#hospital. which i DO NOT WANT if i can help it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 6 hours

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babe you’ve got me obsessed with doctor remus!

can i request a drabble where reader gets into like a car accident and has been taken into a&e with like mid/severe injuries and remus has been assigned to treat her?

if not then that’s fine! love your work bae 🎀

Hi gorgeous! Thank you for requesting (I'm obsessed with him too) :)

cw: hospital

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 716 words

The nurse leaves, and you think you might finally get more than five seconds to yourself but then the curtain pulls back again, a tall doctor taking her place. You’ve been able to feel your heartbeat pulsing through every inch of you since you’d stumbled out of your smoking car, and this new man doesn’t help matters.

He’s lovely. With a face smattered with warm freckles and silvery scars and a mop of brown hair that looks like it’s never once been brushed, this is the kind of person who would fluster you on a normal day. Now, you don’t even know the word to describe the effect he has on you.

He has to ask his question a second time before you hear it.

“Have you had allergic reactions to any medications?”

You blink. It still feels like reality is moving at twice its usual speed. You don’t know if it’s just you shaking, but it feels like the whole room. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” The doctor’s voice is businesslike but kind, with a Welsh lilt. He flips a page on his clipboard. “Anything we weren’t able to address in the ambulance? Any new aches and pains?”

“I—I don’t think so.”

He lowers the clipboard slightly, looking at you. His eyes are a lightish brown color, like honey left too long in the sun. “Has anyone talked you through grounding exercises?”

You feel your brow wrinkle. “What?”

He almost smiles. “I’ll take that for a no.” He sets down his clipboard on the edge of your bed, pulling up a rolling chair and sitting down in front of you. “I’m going to have you breathe with me for a minute, alright, sweetheart?”

It’s not in your nature to contradict professionals, but you feel your head shaking as if from somewhere outside of yourself. “Why?” you ask. “Aren’t there more important things?”

“There are still things left to do,” he allows, seeming unaffected by your questioning, “but you’re stable. It’s nothing that can’t wait for a few minutes, and it’s important that you’re calm so you can think properly.” He takes your hands in his, ignoring the odd padding of the splint around your broken wrist and holding your fingertips instead. “All I need from you is for you to copy my breathing. Can you do that for me?”

You nod. As he starts to talk you through it, your eyes begin to sting, an effect of his gentle tone or the respite your body has been craving or both. Your doctor’s expression doesn’t change when he sees the silver lining your eyes, but he gives your fingertips a light squeeze.

“Okay, in for eight this time,” he says in that lulling voice. “Good job, just keep at it.”

You manage to breathe in for long enough to satisfy him, and after the exhale he drops your hands.

“Well done,” he murmurs, mindful of the small cuts on your face as he thumbs away your tears. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. The word comes out like a sigh, and his lip curves softly at the plain relief in the sound.

“Happy to hear it. You were right earlier, there’s still plenty left to do,” he says, expression sombering somewhat as he looks at you intently, “but if you ever need a break, you tell me or someone else, okay? I don’t want you suffering in silence.”

“Okay.” You wet your lips, feeling much more solid than you had a few minutes before. The world has slowed to its regular speed. “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

He smiles, which is altogether too charming for a place like this. It makes the long scar going across his cheek crinkle slightly and you could swear his eyes lighten a shade. “Well, see, that’s how I know you weren’t really with me when you came in, because we’ve already been introduced.” His expression lets you know he hasn’t taken any offense, but your face still heats at your impoliteness. “It’s Doctor Lupin, but you can call me Remus.”

Something in you rings at this new knowledge, like a tuning fork has been struck. Remus, your consciousness echoes quietly.

His smile softens. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other today.”

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respectthepetty · 3 days

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Y'all can thank @negrowhat and @27vampyresinhermind for this post because I wasn't going to watch Wandee Goodday until Wednesday, but here I am clowning while traveling with color-coded boys in love.

First, starting the episode with 69 and the yellow bananas on the purple boxers is the way I want all my shows to begin.

Especially because I feel the yellow bananas are going to be a thing for BD Yellow Yal Yak.

Next, I am fully on Team No-Kiss-on-the-Lips-until-the-Finale, so Yak being so comfortable with Dee to kiss him goodbye is the small crumbs I need to survive.

Since Yak is subtly making his way behind Dee's walls and the colors tell us this since Dee now has a little yellow light in his room by the TV.

It wasn't there before he decided to be Friends-with-Benefits with Yak.

And it's nice because as others have pointed out, Yak and Dee do seem to be actual "Friends" with benefits.

They fix things for each other, like Yak fixing the broken heart light that Dee was too busy to properly care for.

They call each other and know when the other is not doing well, but they also don't push each other to share.

And they also match colors.

Which reminds me - Is this plum, like dark purple, or brown?

Because what Ter is wearing is clearly brown, but the poster of them is purple, so I just think that Dee is already destined to win this scholarship.

But he won't go abroad

Because he will realize he is right where he needs to be.

And I think it was reinforced by Yak not taking the necklace back.

So even though Yellow Yak initially said no to fake dating and broke off their friends-with -benefits arrangement, he still allowed Dee to carry a part of him around.

And his brother and Cher understand how important that is because Yak easily handed over his name even though he fears having a public relationship. Also, I still think the brother is a Blue Boy because he is loyal and stable, but I need a moment to figure this out (when I've had more than three hours of sleep).

The boundaries and the colors are quickly shifting because Yak was black last episode and Dee was white, but this episode, as they go back-and-forth over this fake dating possibility, they switch colors.

But Dee is still a Purple Prince with his purple boxing gloves, purple hand wraps, and Yak pointing out that homeboy *should* be rich.

So even though Dee leaves in a huffy state and in blue, he is highlighted by purple lighting.

Which Yak absorbs when he decides to take Dee's hand and helps Dee cross the obstacle, together.

Which leads to Yak giving into Dee's request as he is highlighted by the yellow lights in the background.

He commits to the bit and shows up to the hospital with the purple-wrapped flowers.

And seems to fit right into Dee's life as both match the background of Dee's apartment.

Sidenote: It will never not please me that Dee's apartment building was colored purple.

So that little yellow light in the beginning of the episode to show how Yak has slowly started to integrate himself into Dee's life turns into a full-on yellow lighting attack.

They may be fake dating, but the feelings are about to be real.

And it's not because Dee is wearing Yak's yellow next week (with Yak wearing Dee's fake blue).

But because Yak has this blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of realizing he can't distinguish between the fake and real.

"Stay True" to yourself and your feelings, Yak!

#the colors mean things #color coded boys in love #wandee goodday #this makes sense to me #but I'm lacking sleep and I was partying so does it actually make sense?#all's I know is Yak is in deep already #he doesn't realize it yet #but it's gonna hit him soon #let the record show - I'm Team Yak #because I truly believe Dee will unintentionally hurt my boy #and regardless of what Yak does‚ I'm on his side

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earl-grey-teacake · 15 hours

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Love the new headcanons for the Baby!Loscar au!! Though the second Logan and Oscar start walking they are going to need leashes or they're going to runaway to find their best friend and get lost in the paddock

Thank you!!!

They will absolutely be leash kids. Kids are curious by nature and they want to explore the world around them with no understanding of consequences. Sure, some may frown upon it saying children aren’t dogs but they are people who have never had a child run into the direction of an oncoming vehicle.

