence is leading.

"It looks like we were on a date." I sigh, closing my eyes. "Is it bad?"

Yeonseok tilts his head to the side, "I mean not the worst things that have been thrown around..."

"But still pretty bad." I finish for him.

"Yeah." Yeonseok confirms.

I shrug, ignoring the dull pain of wishful thinking in my chest, "It's not like we've never had to go through something like this in the past."

"Yeah but you should really stay off the internet for a day or so." Yeonseok advices as we reach our large office space.

I nod slowly, "Okay, I won't." Setting down my bags, I sit at my computer and start opening on emails for the day.

"You promise?" Hyunwoo pops his over the cubicle walls.

I smile at his concern, "I promise. Why do you care though? I can handle myself."

"We know you can." Hyunwoo responds, "But you're still the youngest and like our little sister so we gotta protect you."

"Or at least try to." Yeonseok adds on.

I chuckle, "Well, thank you. I'm assuming upstairs is denying it?" I point upwards.

"Writing the denial letter as we speak." Hyunwoo snaps his fingers.

"This way?" Jungkook's voice echos down the hall.

I scrunch my eyebrows and Hyunwoo, Yeonseok, and I all lean back in our chairs wondering why he's up here.

Within seconds, Jungkook appears in the office space, his eyes searching a bit frantically.

"(y/n)." Jungkook says my name which shocks not only me, but Yeonseok and Hyunwoo as well.

I give him a small wave and a confused smile. Jungkook smiles and quickly walks over.

"Are you okay?" He asks me.

Yeonseok and Hyunwoo snicker but lean closer to their computers. I internally roll my eyes at them.

"I'm okay. Are you okay?" I answer and return the question.

"I'm okay now." Jungkook says, now a little shy.

"Now?" I ask.

"Well, I sort of saw Twitter this morning and I was a little worried." He answers.

I'm sure the evidence of surprise is clear on my face because he spits out more explanations.

"I, I mean I know you're new and haven't really been around this industry much and I didn't know how you would take it." Jungkook stutters, "And, and I worried because you were the one in the photo with me and I know people can be really nasty. Especially when we’re involved." He finishes quietly with a scratch to the back of his neck.

I squint cause I think I see a little blush tint his cheeks.

"Thank you for the concern." I tell him with honesty and I’m a little touched. "Is that why you came up here?" I ask.

Jungkook chuckles, "Yeah."

I smile, "Well, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Great." Jungkook claps his hands and then starts to get antsy, "Well, I'm gonna head back downstairs."

"(y/n)!" Hyunwoo quickly stands up, startling both Jungkook and I, "Walk him out. He could get lost up here."

"Yeah, we don't want Jungkook getting lost up here." Yeonseok agrees.

"Hyung." Jungkook drags out the word while I give them a pleading look. "I can find my way out."

"You didn't even know how to get here." Hyunwoo argues with the older brother smart-ass tone.

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond but his voice is nonexistent. I try to choke back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

"Hey, don't you even start." Yeonseok points a finger at me, "You're so much worse."

"Am not!" I defend myself, standing and crossing my arms.

"Are too." Hyunwoo agrees.

"Am not." I say in disbelief.

"Actually, you kind of are." Jungkook comments.

I raise my arm to slap his arm but hesitate, unable to finish the move. Jungkook, on the other hand, simply sticks his tongue out at me.

"Mature." I roll my eyes and lower my arm.

"Mature enough to ask you out?" Jungkook suddenly asks with a smirk.

My entire body freezes and the air dissipates from my lungs. The air around us also stales in an instance. Even Yeonseok and Hyunwoo are stunned into silence. In my ears, my heart starts to pound and my cheeks heat up. I can't believe the words I had just heard.

"I..." Jungkook clear his throat, "I said that out loud..."

I blink to break out of my thoughts and reset myself. "I'll, uh, I'll walk you out." I smile, trying to ignore what just happened but I don't think I did it well.

Jungkook wordlessly nods and follows me out of the office space. Neither of us say a word to each other until we're way past the office space.

"I apologize for earlier." Jungkook basically whispers.

I shake my head, "No, no need to apologize. It's okay."

"I really didn't mean to say it." Jungkook continues to explain. "I was actually worried this morning and I guess it was still running through my head and then it just happened. I guess."

I suppress a smile and look down to the ground, "It was a little shocking." I admit, "But I can't say it isn't one-sided."

That stops Jungkook in his tracks. I notice a few steps ahead and stop to turn and face him. His eyes are wide in disbelief and his arms hang loosely by his sides.

