#Willow gait

[acerockswwe]

Willow gait 5

#willow gait #so hot 🔥🔥🔥 #beautiful model #celebrity #actress #fashion model #sexy tease #sexy content #sexy pose #nswf selfie #legal #19 years old #black undies #pink lingerie #bra and panty selfies #bra and undies #panty pics

[girlxxxcelebrities]

Nice body ✊💦💦💦

#willow gait

[happy10thousandyears]

wet girl

#my art #bs #girl #rain #how do I tag #I haven’t figured out her body type yet but I think compared to first brx she’s like. less tight? #like first brx is like. military trained assassin girlie very rectangular and there’s a tightness in her gait #while 🚬is… more lax about everything? #but I still don’t think she have any meat on her bones. kinda like a willow tree? #🚬

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 8 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - You and Spencer come across the wild horse who was responsible for his accident and she takes a liking to you. Luke gets a call from his old partner and is sucked back into a case from his past.

A/N - the second half of his chapter will take us to the BAU and we start to piecing together the readers past and why she was on the run. And we are finally introduced the to fics namesake.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - swearing, very brief mention of horse castration, talk of male ejaculation, very brief mention of past Maeve and past addiction, slightly pining Luke, mentions of Spencer’s assault and details of medical records following the assault, vague spoilers for CME, gun violence, past abuse, slightly angry Luke.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 8 - A Horse With No Name

“Wait a minute. Hang on. Stop! Stop!” Spencer practically yelled and you slammed on the brakes at his sudden change in demeanour. 

The car screeched on the asphalt, coming to an abrupt stop. Spencer was already working his way out of his seatbelt and trying to open the door. 

It had been an uncomfortable morning to say the least. You’d been alone in his bed when you’d woken up and not at all surprised by that fact. 

You’d found him down at the stable, grooming Wilbur. He didn’t look at you but at the horse when he asked if you could drive him into nearby Pipe Creek for a new cell phone after his old one had been smashed to pieces. 

You complied and the two of you took a drive. 

He hadn’t once looked at you all morning, not even when you’d stopped for coffee after procuring a new phone. Conversation hadn’t been much more forthcoming either and after several attempts to engage him, you’d given up entirely. 

Now on the drive back, his shouted words which caused you to stop the car were the most he’d said all day. 

You hurriedly followed Spencer out of the car, recognising the stretch of road to be almost exactly where you’d found him on his back in the dirt a few days ago. 

He was hobbling to the side of the road and as you followed hot on his heels, you could see what he'd made you stop for. 

“That’s her! That’s the horse that frightened Willow! The one that caused me to fall and break my arm!” He faux whispered, pointing in the direction of the large steed as though you wouldn’t be able to see her. 

She was almost as large as Willow with broad shoulders and thick legs. She was chestnut red, her coat practically glowing in the sunlight. Her mane and tail were a golden-blonde and they waved manically behind her as she galloped in circles. 

“Okay…” you frowned at the horse. “So why did we stop?” 

“I…I don’t know.” Spencer turned to you, mirroring your expression. “I’ve never seen a horse like her. I find her fascinating. But I don’t think she likes me very much.” 

As if on cue the beast let out a loud and booming neighing sound before she started trotting closer. Your back went up, shoulders squared as if that would help against any potential onslaught. 

She was looking right at you, large eyes staring into your soul. She slowed her gait as she drew closer and you held your breath to see what she might do. 

What she did so surprised both you and Spencer. She nuzzled her snout into your chest, making little appreciative noises as she did so. You tentatively raised a hand and patted the side of her head. 

“What is happening?” You hissed at Spencer.

“She’s bonding with you. She likes you.” Spencer shrugged. 

“Why?” You continued to pet her. 

“No idea, horses are curious creatures.” Spencer dared to move closer, inch by inch. 

He brought his good hand up to touch her but before he could she reared her head back from you and made a noise of displeasure.

“See, I told you she doesn’t like me!” Spencer grumbled, shrinking back. 

“Lucky you.” You pulled a face as the mare nuzzled into you once more. 

“I think you’ve made a friend.” 

“I don’t want a friend.” You hissed. 

“I think it’s too late for that.” Spencer chuckled at the little happy sounds the horse was making. “Stay here.” 

“What?” You frowned at him as he started heading back towards the car. “Where are you going?” 

“I'm going to go and get some riding equipment, we can take her back to the ranch and check her over. I’m pretty sure she’s wild though, but we can have the vet come out and check if she’s chipped.” He opened the driver’s door. 

“And if she isn’t?” You grumbled, scratching the side of her face. 

“We’ll keep her. I’ve been in the market for another horse.”

“We? There is no we!” You spat but he was already getting into the car. “Should you be driving with your injuries? And when exactly was the last time you were behind a wheel?” 

“It’s only a few miles, I’ll be fine. I can't stay with her, she doesn’t like me.” He shrugged. 

“Yet you’re proposing you keep her? Are you…” the door slammed closed and you rolled your eyes. “Good. Great, he’s gone. And I’m talking to a horse.” 

Behind you the engine roared to life and after a few false starts Spencer pulled away. The rust coloured horse tilted her head and looked at you inquisitively. 

You hated to admit it but she was completely intoxicating. 

***

Some half an hour later, Spencer arrived back with the riding equipment along with a mounting block and your riding boots. 

Of course you were going to have to ride her home. 

Spencer helped you to saddle her up ready but when it came time to mount her you froze up. 

“This seems incredibly dangerous.” You tensed, gripping the reins in your hand whilst standing on the mounting block. “I’ve only ever ridden a horse once in my life. And clearly she’s got an unpredictable temperament. I really don’t want to do this.”

“I cannot mount another horse right now.” Spencer winced at the sheer thought. “After I had to ride down to town to collect you when you were drunk, I am certain I will not be riding for the foreseeable future.” 

Of course you thought it was just because of his knee and he wasn’t readily going to tell you that it was also because of the healing cuts on his thigh. He’d been lucky with your wandering hands last night that you hadn’t come across his bandaged thigh. 

“Oh throw that back in my face why don’t you.” You wrung the reins in your hands. “Spencer I’m fucking scared.” 

“I have every faith in you.” He smiled at you. 

“Really doesn’t help.” You rolled your eyes. “I hope she’s worth it, I hope having another horse is worth my death on your conscience.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly overdramatic?” Spencer scoffed.

“Says the man that was convinced he was going to be eaten alive by desert critters?” 

“That was a very real possibility. But only one in every ten thousand horse riders die each year in a horse related accident. Around seven hundred and ten a year.” He told you a little smugly. 

“Why do you know that?” You frowned. 

“I know a lot of things.” He shrugged. “Will you get on the horse already? You’ll be fine.” 

“Hmm, we’ll see.” You grumbled, taking a deep breath and edging your left foot in the stirrup. 

You braced yourself, readying yourself to balance your weight on the ball of your foot and swing up over the horse. Lower yourself slowly like Spencer had mentioned after you’d thrown yourself on Franklin. 

Another deep breath and you pulled yourself up, using the reins to hoist your weight. You forced yourself to slowly drop onto the saddle but even still the mare jostled a little. 

“Whoa, whoa!” You wobbled, petting her neck. “It’s okay girl. Are you sure she’s a girl?” 

“Trust me, there’s a huge difference, if you know what I mean.” Spencer clucked.

“I guess the saying ‘hung like a horse’ had to come from somewhere.” You mused, slotting your other foot in the stirrup. 

“I’ll drive alongside you, we’ll take it slow.” Spencer ignored your bad joke. 

You waited for him to climb back in the car and roll down the window before you gave a gentle tug on the reins and the mare started forward. 

Apart from the side of the road being uneven and feeling a few times like you were slipping this way or that, the ride was surprisingly smooth. 

The wild horse obeyed your commands, didn’t trot too fast and seemed appreciative of the occasional pat on her neck. 

Spencer parked your car and walked alongside you towards the stable, giving the flaxen horse a wide berth as she panicked if he came too close. 

“You’re a natural at this.” He smiled up at you. “She’s really taken a liking to you.” 

“I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t mutual.” You leaned forward and rubbed the back of her ear. 

She responded with a happy little huff. 

Spencer felt his heart swelling seeing you atop the great beast. There was something so fascinating about the way you got the unpredictable creature to behave. 

It must be your aura, Spencer had felt it himself. You had a calming presence and clearly he wasn’t the only one receptive to it. 

He opened the stable and motioned you into an empty paddock. He encouraged you to fill a trough of food for her while he called the veterinarian in Bandera. 

You fed and groomed her, making the introductions to Spencer’s three steeds even though they couldn’t understand you. An hour later the vet came to check her out. 

Doctor Watts gave her a once over and deemed her to be healthy and approximately three years old. She scanned the horse for a chip and found none, as Spencer assumed she was wild. 

The vet didn’t stay for long and soon the two of you were alone again with the four horses. 

You were hand feeding her some chunks of fruit and brushing your knuckles through her mane and Spencer watched you intently. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head. 

“Would you stop staring.” You grumbled without looking at him. 

“Sorry, I just think it’s sweet.” He smiled. 

“Sweet?” You glanced at him over your shoulder. 

“A few days ago you hated horses. Look at you now, you’ve got your very own steed.” He beamed. 

“My…mine? She’s not mine, she’s yours?” Your hands stilled and you turned to fully face him. 

“Oh no, I am not the one she’s bonded with.” He chuckled. “That horse right there, is yours Y/N.” 

You felt a pang in your chest and you looked back at the chestnut red beauty with a watery smile. You stroked her face again and she nuzzled into your hand. 

“I guess she is.” You whispered to no one in particular.

“What’s her name?” Spencer took one small step forward, not wanting to agitate your new companion.

You didn’t even hesitate when you answered. 

“Rusty. Her name is Rusty.” 

***

Spencer helped you get all four horses into the enclosed field so they could all begin in welcoming Rusty to the family. Willow was, unsurprisingly, not keen on fraternising with the other mare after their encounter in the desert the other day. 

Franklin seemed to abide her but Wilbur was positively smitten. He wouldn’t leave Rusty’s side and the feeling seemed reciprocated. 

“Uh, Spencer?” You cocked an eyebrow at him as you observed them, leaning against the fence. “I’m slightly concerned Wilbur is being too friendly.” 

“Don’t worry, he and Frank were both castrated before I brought them. He can’t do her any harm.” 

“Ew, sounds painful. Is that a normal thing to do?” You grimaced. 

“It’s no different to neutering a dog or a cat. It helps to eliminate aggression and uncooperative behaviour in male horses. It’s perfectly normal.” He replied with a shrug. “Are you implying Wilbur isn’t good enough for Rusty?” 

“I’m implying that one horse is plenty for me.” 

“So she is your horse?” His lip twitched. 

“Well you’ve made it clear you don’t want her. And I can’t just release her back into the wild.” You huffed. 

“Does that mean you plan to stick around for a while?” He asked tentatively. 

“While this place does have its perks,” you mused, pushing yourself away from the fence. “Something has to give. I can’t keep…doing whatever it is we’re doing and then having to walk on eggshells. You either want to just be friends or you want more than that.” 

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud despite the fact you’d been thinking about it all day. Judging on Spencer’s expression he hadn’t expected you to say that either. 

“I, uh,” he scratched his head, looking out across the field. “I like you, Y/N, I really do. And I do like the idea of being more than just your friend. But I don’t…I can’t…I am not ready for an intimate relationship and I don’t know if I ever will be.” 

“Will you ever tell me what happened to you?” You sidled a little closer to him. 

“Honestly? Probably not. But if it’s any consolation, I’ve never told anyone, baring my therapist.” He sighed. 

“What about Luke?” You questioned, seeing the way Spencer tensed at the mention of his name. 

“Nope, not even Luke. Which is partly why our relationship fell apart.”

“How am I supposed to stay here when I know barely anything about you?” You were chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“You know more about me than I do about you.” He countered. 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “What do you wanna know?” 

“What were you running from?” He was quick to ask. 

He watched your jaw tighten and you turned away from him to look back at Rusty who was still sniffing around Wilbur. 

“That’s not important.” 

“It is to me. I told you about my ex, you know about my dissociative disorder.” 

“And you know about my step dad.” 

“That doesn’t make us even.” He scoffed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

Your back straightened and you folded your arms around your body, hugging your sides. 

“Why would you think that?” You kept your eyes trained on Rusty. 

“Deflection. Answering a question with a question. You are in trouble.” He watched you for more signs. 

“Seriously, what did you do for work?” You turned back to him suddenly, eyes narrowed in questioning. “You sound like…no. No, surely not.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pinched together. 

“You’re talking like a cop. But I can’t see it. You don’t seem like the type.” You scrutinised him. 

“I can categorically tell you I wasn’t a cop.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Stop changing the subject. What kind of trouble are you in?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this.” You shook your head and started over toward Rusty. Spencer followed you. 

“Because I’m right, you’re running because you’re in trouble.” He limped after you. 

“Look, Spencer,” you spun back to him, eyes wild. “If you don’t have to talk about why you don’t want to fuck me, then I don’t have to talk about this.” 

Your words caused him to stop in his tracks, your tone angrier than he’d heard you before. He didn’t speak so you continued. 

“You and I both know last night you came in your pants. But you said you didn’t want to talk about it and I respected that. Show me the same courtesy.” You turned again, taking a few more steps towards your new companion. 

Spencer ground his teeth together furiously, watching you walk away. He clenched and unclenched one hand at his side. 

“It was the first time I’ve come in almost four years.” He spat out, unsure why he was revealing this piece of information.

When you looked back at him, his face was beet red as were his ears. 

“Excuse me?” You didn’t move any closer to him. 

“I told you I have intimacy issues.” He huffed. “Well that extends to…self stimulation.” He turned even redder. “So yeah, that’s the first time in nearly four years. Maybe three and a half. Closer to four.” 

“Jesus.” You shook your head. “You really are fucked up, aren’t you?” 

Spencer let out a dry chuckle. 

“Very much so.” He nodded in agreement. 

“I guess you’re welcome for last night.” You winked at him and his blush, which had started to creep away, appeared again. 

“You gotta stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Flirting with me.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because I might just do something really stupid.” 