Logan and Oscar are adventurous and bold, which is great for karting. It is not great for their parents’ blood pressure. There is a limit of how many times Oscar or Logan can book it out of hospitality before someone puts their foot down. Learning how to walk is one thing but walking and being able to open the doors of their rooms and playpens is another.

At the first the parents frowned upon it with Carlos and George saying their children were not dogs. That sentiment quickly changed when Logan booked it across the parking lot and almost gets hit by Toto’s Mercedes. Now since it was a parking lot, the car speed tends to be slower but that did not help anyone’s blood pressure that day.

So Logan and Oscar get little leash backpacks, bear and koala respectively. Logan tries to fight it like all toddlers do, kicking, yelling, rolling on the ground but his parent’s will not budge. He does give up, and relents to bring on a leash. No matter how cutely Logan begs and clings, neither James nor Toto or Jenson will free him from it.

Oscar does not kick or scream but he will lie on the floor in protest until his parent pick him up and carry him. He also gives in once he realizes no one will take pity on him. He has tried to run to Williams a couple times but was stopped by McLaren staff and Andrea Stella who carried him back like a sack of potatoes.

The other drivers vary on levels of amusement. Alonso and Max find it hilarious, especially when the kids try to book it while attached to the leash. Lewis feels bad for the kids but he was there when Logan almost got hit by Toto’s car so he doesn’t feel that bad. Charles almost frees them a couple times because they plead with him to but is quickly stopped by others.

Thank you for the ask!!! I know it took me a while to answer 😅

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #logan sargeant #galex #alex albon #george russell #lando norris #carlando #carlos sainz #baby!logan #baby!loscar au #baby!oscar #Toto James and Jenson: I care about you and I want you to be happy but no the leash stays on until you learn to not run in front of cars #Charles: oh maybe I can let you go a little please don’t cry #Carlos: don’t fall for it. he’ll run the moment you let him go. and Oscar stop begging Charles to free you #Andrea Stella: let’s go Oscar *Oscar is laying on the hospitality floor refusing to budge*

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unbreakabledawn · 24 hours

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The good part about being injured was the popsicle.

The bad part was literally everything else. Dick's chest hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, worse than any bruise or scrape or bump from the numerous falls he'd gone through at Haly's, during practice for a show, or playing outside, climbing trees and vaulting across playgrounds. Never bad enough to need to go to a hospital, just band-aids and warm wash cloths and ice packs.

We should tattoo a band-aid on you, it would save us time and money, his dad would say every time Dick scraped his knee, which was every other week. And his mom would brush the hair back from his forehead, kiss his cheek with a warm hum, and sneak him a popsicle even though it was Wednesday and he wasn't allowed sweets on weekdays.

Another pang of pain flared in Dick's chest, and it wasn't his ribs this time.

And Bruce freaking poking right where the pain was at its worst did not help at all.

"Ow," Dick yelped, scowling at Bruce.

"I'm sorry. I need to examine you." Bruce continued pressing gentle fingers to Dick's side, moving along the bones and the edges of the blooming bruise. "Is it hard to breathe?"

"No," Dick said, lips wrapped around his strawberry popsicle. "Just hurts a little. If I breathe deep."

"Where does it hurt the most? Here, or here?"

Dick used his free hand to trace the throbbing center of pain. Bruce nodded and reached for his hand, slipping a small plastic clip with a tiny screen onto his finger. "Um, what's that?" Dick asked, watching numbers appear on the screen of the clip.

"Pulse oximeter. It measures the oxygen saturation in your blood." Bruce was now pulling a stethoscope out of a set of drawers. He'd shown Dick how to use one a few weeks ago, slipped the ear pieces into Dick's ears and placed the little disc on his chest so Dick could hear the slow, steady drum of his heart. Bruce was leaning forward to place it on Dick's chest now.

"Can you at least wait until I've finished my popsicle?" Dick said, sullen, trying not to squirm as the cold metal slid across his chest while Bruce told him when to breathe.

"You can multitask. It's a useful skill to have. Lean forward," Bruce instructed, and repeated the procedure on Dick’s back.

"I'm okay," Dick said, because Bruce was the one acting like he'd crashed straight into a concrete ledge instead of Dick. He'd been practicing hand flips in the garden, and he'd stumbled on a cracked tile and fallen and hit the side of his chest on a stone flower bed. Ugh, how embarassing. His first injury after he moved in with Bruce, and it wasn't even as Robin! And still, Bruce had whisked him down to the Batcave's medbay, promising him a popsicle in exchange for being allowed to check him out.

"Yes. I just want to make sure," Bruce said, worried frown still firmly in place. He was scrawling notes on a chart, because he was a freak like that and needed to document the fact that Dick was clumsy enough to get himself injured playing in the garden.

Dick sighed and licked off the last bit of the popsicle, and the juice that had dripped onto his fingers.

The sound of something large being wheeled closer made Dick freeze. He looked up towards Bruce, who was bringing some sort of machine to the gurney Dick was laying down on.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, alarm bells ringing in his head over the whirring and humming of the strange machine.

"This is a portable x-ray device," Bruce explained while he manipulated the machine into position. "I need to take an x-ray of your chest."

X-ray? That’s what they used for broken bones, wasn’t it? Crap, did that mean he broke his ribs?

“But I’m fine,” Dick said, trying and failing not to let his panic bleed into his voice. “I don’t need it.”

Bruce paused, hands on the handles of the machine’s head pointing it towards Dick’s chest. He peered down at Dick. “It’s just an x-ray. It’ll take me two minutes.”

“You don’t need to,” Dick said, accidentally raising his voice. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Dick,” Bruce said gently. He hesitantly put a hand on Dick’s reached forward to brush the hair off Dick’s forehead. “It won’t hurt, you won’t feel a thing. It’s like a big camera that lets us look inside your chest.”

Dick stared up at what must be the lens of the camera. He bit his lip. It didn’t look like it would hurt. “How does it work?”

“This”—he touched the head of the machine—“sends out x-ray beams. They go through your body and this plate catches them, creating an image.” He held up a wide, black plate. “So I need to place this under your chest.”

“What are x-ray beams?”

“We can do a radiation physics lesson tomorrow, if you like. For now I need you to lean forward for me.”

He did, and let Bruce place the cold, hard plate behind his back. It wasn’t comfortable, but Bruce had said two minutes. He could handle two minutes.

Bruce put on some sort of black apron, and attached a broad collar around his neck. “Lead protection,” he explained to Dick, and then he was standing back and held up a remote that looked like the trigger to a bomb. “Ready?”

He nodded.

“Breathe in.” A buzz and a louder whirr. “And we’re done.”

Dick opened his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh. That wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, leaning forward again so Bruce could remove the plate and put away the equipment. "So,” Dick said once Bruce returned to his bedside. “Are my ribs broken?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Bruce was writing something down in the chart, but the line between his eyebrows was the familiar I'm-Concentrating frown instead of a Oh-My-God-You're-Hurt frown, so Dick felt more annoyed than upset for the moment.

"What?! What do you mean you don't know? What was the freaking point then?"

"I needed to check your lungs. Rib fractures can be hard to see or even undetectable on chest x-rays."

"Oh. So my lungs are okay, then?"

"As far as I can tell. I'm no radiologist."