He stutters out jargon then clears his throat. Jungkook looks up with hope in his eyes, "Then, (y/n), can I take you out for dinner."

A smile grows on my face and my cheeks heat up ever so slightly, "Yes, you can."

Jungkook smiles widely and begins walking next to me again. My heart flutters happily and excitement grows in the pit of my stomach. As we walk, his shoulder brushes against mine and goosebumps erupt down my arms.

Sometimes rumors stay rumors. Other times they become reality.

#kpop #bts #bts imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook imagine #jungkook

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Unfinished Business: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

On the plane, Max just wanted to jump into it by immediately talking about the case. He didn’t even wait until it got off the ground to start. You appreciate his enthusiasm, but he seems too eager for this. It might impair his judgement later if he thinks the Keystone Killer is within the team’s grasp. You’ll keep an eye on him, though. Hotch patched Penelope through so she can be part of this conversation since he gave her some tasks to do while they got ready for the plane.

“Philly PD confirmed that Carla Bromwell's been dead less than twelve hours. She was forty-seven,” Penelope says.

“The victims are getting older. That is unusual,” Derek frowns.

“Victimology rarely changes.”

“Her hands and feet were bound with flex-cuffs,” Penelope also adds.

“Flex-cuffs? No ropes?” you ask.

“That's what they said. They're waiting at the crime scene for you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Derek grins.

“If you need me,” she grins and ends the video chat.

Spencer reaches into his bag and youpeek over to see him take out your note. He opens it and immediately blushes when he understands what it means. You have to hide the smile so you don’t give anything away, and you lean over slightly. You two are sitting on the couch while the rest of the team takes the airplane seats that crowd the only table on the plane.

“What do you got there?” you whisper ever so softly.

“I found this in my bag,” he whispers back and shows you the letter.

“You must have a secret admirer.”

You lean away from him and look at Hotch who is focused on the case and what Penelope said.

“So we have older victims and a different mode of binding and killing.”

“Maybe the note just means we have a copycat on our hands,” you theorize.

“The copycat who just happens to have Amy Jennings driver's license? No! No, it's the Keystone Killer,” Max gets angry.

He gets up and heads over to the small kitchen to get more coffee, and your eyes widen at his outburst.

“How are we supposed to work with him? Gideon, he is not even an active agent,” Derek whispers to him.

“He's here because he knows this case better than any of us. We're leading the investigation, he's only consulting.”

“Anyone tell him that?” you ask and peek over at Max who just pops a pill into his mouth.

You can sense his frustrations and anger for this case, and he’s having a hard time not making it personal. This is the only killer who has taunted him and kept being a problem in his whole career, and then when he disappeared, Max just stewed in his anger. You know he wants this to be the real Keystone Killer, and you just hope that it is. You don’t want him to suffer any more than he already is.

As soon as the plane landed, Max wasted no time in going to the new crime scene. He’s too eager, and that makes him arrogant and cocky. You’re sure he is a nice guy, but his need to catch the killer is overshadowing any good parts about him. He’s obsessed, but you hope the rest of the team can keep him grounded.

The house of the most recent victim is shrouded in sadness and darkness. There isn’t an inch of happiness anywhere in the foundation, and you try your best not to become overly emotional with this. The victims need you to bring them justice because you can see more than most. You have a feeling Max Ryan isn’t a man to believe in what you can do, so you never told him about any of it. He seems too caught up in his own problems to see that he has a whole team to rely on.

“FBI? Detective Charles Santangelo, Philly PD,” the detective in charge greets you when you arrive with the whole team.

“Agents Gideon, Y/L/N, and Greenaway,” Gideon states.

“You actually think the Keystone Killer did this?” Santangelo asks.

“Yes, we do,” Max butts in.

“Agent Ryan.”

“Detective.”

“So, I guessed you'd show up sooner or later,” he chuckles.

“He's consulting with us,” Gideon says.

“CSI's done processing the body?” you wonder.

“Yeah, we'll get out of your way.”

“Thanks. This is his eighth victim,” Max informs as he steps inside the house.

You’re immediately slammed with visions of the victim going about her daily life in spurts. She is going about her life, giving you bits and pieces of who she was right before she died. To get the best results, you go up to the body to see if you can get anything off her body, or maybe see the murder happen. Carla lays on the bed with her eyes open and mouth closed. She looks so scared, but you have to stay away from them. The eyes are the worst thing about a dead person. They reveal more than they know.

“There is no bruising on the wrists, ankles or neck. Just a good size blunt force head wound,” you note.

“Yeah, probably a surprise attack,” Max states.

“Well, the puzzle said no fight.”

“I know what the puzzle said,” Max snaps.