You swallowed as the look in his eye grew serious. You took a few hesitant steps towards him. 

“Stupid by who’s definition?” You got closer and Spencer was also moving nearer you. 

“I'm not joking when I say I’m not ready for anything intimate, Y/N. I don’t want to lead you on.” He still stepped closer. 

“And I don’t want to be let down.” You agreed. 

“Trust me when I say I am the king of letting people down.” He sighed wistfully. 

“So, uh,” you reached each other, just a foot between you. “Friends, then?” 

“Friends.” He smiled a little sadly at you. 

“Okay, friend. How about we do something fun?” 

“Fun?” He frowned. 

“Come on, even in the middle of butt fuck nowhere there must be something fun to do.” 

“Bored of your new companion already?” Spencer chuckled. 

“Bite your tongue!” You gasped. “I will never be bored of her. And I didn’t necessarily mean right now. How about tonight, we go out and get, like, absolutely wasted.” 

“I, uh, I don’t drink.” He shrugged, voice meek. 

“Ever?” You sounded incredulous. 

“Not for a long time.” He scratched at the back of his neck. 

“Well no wonder you’re so uptight.” You rolled your eyes. “A few drinks would probably loosen you up.” 

Spencer’s vision faded in and out in quick succession. He rubbed his temple with his fingertips, swallowing around his dry tongue. 

There had come a point, long after his addiction that he’d made the decision to quit drinking. After Maeve’s death he’d used alcohol as a way to cope with the overwhelming emotions. 

But after a while the alcohol wasn’t enough and he’d found himself considering something stronger, something much less legal. 

He almost relapsed. And if he had he knew he’d never have been able to stop. He was already drinking far more than he ever had and had grown a tolerance to it, he knew something had to give. 

So before he could let himself fall further down a rabbit hole, he quit drinking and hadn’t touched a single drop since. 

“It, uh, affects my medication.” He lied. 

“Oh,” you softened. “Right, of course. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” He shook his head. “If you want to go drinking, then don’t let me stop you.”

“You think I’m going to have as much fun drinking on my own?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Seemed to enjoy yourself the other night.” He shrugged. “If you really want I will come with you, but I am not drinking. I can be your designated driver.” 

“Hmm,” you mused. “Certainly more fun than drinking alone but less fun than having a drinking partner.” 

“It’s the best I can do.” 

“Fine, let's do it.” You agreed, turning back towards Rusty. “You know the guys are all super curious about you down at 11th Street.” 

You started towards your mare who was still being sniffed around by Wilbur. Spencer fell into step with you despite his limp.

“Curious? Why?” He frowned.

“Because you’ve never been into their bar, never spoken to them. You’ve lived here two years and never tried to assimilate with the locals?” You reached Rusty and she turned her attention to you, wary eyes casting over Spencer.

“I moved out here so as not to have to assimilate with anyone.” He kept a keen eye on Rusty, not appreciating the way she looked at him and didn’t get too close to her. 

“They think you’re rude.” You petted the large mare’s head. 

“What are you like best friends with them now?” Spencer scoffed. 

“I’m just saying, it really wouldn’t hurt for you to make a little effort with them. They’re nice people, who knows you might even make more friends.” Your tone was teasing when you spoke the last word. 

“I have plenty of friends.”

“Back in DC?” You scoffed. “When was the last time you saw any of them?”

Spencer’s eyebrows pinched together as he led Wilbur a little further away from Rusty, his chest tightening. He wasn’t exactly ashamed of being a hermit, but when you said these things it made him feel incredibly lonely out of nowhere. 

“It’s been…a while.” He spoke under his breath. 

“Would it really kill you to just try and make a friend? I might not be able to hang around here forever and if I have to leave I’d like to know you’re not gonna be alone for the rest of your life. If you died out here, it would be weeks, maybe even months before anyone ever knew.” You run your fingers through Rusty’s mane, a wry smile on your lips. 

Spencer pulled a face, shaking his head at your candour. 

“Wow, thanks for that. Really driving your point home.” He grumbled. 

“I'm just saying,” you chuckled. “If, for whatever reason, I did have to leave, I’d hate to think of you all alone out here.” 

“I wouldn’t be alone. I have three horses and cattle. Four if, hypothetically, you left and didn’t take Rusty with you. I’ll be fine. Let’s get them back to the stable and feed them, I’m worried Rusty is considering eating me.” He scowled.

“See, just another reason I don’t want you to be out here alone. Believe me when I say she would eat you.” You teased, a bright smile on your face. 

It didn’t last long though before you frowned and were clicking your jaw, fingers coming up to your face to massage the muscles. 

“You okay?” Spencer stared at you. 

“Hmm.” You nodded, fingers kneading the side of your jaw. “Old injury. It plays up sometimes.” 

He didn’t question it but he continued to observe you while you put on a brave face, turned back to Rusty and effectively shut any further conversation down. 

***

After hanging up the phone and printing the contents of the email, Luke Alvez compiled a case file and flicked through the pages. He leaned forward on the desk on his elbows, fingers laced together, chin rested on them while he stared at the printouts. 

He hadn’t been concerned when Phil called, the two spoke at least once a week and met for dog walks with Roxy and Lou as often as they could. Probably more often in the two years since Spencer up and left, clearly Phil didn’t think he was coping. Maybe he wasn’t.

In truth, Luke still thought about his ex every day. Perhaps that was due to the fact his desk still remained empty in the bullpen, Emily never having replaced him. Possibly it was because he still held onto some of Spencer’s things he’d left in his apartment; a few books, a pair of mismatched socks, a tie, even his old CalTech sweater which Luke still wore around his home more often than he liked to admit. 

Phil was probably right for checking in on him frequently, even after two years Luke was still grieving that relationship. 

Spencer had been the only person Luke had ever dated that he’d seen a future with. He’d known early on that he wanted to spend his life with the dorky, awkward doctor. And maybe they would have, if it wasn’t for Cat Adams and Spencer’s stint in Milburn. 

Luke had seen Spencer’s medical records from repeated trips to the infirmary, although Spencer wasn’t aware of this. He also hadn’t let anyone else on the team see them to protect Spencer’s already fragile psyche.

On three occasions he was reported to have palatal petechiae, bruising and lesions, and even burst blood vessels near the back of the roof of his mouth. The soreness he experienced meant he wasn’t eating much as solid food probably aggravated his mouth. 

It was something Luke and the team had seen before and he knew the most likely cause of these injuries was from extremely rough oral sex. It was indicative of sexual assault, but not entirely probative.

Of course he never asked Spencer outright, knowing his boyfriend well enough to know that he would shut down if asked such a question. He’d tried getting him to open up, especially after almost a year passed and Spencer still panicked every time things grew heated between them. 

And when Spencer had grown violent, Luke knew at that moment that the two of them would never come back from this. With Spencer’s hands twisting and pinning his arm behind his back, he knew they were over.

He’d told Spencer he couldn’t do this anymore, that he didn’t know who Spencer was anymore. He still loved him, he probably always would, but unless Spencer sought some real help, Luke had to walk away. 

A few weeks later the team had been called into the roundtable room for what they thought was another case. Luke had frowned at Spencer’s empty desk, wondering where he was and why they weren’t waiting for him.

He’d known something was amiss when Penelope took a seat with them and didn’t stand at the front to present the case. Emily and Rossi stood, their features unreadable.

“What’s going on?” Tara was the one to ask, brows pinched. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Spence?” JJ voiced Luke’s thoughts. 

Emily and Rossi exchanged a look, Emily puffed out a breath and Rossi offered her a small nod of his head to encourage her. 

Luke felt his stomach coiling. His heart was thrumming violently in his chest. The last time Emily had called them all together like this without Spencer, it was to tell them of his arrest.

He braced himself against the table, waiting for the blow. Something had happened, something had happened to Spencer. 

“A week ago Reid came to me,” Emily began, her voice fighting back the sadness. “After Benjamin Merva, he, uh, he no longer felt that he was an effective member of this team. He made the decision for himself to leave the BAU.” 

“What? That’s crazy talk!” Garcia shook her head frantically. “We talked about this when they were holding us! We said the team needed both of us!” 

“He’s been through a lot, Garcia.” Rossi spoke with a hint of melancholy. “More than anyone should ever have to go through. He was still dealing with his incarceration, and then this? It’s too much for one person.” 

“But why isn’t he here? He didn’t say goodbye?” Penelope whined, tears filling her large eyes. 

Luke couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. His vision was obscured, maybe by tears he wasn’t sure. The voices around him grew more and more distant, as though he and the team were getting further apart. 

His brain was coated in a thick cloud, inhibiting his thoughts. Dizzy, he suddenly felt so dizzy. His hands held the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip. 

“He’s probably halfway to Texas by now.” Emily brought her hand to her lips and started chewing on one of her nails. 

“Texas?” Matt spat out the word as though it were alien to him. “What the hell is he going to Texas for?” 

Again Emily and Rossi exchanged a glance. Truthfully they didn’t have all the answers, as was his way, Spencer hadn’t told them all the details. 

“I’m not entirely sure. He said he needed to get away, sold his apartment and he was going to Texas. That’s all I know.” Emily continued her chewing. 

“Newbie?” Garcia turned to Luke, a few tears trickling down from beneath her glasses. Luke didn’t move. “Alvez?” She clicked her fingers at him. 

He still didn’t move. 

“Luke, man, you okay?” Matt’s hand was on his shoulder, Luke’s vision petered in and out. 

“You must have known about this?” Tara’s eyes were on him now too. 

“I…I…we broke up.” He confessed. “A few weeks ago.” 

A collective gasp sounded out in the room but it still sounded so distant to his ears. Matt’s grip on his shoulder tightened but Luke barely registered it. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t he say anything?” JJ whimpered. 

Luke blinked several times to try and clear the fog hindering his vision. He tried to focus on just one thing, one single thing. 

Emily. 

As the fog started to clear the image of his Unit Chief gnawing on her nail came into view and she was looking right at him. 

Everyone else in the room disappeared. For a moment or two it was just him and Emily. 

He cleared his throat, sucked in a breath. 

“He’s…he’s really gone?” His voice trembled.

“He’s really gone.” Emily nodded stiffly. “I'm so sorry Luke.” 

Even two years after the fact Luke could still feel everything he’d felt that day, the crumbling weight of losing the only person he’d ever really loved. In reality, he probably lost Spencer the moment he was arrested, but this had felt so final. 

Since Spencer’s departure, things hadn’t been the same and the team was still adjusting to a series of changes which happened in the wake of him leaving.

Less than a year later, Penelope made the decision to leave the BAU stating she no longer understood how any of this worked. Matt had been sequestered for special assignment, Emily had been promoted to Section Chief and Rossi now held the post as BAU Unit Chief. 

Since the pandemic the team had operated differently. On any given day it was mostly only Luke in the office. Rossi was still struggling in the aftermath of Krystall’s death and he, Tara and JJ mostly consulted on cases alone as they were short on the ground.

That was until the discovery of the network of serial killers who had been operating online during the pandemic, now clawing out of the shadows to become fully operational once the world was no longer on lockdown. 

Garcia was back in a temporary capacity and Emily was devoting more time to her old team. The six members were working tirelessly to bring this operation down. And then he’d received the phone call from Phil and had an extra weight added to his already overloaded plate. 

He couldn’t catch a break. 

He was lost in the file and didn’t hear her heels clicking on the floor as they approached and it was only when she perched on the edge of his desk that he noticed her arrival. 

“Rumour has it you spoke to our elusive cowboy?” Penelope clutched her unicorn mug between her hands, steam rising from the top. 

“Word travels fast around here.” He sighed, sitting back in his chair. 

“I like to be kept apprised of all communication with our fallen comrade. I'm so worried about him. You know he spoke to Morgan too? Yet he won’t answer my calls. Not for weeks! You, I get, but Morgan? They haven’t seen each other since he was released from prison.” She spoke fast, words blurring together. 

Over the years Luke had gotten fluent in Penelope Garcia. 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant call.” Luke swallowed. “We argued, no surprise. But it was good to finally hear his voice again.” 

“How did he sound?” She brought her mug to her lips and sipped the liquid, Luke could only assume it was some variety of flavoured tea judging by the vague scent of berries he detected. 

“Tired.” He shrugged. “Frustrated. I don’t know.” 

“You know him better than anyone.” She exhaled.

“Do I?” Luke scoffed. 

“You dated for two years.” She shrugged.

“And three months of that he was in prison. And then for almost a year after he could barely look at me let alone talk to me.” He spat, harsher than he meant to, Penelope pouted and he quickly steeled himself. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Penelope took another sip of tea as her eyes glanced over the open file on his desk. There was a mugshot of a woman in the top left corner and what looked to be the kind of information she would unearth in a deep dive. 

“You working on your own cases now? You haven’t got enough to do around here?” She nodded her head at the file.

Luke followed her gaze despite knowing what she was looking at. He ran his fingers over the sheet of paper in an absent mind. 

“Uh, it's an old case from back when I worked with the Fugitive Task Force.” He sighed, seeing no reason to lie to Garcia.

“Do tell.” She made herself more comfortable on his desk. 

“A few years back she was arrested for shooting a guy to death. Claimed self defence, which I might have brought if she hadn’t shot him twelve times. She killed him and then reloaded her gun so she could keep shooting him.” He grimaced at the thought. He’d seen the crime scene photos, the guy looked like swiss cheese.

“Jeez,” Garcia pulled a face similar to Luke’s. “How’d she end up on your radar?” 

“She was a classic femme fatale. Pretty, young, played the innocent victim well. She worked the courtroom, I’ve seen the footage. She had the jury eating out of the palm of her hand. She got a reduced sentence, murder down to 2nd degree manslaughter. She was sentenced to seven years. Seven fucking years, can you believe it?” He baulked, incredulous. 

“I can only assume if the FTF was called in, she did not even serve those seven years?” Penelope asked softly. 

“Like I say, she was a femme fatale. Manipulative, overtly sexual. Men were puppets to her.” Luke raked his fingers through his hair. “Upon transfer to her facility after trial she worked her magic on the poor, naive guard. Fluttered her eyelashes, pouted her lips, that kinda thing. The poor guy dropped his defences and she managed to escape. That’s where Phil and I came in.