Dick rolled his eyes. Good thing Bruce wasn't a doctor, because his bedside manners sucked. "Hmph. Well, you owe me another popsicle. Since I let you do an x-ray on me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Dick just barely caught the quirk of his mouth before he smoothed out his expression again. "You drive a hard bargain, chum. Strawberry or pear?"

"Strawberry. Duh."

a/n: this is 50% due to @froizetta asking me about rib fractures for her fic, and 50% due to a patient i had last week: a young girl around dick's age who started sobbing as soon as i called her name for her exam, and who continued loudly sobbing throughout the two minutes it took to take a single x-ray of her hand. she was terrified, hospitals and medical tools and big machines can be scary to little kids! i work with a large variety of patient groups and kids are definitely the ones i struggle the most with, so this writing exercise also has professional merit (<- me making excuses for self-indulgent fic)

#the genius of posting this on tumblr is that i don't have to come up with a title #my fic #dawn post #robin #dick grayson #batman #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #fan fic #fan fiction #ficlet #postfic

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d33pd3sire-blog · 2 days

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The Air That I Breathe Part 2

The long awaited part 2! Lemme know if you want a part 3 :)

This is an Emily Prentiss x F!Reader. Angsty, with a happy ending.

Warnings: Injurys, reader goes nonverbal, hospital environment, mention of blood, IV, breathing tube, bruises. Let me know if I've missed anything out.

Id just like to mention that I don't have autism or anything related but I do tend to stop talking when I'm stressed or experience things that can be traumatic, and this is how I feel when that happens so I do not claim to be an expert in this area

Character count: 8865, bit of a long one haha

Any suggestions are always welcome! Please enjoy :)

*--*--*--*--*--*

Soft beeping is ringing in your ears as your mind starts to clear, although you have no idea where you are. Numbness starting to wear off, causing you to groan in pain. Why does everything hurt? You think. Once the event flashes through your mind you remember. All of it. Your eyes shot open, the room spinning and your mind running at a million miles a second. Where am I? Where's Reid? What happened to the others? You try to get up from the bed you're laying on but something heavy is holding you down. Your eyes and ears start to finally adjust to the world around you and you notice Hotch's arms holding you down. He's repeating 'Calm down. You're okay. You need to stop moving.' You're still a little confused, 'I.. I need to help them!' you croaked. Hotch grabs your face, 'Look at me. They're alive.' Those words repeat in your head, keeping you grounded. Theyre alive. 'They're hurt but they're alive. If you hadn't of called us when you did it could've been a lot worst.' You barely let him finish before spitting out 'I need to see them.' Hotch shakes his head at you. 'Not right now, you need to rest.' You roll your eyes at him, how can he say that? 'I can't rest.' You spit at him. He ignores the attitude, he knows its not directed at him specifically. 'I promise as soon as you're able I will take you to see them.' Your expression softens, you know there's no point in arguing with him. Your body relaxes, Hotch releasing his grip.

*--*--*--*--*--*

Your eyes blink open, great. I fell asleep. You think. You look around, squinting at the harsh light to see that no one is here. This is actually perfect. You hatch a plan in your head, the hope of seeing the others at the forefront of your mind. You take a breath, gripping the handles at the side of your bed and lift yourself up. The pain causing you to groan, but you push through. The heart rate monitor attached to your chest is ripped off, causing the machine to flatline. You roll your eyes before switching it off. 'Thats enough of that' you scoff. Once your legs are ready to step down, you grab your IV pole to keep you up. That's the hardest part over with, you thought. As you start to walk, your legs feel stiff and crackly, making you hiss in pain. I can do this. You check the coast is clear from your room's window, before slipping out. Now, to go left or right? You look towards each direction, trying to decide which one calls you the most. Choosing left, you stumble to the next door from your room. As you take a peak in the window, your eyes gaze upon a sleeping Spencer with a slight smile on his face. Maybe he's dreaming. Your eyes drift to Garcia sitting in the chair next to him, seeming to play a game on her laptop. The sight makes you smile internally, he's okay.

A few seconds go by and you know he is going to be okay, so you move along to find the other two. Your feet is sore but you tell yourself to keep going. Luckily, the next room wasn't too far from Reid's. You approach the next room, finding Morgan reading this weeks American Health and Fitness Magazine. Some relief fills your heart when your eyes settle on him. He looks up, smiling, and waving you in. You use this opportunity to enter his room. 'Hey mama. You look like you've been hit by a bomb.' You attempt to laugh. 'Are you.. okay?' He smiles, 'Of course I am, i'm always okay.' You put your arm on your hip and give him a look. 'I'm serious, those cuts on your face don't seem fine.' 'I promise you, if something was seriously wrong id tell you. Just some smoke inhalation, Emily had the worst of it.' His face drops, realising what he said. 'Shit.' He could tell by your face that your heart had sank. 'Look-' 'Where is she?' You interrupted. 'I don't think that's a good I-' He tries to calm you down. 'I don't care what you think, where the hell is she??' He notices that you aren't backing down, and nods his head to the right. 'Just past your room, but I wouldn't mama.' You ignore him and walk out of his room.

The adrenaline pumping through your veins, the pain from earlier is at the furthest part of your mind. Not needing the IV pole to keep you up anymore, you rip the needle out and leave it hanging there. You couldn't care about anything except Emily right now. Your mind is racing, expecting the worst. You finally reach her room and you hesitate with your hand on the handle of the door. Morgan in your head telling you not to. 'I told you to rest.' you jump, turning to face the voice. Hotch is looking at you with worry. He takes your arm and wipes the blood you didn't notice from the ex needle site. 'You're not ready to be up and walking.' Your eyes start to water before practically begging, 'Hotch, I need to see her.' He looks at you, using his annoying profiler eyes. 'Please.' He sighs, before saying 'Fine. But before you do I need to tell you that she's doing okay, she's improving. Just remember that before you see her.' His words give you chills. How bad is she? you think. You take a deep breath before turning the handle and limping in.

The sight you walked in on was nothing like you had expected. Purple bruises swirled on one side of her face, you can tell which side the blast met her on. Your eyes trailed to the tube in her throat, helping her to breath. You take a sharp breath in, realising you had been holding your breath the whole time. 'Oh em..' You hobble to her side, hesitating slightly before taking her hand in yours. The touch between you and her forces the tears you've been holding to fall. Before you know it you're sobbing, your legs finally giving out. Hotch pulls you into him, trying to calm you down. He lifts you from the floor and carries you back to your room. He tries to comfort you, but there's only so much he can do.

A few hours later and the crying subsides, you're exhausted. The image of Emily imprinted in the back of your eyes. Every time you close your eyes, you're back in that room staring at Emily and the tube in her mouth. She can't breath on her own. How did we not predict this happening? How did I not predict this happening? The amount of time I spent reading through the file, profiling every inch of the unsub and yet we still got hurt. While your mind is racing, you didn't even realise JJ had entered the room. She asked you how you were but when you thought about replying there was no energy to say anything. The idea of even talking was too overwhelming right now so you just nodded. Anything else she said went in one ear and out the other. You weren't ignoring her per say, you just could not stop thinking about Emily. You're such an idiot, what if she dies and you never told her you loved her? Will you ever get the chance? You eventually fall asleep, not caring how long for. You just needed to rest and not be awake for a while.