You look between him and Gideon, but you let this one go.

“The head wound is extensive. Level of violence is escalating.”

“This bedroom is in front of the house, and a puzzle mentioned a rear window—maybe he left a print,” Elle suggests.

“No way,” Max shakes his head.

“Well, I think I'm going to check it out anyway,” she sighs.

“You do what you want to do but believe me, you're wasting your time.”

Elle just shakes her head and leaves the room, and you look at Gideon with raised eyebrows.

“Elle's good at this, Max.”

“Did I say she wasn't? I haven't had a feeling like this around a dead body in eighteen years.”

“I remember what you said to me on my first day. Don't lose your objectivity. This isn't personal.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not for you.”

“Look, Max, I know you want to catch this killer because he escaped your grasp and outsmarted you all those years ago. Don’t deny it because I know it’s true. But you have a whole team to lean on, and let me tell you that we’re pretty damn good. I don’t mean disrespect, but you got no right to talk to any of us like that. We’re your partners, not your enemies.”

You don’t want to be in a room with him anymore, so you quickly look at Gideon before you leave the room. You spot Spencer in the farthest room from where you are, so you quickly head into that room to see he is with Hotch.

“Was I like this when you met me?” you ask the men, and they just stare at you in confusion. “I mean, was I like Max? A know-it-all?”

“You could be, yes,” Hotch chuckles.

“I am so sorry.”

“Actually, I didn’t think you were a know-it-all,” Spencer smiles politely at you.

“Well, still, I apologize,” you blush.

“What do you think of Ryan?” Spencer asks Hotch.

“He hasn't changed much.”

“I think we can learn a lot from him,” Spencer beams.

“What could you possibly learn that you don't already know?”

“Hotch, repetitive thinking is the death nail for the brain. For complete brain usage diverse stimulation is the key,” you defend the genius. Spencer and Hotch look at you, but they both have very different reactions. Hotch is more surprised, and Spencer is more proud. “How do you think I got two PhDs? I know a lot more than you know.”

Hotch just shakes his head dismissively, and Spencer canvasses the room when he spots a piece of paper on the dresser. It must be another note because it’s a word search puzzle. Carla could have had a puzzle book, but you know that this isn’t it.

“Look at this,” Spencer says and grabs it with his gloved hand.

“Let's go show this to everyone,” Hotch orders. You three walk back to the bedroom where Carla, Gideon, and Max are. “Found another note.”

“Let me see that,” Max says and practically snatches it out of Hotch’s hand. He skims the words before reading them out loud. “In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.”

“He's quoting sir Francis Bacon now,” you say.

“I used this specific quote on—”

“—in your book on page 184. I read it on the plane,” Spencer interrupts him.

“And you remember the page number of the quote?”

“Don’t ask,” Derek shakes his head.

“He says to expect another gift in two days.”

“A gift?”

“He calls his victims gifts,” Gideon explains.

“Gifts for whom?” you wonder.

“For me,” Max sighs.

It’s time for another note for Spencer to read, and you have to do it now before he spots you. This time it reads, “In a room full of art, I’d still stare at you”. It’s true because it wouldn’t matter who or what is in a room, if Spencer is there, then you would only look at him. You slip it into his bag so he can find it later on.

Right now, you’re giving the profile to the police department despite them already having one. New victims means there is an opportunity for the profile to change, especially after all that time between killings.

“A lot of things have changed in twenty years including the age of the Keystone Killer's victims,” Hotch begins.

“He's older which means his victims are older. Makes sense to me,” Santangelo shrugs.

“Most unsubs have specific fantasies. This is as if they're killing the same person over and over again. This man clearly had a preference for young brunettes, and now he's switched to older women.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“Ted Bundy only killed women that looked like his fiancee. Then, he devolved and brutally attacked a house full of sorority sisters that looked nothing like his previous victims,” Spencer babbles. “He went off script. His final victim was a twelve-year-old girl. When the police found the van that he used to kill her, the amount of blood revealed that he had lost complete control. It was that devolution that eventually led to his capture.”

“He could be devolving into a frenzy,” you add.

“So, you mean he's about to mess up?”

“Keystone Killer's devolution is only a theory. We need to be prepared for anything, and if he is in a frenzy, there's no telling how quickly he'll fall apart or how many more victims he'll take with him,” Derek says.

“So, we're going to go over anything we know—old and new—and hopefully we find him before we find another body.”

“We'll start with agent Ryan's original profile. Max, you want to present it?” Gideon asks.

“No.”

Max leaves the room, and Hotch immediately steps into his place to get the ball rolling. Gideon follows his old friend to see what exactly is crammed up his ass. You know, but he has to admit it if he wants to get any better.