“We chased her for months, eventually I got the call from the BAU and my services were needed elsewhere. ‘Bout a year ago they caught up with her and she was finally held accountable for her actions. And then just now, I got a call from Phil.” 

Garcia wasn’t a profiler but she’d spent enough time around them to understand what Luke wasn’t saying and piece together the rest.

“She escaped?” Penelope exhaled.

“Yeah, a few weeks ago. There was a mass prison break at her facility much the same as the one at Scratch’s facility. She was one of ten women who escaped and now Phil wants my help capturing her.” Luke shook his head. “Which is obviously the last thing I need right now with everything else going on with the network.” 

Garcia placed her mug down on the desk and leaned forward, picking up the top sheet of paper and scanning through the information. 

“Abuse victim, father passed when she was young.” She mused out loud as she continued reading. “Precursors for violent crimes unfortunately. Who was this guy, Leon Sayers, the man she killed? Was he a random victim or…” 

She looked up from the paper and at Luke who was shaking his head.

“Sayers was her abuser. Her stepfather. At her trial she insisted Sayers killed her mom but it couldn’t be proven. I think it was all BS, I think it was all part of a ruse to make the jury feel sorry for her.” 

“You don’t think she was abused?” Penelope snatched up another sheet of paper and scanned. “I mean there were a lot of hospital visits in her youth, all chalked up to her being clumsy but…is anyone this clumsy? Jeez this one says at fourteen years old she was admitted with a broken jaw! She had to have surgery and her jaw wired shut for eight weeks!” 

“I don’t doubt she was heavily abused but she skipped town at sixteen, and hadn't surfaced until her mom’s death. She could have stayed away but she sought Sayers out. Doesn’t that seem like premeditation to you?” Luke scoffed. 

“Alvez,” she put the paper down. “I'm not condoning what this girl did but after my parents were killed by that drunk driver, it crossed my mind that I might like to take my own form of revenge. That kind of grief makes us go to incredibly dark places. And if he’d abused her before, it’s not to say she didn’t get into an altercation with him, it might have been self defence. Admittedly the overkill was a bit much, but it said she did have bruising indicative of defensive wounds at the time of her arrest, bruises in the shape of fingers on her neck! He tried to strangle her, Alvez.”

“You say you aren’t condoning what she did, but it sure as hell sounds like it.” Luke spat, pushing himself to his feet and slamming the file shut. 

“Newbie, calm down.” Penelope stood too, putting a placating hand on his arm. “All I’m saying is that not everything is black and white.”

“Seems pretty black and white to me.” He growled. “Murder is murder, Garcia.” 

“Except when it’s manslaughter.” She clucked. 

Luke looked ready to blow his lid. If he were a cartoon he would have had smoke coming out of his ears. His jaw tightened and Garcia watched the way the muscle pulsed, in perfect time with the throbbing of the vein in his neck. 

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been out of the FBI long enough now that your sense of justice has been warped?” He raised his voice, spittal flying from his lips. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Do you actually…do you seriously think-”

“Alvez,” a stern voice cut across the bullpen and Luke turned away from Penelope towards the sound. Emily stood up the top of the stairs, eyes dark and brow pinched. “Another container has been found. We’re meeting the others at the airstrip.” 

Luke puffed out a breath, sucked another one in. He let his jaw relax and tried to quell his anger. 

“Where we heading now?” He ignored Penelope still in his peripheral vision. 

“Texas.” Was all she said before disappearing back inside her old office. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-three

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: i love this part so muchhh enjoyy

masterlist

“What if I say no, Brekker?” It was mere posturing, Matthias knew that. The time for protest had long passed. They were already jogging down the gentle slope of the embassy roof toward the druskelle sector, Wylan panting from exertion, Jesper loping along with ease, and Brekker keeping pace despite his crooked gait and lack of cane. Y/N had never wished more in her life than right now to have been born a Healer.

“What if I don’t give you this last bit of myself and my honor?” Matthias continued.

“You will, Helvar. Nina is on her way to the White Island right now. Are you really going to leave her stranded?” questioned Kaz.

“You presume a great deal.”

“Seems like the perfect amount to me,” Y/N snipped.

“These are the law courts, right?” Jesper said as they raced over the roof, catching glimpses of the elegant courtyards below, each built around a burbling fountain and dotted with rustling ice willows. “I guess if you’re going to be sentenced to death, this isn’t a bad place for it.”

“Water everywhere,” said Wylan. “Do the fountains symbolize Djel?”

“The wellspring,” mused Y/N, “where all sins are washed clean.”

“Or where they drown you and make you confess,” Wylan said.

Jesper snorted. “Wylan, your thoughts have taken a very dark turn. I fear the Dregs have been a bad influence.”

They used a doubled segment of rope and the grappling hook to cross to the roof of the druskelle sector. Wylan had to be looped into a sling, but Jesper, Kaz, and Y/N moved easily across the rope, hand over hand, with unnerving speed. Matthias approached with more caution, and though he didn’t show it, he did not like the way the rope creaked and bowed with his weight.

The others pulled him onto the stone of the druskelle roof, and as Matthias stood, he was struck by a wave of vertigo. More than any place in the Ice Court, more than any place in the world, this place felt like home to him. But it was home turned on its head, his life viewed at the wrong angle.

Y/N on the other side of Kaz, stood with her fists clenched. This was the home for all the druskelle and wolves who sought to kill her kind. The home of the men she was raised to view as monsters. In the distance, she could hear the wolves barking and yapping in their kennel by the gatehouse.

Kaz secured another coil of rope to the roof’s edge and prepared to rappel down to the shore.

“You know what to do,” he said to Jesper and Wylan. “Eleven bells and not before.”

“When have I ever been early?” asked Jesper.

Kaz braced himself for the descent and vanished over the side. Matthias waited for Y/N to scale down first before he lowered himself.

The shore surrounding the ice moat was little more than a slender, slippery rind of white stone. Kaz perched there, pressed against the wall and frowning at the moat.

“How do we cross? I don’t see anything.”

“Because you are not worthy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “We’re also not nearsighted. There’s nothing there.”

Matthias began edging along the wall, running a hand over the stone at hip level. “On Hringkalla the druskelle finish our initiation,” he said. “we go from aspirant to novice druskelle in the ceremony at the sacred ash.”

“Where the tree talks to you.” Y/N scoffed.

Matthias nearly rolled his eyes, “It’s where we hope to hear the voice of Djel. But that’s the final step. First, we have to cross the ice moat undetected. If we are judged worthy, Djel shows us the path.”

It took Matthias two passes along the wall before his fingers found the carved lines of a wolf. He rested his hand there briefly, feeling the traditions that connected him to the order of druskelle, as old as the Ice Court itself.

“Here,” he said.

Kaz shuffled over and squinted across the moat. He leaned out and Matthias yanked him back.

He pointed over to the guard tower on top of the wall surrounding the White Island. “They’ll see you,” he said. “Use this.”

He scraped his hand along the wall and his palm came away white. The night of his intuition, Matthias had rubbed his clothes and hair with the same chalky powder. Camouflaged from the view of the guards in their tower, he’d crossed the slender path to the island to meet his brothers.

Now he, Kaz, and Y/n did the same, though the other two noticed Kaz slip his gloves away first.

Matthias stepped onto the secret bridge, then heard Kaz and Y/N hiss and curse under their breath when the icy water brushed at their ankles.

“Chilly, Brekker?”

“If only we had time for a swim. Get moving.”

Despite his taunts to Kaz, by the time they were halfway to the island. Matthias’ feet had gone almost completely numb, and he was keenly aware of the guard towers high above the moat. Druskelle would have come this way earlier tonight. He’d never heard of any aspirant being spotted or shot at on the bridge, but anything was possible.

“All this way to be a witchhunter?” Kaz said from behind him. “The Dregs need a better initiation.”

“This is only one part of Hringkalla.”

“Yes, I know, then a tree tells you the secret handshake.”

“I feel sorry for you, Brekker. There is nothing you hold scared in your life.”

There was a long pause, and Y/N thought Kaz wasn’t going to answer at all before he finally spoke up. “You’re wrong.”

The outer wall of the White Island loomed up before them, covered in a rippling pattern of scales. It took a moment to locate the ridge of scales that hid the gate. Only a short while ago, druskelle would have been gathered in this niche of the wall to welcome their new brothers ashore, but now it was empty, the iron grating chained. Kaz made quick work of the lock, and soon they were in a slender passage that would lead them to the gardens that backed the barracks of the royal guard.

“Were you always good at locks?”

“No.”

“How did you learn?”

“The way you learn anything. Take it apart.”

“And the magic tricks?”

Kaz snorted. “So you don’t think I’m a demon anymore?”

“I know you’re a demon, but your tricks are human.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it in ten minutes. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss, and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake all night, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“You love trickery.”

“I love puzzles. Trickery just happens to be my native tongue.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at both boys, fighting the urge to smack them over the head.

“The gardens, right?” She looked at Matthias for confirmation. “We follow them to the ballroom. Let’s go, we haven’t the time to waste.”

Puzzles and magic tricks weren’t something Y/N has had the leisure to waste time and ponder how those things are done. Not at least since she was a child. Her heart clenched at the sharp reminder of the life that was stolen from her and the life she was made for.

Just as they were about to emerge from the passage, two guards rounded the corner—both in black and silver druskelle uniforms, both carrying rifles.

“Perjenger!” one of them shouted in surprise. Prisoners. “Sten!”

Without thinking, Matthias said, “Desjenet, Djel comenden!” Stand down, Djel wills it so. They were the words of a druskelle commanding officer, and he delivered them with all the authority he’d ever learned to muster.

Kaz quickly noticed the heat radiating from Y/N’s hands and motioned for her to stand down as Matthias grabbed the first soldier’s rifle and head-butted him hard. The druskelle collapsed. Kaz slammed into the other soldier, knocking him over. The druskelle kept hold of his rifle, but Kaz slipped behind him and brought his forearm across the soldier’s throat, applying pressure until the soldier’s eyes flickered shut, and his head fell forward as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Kaz rolled the body off of him and stood.

The heavy reality of the situation settled over Matthias and Y/N followed quickly. Kaz hadn’t picked up a rifle. Matthias had a gun in his hands, and Kaz Brekker was unarmed. Tension filled the air and the former druskelle fell into contemplation. The Inferni shot Kaz a questioning look and only received a shake of his head.

“Helvar.”

Y/N’s stern tone snapped him out of his thoughts and he lowered his weapon.

A faint smile touched Kaz’s lips. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do if it came down to this.”

“Neither was I,” Matthias admitted. Kaz lifted a brow, and the truth struck Matthias with the force of a blow. “It was a test. You chose not to pick up the rifle.”

“I needed to be sure you were really with us. All of us. And I have an Inferni on my side, who do you think would win this match?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t shoot?”

“Because, Matthias, you stink of decency.”

“You’re mad.”

“Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar?” Kaz brought his good foot down on the butt of the fallen soldier’s rifle. The gun flipped up causing Y/N to smirk. He’d had it in his hands and pointed at Matthias in the space of a breath. He’d never been in any danger at all. “Cheat. Now let’s clean up and get into these uniforms. We have a party to go to.”

“One day you’ll run out of tricks, demjin.”

Y/N walked past him swiftly. “You better hope it’s not today.”

~*~

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

[kill-your-fics]

Maybe some bad girl/biker willlow rizzing up a nerd Wilson

The guy seemed wildly out of place, and she noticed immediately. He wasn't short by any means, actually somewhat lanky, but his obvious discomfort at being here made him seem smaller, as if he was trying to shrink into himself like a turtle and avoid anyone's eye. That was fine by Willow. Too many men had confidence that was wholly unearned, in her opinion.

She strode over in an easy gait, not at all like a girl on a mission. He saw her heading in his general direction and she registered the play of emotions on his face. Confusion- was she looking at him? Surprise- she was looking at him. Panic- she was coming this way. And then he looked away, as if she couldn't see him if he couldn't see her. Or perhaps he was just willing her to leave him alone. No such luck this time, pal.

"Hey."

"Oh! Hello, there."

"What's someone like you.. doing here?" Direct, to the point. She tilted her head to emphasize the question, gesturing with one hand at their surroundings. He mumbled something about being brought along by a friend.

"A friend, huh? Where are they now? Did they ditch you?" Her voice was a touch too challenging and unsympathetic for it to be a wholly genuine question. So be it, let him know she didn't believe him.

If he looked somewhat like a turtle before, he was now a deer in the headlights, blinking twice before replying, yet still stumbling over his words. In her infinite grace, she decided to save him from his floundering.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm here alone, too- this place has the best drinks in town, huh?"

He blushed lightly and admitted he didn't know much about any such drinks. So! That topic was dead in the water. She switched tactics, asking him about his interests. His face visibly brightened.

"I'm studying chemistry- I'm a chemist! Well, going to be."

Willow remembered only one thing from chemistry: the beautiful, if a bit nerdy, Bunsen burner. For want of one, or a better topic of conversation, she pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. "What do you know about this?"

He stared at the small flame, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"About fire, I mean."

"Oh! Of course! Combustion! A wonderful example of an exothermic chemical reaction, and one of the-"

"Wait, wait." She cut him off. "Exothermic? Like an ant?"

"Oh, ah, no. That's an exoskeleton, I think. 'Exothermic' means outward heat, literally. By which we mean, a chemical reaction that produces heat, or light, or releases some other form of energy. In fire, the visible light produced is called the flame."

This guy was no good at eye contact, but it didn't feel rude. He would nerviously glance at her for a moment before looking away as he talked, as if the mere sight of her was overwhelming. As if she were the sun. She liked the comparison.

"Oh! My name is Wilson, by the way."

She nodded once. "Good to know. You can call me Willow. Now let me get this straight: exothermic means... a reaction that releases heat? Is that so?" Before he could respond, she reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek. As she predicted, his eyes snapped over to her at the touch, and his skin blushed pink. "Like this?"