*--*--*--*--*--*

Your eyes blink open, surprisingly you didn't dream. It felt like nothing, but a good nothing. Garcia is sitting on the chair opposite you, playing, you're assuming, the same game on her laptop from Reids room. Once you try to move, your whole body feels like it hasn't moved in hours. You groan. Garcia shoots up from her chair 'Oh my god! You're awake! How do you feel? Are you okay? Ill get the doctor.' You grab her hand before she leaves, holding it. Needing her to ground you, even if it only helps a little. She looks back, watching. your face for any changes. 'Hey, I have some good news.' You look at her, furrowing your brows. 'Emily is breathing on her own now. She doesn't need the tube anymore.' She smiles at you with this grin, like everything in the world is okay. There's a slight relief, she's doing better. But she still isn't awake. You grip the bar next to you, determined to get up. Garcia getting worried. 'Oh baby, don't get up you've been asleep for 18 hours. You need to pace yourself.' 18 hours?? You look at her in disbelief, although you feel well rested, you still haven't got the energy to say anything. 'Your body needed the rest, you still need more. What you went through was traumatic and horrific, please don't push yourself even more than you have.' You muster up all the energy you can find to force out 'I.. I need to.. See her.' you croaked. Garcia is shocked at how determined you are. 'Fine, ill help you. I don't like it! But there's no stopping you is there?' You shake your head, giving her the best smile you can muster. 'Stay here. Ill get you a wheelchair.'

The anxiety in your stomach starts to bubble as Penelope pushes you closer and closer to Emilys room. What if she doesn't wake up? What if she does wake up but her brain is all damaged? What if?- The door opens and you're pushed to the side of Emilys bed. Your eyes start to tear up again when you see her. What is it about this woman that always seems to push me over the edge? You take her hand in yours and rest your head on an empty bit of her bed. Tears are falling slowly, but you're just glad to be here with her. Please come back - you think. There's so much I haven't told you and so much we haven't done yet. 'Ill leave you alone for a while' Pen says, getting a feeling this isn't just a friendly exchange. You sit there for what feels like hours, silently begging Emily to come back. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep again, the scent of her always calmed you down.

*--*--*--*--*--*

You felt hands playing with your hair, you humming at the touch. You open your eyes slightly, forgetting where you were for a split second until it all became clear again. You sat up with such haste, it made Emily jump slightly. 'Did you know you kind of snore when you sleep?' She smiled at you. The disbelief and excitement of Emily being awake and making sense has you shooting up to hug her. As you wrap your arms around her your eyes tear up again. She's awake! You notice Emily wrapping her arms around your waist, sending a shock up your spine. Once you both eventually release, she realises you're crying. 'Hey.. hey, love what's wrong?' You look at her with such love and relief it finally gives you the courage to confess your deepest secret with her. 'I thought you were gonna die. I thought I wouldn't be able to tell you the things I've always wanted to tell you.' She looks at you with attentiveness. 'I love you Emily. I always have and I always will. Every time I look at you I think I fall a little more in love if that's even possible? The only thing keeping me from falling apart completely has been you. Even if you were unconscious.' Emily starts to tear up, hearing you confess your feelings. Before anyone could say anything else, Emily grabs your face and pulls you closer to her, pressing her lips to yours. Your shoulders release the tension you didn't know you were harbouring this whole time and relaxes. Your whole body feels like fireworks are going off, you could stay like this forever. Emily pulls away and lifts your chin to look into her eyes. 'You're the best thing that has, and ever will, happen to me. I love you.'

#agent prentiss #bau #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #lesbian

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johnwickb1tsch · 23 hours

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Excessive Force : a Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE AMAAAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘) - Chapter FOURTEEN ---> (all chapters)

trigger warnings: mention of police shooting, child trafficking, past childhood trauma, abuse, etc. plz take care!

“Are you serious?!” You have to move the phone away from your ear to avoid a blown drum from Sheila’s screech.

“Yup.”

“Okay, why don’t you sound as excited as me?”

“I’m nervous. He’s really forward. And, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” That didn’t end horribly… You’ve decided not to count the fiasco with Julian. You’re in your room, fingering through the limited collection of nice clothes in your closet. You briefly debate wearing a turtleneck and thick linen pants just to piss him off. But, also, there’s that little sundress you bought at the mall that you’ve never gotten a chance to wear… The pretty, soft color would pair very nicely with your silky cream bra and panty set—that you also have never worn. You’re starting to re-think the whole not being a prude thing.

Plus, it’s hot outside.

Sheila pulls you from your search. “Listen, if he tries anything, just kick him in the dick. Works every time.”

“He’s like eight feet tall. I don’t know if I can reach his dick… with my feet.”

You both giggle.

“That’s why they make step stools.”

“Like, for that exact reason?”

Sheila’s one of those people that has proven to be supportive. You met her on a bus tour your first week in LA and have been buddies ever since. It works perfectly since you both have hectic work schedules and don’t really expect anything from the other one. She calls you for drinks, you call her for lunch. Sympatico.

“Obviously. So, he’s tall. Is he hot?”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth when you think back to his bare, bruised body on your exam table, those mile long, strong thighs that caged you in and felt more like they belonged to an Amazon Boa rather than a man.

“Okay, that silence either means hell yes or hell no, so which is it?” You hear the grin in Sheila’s voice.

“First one.”

You end up telling her about his persistent hospital visits, him pulling you over, maybe omitting some—okay, no, a lot of the details just so she doesn’t want to kill him just yet. You also haven’t told her about the Julian debacle–or that Tom basically rescued you.

You also leave out that he just happens to be the new superhero on every news channel right now. You’re still processing that yourself, and it’s not boding well for you keeping your cool with this man.

As it turned out, it was the news that informed you of Officer Tom Ludlow’s whereabouts those lonely night’s you’d missed him harassing you on that lonely stretch of highway. He wasn’t ignoring you. He was rescuing two teenage girls who had been kidnapped and trafficked by a gang. According to the report, Ludlow had entered the house after hearing a cry for help, alone, and gunned down every single one of the gangbangers before setting the girls free.

Parts of this story should have alarmed you, but there had been a time in your past when you would have given anything for a person of authority to ride to your rescue, red tape be damned. How many times had the cops come to your house for a domestic disturbance between your parents, and left you in a bad situation because of some legal technicality or another? How had they seen you, scared and dirty, cowering in the doorway, and left you behind? The horrors you could have told them, if only they’d cared to ask without your parents there to overhear and threaten you, but every time until the last time, they’d just left you in the hellhole that had been your childhood home.

How different your life—your sister’s lives—would have been if you had a Thomas Ludlow back then.

The twin girls’ MISSING posters and billboards were all over the city. Most anyone with the power to do something had given up on them as a lost cause, just another sad story, written them off as tragically probably dead in a gutter, but not Ludlow. Ludlow had risked his neck (and possibly his badge, because you’d heard of the old “I heard a cry for help” trick to gain entry, and it was almost always code for “I didn’t have a warrant, what are you going to do about it?”, to get them out, and goddammit if that didn’t just warm you to your toes and soften your heart.

Worse yet, you feel like the biggest asshole for calling him a fraud, to his face, the night after it all went down. He’d just taken it on the chin, and he still asked you out.

Ok, he technically extorted you, but it just doesn’t feel as sinister now as it had last night. He’d been bold, and borderline needy for some human tenderness, and fuck if you didn’t understand all too well why now.