“We're looking for a white male in his late 40's. The controlled crime scenes, the meticulousness, and the collection of trophies suggest a possible military background. We believe he’s been living in the same geographical area for his entire adult life.”

Max’s old profile wasn’t long to begin with, so you’re done earlier than you thought. Spencer immediately heads over to his bag, and you rush over to JJ to pretend like you never put the note in his bag to begin with.

“What’s going on?” she whispers.

“Just pretend like we’re discussing a file,” you rush to get out.

You peek over the file and see Spencer reading your note. JJ snickers when she sees this, but you shush her instantly. He looks up and around the office, but you’re quick to look back down at the file.

“You’re unbelievable,” she giggles.

“This is fun,” you whisper.

Spencer has no clue who is leaving these notes for him, but he knows it’s someone from Quantico. He got a note on his desk back in the office, and it followed him all the way over here. So, he knows it has to either be you, JJ, or Penelope. However, someone could be leaving them for someone else, then that puts him back at square one. He likes getting these notes and feeling this way when he reads them, but he really wants to know who is writing them. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, so he can’t determine it by that. He could use a fingerprint kit to see who exactly is handling these notes, but that is a little extreme in this case. There’s something about being anonymous that gets his heart pumping because it could be literally anyone.

He wants to think more about it, but he has a case to work on. He pockets the note and heads into the conference room where the rest of the team is. There are a bunch of boards with notes and puzzles and evidence that he has to somehow go through and make sense of. You and JJ follow him into the room and get down to business.

Spencer is already at the white board with a marker in his hand while he tries to analyze the new word search, but your eyes are drawn to the way he is holding the marker. Is it weird to think that’s cute? Get it together, Y/N.

“Alright, let's focus on the differences in the crimes. What's he doing that's new?” Hotch asks the group.

“Well, his latest victim was hit in the head. That's new,” you point out.

“In the word puzzle, he said she didn't fight. So, why hit her? Scare her? Show her he's in charge?”

“Well, he never did that before, and a blow that hard wouldn't scare her but probably just knock her unconscious.”

“In order to control her?” Hotch asks.

“Why switch from ropes to flex-cuffs? The intricate knot was a part of his signature.”

“Flex-cuffs are easier. It probably saved him time.”

“No no no, there's more than that. The rope was meticulously tied, intimate, and completely unnecessary,” Gideon sighs.

“Plus, he abandoned the rope and the use of his bare hands which makes his kills less personal and less controlling,” Elle points out.

“Okay. Seriously, guys, let's just abandon all this. Let's just treat him like he's a new offender,” Derek suggests.

“He isn’t,” Gideon sighs.

“Guys, I have a name,” Spencer interrupts. “Nibrahs. That's a name? From what country?”

“That’s backwards, Spence. S. Harbin. There was a Scott Harbin particulate on Max’s original suspect list,” you say.

“It's not Scott Harbin. Harbin went to jail in 1988 for stabbing a guy while he was trying to escape during a home invasion. The guy later died. Harbin didn't even know there was anyone at home at the time he broke in,” Max shakes his head.

“How long did he get?” Derek wonders.

“Thirty years.”

“So, it makes him a little more than a half way done unless he's been paroled.”

“No. No, it's too easy. I interviewed Harbin, twice. He's a pervert. He's a small time burglar with a fetish for lingerie. I mean he's a creep, but he is not the Keystone Killer. Believe me. Our guy has not been in jail for all these years,” Max refuses to believe it.

“Alright, I'm going to call Garica. See what she can dig up on this guy,” Derek says.

“He’s not the guy!” Max screams and slams his fist against the table.

Everyone stares at him in complete shock, and he just scoffs as he leaves the room. You know he is frustrated, but he doesn’t have to take it out on everyone else.

“Jason, what are we doing here?” Hotch asks after a few moments in silence.

“What do you mean?”

“Is Max interested in catching the Keystone Killer, or just proving he’s right?” you ask for Hotch.

Gideon doesn’t say anything as he gets up and leaves to talk to Max, meanwhile, Derek is already on the phone with Penelope. He puts her on speakerphone so everyone can hear what she has to say.

“Scott Harbin was paroled three months ago.”

“Oh yeah? To Philly?” Derek asks.

“Yeah... looks like it. Hey, guess what. Bad boy missed his last appointment with his parole officer,” she chuckles.

“Well, that right there makes him a wanted man, doesn't it?”

“Uh-huh uh-huh, and I have an address on him.”

“You are amazing.”

“You have no idea,” she flirts back.

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