#willowson #love u for the ask xoxoxo send more #sorry #ive never flirted in my life #and i never will #dst wilson #dst willow

[lowkeyed1]

You star as Boorman in the Disney+ series “Willow.” What are some references that helped build the character to fit the series? Boorman, is in essence, a classic 'rogue with a heart gold' archetype. When the first audition pages / casting breakdown came in, he was described as the "Han Solo/Jack Sparrow of the group." Immediately millions of references flooded my mind amongst those two. Inego Montoya from “Princess Bride” and some of the cutting, stoic sarcasm of “Hellboy” in the comics. Having grown up on 90s escapism I knew exactly what I was going to do and what he needed to be. Not much changed from those first tapes. But with the showrunner Jon Kasdan and the other head creatives, we managed to make Boorman more 3-dimensional. Toshiro Mifune as Kikuchiyo in “Seven Samurai” was also a huge physical reference. He has this messy and dirty caged tiger-esq gait that Jon and I wanted to channel. Boorman is an interesting character because beneath all his cynicism and humor, he's deeply troubled and just as eager to prove himself as some of the younger characters. https://www.photobookmagazine.com/features/amar-chadha-patel

#amar chadha patel #thraxus boorman #willow series #willow 2022

[sergeantsporks]

Writing request: After labyrinth runners Hunter goes home with Gus but after sleeping on the floor and eating from the trash the whole week has taken its toll on him and he gets sick. Perry and Gus take care of him

“Hunter? I got a bed all set up for you, are you…” Gus knocked on the bathroom door, and it swung open. “…done?”

The light was off, and Hunter was nowhere to be seen. Something smelled sour, but Gus couldn’t find the source of the smell—Hunter had completely disappeared, taking his smelly old clothes and the new ones Gus’ dad had rustled up with him.

“Ah, geeze. Hunter?” Gus traipsed through the house, calling Hunter’s name, but there was no response. “Did he… leave?”

“Gus?” Perry called, “Everything alright?”

Gus wandered into the kitchen. “Did you see Hunter after he got out of the shower?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe this.” Gus ran a hand through his hair. “I have had him for an hour, and I’ve already lost him! Maybe I should call Willow?”

“Slow down. Where did you look?”

“In all the rooms—and he didn’t answer. Maybe he snuck out a window? But why? He looked really relieved when I offered him a place to stay!”

“Maybe he’s just hiding?” Perry suggested, “Check under the bed. Or in the closet.”

“Dad. We’re not playing hide and seek.”

“Well, why don’t you just check before we search the whole neighborhood?”

Gus shook his head, but went back through the house again, this time opening closets and cabinets and crouching down to look under the beds. He finally checked the closet of the master bedroom and saw a lump huddled in the back corner.

“Hunter? Is that you?” Flapjack chirped mournfully, confirming. “Hey, man, what’s—” he crouched down next to the older teen. “Are you having another panic attack? Deep breaths, buddy, you’re gonna—”

“No,” Hunter interrupted in a hoarse whisper, “Not a panic attack.”

Gus reached out, gingerly touching Hunter’s shoulder. His whole body was trembling. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I… I threw up. Sorry.”

That explained the sour smell in the bathroom. Gus hissed in. “Man. I told you all that Hex Mix wasn’t good for your stomach. When was the last time you drank any water?”

“I don’t know. Please, just… just leave and close the door?”

When Gus was nine, he and his dad had babysat a friend’s direwolf for a few weeks. It had mysteriously disappeared halfway through their time with it, and after much searching, Gus had finally found it curled up in a corner, sick. Perry had explained to him that when direwolves were injured or sick, they left their packs and found places to hide until they recovered, so that none of their pack would see them weak, and predators wouldn’t happen on them while they were vulnerable. Hunter looked just like that pet direwolf—curled up and frightened, pretending it wasn’t hurting.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Gus declared, “Then we’re gonna get you out of this closet and to a proper bed, okay?”

“Nooooooo,” Hunter protested weakly, but Gus was already gone.

“Hunter’s sick,” he explained to his dad. Without any further explanation, he filled up a bottle with water and ran back to the closet. “C’mon. Just a little water.” He helped Hunter sit up and drink some water, but the older boy almost immediately flopped back over the moment Hunter let him go. Flapjack fluttered around him, but didn’t land.

“Justttt leave me…”

“Not gonna happen.”

Perry pushed the door open, kneeling next to Hunter. “Hey…” he reached out, and Hunter flinched with his whole body, his shoulders hunching and his eyes squeezing shut. Perry’s hand dropped without touching Hunter. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk on your own?”

Hunter nodded, pushing himself up. Maybe it was the poor light, but his face looked even paler than usual, and his gait was definitely wobblier than it should be. He made it out of the closet and halfway down the hallway before his shoulders heaved, and Gus took his arm, rushing him to the bathroom. Hunter heaved and gagged, head resting on his arm.

Perry hissed in, gesturing to the back of Hunter’s neck. A dark purple and blue bruise ringed by yellow and green covered Hunter’s neck, extending into his collar.

It was roughly the size and shape of Graye’s foot.

“Sorry,” Hunter mumbled.

“What was the last thing you ate?” Perry asked.

“Sandwich.”

“He was eating snack mix and stuff from the trash before that,” Gus explained.

“Ah. Hunter?”

“’m better now.” Hunter lurched to his feet. “I can…”

Gus guided Hunter to his bedroom, gingerly pushing him onto the camp bed he’d set up. “Sleep it off, Hunter.”

“Why’m… I so… shaky…”

“Because you’ve been eating out of the trash? Because you’ve barely drunk any water? Because you just got kicked around and knocked out and stuck through a bunch of tense situations? Because you’ve been on the run and on high alert for the last couple of days? Pick one.”

“Mrgh.”

Gus’ dad hovered in the doorway. “We’ll be right here if you need us,” he promised, “Just give a shout.”

He jerked his head towards the door, and Gus left, turning the light off and closing the door behind him. “What’s up?”

“What’s the full story with your… friend?”

Gus circled his thumbs around each other. “He… just got out of a bad situation. And there are bad people still looking for him. I don’t know if he’d be comfortable with me telling you more.”

“Alright. Fair enough.” Perry gestured to the back of his neck. “Did that happen…”

“During the Hexside siege. He’s had a rough few days.”

“I can tell. Well, I’m going to make some soup or oatmeal. Something easy to stomach. If he wakes up, try to get more water in him. He didn’t feel feverish, did he?”

Gus shook his head. “I think he’s just exhausted. And, you know. Probably poisoned from eating garbage.”

“I’m surprised he made it this long. He must have a stomach of steel. I remember the Hexside garbage cans, and not with any particular fondness.”

Gus’ dad disappeared back into the kitchen, and Gus slowly pushed the door open. Hunter was asleep, albeit a restless sleep. He was curled up in a ball again, occasionally kicking out. Flapjack fluttered to Gus’s shoulder, chirping one long, sad, low note.

“Yeah,” Gus agreed, scratching the little bird’s head.

Hunter shifted, exposing the bruise on the back of his neck again, and Gus winced. If Hunter hadn’t come to help him, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Sure, he was definitely happy Hunter had stepped in, or he probably would have been branded by now, but still. It was impossible to deny that if Hunter had sat tight and not come to his rescue, he would have gotten off scot free.

Of course, he’d also still be eating out of the garbage and would probably be curled up in a little ball being sick on his own in an empty Hexside.

“Mrgh?”

Hunter twitched so hard, he started awake, thrashing and wrestling with the covers. “Hrmgh?”

His hair scrunched up on one side of his face, and he blinked owlishly at Gus. “Wheremi?” he mumbled.

“My house,” Gus reminded him.

“Oh.”

“You want some water?”

Hunter closed his eyes in response, going back to sleep almost immediately.

“Yeah, alright. Wow, you went down fast.”

“Gotta… sleep… when can…” Hunter mumbled.

“Are you awake?”

A snore.

“Guess not.” Gus started to go, but Hunter lashed out, grabbing his wrist.

“They’re gonna find me,” Hunter mumbled, “I need you to warn me if they’re coming.”

“They’re not going to find you. They don’t know you’re with me. Or who I am. Or where I live.”

“Please.” Hunter’s voice cracked. “I can’t sleep.”

“Huh? But… you were just asleep a second ago.”

Hunter’s hand shook—Gus could probably pull out of his grip easily if he wanted to. But he didn’t. “Shouldn’t… ’s not safe.”

“Oh—Hunter, it is. You’re safe here, man.”

“Need a watch.”

“Like to tell the time with?”

“No. A—a watch.”

“Like a guard,” Gus guessed, “You need someone to watch your back while you rest.”

“’nd nooooot stab me in it.”

“Alright. Alright, I can be your watch.” Gus held up his free hand. “I solemnly swear to not stab you in the back.”

Hunter let go, dragging his hand back into his blanket. “I b’leve you.” He closed his eyes again, breathing slowing back down.

Gus went to his own bed, watching the door.

He protected you when you were vulnerable.

Now it’s your turn.

#toh #the owl house #asks #writing requests #toh fanfiction #perry porter #gus porter #toh hunter #hunter wittebane

[redux-iterum]

-flight, -step, and -fall

CROWFLIGHT, RAVENFLIGHT

Prerequisite Traits

Appearance: Pitch-black or predominantly black pelt with minimal white markings (tail-tip, paws, dash on chest or face).

Personality and/or Behavior: Intelligent, observant, and curious.

Additional Traits

Cats that qualify for this name might have keen memories suited for relaying complex details, making them excellent informants (as befitting the role held by Thlainra’s messengers). They might also have a voice that’s considered hoarse or grating; or, alternatively, have a voice that’s capable of a wide range of pitches (much like a crow’s vocal repertoire, which is highly mimetic). Sometimes, a cat with this name might be prone to interfering with others, usually out of a sense of mischief. Their playful nature tends to be subtle in that the observer (or intended victim) doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late. Although these cats belong to a greater “flock” (Clan), they prefer to socialize in smaller groups of two or three at a time. It’s been speculated (but not necessarily observed) that they demonstrate the capacity for limited tool-usage, similar to a crow cracking open a shell using a rock.

-

BADGERSTEP

Prerequisite Traits

Appearance: [1] Gray tabby fur with darker stripes, [2] patched black and white fur, or [3] patched gray and white fur.

Personality and/or Behavior: Fastidiously clean, pragmatic, and lumbering.

Additional Traits

A common feature of cats with this name is their distinctive gait, which is typically heavy-footed or laborious. Although not a requirement, they tend to be skilled at digging, and have an intuitive knowledge of the ground beneath their feet (ie. making distinctions between the characteristics of sand, clay, and loam). Historically, WindClan tunnelers with this name were highly vaunted. Another aspect of these cats is their down-to-earth nature, which makes them relatively straightforward to communicate and work with. Their appearances are often well-groomed, and they tend to become distressed when their immediate surroundings are filthy and unorganized. The compulsion to rectify it is hard to ignore. 

-

WILLOWFALL

Prerequisite Traits

Appearance: Light-gray fur that’s long and drooping.

Personality and/or Behavior: Tenacious, limber, and flexible.

Additional Traits

Cats bestowed this name are considered extremely mature at a young age, a nod to their namesake’s fast growth rate. These cats are also regarded by their community as a source of emotional comfort and shelter, similar to how a willow’s canopy is used as a refuge from torrential wind and rain. Despite what their long fur might imply, they aren’t opposed to getting wet feet, and actually enjoy being near bodies of water. While not necessarily a common trait, Willowfall cats are sometimes prone to being messy—whether it pertains to food, bedding, or tracking debris into camp from outside. It’s a quality likened to the catkins that willow trees shed in large quantities.

-

To the anon that recently sent in that question about -flight/-step/-fall cats: I may or may not have already started working on a list like that. If you’re interested in swapping notes, feel free to hit me up!

#submission #i wont add anything to this because its PERFECT #i love badgerstep so much for reasons that will become clear later #step #what to tag this #suffix match #i guess? #silvokrent

[corinneecrivaine]

WILLOW FANFIC STORY

THE PART 10

THE BEGNINNING OF THE WAR

A thick, menacing fog thickened, enveloping everything in its obscure veil. In the midst of this dense mist, an evil presence was gradually revealing itself. The Shadow of Bavmorda emerged, revealing a face of great blackness, without soul or compassion, its eyes dark. The blackness of her soul gave off an aura of malice and perfidy. She advanced slowly, her gait imbued with arrogant confidence, her smile unhealthy.

She spoke, coldly, in a whisper: "Kit... My child, join me. You are bound to me by the blood of the Six that flows in your veins. I'll show you the extent of your power. Your destiny is far greater than you know."

Kit woke up abruptly, breathing hard, instinctively seeking Jade's comforting presence at her side. But her heart clenched painfully as she discovered an empty space.

Anger welled up inside her, mingling with the lingering fear of the nightmare that tormented her. She saw the necklace lying on the bed beside her. She retrieved it, clutched it tightly in her hand until it bled and cried out.

"Jade, no !!!!

Tumultuous emotions surged through her. She felt overwhelmed by the fear of abandonment and betrayal. The wound caused by Jade's gesture was deep. Kit felt bruised in the soul.

She got up and dressed in a hurry. Just as she was about to leave, her brother burst into the room and slammed her against the wall.

Putting his hand over her mouth, she had no time to react or lash out at him.

Airk: Don't shout. Okay !

Knowing his sister, she struggled and pushed him away.

Kit: What's the matter with you!

The young prince took a quick look around and when he saw Jade's bed unmade, he couldn't help teasing his sister.

Airk : You've had an excellent night.

The young princess gave him a cold, disillusioned look. This was neither the time nor the place for such jokes. Overwhelmed by Jade's absence, she fought back tears as she clutched in her wounded hand the necklace whose value had just been shattered.

Kit: What... No... Nothing happened... And then stop! How do you know I'm here!!!

Airk: You think I didn't know about your little nocturnal escapades? This tension between you two. Finally, it's about time you accepted your feelings for Jade. We'll have to talk about it, but right now…

Kit: I don't have to talk about it with you.

Suddenly, cries of pain echoed outside. Kit wanted to get out, but her brother held her back.

His attitude was incomprehensible. He was fidgeting, preoccupied, expressing himself without calming down.

Airk: Listen to me carefully. We're under siege.