Now, rather than having to keep yourself from tearing him a new one, you were afraid you were going to have to restrain yourself from crawling into his lap at the first opportunity, and fucking his brains out for being such a goddamed hero.

“Oh, he’s a freak!” Despite saying this, she sounds like she’s twirling her hair and kicking her feet.

You snort. “He’s got..uh…nice hands.”

You decide on the sundress and the bra-panty set, but you don’t bother laying them out in preparation, because you’re still telling yourself that this isn’t that big of a deal and you’re not that invested and that if Tom Ludlow kisses you, you won’t burst into flames.

You want to take a bath, leave some scent of those seldom used lavender lemon oils lingering on your skin, but decide against it.

No. Actually. You’re doing it. Taking a nice, warm, spiced soak, rubbing lotion over every piece of you except the very sensitive bits, shimmying into the undergarments. The panties end up being cheekier than you like, but your butt looks cute, and the dress covers everything pretty good, anyway—well, everything that matters.

After putting your hair up in a messy bun and throwing some mascara on, you’re ready for—actually, who the fuck are you kidding, you are the opposite of ready. Borderline panicking at the thought of this man coming to pick you up and taking you out and putting on his lewd charm and ruining this cute underwear.

By the time he buzzes downstairs, it’s too late to decide on another pair of shoes. You have to live with sandals—with the fact that he might just look down and get a full, unfiltered view of your toes curling when he opens his pretty mouth.

You’re totally fucked, here.

You think it again when you open the door, finding his lean form all in black, leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets and his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s already thinking about eating you up. You literally feel it as his eyes look you up and down, from your messy bun to your pink painted toes. It’s been two seconds, and already you are soaked between your thighs.

Doomed. You are just fucking doomed, and a part of you is just ready to surrender, because it takes so much goddamn energy to fight your attraction to this man. You can feel it like live electricity crackling over your skin.

Of course, there’s that other part of you that wants to run right back up those stairs and lock yourself away from this gorgeous devil.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Your mouth opens to reply, but your brain takes a few seconds to catch up, utterly short circuited by how ridiculously handsome he is in his black button down, his dark pants belted low on his hips, those big feet in black boots. It’s a little strange, seeing him without his badge or his gun on his hip–but you can work with this.

“Hi,” you answer, scathingly clever as ever.

“Ready to go?”

You’d brought down your purse, to avoid inviting him into the private sanctuary that is your little shoebox of an apartment, but now you almost regret it.

“Yeah. Where are we going?” You step out the door, but he doesn’t move back, relishing your close proximity with a smirk. But there is a new softness in his brown eyes as he looks down at you that makes you a little weak in your knees. He reaches up to touch your cheek, feather light, and it boggles your mind how this man can be such a beast, and yet so gentle when he wants to be.

“You’ll see.” You narrow your eyes at him, but for once, it’s more playful than fueled by annoyance. “Relax,” he says, his shapely mouth dancing as he suppresses a smile. “You’re in good hands, honey.”

You don’t even flinch, as he drives this final nail into your coffin, the wave of desire inspired by the thought of those oh-so-capable hands and what they just might do to you tonight buzzing down your spine. This is how you die–you are strangely, almost, ok with it.

When he has you safely ensconced in the passenger seat of his sleek black Charger you look over at him, his long arm draped over the wheel as he navigates the hostile environment of LA traffic like a shark patrolling a reef. “So…I saw you on the news last night.”

He lifts one of those dark brows, though his expression remains otherwise unreadable. “Haven’t really looked at what they’re saying,” he admits, like he’s used to the media getting the details wrong towards their own ends.

“They said that you saved two underaged girls that were being traffiked?”

His mouth turns down, and you wonder if you’ve killed the happy vibe of the evening so soon with your nosy questions. But then again–you need to know. It’s a gnawing curiosity in your gut not just for the events that transpired, but the man who orchestrated them. Who you are currently alone in a car with, so you reason you have a right to know.

“Yeah,” he simply answers, not keen to crow his own praises.

“And you…killed all those guys?”

He gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his soul. You sense a weariness in him that he’s never shown on the outside before.

“Yeah.” A long silence draws out between you, before he adds, “They were very bad dudes, y/n. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You can’t exactly say that you’re not–but ironically, the news of him shooting down those gangsters really has nothing to do with it.

“I’m not. I mean–if they were abusing those girls, then they deserved it.”

He looks you over then, an appraising look as though you’ve given him some new information about your character. Maybe information you didn’t exactly mean to give away, but it’s out there now. He’s going think you’re a kindred spirit–or a blood thirsty gremlin.

Either way, you don’t really want to discuss why you sympathize with those girls, and with him.

“Are you okay?”

This question seems to take him aback, like he truly wasn’t expecting it. He’s surely used to being a pillar of stoic manhood, but you know this shit takes its toll. “Yeah. I’m fine, sweetheart. Thanks.”

You eye his hand resting on the center console, and a part of you very badly wants to reach out to him and take it. Almost as though he can sense it, or maybe because he wants it as badly as you do, he holds out his hand palm up in invitation. It’s possible you stare at that hand for a beat too long, his wide calloused palm and long blunt fingers. Long enough that he tries to play it off, starting to take it back, before you quickly lace your fingers with his. The way he smiles to himself sends warmth blooming all the way to your toes, and you’re glad he’s driving because they do, indeed, curl in your sandals.

You give him a little squeeze, relishing the way your hand feels so tiny and protected in his own, and say, genuinely, “I’m sorry. For calling you a fake cop.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’ve heard worse from people that aren’t half as pretty as you.”

You want to fight with him on that—scoff, roll your eyes—but you just can’t, because as much as that small, whiny part of your brain tells you he’s lying, the bigger, rational part absolutely knows just by the sincerity in his tone that he thinks you really are a pretty, sublime creature.

“But I still kinda think you’re a jerk,” you half tease.

“Mmmm, what happened to that feisty little thing I know? She change into a cute sundress and suddenly become sweet?”

You are loathe to admit the real reason for your change of heart.

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “Bet I can make you sweet.”

You’re a total idiot for what comes out of your mouth, and your underwear is the one that will more than likely end up paying for this mindless insolence. “How?”

He brings your hand up to his mouth, lips brushing over the thin skin of your knuckles, sending a spear of desire through your arm and into the rest of your body. You make a tiny choked noise when his tongue peeks a taste of your skin, going unfocused and fuzzy, radio static and full throttle cavewoman.

He kisses the center of your hand, then murmurs, “With sugar, silly girl.”

It's not only the panties that pay a high price, but also your throbbing heart, pleasantly tense and hot and full of desire.

He must find your slack jaw and blank stare immensely entertaining, because he’s laughing low and soft, rumbling in delight.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine.” There has never been a more heinous lie uttered in this entire state.

You’re fairly new to LA, but you soon realize from your surroundings that he’s taking you to the Santa Monica Pier.

You are thanking the universe and the gods when you arrive at your destination. Five more minutes—hell, seconds—trapped in that car with him and you would have climbed into his lap and started barking.

When he swings into a parking space designated just for Law Enforcement you turn to him with a lifted brow, as though to say, Abuse your authority much?

But you already know the answer to that. This date is a product of it. And so far…it’s not so bad.

“Do you like fish tacos?” He asks, keeping your hand and massaging that bulky thumb over your wrist.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you made a reservation?” you taunt him.

“No reservation,” he informs you with a quirk of his mouth. “But the manager owes me a favor.”

He waves around the busy avenue and beach walk bustling with people, peppered with colorful shops and restaurants of every kind. “Pretty sure we can find you something you like, if Mexican food with an ocean view isn’t your thing…” He says it with a smirk, and you’re seriously not sure if you want to kiss this man or smack him. Maybe both, but save it for later, sings out the little devil on your shoulder before you can tell it to shut the fuck up.

Good lord.

You’ve heard of the restaurant–and that it’s famously hard to get into. You wonder if his connection is a product of a favor for a good deed, or a bit of blackmail. Maybe a little bit of both. You’re finding more and more that it’s hard to put this man in a single box.

“Honestly…?” You make him wait for it, and you can tell your effort to put this confident man on the spot only half succeeds, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “That sounds pretty amazing.”

This evil, evil gentleman. He opens your door for you, helps you out of the car, stands patiently while you fix your dress, only half looks at your exposed thighs before you pull the hem down and cover them up again.

Then, he threads his arm with yours and leads you onto the pier. You can’t believe you’ve never taken the initiative to come here before. It’s beautiful, lit up like a modern carnival of neon lights.

“Oh, can we go on the Ferris wheel?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Let’s get some food in you, and then we can do whatever you want.” He really needs to stop being so…caring. It’s seriously starting to mess up your insides.

You turn into a fascinated kid as you walk down the salt coated slice of wood built out over the ocean, looking this and that way, pointing things out, mentioning possible after-dinner activities. You feel like you’re getting annoying, but Tom just seems amused by your sunburned tourist behavior.

You pass by a little shooting booth with huge stuffed bunnies hanging from the rack, and he must see the way you’re ogling them, so he leans down close to your ear. “I could win you one of those?”

You grin back up at him. “I can win you one.”

“Oh? Little sharpshooter?”

It sounds like he doesn’t believe you, so you stick your tongue out at him between smiling lips.

He pokes your forehead in retaliation. “Anybody ever tell you how fucking cute you are?”

The restaurant lives up to its popularity and then some. It takes a while to get here, but you just know it’s worth every foot blister when they sit you down and immediately serve a popped bottle of iced sparkling water and delicious, warm salsa and chips.

You made it just in time to catch the purple orange sun sinking below ocean level, and the front row seats really just make the view that much more spectacular. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if a dolphin jumped from the water, illuminated by the dying sun, just like in the movies.

“This is… amazing.” You grab some tortilla chips to munch on while he pours you both glasses of the fancy water. “Have you ever been here before?”

“Once.” He doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t want to push the issue, but you can tell there’s some kind of ache behind that simple word.

“Okay, so you’re obviously not from LA—where are you from?” He leans over the table a bit, curious.

“Kansas.”

He opens his mouth, but you stop him because you already know what he’s going to say.

“Don’t do it.” You point a warning finger at him, giggling like an idiot.

“God, but I really want to,” he groans.

“So,” you say, taking another bite of chip. “Why did you become a cop?”

“You start with the heavy questions, huh?” he teases you. “Thought I was the one who was trained in interrogation?”

You suppose he’s right, considering your earlier line of inquiry in the car. But you shrug in response. Considering how you ended up here, you see no reason to tiptoe around things. “Just curious.”

He offers up an easy smile, letting you know you didn’t offend him. “Well, I actually always wanted to be a dentist.”

You snort with disbelief, trying to imagine this man’s bedside manner. But then, dentists do get to cause people a lot of pain… “Ok. Maybe that tracks.”

“I’m fucking with you,” he informs you with a smirk.

You do your best to appear annoyed, and fear you fail at it badly. “Guess it’s not hard to imagine you pulling teeth, is all.”

He huffs at that. “I always wanted to be a cop, since I was a kid. My old man was a detective. Killed in the line of duty. I guess I felt like I needed to pick up his unfinished business.”

You blink at that. You and your big fucking mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for his hand across the table. He curls his fingers with yours, playing with your aqua painted fingernails with his thumb.

“It’s alright. Happened a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, saying nothing.

“What about you? What made you want to be a nurse?”

You don’t really feel comfortable enough to tell him your whole coming-of-nurse story, so you give him the cut version: “when I was young and felt like I had no one, a nurse comforted me.”

“How young?”

“Ten.”

He winces. “Maybe I’ll get the full version of that story one day?”

There’s an epiphany, here, in this little restaurant with the comfy blue chairs, and it’s that Tom Ludlow scares you because he makes you feel something deep, deep inside your chest that you can’t even remember being there before he came along. Julian was easy, child’s play; although it stings, you’re writing him down as just another failed fling. You know if Ludlow gets his hands on your little sensitive heart, it will be a very different story.

You take a big drink of water to wash down the salty crunch. “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Being so…cold.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you are so cold. Gonna have to make it up to me.”

Warmth floods the top layers of your skin. “I already said I’d win you the bunny.”

You’re amazed at how easily he can transition back into a smooth, carnal beast. “I don’t know if that’s enough for me to forgive you.” The fake hurt in his tone should not make you squirm in your seat.

You bite like a dumb, good little fish should: “okay, then, how do I make it up to you, Officer Ludlow?”

You’re hoping to faze him with the sultry innocence of your tone, but it just fuels his devilish aura instead. “We can start with me turning you over my knee.”

You don’t have a retort, but your vagina absolutely does, and she gets you squirming in your seat.

He leans forward, knowing smile sure to be your undoing one way or another. “Would you like that?”

“Thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You challenge, trying to keep cool despite the blazing Ludlow heat.

“Who says spanking has to hurt? Dr. Bitch?”

You can’t help the giggle that rolls out of you, and he seems to find it entertaining that you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “No, Tom, believe it or not, I am a grown woman who has lived an experienced life.”

“And how was it?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“You know, when you asked one of your vanilla boyfriends to swat that gorgeous, plump ass a little bit? Just to see how it would feel.” He leans his chin on his palm, listening intently for your answer, and you think you might be on your way to spontaneous combustion.

How in the fuck can he just hit the nail right on the head like that? Know about parts of your life that you haven’t shared with anyone—not that there were many to share with. Are you really this readable?

Once again, he has your sharp tongue dulled with arousal and embarrassment, and you shift in the chair. “He did it, like, once and then stopped.”

“And did you like it?” He presses.

“Yes.”

He takes a little sip of his water, raising both dark brows over the glass at you. “Good to know.”

Tom recommends the margaritas and fish tacos, so you let him order for the both of you while admiring the view. You can’t decide which one you like better, his handsome face or the ocean scape.

As you are finishing your delicious dinner the last rays of the sunset are putting on a five star show for you, the sky painted that impossible deep blue and purple, the water shimmering like color-changing opals.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sigh, and you catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye with a softness you haven’t seen from him before. You get up the courage to meet his eyes, and he smiles at you, but for once not like he intends to eat you.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.”

“Goddammit.”

He laughs at that, a real belly laugh that makes you warm all over even without the aid of your two nursed margaritas. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to out shoot you for that little bunny now.”

This wins you more genuine laughter. “Alright, Annie Oakley. Lead the way.”