Kit: What!!! Mom, we've got to help her!

When Airk saw the outfit his sister was wearing, the one from his nightmares, the terrible images that haunted his nights were superimposed and suddenly his throat and stomach knotted, followed by tremors throughout his body.

Kit: What's wrong with you?

Airk: I'll take care of Mom. I'll get her away from Tir Asleen. There are too many of them. We can't fight them alone. You go to the Bone Reavers and find her.

Kit: She abandoned me!

Kit's voice broke.

The young prince laid a compassionate hand on his sister's shoulder, sensing her pain and distress. He could see the pain in her eyes, caused by Jade's absence. He tried to comfort her.

Airk : No, believe me. She hasn't abandoned you. She... Sometimes duty forces us to make difficult choices. Don't let fear cloud the love that unites you. Come away with me.

He suddenly took her by the arm and led her running to the stables, which had not yet been taken by storm.

He took his horse, a handsome stallion with a shiny black coat, and gave it to his sister:

"Here, go with Midnight and don't look back. Whatever happens."

He gave her their father's sword, which he had hidden in one of the stalls.

Airk: Take it, I got it from the weapons room. I know how much it means to you.

Kit was a little confused by her brother's behavior and didn't quite understand his actions.

Kit: Airk... What are you going to do? I'm staying with you…

He lost his temper with his sister. He'd never acted like this towards her before.

Airk: For once in your life, do what I ask. Go away!

He struck Midnight so hard that the latter galloped away.

With his sister finally out of the way, the young prince spoke to himself: "I'm going to fix everything, little sister. I'm going to save Mom, I'm going to save you and our kingdom. That's what a great king must do. Go and find her. She loves you as much as you love her. Your love is powerful."

*******

Airk had not been able to give the real reasons why Jade had left. Honoring the promise he had made to the young knight during their last discussion before she left. Knowing his sister, she would have exploded in anger and acted on impulse.

That day, Jade was training in the same place where she used to do it with Ballantine. The straw dummy was still there, worn and unusable, but the young knight refused to remove it. It reminded her of all the lessons her mentor had taught her and how to channel her anger for battle. But today, she was angry with the whole world. She felt so devastated and helpless. Ballantine's absence created a huge void in the kingdom and in her heart.

She remembered all those moments spent by his side, his wise words, his attentive listening. All the times he had comforted her, supported her in her choices. All she had left were her memories and that place with that straw puppet. She couldn't hold back her tears, a mixture of rage and sadness.

The kingdom had lost a great man, a guide and protector. But for Jade, he was her father figure, her pillar. She expected to see him storming into the stables, as he had all too often done when she was a child.

It was her duty to honor his memory by continuing to draw on the values and wisdom he had passed on to her. But there was a dilemma.

When Airk arrived, he hesitated for a moment before starting the conversation, unsure of what to say, not wanting to hurt her any more than she already was.

Airk: I'm sorry.

Jade : I'm fine, Your Royal Highness.

Airk raised an index finger as he approached Jade : Actually, Airk, I'll be fine too. Especially since you're going to be part of our family.

The girl glowered at him.

Airk: Well, I admit it's a bit premature. But…

Jade: Please, stop.

Airk: Why do you refuse to simply express your emotions? You've lived your life camouflaging your love. I still remember our conversations as if they'd taken place the day before. Why do you forbid yourself to live this love to the full?

Jade: You don't understand! You're royal blood destined to rule and I... I don't even belong to Tir Asleen. You represent everything my family stands for and I... I represent the enemy of your kingdom. Where does my love fit into all this?

Airk: You've always been there for my sister, protecting her, putting up with her moods, and believe me, that's not easy. Don't forget, you gave up your dreams to follow her and guide them all to The Immemorial City to save me. You have as much a place in this kingdom as your love.

Jade: I only did my duty.

Airk: Oh, no, you've done much more than that. I know it's complicated for you right now. Don't you think you're entitled, even for a few moments, to live fully what you want?

Jade: I can't. What happens if I give in? And with all due respect, Your Highness, you're in no position to give love advice.

Airk: I must say, you're not far wrong.

The young prince stopped joking and took on a much more serious air.

Airk : What are you not telling me?

Jade didn't answer and turned her back to him. The young man had no choice but to insist, forcing his friend to answer.

Airk : Knight, your prince has given you an order.

Jade turned and looked him straight in the eye.

Jade: I must leave Tir Asleen. I must understand who I am, discover my past, my family. Know who my father was, learn who my sister is, who the Bone Reavers are. I know it will break Kit's heart, but I have no choice. And... that's not all. I have to convince them to join our cause. Kit can't know.

Airk kept gesticulating: Kit this, Kit that, breaking Kit's heart, and your heart, Jade, who's going to pick up the pieces of your heart.

The young man approached and placed his hands on the young knight's shoulders.

Airk: It's not the prince talking to you, but your friend. I promise I won't tell her. It won't be the first time I've made you this promise (he said, smiling). But this time I'm asking you for something in return. Promise me you'll let yourself be carried away by your feelings, without thinking about the aftermath. Don't choose this suffering over your love. This place has become your home. You're as much a Bone Reaver as you are a Knight of Tir Asleen.

Jade: I'll leave tonight. Be there for her when she discovers I'm gone.

*******

Demons, The Wyrm's henchmen, were rising, their sinister silhouettes silhouetted in the darkness that pervaded Tir Asleen's surroundings. Their red eyes shone with an evil glow as they let out demonic roars that seemed to make the Cherlindrea barrier tremble and give way.

Sorsha's guard hurried into the room, his face flushed with concern. "Your Majesty, we're under siege! You must flee, there's no time to lose!" he cried, trying to convince her.

Sorsha leapt to her feet, her mind on the alert, and declared in a determined voice: "I will not flee. I will defend Tir Asleen at the risk of my life. Who's attacking us!!!"

The guard didn't expect another reaction from his queen, knowing that she was a fighter, ready to defend her kingdom and all those she loved. He hesitated before replying. "Sir Hastur, my queen, surrounded by an army of demons."

As Sorcha processed this terrible revelation, a deep sadness came over her. How could he have betrayed their long-standing friendship and alliance? The queen felt bitter at the betrayal, but she had to concentrate on her defense strategy. She couldn't let her emotions overwhelm her. Her kingdom was in danger.

Demons were rising from all sides, sowing chaos and destruction in their wake. The sky, once lit by the glow of stars and moon, was now darkened by the black clouds that seemed to be descending on the royal city.

The streets of Tir Asleen were in chaos, houses burning and cries of despair filling the air. Inhabitants were desperate to escape the violence befalling their former haven of peace.

The battles were fierce, the monstrous creatures seemed innumerable, a raging force that knew neither fatigue nor pity. Every corner of the long-flowered city was the scene of a bloody battle, witness to the bloodshed.

As the attacks continued, hope seemed to flicker. Yet the hearts of those who defended Tir Asleen never wavered. They drew strength from their love for their kingdom, their family and their queen.

Arrows flew through the air, mingling with the flames spewed by monsters from the underworld. The fury of war was unleashed, the cries of demons and the clash of weapons echoing through the air like an evil concert.

At the center of this inferno, King Hastur stood at the side of his knights, knowing that the outcome of this battle would determine his future. He cried out with such violence that his men trembled. "Find the Empress and bring her to me!!!, I'll get the Queen!!!"

His guards scattered in search of Elora.

Hastur was determined to gain control of Tir Asleen. His plans had failed. He would not fail, he would see his ambitions through to the end. He had waited too long for this moment.

Under his ruthless leadership, his men searched every street, every nook and cranny, sowing fear and corpses at every turn.

Airk made his way to the palace's weapons room, his thoughts intermingling with one another, his mother, his sister, his father, as well as his emotions, fear, courage. Among the gleaming weapons and shields was a suit of royal armor his father had made especially for him. It was magnificent. The breastplate was intricately decorated with the symbols of Tir Asleen and the royal family. Finely chased silver leaves ran along the edges, representing the growth and prosperity of the kingdom. The shoulder pads were meticulously carved, imitating the shape of an eagle's wings, in homage to freedom. Rosette motifs adorned the metal. In the center of the chest, Tir Asleen's gold emblem, the silver helmet, represented the head of an eagle with a visor decorated with precious stones, as if to symbolize the gaze of the royal bird.

The young prince contemplated the tack with emotion, remembering Madmartigan's last words in this place. He was just a child then, unaware that this would be the last time he would see his father. "My son, this armor will be yours. But you must wear it only when you feel worthy of it, when you are ready to assume your responsibilities as a future king, to protect your kingdom and your subjects."

The time had come for Airk to be the prince the whole kingdom had been waiting for, to prove his worth and fight for his family, for his heritage. Doubt crept into his mind. Would the knights follow him? With determination, he grabbed the armor and put it on. It fitted his body perfectly. Long forgotten, it had become the symbol of his devotion to Tir Asleen. It had become the armor of a prince ready to face the enemy. He was ready to prove himself worthy of his title and his people.

As he prepared to face the dangers that awaited him on the battlefield, Airk felt a deep desire to have his father by his side, to guide him in his decisions. It was as if, by putting on this armor, he felt connected to Madmartigan and sensed his presence, courage and strength.

He threw himself into the battle, feeling his father's mental strength invade him, protecting him and overcoming his fears. Determined to save his mother, he fought his way through the demons. The sharp blade of his sword, forged from steel of exceptional quality, gleamed in the glow of the demonic flames. Every blow the young prince struck demonstrated his skill and agility as a warrior. Airk fought with fervor. He dodged demonic attacks, weaving in and out of enemy ranks.

The Pacalcade knights froze for a moment, having never seen this armor before and unaware of who lurked beneath. But when one of them heard the prince's voice calling for him to join in the rescue of the queen, the news quickly spread across the battlefield.

"It's the Prince !!!! The prince is with us !!!!"

Suddenly, as Airk would never have expected, the knights rallied to his side, forming a united force. The young prince, surrounded by his loyal defenders, amid shouts and clashing swords, made his way to the palace.

The small group, led by Airk, made their way up the stairs and through the darkened corridors. After a fierce struggle, they reached the throne room, where Sorsha was battling demons with the help of her guards.

In the grip of a powerful rage, the young prince, followed by his men, engaged in an epic duel, steel against claw. In the end, they succeeded in defeating the monsters of darkness.

Airk approached his mother, ready to fight him: "Mother, it's me, it's Airk!!!" He lifted the visor of his helmet.

Sorsha was weakened, but her stunned face lit up at the sight of her son.

Airk: Mother, we must go !!!! We cannot save Tir Asleen.

Sorsha: Kit, my daughter, where is your sister!!!

Airk: She's not in the kingdom. I... I sent her to the Bone Reavers.

Sorsha didn't hide her astonishment, but felt reassured that her daughter was safe.

Airk: We'll talk about it later. We've got to go!!!

Just as they were about to leave, the large door suddenly opened, revealing Hastur accompanied by his guards. His furious, feuding gaze fell on Sorsha.

The queen stood up proudly without flinching or showing the slightest sign of fear.

Silence settled over the room, heavy, oppressive. Everyone was waiting. They stared at each other.

Sorsha faced Hastur, her former ally now an enemy working for The Wyrm. Disappointment and sadness mingled on her face as she stood, sword in hand, ready to confront him. The king advanced with a reassured step, his eyes once filled with friendship, now fixed on the queen with coldness and ambition. She blamed herself terribly for not having foreseen her former friend's action. For not having prepared her domain for this eventuality. She who was ready to force her daughter into an arranged marriage with the son of this traitor to unite their two monarchies.

Anger burned in her veins. How could she have been so blind? How could she have agreed to sacrifice her daughter's freedom for this sordid alliance?

The desire to seize the throne of Tir Asleen had corrupted the once noble mind of the King of Galladoorn.

Sorsha : Your thirst for power is blinding you, Zivian. To think I was ready to give you my daughter. I trusted you.

Hastur: This marriage was of little importance - all I wanted was an heir. As soon as their union was consummated and the child born, your daughter would have had a terrible accident that would have cost her life!

At the sound of these words, Airk couldn't contain his rage and lunged at the king, ordering his knights to do nothing. This fight was between him and the king. Hastur did the same with his guards.

The throne room became the scene of an epic duel between Sorsha, Airk and Hastur.

Swords clashed. The young prince fought fiercely, his movements guided by anger and a thirst for vengeance for his sister. Sorsha fought with grace and agility, showing Hastur that she was not just a queen but a fighter. The self-hatred of having been ready to send her daughter to her death, fueled her aggression and her movements.

Hastur's ferocity was unrivalled, but Airk's determination and Sorsha's strength were superior.

Mother and son fought as one heart, one soul. They were no longer two rulers fighting, but the symbol of resistance against treachery and darkness.

Unfortunately, Hastur managed to wound Airk, but overcome by rage, he continued to fight, ignoring the pain.

Finally, in a final burst of violence, the queen and prince struck a final blow that sent the traitor stumbling. Hastur on the ground, the young man in the grip of the fury and vengeance of their last confrontation in this place, was ready to end it all, the blade of his sword against the fallen king's throat. But Sorsha interrupted him.

Sorsha : My son! Let's not sink into cruelty. We're not like him.

Airk turned away from Hastur reluctantly, but he understood the wisdom of his mother's words.

Suddenly, a loud noise echoed through the palace corridors, startling the queen, her son and the men in the room. Hastur wore a cynical smile. A shiver of apprehension ran through the room as everyone wondered what was going on. Everyone prepared to face this new threat, but their queen gave the order to leave.

As they left the throne room, Sorsha couldn't help wondering how Hastur and the demons had managed to break through Cherlindrea's barrier. In the corridors, the answer came when Airk and his mother saw the demonic glances of Graydon and Elora in the distance.

Horribly shocked by what they saw. Graydon alive, Darth Elora so different, could not have been the instigators of this attack.

Airk's heart sank as he saw his ex-lover turned entirely to darkness. It couldn't be. Elora was so bright, so full of love and hope.

He murmured to himself sadly, "Elora... How…"

He wanted to run to her, but his mother stopped him, "No, she chose her own path."

Sorsha was terribly distraught by this Elora, lost in the darkness, this child she had protected so much all these years, to the detriment of her children and her husband. How and where had she failed in her duty?