#tom ludlow #street kings #tom ludlow x you #excessive force street kings fic #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow x y/n #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #julian mercer x reader #julian mercer x you #keanu reeves x you

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lurafita · 1 day

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Evilist of all evil, Magnus the Evil

(Super crack)

Magnus was evil. The big bad. The evilist. The biggest, baddest most evilist around. Totally. Super evil, diabolical genius with magic who was gonna rule the world!!!

... right after he gets that little girl's kitten out of that tree.

Or, how a possibly slightly crazy-ish Magnus fails at being evil, and instead finds a familiy of choice and the love of his life, in these people he keeps accidentally helping out.

(Originally posted in a Malec Discord server, where one other member added this little jewel):

Magnus is like "But I needs to do the evil today?!?🥺"

Alec: "Umm…I saw you get up to help an old lady with the groceries not 10 minutes ago AFTER you were done feeding kittens on the street…?"

Magnus: "🥺 But…evillll"

Alec: What if you were evil to the bad guys?

Magnus: They're not bad they're just misunderstood 😔

Alec : 😒

(Which made me add this as well):

(Magnus saying the bad guys are misunderstood got my brain going like): Magnus: "Like those guys that kidnapped me earlier." Alec: "You were kidnapped?!" Magnus: "Yes, see, they lured me into this white panel van with promises of 'a good time'." Alec: "Hasn't anyone had the 'stranger danger' talk with you?!" Magnus: "Of course. I'm a danger to the stranger, because I'm evil. Now, back to the gentlemen in the van. As soon as I was close enough, three of them grabbed me and one tried to chloroform me. Which of course didn't work, because I'm much more evil and therefor stronger than them. So after I beat them, we had a long talk. Turns out they got me confused with some rich heir to some family fortune, who they wanted to ransom back to his parents for lots of money. Money which they then wanted to use to pay off the hospital bills for the kid of a dead friend of theirs. Turns out the widow is badly in debt because of that and might lose the house, and then she and the kid will be homeless. But you know how much can go wrong with kidnappings, especially of people who are very rich and well connected. And these guys clearly weren't cut out for that. So I helped them rob a bank instead." Alec: "…"

(And another)

Alec gets home one day to the sight of Magnus rocking a toddler on his lap. The toddler is giggling happily, inbetween sucking a big lolly pop. Magnus has a similar lolly pop between his lips. Alec is… concerned. Alec: "Magnus? Why is there a child?" Magnus: "Well, it all started with me stealing the lolly." Alec: "You stole candy from a kid?" Magnus: "It's the evilist thing one can do, so I had to. It's the law. Anyway, I swapped out the kids lolly with a new one, because I may be evil, but I'm not a monster. And then I realized that the kid's lolly had been poisoned." Alec: "Oh my god are you okay? Should I call Cat?" Magnus: "Don't worry, Darling. I'm much too evil for this weak kind of poison to affect me. But the kid would have bit the dust, no question. A little investigating then led me to the kid's uncle, who is the legal guardian of the little one, and tried to get rid of him to get his hands on the money the dead parents left the kid in their will. So then I sent the uncle to my father and stole the kid."

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters tv #malec #malec prompt #crack #cracky evil Magnus #can I tag it 'accidental baby acquisition' if there was nothing accidental about it? rofl #Magnus “I stole a lolly and then a baby” Bane #and Alec “whelp guess we have a kid now” Lightwood #Yes. I have a similar prompt like this.#I just have too much fun with this concept

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chattichat · 2 days

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I don’t understand why some people still insist on hating Abby so much. She step by step follows the same arch Joel does… all the reasons why we love Joels character is repeated with Abby’s. It makes me wonder if it’s just because he was such a beloved character and people are attached or that she’s a woman.

Don’t get me wrong I’ve loved Joel with my whole heart since I was 10 years old, and when I played part 2 for the first time I was distraught and really thought I hated Abby for what she did. Playing in her perspective, learning her story and why she did what she did, I came to love Abby as a character and understood her choices. So why can I, and so many others open up and accept her as what she is, an imperfect person who’s just been hurt… just like Joel, and some just refuse to?

Joel did so many awful things in his life, killed people, tortured them for information… it’s like a two edged sword and so much deeper then those people realize. Yes we love Joel, and there’s good reason for that, but can you simply deny the same characteristics in Abby because she killed him?

Joel killed Jerry without a second thought, he knew what he was doing. In that moment, instead of thinking about Ellies opinion, especially on her own life… he took her and lied to her FOR YEARS about what happened in that hospital. He could’ve demanded Jerry wake her up from the anesthesia and have him ask her for her consent before doing the surgery, it could’ve at least been a conversation especially because Jerry and Marlene didn’t exactly give Ellie that choice, which were flaws within their own characters, but Joel didn’t do that, instead, he did what he wanted to do, and that’s only one hypothetical I’ll give you on that subject.

Joel was selfish, just like Abby’s selfishness within her journey of revenge. Joel ignored anything Ellie had ever said or hinted at about how being the cure meant something to her, just as Abby was selfish after ignoring Owens reasonings not to go through with killing Joel and doing it anyway without really knowing of his life and loved ones, ultimately sending Tommy and Ellie after her and leading all of her friends to their deaths… including Mel’s and Owens baby. It’s a really amazing and depressing example of chain reaction. Joel saves Ellie, killing Jerry and sending Abby after him, Abby kills Joel sending Ellie after her. This triggers a bunch of devastating events due to one decision Joel makes, opening up doors to other decisions people are to make within that chain.

In a world with no order, no laws, and no real morality, is anyone truly good or bad? We see all of these characters brutality murder others but then go back to a somewhat normal life, taking care of their loved ones and helping strangers occasionally, (except for David and the Rattlers… they were straight up EVIL) but you get my point.

People say Abby and Ellie are so similar and in one or two ways they are, but with everything including the use of shivs, body movement, and the overall trope they share of taking in a orphaned kid that they eventually come to see as their own, id say that Joel and Abby are wayyy more similar then Abby and Ellie could ever be except for their age.

I just really love these games and want people to see Abby as they saw Joel, they’re parallel… and fighting over it makes no sense to me. I’ll end it there.

#the last of us #abby anderson #abby tlou #Joel = Abby #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel and ellie #the last of us part 2 #marlene tlou #jerry anderson #ellie williams #Abby Anderson apologist

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 4 hours

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Haunted: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Summary: This is Hotch's first case back since being stabbed by Foyet. As much as he says he's fine, he's not and he's letting his emotions affect the case in a negative way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place." - Emily Dickinson

Spencer isn't used to not being able to do things on his own so helping him get ready for work is a challenge.

"Will you stay still?" you say and grab his pants.

"I can do it. Give it to me."

"Spencer Walter Reid. Stop moving and let me help you."

He freezes at the mention of his middle name. No one knows it but you, apparently.

"How did you...?"

"I've seen your driver's license. Now sit down and give me your leg."

Spencer sits on the edge of the bed and stretches his bad leg out to you so you can pull his pants on. It's been a month of recovering from both Hotch and Spencer. This is going to be his first day back since getting out of the hospital, and you're not sure how this is gonna go. It could either go horribly wrong and he'll need to take more time off or he'll be back on his feet. Emily wanted to pick Hotch up and drive him to the airport even though he'd been cleared to drive on his own.

With no unit chief in the office, you have a few minutes to yourself so you and Spencer head to Penelope's office to hang with her until Hotch comes in. Spencer hobbles into her office and she pulls up a chair for him.

"Thank you."

"Does it hurt?"

"It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."

You place your hands on his shoulders from behind and massage his muscles gently.

"Don't worry, I've been very good at distracting him." Penelope laughs as Spencer looks at you with a smile on his face. You lean down and kiss him Spiderman-style. It's becoming one of your favorite positions to kiss him. When you pull away, you rake your fingers through his hair. "When are you gonna let me braid your hair?"

"Never," he says playfully and pushes you off him. Penelope has a box of cookies on the table, and he reaches to grab one but she slaps his hand away and slaps the lid on it. "Hey!"

"These are for Hotch," she says and puts a bucket of lollipops on top of them.

"I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies? You know he's gonna hate the attention," Spencer says and grabs a lollipop.

"It's cookies, not cake."

"He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened," you state.

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."

"I think maybe we should."

"I don't roll that way."

"I've been thinking about the entire time I've known Hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink," Spencer says.

"I know. It's weird."

"It's classic alpha male behavior."

"Do you think he stared down Foyet?" Penelope asks fearfully.

"Yes. I saw it. He didn't go down without a fight, that's for sure."

"Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?"

"Yes."

"Is he okay?"

"I wouldn't be, but I'm a blinker," Spencer says, and you kiss the top of his head.

The door opens and JJ walks in with files in her hands.

"Spence, Y/N, there you two are. Grab your go bag."

"What's going on?"

"Turn on the news."

Penelope turns on one of the news channels that's talking about the most recent crime your team is going to investigate.

"Just after eight this morning, forty-year-old Darrin Call, a lifelong resident of Louisville, assaulted customers at the pharmacy on the corner of Main and Truxton Avenue. Eyewitnesses saw him walking east on Main Street minutes after the attack. He has not been seen since then. He was wearing a blue shirt, jeans, and a light-gray jacket. Within the hour, the Governor has called in all sources for a manhunt. Despite these statewide efforts, the suspect has eluded law enforcement. The body count is rising. Three are confirmed dead including an armed bank guard whose gun was used in the attack. Another two remain in critical condition. The assailant is still out there. We are going back to Eric Jennings who's been talking to residents of Louisville residents."

"We're going to Louisville."

"Alright. Bye, Pen."

You get up and escort Spencer out of her office over to his desk. You grab both yours and his bag since he can't carry his own and use his crutches, and you two head out with the team to the airplane. Spencer takes the couch to rest his leg while you take one of the chairs surrounding the small table.

"Our point person in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell," JJ says.

Just then, Hotch and Emily walk onto the plane, and you immediately feel anger coming off Hotch in waves. He has a stoic look on his face like always but the anger is stewing deep down inside him. It's a calm anger and it's all for Foyet.

"Good morning," Hotch greets.

"You look well, sir," Penelope says over video chat.

"Thank you. How long do you have that?" Hotch asks Spencer about his crutches.

"I'm not really sure. Welcome back."

"Thanks. Any other attacks?"

"No, not yet. Call's proven hard to track. He's never had a driver's license, so he's most likely still on foot or public transportation."

"No, he's not gonna take the bus. His face is everywhere," you shake your head.

"Has anyone found a stressor?"

"He just lost his job," Penelope explains. "He's worked at a factory since 1990 making appliances and not a single promotion."

"That's a long time to be bitter."

"Yeah, he's of the hermit variety. As far as I can tell, he's got no one. No wife, no kids, and no parents."

"Nothing to live for. Why hasn't he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?"

"He's not finished yet," Spencer answers Hotch. "We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim."

"The stock boy represents someone. We need to know who. Is he military?"

"No."

"He's lashing out for a reason. This guy's got anger, endless targets, and a gun. He's just getting started."

When the plane lands, you go off with Derek and Hotch to the crime scene at the pharmacy while Spencer and JJ head to the police station to get set up. Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell is waiting for them as soon as they walk in, and he's eager to get started. Before your team landed in Louisville, he created checkpoints on the state's lines at both the I-64 and I-65 and within a twenty-mile radius downtown. They think he's still on foot.

Take into consideration the average walking speed of two and a half miles per hour, and it's been just under three hours, then that adds up to an approximate eight-mile radius. First responders started a hard-target search of businesses and residences within that eight miles, and you're going to join them.

The lieutenant dug up all he could on Darrin Call but didn't find much. Me and Rossi are at his apartment so they might be able to find something the police couldn't. The strategy in all of this is to determine where he's headed next in order to stop him. Most spree killers are outwardly aggressive, and Darrin isn't that. He's defensive even if the video doesn't immediately show it.

You watch the video of Darrin over and over again until you see it. Darrin isn't aggressive until someone touches him. That's what set him off. It happens before he stabs someone. He hates being touched which is a trigger for him.

He never meant to hurt these people, and he never went in there with a weapon. JJ is working with the media to inform them as soon as she possibly can. Darrin's apartment is a five-minute walking distance from the pharmacy but there is no sign at his apartment that he came back to wash off the blood, which means he's still bloody and walking around town like that.

Penelope says he doesn't have any family, so where is he going to go looking like that? He might be messy in the head and in his everyday life, but his apartment is really neat or maybe he's military or hospitalized which means he has the same routine every day.

However, today is different. He killed three people. Why did it change?

The energy left at the pharmacy is astounding. The energy is breaking off into different streams as if it's panicking. Darrin isn't right in the head and he is definitely going to hurt himself sooner rather than later. He's going to piss off the wrong person and get hurt.

"Hotch, he's losing his mind. His mind is tearing itself into pieces. This energy is being pulled apart." Hotch stares straight ahead without giving you any indication that he heard you. "Hotch, did you hear me?"

"Yeah," he nods and walks off.

Hotch isn't okay. Who would be after what he went through?

"Mr. Call was always so quiet. He's been coming here for years," a woman talking to Derek says.

She is the pharmacist responsible for giving out medications to people.

"Has he ever had a run-in with the stock boy?"

"I can't see why he would. John was new here. I waved him over. I didn't know what else to do. No one else was helping."

"He didn't turn violent until you gave him his prescription?" you ask.

"It wasn't his. It was somebody else's. I just wanted him to calm down."

"JJ's press conference is in five minutes," Hotch says when he joins the group.

"Hotch, we might have something else here. Why didn't you give him his own medication?" Derek asks the woman.

"He didn't have any refills left."

"For what?"

"Alprazolam, but he used to be on Thiothixene."

"He was on an antipsychotic?" Hotch asks.

"That's why I wanted him to calm down. He's been off his medications for about a month now."

"When were you gonna tell us this? He's armed and delusional. Who's his doctor?" Hotch asks angrily.

"I don't remember. My computer..."

You turn to see her computer had been damaged in the fight.

"Great," Hotch scoffs and walks off.

"I'm sorry."

You and Derek look at each other because Hotch is completely out of line for this.

"He's not listening to us. I've seen this kind of behavior before. He's not going to want to listen. Not until he catches Foyet." You two walk over to Hotch. "Hotch."

"Call JJ and tell her about the meds."

"This is not her fault and you know it."

"Morgan, he's in a psychotic break. It changes everything."

"Do you want to talk about this?"

"No! I want to find him!" Hotch sighs in frustration and pulls out his phone to call Penelope. "Garcia, he's been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't get his medical records yet, so--"

"Find them. Find everything."

"Yes, sir."

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