Heartbroken, Airk took one last look at the Empress before looking away.

Betrayal was everywhere, and the threat far greater than they had imagined.

As she left, Sorsha ordered the soldiers to evacuate, taking the inhabitants with them.

The queen and her son left the kingdom with their men. Now they had to find somewhere to take refuge and look after the young prince.

They turned one last time to see Tir Asleen sinking into darkness.

Sorsha: We will take back our kingdom, my son. We will save our world.

Airk: How mother. Elora is…

His voice broke.

Both knew they would have to gather their forces and find trustworthy allies. Evil had already spread to Andowyne.

Sorsha spoke to herself, thinking of her worried friend, "Where are you, Willow?

#movies #fanfiction #wattpad #fantasy #tv shows #queer #disney #lucasfilm #ruby cruz #erin kellyman #elliebamber #renewwillow #kit and jade #kit and elora #elora danan #graydon #thraxus boorman #dempsey bryk #tonyrevelori #amar chadha patel #scriptwriter #fanfic writer #writters on tumblr #willowmonth2023 #willow 1988 & #willowedit #savewillow #writer on ao3 #willow #writer on wattpad

[acerockswwe]

Willow Gait 3

#willow gait #so hot 🔥🔥🔥 #beautiful model #celebrity #actress #fashion model #sexy tease #sexy content #sexy pose #nswf selfie #bra and undies #bra and panty selfies #legal #18 years old #red undies #red bra #white bra #white undies #blue undies #blue bra

[girlxxxcelebrities]

Love her ass ✊💦💦💦

#Willow Gait

[cryptidwritings]

Dark Water

Chapter 24 : Capo Hill

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Content: restrained, corpse, forced to dig a grave, memory of familial minor character death (small paragraph towards the end), mention of blood, thirst, exhaustion

The stomping of horse hooves, croaking bullfrogs, and rustling water were the only noises that accompanied them as they traversed on a muddy path.

Large willow trees stretched into the sky while pale branches cascaded to the algaeic water, blowing in a light breeze that Moss couldn't feel as the horses continued to pull on the rope around his wrists.

He stuttered forward, breathing through cracked lips as he blinked back beads of sweat, trying to focus.

As soon as they broke the treeline, Moss tried to remember the twists and turns of the path, but after what felt like hours, it took all his attention to keep up.

Isidro's head swayed with the horse's gait, unlike that of the body on the horse in front of him. Moss hated the comparison, but he needed some reassurance that the sailor was alive or he might just drop right there and invite the pirate's ire as a trade-off for a moment's rest.

The thought created truth. His good foot landed into a thick patch of mud, swallowing his foot. Moss reflexively planted his bad leg in front of him, letting out a yelp of pain as he fell to the ground.

He hissed as the horses dragged him forward without interruption. The tight ropes pulling on his wrists both hurt and saved him from slamming his face on the ground.

"We're almost there," Reid stated.

Moss fumbled with the rope and tried to get his good foot underneath him, but with a snap of the reins, the horses moved faster, and Moss resigned to the moment in the dirt as they took another turn.

It was as if all sound ceased; swallowed up either by the feeling of dread that Moss also felt the moment the horses came to a sudden halt.

Moss' muscles relaxed. His head hung between his biceps as he caught his breath. He coughed and spit - a glob of dirt-filled mucus fell below him as Reid's boots slammed into the ground.

"Get up," he said.

Moss licked his lips. His effort-filled grunt as he pulled his good leg underneath him was swallowed by the willows that tangled together like a fierce blanket. He couldn't see the water; there was only the dead-ended path and a cul-de-sac of trees.

He blinked as he curled his toes, feeling the dirt on the sole of his foot. The mud had taken his shoe.

Reid tied up the horses and cut Isidro's rope before sliding him onto his shoulder. His face twitched as he turned to the trees but was otherwise unmoved.

"Where are we?" Moss asked.

The pirate ignored him, "stay put," he ordered, before disappearing with Isidro.

Reid's footsteps dropped off after a pop of cracking branches. Then, all Moss could hear was his own breathing and the horses grazing on random shoots they managed to nuzzle from the underbrush.

He studied the knot. It wasn't anything special. The fall had pulled it tighter, but with a bit of work he could loosen it and maybe get far enough away to find someone. If there was someone.

Moss didn't really have time to think; the mental image of Reid shoving Isidro's unconscious body into the water plagued him enough to try.

The rope scratched at his fingertips, embedding fibers beneath his filthy nails. The tight length around his wrists prevented him from turning his hands to get a better grip, so he adjusted his arms.

The motion knocked him off balance. He pushed out his bound hands to steady himself on the horse, which swayed; jostling the body from its back.

It slid to the ground, folding unnaturally upon itself, and Moss' shaking came back in full force.

He wrestled with the knot again, trying to ignore the smell of blood and rigor as his heart beat against his ribcage.

All too soon, Reid broke through the trees and noticed his brother's body on the ground. The twist of his face as he barreled toward Moss was more of a shock than when a blunt object hit his head.

Moss opened his eyes. He was on the ground. The horse yanked him over - unnerved by the reverberation.

Reid speared a shovel beside Moss' head before lifting him up, snarling into his face.

"If ye didn't want ta be here ye should've made sure that bullet killed me. Now dig!" He grabbed the shovel and shoved it into Moss' chest.

Moss shook his head as an attempt to gain his bearings. The motion was quckly met with another slap that sent Moss to the ground again. This time, his arms fell with him. He spit. Blood dribbled from his cracked lips, and he glanced up at Reid.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he gasped for air and winced at the sudden splitting headache, "I can't even wal-"

His excuse fell out of his mouth as Reid's hand collided with his head. Moss stretched his jaw, closing his eyes as his ear popped and ached. The shovel was again pushed into his arms, and Reid pulled him to an open patch just off the trail.

Moss gripped the handle and thrust the metal into the dirt, using it to pull himself to standing.

"D-do it yourself," Moss swallowed. The combination of heat and pain made it difficult for him to hold his voice steady.

Reid closed the already choking distance between them. He grabbed Moss' face, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"I only need one a ye to make Theodora squirm, so if ye don't want to be joining Kam, I suggest ye start digging."

Moss tore his face away from the stinging grasp and tightened his grip.

"Go eight feet down," the pirate ordered through grit teeth, "he'll decompose sooner that way."

Moss glared at Reid. Of course he would know that.

He could take a swing, but Reid just admitted that Isidro was alive. So Moss clenched his jaw, picked up the shovel, and struck the ground.

...

The pink of sunset fell on the green swamp, turning everything a dingy brown. Moss reached down and grabbed an ankle, giving a hard tug to get the body moving. The second it slunked into the hole, Reid grabbed the shovel from Moss and shoved him back.

He fell again, this time staying put as the sound of the shovel cutting through the loose dirt echoed in Moss' ears. He took a deep breath, feeling the tingle of exhaustion on his extremities and lips as he stared up at the small patches of sky that were visible above the willows.

There came a sniffle, and the shovel landing on the ground. Reid approached Moss, grabbing the loose end of his rope and yanking him up to standing. Moss didn't have the energy to do much else but weakly comply as Reid pulled him into the treeline.

Old twigs snapped beneath their feet as the pirate managed his way around the trunks. Moss huffed, trying to keep up as he looked around, limping because of pain and caution for his leg and the bare foot that was stomping through the unfamiliar terrain.

Though not initially obvious, branches had been methodically pruned from the trees, making an otherwise invisible path through decades of growing and decaying plants with underbrush so thick it bent with every step and sprung up behind them, swallowing their tracks and leaving no trace.

How were they supposed to get out? Moss swallowed back the thought of: never.

After a few minutes, the sound of the bullfrogs could be heard again, soon followed by the trickling of water and a soft cacophany of other animals.

The treeline opened up, leading toward a stilted house built from fallen logs and rock, carved and stacked tight with a good portion over the land and a dock leading out onto the swamp. Underneath the stilted portion was a herd of penned animals roaming about the shade, unaware or uncaring of the pirate's presence.

Reid yanked Moss toward a smaller structure twenty feet away from the house. The door clicked and opened with a grind and whine of rusty hinges, and a sudden rush of air blew out the door, dragging the stench of decaying leaves into Moss' face.

His breath hitched, and he was reminded of the day he was forced to kneel on Talon's beach and shoved into the small room at the pub. The same feeling of doom now came without the feverish delirium.

He wished he was there.

He couldn't fight the hard yank of the rope. The dimming sunlight shot through boarded up windows, lighting the room only enough for Moss to register the silhouette of crates and barrels along the outskirts of the stone walls. Moss wondered how long it had been sealed for the smell to get that strong.

The pirate opened another door to the left, and disappeared behind it. Moss barely had a glance before he found himself in a smaller room than the other, where Isidro was slumped on the dirt floor, reverted into a lump of shadow in the lack of light.

Reid dropped Moss' rope and shoved past him, slamming the door. The sound of a two padlocks was unmistakeable, followed by the outside door and his footsteps leading away.

The room they found themselves in was barren. It smelled of mildew from the intense humidity, and the rock walls did everything to keep out the heat, ultimately failing as algae and moss fought over each crack, pouring its way through and clawing along the stone.

Moss joined the unmoving frame just a few paces away. He kneeled beside him, and reached out his bound hands to take his wrist between his fingers, then paused.

Reid could have been lying. Maybe he didn't really care about Theodora at all, and just said what he did in order to get Moss to come quietly. He couldn't put anything past the pirate at this point - including making him spend a night with a corpse.

The thought tore knots into his stomach.

Then, a smell over the earthly rot caught his attention. Blood. So much... blood...

Suddenly, he was back on Holm. He recalled the sky being an inky black through the window; as if the moon itself had turned its face away. The metallic stench ran thick beneath jagged waves of firelight, casting his mom's hunched shadow on the wall as she ran trembling hands over a body on the ground.

"Wolfe...? Wolfe, honey, wake up... please?... Please... DAMN IT! WAKE UP!"

Moss shut his eyes just as he clasped his fingers around Isidro's wrist. He waited with baited breath.

A pulse hammered away underneath his fingertips, and he let out a grateful sigh as the memory dissipated, allowing him the momentary peace to lie down and fall into an exhausted sleep.

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

#pirate whump #captivity whump #kidnapping whump #whump series #sibling death tw #whump writing #dark water by jovi #originalfiction

[judeswhore]

wrap the hair over the straightener then put a piece of hair on the inside😭 idk if that makes sense but ik willow gait has a tutorial on tiktok and they’re lushh x

i always end up burning myself😭😭or the curls look absolutely wank :( but i might watch a tutorial <3

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 2 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - As you arrive at Spencer’s ranch, an intrusive look around his home offers some insight into the stranger. Meanwhile Spencer has his injuries seen to whilst taking a nostalgic glance down memory lane.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - antidepressant medication, smoking, hospitals, mentions of Spencer’s past canon injuries, pain relief, bisexual Spencer and talk of sexuality, a rundown of Spencer’s past sexual encounters, brief mention of past drug addiction and Maeve, mentions of casual sex, talk of prison, broken bones.

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 2 - Take Me Home, Country Road

As promised the large creature led you to the strangers ranch, but at her slow gait it had taken almost an hour to travel four miles. It was a pain to drive so slowly, feeding her slices of apple and carrot out of the car window every five or so minutes. 

By the time she led you off the main road and up a dirt path, your hand was almost black from feeding her. 

You travelled a little further up the path until you came to what you assumed was the lodge Spencer had told you about. 

You slowed the car to a stop and cut the engine, opening the door and sliding out before giving Willow the final piece of fruit from the bag. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” You nodded at her, tentatively reaching up and patting the side of her face. 

She mewled and nuzzled against your hand in appreciation. It might have been the first time you let your guard slip a little. 

She was huge and imposing, terrifying from the offset to someone who had never spent any time around horses. But now as you looked at her, really looked at her, you saw her beauty.

She was a stunning greyish blue, with slight dappling in her coat. Her mane was nearly black, long and sleek. Her large eyes were a deep brown, almost as intense and alluring at her owners.

She was broad and tall, intimidating yet graceful. She made a soft snuffling sound as she slowly turned around and started trotting in the direction of the lodge. 

You quickly followed her, making a grab for one of her reins in case she wandered off somewhere she shouldn’t. She led you passed the old lodge and further up a slight incline to where the ground levelled out again and you caught sight of where she was heading. 

Up ahead was the stable Spencer had told you about and she took you right to it. Upon reaching it you unlatched the large barn doors and heaved one opened, Willow already making a move inside. 

As told there were two more horses inside, one brown and one jet black and both slightly smaller in size than Willow. They eyed you up as you passed by and you tried to keep your head down. 

There were three empty paddocks, two of which you could tell weren’t in use. Willow knew where to go and led you to her own. 

She was content in being motioned inside and once her whole body was in, you closed the fence behind her, latching it like the others. 

She headed straight for the trough of food - despite the snacks you’d bestowed on her - and happily started munching away at her dinner. 

The black horse was near his own fence, eyes boring into you as you offered Willow another pat on the side of her back. 

The darker horse seemed wary of you, making little grunts of disapproval at your presence. The auburn horse didn’t pay you too much attention.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.” You held your hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving, don’t worry.” 

You backed out of the stable, keeping your eyes on the dark stallion as you went. Once outside you were quick to close the doors and fix the latch in place. 

Spinning around, it was too dark to make out the extent of his land. Given that he had at least two lodges, a stable and he’d mentioned cattle you assumed had must have a reasonable amount of acreage. 

You padded back toward the lodge you’d passed earlier and fished out the keys. You really should hit the road, you could drive down to Mexico before Spencer was even released from hospital. When they inevitably rang you, asking after the fake name you’d given, you could tell them they had the wrong number.

Or simply ignore the call. 

Staying in one place for too long could be dangerous. However Spencer’s ranch was certainly secluded, no other buildings or claimed land for miles you would ascertain. So if you had to lay low somewhere for the night, this was probably the best place to do so. 

You climbed the creaky wooden stairs to his lodge and located the largest key on the loop before slipping it in the lock. You pushed the door open and fumbled for a light switch. 

Finding one and flicking it, the room was suddenly awash with light and you had to blink a few times at the onslaught. 

Adjusting to the light you glanced around the small quarters. The floor and the walls were all the same wood as the outside and it was furnished minimally. 

There was a single leather couch beneath the back window and a small coffee table in front of it stained with coffee rings. A newspaper sat folded neatly on the corner, upon closer inspection you frowned curiously at the copy of The Washington Post dated today. 

Next to the couch was a large bookshelf that spanned from floor to ceiling and books were packed in so tightly it looked fit to burst. Another stack of books was on the floor next to it, unable to stuff a single extra hardback on the shelves.

You run your fingers along old, cracked spines. His collection covered everything from War and Peace in its original Russian, an extremely old and battered copy of a book titled The Log of a Cowboy, to poetry anthologies and books on behavioural profiling. 

Eclectic and diverse, neither things you expected from a cowboy. 

The key to his second lodge hung by the door like he said and you should take it and leave. But you’d always been a little too curious, couldn’t stop yourself from continuing around the small abode.

To the right of the door was a kitchen, if you could really call it that. It was essentially a small breakfast bar separating it from the living space and another counter that held a microwave and an stove top that looked as though it had never been used. 

On the breakfast bar was an empty mug of what you presumed had once held coffee judging by the smell and an extremely outdated cell phone. There was a book next to it, closed with a sliver of paper sticking out you presumed to mark his page. There was a fridge which you couldn’t help but peer into - he did tell you to help yourself - but it was mostly baron. 

It held a half empty glass bottle of milk, a small tub of butter, two sad and lonely looking microwave meals and a couple of half eaten tubs of Chinese take out. 

Closing the fridge you dared breach beyond, stepping past the fridge towards a closed door. You opened it and stepped into his bedroom, switching on another light. 

His king sized bed took up most of the space and was made with near military precision with an olive green bedspread. The pillows were neatly fluffed and the sheet tucked crisply over the top. 

The bed on one side was pushed up against the large window with its blinds tilted almost fully closed. Without opening them, you peered between the slats but given the darkness outside you couldn’t see much of anything. 

The side of the bed that wasn’t cast against the wall had a nightstand next to it with another six or seven books piled up on it, almost entirely obscuring an old alarm clock. 

There was a wardrobe in one corner which you pushed forward to and swung open its double doors. 

Most of the clothes were reminiscent of what you’d seen him wear today: various cuts of jeans in different washes, multiple plain t-shirts in a variety of colours, several more denim shirts in both blue and black and an array of flannel shirts in all kinds of colours. 

Rifling through them a little, you did come across something more curious. 

At the back of the closet hung several knitted sweater vests, a couple of crisp button downs and two pairs of black slacks. You found them to be out of place in this man’s closet, and given their proximity, hidden away at the back you found it a little strange.

There was something soft and plush on the floor, kicked towards the back but you ignored it. Shaking your head you closed the closet and turned back into the room. 

On the other wall was a desk with a small stool tucked underneath. On the desk was yet another stack of books - you didn’t peg a cowboy to be as big of a reader - and two framed photographs.

The photographs were the only personal touch in the place. You picked up the first one and studied it. The man in the image was most certainly the injured cowboy but he looked to be at least ten years younger you would surmise. 

His hair was a little shorter, still messy and curly. He had his arms wrapped around an older woman with short white hair you could only hazard to guess was his mother. It was just a head and shoulders shot but you could vaguely make out he seemed to be wearing a sweater vest similar to one in his closet.

The other photograph was of a group of eight people, four men and four women. Spencer was in the middle, one arm slung around the shoulders of a blonde woman dressed in bright, garish colours with thick rimmed glasses and his other around the shoulders of an older man with grey hair and a grey beard. 

Aside from the grey haired man, they all looked to be around a similar age, and they were all smiling brightly at the camera. In this picture you could see Spencer was wearing a pale pink button down, tie and black slacks. It looked to be fairly recently, maybe no more than a few years old. 

You scanned the faces and your eyes narrowed on the man on the end who had a large goofy smile on his face and an arm slung around the shoulder of a woman with raven hair. 

He was latino, with jet black hair swept off of his face. His large dark eyes were expressive and his smile reached all the way to them. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, brow furrowing as you took in the details of his face. 

There was something about him that caused a knot to form in your stomach but you couldn’t place it, couldn’t put a name to what you were feeling. 

Shaking your head again and replacing the photo on the desk you glanced around again. 

It was clear he lived here alone. There were no feminine touches, nothing to point to the idea that he shared his home with someone else, woman or man. The bed even dipped a little on one side, a clear indicator that it was only slept in by one person. 

You carried on through to the bathroom but it wasn’t until you started going through his medicine cabinet that you realised what an invasion of privacy this was. 

This man had been nice enough to give you a place to stay for the night when you’d been belligerent. He’d offered you his home while he was in hospital and you were repaying him by snooping in his life. 

And now you stood in his bathroom with a half empty orange pill bottle, the label of which read Paroxetine.

Returning it to the cabinet and closing it, you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that was pulsing through you and without really meaning to, you pulled out your phone and googled it. 

Paroxetine - Brand Name: Seroxat - is a type of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). It’s often used to treat depression, and sometimes obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), panic attacks, anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). 

You read the words in your head, hand gripping the phone tightening. Now you felt guilty. You should not have been rummaging through his things like this, unearthing secrets about a man you barely knew. 

But now you did know he suffered from some kind of mental health issue and you would have to see him again and pretend you knew nothing of it. You couldn’t imagine living out here on his own like this was helpful to his mental health. But it wasn’t your problem, not your concern. 

You forced yourself to leave after that, the guilt clutching at your chest for snooping in the first place. You grabbed the keys to the spare lodge, switched the lights off and exited this stranger's home. 

You stepped out onto the porch but before you could get too far you lowered yourself to the top step. Your firearm which was still tucked into the back of your pants shifted a little as you did so. 

You pulled out a packet of cigarettes from inside of your jacket. You weren’t a regular smoker but on occasion you enjoyed the relief that came with having one. 

You lit one and took a long drag on it, staring out at the quiet expanse of land rolling out into the darkness. 

This was so far removed from anything you’d ever known, this way of living was so out of the realms of normal to you. 

You’d been born and raised in the city, surrounded by people and tall buildings and a constant swell of traffic on the roads. Your life was always bright and loud, chaotic in a sense. But this place brought about a certain peace. 

You watched the smoke dance up into the still air and as you followed it, your eyes landed on the sky. Out here, away from all the light pollution of the big city, you had an uninhibited view of the stars. 

You felt your chest tighten in a kind of whimsy. You’d never experienced the sky in such a way, unhindered, uncensored. You’d never had a chance to just sit and watch the sky, take in the beautiful pin pricks of light that decorated the dark blanket above you. 

It was so quiet. The only sounds you could discern were the tiny crackle of the cigarette paper as you took a drag and the occasional snuffle coming from one of the horses in the stable. 

In a sense, you could understand why people choose to live like this. It was tranquil, soothing. You almost felt yourself cleansed as you sat there. 

Maybe you could put Mexico on the back burner. Perhaps this place was the perfect haven for you to remain hidden away and maybe you’d even get some clarity and peace of mind while you did so. 

That was to say, if Spencer was okay with you hanging around. He seemed to be a loner type, living out here alone with his horses and cattle. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate an uninvited guest. 

But you had saved his life in a sense, didn’t he owe you? 

Being out here in this sleepy sanctuary, the quiet and the pull of nature were only part of the appeal. The injured cowboy who had opened his home to you was not at all hard on the eyes, quite the opposite in fact. 

And on top of that he intrigued you. There was something in his eyes when he looked at you that told you he’d seen some things. There was a slight crack in his foundation, a chink in his armour which was further proven looking around his home. 

There was a reason someone had such few personal items, causes for a person to live so far off the grid like this. 

You dragged on the cigarette as your brows furrowed in contemplation. Perhaps he was running from something just as you were. Maybe the two of you weren’t so different. 

He most certainly had a story to tell and for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you wanted to hear it. You wanted to bury yourself deep in the tale of this lonely cowboy by the name of Spencer Reid. 

You finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor before descending the stairs and stamping it out with the heel of your sneaker. Returning to your car you popped the trunk and grabbed out the small duffel bag before heading back up past the stable to the other near identical lodge. 

Somehow this one was even more sparsely decorated than his own. There was a single couch, no coffee table and no bookshelves bursting at the seams. The kitchen layout was identical minus the microwave and upon further inspection the fridge was empty and unplugged from the wall. 

The bedroom had a small double bed, but much like his own it was made with precision. This one wasn’t pushed up against the window like his own but in the centre of the room. There were no nightstands, no desk, just a small chest of drawers in the corner. 

You dumped your duffle bag on the bed and kicked off your sneakers before padding through to the bathroom. As he said there were clean towels hanging on the back of the door. It only occurred to you then that you’d been driving for days and hadn’t showered since the day you jumped in a car and left everything behind. 

Making quick work of stripping out of your clothes, setting your gun down next to the sink and switching on the shower, you were soon standing under the flow of warm water. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling the breath through your nose as the water coursed around you.

The water pressure left a lot to be desired but it was a decent temperature and it would at least clean you. There were little bottles of what appeared to be hotel shampoos and body wash lining the bathtub which you helped yourself to.

You washed your hair before turning your attention to your body and cleaning yourself thoroughly after days spent inside your car. You massaged the aching muscles of your neck and shoulders, lathering up the body wash as you did so. You stretched your back and your limbs, only really now taking heed of how sore you were from being confined to your vehicle for so many hours. 

You supposed you couldn’t complain, imagining what Spencer was going through in the hospital. 

You finished your shower and got dried before changing into a pair of shorts and tank top from your duffel bag. You carefully untucked the sheet from one side of the bed and slid beneath it. 

Your eyes closed as soon as your head hit the soft pillow. You sunk into the mattress, the smell of clean linen wafting around you. 

You were asleep within minutes of crawling into the strange bed. 

***

Given the late hour in which he’d been admitted, as Spencer suspected he was required to spend the night in the hospital. 

He was taken for x-rays of his knee, back and arm and pumped with fluids via an IV to combat his dehydration. 

It had grown awkward rather quickly when a nurse tried to offer him something for his pain and he’d had to explain that he didn’t take opioids without actually having to explain why. 

The pain was manageable at least in comparison to some other times he’d landed himself in hospital. But if he could refuse morphine after being shot in the neck, shot in the knee and whilst suffering from anthrax poisoning, he could go without now. 

He accepted a couple of Tylenol to help him rest while he awaited the results of the x-rays and honestly it did help. It eased the aching in his back and the pain in his extremities enough for him to close his eyes and drift a little, although he didn’t quite reach the allusive REM stages sleep. 

With his mind more at ease he was consumed by thoughts of you, the stranger that had saved him from being eaten alive by desert critters and potentially his own animal companion. 

It was only really now he allowed himself to dwell on just how breathtaking you were. He’d told you he thought you were pretty, but that was doing you a disservice. 

It had been more years than Spencer could count since he’d last been so taken by another person. His history when it came to physicality or matters of the heart was painfully thin, more a pamphlet than book. 

Ethan had been the first person he’d ever had romantic feelings towards when he was just a teenager. It was also with Ethan that he’d first explored sexually. 

Up until his kiss with Lila Archer in her pool he’d assumed himself to be only interested in men. She was the first woman he’d ever been attracted to and their kiss had certainly sparked something within him. 

Years later, after Gideon left, after his battle with dilaudid, somewhere between accusing his father of murder and getting shot in the knee, he reconnected with her during the course of another case in LA. After a few drinks and some not-so-subtle flirting on her part, he found himself in her bed. 

She was the first woman he’d been with sexually and still to this day there was only one other woman he’d been with in that way. After Maeve’s death he’d been in a bad way and had ended up in the bed of a woman he met in a bar. It was nice, maybe more perfunctory than anything, but then again he’d felt the same with Lila. 

He was certainly attracted to both of the women and had been towards other women over the years - he’d thought Elle Greenaway to be beautiful and as much as he hated to admit it Cat Adams had a certain allure. And of course there had been Maeve, who he’d been consumed by without even seeing her face.

He often wondered if they’d had a chance to meet if their intimacy would have been different, perhaps because they had a deeper attachment with one another. But in his limited experience he’d never quite connected to a woman the same way he did with men. 

Again, it wasn’t to say he had a wealth of experience with the same sex either. After Ethan there was a long gap in Spencer’s sexual history, the next time he was with another man was long after Lila. It was a casual thing, he supposed it was a booty call kind of arrangement that never really did sit right with Spencer, yet he continued it for almost half a year. 

And then more recently he’d been involved in something more serious with a man for the first time. They’d started dating prior to his arrest and the relationship had continued after his release. 

However, Spencer’s time spent on the inside had driven him into the dark recesses of the human mind. What he’d experienced in prison caused him to view sex and intimacy in a different light. 

Even after months of therapy and medication being prescribed, Spencer was unable to allow himself to be intimate with his boyfriend and as such the relationship had ultimately ended. They managed to remain friends, more out of necessity than a true desire to do so, but things had never been the same. 

Since his incarceration, the idea of relationships of a physical or emotional variety, regardless of gender, had been off the table for Spencer. Part of the appeal of moving out to Bandera in the middle of nowhere was the social isolation. 

For years he’d been content on his own, not happy but honestly he wasn't sure he’d ever really been happy per se. But it was entirely probable, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was incredibly lonely. 

Since moving to Bandera two years ago he’d barely had any interaction with anyone, let alone anything meaningful. He went to the store once a week for groceries and exchanged pleasantries with the kindly elderly lady that worked the check out line. He had encounters with other ranchers in town when he saw them, mostly conversations pertaining to cattle rearing and farming.  

He spoke to the old members of his team on the phone from time to time although the longer he was gone, they calls became few and far between. Penelope called him more than the others, usually once every few weeks and they would spend a good amount of time talking about everything and anything. Jennifer called once a month, sometimes there was longer between the calls and Emily and Rossi phoned him once in a blue moon.

He had the rare text exchange with Matt and Tara and, even less frequently Luke, but it had been a long time since he’d heard any of their voices. 

So for the most part, he was alone, his horses and cattle his only company. But that had been by design, Spencer intentionally shut himself off from the world to save any further disappointment in his life or the having to explain why he was such a damn basket case to anyone. 

And then you appeared on the side of that abandoned stretch of road and saved him from uncertain death. You had ignited something in Spencer he thought had long ago been burned out. And now maybe the idea of being alone didn’t appeal to him quite so much anymore. 

But of course he inevitably would be. You’d made it clear that you were in a hurry to get somewhere and certainly wouldn’t be sticking around longer than you had to. Perhaps it was for the best, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of sharing his neuroticism with you. 

He was awoken from his drifting by a young doctor with friendly eyes. She introduced herself as Doctor Rhodes and offered Spencer a cup of water which he gratefully took despite his IV fluid intake earlier. 

She had a folder under her arm which she opened now, he could see the x-rays peeking out from within. 

“You should consider yourself very lucky, Mister Reid.” She began.

There was a time when Spencer would have corrected her misuse of his title but since relocating to Texas he’d left his honorific behind in an attempt to feel more normal.

Internally he was screaming, Doctor Reid, it’s Doctor Reid, not Mister! Externally he remained silent. 

“The swelling in your knee is already subsiding and it doesn’t appear that you’ve done any muscle or tissue damage. It may be sore for a few days, but it should get better over time. Your spinal x-rays didn’t show any damage either, the radiologist did note some bruising on your lower back but again the pain should ease up.” She informed him with a smile.

“Thanks, it’s easing up already a little.” He nodded stiffly.

“As for your arm, you have a hairline fracture in both your ulna and radius at the farthest distal end of the bones.” She held up an x-ray of his left arm and Spencer squinted, making out the small area in which his arm had broken thanks to the wild horse. “Again, this is a very favourable outcome, I see a lot of injuries of this nature due to the number of rodeos and ranches nearby and I have to say this is very minor in comparison to what could have happened.” 

“Okay, that’s good.” He nodded again. “So, what, I need a cast or something?” 

“Had it been more severe you may have needed surgery to fix the brake but in this instance a cast should suffice. I imagine six weeks in a cast at most and you should be good to go, Mister Reid.” 

Doctor, Doctor Reid.

“Can I still ride? I don’t have any other form of transport other than my horses.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“That would really depend on how competent of a rider you are. If you think you’re safe to ride one handed then that’s really your call. I would suggest, given the fall and the residual pain you might be feeling in your patella and lumbar, to give it at least a few days before you attempt to get back in the saddle, literally.” She chuckled at her own bad pun. 

Spencer’s own lip quirked a little at the corner. 

“Okay super.” Spencer nodded. 

“I’ll send in a nurse to get your arm set and then I don’t foresee any reason you can’t be discharged. I’ll write you a script for some more Tylenol,” she glanced at her notes with a small brow furrow. “I understand you turned down anything stronger?”

“I, uh, I have a history with opioids. I’d rather not go into it.” He shrunk down a little in the bed. He didn’t need to go further into detail, it was clear what he meant. 

Doctor Rhodes offered him a slightly melancholy smile and a nod of her head, closing the folder and slotting it back under her arm. 

“Say no more. I’ll send a nurse in as soon as possible and then barring any complications you should be able to go home.” 

“What time is it?” He frowned. He’d lost all sense of time, had no idea how long he’d been drifting on the cusp of sleep for. 

Doctor Rhodes raised her left arm, shirked her lab coat out of the way and checked her watch. 

“A little after six am.” She spoke as she glanced back at him. 

“Oh man,” Spencer pulled a face feeling suddenly disorientated. “I had no idea I closed my eyes for so long.” 

“Dehydration can have that effect. You should be feeling much better now we’ve pumped you full of fluids.” Rhodes smiled once more, giving a brisk nod of her head before turning on her heels. “I don’t want to see you back here after another botched animal rescue okay?” 

Spencer chuckled lightly to himself, nestling his head back against the pillows. 

“I make no promises.” He yawned as he spoke. 

A small titter met his ears and seconds later Doctor Rhodes was gone. 

***

You were rudely awoken from an extremely peaceful night’s sleep in a ridiculously comfy bed by the sound of your phone ringing. 

You had to drag yourself out from between the soft sheets to locate your jeans where your phone was cradled in the pocket. 

You pulled your legs under your body on the cool hardwood floor and blinked a few times at the device before answering the call. 

“H-hello?” You croaked, eyes heavy with sleep and your head spinning in unfamiliarity. 

“Miss Parker?” A female voice assaulted your ears. 

You frowned, closing one eye and inhaling deeply. 

“Uh…sorry I think you have the wrong number.” You grumbled, rubbing at your forehead to ease the confusion. 

Light swarmed the room through open blinds and you took in the neutral decor trying to ascertain where you were. The last few days had been a blur, you couldn’t quite bring to memory where you’d ended up. 

“Oh…” the confusion was evident down the phone. “My apologies. I have you listed as an emergency contact on a patient discharge form.” 

Emergency contact? Discharge form? What was she…oh…oh! 

“Oh right, sorry, yes!” Your brain started to lift from the fog that was surrounding it. “Cowboy dude, uh, Sp…Spencer?” 

“You do know Mister Reid?” The voice sounded even more befuddled.

“Yes, yes, good friend of mine.” You lied. “Sorry I just woke up, I’m a little disoriented. Has he been discharged?” 

“He’s just filling out his discharge papers and said you would be collecting him.” 

“Yes, of course.” You nodded sleepily. “Uh…what hospital is he in?” 

There was a short stretch of silence, you ran your free hand through your hair while you waited for confirmation.

“University Health in San Antonio.” The voice replied.

Right, no help at all.

“I’ll, uh, be there as soon as I can.” You nodded again, mostly to yourself. 

“Very well.” The clipped female voice replied. “I will have him wait in the main lobby once he’s completed his paperwork, Miss Parker.” 

Soon after the woman hung up and you dropped your cell phone to your lap. You rubbed your eyes and stretched out your legs. 

Signing a fake name on the patient form last night had been a force of habit. You were trying to run away, trying to fly under the radar and it would have been a potentially disastrous oversight had you given the EMT’s your real name. Giving over your phone number had been risky enough, but hopefully not damning. 

You picked the phone back up and almost googled the hospital for its address before cursing under your breath. You couldn’t risk leaving an internet paper trail, even though you doubted it would put you in harm's way, it wasn’t worth it. Hopefully you could find the route the good old fashioned way, with the use of the paper map in your car.

Pushing yourself back up to your feet you remembered Spencer mentioning the nearest hospital being about forty five miles away and you groaned to yourself. You’d appreciated the decent night’s sleep you’d gotten but at what cost? 

You found your duffle bag and dressed in clean underwear, the same black jeans you’d been wearing yesterday, a clean tank top under an oversized blue and black checked sweatshirt. You collected up your belongings, firearm and Spencer’s keys included, before padding your way to the door. 

You grabbed a quick glass of water before leaving the lodge, wondering if you may entertain the idea of staying another night in this safe haven or if you would never step foot inside that cabin again. You locked the door behind you and took the steps down, bag slung over your arm. 

You exchanged his keys for your car key and drew a cigarette from its packet as you walked. You opened the car and dumped the bag on the backseat, returning your firearm to the glove compartment and starting the engine. 

You lit the cigarette cradled between your lips whilst rolling down the window, picking up the map from the passenger's seat and scrutinising it. Holding the cigarette out the open window, your other hand drew a path on the map towards your destination.

It was a good job you had a decent sense of direction otherwise this would have been made impossible without a GPS system. 

You tossed the map aside and took a drag on the cigarette as you cranked up the radio. You slid the car into reverse and turned around until you were facing the dirt road that led out of Spencer’s ranch.

Once you hit the road you slammed your foot on the accelerator and sped along through the isolated desert with your hand out the window and the breeze ruffling your hair. 

***

Spencer limped almost comically towards the open car door whilst you leant against the side of the vehicle offering no help whatsoever. His purple casted arm was cradled against his dirty t-shirt. 

“Probably should have asked you to bring me some clean clothes.” He grumbled, noticing you eyeing his dusty attire. 

“Hmm so you could further exploit the kindness of a stranger?” Your lip twitched into a small smirk. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did you not enjoy spending a free night at my ranch?” He scoffed, hobbling closer and wincing a little as he did so. 

“Eh, it was okay.” You held open the door for him. 

Spencer rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself into the passenger seat, trying to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on his sore knee. He groaned as he swung his legs inside. 

You closed the door behind him before rounding the car to the driver’s side and quickly starting the engine. Spencer removed his stetson and laid it in his lap, cradling his arm closer to his chest. 

Soon you were pulling away from the front of the hospital and heading back towards the memorised route. 

“So, broken arm, huh?” You asked as you drove, sending him a sidelong glance. 

“Apparently I was lucky. Don’t feel very lucky if I’m honest.” He grumbled again. 

“You’ll be fine, big tough cowboy, like you.” You smirked to yourself. 

“Big and tough?” He turned his head to face you. “I can categorically say no one has ever referred to me as big and tough.” 

“I thought it kinda went with the territory. Rangling cattle, riding horses.” You teased in a fake southern drawl. 

“Hmm.” He simply responded, clearly unamused. “So you’re names Elizabeth? Elizabeth Parker? I saw it on the intake form.” 

“Indeed.” You nodded, keeping your eyes focused on the road. 

“Huh.” He mused, narrowing his eyes on you. 

“What?” Your forehead pinched into a frown. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Just heard that name before.” 

“I’m sure it's a very common name.” You shrugged. 

His gaze on the side of your face was making you feel a little uncomfortable and you tried to ignore it but his eyes bore into you heavily. You gripped the wheel tightly, hearing him shift slightly in his seat. 

“You know where I think I‘ve heard it?” His tone held a thinly veiled hint of amusement. 

“Where?” You sighed in frustration. 

“Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame.” He noticed the way your back straightened in your chair, how your grip tightened on the wheel. 

You huffed out a breath and rolled your eyes.

“Fine, you caught me. My name is not Elizabeth Parker.” You confessed in a slightly irked tone. 

“So what is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” You grumbled.

“Well, seeing as you know my name and you’ve stayed at my ranch, it would be nice to know your name.” He shrugged, shifting again in his seat and struggling to find a position that didn’t ache his back. 

“Y/N.” You spoke under your breath, half hoping he wouldn’t hear you over the radio. 

He did.

“Y/N…?” 

“Just Y/N. Consider me like Cher or Madonna. No last name.” You murmured. 

To your surprise, Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He brushed his hair back off of his face with his good hand and sat back against the chair. 

“Okay, Y/N. I guess it’s nice to meet you. And I suppose a thank you is in order, seeing how you kinda sorta saved my life.” His laughter subsided and he glanced at you seriously. 

You offered him a brief look before focusing back out the windshield, your lip tugging a little at the corner. 

“Kinda sorta?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Dude, I totally saved your life. You’re forever indebted to me now.” 

Spencer smiled to himself, the sound of your laugh alleviating his pain momentarily. He turned his attention out of the window as you sped down the road. He wouldn’t at all mind the idea of that, he’d take any excuse to keep you close. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[wickedslip]

𝟑 - 𝟓  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐜𝐚𝐧  𝐛𝐞  𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝  𝐛𝐲.

𝗶. 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 / 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

Rage.

Betrayal.

Obsession.

Love.

Anxiety.

𝗶𝗶. 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝘀.

Violet purple.

Larkspur blue.

Silvered ivory.

Rose gold.

Obsidian black.

𝗶𝗶𝗶. 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀.

The musty, vintage library of Rosethorns.

The scented black dahlias a the bay window.

The stench of her Salem witch blood ancestry—accepting yet toxic, she reluctantly yields to it.

Luxe perfume:  floral-oriental fragrance with notes of orange, bergamot, rose, jasmine, patchouli, & vetiver. ( if you can name this perfume you have acquired me as your new best friend. it's real. )

The woods surrounding New Salem and the ocean bordering it.

𝗶𝘃. 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗼𝗻.

Slim fit high neck tanks tucked into fitted trousers paired with layered rose gold necklaces.

Skirt suits with thigh/knee highs and patent leather Mary Janes (verse!dep)

Sweater dresses and ankle boots on a crisp autumn day.

Relaxed jeans and fitted hoodies on weekends and while at Rosethorns.

Flowing skirts and crisp linen blouses, usually in darks.

𝘃. 𝗼𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀.

The ages-old grimoire of her family, passed down before everything got culty.

Vintage noir velvet Saint Laurent d’orsay pumps purchased at an estate sale.

A rare 1966 milano maroon split-window corvette, mint condition.

One of the daggers of Megiddo, Thyatira to be exact,  from the church that had a false prophetess.

Art supplies scattered about each room of her Victorian—you never know when inspiration will take.

𝘃𝗶. 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲.

Full lashed, large and luminous eyes, usually with liner sharp enough to kill a man. At times narrowed, at times thoughtful and pensive.

Graceful gait, walking tall with chin held high, a mischievous grin at times, others at utmost innocence.

Stiletto nails thrumming quietly along a polished table.

Hip curved into the edge of doorframe, standing sultrily.

Biting of full lips, playing with the ends of her hair, wringing hands when anxious.

𝘃𝗶𝗶. 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀.

Overlooking her quiet residential street from her bay window, drapes fluttering, a crow in the nearby willows.

Lilith, a sweet Doberman puppy walks beside her, a robin’s egg Tiffany collar wrapped delicately around her thick throat. Two black kittens named Sadist and Masochist watching with narrowed eyes from that same bay window.

Applying nude lipstick in a heart shaped mirror.

The Abduction of Proserpina by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1621-1622 ).

Picking wildflowers and witchy herbs in the secret garden behind Rosethorns.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 : stolen!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 : I definitely wanna tag @he11follows / @painmon / @2dayze / @ripcreel / @scarednotscary / @lacedaether / @lilacfancy . Anyone else please feel free!

#「 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔. 🗝 ❛ speak like bones unlocking. ❜ 」 #「 𝒅𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔. 🗝 ❛ fragile like a flower ━ fragile like a bomb. ❜ 」